Sold by Thomas Dring at the George in fleetstreet near Clifford's Inn. 1651    

POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. Amorous, Lusory, moral, Divine: By Edward SHERBURNE Esq;  
LONDON, Printed by W. Hunt, for Thomas Dring, at the Sign of the George, near Cliffords-Inn in Fleetstreet. 1651.   

NOBILISSIMO AMICISSIMO CANDIDISSIMOQUE PECTORI HOMAE STANLEIO ARMIGERO; ΜΟΥΣΑΓΗΤΗ PRAESTANTISSmo QUO NULLUS MIHI CARIOR MEORUM ●EM PLURIS FACIUNT NOVEM SORORE: QUAM CUNCTOS ALIOS;  
HAEC Qvaliacunqve, NON TAM MATERIE VARIA, QUAM MACULIS VARIEGATA POEMATA, ●MAXIMAE INTIMAEQVE, HEV minimum AMICITIAE PIGNUS!) DICATA, DEDICATA VOLUI Edwardus Sherburne.   

EROTICA.  

SALMACIS  BY Signeur GIROLAMO PRETI, Out of Italian. 
WHere clear Pactolus glides through Phrygian Lands  
'Tween Banks of Emeralds, on golden Sands,  
And in his Course does Lydi●'s Confines trace  
With humid feet, and with a slippery pace,  
The bedrid Earth, to ease herself (Oppressed  
With her own weight, and cramped with her long Rest)  
Her vaster Limbs first stretches to a Plain,  
Then to a Mountain lifts her head again;  
A Mountain; such for height, as if 'midst those  
Which to scale Heaven by the bold Giants chose  
(Pelion, Olympus, Ossa,) placed it were,  
Would like a Cedar 'mongst low shrubs appear.  
So far above the Clouds his head doth rise  
That his green Locks no Summer dripping spies  
With Rain, his face no Winter does behold  
Masked with a snowy Muffler 'gainst the cold.  
The proud Usurper seems as if he meart,  
●corning his low and baser Element,  
To make the Airy Region his own,  
And plant for Juno an imperial Throne.  
Or like some new Briareus he stands  
Armed with more large-spread Oaks than he with hands,  
And menaces the Stars; his Sides and Back,  
Woods which ne'er shade, fields which ne'er verdure lack,  
With a green Mantle cloth, whose fringed Base  
A hundred Brooks with Streams of Silver Lace.  
At foot of this tall Rock, a Cave disclosed  
Itself; a Cave, shady and dark; supposed  
The sole design of Nature, as th' Effect,  
Where She both Workman played, and Architect.  
Over whose gaping Mouth, her hand had hewn  
Out of the living Rock a Lip of Stone  
Cut like a bending Arch; whence for more grace  
(As 'twere the native Porter of the Place)  
Green Ivy wreathed in many a subtle knot  
Hung dangling: Fore the entry of the Grot  
With streams of liquid Pearl, (the humid Son  
Of some large Torrent) a small Brook does run,  
Which on the pebbles as it purling plays,  
Does so harmonious a murmur raise,  
Tuned to so just a Pitch, as dares defy  
The Birds sweet notes, and with the Lute may vie.  
I'th' midst of this vast Cave, (which seems to prop  
With its arched back th' whole Mountain) toward the top  
Opens a spacious Vent; through which, its flight,  
The damp Air takes, Entrance, the sun's warm light.  
The rude Walls Ivy, creeping round about,  
With a green Suit of tapestry hangs throughout.  
The Goddess which in Heavens third Orb does shine  
Did to these shades her amorous thefts confine.  
Here her delights secured; whose Passions prove  
Her more the Servant, than the Queen of Love,  
Here Mars to war oft taught she in love's field  
With other weapons than with Spear and Shield;  
Whilst 'bout his Sinewy Neck her Arms she wound,  
And his rough Limbs in those soft Fetters bound.  
Here once three naked Goddesses ('tis said)  
With censuring Eyes the Phrygian Swain surveyed;  
Whose judgement in that memorable strife  
Gained him the beauteous Helen for his Wife,  
And gave to lovely Ven●s uncontrolled  
The Prize of Beauty, and the fruit of Gold.  
And here at last the winged Son of Jove  
And M●ija, sported with the Queen of Love;  
Who, in these shades (if Fame have Truth revealed)  
And her soft bosom, long time lay concealed.  
Mean while great Jove, wondering at his neglect,  
(Who of some Message did return expect)  
Thus with himself discoursed 'bout his long stay:  
Sure he lies lurking for some hoped-for Prey,  
Or his light Wings, (doubtless h''d else returned:)  
He in the Sea hath wet, or fire hath burned.  
True Jove; he lurking lay, but in the shade  
Of Venus' Arms; whilst on her Lips he prayed.  
His Pinions he had singed; but with love's sorch,  
Which not so much his Plumes as heart did scorch;  
Drenched too he had, and wet his lighter Wing,  
Not in the sea's salt Waves, but Loves sweet spring.  
And now seven times the Sun with quickening Ray  
Had lighted in the East the Lamp of day;  
As oft the humid Night had wrapped the Skies  
In her black Mantle, wrought with Stars like Eyes:  
And yet no Day goes by, no Night e'er passes,  
But sees these Lovers linked in close Embraces.  
But from those Arms (where long a prisoner held)  
The loyt'ring God now to return compelled,  
Unwillingly their dear Embrace declined:  
Yet left a growing Pledge of Love behind.  
Nine times already had the Moon (Constrained  
By Course) her Orbinto a Crescent wain'd;  
As oft, (her horns spread to a round) had run  
With Light that seemed to emulate the Sun;  
When a sweet Boy (so genial Stars disposed)  
Fair Cytheraea's pregnant womb disclosed.  
In their warm Laps new born the Graces laid him,  
And with their softer Arms a Cradle made him.  
Beauty first suckled him at her white Breast  
And her idea in his Looks impressed.  
About him did like little antics play,  
Laughter, and mirth, and smiled his Cries a●ay.  
No noise, but light breathed from his Lips of Roses,  
●●ch as the Sky no Thunder heard discloses,  
Nor like to other children's, seemed his Eyes  
Two springs of Tears, but like two Suns to rise:  
Whence all presaged that they in time should prove  
No less the Food than the sweet fire of Love.  
His Beauty with his years did still increase;  
Whilst his fair Mother, longing to impress  
The Image of herself in his loved face,  
Did every day add some celestial Grace.  
Now grown a Youth, behold him, with the Darts  
Of his bright Eyes, subduing Female Hearts:  
The living Picture of his Parents; where  
Their mixed Beauties seem t'have equal share.  
From Father both and Mother Name he took,  
From Father both and Mother his sweet Look.  
All the feigned Beauties of the world, seemed met  
In him as in their living Counterfeit.  
Where Nature (like Apelles) the best Graces  
(To add to his,) culled from a Thousand Faces,  
Upon his Ivory Front you might behold  
His curled Tresses flow like waves of Gold,  
And as enamoured on his Lovely Face,  
That with their soft and twining Arms embrace.  
Then like loose wantoness 'bout his Neck to twist,  
Glad that they might by its warm snow be kissed.  
View his fair Front, and thou'lt say that displays  
A clear Horizon decked with Morning rays;  
And as we see beneath the dawning Gleams  
O'th' Morn, the Sun shoot forth his brighter Beams;  
So here might you perceive alike to rise  
In's Front the Morn, the Sun in his bright Eyes.  
His melting Lips, Speeches Vermilion Gate,  
Soft Seat of smiles, blushes so sweet dilate,  
As seem at once to ravish the pleased sight,  
And to a Kiss the longing touch invite;  
Through which a fragrant Zephyrus transpires,  
That Fans and kindles both love's flagrant Fires.  
Nor can one tell (no grace in either missing)  
Which best becomes them, speaking, smiling, kissing.  
Look on his tender Cheek, and the●e thou'lt spy  
The Rose as in a Throne of Majesty,  
'Midd'st a white Guard of lilies, proudly grow;  
Or blushing Pinks set in a Bank of Snow:  
His Habit, and his Looks did both express  
A kind of sweet becoming carelessness.  
Whom all so much more beautiful esteem  
By how much he less beautiful would seem.  
Whilst thus he manifests in every Part,  
What Art there is in Beauty void of Art.  
One Day by Chance twixt him and Cupid grew  
This emulous Contest; which of them Two  
(Since he in Beauty so surpassed the other)  
The God of Love should be! he, or his Brother?  
When Venus' Arbitress of the Debate  
On a Sublime Tribunal throned in State,  
(Fixing upon the Lovely youth her Eyes)  
Thus spoke: My Deer, this Doom twixt you denies  
All further strife; a Bow Cupid and thou  
Shalt bear; he at his side, thou in thy Brow.  
The same your Weapons; Love's inflaming Brand  
Thou in thy Looks shalt bear, he in his hand:  
Both too shall shoot at and wound human Hearts,  
Thou with thine Eyes (sweet Boy) he with his Darts.  
This lovely Youth, with divine graces crowned,  
As yet three Lustres scarce had seen go round,  
When in his Mind a Resolution grew  
Of bidding Phrygia, and the Cave adieu.  
Desire of knowledge, and the Love of Fame,  
For travel his aspiring thoughts inflame.  
How oft he wished his father's Wings? that so  
He might each climb the Sun enlightens know:  
And view what e'er the earth's vast bosom holds,  
Or in its watery Arms the Sea infolds.  
The Lycia● Realms he viewed; and there surveyd  
The Hill, within whose dark, and dreadful shade  
The triple-shaped Chim●ra once did dwell  
That animated Aetna, living Hell,  
Which from three sooty Jaws, used to expire  
A sulphury Deluge, and belch Floods of fire.  
To Caria next his Course he bends; where he  
Through that well-peopled Land doth wondering see  
The numerous Villages like shrubs to rise,  
The city's tower like Cedars to the Skies;  
Whose fertile Borders with its winding waves  
Toward the cold North the famed Meander laves;  
Which (like a Traveller on some strange Coast,  
Having his first Path, his Directress, lost,  
with devious steps, now in, now out doth wind,  
Flies what he seeks, and meets what he declined,  
Lost in the error of ambiguous ways)  
Its self imprisons in a watery Maze.  
At length he to that fatal Place arrived  
Where envious Love his sad Revenge contrived.  
So pleasant and delightful was the Place,  
That Heavens great Eye in its diurnal Race  
Yet ne'er beheld another like unto't,  
Of all twixt Ganges head, and Calpe's foot.  
There to a round which a fair Prospect lends,  
Its flowery surface a large Plain extends;  
A hundred little Brooks its bosom trace,  
And with their streams of Quicksilver enchase;  
Which with sweet vernal Dews supplied, still yield  
Life to the Flowers, and Verdure to the Field;  
That may, with odorous Jewels thus arrayed,  
A heaven of flowers, or ●ield of stars be said.  
And what more Pleasure adds; this pleasant Ground,  
Tall Trees, as with a leafy wall surround,  
And 'bout it seem like a green work to run  
As if to sconce it 'gainst the scorching Sun.  
And as sometimes the Airs soft breath we find,  
Crisps the smooth Sea; so here a gentle wind,  
(Whose softer wing the Flowers does lightly brush)  
Curls into trembling waves the fields green Plush.  
I'th' midst of this fair Plain, the tumid Earth,  
(As if impregnate with a fruitful Birth)  
Swells gently up into an easy Hill:  
Where crowned with sweets the spring sits smiling still.  
And, as from thence she sheds her balmy showers,  
The ground with grass enamels, that with flowe●s.  
Whose pregnant womb a crystal issue teems;  
Which as it glides along with purling streams,  
(That settle in a verdant Vale;) does make  
Of a small rivulet, an ample Lake;  
In which no Weeds their muddy dwelling have  
To stain the native cleverness of the Wave▪  
But as the Sun pure crystal by its light  
Transpierces; so the penetrating sight  
May through the Water here, the bottom spy,  
Chequered with pebbles of a various dye:  
And see how the Mute People of the flood,  
With Ebon Backs, and Silver Bellies scud.  
The Flowers which on its fertile Borders grow,  
As if in Love with their own Beauties show:  
Bending their fragrant Tops, and slender Stems  
Narcissus-like, to gaze on the clear Streams.  
Where limbed in Water Colours to the Life  
They see themselves; and raise a pleasing strife  
In the deluded Sense at the first View  
To judge which Flowers are Counterfeit, which true.  
On the left hand of this transparent flood,  
Fringing the plains green Verge, there stands a Wood  
Where Lovers Myrtles, and the poet's Bays,  
Their spreading Tops to Native arbours raise:  
From whose tall Crowns like a black veil the shade  
Falling, the Lakes clear bosom does invade.  
So thick the Trees are they exclude heaven's sight,  
And make a leafy Skreen 'gainst the sun's Light.  
Whose close-weaved Branches a new Heaven present  
And to the Sight form a green Firmament:  
In which like fixed Stars one might espy  
Gold-coloured Apples glitter to the Eye.  
Which though no Motion Circular they run,  
Want not yet that of Trepidation.  
No vulgar birds there make their mean Abodes,  
But winged Heroes, music's demi Gods,  
Whose Plumes like Gems, with various Colours shine,  
Their Beaks of Orient Hew, their Notes Divine:  
Whilst this sweet Place seems a retired Cell,  
Where Love and Flora with the Muses dwell.  
Within these dark, yet pleasant Coverts bred,  
Close by the Lake, a Nymph inhabited:  
A Nymph; her Breast more snowy, Looks more fair,  
Her Eyes more Diamonds, and more Gold her Hair,  
Than ever Nymp● could boast that hath been seen  
To haunt the woods, or press the flowery Green.  
The chase she loved not, nor with Hound or Spear  
Would charge the Tusked Bore, or savage Bear.  
Nor at a Mark or Quarry Bow would bend:  
Nor in a Race with other Nymphs contend.  
To her the Naiads would often say,  
Fair Salmacis, fair Cynthia's Laws obey:  
Her sports pursue; and in thy hand a Spear,  
Or at thy side a painted Quiver bea●.  
But she who other Pleasures had in chase,  
As the proud Mistress of so proud a Place,  
Disdains to set a Foot beyond the Bounds  
Of those loved shades, or tread on meaner grounds.  
There with its liquid streams the neighbouring Lake  
A lukewarm Bath for her fair Limbs did make.  
The Neighbouring Lake; which oft itself discovers,  
Swelled by the Tears of her forsaken Lovers.  
In whose unflattering mirror, every Morn,  
She counsel takes how best herself t'adorn.  
There she sometimes her looser curls unwinds,  
Now up again in Golden Fillets binds,  
Which makes (which way soever them she wears)  
For amorous hearts a thousand catching Snares.  
A Robe, like that of Day, now wears she, white,  
Now one of Azure, starred like that of Night.  
Now curious Sandals on her feet doth slip,  
In Gems, and Gold less rich, than Workmanship.  
Now in a careless Dress she goes; her Hair  
Spread 'bout her shoulders, and her Ankles bare.  
And gathering Flowers, not all alike doth pick,  
But such alone doth in her bosom stick,  
Whose leaves, or Milk, or Scarlet, does invest,  
To suit in Colour with her Lip and breast.  
And if a Flower she pull, straight from its Root  
Another rises up to kiss her Foot;  
Thus whether more she take or give none knows,  
Whilst her Hand gathers what her Foot bestows.  
By chance she then was gathering Flowers, when she  
The Son of Venus spied, and Mercury:  
On whose bright Looks her wanton Eyes she bent,  
With which her longing Thoughts moved with Consent,  
Whilst both her Sight, and Thoughts by seeing bred,  
With pleasure on so sweet an Object fed.  
But she sucks in love's poison with desire,  
Which through her Eyes glides like a stream of fire  
Into her breast; where, with Aetnaean waves  
Firing her Heart, the scalding Torrent raves.  
And now she forward goes like a bold Lover,  
Her flames to him that caused them, to discover.  
But coming near, she saw in's eyes there played  
A wantonness with Modesty allayed:  
Which though the gazer's Heart it set on Fire,  
Quenched yet the heat of a too bold Desire:  
Whence though Love spurred her on, fear held her back,  
And though her heart did fly, her pace did slack.  
Yet she observed to lighten in his Look  
I know not what majestic Grace, which struck  
Her Eye not with more terror than Delight,  
And less did dazzle than it did invite.  
Whence fired with hope, yet freezing with despair,  
She nearer fearfully approached; and there  
Sent him by the light waftage of the wind,  
A sigh, an Ah me, Nuncios of her Mind.  
And now her Passion gaining vent, affords  
Her Tongue the liberty and use of words.  
But lame, and broken; yet that serve t'imply,  
'Twas this she meant, Be kind, or else I die.  
" Sweet Stranger! if a Soul lodge in thy breast  
" Fair as thy outside, hear a Nymphs Request:  
" That begs thou'lt take thy Inn up in this shade.  
" (And Gods their dwellings in the woods have made.)  
" Hear on this Bank mayst thou repose thy Head,  
" Or on my bosom make thy softer Bed:  
" The Air here still is sweet, still cool; if by  
" My sighs inflamed it be not, or thy Eye.  
" That Eye which quick as lightning Flames does dart;  
" And sooner than I saw it, scorched my Heart.  
" O more than happy wert thou, Salmacis!  
" If he (but dream not of so great a Bliss)  
" Should prove so kind to lay thee by his side,  
" Not as his Mistress only, but his Bride.  
" But if that Joy another do possess,  
" O let me, as her rival nevertheless  
" (Since here is none that may the Theft reveal)  
" From thy sweet Lips a kiss in private steal.  
" But should some Goddess nourish in thy breast  
" A nobler fire; deny not a request  
" To one that dies; if more I cannot move,  
" A kiss for pity grant, if not for Love.  
" Or if too much that seem; pray let me have  
" What Sisters yet may from their Brothers crave.  
Here ceased to speak; and with that forward pressed  
To have joined Lip to Lip, and breast to breast.  
But the shy youth coily repulsed her still,  
As cold in Love, as deaf unto her will,  
Dying with Blushes of a deeper stain,  
The native Crimson of his Cheeks, in Grain.  
(For a bold suitor, of a cold denier  
When he the heart cannot, the face will fire)  
At last with a coy look, thus moved, he spoke.  
" Fair Nymph be gone, or I the place forsake.  
" You but deceive yourself to think my Mind  
" Will to such wanton Follies be inclined,  
At which (with his desires glad to comply,  
Yet loath to lose the pleasure of her Eye)  
She sadly creeps behind a bushy screen,  
There closely skulks to see, and not be seen.  
And now the Planet worshipped in the East,  
Rid on the Back of the Nemaean Beast;  
And from the inflamed Meridian that bends  
Like to a Bow, his Beams like Arrows sends.  
When this fair Traveller, with heat oppressed,  
And the days toils, here laid him down to rest  
Where the soft Grass, and the thick Trees, displayed  
A flowery Couch, and a cool Arbour made.  
About him round the grassy spires (in hope  
To gain a kiss) their verdant heads perked up.  
The lily, the fields Candidate, there stands  
A suitor for the favour of his hands:  
And here the blush-bodied Amaranthus seeks,  
And finds itself outrivald in his Cheeks:  
Whilst the enamoured Trees t'embrace him, bend  
Their shady Crowns, and leafy Arms extend.  
Mean time from his fair Front he rains a shower  
Of shining Pearl-drops, whilst his bright Eyes pour  
On the Nymphs Heart (that melts through hot desire  
T' enjoy what she beholds) a Flood of fire.  
This Place at length he leaves, roused by the Call  
Of the near waters sweetly murmuring fall.  
Where, on the Bank his Sandals off he slips,  
And in the crystal streams his Ankles dips.  
Whilst the clear Lake, as his pure feet he laves,  
Feels Love's warm Fires mix with its colder waves.  
And now, not his fair feet content alone  
To kiss, desires, (an amorous wanton grown)  
(That she might nearer to her wish aspire)  
Her Bottom deeper, or her waters higher.  
Which (to their power) to rise when moved seem,  
As if they longed to bathe each curious Limb.  
The Youth with pleasure on the flood doth gaze,  
And in that watery glass his Face surveys,  
Admiring, with a Look steadfastly set,  
His real Beauty in his Counterfeit.  
And sure he with himself in Love had fell,  
Had he not heard of fond Narcissus tell,  
Who from cold streams attracting fatal fire,  
Did, to enjoy what he possessed, expire.  
Then stooping, he with hands together closed,  
Hollowing their joined palms, a cup composed  
Of living alabaster; which when filled  
With the sweet liquour the clear Spring distilled,  
He gently lifts it to his head, than sips,  
Both bath and Beverage to his Looks and Lips.  
Mean time with ravished thoughts the Nymph doth view  
The sportive Lad, and whilst he drinks, drinks too,  
But in a different Manner: from the Lake  
He his, her draught, she from his Eyes doth take.  
His slacks his Thirst, hers more inflames desire,  
He sucks in water, but she drinks in Fire.  
And now, invited by the heat, and took  
With the alluring Temper of the Brook,  
Himself disroabing, the rich spoil he throws  
Away, and his pure Limbs all naked shows.  
And like a new Sun with a darkening Cloud  
Invested, casting off the envious shroud,  
He round about his beauteous Light displays,  
And makes the Earth a Heaven with his bright rays.  
The Nymph at this freezes at once and burns,  
And fire with Love and Ice with wonder turns.  
At length cries out; Ah me! what see I here?  
What Deity leaving his heavenly Sphere  
Is come to sport him in these shades? sure by  
His wounding Look, and his inflaming Eye  
It should be Love; but no light Wings appear  
On his fair shoulders; strange he none should wear!  
No; those he lent my heart; which from my breast  
Its flight hath took, and now in his doth rest.  
Ah me thou living Aetna! clothed in snow,  
Yet breathing flames, how lovely dost thou show?  
Cruel, yet cunning Archer! that my Heart  
Thou sure might'st hit, t' allure me with the Dart.  
But now from the green Bank on which he stood,  
Fetching his Rise, he leaps into the flood.  
Whose fall, (as him the breaking Waters take)  
With a white foam all silvers o'er the Lake.  
Where, as he swims, and his fair Arms now bends,  
Now their contracted Nerves again extends,  
He the Nymphs Heart (that peeps behind an oak)  
Wounds from that Ivory Bow at every stroke.  
Into another Form he than converts  
The Motion of his Arms, and like to Darts,  
Now this, now that, through the clear Waves does shoot,  
His Hand in Motion answered by his Foot.  
For as he this Contracts, he that extends,  
And when this forward, that he backward sends.  
Whilst through the streams his purer Limbs, like snow  
Or lilies through transparent crystal show.  
His flowing Hair, floating like that rich Fleece  
Which the first Ship from Colchos brought to Greece.  
The Nymph at this stands as of sense quite void,  
Or as no sense but Seeing she enjoyed.  
At last from her full breast (of its close fire  
The sparks) these broken Accents did expire.  
" O why (as Arethusa, or the Joy  
" Of Galatea) cannot I (sweet Boy)  
" Melt to a flood for thee? then (my fair Sun!)  
" Thou might'st (to bathe thee) to my bosom run.  
More would sh' have said: but her full Passion stopped  
Her Door of Speech, and her Eyes Floodgates oped.  
Struck with Despair so dead, she scarce appears  
To breath, or live, but by her sighs and tears;  
Yet though her silent Tongue no Words impart,  
Her speaking Thoughts discoursed thus with her heart.  
" Fond Salmacis! why slag thy hopes? thy Mind  
" What fears deject? on; nor be e'er declined;  
" But boldly thy fair Enemy assail.  
" See! thy desired Prey's within the Pale:  
" And Love (perhaps in pity of thy Pain,)  
" Offers what was denied thee by disdain.  
" Be resolute; and him whose conquering Eyes  
" Made thee his Captive late, now make thy Prize.  
" Fear not; for pardon justly hope he may  
" Who plunders him that does deny to pay.  
Thus she, rekindling her half-quenched desires,  
Her Cheeks with Blushes, heart with boldness fires.  
Then forward moves a little; and anon  
Full speed, unto the Lake does madly run.  
But in the midst of her career, repents,  
And stops; suspended twixt two cross Intents  
Like to a wavering balance; on, afraid,  
Back, loath to go, and yet to either swayed.  
Now she advances; then again retreats:  
Her fears now conquers, than her hopes defeats.  
Struck with love's powerful Thyrsus, at the last  
(True Manad-like) her lighter Robes off cast,  
She hurries to the Lake, then in she skips;  
And in her wanton Arms th' unwilling clips.  
He, who Loves Fires ne'er felt in his cold breast,  
With fear at such a strange surprise possessed,  
For help began to cry; when she at this,  
Ah, peace, says; and his Mouth stopped with a kiss.  
Yet strugg'ling he her Wishes did deny,  
And from her shunned Embraces strove to fly.  
But whilst he labours to get loose, t'his breast  
She faster cleaves; and his Lips harder pressed.  
So when Jove's Bird a Snake hath trussed, his Wings  
The more that plies, the more that 'bout 'em clings,  
And leaves it doubtful to the gazer's view,  
To tell which more is prisoner of the two.  
Fearful to lose yet her new-gotten prize,  
The Nymph to heaven (sighing) erects her Eyes.  
" And shall my Love (Says she) triumph in vain,  
" Nor other Trophy than a bare kiss gain?  
" O Jove! if what Fame sings of thee be true,  
" If e'er thou didst a Bulls fierce shape endue,  
" And on thy Back from the Phoenician shore,  
" Through Seas thy Amorous Theft in Triumph bore,  
" Assist my Vows; and grant that I may prove  
" As happy in this Conquest of my Love:  
" No force let our Embraces e'er disjoin;  
" Breast unto breast unite; our souls entwine;  
" tie heart to heart; and let the knitting charms  
" Sweet kisses be; the Fetters, our soft Arms.  
" Or if thou hast decreed that we must part  
" Let that Divorce divide life from my Heart.  
Jove heard her Prayers; and suddenly as strange,  
Made of them both a mutual Interchange;  
And by an undiscerned conjunction,  
Two late divided Bodies, knit in One:  
Her Body straight a Manly vigour felt,  
And his did to a Female softness melt.  
Yet thus united, they with difference  
Retained their proper Reason, Speech, and sense.  
He liv●d and she appart; yet each in either;  
Both one might well be said, yet that One, neither.  
This Story by a river's side (as they  
Sat and discoursed the tedious hours away)  
Amyntas to the coy Jole told:  
Then adds; O thou more fair, in Love more cold  
Than he, Heaven yet may make thee mine in spite,  
That can such Differents, Ice and fire, unite.  
This with a Sigh the shepherd spoke; whilst she  
With a coy smile mocked his simplicity.  
But now the setting Sun posting away,  
Put both an End to their Discourse and Day.  
FINIS.   

The Metamorphosis of LYRIAN and SYLVIA,  by St Amant. Out of French. 
UNder that pleasant Clime, where Nature placed  
Those Islands, with the name of Happy graced,  
There lived a young, and gentle shepherd late,  
And had he never loved, too fortunate;  
His Name was Lyrian, she whose looks enthraled  
His amorous heart, was the fair Sylvia called.  
The Natives there, 'mongst whom still lives his Name,  
(Nor shall the Waste of time impair its Fame)  
Report, he bare for sweetness of his Song,  
The Prize from all Apollo's learned Throng.  
Yet nor his Voice, nor Worth that did exceed,  
And even in Envy Admiration breed,  
Could e'● move her that o'er his heart did reign,  
To pleasing Joys to turn his amorous pain.  
The cheerful fields, and Solitary Groves,  
(Once loyal Secretaries to his Loves)  
Are still the Witnesses, and still shall be,  
Of his chaste thoughts, and firm fidelity.  
For they alone were conscious of his Grief,  
They only gave his wounded Soul Relief,  
When with the Weight of his sad Woes oppressed,  
They pitying, heard him ease in Plaints, his breast.  
Ye Gods! how oft resolved he, yet declined,  
(Although he felt his heart with flames calcined)  
Before those Eyes h' adored so, to display  
His griefs! Such Modesty his Soul did sway.  
And though h' had learned, and knew to suffer much,  
Yet were his Manners and Discretion such,  
Silence should first in death have quenched his flame,  
E'er he'd have rudely voiced it unto ●ame.  
Nor had it yet to any (had not Stone  
And stocks discovered it) been ever known.  
Which, (for on them he used his Plaints t' incise)  
By chance presented it to Sylvia's Eyes.  
This seen, in her does Scorn and Anger move;  
O heavens! is't possible that such a Love  
She should despise; and him who had professed  
Himself her Captive, as her Foe detest?  
Or that Love's magic Characters his hand  
Had graved, should in her Eye for ciphers stand?  
Or she should read them yet with so much spite,  
Ne'er more to see them, less to ●aze them quite?  
Ah 'tis too true! nor's that sufficient,  
Unless her Tongue to her hard heart consent,  
And 'gainst her faithful Love, with cruel Breath  
Pronounce the rigid sentence of his Death.  
What said he not his Passion to excuse?  
What flourishes used not his willing Muse,  
To prove, his Love (of which the noble ground  
Was her Perfections) could no Crime be found!  
If neither reason's self, nor Justice, ought  
(Those for which Heaven is loved) as Crimes be thought  
That the world's sovereign Planet which the Earth  
And Mortals Fates does govern from their Birth,  
By firm Decrees enrolled in the Skies  
Had destined him a Servant to her Eyes.  
And could his Will be lead another way,  
Yet being forced he could not disobey.  
So that his Soul in this her captived state  
Did only yield to her impulsive Fate;  
Not that (said he) he murmured at his Chains,  
But pleased, sat down and blessed his rigorous Pains;  
Not but his yoke so willingly he bare  
That Liberty a greater Bondage were;  
Not but in spite of his malicious fate,  
(In crossing all his Joys so obstinate)  
He should unforced, even to the Grave affect  
That Beauty which his Love did so neglect.  
Yet these his Reasons, so well urged, so fair,  
With her that will hear none, no Reasons are.  
They more incense her: yet for fear she might  
Be softened, she betook herself to flight.  
Such were the winning Graces of his Tongue,  
Proving his Love did not her Beauty wrong.  
How oft since that, by all fair means he tried  
(Whilst he the Gods with Sacrifices plied)  
To bring the humorous Nymph unto his Bent,  
And make her too obdurate Heart relent!  
His Passions, Sighs, and Tears were ready still,  
As the officious Agents of his Will,  
To work her to a sense of his hard State;  
But 'lass! his hopes grew still more desperate,  
Nay even his voice, of so divine a strain,  
So moving! moved in her nought but disdain.  
Six years he lived perplexed in this distress,  
Without the least appearance of success;  
When he by chance (as she a Stag pursued)  
Encountered her: who e'er the Queen hath viewed  
Of Wood-Nymphs, (Cynthia) a hunting go  
After the Bore, armed with her shafts and Bow,  
May then imagine the diviner Grace,  
The Looks, the Habit, Stature, and the Pace  
Of beauteous Sylvia, as she tripping came  
Into the woods, pursuing of her Game.  
Soon as poor Lyrian, half dead with Love,  
Had spied her in that solitary Grove  
For whom his wounded heart so long had bled,  
He with these words pursues her as she fled.  
Art thou resolved then (Sylvia) 'gainst my Cries  
Thine Ears to close, and 'gainst my Verse thine Eyes?  
That Verse which Fame unto thy Life does give;  
And must I d●●, 'cause I have made thee live  
Eternally? Seven years expired be  
Since I've been tortured by thy Cruelty;  
And dost thou think that little strength supplies  
My heart, for everlasting Torments will suffice?  
Shall I for ever only see thee stray  
'Mongst these wild woods, more senseless yet than they?  
Alas! how weak I'm grown with Grief! I feel  
My feeble Legs beneath their Burden reel;  
O stay! I faint, nor longer can pursue,  
Stay, and since Sense thou lackest, want Motion too.  
Stay, if for nothing else, to see me die.  
At least vouchsafe stern Nymph to tell me why  
Thou cam'st into this Dark and Gloomy Place?  
Where Heaven with all its Eyes can never trace  
Or find thee out. Was't thy Intent, the Light  
Of thy fair Stars thus to obscure in Night?  
Or seek'st thou these cool shades, the Ice and Snow  
That's 'bout thy Heart to keep unmelted so?  
In vain Coy Nymph thou Light and Heat dost shun,  
Who e'er knew cold or shade attend the Sun?  
Ah cruel Nymph! the Rage dost thou not fear  
Of those wild Beasts that in these woods appear?  
No, no, thou art secure▪ and mayst outvie  
Both them and all the world for Cruelty.  
Oh thou that gloriest in a heart of stone!  
wilt thou not stay? yet seest (as if my Moan  
They pitied) each rough Bramble 'bout thy foot  
Does cling, and seems t' arrest thee at my suit?  
Ye Gods! what wonders do you here disclose?  
The Bramble hath more sweetness than the Rose.  
But whether fly these idle words? in vain  
Poor, miserable wretch, thou dost complain,  
After so many Ills, (of which I bear  
The sadder Marks yet in my heart;) Now hear  
Ye Gods at last! and by a welcome Death  
A period put unto my wretche● Breath.  
Ah me! I saint; my spirits quite decay;  
And yet I cannot move her heart to stay.  
Ye hellish Deeps! black Gulp●s where Horror lies,  
Open, and place yourselves before her Eyes.  
Had I Hippomenes bright Fruit, which stayed  
The swifter speed of the Schenaeian Maid,  
They would not profit me; the world's round Ball  
Could not my cruel Fugitive Recall.  
She is all Rock, and I who am all fire,  
Pursue her Night and Day with vain desire.  
O Nature! is it not a prodigy  
To find a Rock than fire more light to be?  
But I mistake: for if a Rock she were  
she'd answer me again as these do here.  
Thus tired with running, and overcome with woe,  
To see his Mistress should outstrip him so,  
Poor Lyrian yields himself as sorrows Prize,  
His Constancy and amorous fervour dies,  
bloody despair entering his captived Soul,  
Does like a Tyrant all his Powers control.  
Then in the height of woe to his Relief  
He calls the Gods, yet in the midst of Grief  
All fair Respect does still to Sylvia give,  
To show that even in Death his Love should live.  
He who for Daphne like Regret did prove,  
And the horned God (who breathless, thought his Love  
The fair-haired Syrinx in his Arms he clasped,  
And slender Reeds for her loved Body grasped)  
So far, (Remembering their like amorous Fate)  
His unjust sufferings commiserate,  
That both straight swore in Passion, and disdain,  
To punish the proud Author of his Pain:  
Their powerful Threats alike effect pursues;  
See I that proud Beanty a Trees shape endues.  
Each of her Hairs does sprout into a Bough,  
And she that was a Nymph, an Elm is now.  
whilst thus transformed, her feet (to Roots spread) stuck  
Fast in the ground, she was at last o'rtook  
By panting Lyrian; happy yet, to see  
Her he so prized within his Power to be;  
Ye Gods then says he! who by this sad Test  
Have 'fore mine Eyes Natures great Power expressed,  
Grant that to this fair Trunk which Love ne'er knew  
My heart may yet a Love eternal show.  
This having said, unto the yet warm bowl  
He clings, (whilst a new Form invests his Soul)  
Winding in thousand twines about it, whence  
he's called of Love the perfect symbol since.  
In brief, this faithful Lover now is found  
An Ivy Stock; which creeping from the ground  
About the loved stem, still climbing is,  
As if he sought her Mouth to steal a Kis●:  
Each leafe's a heart; whose colour does imply  
His wish obtained, Loves Perpetuity;  
Which still his strict Embraces evidence.  
For all of him is lost but only sense,  
And that you ●d swear remains; and say (to see  
The Elm in his Embraces hugged) that he  
Willing to keep what he had gained at last,  
For fear she should escape, holds her so fast.  
FINIS.   

Forsaken LYDIA.  Out of the Italian of Cavalier Marino. 

IN Thunder now the hollow Cannon roared,  
To call the far-famed warriors aboard,  
Who that great feud (enkindled twixt the French  
And German) with their blood attempt to quench.  
Now in the open Sea they proudly ride,  
And the soft crystal with rude oars divide;  
Perfidious Armillus at once tore  
His Heart from Lydia, Anchor from the shore.   

●T was Night, and Aged Proteus had driven home  
His numerous Heard, fleeced with the Seas white foam;  
The Winds were laid to rest, the fishes slept,  
The wearied world a general silence kept,  
No noise, save from the Surges hollow caves,  
Or liquid silver of the justling waves,  
Whilst the bright lanterns shot such trembling light,  
As dazzled all the twinkling eyes of Night.   

The fair Inamorata (who from far  
Had spied the Ship which her heart's treasure bare,  
Put off from Land; and now quite disembayed,  
Her Cables coiled, and her Anchors weighed,  
Whilst gentle gales her swelling sails did court  
To turn in scorn her Poop upon the Port)  
With frantic speed from the detested Town  
To the deserted shore comes hurrying down.   

As the Idaean shepherd stood amazed,  
Whilst on the sacred Ravisher he gazed,  
Who snatched the beauteous Trojan youth away,  
And wafted through the yielding Clouds his prey;  
Or as that Artist whose bold hand durst shape  
Wings to his shoulders (desperately to scape  
A loathed servitude) through untraced skies  
Creets King pursued with fierce, yet wondering Eyes:   

The flying Navy Lyd●a so beheld,  
Her Eyes with tears, her Heart with Passion swelled;  
In sighs to these she gave continual vent,  
And those in brinish streams profusely spent:  
But tears and sighs alas bestows in vain,  
Borne by the sportive Wind to the deaf Main;  
The Main, who grief inexorably mocks,  
As she herself is scorned by steady Rocks▪   

O what a black Eclipse did straight disguise  
In Clouds the Sunshine of her lovely Eyes!  
She tore her Cheeks, Hair, Garments, and impressed  
Marks of his falsehood on her guiltless breast.  
She calls on her disloyal lover's Name,  
And sends such sad loud Accents to reclaim  
The Fugitive, as if at every cry  
Her weary soul forth with her voice would fly.   

Whither, ah cruel! There, full grief repressed  
Her Tongue, and taught her Eyes to weep the rest;  
Whither, ah cruel, from the hollow side  
Of the next Rock the vocal Nymph replied.  
In Tears and Sighs the Water and the air  
Contend which in her sorrows most shall share;  
And the sad Sea hoarse with incessant groans  
Wakens her faint grief, and supplies her moans.   

Oh stop kind Zephyre bu● one minutes space,  
(She cries) the swelling sails impetuous race,  
That my expiring groans may reach the ear  
Of him who flies from her he will not hear.  
Perhaps, though whilst alive I cannot please,  
My dying cries his Anger may appease,  
And my last Fall, trophy of his Disdain,  
May yield delight, and his lost Love regain▪   

Receive my heart in this extreme farewell,  
Thou in whom Cruelty and Beauty dwell,  
With Thee it fled; but what alas for me  
Is it to lose my Heart who have lost Thee?  
Thou art my better self; Thou of my heart,  
The soul, more than the soul that moves it, art:  
And if thou sentence me to suffer death  
(My Life) to Thee let me resign my breath.   

Alas I do not ask to live content,  
That were a blessing me Fate never meant;  
All that my wishes a●me at, is, that I  
(And that's but a poor wish) Content may die;  
And if my heart, by Thee already slain,  
Some relics yet of a loathed life retain,  
Oh let them by thy pity find release,  
And in thy arms breathe forth their last in Peace.   

No greater happiness than Death I crave,  
So in thy dearest sight I death may have;  
And if thy hand, armed with relentless Pride,  
Shall the small thread of my poor Life divide,  
What Pleasure than that Sorrow would be higher?  
When I in paradise at least expire;  
And so at once the different arrows prove,  
Of Death from thy hand, from thy Eyes of Love.   

Ah! if so pleased thou art with Wars alarms;  
If that be it that calls thee from my arms;  
If thou aspi●'st by some adventurous toils  
To raise proud trophies decked with glorious spoils,  
Why fondly dost thou seek for these elsewhere?  
Why leav'●t thou me a prisoner to despair?  
Turn; nor thy willing Captive thus forsake,  
And thou shalt all my Victories partake.   

Though I to thy dear Eyes a Captive be,  
Thousands of Lovers are no less to me.  
Unhappy! who contend and sue for sight  
Of that which thou unkindly thus dost slight;  
Is't not a high attempt that can comprise  
Within one Act so many Victories;  
To triumph over Triumphs, and subdue  
At once the Victor and the vanquished too?   

But if to stay with me thou dost refuse,  
And the rude Company of soldiers choose,  
Yet give me leave to go along with Thee,  
And in the Army thy Attendant be.  
Love, though a child and blind, the Wars hath known▪  
Can handle arms, and buckle Armour on;  
And thou shalt see, my courage will disdain  
(Save of thy Death) all fear to entertain,   

I will securely 'midst the armed Troops run,  
Venus hath been Mars' his Companion;  
And though the heart in thy obdurate Breast  
Be with an Adamantine Corslet dressed,  
Yet I in stead (to guard thee from all harm)  
With my own hands will thy fair body arm,  
And the Reward Love did from me detain  
In peace, in War shall by this service gain.   

And if it fortune that thou undergo  
Some dangerous hurt by the prevailing Foe,  
I sadly by thy side will sit to keep  
Thee company, and as thou groanest will weep.  
My Sorrow with thy Anguish shall comply,  
I will thy blood, and thou my Tears shalt dry:  
Thus by an equal sympathy of pure  
Affections we each others wounds will cure.   

Perhaps when he this sweet effect of Love  
Shall see, the happy precedent may move  
The stubborn Enemy more mild to grow,  
And to so soft a yoke his stiff neck bow,  
Who by himself gladly betrayed to thine,  
Shall willingly his own Command resign.  
So by a way of Conquest strangely new,  
Thou shalt at once Love, arms, and souls subdue.   

Ah most unhappy! he to these sad cries  
Inexorable his deaf ear denies;  
And far more cruel than the rough Seas are,  
Laughs at my sighs, and slights my juster Prayer.  
See, whilst' thou spread''st thy sails to catch the Wind,  
What a sad Object thou hast left behind.  
Of War alas why dost thou go in quest?  
Thou leavest a fiercer War within my Breast.   

Thou fliest thy Country and more happy state▪  
To seek in some strange Land a stranger Fate▪  
And under foreign Climes and unknown Stars▪  
T' encounter hazards of destructive Wars;  
Eager to thrust thyself (lavish of breath)  
Upon Disasters, Dangers, blood and Death,  
Changing (ah too unwary, too unwise)  
Thy certain joys for an uncertain Prize.   

Can it be true thou more thyself shouldst please  
With busy troubles than delightful ease,  
And likest th' enraged Deeps rough toils above  
The calmer pleasures and sweet sports of Love?  
Canst thou from a soft bosom fly (ah lost  
To gentleness▪) to be on rude Waves tossed?  
And rather choose in Seas a restless Grave,  
Than in these Arms a quiet Port to have?   

With furrowing Keel thou plowest the foaming Main,  
And (O o●durate) hearst not me complain;  
Too swift thou fliest for love's slow wings t'oretake,  
Love, whom perfidiously thou didst forsake;  
And all the way thou swellest with Pride, to know  
The sufferings for thy sake I undergo,  
Whilst the mild East to flatter thy Desires  
With his soft Breath thy flagging Sail inspires.   

Go faithless Youth, faithless and foolish too,  
Thy Fate, or folly rather, still pursue;  
Go, and now thou art from my Fetters free,  
Never take care who sighs or dies for Thee.  
Oh! if the Heavens are just, if ever they  
With Eyes impartial human wrongs survey,  
Heaven, heaven my tears implore, to Heaven I cry,  
Avenge my sufferings, and his Treachery.   

Be Seas and skies thy foes! no gentle gale  
Blow on thy ●hrowds! destruction fill thy sail!  
No Star to thee (lost in despair and Night)  
When thou invok'st, disclose its friendly Light.  
To Scythian pirates, (such as shall despise  
Thy fruitless tears) mayst thou become a Prize,  
By whose inhuman usage mayst thou be  
Spoilt of the Liberty thou took'st from me.   

Then thou the difference shalt understand  
Betwixt the shafts shot from a Thracian hand,  
And Lovers eye; the odds betwixt a rude  
Insulting Foe, and Loves soft servitude:  
The Breast his golden Darts not pierced, shall feel  
The sharp Impression of more cruel steel,  
And thou enslaved, which are the stronger prove  
The fetters of Barbarians, or of Love.   

Ye Seas and Skies, which of my amorous care  
The kindly faithful Secretaries are,  
To you my crying Sorrows I address,  
To you the witnesses of my distress;  
Shores by the loss of my fair Sun forlorn,  
Winds who my sole delight away have born,  
Rocks the Spectators of my hapless Fate,  
And Night that hearst me mourn disconsolate.   

Nor without reason is't (alas) that I  
To Stars and Sands bewail my misery;  
For with my State they some proportion bear,  
And numberless as are my woes appear.  
Heaven in this choir of beauteous Lights doth seem  
To represent what I have loss in him;  
The Sea to whom his flight I chiefly owe,  
His heart in Rocks, my tears in Waves doth show.   

And since to these eternal Fires whose Light  
Makes sleeps dark Mansion so ●erenely bright  
I turn; what one amongst them shall I find  
To pity me above the rest inclined?  
She who in Naxos when forsook did meet  
A better Spouse than him she chose in Cr●et,  
Though all the rest severely are intent  
To work me harm, should be more mildly bent.   

Oh Thou who guid'st the Pompous train of Night,  
With the addition of thy glorious Light,  
Whose radiant hair a Crown adorns, whence streams  
The dazzling lustre of seven blazing Gems:  
If that Extremity thou not forget,  
If thy own sorrows thou remember yet,  
Stop at my sighs a while, and make the crew  
Of thy bright fellows stay and harken too.   

Thou know'st the like occasions of our Fate,  
Both circumvented by unkind Deceit;  
A cruel I, a Love ungrateful Thou  
Didst follow, both to equal sufferings bow,  
In this to thine a near resemblance bears.  
The Cause that dooms me to eternal Tears;  
I now am left as thou wert heretofore  
Alone upon the solitary Shore.   

But how the ever our misfortunes share  
The same Effects, their Causes different are;  
I my poor self no other have deceived;  
Thy Brother was through thee of Life bereaved.  
Sleep thy Betrayer was, but Love was mine,  
Thou by thy short Eclipse didst brighter shine,  
And in the skies a Crown of Stars obtain,  
But I on Earth (forsaken) still remain.   

Fool, to whose care dost thou thy grief impart?  
What dost thou talk, or know'st thou where thou art?  
She midst a dancing Bevy of fair Lights  
Trips it away, and thy misfortune slights:  
Yet happy may she go, and her clear beams,  
Whilst I lament, drench in the Brinish streams;  
Perhaps the Sea to my afflicted state,  
Will prove then her less incompassionate.   

But how on Seas for help should I rely,  
Where nothing we but Waves and Rocks can spy?  
Yet so small hopes of succour hath my grief,  
That of those Rocks and Waves I beg Relief.  
Down from these Rocks, of Life my troubled Breast,  
By a sad Precipice may be released,  
And my impu●er soul in these Waves may  
Quench her Loose Flames, and wash her stains away.   

Ah Lydia, Lydia, whither dost thou send  
Thy lost Complaint? Why words so fruitless spend  
To angry Waves? to Winds where horror roars?  
To Rocks that have no ears? to senseless shores?  
Thou giv'st thy grief this Liberty in vain,  
If Liberty from grief thou canst not gain;  
And fond presumption will thy hopes abuse,  
Unless thou grief and life together lose.   

Die then: so shall my Ghost (as with despair  
Laden it flies) raise in the troubled Air  
Tempests more loud than Thunder, Storms more black  
Than Hell or horror, in curled Waves to wrack  
His Ship and him: so (and 'tis just) shall I  
And my proud Foe, at least together die:  
On him who first these bitter Sorrows bred,  
Seas shall avenge the Seas of Tears I shed.   

This said, she made a stop; and with rash haste  
(By violent despair assisted) cast  
Herself down headlong in the raging Sea,  
Where she believed it deepest; Now to be  
Sadly by her enriched; whilst from her fair  
Vermilion lips, bright eyes, Phaebeian hair,  
Coral a purer tincture doth endue,  
Crystal new light, Pearls a more Orient hue.   

Such was the hapless fate of Lydia,  
Who in those Waves from which the King of Day  
Each morn ascends the blushing East, in those  
From which the Queen of Love and Beauty rose,  
A second Queen of Love and Beauty perished,  
Who in her Looks a thousand Graces cherished;  
And by a sad Fate (not unpitied yet)  
A second Sun eternally did set.   

Sweet Beauty, the sad wrack of ruthless Seas,  
And ill placed Love, whom cruel Destinies  
Have food for Monsters made, and sport for Waves,  
With whom so many Graces had their graves,  
If vain be not my hopes, If no dead fire  
These Lines devoted to thy Name inspire,  
Though buried in the sea's salt Waves thouly,  
Yet in oblivion's Waves thou shalt not die.   
FINIS.   


THE Rape of Helen, Out of the Greek OF COLUTHUS▪ By Edward SHERBURNE Esq;  
LONDON, Printed by W. Hunt, for Tho. Dring, at the Sign of the George, near Cliffords-Inn in Fleetstreet. 1651.   

Upon the Title.  
THe Rape, &c.] Not to be taken in the Common acception of the Word: (for Paris was more courtly than to offer, and Helen more kind-hearted than to suffer, such a violence;) but rather for a transporting of her (with her consent) from her own Country to Troy: which Virgil seems to insinuate in the first of his Aeneis, where he speaks to Achates to bring him from the Fleet, amongst other Presents for Dido, a rich Veil; once, 
Ornatus Argivae Helenae, quos illa Mycenis  
Pergamon eum peteret, inconcessosque Hymenaeos  
Extulerat, etc,  
Greek Helen's dress, which she from Sparta brought,  
When Troy, and lawless Marriages she sought.   
Where the Word peteret is to be applied as well to Hymenaeos as Pergamon, and implies that the quitting of her Country, and going along with Paris, was an Act she desired as well as consented to, as Donatus (in 6 Aeneid.) hath rightly observed▪ and thus much the ensuing Poem makes good.  
But the Occasion of this her Rape is diversely reported: Herodotus writes that Paris did it in a mere bravery of Knight Erranty, following the Examples of the Cretans, Phaenicia●s, and the argonautics, in the Rapes of Europa, Io, and Medea. Dictys Cr●tensis and others report that being sent Embassodor unto the Grecian Princes to negotiate for the Release of his Ant Hesione, or (according to Plutark in vita Homeri) {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. to learn Greek fashions; and being kindly entertained at Sparta in the Court of Menelaus, he in his absence solicited his Queen, and having won her Consent, carried both her and her two Kinswomen Clymene and Aethr● away with him to Troy.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
But she in neat-built Ships (as falsely Fame  
Gives out) n●'r sailed, nor e'er at Ilium came.  
Says Stesichorus in his Recantation, after he had been struck blind for slandering Helen, (with a Matter of Truth) as Plato in Phaedro and Pausan. in Lacon. make mention. Euripides likewise in her Tragedy (though elsewhere he be of another Opinion,) makes her not to be rapt by Paris, but conveyed into Egypt by Mercury, and there kept in safe Custody by Proteus: and that a Cloud in her Likeness was only transported by Paris to Troy: which Menelaus after the end of the Trojan Wars brought away with him, but being driven (in his Return) upon the Coast of Egypt, lost there his Cloudy Helen, and recovered the true one by the means of Theonoe Proteus his Daughter.  
But this is ove●born by the general stream of all poetical Relations, which say, (and our Author here goes along with the Tide) that Helen was assigned to Paris, as 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  Euripid. Iphig. in Aul. 
The gift of Venus, when she near  
The Fountain clear,  
With Pallas, and the Wife of Jove,  
For Beauty strove.   
Upon which score he is said to have undertaken a Voyage to Sparta, and from thence to have brought her away with him to Troy. Which occasioned those fatal and lasting Wars, so celebrated by Homer in his Iliads, to which this ensuing Poem, seems as it were a Prologue or praeludium.  
There be those yet who think her not worth the Honour of so famous a Contention; and Hoelzlin (in Prolegom: ad Apollon:) saith in plain terms, that Homer might be ashamed to make that the Argument of his Work, not will believe that any man could be such a wittol, as to seek by force to regain one to his Bed, that had so notoriously wronged it. (Though this Example wants not seconds if we may credit Parthenius in Eroticis) But hear we another doctor's opinion: with which we conclude: 
Olim mirabar, quod tanti ad Pergama Belli  
Europae, atque Asiae causa puell● fuit.  
Nunc, Pari, tu sapiens, & tu, Menelae fuisti:  
Tu, quia ponebas; tu, quia lentus eras,  
Digna quidem facies, pro qua vel obiret Achilles  
Vel Priamus, belli Causa probandafuit.  Propert. l. 2. eleg. 3. 
I wondered once, that Troy's War, which engaged  
Half the whole World, should for a Wife be waged,  
But now methinks both Princes I approve,  
This 'cause he sought, that 'cause he kept his Love.  
Worthy Achilles, worthy Priam's Life,  
Was such a Beauty: 'Twas a just brave strife.    

The Rape of Helen, out of the Greek of Coluthus.  
YE Trojan Nymphs! Xanthus' fair Progeny!  
Who on your father's Sands oft laying by  
Your sacred armlets, and Heads reedy Tires,  
Ascend to dance on Ide in mixed Quires;  
Quit your rough flood; and tell the Phrygian Swains  
Just verdict: how the Hills he left, the Main's  
New toils to undergo: his Mind what pressed  
With fatal Ships both Sea, and Land t'infest;  
Whence did that unexpected strife arise,  
Which made a shepherd judge twixt Deities:  
What was his bold Award; how to his Ear  
Arrived the fair Greek's Name; for you were there:  
And Paris throned in Ida's shades did see,  
And Venus glorying in her Victory.  
When tall Thessalian Mountains the Delights  
Witnessed of Peleus hymeneal Rites,  
Ganymed Nectar at the sacred Feast  
By Jove's Command filled out to every Guest;  
For all descended from celestial Race,  
That day, with equal forwardness, to grace  
Fair Thetis (Amphitrite's Sister) strove.  
From Seas came Neptune, from the Heavens came Jove▪  
And Phoebus from the Helicon●an spring,  
Did the sweet Consort of the Muses bring.  
Next whom, the Sister to the Thunderer  
Majestic Juno came: nor did the Fair  
Harmonia's Mother Venus stay behind;  
Suada went too, who for the Bride entwined  
The Wedding Garland, and Love's Quiver bare.  
Pallas from Nuptials though averse, was there;  
Aside her heavy Helmet having laid.  
Apollo's sister, the Latonian Maid,  
(Though wholly to the savage chase applied)  
Her Presence at this Meeting not denied.  
Stern Mars, not such as when his Spear he shakes,  
But as when he to lovely Venus makes  
His amorous Address, (his Shield, and Lance  
Thrown by) there smiling mixed in a soft dance.  
But thence unhonoured eries was debarred;  
Nor Chiron her, nor Peleus, did regard.  
But Bacchus shaking with his golden Hair  
His dangling Grapes, let's Zephyre's sportive Air  
Play with his curled Tresses: like some young  
Heifer, (which by a furious Gad-fly stung  
Quitting the Fields, in shady Forests strays)  
Whilst madded eries roams: seeking always,  
How to disturb the quiet of the Feast.  
Oft from her rocky Cell (with rage possessed)  
She slings; now stands, than sits: still up and down  
Groping on th' Earth, yet could not find a stone:  
For Lightning she'd have struck: or by some spell  
The bold Titanean Brethren raised from Hell  
with hostile-Flames to storm Jove's starry Fort;  
Though thus enraged, she yet does Vulcan court,  
Whom Fire, and Malleable steel obeys:  
She thought the sound of clattering shields to raise,  
That so the Gods affrighted with the Noise  
Might have run forth, and left their Festive Joys.  
But fearing Mars, She does at last incline  
To put in Act a far more quaint Design:  
She calls to mind Hesperia's golden Fruit;  
Whence a fair Apple of dire wars the Root,  
Pulling, the Cause of signal strifes she found:  
Then midst the Feast, dissensions fatal ground  
Casts, and disturbs the Goddesses fair choir.  
Juno, of Jove's Bed proud, does first admire  
The shining Fruit, then challenged as her due:  
But Venus (all surpassing) claims it too  
As Love's Propriety: which by Jove seen,  
He calls, than thus to Hermes, does begin.  
Know'st thou not Paris, one of Priam's Sons?  
Who, where through Phrygian Grounds smooth Xa●thus runs,  
Grazes his horned herds, on Ida's Hill,  
To him this Apple bear: say 'tis our Will,  
As Arbiter of Beauty, he declare  
Which of these Goddesses excels in rare  
Conjunction of arched Eyebrows, lovely grace,  
And well-proportioned roundness of the Face;  
And she that seems the fairest in his Eyes,  
To have the Apple, as her beauty's prize.  
This charge on Mercury, Saturnius lays,  
Who humbly his great Sires Commands obeys;  
And with officious care Th' Immortals guides:  
whilst each herself in her own Beauty prides,  
But as they went: Loves subtle Queen, her heads  
●ich Tire unloosing, with gold Fillets breads  
Her curious Hair; then thus, with Eyes intent  
On her winged Sons, her troubled thoughts does vent.  
The strife is near; dear Sons your Mother aid!  
This day must crown my Beauty, or degrade.  
And much I fear to whom this Clown will give  
The golden fruit: Juno, all men believe  
To be the grace's reverend Nurse: to Her  
The gift of sceptres they assign, in War  
A powerful Goddess is Minerva deemed:  
But We alone are of no power esteemed.  
Nor Empires We, nor martial Arms bestow:  
Yet why without a cause thus fear We? though  
Minerva's spear We have not, We yet better  
Are with our Caestus armed, sweet Loves soft Fetter,  
Our Caestus: that our Bow is, that our sting,  
Which smart to Women, but not death does bring.  
Thus rosy-fingered Venus on the Way  
To her attending Cupid's spoke, whilst they,  
With duteous Words, their drooping Mother cheer.  
And now they reached the Top of Ida; where  
The youthful Paris near Ana●●us head,  
His Father's sheep in Flocks divided fed:  
Here of his roving bulls he count doth keep,  
And there he reckons o'er his well-fed sheep.  
Low as his Knee, a Mountain Goats rough hide  
Hung from his shoulders slagging by his side:  
In's hand a neatherd's Goad: such to the Eye  
(As slowly to his Pipes soft Melody  
He moves) appeared the gentle Phrygian Swain:  
Tuning on's Reed, a sweet, though rural strain.  
I'th' solitary stalls oft would he set  
Himself with Songs delighting; and forget  
The care both of his herds and Flocks; the Praise  
Of Pan and Hermes subject of his lays,  
With shepherd's most in use:) whose sweeter Note  
No Dogs rude Howl, no Bulls loud-bellowing Throat  
Disturbs; but echo only, that affords  
An artless sound in unarticulate Words.  
His Oxen cloyed with the rank Grass, were laid,  
Stretching their fat sides in the cooler shade;  
Under th' Umbrella of a spreading Tree  
Whilst he himself sat singing: but when he  
Spied Hermes with the Goddesses; afraid,  
Upstarting, from their sight he would have made:  
And, (his sweet Pipe among the Bushes flung)  
Abruptly closed his scarce commenced Song.  
To whom, amazed, thus Heavens winged Nuncius spoke:  
Cast away fear; a while thy Flocks forsake,  
Thou must in Judgement sit; and freely tell  
Which of these powers in Beauty does excel,  
And to the fairest this fair fruit present.  
Thus he: when Paris, with Eyes mildly bent  
In amorous Glances, of their Beauties took  
Exact survey: which had the gracefullest Look,  
The brightest Eyes, whose Neck the whitest skin,  
Not leaving ought from Head, to Heel, unseen.  
To whom Minerva first herself addressed,  
Then, taking by the hand, these Words expressed.  
Come hither Paris I leave Jove's Wife behind:  
Nor Venus President of Nuptials, mind.  
Pallas of Valour the Directress praise:  
Entrusted with large Rule and Power, Fame says,  
Thou governest Troy: Me chief for Form confess,  
I'll make thee too its Guardian in distress.  
Comply, and 'gainst Bellona's dreadful Harms  
Secured, I'll teach thee the bold deeds of Arms.  
Thus Pallas courted him: she scarce had done  
When with fair Words, and Looks, Juno begun.  
If me the Prize of Beauty thou'lt assign,  
The Empire of all Asia shall be thine;  
Slight Wars, what good from thence to Prince's springs?  
Both valiant men and Cowards stoop to Kings.  
Nor do Minerva's Followers oft rise high,  
But Servants rather to Bell●na die:  
This glorious Proffer stately Juno made.  
But Venus (her large Veil unloosed) displayed  
Her whiter bosom; nor at all was shy;  
But did the honeyed Chain of Loves untie:  
And, (whilst to view she her fai● Breasts disclosed)  
Thus spoke; her Looks into sweet smiles disposed.  
Our Beauty, Wars forgot, our Beauty prize,  
And Empires and the Asian Lands despise.  
We know not Wars, nor use of Shields can tell;  
In Beauty, Women rather should excel;  
For Valour, I'll to thee a Wife commend,  
Stead of a Throne fair Helen's Bed ascend.  
A Spouse, thee Troy and Sparta shall behold:  
Scarce had she ended, when the fruit of Gold  
To Venus, as her Beauties noble Prize,  
The Swain presented; whence dire Wars did rise.  
Who in her hand as she the Apple weighed,  
Did Juno, and Minerva thus upbraid.  
Yield me the Victory, yield me fair Friends!  
Beauty I loved, and Beauty me attends●  
Juno they say thou gav'st the grace's Life,  
Yet they have all forsook thee in this strife,  
Though thou to Mars and Vulcan Mother art,  
Nor Mars nor Vulcan did their Aid impart;  
Though this in Flames, that glory in his Spear,  
Yet neither one nor other helped thee here.  
How thou braggd'st too, who from no mother's womb  
But Jove's cleft Skull, the Birth of Steel, didst come?  
In Armour how thy Limbs are dressed? how Love  
Thou shunnest, and dost the toils of Mars approve?  
Alike to Peace and Wedlock opposite.  
Minerva! know, that such for glorious Fight  
Are much unfit, whom by their Limbs, none well  
Whether they Men, or Women be, can tell.  
Sad Pallas thus, proud of her Victory,  
She flouts, and her, and Juno both puts by,  
Whilst she the fatal Prize of Beauty won.  
Inflamed with Love, hot in pursuit of one  
To him unknown; with inauspicious Fate,  
Men skilled in Architecture, Paris straight  
To a dark Wood conducts; where, in a Trice,  
Tall Oaks are felled by Phereclus Advice,  
Of Ills the Author, who before to please  
His fond King Ships had built; whilst for the Seas  
Paris does Ida change; and on the shore  
With frequent prayers, and Sacrifice, implore  
His kind Assistant, Queen of Marriage vows;  
Then the broad Back of Hellespo●tus ploughs.  
But sad presaging Omens did appear:  
Seas rising to the skies, did either Bear  
Surround with a dark Ring of Clouds: whilst through  
The troubled Air a showering Tempest flew.  
With strokes of active Oars the Ocean swelled:  
And now, the Trojan Shores forsook, he held  
His Course for Greece, and born with winged haste,  
Ismarus Mouth, and tall Pangaeus past.  
Then Love●slain Phyllis rising Monument,  
And of the Walk which oft sh● came and went,  
The Ninefold Round he saw; there she to mourn  
Did use, while her Demophoons safe Return,  
She from Athenian Lands expected: then  
Coasting by Thessalies broad Shores, in Kenn  
The fair Achaean Cities next appeared.  
Men●breeding Phthia, and Mycenae, reared  
High, and wide built; when the rich Meadows passed  
Watered by Eryman●bus, He at last  
Spies Sparta, loved Atrides City, placed  
Near clear Eurotas, with rare Beauties graced:  
Not far from whence, under a shady Wood,  
H' admiring saw how sweet Therapnae stood.  
For now but a short Cut he had to sail,  
Nor long was heard the dash of Oars: They hale  
The Ship to shore, and with strong Haulsers tied;  
When Paris with clear water purified,  
Upon his Tiptoes lightly treads▪ for fear  
His lovely feet he with the Dust should smear,  
Or going hastily▪ his Hair which flows  
Beneath his Hat, the Winds should discompose.  
By this, the stately Buildings, drawing nigher  
He views, the Neighbouring Temples that aspire,  
And Cities splendour: where with wondering Eyes  
The Statue of their Pallas he espies,  
All of pure Gold; from which, his roving sight  
Next Hyacinthus Image does invite;  
The Boy with whom Apollo used to play:  
Whom lest Latona should have rapt away  
(Displeased with Jove) the Amyclaeans feared.  
Phoebus from envious Zephyre, who appeared  
His rival, could not yet secure the Boy:  
But Earth t'appease the sad King's Tears, his Joy,  
A flower produced; a flower, that doth proclaim  
Of the once lovely Youth, the still-loved Name.  
Now near Atrides Court, before the Gates,  
Bright in celestial Graces Paris waits.  
Not Seme●e a Youth so lovely bare:  
(Your Pardon Bacchus! though Jove's Son you are)  
Such Beauty did his Looks irradiate.  
But Helen the Court doors unbolting strait,  
When 'fore the Hall the Trojan she had seen  
And throughly marked, kindly invites him in,  
And seats him in a Silver Chair; her Eyes  
whilst on his Looks she feeds, not satisfies.  
First she supposed he Venus' Son might be,  
Yet when his quivered Shafts she did not see  
She knew he was not Love; but by the shine  
Of his bright Looks thought him the God of wine.  
At length her wonder in these words did break.  
Whence art my Guest? thy Stock, thy County speak;  
For Majesty is printed in thy Face:  
And yet thou seem'st not of the Argive Race.  
Of sandy Pylos sure thou canst not be,  
I know Antilochus, but know not thee.  
Nor art of Phthia which stout Men doth breed,  
I know all Aeacus renowned Seed;  
The glorious Peleus, and his warlike Son,  
Courteous Patroclus, and stout ●elamon:  
Thus Helen curious to be satisfied,  
Questions her Guest; who fairly thus replied.  
If thou of Troy in Phrygia's utmost bound,  
By Neptune, and Apollo walled round,  
And of a King from Saturn sprung, who there  
Now fortunately rules, didst ever hear,  
His Son am I; and all within his sway,  
To me, as chief next him▪ subjection pay.  
From Dardanus am I descended, he  
From Jove; where Gods, immortal though they be  
Do oft serve Mortals: who begirt our Town  
Round with a wall, a wall that ne'er shall down.  
I am great Queen! the Judge of Goddesses,  
Whom though displeased, I censured, and of these  
The lovely Venus' Beauty did prefer:  
For which, in noble recompense, by her  
Promised a wife, her Sister, Helen named.  
For whom these Troubles I through Seas sustained,  
Since Venus bids, heart let us solemnize  
Our nuptial Rites; Me nor my Bed despise;  
On what is known, insist we need not long  
Thy Spouse from an unwarlike Race is sprung:  
Thou all the Grecian Dames dost far outvie,  
Beauteous thy Looks are, theirs, their Sex belie.  
At this she fixed on Earth her lovely Eyes▪  
And doubtful, pawsed a while, at length replies.  
Your walls my Guest! by hands celestial raised,  
And Pastures, where his herds Apollo grazed,  
I long to see: To Troy bear me away.  
I'll follow thee, and Venus will obey;  
Nor, there, will Menelaus anger heed;  
Thus Paris, and the beauteous Nymph agreeed.  
Now Night the ease of Cares, the Day quite spent,  
Sleep brought, suspended by the morn's Ascent,  
Of Dreams the two Gates opening: this of Horn,  
In which the God's unerring Truths are born.  
Tother of Ivory: whence cozening Lies,  
And vain Delusions of false Dreams arise.  
When from Atrides Hospitable Court  
Paris through ploughed Seas Helen does transport,  
And in the gift of Venus proudly joy;  
Bearing with speed the Fraight of War to Troy.  
Hermione, soon as the Morn appears,  
To Winds her torn veil casting, big with Tears,  
Her loss bewails; and from her Chamber flying,  
With grief distraught, thus to her Maids spoke, crying.  
Whither without me is my Mother fled?  
Who lay with me last Night in the same Bed?  
And with her own hand locked the Chamber door?  
Thus spoke she weeping: All the Maids deplore  
With her their Mistress absence; yet assay  
With these kind Words her Passion to allay.  
Why dost thou weep sweet Child! thy Mother's gone,  
But will return soon as she hears thy Moan.  
See how thy Tears have blubbered thy fair Cheeks!  
Much weeping the divinest Beauty breaks.  
She 'mongst the Virgins is but gone to play,  
And coming back perhaps hath miss her way:  
And in some flowery meadow doubtful stands;  
Or in Eurotas bathed, sports on his Sands.  
The weeping Child replies; the Hill, Brook, Walk,  
And Fields she knows; do not so idly talk:  
The Stars do sleep, yet on cold Rocks she lies;  
The Stars awake, and yet she does not rise.  
O my dear Mother! where dost thou abide?  
Upon what Mountains barren Top reside?  
Hath some wild Beast alas! thee wandering slain;  
(Yet from Jove's royal Blood wild Beasts refrain)  
Or fallen from some steep Precipice, art laid  
An unregarded corpse in some dark shade?  
And yet in every Grove, at every Tree,  
Search have I made, but cannot meet with Thee.  
The Woods we blame not then; nor do profound  
Furota's gentle streams conceal thee drowned:  
For in deep Floods the Naiads do use,  
Nor e'er by them their Lives do women lose.  
Thus poor Hermione complaining wept,  
Then toward her shoulder her head leaning, slept.  
(Sleep is death's Twin, and as the younger Brother,  
In every thing doth imitate the other;  
Hence 'tis that women often when they weep,  
O'recharged with their own sorrows, fall asleep)  
when in a Dream, her Mother (as she thought)  
Seeing, she cries, vexed, yet with fear distraught:  
From me disconsolate last night you fled,  
And left me sleeping in my father's Bed.  
What Hill, what Mountain have I left untraced?  
To Venus' pleasing Ties mak'st thou such haste?  
To whom fair Tyndaris this Answer made:  
Daughter! though grieved, me yet forbear t' upbraid:  
That treacherous Stranger, who the other Day  
Came hither, carried me by force away.  
Thus she: at which out strait Hermione flies.  
But finding not her Mother, louder cries;  
Winged Issue of th' Inhabitants of Air,  
Ye Birds! to Menelaus straight declare,  
One late arriving at the Spartan Port,  
Ha●h robbed him of the Glory of his Court.  
Thus to regardless winds did she complain,  
Seeking her absent Mother, but in vain.  
Meantime, through Thracian Towns, and Helles strait  
Paris arrived safe with his beauteous Fraight,  
When from the Castle, viewing on the shore  
A new guest Land, her hair Cassandra tore.  
But Troy with open Gates her welcome shows  
To the returning Author of her woes.  
FINIS.   

Upon COLUTHUS.  Ye Trojan-Nymphs! Xanthus' fair Progeny●] 
NOt unlike that of Callimachus in Hymno ad Delium {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
These Nymphs were frequently invoked by the Poets, and by others (anciently) adored; sometimes by the Jews: For upon that passage Deutero. 32. (they have sacrificed to Schedim, which our English Translation with the Septuagint renders Devils) I find that the Rabbins understand by Schedim, Spirit● haunting Rivers, or Water-Nymphs. Of these there were divers, as the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} of all Waters in general, the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} of standing Lakes or pools, the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} of fountains, the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} of Rivers, and the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} of Marishes; held yet to be mortal by the Poets, in regard they believed that all moisture (of which they were thought to consist as composed of a mean nature between Men and Heroes according to Platonic Philosophy) should be one day consumed by fire, in the last general Conflagration.  
Xanthus was the most celebrated River of Troas, descending from Mount Ida.  {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Hom. Il. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Xanthus' by Gods, by Men Scamander called. 
The first Name being given it, for that its Water turned the Fleeces of such Sheep as drunk thereof yellow; as Aristotle (in tertio Animal.) hath recorded; taking the last from Scamander, who therein drowned himself. There is another River likewise of the same name in Lycia, of which Homer (Iliad. 16.) and Callimachus (hymno in Del) make mention and a third in Baeo●●a so called, of which Pl●●arch. (in question. graecan. quaest. 41.)  
Your sacred armlets] What our Author means by {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} I cannot undertake to determine; yet, if not something of Ornament, as armlets or the like, according to our Version (which seems not unsuitably to answer to {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}) perhaps the works of their hands, such as were Venus her Silver Mirror, 
Philostrat. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  rich Pantaphles and Bracelets, which Philostratus affirms to have been made and offered by the Nymphs.  
Or (which may perhaps be thought more genuine) some musical Instruments, Cymbals or the like.  
— Who the hills forsook, the Mains  
New toils to undergo.]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} (though elsewhere a simple Periphrasis) is here meant in opposition to the proper acception of {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} below, at verse 15.  {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. 
When tall Thessalian Mountains the delights  
Witnessed of Peleus hymeneal Rites.]  
The Poets fabled that Peleus, the son of Aeacus, and pupil of Chiron, married Thetis the daughter of Nereus in the Mountain Pelion, and that all the Gods did him the honour to grace his Nuptials with their Presence; The ground of which Fiction the Scholiast of Aristophanes, (in Nubibus) hath after this manner discovered: So indulgent was Chiron to his pupil Peleus, that he studied by all possible means to advance the Honour of his Name. He therefore endeavoured, and at last concluded a Match betwixt him and Philomela the Daughter of Actor the Myrmidon, a Lady of incomparable Beauty, but gave it out that she was Thetis, whom by Jove's consent, Peleus was shortly to marry, and that all the Gods would descend to his Wedding in showers of Rain: Whereupon, having made choice of a Time which by his conjecture (as he was notably well versed that way) was like to prove very showry, he appoints the Consummation of the intended Nuptials; and the season proving as he expected, the Rumor was verily believed by the ignorant vulgar, and increased in succeeding Times by the Fictions of the Poets. From whence we may likewise collect this further moral: Thetis (by Mythologists) is taken for the Water, married by Jupiter, i.e. fire or the Calor Naturalis, to Peleus or Earth, whence is produced Mankind ({non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Aristoph.) All the Gods come to the Wedding, because every Part of the Body is attributed to some particular Deity (as the Head to Jupiter, Eyes to Minerva, arms to Juno. &c.) except Eris or Contention; because the work itself subsists by Harmony and Agreement, Fulgent.  
Ganymed Nectar at the sacred Feast,  
By Jove's Command filled out to every Guest.]  
This with some of the following Verses, seems to be abstracted out of that of Euripides (in Choro Iphig▪ in Aul.)  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
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{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Which we thus Parahhraze:  
What was the Pleasure of that day,  
When Hymen on his Harp did play,  
And Lybian Pipe for Dances meet!  
When th' Muses too with nimble Feet  
The ground in golden Sandals pressed,  
At happy Peleus' nuptial Feast,  
Graced by the Gods! and sweetly sung  
(Whilst Pelion with their Voices rung)  
The Praises of the Queen o'th' Seas  
Fair Thetis, and Aeacides!  
Meantime the Phrygian Ganymed,  
The furtive Pleasure of Jove's Bed,  
From golden ewers brisk Nectar still  
Fast as 'twas quaffed did freely fill.  
For all descended of celestial Race,  
That day, with equal forwardness to gra●e  
Fair Thetis, Amphitrites Sister, strive.]  
Though this Fable hath been already sufficiently explained by us; yet (for variety sake) take this further Explication of it out of Dictys Cretensis (de Bello Trojano c. 6.) Ea tempestate (speaking of the Nuptials of Peleus and Thetis) multi undique Reges aviti, domum Chironis, filiam ipsas Epulas laudibus veluti deam celebraverant, Parentem ejus Chirona, appellantes Nerea, ipsámque Nereidam: Et ut quisque eorum Regum qui Convivio interfuerant, Choro modulisque Carminum praevaluerat, ita Apollinem, Liberum que; ex foeminis, Plurimas, Musas cognominaverunt; unde ad id tempus Convivium illud Deorum appellatur. Where, we see Thetis is made the Daughter of Chiron, and not of Nereus, and so consequently not the Sister to Amphitrite: And of this opinion likewise is Tzetzes, Chiliad.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Achilles was Peleus and Thetis Son,  
Not sea-born Thetis, but another's, One  
That Daughter to the learned Chiron was.  
But no marvel if these Fables, which for the most part contradict Truth, do sometimes cross one another: which to go about to reconcile, were to twist ropes of ●and.  
Phoebus from the Heliconian Spring.] Contradicted ●et with what follows (at Ver.) by Catullus in Nup●is Pelei.  
Inde Pater Divum sancta cum conjuge natisque  
Advenit coelo, te solum (Phoebe) relinquens,  
Vnigenámque simul cultricem montibus Hydri.  
Pelea nam tecum pariter soror aspernata est,  
Nec Thetidis Tedas voluit celebrare jugales.  The Muses sweet-voyced choir did bring.] 
So we render— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Dissenting from Vulcanius (in Del. Callimach.) who makes {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} hereto bear the same sense as {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, and this place agreeable to that of Callimachus,— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Harmonia's mother Venus.] Harmonia was the Daughter of Venus by Mars: so Hesiod. in Theogonia.  
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
Fair Cytherea, terror, Fear,  
To Mars did with Harmonia bear.  
Of which the Scholiast renders this reason {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, &c. In regard that the breaches and ruins whic● were made in Cities by the assaults of Mars, are repaire● again by a peaceable Commerce, and amicable Association▪ Or (according to others) in that music not only delight● the Mind, but inflames the Heart with courage and resolution: and therefore there is hardly any People that use not some kind of music or other to provoke them to battle.  
Suada went too, who for the Bride entwined  
The Marriage Garland, and Love's Quiver bare.  
Suada, by the Greeks called {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, was the Goddess● of persuasion, whom Theseus (as Pausanias in Attic● witnesses) first caused to be honoured with divine Rites amongst the Athenians. She is here said to compose the Wedding garland for Thetis. Juno likewise (in 4. Apollonii) confesses that at this Wedding she played the torchbearer; for so courteous did the ancient Poets use to make their Deities at the Marriages of Eminent Personages, of which Statius (in Epithalam. Stell. & Violantill.) affords us not an unelegant Example.  
Ipsa manu nuptam, genetrix Aeneia ducit  
Lumine demissam, & dulci probitate rubentem,  
Ipsa toros, & sacra parat, coetúque Latino  
(Dissimulata deam) crinem, vultúsque, genásque  
Temperate, atque nova gestit minor ire Marita.  
Venus herself leads by the hand the Bride,  
With eyes down cast, and cheeks in Blushes died,  
The Bed, the Rites prepares, and 'mongst the rest,  
(Her Deity and dazzling Looks suppressed)  
Strives to go less than the fair Bride—  
Then speaking of the Bride-goom.  
— Tibi Phoebus & Evan  
Et de Maenalia volucer Tegeaticus umbra  
Serta ferunt, nec blandus Amor nec gratia cessat,  
Amplexum niveos optatae conjugis artus  
Floribus innumeris & olenti spargere Nimbo.  
Sol, Bacchus, and the nimble Mercury  
From shady Maenalus bring wreaths for thee;  
Nor ceases Cupid, nor the chiefest Grace,  
(Whilst of thy dearest spouse thou dost embrace  
The snowy Limbs) to strew thee o'er with flowers,  
And rain upon thy Head sweet Balmy showers.  
Nor unaptly, in my Opinion, does our Author here make the goddess Suada to bear Cupid's Quiver, since nothing in Love is more forcive than persuasive Courtship.  
But thence unhonoured Eris was debarred.] The reason we have already given: We shall only add, that Eris or Contention was the daughter of Night, so Hesiod (in Theogonia) tells us.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Pernicious Night  
Contention brought to Light.  
The Poets fabled that there were two Erises, one the goddess of noble Contentions, in which those that strove, (the vanquished as well as Victor) came off with great glory: The other the goddess of base, and pernicious Contentions, which rendered those that were engaged therein still more infamous. See Eras●. Chil. 2. Centur. 6. Adag. 24.  
— Like some young  
Heifer which by some furious Gad-fly stung,  
Quitti●g the fields in shady forests strayed)  
Whilst madded Eris roams, &c.]  
Suiting with that Simile in 1 Apollonii, where Hercules is described running madly in quest of his lost Hylas.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
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{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
As when a bull stung by some Gadfly runs,  
Loathing the green and plashy Meads, and shuns  
Herdsmen and Herds; now restless flings about,  
Now chafing stands, and his large neck thrusts out,  
Bellowing as if by some fierce Oestrum stung;  
So raves the hero—  
Where the Oestrum (though generally by the Latin Poets, our Author here, Aeschilus in these verses;  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  
and the Greek Glossaries it be usually taken for one and the same thing) seems yet to be distinguished by Apollonius from the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. So is it by Sostratus (in 4. Animalium) cited by his Scholiast, where he writes, ({non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.) That the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} or Tabanus is bred in the woods, the Oestrum in Rivers. Aristotle speaks always distinctly of them; though in the Metaphor they agree, taken for any high passion or fury. Suidas; {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Festus; Oestrum furor Graeco vocabulo: Most frequently applied to Love, Aristaenetus (lib. 2. c. 17.) of a woman possessed with that passion. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}▪ And our Author at Verse ()  
Musaeus,  
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Nonnus,  
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Whence Lightning she'd have struck.]  
The common opinion was, that fire was naturally inherent in the flint.  
Semper inest silici, sed rarò cernitur ignis;  
Intus enim latitat, sed solos prodit adictus.  
Nec lignis ut vivat eget, nec ut occidat undis.  
Fire always lurks in Fli●●; not always seen,  
unless by strokes forced out: nor wood to feed  
its flame, nor water does to quench it, need.  
Sophocles in Philoctet. 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—   
Excellently expressed by Virgil, l. 6.  
— Pars semina quaerit  
Abstrusa in venis Silicis.—  
In the same sense Arnobius (llb. 2.) saith, Matrem Deam quae in Saxon inani & informi colebatur, habitasse in cilicis fragmentis in venis ejus abstrusam. Isidorus Pelusiota, l. 2. Epistol. 100 {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. i.e. That fire which is the fountain of all Arts, not only from Iron, Brass, and stone, but from Water also, and Wood doth naturally break forth: explain therefore this wonder to me: Is it inherent in the Wood? how chance than it doth not consume it? Is it not inherent in the Wood? how hath it from thence its birth?  The bola Titanian brethren called from Hel.] 
The Titans were the issue of the earth, which she is said to have produced against Satur's, (as the Giants afterward against Jupiter) to revenge the injury the Gods had offered her; whence Servius (in 6. Aeneid) conceives their name to be derived, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, (i.e. ab ultione.) These were struck down to hell by the conquering Gods, and overwhelmed with perpetual night, all but Sol, who for his fidelity merited so eminent a place in Heaven.  
But this place seems to savour of the Adage {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, (i.e. Titanas invocas) which is usually taken up, ubi quis suis diffisus viribus alienum implorat Auxilium. Erasm. chiliad 2. centur. 4. Adag. 47.  As Love's propriety.] 
The Scholiast upon that of Aristophanes, ({non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, hit with an apple by a wench) saith, that the apple is the symbol of Love, and dedicated to Venus, so called by Arabius Scholasticus in an Epigram upon Atalanta, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, hence it is that Philostratus brings in the Cupids gathering Apples: and that Apples were used for presents amongst Lovers Catullus testifies  
Vt missum sponsae furtivo munere malum  
Procurrit castae virgins in gremio. ad Ortalum.  
See the story of Acontius and Cydippe, and that elegant description of the marriage of Theophilus the Greek Emperor with Theodora, by Cantacuzenus, and by Theodosius Melittus. Hither refer we that which Theocritus calls {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Virgil, Malo petere, Allurements of love, Chariclea in Lucian sends to Dinias {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Garlands half withered, and some Apples here and there bitten. Aristaenetus, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. i.e. but Pamphilus biting a piece of Apple, cast it directly into bosom. She with a kiss receives it, and puts it up closely between her breasts, and her stomacher. Philo allegorizeth the Apple of which Eve tasted and gave to Adam, much to this effect.  
know'st thou not Paris.] Lucian (in dialog▪ {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Which our Author hath verbatim expressed in Jupiter's speech, and therefore will not need our further version.  For rare conjunction of arched eyebrows.] 
An eminent part of beauty: Aristaenetus, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Petron. Supercilia usque ad malorum scripturam, & rursus confinis Lumine pene permixtam; Anacreon describing his Mistress to the Painter,  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
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Her fair arched eyebrows see  
You so cunningly dispose,  
That they may not part, nor close;  
But by a divorce so slight  
Be disjoynd, may cheat the sight.  
— When thus with eyes intent  
On her wingdsons, her troubled thoughts does vent,  
The strife is near: dear Sons, your mother aid,  
This day my heavenly form must be surveyd, &c.]  
Consonant to the description our Author here makes, is that in Silius Italicus, upon the same subject.  
Cum sic suspirans roseo Venus ore, decoros  
Alloquitur natos. Testis certissima vestrae  
Ecce dies pietatis adest; quis credere salvis  
Hoc ausit vobis? de forma atque ore (quid ultra  
Jam superest rerum!) certat Venus.—  
When sighing Rose-lipd Venus thus bespoke  
Her beauteous Sons. The day is come to make  
Full trial of your loves: who would have thought  
This, you being safe? for beauty (is there aught  
Left her beside!) Venus must contest.  The gifts of sceptres.] 
By the sceptre and Spear she implies commands Military and Civil: yet either includes both: Hasta (saith Festus) olim summum armorum Imperium significabat. Justin. l. 34. per ea adhuc tempora Reges Hastas pro Diademate habebant quas Graeci {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} dixêre. Nam & ab origine rerum pro diis immortalibus veteres Hastas coluêre, ob cujus religionis memoriam, adhuc deorum simulachris Hastae adduntur. In those day's Spears were born by Kings instead of Diadems, which the Greeks called sceptres: for the ancients at first worshipped a Spear for a God; in the memorial of which, the Statues of the Gods were portrayed with Spears.  
In this sense Euripides useth {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; so la Cerda interprets puram hastam in Virgil. The Spear afterwards was changed (as the times altered) into a staff; by the giving or taking away of which, the authority was conferred, or resumed (as before to soldiers by the Spear.) Continued to this age. I may observe by the way, That Kings of old had birds carved on their sceptres: Aristophanes in Avibus.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
A Bird upon their sceptres parched.  
And presently after, 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
Like to some Priam in the Play,  
Bea●ing in state a Poppinjay.  
— love's Queen her head's  
Rich tire unloosing with gold Fillets braids  
Her curious hairs.]   
Which seems to be taken from that hint Callimachus gives in Palladis Lavacro, where (speaking of Pallas) he writes, 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
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{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
On Ide when she for beauty did contest,  
Her looks Minerva by no mirror dressed,  
Nor Simois streams, though clear as any glass.  
Nor Juno: Venus only in smooth brass  
Her face beheld, and oft her Tresses tricked.   
We yet better are with our Caestus armed.] Claudian,  
Bellumque solus consiceret decor. Anacrion, 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Beauty arms alone doth yield:  
That's the woman's Spear and Shield.  
Fire and sword both vanquished are,  
When they meet a Foe that's fair.   
And questionless this Caestus of Venus could not but be most strangely powerful, that was made up of such bewitching Materials: For as Homer tells us, 
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
All provocating pleasures there were wrought,  
Desire, Love, Female Blandishments, that can  
Captive the mind, even of the wisest man.   
— The praise  
Of Pan and Hermes, subject of his lays,  
With Shepherds most in use.]  Horace lib. 4. Ode 12. 
Dicunt in tenero gramine pinguium  
Custodes ovium, Carmina sistula,  
Delectántque Deum, cui Picus, & nigri  
Colles Arcadia placent.  
On the soft grass laid along,  
Shepherds with their pipe and song,  
Please the God, whose joy Flocks be,  
And black hills of Arcady.  
Nor less than Pan, was Mercury honoured by them; for Antiquity likewise conceited▪  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Hermes to be the guardian of all sheep.  Homer in Hym. Mercur. Anaurus.] 
Though here (as by Callimachus, Moschus, The●critus, Euripides, and others) taken for the proper name of a River; yet {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} is the common name of all Torrents, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. saith Eustathius. But though the Etymology hold, the Disparity doth not; for by Lucretius it is applied to a River.  
Quique nec humentes Nebulas, nec rore madentem  
Aera, nec tenues ventos suspirat Anaurus.  

The brightest eyes.]  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  which Meander improperly translates caesiorum oculorum fulgorem. For {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} being equally attributed to the three, I conceive rather signifies the brightness, than that colour which is peculiarly ascribed to Minerva. The Scholiast of Challimachus and Apollonius, confirm this opinion, who render {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, and {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. And Hesychius {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  In's hand a Neat-heards Goad.] 
Some nice-eared critic may perhaps think a shepherd's Crook would have sounded better in this place; but we go along with our Author; nor without authority; for the {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} (which as the Scholiast of Apollonius saith, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}) though by the later latins rendered Pedum, (ab usu consistendi, Scalig. l. 1. Poet.) was by the ancient Romans termed Agolum, as Festus notes; which he describes to be pastoral Bacculum quo Pecudes aguntur, which warrants our interpretation, and expresses (●otidem verbis)— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  Cast away fear.] 
Agreeing verbatim with that of Ovid (in Epistol. Parid.)  
— Pone metum nuncius ales ait,  
Arbiter es formae, certamina siste Dearum,  
Vincere quae forma digna sit unaduas.  
Which needs no other interpretation then what our Author hath here given.  
But Venus her large veil unloosed, displayed  
Her whiter bosom, nor at all was shy.]  
Let Ausonius here moralize. Tegat oport●t, auditor doctrinam suam, qui volet ad dicendum sollicitare trepidantem, nec emerita adversum Tirunclos arma concutiat veterana calliditas. Sensit hoc Venus, de pulchritudinis forma, diù ambiguo ampliata judicio: pudenter enim, ut apud Patrem, velata certaverat, neque deterrebat aemulas, ornatus aequalis: at postquam in pastoris examen deducta est lis Dearum; Qualis emerserat Mari, aut cum Marte convenerat, & consternavit Arbitrum, & contendentium Certamen oppressit. Auson. Epist. 11. ad Paulum.  Juno, they say, thou ga●'st the grace's life.] 
Our Author here makes Juno the mother of the Graces: Hesiod (in Theogon.) Jupiter and Eurynome their Parents: Antimachus will have them the daughters of Sol and eagle: (Pausan. in Boeotic.) Servius (in 6. Aeneid.) of Bacchus and Venus: These were in number three; their names Aglaia, Euphrosyne, Thalia. Yet both their names and number I find controverted: the lacedaemonians acknowledging only two, by the name of Auxo, and Hegemon, (Paus. Boeot.) Homer but one, whom he makes the wife of Vulcan) quod gratiosa sint Mechanica opera, saith Phornutus:) yet he names Pasiphae likewise for one of the Graces, whom Juno promises to Somnus for his Bride: but see the common received Fable (and that moralised) in Seneca, in 1. de beneficiis.  
Though thou to Mars and Vulcan Mother art  
Nor one nor other did their aid impart.]  
I know not how Mars may be excused: but Vulca● had little reason to help so unnatural a mother as Juno, who is said to have thrown him to earth from heaven▪ when newly born, for his deformity: (the Physical▪ sense of which, Lucretius in 5. de rerum natura tells us, is no other than that 
Fulmen detulit in terras mortalibus ignem  
Primitus; inde omnis Flammarum diditur ardor.)   
Nor would she ever acknowledge him for hers, until such time as having made a chair of gold with such inward springs, that whoever sat therein was catched as in a Trap: he sent the same for a present to Juno, who sitting down therein was taken fast in the private snares, and denied by Vulcan to be set at liberty, until such time as she would discover unto him who were his parents, whereupon Juno declaring the truth of the business, she was set free, and he admitted into the number and society of the Gods. See Pausan▪ in Attic. and Servius in 5. Eclog. Virgil.  Who from no Mother's womb.] 
Challimachus de Pallade (in Lavacro) 
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
No Mother brought her forth,  
But Jove's head gave her birth.   
Aeschilus' Eumenid.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
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{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
One may a Father without Mother prove,  
Witness the daughter of Olimpique Jove.  
She from the wombs dark Mansions came not forth,  
But Plant-like sprung: no Goddess gave her birth.  
Which Coluthus seems to have imitated, and from thence to borrow the Metaphor of {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} and {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, as Nonnus from him, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  By Phereclu's advice.] 
Phereclus was the son of Harmonides. 
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
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{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}— Homer. Iliad. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
For curious handicrafts exceeding famed;  
Minerva's favourite: who for Paris framed  
A Fleet of ships of equal bulk and trim:  
Of ill the originals to Troy and him.   
For he was slain afterwards in the Trojan wars by Meriones, as Homer in the same place witnesses.  
— On the shore  
With frequent prayers and Sacrifice.]  
The Libations which were usually made before any voyage, by pouring Wine, or throwing the entrails of Beasts into the sea, are enough known from Virgil, Ovid l. 11. and others.  The broad back of Hellespontus.] 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, frequent with Homer, Oppian, &c. Virgil, dorsum Maris: Suidas expounds it, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Arnobius (speaking of our Saviour) calcabat Ponti Terga.  Ismarus mouth, and tall Pangaeus.] 
Ismarus is a mountain of Thrace, and a Maritime City of the same Region, in the province of Ciconia, mentioned by Homer in Odiss. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. expugned and plundered by Ulysses in his return from Troy, as he himself confesses: 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
From Troy 'cross winds me to Ciconia bare  
To Ismarus, where we the City sacked.  Here a River, perhaps descending from the mountain, and therefore so called.  
Pangaeus according to Pliny, is a mountain of Thrace.  Phillis rising Monument.] 
The reason of this epithet Heinsius gives (in Crepund. Silian. l. 15.) where he writes: Sepulchra sua in gratiam viatorum, Nautarumque in Mari errantium, in altum educebant antiqui: unde elegantissimè {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} Naviganti {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} dixit Coluthus (citing this verse.) In which sense likewise Apollonius in 1. (speaking of Mount Athos discovering itself to the argonautics as they sailed along) saith, 
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—   
Where {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} means no more than (in the seaman's Phrase) {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, as a little before Apollonius in the same book speaks.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}—  
Which Hoelzlin not improperly renders, 
Marina oriebatur Sciathus, oriebantúrque procul  
Piresiae—   
Since to the sailor at sea, making for any shore, objects from thence discover themselves, as it were rising by degrees.  The Nine-fold round.] 
Hyginus in l. de Poetarum fabulis, c. 59 (speaking of Phyllis expecting Demophoon at the appointed day of his return)— Illa eo die dicitur novies ad littus accurrisse, quod ex ea Graecè Enneados appellatur.  Men breeding Phthia.] 
So after at verse () and Seneca in Troad, 
Viros tellus dare militares  
Aptior Phthie—   
A Province and City of Thessaly (the birthplace of Achilles.)  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}— Appollon. 1.  
Built by Minerva, who near Pelions Crown  
With axe the large Materials cut down.  
Which Peleus (as Teucer of Cyprus, and Telamon of Salamis) when banished by his father Aeacus (as his brothers likewise were) for the casual murder of Phocus, made himself Lord of.  Mycenae.] 
A City in the Argive Territories, whose founder Perseus is said to be; so called, for that the pummel of his sword hilt (which in the Greek is {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, by which word likewise they denoted a Mush-room, or Toad-stool) fell off there▪ (Paus▪ in Corinth.) I have heard likewise (saith ●he) that▪ Perseus being very thirsty, and pulling up a Mushroem by chance, there suddenly gushed out of the place a clear spring of running waters; with which having quenched his thirst, to his no little pleasure, he from that accident called the City he built there, Mycenae: though there be others that will have Mycenus the son of Sparto, or Mycenae the Daughter of Inachus, to give name to it; which opinions Pausanias yet rejects.  Erymanthus] 
Pausan. Arcad. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. i. e. Erymanthus hath his Fountain in the hill Lampea, sacred to Pan; some part perhaps of the Mountain Erymanthus, (whence the river takes its name.) Which ({non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.) gliding through Arcadia, and on the right hand leaving the Mountain Pholoe, on the left the Thelpusian Plains, falls at length into Alphaeus.  Sparta.] 
The chief city of the Laconians, where Menela●▪ reigned, built by Lacedaemon, and so called from Spa●● (the daughter of Eurotas) his wife: Pausan. Lacon.  Eurotas.] 
The most celebrated River of Laconia, which derive● its name from Eurotas, one of the Laconian Kings; wh● {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. having by a Channel carried away the water in to the sea, which before made the fields fen, calle● the Current now flowing like a River within its banks, after his own name, Pausan. Lacon▪  Therapnae.] 
A Town in Laconia where Helen was born, (and buried, with Menelaus, as Pausanias writes) so called {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, from Therapne the Daughter of Lelex. Lacon.  Beneath his hat.] 
The Scholiast of Aristophanes, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. In Peloponnesus they call a Hat Cunea, from the wearing of which Mercury is named Cunes. But Eustathius expressly avers, that the Greeks in Homer's time, went bare headed: Festus may reconcile this difference, who saith, The ancients gave hats to Castor and Pollux, because they were Lacedæmonians, quib●s pileatis pugnare in more positum: quo indomitum animum adversus Barbaros Reges & Tyrannos, significationem libertatis, ostentarent, Pier. Hierogl. lib. 40. So that I conceive here is meant rather such kind of Helmets as by Vegetius are described: Pilei, quos Pannonicos vocant, ex pellibus.  
Phoebus from envious Zephyre (who appeared  
His Rival) could not yet secure the boy.]  
The story is thus related by Apollo to Mercury in Lucian (dialog. (Mercurij & Apollo.) {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. i. e. He learned (to wit Hyacinthus) to play at Hurlebats, and I played with him. But the most pernicious of all the Winds, Zephyrus, loved him too, and had done so for a long time; but being slighted, and not brooking to be disdained; he, whilst we (as our custom was) played together, and I tossed the Hurlebat on high, blowing from the top of Taygetus, drove it directly against the boy's head with such violence, that the blood straight sprung from the wound, and the Boy immediately died.  
— But th' Earth  
A flower produced that doth proclaim  
Of the once lovely youth the still loved name.]  
In the same Dialogue Apollo thus goes on, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. i. e. But of the blood that was shed, I caused the earth to produce a flower, the fairest (Mercury) and most fragrant of all others, which carries certain letters in its leaves, that do (as it were) deplore his death. Of which, see Ovid. l. Metam. 10. & 13. Moschus in Epituph. Bion. Pliny l. 21. c. 11. & 26. Dioscorides takes it to be the Vaccinium of the Latins, retaining some similitude of name: and so interpreted by Servius on this verse of Virgil,  
Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinia nigra leguntur.  
— Her Eyes  
Whilst on his looks she feeds, not satisfies.]  
In imitation of Musaeus, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. A sign of Love, as Heliodorus observes, l. 2. so Dido in Virgil.  
Expleri mentem nequit, ardescítque tuendo.  
Catul in Ariadne— 
Cui languida nondum  
Lumina sunt nati carâ saturat● figurâ   Sandy Pylos.] 
Paus. (in Messeniacis) {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. The Pylian fields are for the most part sandy, & afford little pasturage for cattle. Homer testifies as much, who speaking of Nestor, styles him always the King of sandy Pylos. Eustathius upon Homer reckons up three several Towns of the same name; the first in Messenia, where Nestor reigned; the second in Arcadia, where Nestor was born; the third in Elis, near to the Olenian Promontory. This of Messenia is now called Navarinum, where yet stands a strong Castle (subject, as is all Peloponnesus, to the Turk) upon a rising ground, stretching into the sea, whereinto it hath a large Prospect, and a fair Haven, as the Author of the Turkish History tells me.  Antilochus.] 
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}— The Son of great-souled Nestor. Homer Il. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. of whom Pindar. Pythic. 6. Philostratus, l. 2. Jeon. 7. & Horac. l. 3. od. 10.  Aeacus renowned seed.] 
Aeacus was the son of Jupiter and Aegina; whose sons were Phocus, Peleus, Teucer, and Telamon.  Patroclus.] 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.— (Homer passim in Iliad. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} & {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.) Menaetius valiant son, and the beloved associate of Achilles; by birth an Opuntian: who having at play casually slain Clysomnius the son of Amphidamus, a youth of equal years with himself, being banished his country, and coming to Phthia, was kindly entertainted by Peleus, and brought up by him as a companion for his son Achilles: which besides Homer in Iliad. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Ovid in these verses testifies,  
Caede puer factâ Patroclus Opunta reliquit,  
Thessalicamque adijt Hospes Achilles humum.  Stout Telamon.] 
Not here to be taken for one of Phthia, though happily our Author (at first sight) may seem to infer as much; for (as I have before noted) 
— {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  Apollo●. l. 1. 
— Telamon in Salamis did reign,  
But Peleus apart in Phthia dwelled.   By Neptune and Apollo walled round.] 
Yet Neptune in Homer (Iliad. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.) affirms that he only walled it.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
I only Troy with a fair wall did round,  
That it impregnable might still be found.  
Being hired to that end for a year by Laomedon, as Apollo was to keep his Oxen: as Homer in the same place tells us, and our Author likewise at verse () following, plainly intimates. But Pindar (Olymp. 8.) reports that part of it was walled by Aeacus,  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
Whom Phoebus and dread Neptune called  
To help them when they Ilium walled,  
Foreknowing in wars wasteful fire,  
It once should fatal fumes expire.  
The Godlings having no other way to save their credits, and keep touch with destiny, t● an by admitting a mortal to the work, which else in spite of fate, must needs have been impregnable.  From Dardanus am I descended.] 
It is not perhaps commonly taken notice of, that this Dardanus was a famous Magician. Apuleius in Apolog. Ego ille sim vel Charinondas, vel Damigeron, vel is Moses, vel Jannes, vel Apollonius, vel ipse Daidanus, vel quicunque post Zoroastrem, vel Hostanem, inter Magos celebratus est.  On earth she fixed her lovely Eyes.] 
Musaeus, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
And (with little difference) Virgil, Diva solo fixos oculos aversa tenebat.  
A sign of bashfulness, or deliberation. Vide Barthij Adversaria. Of Dreams the two Gates opening.]  
The ancients (as both Philostratus and the Anonymus Author of Hieroglyphical Collections reports) painted sleep like a man heavy with slumber, his under garment white, his upper black, thereby expressing Day and Night; holding in his hand a Horn, sometimes really such, sometimes of Ivory in the likeness of one, through which they feigned that he conveyed dreams: true, when the same was of Horn; false, when of Ivory. To which Virgil in 6. Aeneid. and our Author here allude, (as before them Homer in 19 Odyss.) The reason of which Fiction▪ take from Macrobius (in Somn. Scip.) as more pertinent in my opinion, than that Exposition which Servius gives, where he writes much to this effect. There is a veil drawn between our Intellect and Truth, yet this the soul (when freed from the distempers of the body by sleep) ofttimes perceives, but darkly, and as it were through a cloudy medium, signified by the horn, of colour black, yet of a diaphanous nature: but when there is such a veil drawn over it, that the eyes of the mind can no way penetrate it, it is said to be of Ivory, whose nature is such, that though wrought to never so extreme a thinness, it cannot possibly be made pellucid. Having given you this serious mythology of the Fable, it will not be amiss to conclude with this lighter allusion of Manno's.  
Sogno, a la sua donna  
Sognasti d'esser Mia:  
Mafu sogno mentito:  
Perch' egl era uscito  
Fuor d' Avorio del tuo bianco seno.  
Se vuoi ch'a pieno  
Egli verace scà.  
Il geloso Marito  
Lascia schernito,  
Esi farà ritorno  
Per la Porta del Corno.  
Once unto my amorous flame,  
Dear, thou dreamdest thou didst consent;  
But that dream of truth fell short,  
'Cause it from the Ivory Port  
Of thy white bosom came.  
But if thou wouldst what that meant  
Now a real truth should prove,  
(Dearest Love)  
Thy old bedfellow forsake,  
And a new and better take;  
And thou'lt find 'twill then return  
By the other Gate of Horn.  
— From Atrides hospitable Court  
Paris through ploughed S●as Helen does transport,  
And in the gift of Venus proudly joy.]  
Briefly, but fully to this purpose, Statius in 2. Achilles.  
Hospitis Atridae—  
— Spolia● Thalam●s, Helenaque superb●s  
Navigat.—  Whither without me is my Mother fled.] 
Hermione in Ovid's Epistle, 
Ipsa ego non long●s etiam tunc scissa capello●▪  
Clamabam, Sine Me, me sine Mater abis?  
Myself with short hair, torn, cried whither? Oh  
Without me Mother! whither dost thou go?   She with the Virgins is but gone to play.] 
Of these Customary meetings of Virgins to dance in some Garden or Meadow, Theocrit. Idyl. 18. Moschus. Id. 2. Apollon. 1. Musaeus.  From Jove's Royal blood wild Beasts refrain.] 
Upon this ground (perhaps) is built that opinion of the Ancients (commonly received among the vulgar,) that the Lion will not touch the person of a King to hurt him▪ for, 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.—  Challimach. in Hymno ad Jove●. 
Kings are from Jove: nor from Jove springs  
Aught that more sacred is than Kings.   Sleep is death's Twin.] 
Homer in 14. & 16. Iliad. whence Seneca in Hercule furente borrowed this expression,  Frater durae languide mortis. 
For they both had the same parents, Erebus and Night, according to Hesiod in Theogonia: Pausanias (in Eliacorum 1.) reports that he saw at Elis, the picture of a woman holding in her left arm a white, in her right a black child, the one expressing death, the other sleep; the woman herself representing night, the nurse of both. The reason of which feigned Twinship, Athenagoras thus gives: {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. i. e. For this cause I suppose some call sleep, the brother of death, not as deriving their genealogy from the same parents, but from the same accidents which happen to those that sleep and die; as their insensibleness of external occurrences, and their own being.  Hence 'tis &c.] 
By reason of the near similitude of the two affections: Heliodor. l. 2.     

LUDICRA.  

THE SYRACUSIANS, OR Adonis' FESTIVAL. Theocrit. Idyl. 15.  Gorgo, Eunoa, Praxinoe, two strangers, an old Woman. Gorgo. 
PRay, is Praxinoe within?  Eunoa. 
What, Dear  
Gorgo! how great a stranger? yes, she's here.  Prax. 
I'th' name of wonder, what's the news with thee?  
Reach her a Stool and Cushion. 
* See Casaubon. Lect. Theoc. c. 16.   Gorgo. 
Not for me.  Prax. 
Nay sit.  Gorgo. 
Well fare a stout heart yet: I thought  
I scarce should e'er a live to thee have got  
Through such a throng of men, and Coaches: All  
The streets are set with Guards, and every stall  
Crowded with gallants; and thou know'st beside  
From hence to our house is no little stride.  Prax. 
My Goodman Dotard (thank him) at th' worlds end  
Hath found this hole for Me; lest any friend  
Should e'er come at Me: Mischief on his Care  
That's only bent to cross me.  Gorgo. 
Dear, beware  
To talk thus 'fore the child: See how his eye  
Is set upon thee!  Prax. 
Ay, 'tis my good boy;  
We speak not of thy Father.  Gorgo. 
Now by'r Lady  
The Child does understand— Dad's a fine Daddy.  Prax. 
Well, this fine Dad, (for we in private may  
Say what we please) being spoke to th' other day,  
Ceruse and mercury at the shops to buy,  
Brings me home salt: this Dunce twelve Cubits high.  Gorgo. 
Just so my Diocleides does; that Grave  
Of money! Yesterday, a Crown he gave  
For a few Dag-locks coarser than dog's hair;  
Five sheepskins too he bought: most precious ware!  
But let that pass: come, make thee ready strait;  
And let's to Court, to see them celebrate  
Adonis' Feast: the Queen intends (they say)  
To make a gallant show on't.  Prax. 
Great ones may  
Do great things: tell them this that nothing see.  Gorgo. 
Faith, dress thee straight, and go along with me:  
With loiterers 'tis always holiday.  Prax. 
Fetch me some water hither, Eunoa:  
D'ye hear, Joan Cleanly! high you, make more haste;  
Quick; The Cat loves a Cushion: see how fast  
She comes with it!— pour forth: not so much (Drone●)  
Ye idle slut, why hast thou wet my gown?  
Hold!— W'are' E'en washed after a sort, as please  
The Fates:— lock the great chest, and bring the keys.  Gorgo. 
That gown does thee exceeding well become.  

* See Causab. Lect. Theoc. c. 16.  How much might the stuff cost thee from the Loom?  Prax. 
I pray thee do not ask Me: 'bove one Pound  
Or two, the weaving:* but the yarn I found.  Gorgo. 
Troth it does mighty well.  Prax. 
And well y' have said.  
Reach me my Kirtle, wench; and help me spread  
My scarf.— Child, you must stay at home: there's sprites  
Where we are going, and a horse that bites.  
Nay, cry (and th' wilt) as long as thou canst scream,  
I care not: dost thou think I'll see thee lame?  
Come,— 
* To Eunoa.  take the boy, and play with him: d'ye hear!  
Call the Dog in, and make the door fast.— Dear  
What a huge crowd's here! how shall we get by?  
They swarm like Ants. O noble Ptolemy!  
Many a good deed since thy father's days  
We owe thee thanks for. Free are now the ways  
From Thieves and murderers: no Rogues flock together  
To act their cheats now, like birds of a Feather.  
But which way now? there's the Horse-guard before us.  
Pray friend be fair conditioned; don't ride o'er us.  
O, he curvets; 'tis a fierce horse that Bay;  
he'll throw his Rider, let's get out o'th' way:  
Run Eunoe:— I'm glad yet I have made  
The boy keep home.  Gorgo. 
Come, courage; ben't afraid:  
They're past us now.  Prax. 
And so's my fright: good Lord!  
A Horse and Snake are two things I've abhorred  
Even from a child:— but haste, or else another  
Shoal will or'etake us.  Gorgo. 
Come you from Court, Mother?  Old Woman. 
Yes, my good Daughter.  Gorgo. 
Pray, may one get in?  Old Woman. 
The Greeks did Troy by their endeavours win:  
Endeavour will do all things.  Gorgo. 
'Slid th' old Crone  
Speaks Oracles. To woman what's unknown?  
How Jove wood Juno they can tell. But see,  
Before the Gate what store of company?  Prax. 
A world! Gorgo, thy hand: Eutychides,  
Lend Eunoa thine, lest she be lost i'th' press.  
Let's all crowd in together: Eunoe,  
Be sure you keep your hold. Gorgo, Ah me!  
My scarfe's rent quite in two: good Sir, for love  
Of Heaven, help save my scarf there.  Stranger. 
'Tis above  
My power to do it: yet I'll do my best.  Prax. 
They thrust like Swine: how vildly are we pressed!  Stranger. 
Come, come, w'are well now: take a good heart.  Prax. 
May it be ever so with thee, that art  
So kind to us: an honest civil man:  
But O, they crowd as bad as ere again.  
Help, help alas! thrust Eunoa for thy life.  
So, now w'are in, as the man said to's wife.  Gorgo. 
Come, look upon these Hangings first; so fair,  
As if the handy work of Gods they were.  Prax. 
Bless me! what Artist made them of so fine  
A Woof? what Painter could so well design?  
They seem to move: sure they're alive, not wrought:  
Lord! Lord! the wit of man surpasses thought.  
But see how lovely on a silver bed  
(His tender cheeks with a soft down o'er spread)  
Adonis lies! how admirably fair!  
With whom the powers of Hell enamoured are.  2d. Stranger. 
Peace, foolish tattling women; hold your prate:  
Your wide mouthed Doric here is out of date.  Gergo. 
Gup: who art thou? what is our talk to thee?  
Correct your maids, not us of Sicily:  
Yet (would you knew't) we are from Corinth sprung,  
As was Bellerophon: our Mother Tongue  
Peloponnesian is: nor is it scorn  
That they speak Doric, who are Doric born.  Prax. 
More Lords than one, Sir, we disclaim: 
* See Heins. Lect. The. c. 21.  so short!  
Ye need not faith: here's those care little for't.  Gorgo. 
Whist! whist Pr●xi●●e! The Hymn let's hear▪  
This is the maid that did from Sperchis bear  
The Prize. I know she'll sing anon, she ●mms  
Unto herself such sweet Praludiums.  

The Hymn.  
THou who in Golgos, and Idalia tak'st  
Delight, with lofty Erix; who 
* See Hein. Lect. Theoc. cap. 21.  gold mak'st  
Thy joy: sweet Venus! see the soft paced hours  
Thy dear Adonis from th'Infernal powers  
Have brought again at the years end to thee!  
Though slowest of the Deities they be,  
Yet they come wished for, and with something fraug●●  
Always to ●ll. Thou whom Dione brought  
To light, fair Cypris! Berenice's said,  
Mortal, by thee to be immortal made,  
And fed with sweet Ambrosia: wherefore now,  
Her daughter (to make good her grateful vow  
To thee) her Daughter who for form may be  
A second Heli●) fair Arsinoe,  
To thy Adonis' choicest gifts assigns;  
O thou, that gloriest in thy ●●●erous shrines!  
The several fruits which laden Top-boughs yield  
Beside him lie: here flowers of every field  
In Silver Baskets: there Gold Boxes stand  
Full of Assyrian unguents: On this hand,  
All sorts of rare Confections; and with those,  
What e'er of oil or honey we compose.  
All Fo●ls, all beasts for food: green Arbours dressed  
With soft dill branches, where Loves make their nest:  
And like young Nightingales that have but now  
New tried their wings, flutter from bough to bough.  
O the golds splendour! the pure Ivories too!  
The Eagle with Jove's cupbearer that flew!  
And Purple Carpets than sleep softer! may  
The wondering Samian, and Milesian say.  
Here on a rich Bed doth Adonis lie;  
And lovely Venus on another by.  
Soft are his kisses, and his lips still red;  
Venus, now joy in his regained Bed.  
Fo● we to morrow, ere the dew's exhaled,  
With hairs unbound, loose garments, breasts unveiled,  
Him to the foaming waves that wash the shore,  
Shall bear from hence, and with sad songs deplore.  
The way from Hell (Adonis) unto thee  
Is ever open, though to none else free  
Of all the glorious Heroes (as they tell)  
This ne'er th'trides, Ajax ne'er befell.  
Not Hector, chief of Hecuba's numerous Race,  
Patroclus, Pyrrhus', those of elder days,  
The Lapithites, Deucalion's issue; nor  
The Sons of Pelops, (Princes famed in War)  
Nor Argive Kings could e'er to this attain.  
Be now appeased: and the next year again  
Bring gladness with thee: still propitious prove,  
And as thou cam'st, return to us in love.   Gorgo. 
O deer! what a rare woman's this? what choice  
Of knowledge hath she? and how sweet a voice?  
But go:— My husband's fasting still, and then  
He eats his own Gall: Fear a hungry man.  
Farewell Adonis for this time; and when  
The year's done, come, and make us glad again.   

THE SUN-RISE.  

THou youthful Goddess of the Morn!  
Whose Blush they in the East adore;  
Daughter of Phoebus! who before  
Thy all-enlightening Sire art born!  
Haste! and restore the day to me,  
That my love's beauteous Object I may see.   

Too much of time the night devours,  
The Cocks shrill voice calls thee again;  
Then quickly mount thy golden Wain  
Drawn by the softly-sliding hours:  
And make apparent to all eyes  
With what Enamel thou dost paint the skies.   

Leave thy old husband, let him lie  
Snorting upon his downy bed;  
And to content thy Lover, spread  
Thy Flames new lighted, through the sky;  
Hark how thy presence he conjures,  
As leading to the Woods his Hounds, he lures.   

Moisten the fallow grounds before  
Thou com'st, with a sweet dewy rain;  
That thirsty Ceres having ta'en  
Her morning's draught, that day no more  
May call for drink; and we may see  
Spangled with pearly drops each bush and tree.   

Ah! now I see the sweetest dawn!  
Thrice welcome to my longing fight!  
Heil divine beauty! Heavenly light!  
I see thee through yond Cloud of Lawn  
Appear; and as thy star does glide,  
Blanching with rays the East on every side.   

Dull silence, and the drowsy King  
Of sad and melancholy Dreams,  
Now fly before thy cheerful Beams,  
The darkest shadows vanquishing:  
The Owl, that all the night did keep  
A houting, now is fled and gone to sleep.   

But all those little Birds, whose notes  
Sweetly the listening ear enthrall,  
To the clear waters murmuring fall,  
Accord their disagreeing throats,  
The lustre of that greater Star  
Praising, to which thou art but Harbinger.   

'Bove our Horizon see him scale  
The first point of his brighter Round!  
O how the swarthy Aethiop's bound  
With reverence to his light to veil,  
And love the colour of his look,  
Which from a heat so mild, so pure he took.   

A God perceivable is he  
By human sense, nature's bright eye,  
Without whom all her works would die,  
Or in their births imperfect be:  
He Grace and beauty gives alone,  
To all the Works of her Creation.   

With holy Reverence inspired,  
When first the day renews its light,  
The Earth, at so Divine a sight,  
Seems as if all on Altar fired,  
Reeking with Perfumes to the skies,  
Which she presents, her Native Sacrifice.   

The humble Shepherd to his rays,  
Having his rustic Homage paid,  
And to some cool retired shade  
Driven his bleating Flocks to Graze;  
Sits down, delighted with the sight  
Of that great Lamp, so mild, so fair, so bright.   

The Eagle in her Airy sitting  
Spreading her wings, with fixed eye  
Gazes on his, t'whose deity  
She yields all Adoration fitting:  
As to the only quickening fire,  
And Object that her eye does most desire.   

The Salmon (which at Spring forsakes  
T●●tis sa●t Waves) to look on him;  
Upon the water's top doth swim:  
And to express the joy he takes,  
As sportingly along he sails,  
Mocks the poor Fisher with his silver Scales.   

The Bee through flowery Gardens goes  
Buzzing to drink the morning's tears;  
And from the early lily bears  
A kiss, commended to the Rose;  
And like a wary Messenger,  
Whispers some Amor●●s story in her ●ar.   

At which, she rousing from her sleep,  
Her chaster Flames seems to declare  
To him again, (Whilst Dew her fair  
And blushing leaves in tears doth steep)  
The sorrow which her heart doth waste,  
That she's so far from her dear Lover placed.   

And further seems, as if this plaint  
In her mute Dialect she made:  
" Alas! I shall with sorrow fade,  
" And pine away in this restraint,  
" Unless my too too rigorous Fate,  
" My Constant faithful Love commiserate.   

" Love having gained the victory  
" Over my soul, there acts his harms,  
" Nor Thorns so many bear my Arms,  
" As in my heart now prickles be:  
" The only Comfort I can give  
" My self, is this; I have not long to live.   

" But if some courteous Virgin shall,  
" Pitying my Fate, pull my sweet flower,  
" Ere by a sad and fatal hour  
" My Honours fade away and fall;  
" I nothing more shall then desire,  
" But gladly without murmuring expire.   

Peace sweetest Queen of flowers! now see  
Sylvia, Queen of my Love, appear:  
Who for thy Comfort brings with her  
What will thy wishes satisfy;  
For her white hand intends to grace thee,  
And in her sweeter breast, sweet flower to place thee.   
FINIS.   

The Night: OR, The fair Mourner.  
THis fair, and animated Night  
In Sables dressed▪ whose Curls of Light  
Are with a shade of cypress veiled;  
Not from the Stygian Deeps exhaled,  
But from Heaven's bright balcony came;  
Not dropping Dew, but shedding Flame,  
The blushing East her smiles display,  
Her beauteous Front the Dawn of Day;  
The Stars do sparkle in her Eyes,  
And in her Looks the Sun doth rise.  
No mask of Clouds and Storms she wears,  
But still serene and calm appears:  
No dismal Birds, no hideous Fiends,  
Nor charming Hag on her attends;  
The Graces are her Maids of Honour,  
And thousand Cupid's wait upon her.  
Dear Flames! still burning, though you are  
Suppressed: Lights, though obscured, still fair!  
What Heart does not adore you? who,  
But sighs, or languishes for you?  
Heaven wishes, by your shade outvy'd,  
its milky Path in Ink were dy'd:  
The Sun within an Ebon Case,  
Longs to shut up his golden● Face:  
The Moon too with thy sad dress took,  
Would fain put on a mourning Look.  
Sweet Night! and if thou'rt Night, of Peace  
The gentle Mother! Cares Release!  
My Heart, now long oppressed, relieve;  
And in thy softer bosom give  
My weary Limbs a short Repose;  
'Tis but a small Request, Heaven knows:  
Nor think it shame to condescend,  
For Night is styled the lover's Friend.  
But Muse, thou art too loud I fear,  
The Night loves silence, Muse forbear.   

I SOSPIRI.  
Sighs.  

SIghs! light, warm Spirits! in which, Air,  
And Fire, possess an equal share:  
The Souls soft Breath! love's gentle Gales!  
Which from Griefs golf (when all else fails)  
Can by a speedy Course, and short,  
Conduct the Heart to its sweet Port:  
Ye flattering Zephyrs! by whose power,  
Raised on the Wings of thought, each hour  
From the abyss of Miseries  
To her loved heaven the freed Soul flies.   

True lively sparks of that close Fire,  
Which Hearts conceal, and Eyes inspire:  
Chaste Lamps that burn at beauty's shrine,  
Whose purer Flames let none confine:  
Nature a warmth unto my Heart,  
Does not so kind as yours impart;  
And if by Breath preserved alive,  
By your Breath only I survive.   

love's faithful Witnesses! the Brief,  
But true Expresses of our Grief!  
Ambassadors of mute Desires!  
Dumb rhetoric which our Thoughts attires!  
Grief, when it overloads the breast,  
Is in no other language dressed;  
For you the suffering Lovers Flame,  
Sweet, tounglesse Orators, proclaim.   

A numerous Descant upon Sorrow!  
Which sweetness doth from sadness borrow,  
When Love two differing Hearts accords,  
And Joy, in well-tuned Grief, affords.  
The music of whose sweet consent,  
In a harmonious Languishment,  
Does softly fall, and gently rise,  
Till in a broken close, it dies.   

Nature, and all that call her Mother,  
In Sighs discourse to one another:  
Theirs, nightingales, and Doves, in Tones  
Different express; this sings, that groans:  
The Thrush, his, whistles to his Hen;  
The Sparrow chirps out his again;  
Snakes breathe their amorous sighs in Hisses,  
This Dialect no Creature misses.   

The Virgin lily, bashful Rose,  
In Odours their soft sighs disclose;  
Theirs, sportive winds in whispers! re●th;  
Earth hers in Vapours doth bequeathe  
To her celestial Lover; He,  
Touched with an equal sympathy,  
To fann the Flame with which she burns,  
In gentle Gales his sighs returns.  
Ye glowing Sparks of a chaste Fire!  
Now to those radiant Lights aspire,  
The fairer Nests of my fair Love,  
And the bright Spheres where you should move.    

The Surprise.  

THere's no dallying with Love  
Though he be a Child and blind;  
Then let none the danger prove  
Who would to himself be kind:  
Smile he does when thou dost play,  
But his smiles to death betray.   

Lately with the Boy I sported;  
Love I did not, yet Love feigned;  
Had not Mistress, yet I courted;  
Sigh I did, yet was not pained;  
Till at last this Love in jest,  
‛ Proved in Earnest my Un●est.   

When I saw my fair One first,  
In a feigned fire I burned;  
But true flames my poor Heart pierced,  
When her Eyes on mine she turned:  
So a real wound I took  
For my counterfeited Look.   

Slighted Love his skill to show,  
Struck me with a mortal Dart;  
Then I learned that 'gainst his Bow,  
Vain are the weak Helps of Art:  
And thus captived, found that true  
Doth dissembled Love pursue.   

'Cause his Fetters I disclaimed,  
Now the Tyrant faster bound Me;  
With more scorching Brands inflamed,  
'Cause in Love so cold he found me:  
And my sighs more scalding made,  
'Cause with winds before they played.   

None who loves not then make show,  
Love's as ill deceived as Fate;  
Fly the Boy, he'll cog and woo;  
Mock him, and he wounds thee straight.  
Ah! who dally boast in vain;  
False Love wants not real Pain.    

Chloris Eyes and Breasts.  

Chloris! on thine Eyes I gazed;  
When amazed  
At their brightness,  
On thy Breasts I cast my Look;  
No less took  
With their whiteness:  
Both I justly did admire,  
These all Snow, and those all Fire.   

Whilst these Wonders I surveyd,  
Thus I said  
In suspense;  
Nature could have done no less  
To express  
Her Providence,  
Than that two such fair Worlds, might  
Have two Suns to give them Light.    

Love's arithmetic.  

BY a gentle River laid,  
Thirsis to his Phillis said;  
Equal to these sandy Grains,  
Is the Number of my Pains:  
And the Drops within their Bounds  
Speak the sum of all my Wounds.   

Phillis, whom like Passion burns,  
Thirsis Answer thus returns:  
Many as the Earth hath leaves,  
Are the Griefs my heart receives;  
And the Stars, which Heaven inspires,  
Reckon my consuming Fires.   

Then the shepherd, in the Pride  
Of his happy Love, replied:  
With the Choristers of Air  
Shall our numerous joys compare;  
And our mutual Pleasures vy  
With the Cupids in thine Eye.   

Thus the willing shepherdess  
Did her ready Love express:  
In Delights our Pains shall cease,  
And our War be cured by Peace;  
We will count our Griefs with Blisses,  
Thousand Torments, Thousand Kisses.    

Caelia weeping. A Dialogue.  Lover. 
SAy gentle God of Love, in Caelia's breast,  
Can Joy and Grief together rest?  Love. 
No; for those differing Passions are,  
Nor in one Heart at once can share.  Lover. 
Why grieves hers then at once, and joys,  
Whilst it another's Heart destroys?  Love. 
Mistaken Man! that Grief she shows,  
Is but what martyred Hearts disclose  
Which in her Breast tormented lie,  
And Life can neither hope, nor die.  Lover. 
And yet a shower of Pearly Rain  
Does her soft Cheeks fair Roses stain.  Love. 
Alas! those Tears you hers surmise,  
Are the sad Tribute of poor Lovers Eyes.  Chorus. Lover & Love. 
What real then in women can be known!  
When nor their Joys, nor Sorrows are their own?   

The Vow.  

BY my Life I vow,  
That my Life, art Thou;  
By my Heart, and by my Eyes:  
But thy Faith denies  
To my juster Oath t' incline,  
For thou sayst I swear by thine.   

By this Sigh I swear,  
By this falling Tear,  
By the undeserved Pains  
My grieved Soul sustains.  
Now thou mayst believe my Moan,  
These are too too much my own.    

Ice & Fire.  

NAked Love, did to thine Eye,  
Chloris, once to warm him, fly;  
But its subtle Flame, and Light,  
Scorched his Wings, and spoiled his sight.   

Forced from thence he went to rest  
In the soft Couch of thy breast:  
But there met a Frost so great,  
As his Torch extinguished straight.   

When poor Cupid, thus, (Constrained  
His cold Bed to leave) complained;  
'Lass! what lodge's here for Me,  
If all Ice and Fire She be.    

Novo Inamoramento.  

ANd yet anew entangled, see  
Him, who escaped the snare so late!  
A Truce, no League thou mad'st with Me  
False Love! which now is out of date:  
Fool, to believe the Fire quite out, alas!  
Which only laid asleep in Embers was.   

The Sickness not at first past cure,  
By this Relapse despiseth Art:  
Now, treacherous Boy, thou hast me sure,  
Playing the wanton with my Heart,  
As foolish Children that a Bird have got,  
Slacken the Thread, but not untie the knot.    

Caelia's Eyes. A Dialogue.  Lover. 
LOve! tell me; may we Caelia's Eyes esteem  
Or Eyes, or Stars? for Stars they seem.  Love. 
Fond, stupid Man! know Stars they are,  
Nor can Heaven boast more bright or fair.  Lover. 
Are they or erring Lights, or fixed? say.  Love. 
Fixed; yet lead many a Heart a stray.   

The Resemblance.  
MArble (coy Caelia!) 'gainst my prayers thou art,  
And at thy Frown to Marble I convert.  
Love thought it fit, and Nature, thus  
To manifest their several Powers in us.  
Love made me Marble, Nature thee;  
To express Constancy and Cruelty.  
Now both of us shall Monuments remain;  
I of firm Faith, thou of Disdain.   

Love once, Love ever.  

SHall I hopeless then pursue  
A fair shadow that still flies me?  
Shall I still adore, and woo  
A proud Heart that does despise me?  
I a constant Love may so,  
But alas! a fruitless show.   

Shall I by the erring Light  
Of two crosser Stars still sail?  
That do shine, but shine in spite,  
Not to guide, but make me fail?  
I a wandering Course may steer,  
But the Harbour ne'er come near.   

Whilst these Thoughts my Soul possess,  
Reason, Passion would o'rsway;  
Bidding me my Flames suppress,  
Or divert some other way:  
But what Reason would pursue,  
That my Heart runs counter to.   

So a Pilot bent to make  
Search for some unfound out Land,  
Does with him the Magnet take,  
Sailing to the unknown Strand;  
But that (steer which way he will)  
To the loved North points still.    

The Pendants.  
THose asps of Gold with Gems that shine,  
And in enammeled curls do twine,  
Why Chloris in each Ear  
Dost thou for Pendants wear?  
— I now the hidden meaning guess:  
Those mystic signs express  
The stings thine Eyes do dart  
Killing as Snakes into my Heart:  
And show that to my Prayers  
Thine Ears are deaf as theirs.   

The sweet Meat.  

Thou gav'st me late to eat  
A sweet without, but within, bitter Meat:  
As if thou wouldst have said, Here, taste in this  
What Caelia is.   

But if there ought to be  
A likeness (Dearest!) twixt thy gift and thee,  
Why first what's sweet in thee should I not taste,  
The bitter last?    

Violets in Thaumantia's bosom.  
Twice happy Violets! that first had Birth  
In the warm Spring, when no frosts nip the Earth;  
Thrice happy now; since you transplanted are  
Unto the sweeter bosom of my Fair.  
And yet poor Flowers! I pity your hard Fate,  
You have but changed, not bettered your Estate:  
What boots it you t' have scaped cold winter's breath,  
To find, like me, by Flames a sudden death?   

The Dream.  

FAir shadow! faithless as my Sun!  
Of peace she robs my Mind,  
And to my Sense, which rest doth shun,  
Thou art no less unkind.   

She my Address disdainful ●lies,  
And thou like her art fleet;  
The real Beauty she denies,  
And tho● the Counterfeit.   

To cross my innocent desires,  
And make my Griefs extreme,  
A cruel Mistress thus conspires  
With a delusive Dream.    

An old shepherd to a young Nymph.  
SCorn me not Fair because you see  
My Hairs are white; what if they be?  
Think not 'cause in your Cheeks appear  
Fresh springs of Roses all the year,  
And mine, like Winter, wan and old,  
My Love like Winter should be cold:  
See in the Garland which you wear  
How the sweet blushing Roses there  
With pale-hued lilies do combine?  
Be taught by them; so let us join.   

Beauty increased by Pity.  

'TIs true; thy Beauty, (which before  
Did dazzle each bold gazer's Eye,  
And forced even rebel-hearts t' adore,  
Or from its conquering splendour fly)  
Now shines with new increase of Light,  
Like Cynthia at her full, more bright.   

Yet though thou glory in th' Increase  
Of so much Beauty dearest Fair!  
They err who think this great Access,  
(Of which all Eyes th' Admirers are)  
Or Art, or Nature's gift should be:  
Learn then the hidden Cause from Me.  
Pity in thee, in me desire  
First bred; (before, I durst but aim  
At fair Respect) now that close fire  
Thy Love hath fanned into a flame:  
Which mounting to its proper Place,  
Shines like a Glory 'bout thy Face.    

Weeping and Kissing.  
A Kiss I begged; but smiling, she  
Denied it Me:  
When straight, her Cheeks with tears o'rflown,  
(Now kinder grown)  
What smiling she'd not let me have.  
She weeping gave.  
Then you whom scornful beauty's awe,  
Hope yet Relief,  
For Love, (who Tears from Smiles) can draw  
Pleasure from Grief.   

The Dilemma.  
AS poor Strephon (whom hard Fate  
Slave to Chloris Eyes decreed)  
By his cruel fair one sat,  
Whilst his fat Flocks grazed along:  
To the music of his Reed,  
This was the sad shepherd's Song.  
From those tempting Lips if I  
May not steal a Kiss (my Dear!)  
I shall longing pine and die:  
And a Kiss if I obtain,  
My Heartfears (thine Eyes so near)  
By their lightning 'twill be slain.  
Thus I know not what to try:  
This I know yet, that I die.   

Change defended.  

LEave Chloris, leave, prithee no more  
With want of Love, or Lightness charge Me:  
'Cause thy Looks captived me before,  
May not another's now enlarge me?   

He, whose misguided Zeal hath long  
Paid Homage to some Stars pale light,  
Better informed, may without wrong  
Leave that, t'adore the Queen of Night.   

Then if my Heart, which long served thee,  
Will to Car●ntha now incline;  
Why termed inconstant should it be,  
For bowing 'fore a richer shrine?   

Censure that Lover's such, whose will  
Inferior Objects can entice;  
Who changes for the better still,  
Makes that a virtue, you call Vice.    

The microcosm.  
MAn of himself's a little world, but joined  
With woman, woman for that end designed,  
(Hear cruel fair One whilst I this rehearse!)  
He makes up then a complete Universe.  
Man like this sublunary world is, born  
The sport of two cross Planets, Love, and Scorn:  
Woman the other world resembles well,  
In whose Looks heaven is, in whose Breast is Hell.   

The Defeat.  

'Gainst Celinda's Marble breast  
All his Arrows having spent,  
And in vain each Arrow sent,  
Impotent, unarmed Love,  
In a shady Myrtle Grove  
Laid him down to rest.   

‛ Soon as laid, asleep he fell:  
And a Snake, in (as he slept)  
To his empty Quiver crept.  
When fair Chloris, whose soft Heart  
Love had wounded, (and its smart  
Lovers best can tell)   

This Advantage having spied;  
Of his Quiver, and his Bow  
Thought to rob her sleeping Foe:  
Softly going then about  
To have seized upon them; out  
Strait the Snake did glide.   

With whose Hisses frighted, she,  
(Nimbly starting back again)  
Thus did to herself complain:  
Never cruel Archer! never  
(Full, or empty) does thy Quiver  
Want a sting for Me.    

Amore secreto.  

Content thyself fond Heart! nor more  
Let thy close Flames be seen:  
If thou with covert Zeal adore  
Thy Saint enshrined within,  
Thou hast thy Feast, as well as they  
That unto Love keep open holiday.   

In his Religion, all are free  
To serve him as they may.  
In public some, and some there be  
Their vows in private pay.  
Love that does to all Humours bend,  
Admits of several ways unto one End.   

Yet wilt thou not repining cease!  
Still dost thou murmurs vent?  
●tubborn, Rebellious Zealot, peace!  
Nor sign of Discontent  
So much as in one sigh afford;  
For to the Wife in Love, each sigh●s a Word.    

A Maid in Love with a Youth blind of one Eye.  
THough a Sable Cloud benight  
One of thy fair Twins of Light,  
Yet the other brighter seems,  
As 't had robbed its Brother's Beams;  
Or both Lights to one were run,  
Of two Stars, now made one Sun.  
Cunning Archer! who knows yet  
But thou winkest my Heart to hit!  
Close the other too, and All  
Thee the God of Love will call.   

The broken Faith.  
LAtely by clear Thames his side,  
Fair Lycoris I espied  
With the Pen of her white hand  
These words printing on the Sand:  
None Lycoris doth approve  
But Mirtillo for her Love.  
Ah false Nymph! those Words were fit  
In Sand only to be writ:  
For the quickly rising Streams  
Of Oblivion, and the Thames,  
In a little Moments stay  
From the Shore washed clean away  
What thy hand had there impressed,  
And Mirtillo from thy breast.   

Complaint on the Death of Sylvia, to the River.  

Clear Brook! which by thyself art chased,  
And from thyself dost fly as fast,  
Stay here a little; and in Brief  
Hear the sad Story of my Grief:  
Then, hasting to the Sea, declare  
Her Waves not half so bitter are.   

Tell her how Sylvia (she who late  
Was the sole Regent of my Fate)  
Hath yielded up her sweetest Breath,  
In the best Time of Life, to Death:  
Who proud of such a Victory,  
At once triumphs o'er Love, and Me.   

But more (Alas!) I cannot speak;  
Sighs so my sadder Accents break.  
Farewell kind flood! now take thy Way,  
And like my Thoughts, still restless, stray:  
If we retarded have thy Course,  
Hold! with these Tears thy speed enforce.    

A Shepheard inviting a Nymph to his Cottage.  

Dear! on yonder Mountain stands my humble Cot,  
'Gainst Sun and Wind by spreading Oaks secured;  
And with a Fence of Quickset round immured,  
That of a cabin, make 't a shady Grot.  
My Garden's there: o'er which, the Spring hath spread  
A flowery Robe; where thou mayst gather Posies  
Of gillyflowers, Pinks, Jelsomines, and Roses,  
Sweets for thy bosom, Garlands for thy Head.   

Down from that Rocks side runs a purling Brook  
In whose unsullied Face,  
(Though thine needs no new Grace,)  
Thou mayst, as thou think'st best, compose thy Look,  
And there thine own fair Object made,  
Try which (Judged by the River) may by said  
The greater Fire.  
That which my breast feels, or thy Eyes inspire.    

To Ligurinus. Horat. Carm. l. 4. Od. 10. Paraphrasticè.  

CRuel, and fair! when this soft down,  
(Thy Youths bloom,) shall to bristles grow;  
And these fair Curls thy shoulders crown,  
Shall shed, or covered be with snow:   

When those bright Roses that adorn  
Thy Cheeks shall wither quite away,  
And in thy Glass (now made Time's scorn)  
Thou shalt thy changed Face survey.   

Then, ah then (sighing) thou'lt deplore  
Thy Ill-spent Youth; and wish, in vain,  
Why had I not those thoughts before?  
Or come not my first Looks again?    

The Penitent Murderer. Theocrit. Idyl. 31. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  
When Venus saw Adonis dead,  
His Tresses soiled, his Colour fled,  
She straight her winged love's commands  
To bring the cruel Boar in Bands.  
They, the Woods nimbly ranging, found  
The pensive Beast, and brought him bound:  
This drags along the captived foe,  
That pricks him forward with his Bow.  
With trembling steps the Boar drew nigh,  
For he feared angry Venus' Eye.  
— T' whom thus she spoke: O thou the Worst,  
Of all wild Beasts, and most accurst!  
Was't thou with wounding Turks didst tear  
This whiter Thygh? thou kill my Dear?  
To whom the Boar replied, I swear  
By thyself Venus, by thy Dear,  
By these my Bonds, these Hunters, I  
Meant to thy Love no Injury:  
But gazing on him, as some fair  
Statue, unapt the flames to bear  
Desire had kindled in my breast,  
To kiss his naked Thigh I pressed;  
And kissing, killed him: wherefore these,  
These murdering Tusks, doom as you please.  
(For why alas! Teeth do I bear  
That useless and enamoured are?)  
Or if a punishment too small  
You yet think that, take Lips and All.  
But Venus, pitying the Beast,  
Commands that straight he be released;  
Who to the Woods ne'er went again,  
But lived as one of Venus' Train:  
And coming one Day near a Fire,  
Quenched there the flames of his Desire.   

The shepherd. Theocrit. Idyl. 21.  
FAir Eunica I sweetly would have kissed,  
But was with scorn, and this reproach dismissed.  
Hence! what? a shepherd, and yet hope from Me  
For such a Grace? We kiss no Clowns, saith she.  
My Lips I would not with a kiss so vile  
As thine, so much as in a Dream defile.  
Lord! how thou look'st? how like a Lubber sportest?  
What fine discourse thou hast? how sweetly courtest?  
How soft thy Beard is? and how neat thy Hair?  
Thy Lips like sick men's blush, and thy hands are  
White as an Ethiopes: faugh! thou stink'st, out, quick,  
Carrion! be gone; lest thy smell make me sick.  
Then in her breast thrice spitting, me a skew  
(Mumbling t'her self) from Head to foot doth view.  
Such Pride in her self-flattered Beauty takes,  
Whilst in Derision Mouths at Me she makes.  
This scorn my blood inflamed, and red I grew  
With anger, like a Rose new bathed in Dew.  
She went her way, and left me vexed, to see  
I should by such a Huswife slighted be.  
Say shepherds! am I not a handsome Lad?  
Or hath some God transformed, and lately made  
M'another Man? for once I'd a good face:  
And that (as Ivy Trees) my Beard did grace;  
My Locks like Smallage 'bout my Temples twined;  
And my white Front 'bove my black eyebrows shined.  
My Eyes more lovely than Minerva's were,  
Than Curds my Lips more soft, and sweeter far  
My Words than Honey: play too, would you knew't,  
I sweetly can; on Pipe, Shalm, Reed, and Flute.  
There's not a Country Lass but likes, as passes,  
And loves me too: all but your City Lasses;  
Who, 'cause a shepherd, me without regard  
(Forsooth!) pass by, alas! they never heard  
How Bacchus on the Plains did Oxen tend,  
And Venus to a shepherd's Love did bend,  
And his fat Flocks on Phrygian Mountains kept,  
Or loved in Woods, and for Adonis wept.  
What was Endymion but a shepherd? whom  
The Moon affected, and from Heaven would come  
To lie whole Nights on Latmus with the Boy.  
A Shepheard (Rhea) too was once thy Joy:  
And oh, how many 'scape Jove didst thou make  
From Juno's Bed for a young shepherd's sake?  
But Eunica alone doth Swains despise,  
And 'bove those Goddesses herself doth prize.  
Venus no more thou with thy Love mayst keep  
In Town, or Hill; alone thou now must sleep,   

The pastoral Wooing. Daphnis, and shepherdess. Theocrit. Idyl. 28.  Daphnis. 
parish the Swain, away coy Helen bare:  
And I, a Swain, am kissed by one more fair.  Shepherdess. 
Brag not rude Hind; Kisses are empty things.  Daphnis. 
From empty Kisses yet sweet pleasure springs.  Shepherdess. 
I'll wash my mouth, wipe off thy Kisses stain.  Daphnis. 
Wip'st thou thy Lips? then let us kiss again.  Shepherdess. 
Go kiss your Cows; you fit to kiss a Maid!  Daphnis. 
Be not so proud: your youth will quickly fade.  Shepherdess. 
Grapes though they're dry, yet still are Grapes we see,  
And Roses although withered, Roses be.  Daphnis. 
Let's sit and talk beneath this Myrtles shade.  Shepherdess. 
No; your smooth Tongue me once before betrayed.  Daphnis. 
Beneath these Elms than sit and hear me play.  Shepherdess. 
Play to yourself; I not your music weigh.  Daphnis. 
Take heed lest thou the Wrath of Venus find!  Shepherdess. 
Venus' her worst; be but Diana kind.  Daphnis. 
Oh say not so: lest her excited Rage  
Thee in unextricable Snares engage.  Shepherdess. 
Do what she can, find we Diana's Grace.  
Hold off your hands, or else I'll scratch your Face.  Daphnis. 
Love, which no Maid e'er did, thou must not fly.  Shepherdess. 
By Pa● I will: why dost thou press so nigh?  Daphnis. 
I fear he'll make thee stoop to thy first Love.  Shepherdess. 
Though wooed by many, none I did approve.  Daphnis. 
Amongst those many, here, behold! I sue.  Shepherdess. 
Why, my kind Friend, what wouldst thou have me do?  
The married Life with troubles is replete.  Daphnis. 
No Cares, Joys only Marriage doth beget.  Shepherdess. 
They say, Wives of their Husbands live in fear.  Daphnis. 
Of whom do Women? rather domineer.  Shepherdess. 
But thought of childbed Pains makes me afraid.  Daphnis. 
Diana, whom thou servest, will be thy Aid.  Shepherdess. 
But bearing Children will my Beauty wrong.  Daphnis. 
In Children thou wilt see thyself still young.  Shepherdess. 
What Dowry wilt thou give if I consent?  Daphnis. 
My Flocks, my Groves, my Fields, be thou content.  Shepherdess. 
Swear, that, when married, thou wilt ne'er forsake me.  Daphnis. 
By Pan I will not, so thou please to take me.  Shepherdess. 
Thou'lt give me Beds, and House, and Sheep to breed?  Daphnis. 
Both House, and Beds, and the fair Flocks I feed.  Shepherdess. 
What shall I to my aged Father say?  Daphnis. 
He, when he hears my Name, will soon give way.  Shepherdess. 
How art thou called? for Names do often please.  Daphnis. 
Daphnis my Name, my Father's Lycides,  
My Mother's Nomaea.  Shepherdess. 
Of an honest Line  
Thou com'st, nor we of no more mean than thine.  Daphnis. 
Yet not so great to make your Pride aspire,  
For, as I take't, Menalcas is your Sire.  Shepherdess, 
Show me your Stalls, and Groves.  Daphnis. 
Come let thine Eyes  
Witness how high my Cypress Trees do rise.  Shepherdess. 
Feed Goats whilst I survey the shepherd's Bounds.  Daphnis. 
Graze Bullocks whilst I show the Nymph my Grounds.  Shepherdess. 
What dost? why thrustest thy hand into my breast?  Daphnis. 
Thus thy soft, swelling bosom should be pressed.  Shepherdess. 
Help Pan! I faint; Swain, take thy hand away.  Daphnis. 
Fear not sweet Nymph; nor tremble with dismay.  Shepherdess. 
'Twill spoil my Coat should I i'th' dirt be thrown.  Daphnis. 
No; see! on this soft hide I'll lay thee down.  Shepherdess. 
Ah Me! why hast thou loos●d my Virgin Zone?  Daphnis. 
To Venus this be an Oblation.  Shepherdess. 
Hark! see! some body comes; I hear a Noise.  Daphnis. 
The Cypress Trees are whispering of our joys.  Shepherdess. 
Th''ve torn my clothes, and me quite naked laid.  Daphnis. 
I'll give thee better.  Shepherdess. 
Words no deeds e'er paid.  Daphnis. 
Would I could send my soul into thee now!  Shepherdess. 
Oh Phoebe, pardon! I have broke my Vow.  Daphnis. 
A Calf to Love, a Bull to Venus burn.  Shepherdess. 
A Maid I came, a Woman shall return.  Daphnis. 
And be a Mother-Nurse to pretty boys.  Shepherdess. 
Thus intertalked they midst the active joys  
Of closely Embraces; when at length they rose,  
And being up, to feed her Flock she goes  
With blushing Face, but with a lightsome Heart,  
Whilst to his herds he no less pleased doth part.   

On the Picture of Icarus in Wax. Marino.  
What once did unto thee impart  
The means of Death; by happy Art  
Now thee restores to life again:  
Yet still remember to refrain  
Ambitious Flights; nor soar too nigh  
The Sun of an inflaming Eye;  
For so thou mayst, scorched by those Beams,  
In Ashes die, as once in Streams.   

On a Marble Statue of Nero, which falling killed a Child. Marino.  
THis Statue, bloody Nero does present;  
To Tyrants a sad Document.  
Though Marble, on his Basis yet so fast  
He stood not, but he fell at last.  
And seems as when he lived, as cruel still,  
He could not fall, but he must kill.   

On Paula. Mart. l. 9 Epig. 5.  
FAin she'd have Priscus; and who blame her can?  
But he'll not have her: and who'll blame the Man?   

On an Ill Husband and Wife. Mart. l. 8. Epigr. 34.  
SInce both of you so like in Manners be,  
Thou the worst Husband, and the worst Wife she,  
I wonder, you no better should agree.   

On Candidus, a rich Miser. Mart. l. 3. Epig. 26.  
Alone thou dost enjoy a fair Estate,  
Alone rare Myrrhme Vessels, golded Plate;  
Alone rich Wines dost drink; and hast for None  
A Heart, nor Wit but for thyself alone.  
None shares with thee, it is denied by no man:  
But Candidus, thou hast a Wife that's Common.   

On Bassus a pitiful Poet. Mart. l. 5. Epigr. 53.  
Why writ'st thou of Thyestes, Colchis hate,  
Andromache, or Niobes sad Fate?  
Deucalion (Bassus!) better far would fit,  
Or Phaeton, believe me, with thy Wit.   

On a Boy kill●d by the fall of an icicle. Mart. l. 4. Epig. 18.  
Where streams from Vipsan Pipes Port Capen powers,  
And the Stones moistened are with constant showers,  
A drop congealed to a sharp icicle  
On a Child's Throat that stood beneath it, fell,  
And when the wretch's Fate dissolved it had,  
Melted away in the warm wound it made.  
What may not cruel Fate? or where will not  
Death find us out, if water Throats can cut?   

On Nestor a whisperer. Mart. l. 3. Epig. 28.  
THou wonderest Marius' Ears should smell so Ill:  
They may thank thee; thou whisper'st in 'em still.   

On Martinia, an old, old, lecherous— Mart. l. 3. Epigr. 32.  
What? canst thou not with an old woman bed  
Thou criest?— yes: but thou art not old but dead.  
We could with Hecuba, or Niobe  
Make shift, but then (Martinia!) it must be  
Before the one  
Into a Bitch be turned, tother to Stone.   

On Philomuse, a needy Newesmonger. Mart. l. 9 Epig. 35.  
TO gain a Supper, thy shift (Philomuse!)  
Is to vent lies, instead of Truths, for News:  
Thou know'st what Pacor●s intends to do,  
Canst count the German Troops and Sarmats too.  
The Dacian General's Mandates dost profess  
To know, and Victories before the Express.  
How oft it rains in Egypt, thou as well,  
And Number of the Lybian Fleet, canst tell.  
Whom Victor in the next Quinquatrian Games  
Caesar will crown, thy knowing Tongue proclaims:  
Come, leave these shifts: thou this Night (Philomuse)  
Shalt sup with Me; but, not a word of News.   

On Aulus a Poet-Hater. Mart. l. 8. Epig. 63.  
AUlus Loves Thestius, him Alexis fires;  
Perhaps he too, our Hyaci●●h desires;  
Go now, and doubt if Poets he approves,  
When the Delights of Poets Aulus Loves!   

On Lentinus, being troubled with an Ague. Mart. l. 12. Epig. 17.  
LEntinus! thou dost nought but fume, and fret,  
To think thy Ague will not leave thee yet.  
Why? it goes with thee; baths as thou dost do,  
Eats mushrooms, Oysters, sweetbreads, wild Boar too,  
Oft drunk by thee with Falern Wine is made,  
Nor Caecub drinks unless with snow allayed:  
Tumbles in Roses daubed with unctuous sweets,  
Sleeps upon Down between pure cambric sheets,  
And when thus well it fares with thee, wouldst thou  
Have it to go unto poor Damma now?   

To Priscus. Mart. l. 8. Epigr. 11.  
Why a rich Wife (Priscus) I will not wed,  
Ask'st thou?— I would not have my Wife, my Head:  
Husbands should have superiority;  
So Man and Wife can only equal be.   

On Phoebus that wore leather Caps. Mart l. Epig.  
whilst thou a Kidskin Cap puttest on  
To hide the Baldness of thy Crown,  
On jested wittily, who said,  
Phoebus, that thou hadst shod thy Head.   

On Horace a poor fellow. Mart. l. 4. Epigr. 2.  
HOrace alone, 'mongst all the Company,  
In a black Gown the Plays did lately see.  
Whilst both the Commons, and the Knights of Rome,  
Senate, and Caesar all in white did come.  
When straight it snowed apace; so he the sight  
Beheld as well as all the rest, in white.   

On a Swallow torn in pieces by her fellows. Mart. l. 5. Epig. 67.  
WHen for their winter Homes the Swallows made,  
One 'gainst the custom in her old Nest stayed.  
The rest at Spring returned, the Crime perceive,  
And the offending Bird of Life bereave.  
Late yet she suffered, she deserved before,  
But then when she in pieces Itys tore.   

To Apollo pursuing Daphne. Auson.  
THrow by thy Bow, nor let thy Shafts appear,  
She flies not thee, but does thy weapons fear,   

De Erotio Puella. Mart. l. 5. Epigr. 38.  
SHe, (who than down of aged Swans more fair,  
More soft was than Galaesian Lambkins are;  
More beauteous than those shells Lucrinus shows,  
Or Stones which Erythraean Waves disclose;  
Smooth as the Elephants new polished Tooth,  
Whiter than lilies in their Virgin Growth,  
Or Snow new fallen; the colour of whose Tresses  
Outvy'd the German curls, or Baetick Fleeces;  
Whose Breath the Pestan Rosaries excelled,  
The honey in Hymaettian Hives distilled,  
Or cha●ed Ambers scent: with whom conferred  
The phoenix was but thought a common Bird)  
She, she, in this new Tomb yet warm, doth lie,  
Whom the stern hand of cruel Destiny  
In her sixth year, e'er quite expired, snatched hence,  
And with her all my best joys: yet 'gainst all sense  
Paetus persuades me not to grieve for her;  
Fie, says he, (whilst his hair he seems to tear)  
Art not ashamed to mourn thus for a Slave?  
I have a Wife laid newly in the Grave,  
Fair, rich, and noble, yet I live you see.  
O what than Paetus can more hardy be?  
No sorrow sure a heart like his can kill,  
●'hath gained 
* By the Death of wife.  ten thousand Pounds, yet he lives still.   

On Mancinus a Prating Braggart. Mart. l. 4. Epig. 61.  
THou mad'st thy Brags that late to thee a Friend  
A hundred Crowns did for a Present send:  
●ut four days since (when with the Wits we met)  
Thou saidst Pompilla too (or I forget)  
●ave thee a rich suit worth a thousand more,  

* Altered purposely.  Scarlet of Tyre with gold embroidered o'er:)  
And sworest that Madam Bassa sent thee late  
Two emerald Rings, the Lady Caelia, Plate.  
And yesterday, when at the Play we were,  
At coming forth, thou toldest me in my Ear,  
There fell to thee that Morning, the best part  
Of Fourscore Pounds per Annum next thy Heart.  
What wrong have I thy poor Friend done thee, that  
Thou thus shouldst torture me? Leave, leave this Chat  
For pities sake; or if thou'lt not forbear,  
Tell me than something that I'd gladly hear.   

On Picens. Mart. l. 8. Epig. 62.  
PIcens the Backside of his Book doth fill  
With tedious Epigrams; yet takes it ill  
Phoebus should show himself his Back Friend still.   

On Caius, one of large Promises, but small Performances. Mart. l. 10. Epig. 16.  
IF not to give, but say so, giving be,  
Caius'! for giving we will vie with thee.  
What e'er the Spaniard in Gallician fields  
Digs up, what the gold Stream of Tagus yields,  
What the tanned Indian dives for in the deep,  
Or in its Nest th' Arabion Bird doth keep,  
The wealth which Tyrian Caldrons boil; receive  
Bll this, and more; but so as thou dost give.   

To Posthumus, an Ill Liver. Mart. l. 5. Epigr. 58.  
STill, still thou criest to morrow I'll live well:  
But when will this to morrow come? canst tell?  
How far is't hence? or where is't to be found?  
Or upon Parthian, or Armenian Ground?  
Priam's, or Nostors years by thised has got;  
I wonder for how much it might be bought?  
Thou'lt live to morrow?— 'tis too late to day:  
he's wise who yesterday, I lived, can say.   

To Thelesinus. Mart. l. 3. Epigr. 40.  
THou think'st th' hast shown thyself a mighty friend,  
'Cause at my suit thou fifty Pounds didst lend:  
But if thou, rich, for lending, mayst be said  
So great a Friend: what I, who Poor, repaid?   

On Cynna a bold suitor. Mart. l. 3. Epigr. 60.  
THou sayst 'tis nothing that thou ask'st me; Why,  
If thou ask'st nothing, nothing I deny,   

The happy life. To Julius Martialis. Mart. l. 10. Epig. 47.  
THose things which make life truly blessed,  
Sweetest Martial hear expressed:  
Wealth left, and not from Labour growing;  
A grateful soil, a Hearth still glowing;  
No Strife, small Business, Peace of Mind,  
Quick Wit, a Body well inclined,  
Wise Innocence, Friends of one Heart,  
Cheap Food, a Table without Art;  
Nights which nor Cares, nor surfeits know,  
No dull, yet a chaste Bedfellow;  
Sleeps which the tedious Hours contract;  
Be what thou mayst be, nor exact  
Aught more; nor thy last Hour of breath  
Fear, nor with wishes hasten Death.   

Epitaphium Glaucae. Mart. l. 6. Epig. 28.  
HEre Meliors freedman, known so well,  
Who by all Rome lamented, fell,  
His dearest Patrons short-lived Joy,  
Glaucias, beneath this Stone doth lie,  
Near the Flaminian Way interred:  
Chaste, modest, whom quick Wit preferred  
And happy form, who to twelve past,  
Scarce one year added; that, his Last.  
If Passenger thou weep'st for such a Loss,  
Mayst thou ne'er mourn for any other Cross.   

To Sextus. Mart. l. 2. Epig. 3.  
YOu say y'oweow nothing; and 'tis true you say;  
For he owes only, who hath means to pay.   

To Maximus. Mart. l. 7. Epig. 72.  
TH' Esquiliae a House of thine doth show  
Mount Aventine, and the Patrician Row.  
Hence Cybell's Fane, thence Vesta's thou dost view;  
From this th' Old Jupiter, from that the New;  
Where shall I meet thee? in what Quarter, tell?  
He that does everywhere, does nowhere dwell.   

To Stella. Mart. l. 7. Epigr. 35.  
When my poor Villa could not storms sustain,  
Nor watery Jove, but swam in floods of Rain,  
Thou sentest me tiles, wherewith to make a Fence  
'Gainst the rude Tempests sudden violence.  
We thank thee Stella: but cold Winter's near,  
The Villa's covered, not the Villager.   

On Parthenopaeus. Mart. l. 11. Epig. 87.  
THy Doctor, that he may assuage the Pain  
Of thy sore Throat, which a sharp Cough doth strain,  
Prescribes thee honey, sweetmeats, luscious Pies,  
Or what e'er else stills fretful children's cries:  
Yet leavest thou not thy coughing: now we see  
'Tis no sore Throat, but sweet Tooth troubles thee.   

On Philaenus. Mart. l. 11. Epigr. 102.  
IF how Philaenus may be styled  
A Father, who ne'er got a Child  
Thou'dst know; Davus can tell thee it,  
Who is a Poet and ne'er writ   

The Choice of his Mistress. Mart. l. Epigr.  
I would not have a wench with such a waste  
As might be well with a Thumb-Ring embraced;  
Whose bony Hips, which out on both sides stick,  
Might serve for Graters, and whose lean Knees prick;  
One, which a saw does in her backbone bear,  
And in her Rump below carries a Spear.  
Nor would I have her yet of Bulk so gross  
That weighed should break the Scales at th' market-cross;  
A mere unfathomed lump of Grease; no, that  
Like they that will; 'tis Flesh I love, not Fat.   

To Sextus. Mart. l. 2. Epig. 55.  
SExtus thou willest that I should show  
Thee Honour, where I love would owe;  
And I obey since 'tis thy will,  
By Me thou shalt be honoured still:  
But Sextus if thou'lt honoured be,  
Thou shalt not then be loved by Me.   

On Baucis, an old drunken Crone. Antholog. Graec.  
BAucis the Bane of Pots, what time she lay  
Sick of a fever, thus to Jove did pray;  
If I escape this Fit, I vow to take  
These hundred Suns no drink but from the Lake:  
Wanting her wonted Cups, (now past all doubt  
Of Danger) she one day this shift found out,  
She takes a sieve, and through the bottom pries;  
So she at once a hundred Suns espies.   

On Captain Ansa, a bragging runaway. Casimire.  
whilst timorous Ansa lead his Martial Band  
'Gainst the Invaders of his Native Land,  
Thus he bespoke his Men before the Fight:  
Courage my Mates, let's dine, for we to Night  
Shall Sup (Says he) in Heaven: this having said,  
‛ Soon as the threatning Ensigns were displayed,  
And the loud Drums and Trumpets had proclaimed  
Defiance twixt the hosts; he, (who ne'er shamed  
At Loss of Honour) fairly ran away,  
When being asked, how chance he would not stay  
And go along with them to sup in Heaven?  
Pardon me Friends (said he) I fast this Even.   

To Fuscus. Mart. l. 1. Epig. 55.  
IF Fuscus thou hast room for one Friend more,  
(For well I know thou everywhere hast store)  
Let me complete the List; nor be thought e'er  
The worse 'cause New; such once thy old friends were:  
But try if he you for your New Friend take,  
May happily an old Companion make.   

On Marcus Anton: Primus his Picture. Mart. l. 10. Epig. 32.  
THis Picture, which with Violets you see  
And Roses decked, askest thou whose it may be?  
Such was Antonius in his Prime of Years,  
Who here still young, though he grow old, appears.  
Ah! could but Art have drawn his Mind in this,  
Not all the World could show a fairer piece.   

Horat.  

SEest thou not, how Socrates Head,  
(For all its Height) stands covered  
With a white periwig of Snow?  
Whilst the labouring Woods below  
Are hardly able to sustain  
The Weight of winter's feathered Rain;  
And the arrested Rivers stand  
Imprisoned in an Icy Band?  
Dispel the Cold; and to the Fire  
Add fuel, large as its Desire;  
And from the Sabine Casque let fly  
(As free as Liberality)  
The Grapes rich blood, kept since the Sun  
His annual Course four times hath run.  
Leave to the Gods the rest, who have  
Allayed the Winds, did fiercely rave  
In battle on the Billowy main,  
Where they did blustering tug for reign.  
So that no slender Cypress now,  
It's Spirelike Crown does tottering, bow:  
Nor aged Ashtrees, with the shock  
Of Blasts impetuous, do rock.   

Seek not too morrow's Fate to know;  
But what day Fortune shall bestow,  
Put to a discreet usury.  
Nor (gentle youth!) so rigid be  
With froward scorn to dispprove  
The sweeter Blandishments of Love.  
Nor mirthful Revels shun, whilst yet  
Hoary Austerity is set  
Far from thy greener years; the Field  
Or Cirque should now thy Pastime yield:  
Now nightly at the hour select,  
And pointed Place, Loves Dialect,  
Soft whispers, should repeated be;  
And that kind Laughters treachery,  
By which some Virgin closely laid  
In dark Confinement, is betrayed:  
And now from some soft Arm, or Wrist,  
A silken Braid, or silver Twist,  
Or Ring from Finger, should be gained,  
By that too nicely not retained.    

Ad Puellam edentulam. Mart. l. 2. Epig. 41.  
SMile if thou'rt wise; smile still, fair Maid!  
Once the Pelignian Poet said;  
But not to all Maids spoke he this,  
Or spoke he to all Maids I wis,  
Yet not to thee; for thou art None.  
Thy bare Gums show three Teeth alone,  
Scaled o'er with black and yellow Rust:  
If then thy glass or Me thou'lt trust,  
Thou laughter shouldst no less abhor,  
Than rough Winds crisped Spanius, or  
The neat-drest Priscus the rude Touch  
Of boisterous hands, and fear as much  
As Caelia does the Sun; or more  
Than painted Bassa does a shower.  
Looks thou shouldst wear more grave, and sad,  
Than Hector's Wife, or Mother had:  
Never at Comedies appear;  
All festive Jollities forbear;  
And what e'er else doth laughter cause,  
And the closed Lips asunder draws.  
Thou childless Mothers shouldst alone,  
Or Brothers hapless Fates, bemoan:  
Or follow still some mournful Hearse,  
And with sad Tragedies converse.  
Then rather do as I advise,  
Weep (Galla) still, weep, if thou'rt wise.   

Epitaph on an old drunken Crone. Ex Antipatr. Sidon.  
THis Tomb Maronis holds, o'er which, doth stand  
A bowl, carved out of Flint, by Mentor's hand:  
The tippling Crone while living, death of friends  
Ne'er touched, nor Husbands, nor dear children's Ends.  
This only troubles her, now dead; to think,  
The monumental bowl should have no drink.   

On Bibinus, a notorious Drunkard. Scaliger.  
THe Sot Loserus is drunk twice a day;  
Bibinus only once; now of these, say,  
Which may a man the greatest Drunkard call?  
Bibinus still; for he's drunk once for All.   

On poor Codrus, who though blind, was yet in Love. Mart. l. 3. Epig. 15.  
NOne in all Rome, like Codrus trusts I find;  
How, and so poor! he loves, and yet is blind.   
FINIS.   

ETHICA.  

Ausonii Ludus septum Sapientum.  

The Prologue.  
THe seven Wisemen, (that Name Times passed applied  
To them, nor hath Posterity denied)  
Themselves this Day unto your view present.  
Why dost thou blush gowned Roman? discontent  
That such grave Men should on the Stage be brought!  
Is't shame to us! 'twas none to Athens thought:  
Whose council-chamber was their theatre.  
True; here for business several Places are  
Assigned, the Cirque for Meetings, Courts to take  
enrolments, Forums in which Pleas to make:  
But in old Athens, and all Greece, was known  
No other Place for business, but this 
* viz. the theatre.  One,  
Which later Luxury in Rome did raise.  
The Aedile heretofore did build for plays  
A Scaffold-stage, No work of Carved stone;  
So Galbus and Murena did, 'tis known:  
But after, when great Men not sparing Cost,  
Thought it the highest Glory they could boast,  
To build for plays a Scene more eminent,  
The theatre grew to this vast Extent;  
Which Pompey, Balbus, Caesar, did enlarge;  
Vying, which should exceed for State and Charge.  
But to what End all this? We came not here  
To tell you who first built the theatre  
Or Forum, or who raised this Gallery;  
But as the Prologue to a Comedy,  
In which act heaven-loved Sages; who in Verse  
Their own Judicious Sentences rehearse,  
Known to the Learned, and perhaps to you:  
But if your memories shall not well renew  
Things spoke so long since; the Comedian shall,  
Who better than I knows them, tell you all.   
Enter Comedian. 
A Thenian Solon, Fame sings, wrote at Delphis  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; whose sense, Know thyself, is.  
But this for Spartan Chilon's many take.  
Whether this Chilon's be, some question make,  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}: Is't hard?  
we'll englished; Th' End of a long Life regard.  
But this (say some) to Croesus Solon sung.  
From Lesbian Pittacus this Motto sprung,  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; that's Know-Time: But He  
By {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} here means opportunity.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Bias, did proceed  
From thee; that is, Most Men are Ill. Take heed  
You not mistake him; for by Ill Men here  
He means the Ignorant: the next you hear  
Is Periander's {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  
That is, Thought's All in All; a thoughtful Man!  
But Lyndian Cleobulus does protest  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; Mean in All is best.  
Thales, {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} cries.  
Upon a Surety present Damage lies.  
But this, 'fore those who gain by it, to tell,  
May' chance displease: Now Solon comes, farewell.  Exit.  
Enter Solon. 
Lo! on the Roman Stage is Solon come,  
Clad in his Grecian Ornaments: To whom  
Fame gave the Prize of wisdom from the rest;  
But Fame is not of Censure the strict Test.  
Nor first nor last I take myself to be,  
●or there's no Order in equality.  
Well did the Delphic Prophet sport with him  
Who asked, which first of the wisemen might seem,  
●ying; if on a Globe their Names he writ,  
●one first, or lowest he should find in it.  
●●om midst of that learned Round come I; that so,  
●Vhat once I spoke to Croesus, All here now  
●ight take as spoken to themselves; 'Tis this:  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}; which is  
〈◊〉 English, Mark of a long life the End;  
●ill then your Censure of All Men suspend:  
●or Miserable These, nor happy Those  
●steem; for None are such till their last Close.  
the Ground of this we'll in few Words display.  
●Craesus, the Tyrant King of Lydia,  
●●ppy, and rich even to excess! (who walled  
the Temples of his Gods with pure Gold) called  
●e from my Country to him: We obey  
●is royal Summons, went to Lydia,  
●illing his Subjects by our means might find  
●heir King improved, and bettered in his Mind.  
He asks Me whom I thought the happiest Man?  
I said Telana the Athenian,  
Who his life nobly for his Country gave;  
He pishes at it, will another have.  
I told him then Aglaus who the Bounds  
Ne'er past in all his life of his own grounds;  
Smiling, he says, what think you then of Me?  
Esteemed the happiest in the whole World? We  
Replied, his End could only make that known.  
He takes this Ill: I, willing to be gone,  
Kiss his hand, and so leave him: For some Ends  
Meantime, 'gainst Persia he a War intends;  
And all Things ready, does in Person go.  
How speeds? he's vanquished, Prisoner to his foe,  
And ready now to yield his latest Breath,  
(For by the Victor he was doomed to death)  
Upon the funeral Pile rounded with Flames  
And smoke, he thus with a loud voice exclaims.  
O Solon! Solon! now I plainly see  
thou'rt a true Prophet! thrice thus naming Me.  
Moved with which words, Cyrus, (the conqueror)  
Commands the Fire be quenched; which, by a shower  
Of Rain then falling, happily was laid.  
Thence to the King by a choice Guard conveyed,  
And questioned who that Solon was? and why  
He called so on his Name? He, for Reply,  
In Order all declares: pity at this  
The Heart of Cyrus moves; and Croesus is  
Received to grace, who in a Princely Port  
Lived after, honoured in the Persian Court.  
Both Kings approved, and praised Me; but what I  
Said then to one, let each Man here apply  
As spoke t't'himself; 'twas for that end I came.  
Farewell: your liking let your hands proclaim.  Exit Solon.  
Enter Chilon. 
MY Hips with sitting, Eyes with seeing ache,  
Expecting when Solon an End would make.  
How little, and how long you attics prate!  
Scarce in three hundred Lines one word of Weight,  
Or a grave Sentence! how he looked on me  
At going off?— Now Spartan Chilon see!  
Who with Laconian Brevity commends  
To you the Knowledge of yourselves, kind friends!  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, carved in Delphos Fane.  
'Tis a hard Work, but recompensed with Gain.  
Try your own strength; examine what 'tis you  
Have done already, what you ought to do.  
All Duties of our Life, as modesty,  
Honour, and constancy, included be  
In this; and Glory th' idol of these days.  
I've said: Farewell: I stay not for your Praise.  Exit▪  
Enter Cleobulus. 
I Cleobulus, though my Native Seat  
Be a small Isle, am Author of a great  
And glorious Sentence; {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman};  
A Mean is best; You Sirs that sit upon  
The fourteen middle Benches next unto  
Th' Orchestra, best may judge if this be true.  
Your nod shows your Assent: We thank you; but  
We shall proceed in Order: Was it not  
Your Afer, (though a Man he of late Time is)  
That said once in this Place, Ut ne quid Nimis?  
And hither does our {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} aim.  
The Doric and the Latin mean the same.  
In speaking, being silent, or in sleep,  
In good Turns, or in bad, a mean still keep.  
In study, Labour, or what else so e'er.  
I've said: and that a Mean I keep, end here.  Exit▪  
Enter Thales. 
I'm Thales, who maintain (as Pindar sings)  
Water to be th' original of Things,  

* 〈◊〉 me Ver●●● because ●erfect in Original, ●●●ted.  And on the Stage (as those before) am come  
T' assert the Truth of my own Axiom.  
Perhaps by some 't may be offensive thought:  
But not by those by sad experience taught.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, say we,  
Be Surety, and be sure a loser be.  
A thousand Instances I could produce  
To prove Repentance is the only use  
That can be made of it, but that We here  
Examples by their Names to cite, forbear.  
Make your own Application, and conceive  
The Damage, Men by this sole Act receive.  
Nor this our good Intention take amiss.  
You that like, clap, you that dislike it, hiss.  Exit.  
Enter Bias. 
I Am Priaenean Bias, who once taught  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, That most men are nought.  
I wish 't had been unspoken; for Truth gains Hate.  
But by bad Men, I meant illiterate,  
And those who barbarously all Laws confound,  
Religion, Justice; for within this Round  
I see none but are good: believe all those  
Whom I proclaim for bad amongst your Foes:  
Yet there is none so partially applied  
To favour Vice but with the good will side:  
Whether he truly be such, or would fain  
Of a good man the Reputation gain:  
The hated name of an ill Man, there's none  
But flies: if y'are all good, your praise: I'm gone.  Exit.  
Enter Pittacus. 
I'm Pittacus, who once this maxim penned,  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, That's Time apprehend.  
But by Time we meant Time in Season, as,  
In tempore veni is your Roman Phrase.  
And your own comic Poet Terence, he,  
Chief of all things makes opportunity,  
Where Dromo comes unto Antiphila  
I'th'nick of Time: consider what I say,  
And mark how many Inconvenience  
Sustain, for want of this sole Providence!  
But now 'tis more than Time we should be gone;  
Farewell: and give your Approbation.  Exit.  
Enter Periander. 
NOw on the Stage see Periander move!  
He who once said, and what he said will prove  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}. Thought is all in all.  
Since him a perfect Agent we may call  
Who first considers what he undergoes;  
For we should still forecast▪ as Terence shows,  
Th' Event of Business, whether good, or bad,  
E'er w'undertake it: where may best be had  
Conveniency for Planting, where to build,  
When to wage War, and where to pitch a Field:  
Nor unconsiderately take in hand  
Or great or small Things; for that makes a stand  
In the free Progress of all new designs;  
In which, there's nothing Policy enjoins  
Like Consultation; hence it is that they  
Who use it not, Chance does, not counsel, sway.  
But I retire; whilst you with better Fate  
Employ your Thoughts how to uphold your State.    

The Sentences of those seven Sages, comprehended in as many Septenaries.  

Bias Prieneus▪  
what's mens' chief good? a Mind that right doth know.  
What's his chief Ill? Man, his own greatest Foe.  
Who's rich? he who's contented. Who poor? He  
Who Covets. A Wives best dower? Chastity.  
What woman's chaste? whom Fame dares not belie.  
who's the wise man? who can, but doth no Ill.  
The Fool? He who cannot, yet hath the will.   

Pittacus Mitylenaeus.  
NOne knows to speak, who knows not to refrain.  
'Fore many bad, one good Man's Praise retain.  
He's mad who envies others happiness.  
So's he who joys in other men's distress.  
The Laws thou dost impose, thyself obey.  
When Times are prosperous store of Friends provide:  
When they are bad, but in a few confide.   

Cleobulus Lindius.  
THe more thou canst, 'less wish to do. The spite  
Of Fortune oft doth on the guiltless light.  
None long is happy in Impiety.  
In others much, nought in thyself pass by.  
The good Man's Friend is still the bad Man's Foe.  
Our Father's merits want of their due Fame.  
And oft our children's Portion is but shame.   

Beriander Corinthius.  
DEcent and Profitable ne'er dissent.  
The happier Man still the more Provident.  
'Tis ill to wish, 'tis worse to fear Death, we  
Should make a Virtue of Necessity.  
He who is feared by many, many fears.  
When Fortune's kind, dread thy advanced height:  
And scorn to sink yet when she shows her spite.   

Solon Atheniensis.  
LIfe then is happy, when 'tis consummate.  
Wed with thy like; Disparity breeds hate,  
Confer not Honours casually. A friend  
Convince in private, publicly commend.  
'Tis more to be, than be made Noble far.  
If Fates decrees are sure, in vain We fly them;  
If they are not, in vain We fear to try them.   

Chilo Lacedaemonius.  
Feared by inferiors, nor by betters scorned  
Let me not live. Oft of thy Death be warned,  
And Health: Misfortunes, by thy own, defeat,  
Or friends Advice. The good thou dost, forget,  
But that which thou receivest, remember still.  
Age that resembles Youth doth grateful come.  
Youth that resembles Age is burdensome.   

Thales Milesius.  
ABout to sin, thyself, though none else, fear.  
Life dies: the glory of a good Death, ne'er.  
What thou intend'st to do, forbear to tell.  
To fear what thou canst not o'ercomes a Hell.  
A just Reproof does good though from a Foe:  
But a false Praise does harm, though from a Friend.  
Nilnimium satis est bids us here end.    

Amphion, or a City well ordered.  
Casimer.  

Foreign customs from your Land,  
Thebans by fair Laws command:  
And your good old Rites make known  
Unto your own.   

Piety your temple's grace;  
Justice in your Courts have Place:  
Truth, Peace, Love, in every Street  
Each other meet.   

Banish Vice, Walls guard not Crimes.  
Vengeance o'er tall Bulwarks climbs:  
O'reach Sin, A Nemesis  
Still waking is,   

Truth resembling craft, Profane  
Thirst of Empire, and of Gain,  
Luxury: and idle ●ase,  
Banish all these.   

Private Parsimony fill  
The public Purse: Arms only Steel  
Know, and no more: Valour fights cold  
In plundered Gold.   

War, or Peace do you approve,  
With united Forces move:  
Courts which many columns rear  
Their falls less fear.   

Safer Course those Pilots run  
Who observe more Stars than One.  
Ships with double Anchors tied  
Securer ride.   

Strength united firm doth stand  
Knit in an eternal Band:  
But proud Subjects private hate  
Ruins a State.   

This as good Amphion sings  
To his Harps well-tuned strings,  
It's swift Streams clear Dirce stopped,  
Cithaeron hoped,   

Stones did leap about the Plains,  
Rocks did skip to hear his Strains,  
And the Groves the Hills did crown  
Came dancing down.   

When he ceased, the Rocks and wood  
Like a wall about him stood;  
Wherce fair Thebes, which seven Gates close  
Of Brass, arose.    

Virtue improved by suffering.  

'TIs but the Body that blind fortune's spite  
Can chain to Earth; the nobler Soul doth slight  
Her servile Bonds, and takes to Heaven her flight.   

So through dark clouds Heaven lightens (whilst the shade  
●s as a foil to its bright splendour made)  
And Stars with greater Lustre Night invade.  
So sparkle Flints when struck; so Metals find  
Hardness from hammering, and the closer bind:  
So Flames increase the more suppressed by wind.   

And as the Grindstone to unpolised Steel  
Gives Edge, and Lustre: so my Mind, I feel  
Whetted, and glazed by Fortunes turning wheel.    

To Mr Stanley, on his unimitable Poems.  
THe Stagirite, who poesy defines  
An Imitation, had he read thy Lines,  
And thy rich Fancy known, he would have then  
Recalled the learned Error of his Pen,  
And have confessed, in his convicted State,  
Nought those could equal, this would imitate;  
Which from no foreign Supplement doth spring,  
Nor any Stand, but its own Height, take wing.  
And but that We should seem so to misprise  
The Influence of Chariessa's Eyes,  
We should not think Love did these Flames inspire,  
Rather, that thou taught'st Love this noble Fire:  
And, by a generous way thy hopes t' improve,  
Showd'st her before thou didst, how thou couldst love;  
And the old, common Method didst invert,  
First made her Mistress of thy Brain, than Heart,  
Some fantasies growth may from their Subjects take,  
Thine doth not Subjects find, but subjects make;  
Whose numerous strains we vainly strive to praise  
‛ Less We could ours, high as thy phantasy, raise.  
Large Praise we might give some, with small expense  
Of Wit, cry Excellent! how praise Excellence?  
The painter's Fate is ours, his hand may grace,  
Or take a bad, scarce hit a beauteous Face.  
Nor can our Art a sitting value sit  
Upon thy noble courtesy of Wit,  
Which to so many tongues doth lend that store  
Of pleasing sweetness which they lacked before.  
Th' Iberian, Roman, and the fluent Greek;  
The nimble French, and the smooth Tuscan, seek  
For several Graces from thy Pen alone,  
Which that affords to all these tongues, in One.  
Whose foreign Wealth transferred, improved by thine,  
Doth with a fair Increase of Lustre shine  
Like Gems new set upon some richer foil,  
Or Roses planted in a better soil.  
If 'bove all laurels than thy Merits rise,  
What can this Sprig (which while 'tis offered, dies)  
Add to the Wreath that does adorn thy Brows?  
No bays will suit with that but thy own boughs.   

On his Translation of Oronta.  
FLames rescued fair Oronta from the power  
Of an insulting Thracian conqueror.  
The Fame of which brave Action, Preti's rhyme  
Freed from the greater Tyranny of Time:  
Yet in that freedom she less glories, than  
In being thus made Captive by thy Pen.   

To Mr James Shirley, on his Way of grammar explained in English Verse.  
Grammar, which taught the Poet first to write,  
Is by the Poet now taught to delight;  
And Poesy, which once unto the School  
Owed it's Instructions, now, to that's a Rule.  
Thy grateful Pen, to Science does impart  
Civility, and requites Art, with Art.  
Yet not like some, who think they hardly should  
Be thought to understand, if understood,  
Dost thou the Minds of weaker Tiro's vex,  
Or, as perplexed with th' Art, the Art perplex;  
But what e'er seemed therein obscure, mak'st clear,  
Brief, what prolix, smooth what did rough appear;  
That so the Art to Learners now is seen  
As in a Flat, which Hill, and Wood did screen.  
How should they err their Journey's end in view,  
Their Way so pleasing, and their Guide so true!  
Rest then secure of Fame; nor think thy Worth  
Can by a private Hand be well set forth.  
Attempts, which to the public Profit raise,  
Expect, nor merit less than public Praise.   

In Idem, ad Eundem.  
SHirleie, Angliacúm cui olim celeberime vatum!  
Drama Labor Nomenque fuit; tibi nune novus ecquis  
Surgit Honos? qualisve alto subit Infulanexu  
Tempora?— Nunc video: Magnos accinctus in usus,  
Carmine facundo tractas Pracepta severae  
Grammatices, Latiaeque canis Primordia linguae;  
Ut meliùs teneros blandâ dulcedine captos  
Afficeres animos, & dura Elementa colenti,  
Atque rudi nimium, Eloquio, placitura Juventae  
Efficeres: Labor, en multum meriturus honestae  
Landis! non aliter (tua sed magè mellea Lingua)  
Tentavit Nestor juv●●●lia fingere Corda,  
Heroum teneras tam grato Carmine Mentes  
Thessalici haud rexit Moderator semifer Antri,  
Grammatica exultet; vibretque Heliconia Ser●a,  
Lande nouâ florens: dulci nunc munere fand●  
Provocet & Musas: Decus hoc Shirleie dedisti.   
FINIS.   

SACRA.  

To the eternal wisdom; upon the Distraction of the Times.  
O Thou eternal Mind! whose wisdom sees,  
And rules our Changes by unchanged Decrees,  
As with Delight on thy grave Works We look,  
Say; art thou too with our light Follies took?  
For when thy bounteous Hand, in liberal showers  
Each where diffused, thy various Blessings powers;  
We catch at them with strife as vain to sight,  
As Children, when for Nuts they scrambling, fight.  
This snatching at a sceptre breaks it; He,  
That broken does ere he can grasp it, see.  
The poor World seeming like a Ball, that lights  
Betwixt the hands of powerful Opposites:  
Which while they cantonize in their bold Pride,  
They but an immaterial Point divide.  
O whilst for wealthy spoils these fight, let Me,  
Though poor, enjoy a happy Peace with Thee.   

Draw Me, and I will follow Thee.  
THrough devious Paths without thee, Lord! I run,  
And soon, without Thee, will my Race be done.  
Happy was Magdalen, who like a Bride,  
Herself to Thee by her fair Tresses tied.  
So she thy Presence never did decline,  
Thou her dear Captive wert, and she was Thine,  
Behold another Magdalen in Me!  
Then stay with Me, or draw me after Thee.   

If a Man should give all the substance of his House for Love, he would value it as nothing, Cant. 8.  
LOve I'd of Heaven have bought; when He, (this who  
Would think?) both Purchase was, and Seller too.  
I offered Gold; but Gold he did not prize.  
I offered Gems; but Gems he did despise.  
I offered All; All he refused yet: why,  
If All won't take, take what is left, said I.  
At this he smiled, and said; in vain divine  
Love's Price thou beatest; give nothing and she's thine.   

And they laid him in a Manger.  
HAppy Cribb! that wert alone  
To my God, Bed, Cradle, Throne,  
whilst thy glorious vileness, I  
View with divine fantasies Eye;  
Sordid filth seems all the Cost,  
State, and Splendour, Crowns do boast.  
See! Heaven's sacred Majesty  
Humbled beneath Poverty.  
Swaddled up in homely Rags,  
On a Bed of Straw and Flags.  
He whose Hands the Heavens displayed,  
And the world's Foundations laid,  
From the world's almost exiled,  
Of all Ornaments despoiled.  
Perfumes bathe him not, new born,  
Persian Mantles hot adorn:  
Nor do the rich Roofs look bright  
With the Jaspers Orient Light.  
Where O royal Infant! be  
Th' Ensigns of thy majesty?  
Thy Sires equallizing State,  
And thy sceptre that rules Fate?  
where's thy angel-guarded Throne,  
Whence thy Laws thou didst make known?  
Laws which Heaven, Earth, Hell obeyed;  
These, ah these, aside he laid;  
Would the Emblem be, of Pride  
By Humility outvy'd.   

On the Innocents slain by Herod.  
GO blessed Innocents! and freely pour  
Your Souls forth in a Purple shower.  
And for that little Earth each shall lay down  
Purchase a Heavenly Crown.  
Nor of original Pollution fear  
The Stains should to your bloods adhere;  
For yours now shed, e'er long shall in a flood  
Be washed of better blood.   

Christo Smarrito.  
SIghing, her sad Heart fraught with Fears,  
Whilst from her Eyes gush streams of Tears,  
Seeking again how to retrieve  
Her little wandering Fugitive,  
Each where with weary Steps doth rove,  
The Virgin Mother of lost Love.  
Like a sad Turtle, up and down  
She mourning runs through all the Town:  
With searching Eyes she pries about  
In every Creek; within, without.  
Sticks at each Place, looks o'er and o'er;  
Searches, where she had searched before:  
Old Joseph following with sad Face,  
A heavy Heart, and halting Pace.  
Thrice had the Day been born i'th' East,  
As oft been buried in the West,  
Since the Dear Comfort of her Eyes  
She missed; yet still her Search she plies.  
Each where she seeks with anxious Care  
To find him out, yet knows not where.  
When the third Morn she saw arose,  
And yet no Beam of Hope disclose;  
Looking to Heaven, in these sad Words  
She vent to her full Grief affords.  
O my dear God Son of my womb!  
My Joy, my Love, my Life, for whom  
These Tears I shed, on thee I call,  
But oh! thou answerest not at all.  
For thee I search, but cannot find thee:  
Say (Dear!) what new Embraces bind thee?  
What Heart, enamoured on thy Eyes,  
Enjoys what Heaven to Me denies?  
Daughters of Zion! you which stray  
With nimble feet upon the Way,  
I beg of you, (if you can tell,)  
To show we where my Love doth dwell:  
Whose Beauty with celestial rays,  
The Light of Paradise displays.  
Perhaps to you he is unknown;  
Ah! if you wish to hear him shown,  
I'll tell y'him: Snow her whiteness, seeks,  
Vermilion, Blushes, from his Cheeks:  
His Eye a light more chaste discloses  
Then amorous Doves, his Lips then Roses.  
Amber, and Gold shine in his Hair  
(If Gold, or Amber may compare  
With that,) a Beauty so Divine,  
No Tongue, Pen, fantasy can design.  
Why break'st thou not (my Soul) this Chain  
Of Flesh? why lettest thou that restrain  
Thy nimble Flight into his Arms,  
Whose only Look with gladness charms?  
But (alas!) in vain I speak to thee  
Poor Soul! already fled from Me;  
To seek out him in whose loved breast,  
Thy Life, as mine in thee, doth rest.  
Blessed Virgin! who in Tears half drowned,  
Griev'st that thy Son cannot be found.  
The time will come when Men shall hear thee  
Complain that he is too too near thee.  
When in the midst of hostile Bands  
With pierced Feet, and nailed Hands  
Advanced upon a cursed Tree  
His naked Body thou shalt see  
As void of Coverture, as Friends,  
But what kind Heaven in pity lends,  
Thy Soul will then abhor the Light,  
And think no Grief worse than his Sight.  
But lo, as thus she searched, and wept,  
By chance she to the Temple stepped,  
Where her dear Son with joyful Eyes  
Set 'mongst the Rabbins she espies.  
And as the Light of some kind Star  
To a distressed mariner,  
So his dear sight to her appears,  
Tossed in this Tempest of her Fears.  
But O what tongue can now impart  
The joy of her revived Heart?  
The Welcome, spoke in mutual Blisses  
Of sweet Embraces, sweeter Kisses!  
Muse, since too high forty weak Wing  
●is, contemplate what thou canst not sing.   

Christus Mathaeum & discipulos alloquitur.  
LEave, leave converted Publican! lay down  
That sinful Trash; which in thy happier Race  
To gain a Heavenly Crown  
Clogs thy free Pace.  
O what for this pale dirt will not Man do!  
Nay even now, 'mongst you  
(For this) there's One I see,  
Seeks to sell Me.  
But Times will come hereafter, when for Gold,  
I shall by more (alas) than One, be sold.   

Conscience.  
Internal Cerberus'! whose griping fangs  
That gnaw the Soul are the Minds secret Pangs:  
Thou greedy Vulture! that dost gorging Tire  
On Hearts corrupted by impure desire.  
Subtle, and buzzing Hornet! that dost ring  
A Peal of horror, e'er thou giv'st the sting.  
The Souls rough File that smoothness does impart!  
The Hammer that does break a stony Heart!  
The Worm that never dies! the Thorn within,  
That pricks, and pains: the whip, and scourge of sin!  
The voice of God in Man! which, without rest  
Doth softly cry within a troubled Breast;  
To all Temptations is that Soul left free,  
That makes not to itself a Curb of Me.   

And she washed his Feet with her tears, and wiped them with the Hairs of her Head.  

THe proud Egyptian Queen, her Roman Guest,  
(T' express her Love in height of State, and Pleasure)  
With Pearl dissolved in Gold, did feast,  
Both Food, and Treasure.   

And now (dear Lord!) thy Lover, on the fair  
And silver Tables of thy Feet, behold!  
Pearl in her Tears, and in her Hair,  
Offers thee Gold.    

Good Friday.  
THis Day eternal Love, for me  
Fast nailed unto a cursed Tree;  
Rending his fleshly veil, did through his side  
A way to Paradise provide.  
This Day Life died; and dying, overthrew  
Death, Sin, and Satan too;  
O happy day!  
May sinners say:  
But Day can it be said to be,  
Wherein We see  
The bright Sun of celestial Light  
O'rshadowed with so black a Night?   

Mary Magdalen weeping under the Cross.  
I Thirst, my dear, and dying Saviour cries:  
These Hills are dry: O drink then from my Eyes.   

On the Receiving of the blessed Sacrament.  
THen Nourishment our natural Food imparts,  
When that into our Flesh, and Blood converts:  
But at this heavenly Banquet, I  
Then find of strength a spiritual supply,  
When (as by Faith the sacred Food I eat)  
My Soul converts into the Meat.   

The Message.  
DEar Saviour! that my Love I might make known  
To thee, I sent more Messengers than one.  
My heart went first, but came not back; My Will  
I sent thee next, and that stayed with thee still.  
Then, that the better thou might'st know my Mind,  
I sent my Int'lect; that too stays behind.  
Now my Soul's sent: Lord! if that stay with thee,  
O what a happy carcase shall I be!   

The Fountain.  
STranger, who e'er thou art, that stoop'st to taste  
These sweeter streams, let me arrest thy haste;  
Nor of their fall  
The Murmurs, (though the Lyre  
Less sweet be) stand t' admire:  
But as you shall  
See from this Marble Tun  
The liquid crystal run;  
And mark withal,  
How fixed the one abides,  
How fast the other glides;  
Instructed thus the Difference learn to see,  
twixt mortal Life, and Immortality.   
FINIS.   

Errata.  
Page 32. l. 5. read Yet I in Steel. p. 36. l. 9 for guid'st read guildest.