The CARD OF Courtship: OR, The LANGUAGE OF LOVE; Fitted to the Humours of all Degrees, Sexes, and Conditions.  

Made up of all sorts of 

Curious and ingenious DIALOGUES,  
Pithy and pleasant DISCOURSES,  
Eloquent and winning LETTERS,  
Delicious SONGS and SONNETS,  
Fine FANCIES, Harmonious ODES &  
Sweet RHAPSODIES.     
LONDON, Printed by J. C. for Humphrey Moseley; and are to be sold at his shop, at the sign of the Prince's Arms in S. Paul's Churchyard. 1653.   

To the longing Virgins, amorous Bachelors, blithe Widows, kind Wives, and flexible Husbands, of what Honour, Title, Calling, or Conversation soever, within the REALM of GREAT BRITAIN.  
Soluble Souls,  
THey say, that Bacchus and Cupid, as they were one day going on hunting, took Minerva in a net; giving us to understand, that none so seemingly austere, but one time or other hath an itching desire to sport himself in Adonis' Grove. I confess it comes near to a Syllogism in these times (when Mars and Bellona sit as Rectors o'er all hearts) to set Venus and her Son in opposition against them, as it were to thwart the current of the times: but I hope you (Gentlemen and Ladies, Citizens and Lasses) are not so far in love with the bellowing of the Drum, or the clangor of the Trumpet, that the sweet and harmonious tunes of Love shall prove unacceptable unto you: for if so, myself, (who have been forced through whole Forests of briars, by the malice of the times) of all men living, have the least reason to whisper these soft numbers in your ears. I dare not so much injure the ensuing work, as to crave pardon of the severest Stoic or austerest Cynic for my wantonness, since not a lose line is scattered throughout this Volume, as also, because I know (in private) the cursedest carper of them all, will hug me for their pleasure (if not for their profit) For those nice Ignoramusses who slight all Courship as lascivious, all Compliments as trivial and enormous, I shall only say this unto them, that love (I mean not such as that of Semiramis, or Messalina) is the Author of all perfection: The greatest Doctors are but Dunces, till love hath refined them, and they know what his power is; they after that becoming witty and courtly Inditers: for necessity findeth out the art, the lovers ardent affection compelling him to find out all ways for the attaining his Mistress love; discoursing unto her his loyal affections in smooth or pleasing terms, or else touching them sweetly or daintily in writing curiously, and with a courtlike phrase, which art because I here undertake to teach, I have named my work The CARD of COURTSHIP; wherein are included such variety of conceited Courtships, that (I dare boldly affirm it) you cannot wish for that favour, which you may not there gather. I beseech you crop them with a courteous hand, which shall for ever oblige me to importune for you at Love's footstool, beseeching him to use you according to your several constitutions, granting you the full fruition of your desires in all afety and tranquillity, So wishes  
Your devoted servant, Musophilus.   

The Card of COURTSHIP OR, The language of LOVE.  

To the Reader.  
Here Cupid, in a acquaint disguise,  
Covered with leaves, in slumber lies:  
Yet doth he not himself so hid,  
But all thy spirits will be tried,  
If this Volume thou turn over,  
And he awake, wanting his cover.  
Here many hearts as victims stand:  
Here read, how beau●y to command,  
Though rugged, like the Panther's skin;  
Here thou mayst learn to love and win.  
Or if so happy's thy condition,  
Thou of thy love hast the fruition;  
Here such pleasures thou mayst find,  
So sweet, and of so various kind,  
That rocked into a pleasing dream,  
Thou'lt wish I'd had an ampler theme.  
The Arabian wind, that gently blows.  
Blushes to the bashful Rose,  
Yields not an odour of more price  
Than flowers set in this Paradise.  
Read: I am sure, thou'lt not repent thee;  
And I am happy to content thee.   

Complimental Dialogues.  

A Virgin licenced by her Father to make choice of whom she likes best for her husband, Imagine you hear one who dearly affects her, courting her after this manner: their names suppose to be AMANDUS, and JULIETTA.  Aman. 
NOw, Lady, your Father's goodness hath left you to your own dispose; and I the admirer of your virtues, have free leave to present my best affections: Then save that creature, whose life depends on you; whose every power owns not himself, but you: you are that Deity to whom my heart presents its first devotion, and in a holy flame, remains a Sacrifice, till you please to accept it.  Juliet. 
I should prove to myself unjust, in the neglect of one that nobly loves me; therefore what affection I may bestow, and yet retain my freedom (I mean that freedom, by which I may on just occasion withdraw my heart) I were ingrateful should I not present it.  Aman. 
May I become the scorn of time, and all men's hate pursue me, when I prove so foul, to give occasion you call back your love.  Juliet. 
Cease these hasty protestations; I assure myself, the pureness of your soul is without spot or blemish; and while you so continue, I shall boast me happy, i'th' glory of such a choice.  Aman. 
O let me fly into your bosom! on your lip confirm my happiness; there study some new way of number, to multiply my bliss. The treasuries of grace and nature were quite exhausted, to accomplish your perfections.  Juliet. 
Fie, fie; leave for shame.  Aman. 
What, dearest?  Juliet. 
This superfluous Language. I am none of those Ladies that are enamoured on Poetic raptures, hugging the Verse, but spitting at the Author: none of those that are taken with flattering Acrostics; and to have their names so disjointed in an Anagram, that 'twould puzzle ten Magicians to put them together again. I esteem not Golden Language, and I'll tell you why; because 'twas seldom bestowed on man, but to gild over a Copper Soul within him.  Aman. 
Can you be so cruel, to deem my Language feigned?  Juliet. 
Nor am I. I grant you, Love and Poesy are divine, commonly infused together: yet ordinarily, 'tis tied to rules of flattery.  Aman. 
Far be it from me, to speak a Language should displease your ear.  Juliet. 
Well; more Oratory would but bring the rest into suspicion whether it be real: let it suffice I love you; and if all occurrents suit my expectation, it shan't be long ere Hymen seal the contract. Farewell.  Aman. 
Farewell, excellent Mistress.   

Eugenia, and Flavia, two near neighbouring Damosels, discourse of their loves; resolving not to marry old men for money.  Eug. 
FLavia, I kiss your hands.  Flau. 
Eugenia, I pray you pardon me; I saw you not.  Eug. 
I saith you have fixed thoughts, draw your ●ys inward, that you see not your friends before you.  Flau. 
True; and I think, the same that trouble you.  Eug. 
Then 'tis the love of a young Gentleman, ●nd bitter hatred of an old dotard.  Elau. 
'Tis so, witness your brother Francisco, and ●●e rotten carcase of old Rodorigo: had I a hundred heart's, I should want room to entertain his love, ●nd the others hate.  Eug. 
I could say as much, were't not sin to slan●er the dead. Miserable wenches! how have we offended our fathers, that they should make us the ●rice of their dotage, the medicines of their griefs, ●hat have more need of Physic ourselves? I thank ●●y dead mother that left me a woman's will, in her ●ast Testament; that's all the weapons we poor Girls can use; and with that will I fight, against ●ather, friends, and kindred, and either enjoy Fo●o ●osco, or die in the field in's quarrel.  Flau. 
You are happy, that can withstand your ●ortune with so merry a resolution.  Eug. 
Why? should I twine my arms to cables, ●●t up all night like a watching Candle, and distil ●●y brains, through my eyelids. Your brother loves me and I love your brother; and where these two consent, I would fain see a third could hinder us.  Fla. 
Alas, our sex is most wretched; no sooner born, ●ut nursed up from our Infancy in continual slave●●y; no sooner able to pray for ourselves, but they braile and hud us so with sour awe of parents, that we dare not offer to bate our desires: and whereas it becomes men to vent their amorous passions at their pleasure, we (poor souls) must rake up our affections in the ashes of a  heart, not daring to sigh without excuse of the spleen, or fit of the mother  Eug. 
I will plainly profess my love; 'tis honest, chaste, and stains not modesty Shall I be married (by my father's compulsion) to an old mandrake, who is able to beget nothing but groans; a hunting-golding, a fallen packhorse? No, no; I'll see him freeze to crystal first. In other things, good Father, I am your most obedient daughter; but in this, a pure woman. And in troth, the temper of my blood tells me, I was never born to so cold a misfortune: my Genius whispers me in the car, and swears, We shall enjoy our Loves; fear it not, wench: and so farewell, good Elavia, farewel, farewell.  Fla. 
Farewell, merry-hearted Eugenia.   

Corvino, a rustisk clown, compliments with Beancha, a Kitchenmaid.  Coru. 
HE that says I am not in love, he lies the cap a pe: for I am Idle, choicely neat in my , valiant, and exream witty; my meditations are loaded with Metaphors; Songs and Sonnets flow from me as fluently, as Heigh, give; not one shakes his tail, but I ●igh out a passion: thus do I to my mistress; but ●las, I kiss the dog, and she kicks me. I never see a wanton Filly, but I say, There goes Beancha; nor a lusty strong Als, but I remember myself, and sit down to consider what a goodly race of Mules would inherit, if she were willing: only I want atterance, and that's a main mark of love too.  Bean. 
Corvino, What price bear Wheat and Saffron, that your Band's so stiff and yellow? why Corvino, not a word! Prithee what business in Town? how do all at Tottenham? Grown mute! what do you bring from the Country?  Coru. 
There 'tis; now are my floodgates drawn, and I'll surround her. What have I brought, sweet bit of beauty? a hundred thousand salutations o'the elder house, to your most Illustrious honour and worship.  Bean. 
To me these Titles? is your basket full of nothing else?  Coru. 
Full of the fruits of love, most resplendent Lady; a present to your worthiness, from your worship's poor vassal Corvino.  Bean. 
My life on't he scraped these Compliments from his Cart, the last load he carried to the City. But what have you read, Corvino, that makes you grow thus eloquent? why, you talk nothing but warbling Rhapsodies!  Coru. 
Sweet Madam, I read nothing, but the lines of your Ladyship's countenance; and desire only to kiss the skirts of your Garments, if you vouchsafe me not the happiness of your white hands.  Bean. 
Come, give me your basket, and take it.  Cor. 
O sweet! now will I never wash my mouth after, nor breath, but at my Nostrils, lest I lose the taste of her fingers. Beancha, I must tell you a secret, if you'll make much on't.  Bean. 
As it deserves: what is't?  Coru. 
I love you, dear morsel of modesty, I love, and so truly, that I'll make you mistress of my thoughts, Lady of my revenues, and commit all my moveables into your hands; that is, I give you an arnest kiss, in the high way of Matrimony.  Bean. 
This the end of all the business?  Coru. 
Is this the end of all this business, most beautiful, and most worthy to be most beautiful Lady?  Bean. 
Hence fool, hence; farewel Co●idon.  Coru. 
Why now she knows my business, she put up the fruit in her lap, and threw away the basket; 'tis a plain sign she abhors the words, and embraces the meaning. O lips! no lips, but leaves besmeared with Mildew. O dew! no dew, but drops of Honey-combs. 'Tis a rare morsel of dripping: O how happy shall I be to recreate my chine with her! I'll follow her, were I sure to be basted with Salt and Vinegar.   

A Citizen's wife, in love with a Suburb-Gentleman, confers with a Courtesan how to obtain his love, and yet not purchase her husband's discontent. Their names suppose to be, ARMELINA, and DECOY.  Arme. 
Feign would I meet the Gentleman.  Dec. 
Pish, Feign would you meet him? why do you not take the course?  Arme. 
The means is easily resolved, what thinkest thou?  Dec. 
Thus: meet him at Mr. Strouds house, the Phoenix; there's a Gossip's feast to morrow-night.  Arme. 
O but my husband's Jealous Eyes!  Dec. 
When husbands in their rankest suspicions dwell,  
Then 'tis our best art to dissemble Well,  
Put but these notes in use that I'll direct you,  
He'll curse himself that ere he did suspect you.  
Perhaps, he will solicit you, as in trial,  
To visit such, and such: still give denial;  
Let no Persuasions sway you; they are but fetches  
Set to betray you; Jealousies, slignts, and reaches  
Seem in his sight, to endure the sight of no man:  
Put by all kisses, till you kiss in common.  
Neglect all entertainment: if he bring in  
Strangers, keep you your Chamber; be not seen.  
If he chance steal upon you, let him find  
Some book lie open, 'gainst an unchaste mind.  
Manage these principles but with art and life,  
Welcome all Nations, thou'rt an honest wife.  Arme. 
Here, Lady, convey my heart unto him in this Jewel: against you see me next, you shall perceive I have profited: in the mean season, tell him I am a Prisoner yet on the Master's side, my husband's Jealousy, that masters him as he doth master me; and as a Keeper that locks Prisoners up, is himself prisoned under in his own key, Even so my husband, in restraining me, With the same ward bais his own liberty.  Dec. 
I'll tell him how you wished it; and I'll wear My wits to nothing, but these clouds shall clear.   

A young Citizen, Courting his Neighbour's daughter. Their names ANTONIO, and BEATRICE.  Ant. 
GOod morrow, sweet Beatrice; in exchange of this kiss, see what I have brought thee from thee from the Exchange.  Beal. 
What mean you, Sir, by this?  Ant. 
Guess that by the circumstance: here's a Ring, wear't for my sake; twenty Angels, pocket them, you fool. Come, come, I know thou art a Maid: say nay, and take them.  Bea. 
Sir, I beseech you, fasten no more upon me, than I may at ease shake off. Your gift I reverence, yet refuse: and I pray tell me, Why do do you make so many errands hither, send me so many Letters, fasten on me so many Favours? what's your meaning in't?  Anto. 
Hark in thy car, I'll tell thee: Is't possible so soft a body should have so hard a soul? Nay now I know my penance; you will be angry and school me for tempting your modesty. A fig for this modesty; it hinders many a good man from many a good turn, and that's all the good it doth: but if thou but knewest, Beatrice, how I love thee, thou wouldst be far more tractable. Nay, I bar chiding when thou speak'st: I'll stop thy lips if thou dost but offer an angry word: by this hand I'll do't, and with this hand too.  Bea. 
Sir, if you love me, as you say you do, show me the fruits thereof.  Ant. 
The stock I can; thou mayst see the fruits hear after.  Bea. 
Can I believe you love me, when you seek the shipwreck of my honour?  Anto. 
Honour! there's another word to flap in a man's mouth. Honour! why shouldest thou and I stand upon our honour, that were neither of us yet right worshipful?  Bea. 
I am sorry, Sir, I have lent so large an ear to such a bad discourse; and I protest, after this hour, never to do the like. I must confess, of all the Gentlemen that ever courted me, you have possessed the best part in my thoughts: but this course language exiles you quite from thence. Sir, had you come, instead of changing this my honest name into a Strumpet's, to have honoured me with the chaste title of an honest wife, I had reserved an ear for all your suits; but since I see your rudeness finds no limit, I'll leave you to your lust.  Ant. 
You shall not, Beatrice.  Bea. 
Then keep your tongue within more moderate bounds.  Ant. 
I will; as I am virtuous, I will. I told you the second word would be a marriage: it makes a man forfeit his freedom, and walk up and down ever after, with a chain at his heels. Marriage is like Daedalus his Labyrinth; and being once in, there's no finding the way out. Well, I love this little property most intolerably; and I must set her on the last, though it cost me all the shoes in my shop. Well, Beatrice, thou seest my Stomach is come down: thou hast my heart already, there's my hand.  Beat. 
But in what way?  Ant. 
Nay I know not the way yet; but I hope to find it hereafter, by your good direction.  Bea. 
I mean, in what manner? in what way?  Ant. 
In the way of Marriage, in the way of honesty. I hope thou art a maid, Beatrice.  Bea. 
Yes Sir, and I accept it; in exchange of this, you shall receive my heart.  Ant. 
A bargain, and there's earnest on thy lips.   

A courtship (eloquently carried on both sides) between a youth, and his formerly-sollicited fair one. Their names suppose to be RADOLPHUS, and TOMASO.  Rad. 
WElcome, fair one; I hope my pardon's sealed, for this presum'ng on what you might call rudeness  Toma. 
You have shaped an Apology altogether needless, to excuse a guilt, when none appears: I own much to your virtue; it doth command my thoughts.  Rad. 
Which are so glorious, I must admire the actions that express them. I hope your judgement doth not call it ill, that my intemperate anger, being grounded on virtuous suspicion (last time I saw you) did transport me beyond a moderate passion: I am satisfied; your innocence hath cleared my jealousy.  Toma. 
Sir, 'tis a noble resolution: pure love's a virtue Nature only teacheth, and born with generous spirits that distinguish the object truly; slighting those respects, that work on groster minds.  Rad. 
Fairest, I shall use no other circumstance, or paint a passion my reason's eye allows, though my first sense conveyed the knowledge of your outward form and full perfections, which must needs contain a richer inside: Virtue seldom dwells, but in a glorious frame. I love your goodness, which outvies your beauty: in my newborn wishes, I have determined you the partner of all that's mine: my estate's not very mean; if it were, Zeal should supply: I'd strive to merit the free gift of yourself; and in exchange, return myself.  Toma. 
Sir, I could answer you in your own words: for I presume your thoughts are noble, like yourself, unmixed with flattery courtships insection, and the poisonous breath that makes pure love suspected, whether it be sound, or plastered, to deceive our credulous weakness, till it hath possessed us with some foul leprosy. Your handmaid yields to what agrees with honour; if the meanness of her condition may presume to call her honest credit so.  Rad. 
How do you bless me, as suddenly as my desires could shape a means to work it! instantly the Church shall seal the bargain.  Tom. 
Would you not deliberate? Those acts are lasting, and concern the being of all your afterlife.  Rad. 
'Tis heaven's providence that hath disposed it: thus I seal my vows.   

The Lover having an hope now to attain his Mistress grant, presents her a Ring, with this Eulogy.  
WHile this involves your heart, and Master-vein,  
Imagine you are lost to your disdain:  
This mystically whispers in your ear,  
(With your strange coyness) I my doubts cashier,  
Sweet, let it be so; do as I intent,  
And (like to this) our love shall have no end.  
The Persians, who adore the rising Sun,  
Will have each morn a Flamen for to run  
Six times about a circle, to content  
Great Jove, upon his Temple's battlement;  
Thereby mythologizing (sure) that he  
Will love his creatures to Eternity.  
This typifies, we ought to love for ever,  
And that no harsh fate ought our loves to sever.  
But Rings are nothing: if true love we want,  
Our hearts must be hemmed round with Adamant  
Impregnable against assault and Batt'rie,  
Not to be ta'en by fear, or won by Flatt'rie.  
This seems to say, what songs heavens choir shall sing  
Whenas my arms shall be thy body's Ring.   

A pleaing Dialogue between a witty Lady, and a silly Gentleman: Their (supposed) names CRISPINO, and PAMELA.  CRISPINO. 
I Sent you a Letter, Madam.  Pam. 
I received it (Sir) to my great happiness.  Crip. 
How did you relish it, Lady?  Pam. 
Excellent well (Sir) you writ most elegantly. Oh that I had your Genius!  Crisp. 
I have twenty as good as these lying by me; they shall be all at your service.  Pam. 
You are too much a Courtier: I must chide you: I did never deserve those Epithets your Paper throws upon me.  Crisp. 
Epithets! I beseech you, Lady, to impute that to the fretfulness of my brain. If any thing rare slipped my pen, whereby I may incur your Ladyship's indignation, I'll recant it publicly.  Pam. 
I will enjoin you no such penance, for 'tis an injury easily remitted: 'tis the glory, they say, of Lovers, to Hyperbolise.  Crisp. 
Hyperbolise! What's that? I have not the word yet in my Alphabet. I hope, Lady, you harbour a better opinion of me, then to imagine I would Hyperbolise with you; that were immodest.  Pam. 
Not at all (Sir) I think.  Crisp. 
By my faith (Lady) but it is: do you think I know not what Hyperbolising is? that were simplicity. If any thing within my letters may be drawn within construction of Hyperbolising, condemn not me for it: by my service, Lady, I had no intention to stretch so far to your dishonour; it shall ●each me wit to write my Letters hereafter.  Pam. 
Sir, you do me too much satisfaction, your error being a small one.  Crisp. 
'Tis your favour, when I commit a Peccadille against your brightness: I confess I deserve to be extinguished your presence for it. I did love you, Lady, (as I remember) when I was an Infant.  Pam. 
How (Sir!) I hardly understand you.  Crisp. 
We are infants, you will grant, when we cannot speak; and I loved you full five months and a half ere I had power to tell you of it, I am certain.  Pam. 
I was not worth so much (Sir.)  Crisp. 
Nay, for that (Lady) I'll show myself deserving: were you worthy, it were less art of mine to love you; that were a poor thing: I do not stand on worth, Lady; I would not have you think so ignobly of me, that I affect you for your worth; I had rather (upon my honour) have you in your smock, than all the Ladies in the world stark naked.  Aam. 
Now your language is corpse.  Crisp. 
My love is sure, and like the Sun transparent.  Pam. 
Now you compliment; I know you are excellent at it.  Crisp. 
Troth not I, Lady; I cannot compliment; I do but refulgent your beauty, whose mellifluous voice peirces the Air: i'faith, Lady, credit me, I ne'er could compliment in my life. Let me see; 
Most fair,  
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair.   
There are Poetical furies in the City; but I converse not with them.  
Were ever checks of Roses, losks of Amber,  
Ordained to be imprisoned in a Chamber?  
Lady, I do but piddle, a pretender, I know nor how to compliment.  Pam. 
You now (Sir) compliment unto the height.  Crisp. 
Alas, not I, I cannot make verses neither.  
Thy dain'y seal of virgin-wax,  
That nothing but impression lacks.  Pam. 
You are an excellent Poet, I perceive (Sir.)  Crisp. 
I'll tell you, Lady, a strange thing; you see these trifles: before I was in love, I could not have made an Acrostic in a day, sometimes two.  Pam. 
Now you can make Chronograms.  Crisp. 
I think I can; and Anagrams, for a need.  Pam. 
Sir, you are wondrously improved; Love has inspired you richly; I perceive Cupid is a mute too.  Crisp. 
I cannot sleep a-nights, for the multitude of Verses that are capering in my skull.  Pam. 
I wonder you are not mad.  Crisp. 
You may, but I have a gift to help it; I allow myself set times to vent them, they would blow me up else.  Pam. 
As how, I pray (Sir?) I long to hear this.  Crisp. 
Why thus: in the morning, when I have said my prayers in verse (which fall from me, and I ne'er think on 'em) next my heart I scribble out an Ode: after my breakfast, I fall upon a satire: when I have railed myself into a fresh stomach (you understand me) a matter of two hours I dream, as it comports with our British Bards to sleep; then, I say, I dream familiarly an Heroic Poem.  Pam. 
Dream! how mean you (Sir?)  Crisp. 
Lady, while you live, your dreaming Poe●s are the best, and have distilled raptures; I mean, spirits that converse with them, and reach them what to write. This I set down before I eat again; after, I walk upon the strength of supper into the Park, and ruminate an Elegy: at return, I do discourse of Epigrams, and Epitaphs, upon some one or other of my kindred.  Pam. 
'Tis now your course for your Heroic Poem; 'twere best you slept (Sir:) I'll take my leave.   

A m●rry Pastoral Dialogue, maintained between two Shepherds, viz. CLAIUS, and CLEOPHON.  CLAIUS. 
WHich is she, among the Swains,  
On whom the gentle Claius deigns  
To cast a sheeps-eye, nod, or wink,  
But does herself immortal think?  
Who, indeed, has such a face,  
So full of a bewitching grace?  
My head loves pillow where he does rest,  
As safe as Magpie in her nest:  
My sorehead sweetly is bespread  
With Violets, and Tulips blue and red:  
The amber Cowslip, and th' coral Rose,  
Precious complexion of my sweeter nose:  
My eyes are elements from which fall showers  
That make my cheeks a spring of several flowers:  
So is my head a nosegay growing on one stalk;  
My body is the garden, though it walk;  
And there's no woman but may well  
To the worst part about it smell.  
My arms are Dragons, that defend all these  
Now viewed in me, living Hesperides.  CLEOPHON. 
Who looks on Claius, that will not suppose  
The blushing Peony growing on his nose?  
The yellow Primrose, that in woods had went  
To flourish, springs up in his amber front.  CLAIUS. 
When they on Strephon will not gaze,  
On me they stare, with much amaze;  
And when on him, as on a clown,  
With lowering looks they scowl and frown;  
Let gentle Claius but vouchsafe  
To let them look on him, they laugh.  CLEOPHON. 
And well they may; for when they look upon  
Thy face, they view all fools conjoined in one.   

A Dialogue (for the recreation of the Reader) supposed between BOMBO, and JACOMO.  BOMBO. 
I Tell thee, honest Jacomo, that I  
No more affect a woman, than the sky  
Does birds that soar in it; they are as vain,  
Inconstant as the flying showers of rain.  JACOMO. 
And for my part (friend Bombo) there's no maid,  
Whether in homespun grey, or silks arrayed,  
But when she Jacomo doth view,  
Though I hie, but will pursue;  
Throw her eyes out on my shape,  
Call me Pigmy, pretty ape:  
Some there are that do suppose  
Loves hot fire is in my nose,  
With which they scorched, for pity cry,  
Blow it out, Jacomo, or we die.  
Other say my head's a bell,  
My hair the ropes that ring the knell;  
Here's a Leg as neatly made,  
As any o'er a woman laid;  
A thigh proportionable, I take't;  
O the maids long to see it naked!  
A tail, some say, does hang thereby,  
Which none must know but thee and I.  
I have a back too, though I say't  
That should not, can bear any weight:  
Full limbs, with sinews strong and plump;  
A lusty chine; and for my rump,  
'Tis so well made, and firmly knit,  
The widows all are mad for it.  BOMBO. 
Women are shadows, fly away,  
When followed, or desired to stay:  
But if you slight them, they will sue,  
Fellow, entreat, nay fly to you:  
But if stiff and strong you stand,  
You may treat them at command;  
But lie down, the pretty Elves  
Will straight fall under you of themselves.  
Like my Spaniel, beaten, they  
Will lick your lips, and with you play.  
This is the sole reason why  
They love me so doggedly.  
Women are slippery as Eels;  
Their minds are light as are their heels;  
And every one's for what she feels.  JACOMO. 
Who would trust a woman, when  
They are the only curse of men?  
Sirens sing but to entice  
The men to a fools paradise.  
Hyenas spoke but to betray  
To certain ruin; so do they.  
Crocodiles shed tears of slaughter;  
Women weep when they mean laughter.  
Inconstant, cruel, false, unkind,  
Are attributes that suit their mind.   

A Dialogue between GALFREDO, and ROSANA.  ROSANA. 
SIr, I cannot finde how I am guilty of any cause may prompt you to suspect either my love on duty.  Gal. 
I believe thee (dear Rosana:) but this injunction is so severe and strange, it cannot choose but puzzle thy consent at first.  Ros. 
Sir, make it known; I cannot be so flow in the performance of your will, as you are to reveal it.  Gal. 
Thy breath is far more sweeter than the smoke ascending from the Phoenix funeral-pile; I could kiss thee, even engender on thy lips.  Ros. 
You were not wont to be thus pleased: show me, good Sir, which way I may require your passion; speak the suit you talk on.  Gal. 
Dear Rosana, I do love thee, love thee, and would enjoy thee.  Ros. 
How (Sir) dare you divulge to me such brutishness? indeed the beasts promiscuously do mix, but man made in the likeness of the Gods, orders his actions to a safer end. Far you well (Sir) I dare not hear you further.   

A Dialogue between DANDALO, and LAURIANA.  DANDALO. 
DEarest Mistress, when shall my ardent love be made completely happy by the enjoying that, which it makes the object of desire? shall this fair morning be consecrated to Hymen?  Lau. 
Worthy Sir, so great is the Antipathy betwixt your birth and fortune and my condition, whose inferior aim dares not be levelled higher than its equality, makes (coward's policy) fear to be sole and true excuse of my delay; for (Sir) were you once satiated with the thing you call pleasure, your edge taken off, I know not what there is in me can whet new appetite, or revive a dying love.  Dan. 
Why? I'll keep thee like my wife; be constant to my pleasure, be sure I'll serve thy will with full content: my credit 's safe: to keep a Mistress youth's excuse may serve, but an inferior match brands my posterity.  Lau. 
Sir, I do hate your base desires; may your soul lusts still keep you company, until abuse and shame teach you amendment; what a brave Orator is sin! how it can paint itself with golden words of pleasure and delight!  Dan. 
I never could brook these women-preachers: Far you well, Lady.  Lau. 
Would you could (Sir) so soon take leave of Lust.   

A rough Soldier, in discourse with a soft Lady.  ALLINDRO, and IPHIGENIA. ALLINDRO. 
NOw, Lady, are you in haste? or do you slight a presence may challenge your observance? I am come confident of my merit, to inform you, you ought to yield me the most strict regard your love can offer.  Iphi. 
Sir, I am not (though I affect not selfconceited boast) so ignorant of my worth, but I deserve from him who will enjoy me, a respect more fair and court like.  Allin. 
The blunt phrase of war is my accustomed language; yet I can tell you y'are very handsome, and direct your looks with a becoming posture; I must speak in the Heroic Dialect, as I use to court Bellona, when my desires aim at a glorious victory.  Iphi. 
You'll scarce conquer a Lady with this stern discourse; Mars did not woe the Queen of love in arms, but wrapped his battered limbs in Persian silks, or costly Tyrian purples, spoke in smiles to win her tempting beauty.  Allin. 
I'll bring well-managed troops of Soldiers to the fight, draw big battalia's like a moving field of standing corn blown one way by the wind, against the frighted enemy; the Van shall save the Rear a labour, and by me marshaled shall fold bright conquest in the curls. Peneian Daphne, who did fly the Sun, shall give her boughs to me for ravishment, to invest my awful front; and this shall prostrate (spite of all opposition) your nice soul to my commanding merit.  Iphi. 
These high terms were apt to fright an enemy, or beget terror in flinty bosoms. Can you think a timorous Lady can affect her fear, yield the security of her peace and life to the protection of her horror? you must not persuade my thoughts, that you who vary to the scene of love, can act it presently.  Allin. 
Slighted (Lady!) 'tis a contempt inhuman, and deserves my utmost scorn: I must find one more pliant.   

Some person of honour being enamoured on a country-Genilewoman, a dispute supposed between MONTALTO, and GENTILLA.  MONTALTO. 
YOu have no fear (Gentilla) to trust yourself with me.  Gent. 
I can (Sir) forget myself so much, as to forget you are my Lord, etc. and in a wilderness could have no thought, with the least prejudice upon your virtue.  Mon. 
You have the greater innocence at home; my intents are fair enough, and you may stand the danger of a question: pray how old are you?  Gent. 
Although it be not held a welcome compliment to our sex, my duty bids me not dispute. I am Fifteen, my mother says, (my lord)  Mon. 
And are you not in love?  Gen. 
I must not charge myself with so much Ignorance, to answer that I understand not what it means. I know the word, but never could apply the sense, or find in it a passion more than ordinary.  Mon. 
Cupid hath lost his quiver then; he could not be armed, and let you scape, whose sole captivity would be more glory than the conquest made, (as Poets feign) upon the Gods.  Gen. 
'Tis language with which you are pleased to mock your humble handmaid.  Mon. 
But this assures him blind.  Gen. 
He would deserve to lose his eyes indeed, if he should aim a shaft at me.  Mon. 
Lady, you have a heart.  Gen. 
To which no other flame can approach, then that which shall light it to obedience of your will, and my good mothers.  Mon. 
Obedience to my will? what if it were my will that you should love?  Gen. 
Sir, I do love.  Mon. 
Love with the warm affection of a Mistress?  Gen. 
Him whom I affect (Sir) must not presume to fold me in his arms, till Hymen's torches shall burn bright. Him whom I love, must be my husband (Sir.)  Mon. 
What if some great man court you for his friend? This age affords few women, but they will now and then hold up their laps, and let love enter in a golden shower: But I shall take a fit time for this— Your servitor.  Gen. 
Your Handmaid.   

A rich, but simple Gentleman, thus woos and wins a counterfeit Lady, who not unwillingly yields to his suit: their names suppose are PUPILLUS, and FLAVIA.  Pupillus. 
HOw, and how stands the business?  Flau. 
Nay, you know best.  Pup. 
Perceive you not an alteration, or transmutation in my outward person?  Flau. 
Methinks your words fall off your tongue with a more becoming grace.  Pup. 
Think ye so? be wise and catch 'em as they fall; they may inspire you.  Flau. 
you are strangely Metamorphosed since I saw you.  Pup. 
O Lady, If your heart be stone, I would it were broken.  Flau. 
I have heard men wish their Mistress heart wounded, never broke.  Pup. 
P'shew, my love is not like other men's, that will whine, and cry, look pale, and wear nightcaps; no, my love is a bouncing love, and makes no more of cracking a Lady's heart, than a Squirrel of a nut: but hark you a word in you ear (for I would not have any body know it) I am inspired.  Flau. 
Now by Diana, is it true?  Pup. 
I have said it; be wise, and have me.  Flau. 
O you men have such strange ways to play upon poor women!  Pup. 
Nay there's but one way I'd play upon you.  Flau. 
And will dissemble most egregiously.  Pup. 
Who, I dissemble? why I'll be judged by all the world; yet all my acts are not simple.  Flau. 
Nay, I almost believe you have not a thought but what is merely innocent.  Pup. 
If you'll but marry me, there is not that desire or inclination, which you shall have, but I will strive with my best part to satisfy; what would you more?  Flau. 
I must confess you promise fair:  Pup. 
And will perform as well.  Flau. 
Alas! my Virgin-feares bid me I should not yield. I know not what to do.  Pup. 
Come, I know what to do, and you'll but say I once.  Flau. 
Why then I wholly yield me yours.  Pup. 
That's well said, this kiss in earnest; come we'll not stand long upon the business, but be married presently: I must provide Ribbond for the Courtiers; but that cost may be spared, now I think on't, for their Hats are so stuffed with Favours already, they'll find no room to wear 'em: come then march forwards.  
Hymen! O Hymen! snuff thy torch, and see,  
A pair of Lovers lead their way to thee.   

A Gentlewoman flattering her Suitor (who was none of the wisest) with hopes of enjoying her, thus rccosts him: Their names suppose to be SYLLI, and CAMIOLA.  Camiola. 
YOu see how tender I am of the quiet and peace of your affection, and what great ones I put off in your favour.  Syl. 
You do wisely, exceeding wisely! and when I have said, I thank you for't, be happy.  Com. 
And good reason, in having such a blessing.  Syl. 
When you have it; but the Bait is not, yet ready; stay the time, while I triumph by myself. Rivals, by your leaves; I have wiped all your noses, without a Napkin; you may cry Willow, Willow; I'll only say, Go by, go gaze now where you please: your lips may water, like a Puppies, over a Firmety-pot, while Sylli out of his two-leaved Cherrystone-dish drinks Nectar. I cannot hold out any longer; Heaven forgive me, 'tis not the first Oath I have broke; Lady, I must take a kiss or two, only for a preparative.  Cam. 
By no means; if you forswear yourself, we shall not prosper: I had rather lose my longing.  Syl. 
Pretty soul, how careful it is of me! Let me buss yet thy little dainty foot for't: that I am sure is out of my Oath.  Cam. 
Why? if thou canst dispense with it so far, I'll not be scrupulous; such a favour my amorous Shoemaker sometimes steals.  Syl. 
O most rare Leather! I do begin at the lowest, but in time I may grow higher.  Cam. 
Fie, you dwell too long there: rise, prithee rise.  Syl. 
O I am up already.   

A civil Compliment, between a great Lord, and an honourable Lady: their names are GIOVANNI, and FIORINDA.  Giovanni. 
Madam, THat without warrant I presume to trench upon your privacies, may argue rudeness of manners. But the free access your princely courtesy vouchsafes to all that come to pay their services, gives me hope to find a gracious pardon.  Fio. 
If you please not to make that an Office in your construction, which I receive as a large favour from you, there needs not this Apology.  Gio. 
You continue as you were ever, the greatest mystery of fair entertainment.  Fio. 
You are, Sir, the Master, and in the Country have learned to outdo all that in Court is practised; but why should we talk at such distance? Sir, give me leave to say you are too punctual: You are welcome, Sir; therefore sit and discourse as we here used, for we have been more familiar.  Giou. 
Your Excellence knows so well how to command, that I can never err when I obey you.   

A Gentleman, accidentally seeing a Gentlewoman whom on the sudden be exceedingly affects, thus courts her.  Man. 
LEt me not be thought rude (beauteous Mistress) that being altogether a stranger to you, I dare assume such confidence, as to proclaim myself your Votary, and without a blush say I love you. If you beheld yourself with my eyes, or sympathized of my passion (which though young of growth, hath a firm fixed root) you would not (I presume) tax me of giddy rashness, that I suffer myself so soon to be bound in loves fetters.  Wom. 
Sir, you are an overhasty lover, to imagine I can at first sight of your person be surprised, and yield: they must be strong allurements, must rempt a bashful Virgin, still inur'd to no companion but her fears and blushes, to give her heart away, and live in thraldom to a stranger.  Man. 
Love (bright Mistress) has Eagles eyes; it can beget acquaintance, even in a moment, suddenly as time, the time that does succeed it.  Wom. 
Sir, it seems you have studied Compliment.  Man. 
Sweerest beauty, to make the addresses of my lovesick heart plain and apparent to you, that you may search through my soul, and find it all your creature, give me your patiented hearing.  Wom. 
'Tis a request might tax my manners, should I deny it to one that 's noble (as your peron promises.) Use your pleasure.  Man. 
Which consists in viewing your bright beauty, the Idea of all perfections which the Jealous heavens durst ever lend to earth's divinest Lady. Mine (Lady) is a holy intellectual zeal, past imitation, should those who trace me take the constanty of Swans, or never-changing Turtles.  Wom. 
Sir, he's a foolish lover, who, to gain his mistress, dares not promise what you have uttered: but I must have more than verbal assurance of your love.  Man. 
By your fair self, I am real; do intent what I have told you, with as much true zeal as Anchorites, do their prayers; and do implore you, as you have mercy in you, to take pity upon my loves stern sufferings, and redress them, by your consent to take me for your husband.  Wom. 
I dare not, Sir, to give away myself upon so slender arguments, as your own bare report of true love: time and experience may produce, what yet I must not hope to hear on.  Man. 
Honour me then so much, as to permit me wait you home: and when that task is done, and I must part from you, as exiles from their native soil, pray think on me, as one that has placed his full extent of bliss in your enjoying: think you are the Landwrack, by which the brittle Vessel of my hopes must through love's swelling ocean be directed, to a safe harbour.  Wom. 
You are too powerful in your speech: you'll put yourself unto a tedious trouble to gain a thing; which when you are possessed of, you will repent your travel.   

Instructions (directed by the Author primarily to the vulgar, yet he exempts not some Gentlemen) host to demean themselves to their Mistresses.  
YOu must not acoast her with ●●shing, as you were so wzie, with your Lady, Sweet Lady, or most superexcellent Lady; nor in the Spanish garb, with a state-face, as you had been eating of a Radish, and meant to swallow her for Mutton to't: nor let your words come rumbling forth, othered with a good full-mouthed Oath, I love you: but speak the language of overcoming Lovers; I do not mean that strange pedantic phrase used by some gallants who do aim at wit, and make themselves stark asses by't; praise their Mistresses by the Sun and Stars, while the poor Girls imagine they mean the signs their Mercers or Perfumers inhabit at: But you must in gentle, free, and genuine phrase, deliver your true affections; praise your Mistress' Eye, her Lip, her Nose, her Check, her Chin, her Neck, her Breast, her Hand, her Foot, her Leg, her every thing; and leave your Roses and your Lilies for your Country-Froes to make Nosegays of.   

A gentleman solicits a virtuous Gentlewoman to have the use of her body, only to prove her: Their names suppose to be ROBERTUS, and LUCRETIA.  Rob. 
ARe you still resolute (my dearest Mistress) to persist in your strange tyranny, and scorn my constant love?  Luc. 
Do not, Sir, abuse that sacred title which the powers celestial glory in, by ascribing it to your not desires; pray rather cloth them in their own attributes; term them your lust, Sir, you wild irregular lust.  Rob. 
This is coyness, a cunning coyness, to make me esteem at a high rate, that Jewel which you ●eem to part from so unwillingly: (Merchants use ●t, to put bad ware away:) think how much gold and silver thou shalt gain, in the exchange of one poor trivial commodity: that thing called Honour, which you so much stand upon, is merely an imaginary voice, an unsubstantial essence; and yet for that thou shalt have real pleasures, such as Queens, prone to delicious Luxury, would cover, to sat their appetites.  Lucr. 
Away, Sir, you have a cankered soul; and know, Sir, not your estate (were you rich Croesus' heir) shall buy my honour.  Rob. 
Pray, sweet, forgive me; seal it with one chaste kiss, and henceforth let me adore you as the saver of my honour (had I meant as I said.) My truth and sames preserver, by heaven, I did but try you (I must confess) having a great amb't'on to prove them liars, who extolled your worth. Had you yielded to my desires (my loser heart by your consent extinquisht) I should have esteemed (yea, divulged it to the world) that you were but a piece of counterfeit gold, a fair house haunted with Goblins, which none but a madman would enter to possess: but I have found your worth, and beg your pardon.  Lucre. 
You have it, Sir, although 'twas not well done to tempt a woman's weakness. Far you well, Sir.  Rob. 
Farewell, the best of women.   

The wooer (that he may the better facilitate his full to the mistress) thus enters into conserence with her maid.  Wooer. 
SWeet Beancha, thou art entirely loved of her whom I love more than my own life; thou art present at all her critical minutes; rub'st her toes, and helpest to pull her smock o'er her ears: prithee, when opportunity shall conspire with time, and thou hearest thy Mistress praising or pitying her wooers (mentioning me amongst the rest) let me have thy applausive vote: I know thou art prevalent with her, 'bove all her other menials.  Maid. 
Sir, you have amply obliged my gratitude, and (indeed) have bought my suffrage. Sir, expect my utmost oratory on your behalf.  Wooer. 
Sweetest Beancha, I am spaciously bound to thee, and shall ever continue thy beneficial friend: prithee wear this Diamond for luck-sake: there's twenty good Angels immured in that one stone; I give them as thy guard: take heed, Beancha, that thou prove true unto me, the stone will lose its virtue else.  Maid. 
Fear not my fidelity: Sir, did you but know how I solicit for you—  Wooer. 
Nay, my Beancha, do not think I have least doubt of thy past pains, or future perseverence. If I obtain this Gentlewoman, thou shalt have cause to thank that fate that destined thee for this employment. But prithee deal candidly with me; how stands the affections of thy mistress towards her fiery suitor Mr. E. N? I fear, the vastness of his wealth will excuse the shallowness of his wit, and make him gracious in her eyes.  Maid. 
Never doubt him, Sir: my Mistress, though she hold it not convenient quite to eject him from her presence, harbours not one good thought of him: she hath professed to me in private, that in her esteem he's a mere stick of sugar-candy; and indeed, she sees quite thorough him. But, if my desires do not delude my hopes, you are the Jason, Sir, that win this Medea, and the Golden Fleece to boot: nor do I doubt it.  Wooer. 
Thou singest sweetly in my ears: touch but this string, and I could stand a frosty winter's night, shrouded but with my shirt, to hear thy melody. If our united strength can but take in this fort, we'll mutually triumph, and share one happiness. Some two hours hence, I mean to view my goddess. Farewell, my best Beansha.  Bean. 
Your best wishes wait on you, worthy Sir.   

A Gentleman fired with the report of a rich (but nice widow) having abruptly forced himself into her company, thus solicits her.  Man. 
YOur pardon (lovely widow) for my bold intrusion. The blind boy hathwings, to signisie expedition; is ever armed, to show that he can make way (if need be) through the strictest opposition. The fame of your feature, & not the report of your wealthy possessions, hath put me upon this practice (I mean, this unexpected visiting you) which so many mortals (either funished with too much temerity, or else not qualified with sufficient audacity) have (hitherto) feared to attempt, weakened (it seems) with a double wound; the austerity of your deportment, and the radiant refulgencie of your Starlike eyes: the first more painful than the latter; and the latter more insupportable than the first.  Wid. 
Indeed, Sir, you have amply discovered yourself to be more rash than wise, more giddy than grave, and more perverse than politic. What have you heard of me, that might encourage you to this supercilious sauciness? I must tell you, Sir, that you have proclaimed your own unworthiness, with your own tongue, by this wayward way of wooing. Do you think, Sir, to ingratiate yourself into my favour by your daring Impudence? He that prescribes himself the way to gain a good opinion from me, must win it by his obsequious care, not by his abrupt arrogancy.  Man. 
Fair Widow, let me implore remission for this first fault; my future carriage towards you, shall be but one contiuned series, commixed of love and service. When I first harkened to the breath of Fame (too thrifty in divulging your rare feature) I felt the flames of true affection hover about my heart: but this inch of time that my eyes have been so blest to gaze on your bright beauty, Cupid hath cast all Aeina in my bosom; and without you be pleased to afford me love, I shall expire in flames, and be converted to an heap of Cinders.  Wid. 
You have the art for to paint out a passion: but were it granted Cupid thus hath caught you, count you me, Sir, so levious, as to return a grant of what (perhaps) is not in me to give, unto a man merely a stranger unto me (before this interview) an acquaintance of half an hours growth? Sir, I must know your breeding, and your worth; your substance, and the temper of your mind, ere I assent unto a second marriage: but if heaven keep me sixth to my resolves, were there no better feeders of Pedigrees, than I am like to prove, Nature will have no cause for to complain of her too numerous breed.  Man. 
Dear Widow, you shall have a full testimony of me: my birth's not mean, my education hath been virtuous; nor is my estate yet sunk beneath the degree of fear. But do not say, (nor for both the Indies think) you'll end your days in solitude, and like the melancholy Phoenix, engender with yourself; twill-give the babbling vulgar cause to think, that your dead husband was no complete man; or that yourself, by some default in nature, takes no felicity in amorous acts. O sly this single life! Venus hath two Doves to draw her Chariot: Daphne was metamorphosed to a tree; curel Anaxeret, to a marble statue: but flexible Ariadne, converted to a glorious Star, her brows engird with a bright wreath of Saphires. Nor was there any kind and gentle semale, propitious to her lover, or her wedded mate, but the  Ports have divulged them for eminent constellations, pleasant flowers, and mates for Goddesses.  Wid. 
This is vain Poetry. But Sir, because I will not seem too rigid, or christian myself cruel; hereafter, when I know you better, have learned what you have been, and what you are, you may expect as much as may be thought, from her who hugs her not proudly obstinate; must think him truly man, whom she can honour; hates not the poor, yet loves not beggary; and would in all things be a complete woman.  Man. 
May I then have the promise of such happiness, as in the mean time, till your doubts are solved, to have access unto you. By all things virtuous, no unbeseeming errand, unbecoming gesture, or distasteful act, shall give you cause to hate, or me to fear: only debar me not sometimes to see you.  Wid. 
You have your wish, Sir: as you are a Gentleman, I dare not to deny you such a favour; yet let not your visits be too frequent, too early in the morning, or too late at night. Sir, this large dispensation had not been, were I not confident of your noble thoughts, and what you (seemingly) sincerely promise.  Man. 
You bless me above measure.   

A friend meeting an acquaintance of his accidentally at the Tavern.  The fir. 
MR. E.D. Bacchus hath much befriended me, to guide my feet to such an happiness as to embrace you here, whose company I have ever called, my chief solace.  The sec. 
Sir, you are pleased to take notice of him, who is altogether unworthy your acquaintance, and whose utmost ambition is to be listed amongst the number of your humblest servants.  The first. 
O friend! you strive to be acute in your responsions, and would fain oblige me your creature, by your voluntary submissiveness. With leave of yourself, and this your worthy friend, let this room hold all three. But why, dear friend, have you so long absented yourself from my dwelling?  The sec. 
Sir, I hope you have not been in prison, or have commenced a suit in Law, or been visited with sickness, that swift time (in your opinion) seems to flag his wings, or to have sprained his feet. It is but six days since (accompanied with our loving mate Mr. I.R.) I supped with you and your fair wife, at your own mansion.  The first. 
You have resolved my query. Six days (said you?) why to me (who love you) by computation it appears six months. Pylades and Orestes slept beneath one roof; Damon and Pithius never took two ways: our friendship hath been long, let it be lasting. Do you not know myself? all my Demesticks, whatever I call mine (my wife excepted) are at your command.  The se. 
Sir, I have ever been beholding to you, and do confess your many bounteous favours are far beyond the hope of my requital: I love not, Sir, to heap upon the tally.  The first. 
Now you wrong your judgement, and desert, your first fair principles: this language doth imply, you dare not trust my goodness: this (dear friend) deserves severe amercement: I will prescribe your penance; you shall for one whole fortnight rest beneath my roof; nor eat nor drink but in my company; this to begin from the first minute that we leave this place: and as a tye unto this stipulation, pledge me this bowl of sack.  The second. 
You may command your creature; I'll pledge you, with a hearty zeal; although I fear you by this solemn contract have but found out a way to charge yourself.—  The first. 
No more of that (dear friend.)   

A young man who hath formerly solicited, and received a repulse, thus renews the onset, and prevails.  Young man. 
SWeetest, I hope your late refusal of my love, is altered now, by your more gentle pity. My constancy carries more strength about it, then to be blasted with your first repulse. Forced forward by the cause of my affection, I must again be advocate, and hope my suit will be effected.  Maid. 
Sir, I beseech you, make me not thus the subject of your mirth or compliment: your soul is too secure (however you are pleased to talk) in its own manly virtues, from surprise of weak affection.  Young man. 
Your bright eyes, like heaven's blessed light, when from a mist of clouds he peeps, and gilds the earth with brightness, can quicken and fire even marble hearts, with love; thaw souls of Ice. A malefactor's fears are more upon him ere he do come to his trial, then when he hears the Judge pronounce the sentence of his death; 'tis so with me; and I should be more blest, to hear that voice of yours, with a severe refusal strike me dead, then live tormented in a sad suspense, ignorant of my destinies  Maid. 
Sir, could I frame my Virgine-thoughts to love, they should be fixed on you: but I am so well content and settled in a Virgin life, I cannot wish to change it.  Young man. 
Alas, fair maid, Virg'nity is but a single good, a happiness which, like a Miser's wealth, is as from others, so from your own use, locked up and closely cabined, since it admits no communication of its good. When you shall in the state of marriage freely taste Nature's choice pleasures, you will repent you much you ere affected a single life.  Maid. 
You have prevailed: receive me freely. I am yours for ever.  Young man. 
Let this kiss seal the contract.   

The parting of two friends.  The first. 
SIr, I am infinitely sorry, that my emergent business will not permit me yet longer to enjoy your company.  The second. 
Sir, you best know your own occasions; I shall not desire to detain you a minute longer than you may safely swear 'twill prove no detriment unto your state.  The first. 
You are noble in all your deportments; and shall engage me firmly, if you'll but please, about to morrow this time, to honour me with your person at my house.  The sec. 
Sir, I shall wait on you the hour you wish; but with assured hope to find you no nonresident.  The first. 
Else let me forfeit your fair friendship. Farewell, my worthy friend; I shall expect you.  The second. 
Except great Jove once more contract two nights in one, to sport with his Alemena, and Morpheus drive Sol's chariot, I will not fail. Much happiness wait on you, Sir.   

An humorous conceited fellow meeting an old (but painted) Gentlewoman. Their names, CACADROMO, and Mistress FULSOME.  Cac. 
Save thee, sweet parcel of paint; you come from the Oil shop now.  Ms. Fools. 
How, Sirhah! from whence!  Cac. 
Why, from your scurvy face-physick. I have met thee often in this angle of the City. To behold thee not painted, inclines somewhat near a miracle. These in thy face, were deep ruts, and foul sloughs, the last progress thou mad'st to thy suburb-bawd. There was a Lady in France, that having had the Small Pox, flayed the skin off her face, to make it more level; and where before she looked like a Nutmeg-grater, ever after she resembled an abortive hedgehog.  Ms. Fools. 
You are a soolish knave; do you call this painting?  Cac. 
No, no; but you call it careening of an old morphewed Lady, to make her disimbogue again. There's rough-cast phrase, to your plastic. Farewell, old crone of Cappadocia.  Ms. Fools. 
Now the curse of Cuckold's light upon thee.   

A friend having brought one of his acquaintance home, thus entertains him.  JULIO, COSMO. Jul. 
Sir, I have too much entrenched upon your patience, to bring you thus far, for so poor a welcome.  Cos. 
You have obliged my gratitude above thought: your heart I see's as fairly spacious, as this your well-built, richly surnisht fabric. I am too poor in Courtship, to express how I accept this favour.  Jul. 
You abound in all perfections. Please you sit, and taste those homely cates my house affords, which I present unto you with as awful love, as mortals offer incense to the Deities.  Cosm. 
You prompt me what to say, Sir: those words transversed, would better fit my utterance.  Jul. 
Pray, Sir, let this be but a formal entrance unto our future friendship: I am obliged to you for many favours; in the performance of which courtesies, you have shown yourself the legitimate son of your most worthy father, aswell heir to his Virtues, as his Lands  Cosm. 
Sir, Challenge all my services, as your own; command whate'er is mine: all my faculties shall be employed, to practise retribution.  Jul. 
Sir, I thank you, and shall be ever pressed to gratify your goodness. Pray, Sir, eat; how relish you this Greekish wine?  Cosm. 
'Tis precious as the milk of Queens; I have not drank the like: great Ottoman himself quaffs not a purer liquor. Sir, to our future amity.  Jul. 
I most cordially thank you. My house was never furnished until now, your presence makes me happy.  Cosm. 
Sir, You too much grace your servant.  Jul. 
Sir, you want what I wish, some choice dishes, which would persuade you feed more freely.  Cosm. 
Lucullus, were he here himself, could not repine at this repast: I am no Gurmundizer, nor yet am guilty of their ridiculous gestures, who must have every bitten sauced with this word, Sir, I beseech you eat; and rise as hungry, but more fools by far, then when they sat down.  Jul. 
You are in all respects yourself, Sir. But i'faith, since we're so opportunely met, let us not part so coolly. Though my own wine be good, the mischief is, I have no bush hangs at my door, no linen aprons to squeak Anon, Sir: the name of Tavern, adds to our desires. Me thinks absurdities dance round about me, when I drink healths at home.  Cos. 
Sir, Bacchus will reward you for your courtesy entailed unto his Priest. My service waits upon you.   

Two Gentlemen (acquaintance) meet in the streets.  VALASCO, PEDRO. Ped. 
MY dear friend Valasco, now in the name of good fellowship, what hath been the impediment that hath hindered you from visiting me these many weeks? I hope you are not turned Stoic, nor in love with Cato's beard, or Diogenes his Tub. Are the Table-books, Bowling-allies, and Taverns, now grown useless? Thou wert a Courtier, when there was a Court. I hope these dog-days are not so dangerous, but we may sport and quaff with Imitation, and deal for wholesome flesh, without being at the charges to disburse to Panders and Porters, for a cloudy conveyance to our own lodgings.  Vala. 
Sir, You are mightily mistaken, if you conceit I am one of Chrysippus' Scholars (Aristippus I will allow to be my Master.) These froward times cannot transmigrate an Anchorites soul into my breast; no, I retain my merry temper still. I throw Size-ace, till I lose to my shirt; bowl away Crowns as Counters; not give over till my pockets look like the picture of famine, lean and empty; and I walk after the bowls with my hands behind me, to denounce who plays fairest, not daring to bet: there's a rub, you'll say. I am still the same I was when you saw me last, in feature, gesture demeanour, and all other appurtenances; only my will is not to you as formerly. I must tell you, Pedro, that you have forfeited the name of a friend: and by all my hopes, were it not that the thought of our former amity suppressed those flames of fury in my breast, I now should kill thee.  Ped. 
Valasco, I know you think I am so much a man, as not to fear your worst of anger, were you Alcides second, and grasped Jove's thunder bolt; much less with supple hams, and suppliant hands, to creep to you, and beg your absolution. Had I been guilty of that breach of friendship, which you unkindly do suggest, I would maintain and justify my error, maugre your sword or buckler. But how, Sir, have I wronged you?  Vala. 
The Blade Don Bombo, two hours since I met, who told me, eight days ago you and he supped together at your Mistress Scorpiona's lodging; where, in discourse what truely-noble sparks the Inns of Court now yielded, he ranked me 'mongst the rest; but you with scorns and taunts, before your Mistress, proclaimed me nothing worth; a man of a dull sense, only a valiant voice; with many other most unfriendly terms, so base, I hate to name them.  Ped. 
Now by the Gods, Valasco, that Rogue Don Bombo hath abused us both: thee, by a false & slanderous information; me— But I'll not stand to talk; I'll make cutworks in the villain's skin, and slice his throat so wide, next time he drinks his morning's draught, he shall go near to spill his liquor; he shall confess before you, or else under his hand recant this lie, and eke record himself a branded Rascal. Will that atone you, and renew our loves?  Val. 
I have ever harboured noble thoughts of you, and shall esteem your friendship ever precious, worthy the acceptance of a Deity. Chastise this Rascal till he cries peccavi; and, like to broken bones, which, distocated by some unhappy accident, set by a skilful hand, unite more firm than ever, our friendship shall take birth anew; we'll be another Pylades and Orestes.  Ped. 
No more of this: my deeds shall speak my real thoughts: let's to the Tavern, Bully, and there, o'er full-crowned cups, join our right hands. Ho, Coachman! hurry us, in thy four-wheeled pouch, to that Argolian Bachanalian Clifton, who keeps the golden Fleece securely safe; yet hangs it as a sign, even at his door. His marble vault (alone) includes Nepenthe: the Co●sick-grape is only his. Away, away.   

Two Merchants on the Exchange; Mr. Main Mast, and Mr. Topsail.  Main mast. 
MR. Topsail, your best wishes ●nviron you; you see I keep my word.  Top. 
Good faith I saw you not. All happiness wait on you, sweet Mr. Main Mast; you are a strict observer of your time.  Mainmast. 
I ever was so, Sir. Time's an old cross-penny father, and must be waited on obsequiously, he flees ye else. But what's the news from Neptune's Sea? how goes things in the great and watery world? are your ships ribbed with riches? is Aeolus' propitious to your Vows; his bag-cheeked Boys not too robustious? Ha'? I'm sure I find a great decay of Trade. Tritons, attended by a crew of Sword-fish, are turned most desperate Pirates: no traffic, no commerce with foreign Nations. Alas that ere I lived to see this day.  Top. 
Had I had the sage Ulysses' power, for to seclude all winds from Seas save Zephyrus, my foreign trade could not have been more prosperous, then till within these few years: but now, 'tis true (with storms on land) perpetual gusts at Sea shake all commerce to nothing; yet I bear up still, and as my name, Top and Top-gallant like, I plough on Neptune, and return safely home, with all my purchases. Caesar's mottoes mine, man: next him, I sure shall be recorded t' have been dame Fortunes only favourite. Veni: with English wares I did arrive in Spain. Vidi; I had a rich return. Vici: I came home with a merry wind. Tityre tu patule quae nunc non est narrandi locus.  Mainmast. 
Learned Mr. Topsail, the Gods o'the seas befriend you marvellously.  Top. 
I'm much bound indeed to the old blue-beard, Neptunus; to his Sons the Tritons, his Daughters the Mermaids, and his cousins the Whales. But no more of this: many words will not fill a man's belly: should we talk this two hours, there would be little use of a picktooth. My much-honoured friend, Mr. Mainmast, shall I be so happified this night, as to enjoy your company at the carving out of a Shoulder of Mutton, cutting up of a pair of Coneys, and carbonadoing of a cold Capon?  Mainmast. 
Sir, you shall command the exercise of my teeth, and the silence of my tongue. I'll wait on you, Sir.  Tops. 
O Sir, you teach me what to say: I am your humble ereature, and very happy in the society of so worthy a friend. Nay, Sir, let me alone for compliments, if I set upon't. Come, good Mr. Mainmast.   

The Wooer sending his Mistress a pair of white-frin'gd Gloves.  
WHen on your whiter hands these Gloves you draw,  
Remember Cupid, and his spotless law.  
Mortals do wrong him much, with sly pretence;  
And when they love, they Doctors do commence  
In Cunning's college, whenas love is free;  
There is no craft in perfect amity.  
These are fringed round: Phylacteries were good,  
Till by the Pharisees died deep in blood.  
The colour which Narcissus took, when he  
Converted to a Daffadil, here see;  
Which Hieroglyphically seems to tell,  
In hating me, you love yourself too well.  
How happy are these skins, that may at pleasure  
Kiss your fair hands, and rifle all love's treasure!  
But these must be compelled that thing to do,  
For which I sigh, and pray, and weep, and woe.  
But know (bright fair one) when my task is done,  
You shall not need (like these) to draw me on.    

Complimental LETTERS Fitted to all Humours and Inclinations; useful and delightful.  

To the Intelligent Reader.  
Cupid, here, hath taken wing  
(Larke-like) to the heavens doth sing.  
Peneian Daphne here displays  
Her arms, and shrouds him with her bays.  
A vast pile of Sabean gums,  
Smocking with fat Hecatoms,  
Thou mayst behold, and cheer thy sense  
With choice Idalian frankincense.  
Harmonious echoes do invite  
Thee to attention and delight.  
If Humours do not Judgement blind,  
A Zoylus I'll not fear to find.   

One of a law and humble birth, falling in love with some great Lady, thus presents his service.  
Gracious Madam,  
YOu are a Lady in whom consists all that heaven hath raised to perfection. I am too poor to enjoy so great a Treasure; and shall be ever, till I grow immortal; which alone rests in your power to make me. 'Tis not your birth or fortune that I court, heavens witness with me: for had you been an humble shepherdess, and I a Monarch, this love had been, 'cause 'twas decreed by Fate. When I first saw you, methought my soul was forced to obey a Trance; and as a Vision, my amazed sight heheld you. The revolution of those Starlike eyes deserves a new Astronomy, to contemplate it. I know I catch at a Star, and attempt to fathom Clouds; but it is not that thing called danger, that can affright me: Were you enclosed with rocks of marble, whose lofty tops knew no distance betwixt the Skies and them, I would, with winged speed, seal those aspiring Walls; and, in despite of all that durst detain you, bear you in my arms, beyond the reach of danger. You have been pleased, bright Anaxerete, to smile upon your poor Iphis; the radiant lustre of your eyes hath exhaled those dull and foggy vapours, that clogged my soul with the contemplation of my great unworthiness: O continue those soul-reviving beams, since without their comfortable influence, I must freeze to Crystal, and perish more miserably than the wrath of Gods or Men (united) can possibly shower upon the caytiffhead of any desolate mortal.  
Bright Goddess, Your humble admirer, and sworn Servant, etc.   

An Amourist being forbidden by his Mistress any more to Court, by Epistle or otherwise, declareth himself thus.  
Dear Mistress,  
YOu have given me command not to love; which I confess I have ill obeyed: but you know, Mistress, that forbidden things are ever most coveted by mortals; which is the reason that I have not had the power, since your forbidding me● to think of any other thought, but of loving you, Mistress, there is no kind of duty that I own you not; there is no cruelty of chance or Fate, to which I shall not willingly expose myself, to obey you 〈◊〉 but either cease you to forbid me love, or otherwise forbidden your Image to pursue me; since that follows me everywhere, and leaves me not I berty or thought, but what it doth inspire. You ma● as well forbidden the water for to descend, and fire to mount on high, as command me to forbear to love you; which I must do, though in doing so, the fire of love parch me to cinders.  
Cruel Mistress, Your constant lover, not to be shaken off by frowns or threats, etc.   

The Lover having received an utter denial of his proffered service, so that he is out of hope to accrue his desired happiness, takes his leave of his Lady thus mornfully.  
(Fair, fair one)  
CAn law or torture fright his soul, who is every hour extended on the wrack? No: since you despise me, 'twill add unto my future happiness, when love shall know I'm one that died your martyr. And for my body, when entombed in earth, a Cypress-tree shall spring up from my grave, under whose shade such mournful lovers as are punished with disdain, shall come and pay sad tribute of their tears; which by that charitable air which doth convert the falling dew into a frost, shall be congealed, and raise to my sad memory a lasting monument of transparent crystal.  
So dies your distressed Martyr, R. H.   

The Lover being to pass beyond the seas, or otherwise to absent himself a while from his Mistress, taketh leave of her, thus.  
My dear,  
SO leave the wintered people of the North, the minutes of their summer, when the Sun departing leaves them in cold walls of Ice, as I leave thee (my only happiness on earth) commanded from thy presence by an irresistible Fate. But though we are severed for a time, a span o● time, 'twill increase our joys, when next we meet; when we shall join again in a confirmed unity for ever: such will our next embraces be (my dearest) when the remembrance of former dangers (our parents angry frowns upon our loves) will fasten love in perpetuity, will force our sleeps to steal upon our stories. These days must come, and shall, without a cloud or night of fear, or envy: till when, keep warm my soul within thy bosom.  
Thy devoted servant, T. B.   

The Amourist having failed to meet his Mistress at a place appointed, thus excuseth himself.  
Mistress,  
I Attended in much fear, and with more patience, the space of three hours, this morning, in my chamber, expecting every minute some ominous embassy from you, to scourge me into a just penance, for neglect (as you may suppose) offered unto you yesterday, in not waiting on you according to my promise: but anxieties (to my great content) proving abortive, I have assumed the confidence to apologise thus for my contempt. My heart's joy, I know you think that yourself is the Loadstone that attracts my soul (though I confess I have hitherto found your heart like a pebble, (moth, but stony) and that when I am restrained from your sight, like a melancholy vegetive, in the absence of the Sun, I hang down my drooping head. Think not that I desire to withdraw from so worthy a servi●… as I esteem yours; under whom I choose rather to suffer extreme tyranny, than elsewhere to live beneath the perfectest Empire. But so it happened, that at the very hour when I was preparing to come and wait on you, a Messenger bathed in sweat, came to certify me, that my Uncle (of whom I have received a large Legacy) lay even at the point of death, earnestly wishing to behold me ere his departure to the invisible land: the performance of whose desire, was the only occasion that impedited my attendence on you. I humbly entreat you (Mistress) to accept of this true narration, as a sufficient excuse: which shall continue you in my opinion,  
The glory of my thoughts, sovereign Good of my life, and extreme felicity of my soul, R. T.   

The Lover having found his Mistress basely inconstant, takes his last farewell of her thus.  
Lost Love,  
SInce I must write to one that hath scorned to answer my Epistles any time this month, take it not in favour of you; it is not to you, but to this paper that I tell my thoughts; so to disburden myself of them, as that I may never more have them in mind, except to detest their causer. You have not deceived me: for I long since foresaw the instability of your mind. If yet you did tell me the cause of this your infidelity, if not able to find a just occasion, you took the pa●ne but to search a pretence that were coloured with self appearance, I would herein excuse you against my self. This then is my comfort, that you have no other reason for your change, than your own inconstancy: and though I have not ties enough to stay you, yet have I resolution enough to let you go; and have as much patience in your loss, as I ●ad contentment in your possession. Adien for ever. And because you shall be certainly assured, that I now as perfectly hate you, as heretofore I dotingly affected you (to perpetuate your memory) I will fix this Epitaph upon your Tomb.  

Epitaph.  
Here remains a piece, that Shame  
Does forbid to own, or name:  
She was once as this a stone,  
Till conversion made her none:  
Then, her beauty stained her soul;  
Being fair, she was most foul:  
Loved, yet hated all; 'tis crossed;  
Whom she loved, she hated most.  
She was skilled in Language too;  
Every Nation did her woe.  
She could French interpret well,  
Till she fashioned how to spell  
Through the Nose. If any pass  
On this tender yielding grass,  
To view this piece, do not weep;  
'Tis a passion they may keep.  
Only Clarity bids us say,  
She is happy now she's clay.    

The Lover being prohibited the sight of his Mistress, either by the strictest opposition of her Parents, or the persuasive counsel of her guardian, sends her this Letter.  
Dearest Love,  
THere is no longer means of living absent from my life: since you are not with me, I am no more myself. I may be forbidden the seeing of you, but never the loving of you: or if they will for bid, yet they can never hinder me. Such as own me most good will, do testify the least unto me, and that by reason of my affection: but I choose rather to be little obedient to them, to be the more faithful to you. Live you then in this assurance, if you will not that I die; and become assured likewise, that my life shall sooner be extinct, than that fair flame that daily does consume it.  
Divine Mistress, your humble creature, happy to serve you, A. S.   

A Maid, or Widow, having afforded her Suitor a final answer (perhaps) contemned and affronted him, may upon change of thoughts, seek toregain his love, thus.  
(Worthy Sir)  
IF there be no greater Cor'sive unto the mind of one, then that which forceth us (despite of ourselves) to seek to those whom we have before (and that without just cause) notoriously offended, then certainly am I the most wretched creature living: for (as now) there is no means left for me to escape from ruin, but only by thy help (sweet friend) alone, who hast more reason to wish my overthrow, than my good fortune or health any way at all, in that thou hast found such extreme and barbarous discourtefie in me. Nevertheless, if thygenerous and gentle mind, cannot feel this injury (done unto thee by a silly Maid) than I beseech thee, think no more upon my offence; but burying it deep, under thy feet, do that for my sake, which the bearer hereof shall make thee privy to: and then shalt thou quickly perceive, what great satisfaction I will make thee, for my fault committed; granting unto thee that which thou shalt most desire. Give credit unto this Messenger; assuring thyself that I am  
Thine most obliged M. L.   

A Captain, Colonel, or common Soldier, falling in love with some gentlewoman, thus manifests his passions.  
(Fair gentlewoman)  
IF it be an irrevocable doom, that men, be they never so valiant or courageous, shall be subject unto a braver and more livelier force than their own; I hope you will not marvel overmuch, that I humbly yield to your divine graces; and, as a captive your to beauty, prostrate myself a prisoner at your feet. But as mortal men deserve no countenance from the heavens, until they have by many proofs testified their faithful and duteous service towards them; so, I will not presume to importune you to affect me at all, much less to yield me any guerdon for my pains, until that by my duteous service I show myself (in some part) worthy your gracious smiles. Mine only request to you is, that it would please you to have me in your lively remembrance; and not to entertain another, as your loyal Servant, before you shall have just occasion to discard and give me over: for as (no doubt) it will be little pleasing unto you (hereafter) to repent you, that you have made a worse choice then of myself; so it will be far more bitter unto me, than a most desperate death, to be discharged from serving her, whom I love more than my own heart, and cherish more than my own life, yea then my own soul, which is (now) wholly yours, seeing that he that is the owner of the same, is the inviolable slave to your incomparable self.  
A. R.    

LETTERS in Verse: With other curious Conceits, and fine Fancies.  

To the Reader.  
Behold, Apollo doth invite thee,  
Yet a third time to delight thee:  
A pleasant Tempe, planted well  
With Flowers of odoriferous smell;  
In the midst whereof do i'll  
Aganippe waters drill.  
The Muses, whose sweet melody  
Draws Jove down from the arched Sky,  
Charm Pluto's self, and all the Fiends;  
To heaven climbs, to hell descends:  
Hand in hand, now in a Ring,  
Invite thee, for to hear them sing.  
Enter, and take thy free delight:  
And 'cause (perhaps) thy Appetite  
Cannot with one dish sated be  
I give thee, here, Variety.   

The Lover being forced from his Mistress presence.  
(Mistress)  
Banished from you, I charged the nimble wind,  
My unseen messenger, to speak my mind  
In amorous whispers to you; but my Muse,  
Lest the unruly spirit should abuse  
The trust reposed in him, said it was due  
To her alone, to sing my love to you.  
Hear her then speak, bright Lady, from whose eye  
Shot lightning to his heart; who joys to die  
A Martyr in your flames: O let your love  
Be great, and firm as his! then nought shall move  
Your settled faiths, that both may grow together,  
Or (if by Fate divided) both may whither.  
Be constant, as y'are fair: for I foresee  
A glorious Triumph waits o'th' victory  
Your love will purchase; showing us to prise  
A true content; there only love hath eyes.  
Divine Lady, yours more than his own, etc.   

The Lover being anxious of his Mistress constancy.  
Fair,  

SWeet, if you like and love me still,  
And yield me love for my good will,  
And do not from your promise start,  
When your fair hand gave me your heart;  
If dear to you I be,  
As you are dear to me:  
Then your I am, and will be ever;  
Nor time, nor place, my love shall sever,  
But faithful still, I will persever,  
Like the constant marblestone,  
Loving but you alone.   

But if you favour more than me  
(Who loves thee still, and none but thee)  
If others do the harvest gain,  
That's due to me for all my pain,  
If that you love to range,  
And often for to change:  
Then get you some new-fangled mate;  
My doting love shall turn to hate;  
Esteeming you (though too too late)  
Not worth a pebble-stone,  
Loving not me alone.    

The Lover being transported in his fancy, compliments in an high stile with his Mistress.  
FOrsake with me the earth, my fair,  
And travel nimbly through the air,  
Till we have reached th' admiring skies,  
Then lend sight to those heavenly eyes  
Which blind themselves, make creatures see;  
And taking view of all. When we  
Shall find a pure and glorious sphere,  
We'll fix like stars for ever there:  
Nor will we still each other view;  
We'll gaze on lesser stars; than you  
See how by their weak influence they  
The strongest of men's actions sway,  
In an inferior orb below:  
We'll see Calypso loosely throw  
Her hair abroad, as she did wear  
The selfsame beauty in a Bear,  
As when she a cold Virgin stood,  
And yet inflamed Jove's lustful blood.  
Then look on Leda, whose fair beams  
By their reflection gild those streams,  
Where first (unhappy she) began  
To play the wanton with a Swan.  
If each of these lose beauties are  
Transformed to a more beauteous star  
By the adulterous lust of Jove;  
Why should not we, by purer love?  
Life of my life, a devoted servant to your excellent perfections, etc.   

Dearest,  
Let one grief harm us,  
Let one joy fill us,  
Let one love warm us,  
Let one death kill us.   

A Maid, or widow, returns this merry answer to her hot Lover whom she affect not.  
I See thee (gentle Frank) most merry,  
Though firm thy faith, and sound as berry:  
Love gave me joy, and fortune gave it  
As my desire could wish to have it.  
What didst thou wish? tell me (sweet lover)  
Whereby thou mightst such joy recover,  
To love where love should be inspired,  
Since there's no more to be desired.  
In this great glory, and great gladness,  
Thinkest thou to have no touch of sadness?  
Good fortune gave me not such glory  
To mock my love, or make me sorry.  
If my firm love I were denying,  
Tell me, with sighs wouldst thou bedying?  
Those words in jest to hear thee speaking,  
For very grief, my heart is breaking.  
Yet wouldst thou change (I pray thee tell me)  
In seeing one that doth excel me?  
O no; for how canst thou aspire  
To more than to thy own desire?  
Such great affection thou dost bear me,  
As, by thy words, thou seemest to swear me:  
Of thy desert, to which a Debtor  
I am, thou mayst demand this better.  
Sometimes (me thinks) that I should swear it,  
Sometimes me thinks thou shouldst not hear it:  
Only in this, the pip doth grieve me,  
And thy desire not to believe me.  
Sir, yours very dubiously affectionated, not to be cammanded, or waited on, by you, etc.   

The Lover being discontented at the absence of his Mistress, he being in the City, she in the Countrcy.  
Dearest,  
THe lesser people of the air conspire  
to keep thee from me: Philomela with higher  
And sweeter notes, woos thee to weep her rape;  
Which would appease the gods, & change her shape:  
The early Lark, preferring, for soft rest,  
Obsequious duty, leaves his downy nest,  
And doth to thee harmonious duty pay,  
expecting from thy eyes the break of day;  
From which the Owl is frighted, and doth rove  
(As never having felt the warmth of love)  
In uncouth vaults, and the i'll shades of night,  
Not 'biding the great lustre of thy sight.  
With him, my Fate agrees; not viewing thee,  
I'm lost in mists; at best, but Meteors see.  
Soul of sweetness, thy humble creature, etc.   

The Lover angry at his Mistress unsufferable contempt, may (if he will) thus vent himself, in an invective manner  
(Scornful Tit)  

SInce just disdain began to rise,  
And cry revenge, for spiteful wrong;  
What once I praised, I now despise,  
And think my love was all too long.  
I tread to dirt that scornful pride,  
Which in thy looks I have descried.  
Thy beauty is a painted skin,  
For fools to see their faces in.   

Thy eyes, that some as stars esteem,  
From whence themselves (they say) take light,  
Like to the foolish fire I deem,  
That leads men to their death by night.  
Thy Words and Oaths, are light as wind,  
And yet far lighter is thy mind.  
Thy friendship is a broken reed,  
And thou a giggling maukes indeed.   
My own, and can command myself, H. D   

The Lover betwixt hope and despair to attain his Mistress love, she telling him she hath vowed never to marry.  
Dearest mistress,  

EVen as my hand my pen to paper lays,  
My trembling hand my pen from paper stays;  
Lest that thine eyes, which shining, made me love you,  
Should, frowning on my suit, bid cease to love you:  
So that my nurfing murdering pen affords  
A grave, a cradle, to my newborn words.   

But whilst like clouds tofsed up and down by air  
I wracked hang, 'twixt hope and sad despair;  
Despair is beaten, vanquished from the field,  
And unto conquering hope my heart doth yield.  
If of my eyes you also could bereave me,  
As you already of my heart deceive me;  
Or could shut up my ravished ears through which  
You likewise did my enchanted heart bewitch;  
To root out love all means you can invent,  
Were all but labour lost, and time ill spent:  
For as these sparks, being spent, which fire procure,  
The fire doth brightly burning still endure;  
Though absent, so, your sparkling eyes remove,  
My heart still burns in endless flames of love.   

Then strive not 'gainst the stream to no effect,  
But let due love yield love a due respect;  
Nor seek to ruin what yourself begun,  
Or lose a knot that cannot be undone.  
Why were you fair, to be sought of so many,  
If you live chaste, not to be loved by any?  
For if that Nature love to Beauty offers,  
And Beauty shun the love that Nature proffers;  
Then either unjust Beauty is to blame,  
With scorn to quench a lawful kindled flame;  
Or else, unlawfully if love we must,  
And be unloved, than Nature is unjust.  
A marble heart, under an amorous look,  
Is of a flattering bait the murdering hook;  
For from a Ladies shining frowning eyes,  
Death's sable dart, with Cupid's arrow flies.   

Since then from chastity and beauty spring  
Such various streams, where each a bide as kin;  
Let Tyrant Chastity's usurped throne  
Be made the seat of beauty's grace alone;  
And let your beauty be with this sufficed  
That my heart's City is by it surprised  
Raze not my heart, nor to your beauty raise  
Blood-gilded Trophies of your beauty's praise.  
For wisest Conquerors do Towns desire,  
On honourable terms, and not with fire.   
Cruel fair one, thy bleeding servant, T. P.   

The Lover having word brought him of his Mistress departure.  
Dearest,  
I Am engaged to sortow, and my heart  
Feels a distracted rage. Though you depart,  
And leave me to my fears, let love, in spite  
Of absence, our divided souls unite.  
But you must go: the me lancholy Doves  
Draw Venus' chariot hence: the sportive loves  
That want to wanton here, hence with you fly,  
And, like false friends, forsake me when I die.  
For, but a walking Tomb, what can he be,  
Whose best of life is forc'd to part with thee?  
Bright Goddess your humble admirer.   

The Lover absent from his Mistress beyond the Seas, solicits her thus.  
My dearest Mistress,  
STar of my life, if these sad lines do hap  
The raging fury of the Sea to scape,  
O let your hand then be their blessed Port,  
From whence they may unto your eyes resort.  
Fountain of bliss, yet wellspring of my woe;  
O would I might not justly term you so!  
My dearest dear, behold the portraiture  
Of him that doth all kind of woes endure;  
Of him whose head is made a hive of woes,  
Whose swarming number daily greater grows;  
Of him, whose senses like a rack are bend  
With divers motions, my poor heart to rent;  
Whose mind a mirror is, which only shows  
The ugly image of my present woes;  
Whose memory's a poisoned knife to tear  
The ever-bleeding wound my breast doth bear:  
And that poor heart, so faithful, constant, true,  
That only loves, and serves, and honours you,  
Is like a feeble Ship, which, toine and rent,  
The mast of hope being broke, and tackling spent;  
Reason the Pilot dead, the stars obscured,  
By which alone, to sail it was enured;  
No Port, No Land, no comfort once expected,  
All hope of safety utterly neglected;  
With dreadful terror tumbling up and down;  
Visions uncertain, waves to mountains grown.  
I must confess, that when I do consider  
How ill, alas, how ill agree together,  
So peerless beauty, and so fierce a mind,  
So hard an inside, and so soft a rind;  
A heart so bloody, and so white a breast;  
Such proud disdain, with so mild looks suppressed;  
And how my dear (O would it had been never  
Accursed word! O would it had been ever)  
How once, I say, till your heart seemed estranged  
(Alas) how soon my day to night was changed!  
You did vouchsafe my poor eyes so to grace,  
Freely to view the riches of your face;  
And (which was greatest bliss) did not dildaine,  
For boundless love, to yield some love again.  
Despair itself cannot make me despair  
But that you'll prove as kind as you are fair;  
And now at length, in lien of passed woe,  
Will pity, grace, and love, and favour show.  
O spare, O spare my yielding heart, and save  
Him whose chief glory is to be your slave:  
Make me the object of your clemency,  
And not the subject of your tyranny.  
So shall you restore a dying Lover to perfect health, fulfil the Decree of the Gods, and make him transcendently happy, who at present languisheth in a dying despair, ready to be offered up on the altar of your beauty. R. H.   

The Lover assuring his Mistress that her doubts are vain, and he is unmovably constant.  

WHy dost thou (my dear mistress) doubt my love  
Which beauty bred, and virtue still doth nourish  
That any other object can remove,  
Or faint with time, but still more freshly flourish?  
No; know, thy beauty is of such a force,  
The fancy cannot flit, that's with it taken;  
Thy virtue such, my heart doth hate divorce  
From thy sweet love, which ne'er shall be forsaken.   

So settled is my soul, in this resolve,  
That first the radiant stars from heaven shall fall;  
The heavens shall lose their influence, and dissolve;  
To the first Chaos shall be turned this all,   

Ere I from thee (dear mistress) do remove  
My true, my constant, and my sincere love.   
Thine while his own, A D.   

The Lover hearing of his Mistress departure, bewails thus.  
Dear heart,  
WHat's death, more than departure? the dead go  
Like travelling exiles, are compelled to know  
Those regions they heard mentioned oft; 'tis th'u'rt  
Of sorrow, to say, who dies doth departed.  
Then weep thy funeral-tears, which heaven, t' adorn  
The beauteous tresses of the weeping morn,  
Will rob me of; and thus my Tomb shall be  
As naked, as it had no obsequy.  
Know, in these lines sad music to thy ear,  
(My sad dear Mistress) you the sermon hear  
Which I preach over my hearse and death: I tell  
My own live's story, ring but my own knell.  
But when I shall return, know, 'tis thy breath,  
In sighs divided, rescues me from death.  
Thy lamenting faithful Servant, E. D.   

Five Lyric Pieces.  

To my noble friend, Mr. Theodor Loe.  
GO, pale-faced paper, to my dear,  
And whisper this into her ear:  
Though I absent am, yet she  
Keeping thee, embraces me.  
Let no rude hand dare to touch thee;  
Care not, though a thousand grudge thee  
Of that bliss, which, in her hive,  
Thou enjoyest, till I arrive:  
And be sure, thou dost not fly  
From the glances of her eye:  
Where she goes, be thou about her;  
Gad not thou abroad without her.  
Let not any dare to see  
What's between my love and thee:  
Nay, and when she haps to sleep,  
Gently to her bosom creep;  
Where (I charge thee) rest till she  
With her kisses waken thee.  
Go, and prosper for a space,  
Till I rob thee of thy place.   

The resolute Lover.  
WHat care I, though she be fair  
Hair, snowlike hand, or sunlike eye,  
If in that beauty I not share?  
Were she deformed, what care I?  
What care I, though she be foul  
Hair, swarthy-hand, or sunburnt eye.  
So long as I enjoy her soul?  
Let her be so, what care I?  
Dim sight is cozened with a gloss  
Of gaudy gown, or humorous hair;  
Such gold, in melting, leaves more dross  
Then some unpolisht prices share.  
Be she fair, or foul, or either,  
Or made up of both together:  
Be her heart mine, hair, hand, or eye,  
Be what it will; why, what care I?   

The Lover's protestation.  
PRetty wanton, prithee say,  
Did you see my heart to day?  
Marks to know it you shall find;  
Always constant, true and kind:  
Wounds about it, it doth bear;  
Drops are tricklig, here and there:  
In which wounds you'll find a dart  
Shot by you, into my heart.  
If you saw it, do not blush;  
The wounds are fresh, and blood will gush  
Into your face; and you be known  
To cover more than is your own:  
Send it back; but let it be  
Sound, as when it came to thee.  
Do not think for to deny it;  
These are tokens will descry it.  
How can I subsist and live,  
When my own you will not give?  
Yet if you will send to me  
Yours in fair exchange, I'll be  
Mute, and not report that I  
Suffer by your cruelty.  
Then I prithee, let me know,  
If you will exchange, or no.   

Question.  
WHat is that freedom which men call  
A blessedness to sport withal?  
Or what those joys, which Lovers deem  
To equalise their best esteem?  
I long to know, that I may see  
The difference 'twixt those joys and me.   

Answer.  
Then know, loves joys are such as still  
Are subject to Fates supreme will;  
And every hour the Lover finds  
Cross friends, cross stars, and stormy winds;  
Till Seas grow calm, and we arrive  
At loves eternal peaceful hive.  
If patience than may bring me ease,  
Swell big, a while, you boisterous seas.    

Cupid, to an inexorable young man, disdaining his Deity.  
YOu, fair mortal, think not I  
Privilege a starlike eye,  
Or the choicest fair on earth;  
I can blast them in their birth.  
Yet, that you might feel desires  
Quenching loves Idalian fires;  
'Mongst a many young men more,  
I preserved thee, to adore  
My deity: but now I see  
Thou disdainest my power and me.  
Therefore, by my Paphian bow,  
My complaints must let you know  
That a strange complaint of late  
Beat a parley at my gate;  
And so ent'red, that the gods  
With that uproar grew at odds;  
Insomuch that they me sent  
Messenger of punishment,  
In my mother's sacred name,  
You a Traitor to proclaim,  
'Gainst the Laws of love and beauty,  
And to what you own by duty,  
To the Aethereal powers, and me  
Cancelled by ubiquity.  
By my bow, and slaming dart;  
By the Lover's bleeding heart;  
By the hand, and by the glove;  
By the eye that captived Jove;  
I command, and summon thee,  
At love's Bar to answer me  
To what we shall there object  
'Gainst thy scorn and base neglect.  
Fail not, mortal, as you will  
Answer your ensuing ill.   

Ad eundem.  
Pale-cheeked mortal, now your eyes  
Return their lustre to the skies,  
No hue rosy-red doth guide  
The welcome Lilies, as a bride;  
Nor are the Lilies fresh and gay,  
As they were the other day.  
The present guilt doth make it known,  
Vigour lent is not your own.  
Venus, now, the Queen of Love,  
Is in presence, and must prove  
You a disobedient heir  
To her glorious hemisphere.  
Paphos' Archer hates to own  
You a brother to his throne,  
And must here a witness be  
To your inconstant constancy:  
Therefore, on this gold-leaved book,  
In which Lovers oft do look,  
Lay your hand, if you be free;  
Swear, and damned ever be.  
See, he's guilty; take him hence  
To a scorching residence.  
Hence to trial: Themis now  
'Gainst thy guilt doth set her brow:  
And beauty calls; you must appear  
At love's bar, and answer there.   


Empta poenitentia.  
I Ack to his Jug, in feeling passion swore,  
He would approve her a polluted—  
Whose tempting outward look, & borrowed locks  
And inward filthiness gave him the—  
Thou liest (quoth Jug) 'twas what thy money bought,  
How dear soe'er thou paid'st, I gave thee nought.   

Experto credentum.  
HOw durst Capritius call his wedlock whore,  
But that he speaks it plusquam per narratum?  
Nam ipso teste; what require you more,  
Unless you'd have it, magis approbatum?   

Nequicquam verba.  
WIll woes his wench, with words of eloquence,  
Wishing he might her corpse Enthalamize,  
And of his love impart that influence,  
Which with her liking best may sympathise.  
She, who regardless, at his speech doth spurn,  
Saith, 'tis not words of art must serve her turn.    

An invective against my old she-enemy, my most audacious Aunt, now very desirous to marry.  
Sweet Aunt,  

MOre rich than wise, and yet more wise than fair;  
years add grey Trophies, to enrich thy hair:  
Rather than live to love, die with despair.   

Whenas sad comets in the skies appear,  
Some strange disaster than approacheth near;  
Which in our doubtful souls begots a fear.   

Thy nose is that disaster: for in thee  
No less than thousand comets we may see,  
As symptoms to ensuing misery.   

Below thy nose, an hill we may descry,  
Darkening the light appearing from thine eye,  
Within that hollow concave where they lie.   

Eye, Nose, and Chin, since you in darkness be,  
Premeditate before you visit me,  
And raise young cinders to your venery.   

And in nightshade, meet with your shadow, where  
Some Incubus, by chance, may get an heir,  
Making the world accursed with such a pair.   

Or if thy withered hand (begot by time)  
Should with thine eye, nose, chin, and face combine,  
Without discordant, to make some man thine;   

Know, gumless wooer, that diseases thirst  
To seize thy hand, where th' Apoplexy must  
Bring thee, ere long, unto thy neighbour's dust.   

Or if thy withered thigh desires to know  
The sweet content that in young men doth flow,  
Convert a tear into a flood below.   

So may some cripple, wanting Alms, supply  
Thy almost-desperate necessity.  
And please both nose, gums, chin, thigh, hands, & eye    

A Lover's passion, wanting the society of his Mistress.  

1  
Dear heart, remember the sad hour  
When we were forced to part;  
How on thy cheeks I wept a shower,  
With sad and heavy heart.  
About thy waist my arms did twist:  
Oh than I sighed, and then I kissed.   

2  
Ten thousand fears and joys in one,  
Did such distraction frame,  
As if the liveless world would run  
To Chaos back again;  
Whilst my poor heart, amid these fears,  
Lay bathed in my milk-warm tears.   

3  
When I thought, and thinking wept,  
How friends and fate did lower  
On thee Leander; how they kept  
Thee from thy Hero's Tower;  
While thunder groaned, and heaven did weep,  
To rock thy sense in silent sleep.   

4  
The will of Fate must unresisted stand:  
O who can it oppose?  
" Necessitie's a Tyrant, and  
" No mean in mischief knows:  
Else might my fairer love and I  
Unsevered live, till one did die.   

5  
Just so the hungry infant from  
His mother's duggs is ta'en,  
When his weak arms yet spread along,  
More dulcet milk to gain:  
And nothing brings the Babe to rest,  
Until he sleep upon her breast.   

6  
Thus being banished from my love,  
And forced to leave her sight,  
No thought but those of her can move  
In me the least delight:  
But like true steel, my heart doth pant  
To touch the loug'd-for adamant.   

7  
Oh let no storm of discontent  
Be clouded in your brows:  
Dear friend that have my being sent,  
Give being to my vows.   

You'll much engage my heart, if when  
I say she's mine, you'll say amen:  
Such kindness to our true-love shown,  
Shall bind us doubly then your own.    

Love's inconveniencies.  

LOve is a sickness full of woes,  
All remedy refusing;  
A plant that with most cutting grows;  
Most barren, with best using:  
Why so?   

More we enjoy it, more it dies;  
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries:  
Heigh ho!   

Love is a torment of the mind,  
A tempest everlasting;  
And Jove hath made it of a kind  
Not well, nor full, nor fasting:  
Why so?  
More we enjoy it, more it dies;  
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,  
Heigh ho!    

A Dialogue between a Shepherd and a damsel.  Shep. 
BOnny wight, whate'er you be,  
Luck be in your company:  
Are you Diana? say to me.  Dam. 
None such, good Shepherd.  Shep. 
Dost and trim one, much glee,  
Be ye what you please to be;  
Some disaster's near to ye.  Dam. 
Never, never more.  Shep. 
Welladay! now by my creed,  
And my merry oaten reed;  
Sike another rousing sigh  
Would well split me, gay and blithe.  
Let a clowtish clown partake  
Why this sobbing dole you make.  Dam. 
Ah me! unfortunate.  Shep. 
Wonderment of woe, relate,  
If simpleness you might not scorn,  
How you happed to be forlorn.  Dam. 
The story would too tedious be,  
Shepherd, to relate to thee.  Shep. 
Be not all too keen, bright star;  
If my pertness went-too far,  
Mercy is the doom I sue:  
Good things never meant more true  
Than the silly Shepherd did,  
Late when he your sorrow bid  
Discourse the means; Merry Pan,  
And the sagest Gods do scan  
Wherefore was it. Well a near,  
Yond foul mucky cloud, I fear,  
Will besprint us, Phoebus' wain.  
If so list you but to deign  
A poor Shepherd's entertain,  
Welcome should you be (my bliss)  
Nothing uncomely is, I wis,  
Though not courtly. Answer make;  
Will you my small feasting take?  Dam. 
I'll go: for wheresoever I rest,  
Sorrow must be my only feast.  Shep. 
Welcome, Welcome, Welcome still:  
Never with a freer will  
Was welcome spoken: by the sky,  
Welcome, welcome, hearty.  
Alack, alack, the rotten South  
Begins to open his dewy mouth;  
Time to hid you; maiden meek,  
Enter my cave, I you beseek;  
O thou white one, bonny girl,  
Welcomer than heaps of pearl.   

The Lover's alarm to his Mistress.  
RIse, Lady Mistress, rise;  
The night hath tedious been;  
No sleep hath fallen into my eyes,  
Nor slumber made me sin.  
Is not she a Saint then, say,  
Thought of whom keeps sin away?  
Rise, Mistress, rise; and give me light,  
Whom darkness still will cover;  
And ignorance darker than night,  
Till thou smile on thy lover.  
All want day till thy beauty rise:  
For the grey morn breaks from thy eyes.   

A Supplantor.  
FAirest wilt thou still be true  
To a man so false to thee?  
Did he lend a husband due,  
Thou didst owe him loyalty.  
But will curses, wants, and blows,  
Breed no change in thy white soul?  
Be not fool to thy first vows,  
Since his first breach doth Fate control;  
No beauty else could be so chaste.  
Think not thou honour'st women then,  
Since by thy conscience, all disgraced,  
Are robbed of the dear loves of men.  
Then grant me my desire, that vow to prove  
A real husband his adulterate love.   

The Shepherd's complaint.  

NEighbour Swains and Swainlins, hear me:  
It is Strephon bids you hear:  
Leave your pastures, and come near me;  
Come away; you need not fear.  
By my soul, as I affect you,  
I have nought that can infect you:  
O then come,  
Hear a tongue  
That in discord keeps a part,  
With a wo-surcharged heart.   

Ne'er was Swain on plain more loved,  
Or could do more feats than I;  
Yet one grief hath now removed  
All my whilom Jollity:  
All my lays be quite forgotten;  
Sheephook broken, pipe, bag, rotten.  
O then come,  
Hear a tongue  
That with flattering speech doth call,  
To take long farewell of all.   

I am not, as once I was,  
When my Chloris first did suit me;  
Nor when that same redhaired Lass,  
Fair Bellina, did invite me  
To a garden, there to play,  
Cull, kiss, clip, and toy all day.  
O then come,  
Hear a tongue  
That in wooing terms was flowing,  
But through woe, hath spoiled his wooing.   

All I can or will desire you,  
When my breath of life is spent,  
That in love, you would inter me  
(For it will my soul content)  
Near unto my Father hearse,  
And bestow some comely verse  
On my Tomb;  
Then my tongue  
Shall throb out this last adieu,  
Ne'er were truer Swain than you.    

A Dialogue between two Lovers.  Question. 
WEre ever chaste and honest hearts  
Exposed unto so great distresses?  Answer. 

Yes: they that have the worthiest parts,  
Most commonly have worst successes   

Great fortunes follow not the best:  
It's Virtue that is most distressed.   

Then Fortune, why do we admire  
The glory of thy great excesses;  
Since by thee what men acquire,  
Thy works, and not their worths expresses?  
Nor dost thou raise them for their good,  
But t' have their ills more understood.    

The Author's suit, to Cupid.  
I Will not love; I love to rest:  
Cupid is an ungentle guest,  
Except without his weapon's he  
Will lodge in my tired Fantasy.  
Better stand the shock of thunder,  
Which cleaves hardest Rocks in sunder,  
Then oppose the sturdy blow,  
When the blind Boy bends his Bow.  
Prithee Cupid, cease to smile;  
'Tis a courtship base and vile,  
To laugh, and stab unto the heart.  
I will praise thee, and thy dart,  
While at others, thou dost throw it:  
I love to hear on it, not to know it.   

A Salyrical Description of Love.  

LOve is of man the fatal rock  
On which his ship of ease doth knock,  
And splits him with the sturdy shock.   

He never yet felt any pain,  
That hath not known the lovers vain,  
Whose greatest grief is greatest gain.   

No Ill so nigh the heart doth sit,  
As doth this fierce tormenting fit:  
Death is more pleasing (far) than it.   

Our souls, with hope, it doth torment,  
Whilst nought but massacres are sent:  
To die is better far content.   

Love then most cruel, void of grace,  
Ought to be cursed in every place;  
No God, but Devil, in this case.    

The Changes:  
Or, all think not of love alike.  

Worthi's he the bright of day,  
Who doth loyal love obey.   

CVpid only I do love;  
Him I worship still above.  
Happi's he, that by the same,  
Wisdom to himself doth gain.  
Worthi's he the bright of day,  
Who doth loyal love obey.   

O how sweet is that warm fire,  
Which our hearts heats with desire!  
To our souls no sweetness is  
Half so dulcet as is this.  
Worthi's he, etc.   

Blessed love, without all crime,  
Two souls pleaseth at one time;  
Then doth love his lover right,  
When his love he doth requite.  
Worthi's he, etc.   

Of two souls, he makes but one,  
In two bodies all alone.  
Love more happy cannot be,  
Then when we loving couples see.  
Worthi's he, etc.   

Pleasure none upon the ground,  
Like to love, is to be found:  
Pleasures pass as transitory;  
Love doth still remain in glory.  
Worthi's he, etc.    

The answer, being a contradiction of the former assertion.  

Worthy is he of dark night,  
That in Cupid doth delight.   

NOthing in this world can be  
Sweeter than our liberty;  
Which love often takes away,  
And then all our joys decay.  
Worthy is he of dark night,  
That in Cupid doth delight.   

Love doth never sorrow miss,  
(Who grieves) male-contented is:  
But love (thus) doth Lover's sting;  
Doth not love then sorrow bring?  
Worthi's he, etc.   

Who that soul hath ere seen eased,  
Upon whom fierce love hath ceased?  
The Mistress, and the Servant both,  
Oft through love their lives do loath.  
Worthi's he, etc.   

Gods from heaven have chased and sent  
This vile Boy, us to torment:  
Nor are we him to endure,  
That such plagues doth us procure.  
Worthi's he, etc.   

Then most wretched him I deem,  
That of this blind Boy doth esteem:  
Worse plague there's not of Ills,  
That consumes still, yet ne'er kills.  
Worthy is he of dark night  
That in Cupid takes delight.    

A Farewell to Love.  
To my most courteous Friend Mr. John Phillipson.  

Love far thee well; live will I now  
Quiet, amongst the green-wood bow.   

ILl betid him, that love seeks;  
He shall live but with lean cheeks.  
He that fond falls in love,  
A slave (still) to grief shall prove.  
Love far thee well; live will I now  
Quiet, amongst the green-wood bow.   

What an Ass and fool is he,  
That may, and yet will not go free?  
I can love her that is fair;  
But so, as if I grasped the air.  
Love far thee well, etc.   

I like not these Dames so smooth,  
As would have men court and love:  
For as constant I them find,  
As the Sea is, or the wind.  
Love far thee well, etc.   

Once I loved one, that was kind;  
But she did what pleased her mind.  
Better 'tis ne'er to be born,  
Then live as another's scorn.  
Love far thee well, etc.   

To lovers, what good doth the Sun,  
If by his beams they be undone?  
Love's as bitter as is Rue:  
Blest are those that ne'er it knew.  
Love far thee well, etc.   

A fond Lover doth not merit  
Name, or fame, of man t' inherit;  
Since he is foe to his own health,  
And hugs diseases, as his wealth.  
Love far thee well; live will I now  
Quiet, amongst the green-wood bow.    

A Rhapsody.  
Now must the Gods above,  
And all the heavens that move,  
Of my Mistress praises sing,  
Such, as through the earth may ring.  
Now must we frame chaplets fine,  
And, with the Laurel green, combine  
The fruitful Olive, that our hair  
May yield a presume through the air.  
My Love, mayst thou always flourish,  
Although myself do die and perish.   

To the same.  

If nothing fair I see, but what's thy face;  
If thy bright look is loadstone to my eyes:  
If thy rare parts (as blessings) I embrace,  
Have I not reason, then, in duteous wise,  
Thy gracious self for to implore?  
Since thee (a Goddess) I adore.   

He that finds salve to cure him of his grief,  
By a fair hand; of that shall he not make  
Account; when he thereby may get relief,  
Whereby his sickness from him he may shake?  
The wounded Deer to herbs doth go:  
Love wounds us; love must cure our wo.   

So then, in this my worse than captive state,  
These lines I offer to thy deity;  
Not doubting, but, though hapless be my fate,  
I from myself shall find some remedy.  
Of thee I beg, some help to have:  
In thee it lies, to kill, or save.    

The dying Lover.  

NOw that Boreas with his cold  
Doth this County round enfold,  
And his Icicles displays,  
Whilst the verdure green he slays;  
I must end my life ere long,  
With a sad and mournsul song.  
Now that more than cruel pain  
Makes my hopes to be but vain,  
And that love makes me distil  
Salt tears (signs of my kind will)  
Needs now must my lives term end,  
Unto the heavens to ascend.  
Now that such is my sad care,  
That I'm droven to despair;  
That cross Fates me strive to grieve,  
Why shòuld I desire to live?  
Better 'tis to die, than still  
Fellow us what works more ill.  
Now that sighs, and sobs, and tears,  
The subject of my verses bears;  
And whilst this plague usurps my heart,  
I'll try if I can make it smart,  
By a death that one day may  
Make me victor, every way.   

Now that skies, with lightning blast,  
Force my pleasures not to last;  
And that the sun no more doth shine,  
I must yield to tempest Time:  
Loyally I lay me down,  
And go willing to my Tomb.  
Now that cold and chilly fear,  
Still doth dog me, everywhere;  
Seek I must, by cruelty,  
For to end my misery:  
For an end to every thing,  
Gentle death (none else) doth bring.  
Now that burning fire (o'r-bright)  
Hath my sense consumed quite,  
Leaving nought with me but groans;  
Thus I do rid all at once.    

The Lover to his Mistress.  

LUckloss, and lucky, both at once am I;  
With fear, and hope, I tremble as a reed:  
Luckless by beauty (thine by destiny)  
Lucky, because I am thy slave indeed.  
For (than thy face) there's nothing is more fair;  
Then thy sweet eyes, nought more divine or rare.   

One while I hope, another while I fear;  
Nor can there any thing my fancy please;  
It grieves me to see the heavens, though clear;  
So much I doubt thy favour to displease.  
Then thy fair face, there's nothing is more fair;  
Then thy sweet eyes, nought more divine or rare.    

The united Lovers.  

WHo ever saw so fair a sight,  
Love and Virtue met aright,  
And that wonder Constancy,  
Like a comet to the eye?  
Sound aloud so rare a thing,  
That all the Hills and Vales may ring.   

Look, lovers, look, with passion see  
If that any such there be;  
As there cannot but be such,  
Who do feel this noble touch.  
Sound aloud so rare a thing,  
That all the hills and vales do ring.    

The Lover to his Mistress, upon her apparelling herself in black.  
SInce that thou hast victory  
o'er my dearest liberty;  
Why with black, that form of thine,  
Dost thou  so rich and fine?  
If thou wear'st it for to witness  
(As a friend) my sad distress,  
Happy I, since for my sake,  
Thou the colour sad dost take.  
Sweet, (my life) content be thou,  
That this black weed I bear now:  
Hapless was my life, and so  
Sad my life i' th' end should show:  
To me these sad  alone  
Appertain, as signs of moan.  
Nature, in one body ne'er  
Black and white (at once) doth bear:  
From my black all hate be wide,  
With which I my crosses hid.  
He that in despair doth rest,  
Black doth bear for colour best.  
(Cruel) this not colour's thine,  
Since thine eyes bright and divine,  
Sacred as the hallowed day,  
Chase the gloomy night away.  
My heart wounded thou dost make  
The habit of a conqueror take;  
And let me alone with this,  
Since my fitting colour ' 'tis.  
Live thou in eternal glory,  
While I die (as  sorry.)  
Whilst this die thou puttest on thee,  
Thou deprivest of comfort me.  
Change then this same weed of dole,  
Fit for a departing soul:  
Give to me the colour black,  
With it the flitting Ghosts to tract.   

The forsaken Lovers complaint.  

1  
UNto the soundless vaults of hell below,  
I'll (with my griefs remediless) amain;  
Whilst frighted Ghosts, as pitiful, shall show,  
And flinty rocks remorse take of my pain.  
Yea death itself my bitter pains shall know,  
To witness that my life in hell hath lame.  
For Lovers true can never die indeed;  
Whose loyal hearts a heavenly fire doth feed.   

2  
My body laid along within my grave,  
Shall show its tears, its torment, and its love;  
And for my mind, did never change nor wave,  
Far brighter than the sun, the same shall prove.  
By me, my Lady's picture I will have,  
Which (though being dead) afresh will make me love.  
Like to the fire, in ashes covered;  
Which (though it show no flame) yet is not dead.   

3  
Love is not tamed by death, but still doth live,  
Although that life doth flit and pass away:  
Then (Lady) think not though by death thou grieve  
My body that thou love canst make decay,  
As long as fancy doth by beauty drive  
Into my soul: no, this will 'bide for aye.  
Within my heart the beauty printed is:  
Love in my Tomb to harbour will not miss.   

4  
Thinkest thou I'll leave to love thee, being dead,  
When thy fair portraiture revives my sight?  
Voices from Tombs (they say) have some men lead,  
Restoring them unto their senses right.  
Then how much more, ought love be honoured,  
Whom (than the greatest Gods) is more of might?  
Then think not when my corpse buried you see,  
That from thy love (as thou wouldst) I am free.   

5  
List to my monument, and thou shalt hear  
How I will sigh (for without soul) thy fire  
Shall hold me up, whilst living I appear  
(Being dead) as 'fore my death I did desire.  
Nor deadly pangs thereof, will I once fear,  
Nor part from thee, as thou wouldst fain require.  
For in thy life so cruel th' haste not been,  
But in my death as loyal I'll be seen.   

6  
Yet is my fortune better far, then thine;  
For without breach of saith (as thou hast done)  
I shall have leave to plain those Ills of mine,  
Thou thinkest in killing me a martyrdom  
More tedious than before me to assign:  
But thou'rt deceived; a wrong race hast thou run:  
For whilst I lived, thy rigour was my bane;  
But being dead, I am freed from my pain.    

The despairing Lover.  

ELsewhere declare  
Thy woeful care;  
And leave the skies:  
Thy woeful plaints  
Thy heart that taints,  
They do despise.   

See, they look red,  
With rage o'erspread,  
And horror too.  
'Tis they, in grief,  
Without relief,  
That us undoo.   

He is a sot,  
That thinketh not  
That from that place,  
Through destiny,  
Most wretchedly,  
Comes our disgrace.   

Then better 'tis  
For death to wish,  
And end our days,  
Then still in strife,  
Led such a life,  
So plagued always.   

For death's our friend,  
When he doth end  
Our bitter smart;  
And through the same,  
Doth rid our pain,  
With his keen dart.    

A Knell.  
GOme list and hark;  
The bell doth toul  
For some but new  
Departing soul.  
And was not that  
Some ominous fowl,  
The Bat, the Night-  
Crow, or Screech-owl?  
To these I hear  
The wild wolf howl,  
In this black night,  
That seems to scowl.  
All these, my black-  
Book shall inrowle.  
For hark, still, still  
The bell doth towl  
For some but now  
Departing soul.   

A warning to the Grave.  
HArk now every think is still,  
The Screech-owl, and the whistler shrill:  
Call upon our Dame aloud,  
And bid her quickly don her .  
Much you had of Land, and Rent;  
Your length in clay's now competent.  
A long war disturbed your mind;  
Here, your perfect peace is signed.  
" Of what is't Fools make such vain keeping?  
" Sin their conception, their birth weeping;  
" Their life a general mist of error,  
" Their death a hideous storm of terror.  
Strew your hair with powder sweet;  
Don clean linen; bathe your feet:  
'Tis now full tide, 'tween night and day:  
End your groan, and come away.   

A mournful Ditty, on the death of a drowned friend.  
FLow streams of Equid salt, from my sad eyes,  
To celebrate his mournful obsequies:  
R. S. is dead; he's dead, and I remain,  
To draw my poor life in continual pain;  
Till it hath paid to his sad memory,  
Duty of love, O then most willingly,  
Drowned with my tears, as he with waves, I die.   

Of women in general.  

THere are some holy, but some apt to sin;  
Some tractable, but some that none can win.  
Such as are virtuous, gold nor wealth can move;  
Some vicious, of themselves are prone to love.  
Some grapes are sweet, and in the garden grow;  
Others unpruned, turn wild; neglected so.  
The purest oar contains both gold and dross;  
The one all gain, the other nought but loss:  
The one disgrace, reproach, and scandal taints,  
The other Angels and sweet featured Saints.   

DUst is lighter than a feather,  
And the wind more light then either:  
But a woman's fickle mind,  
More light than feater, dust, or wind.    

A Dialogue between ENDYMION & EXPENDITION.  Ex. 
WHat, ho, Endymion! how the Dormouse sleeps! A wake, for shame; open thy wink a peeps  End. 
What stir you make? I come with speed I can;  
(And too much speed) for I have tired my man.  Expe. 
Who, Dulman?  End. 
Yes.  
I thought the Knave would shame us,  
And play us one horse trick for Ignoramus.   

Anagrams.  
A good Patron's Anagram is, PATRENS, Anag. PARENT.  
An evil ones, PATRON, Anag. ROPEANED.  
CHEATER, Anag. TEACHER.  
Teacher you are, for you have taught me more  
Than I was taught in all my life before.   

Bliss or Bale: No medium in love.  
IF you reward my love with love again,  
My bliss, my life, my heaven I will deem you:  
But if for love, you render me disdain,  
My bale, my death, my hell, I must esteem you.   

A Madrigal.  
WHosoever longs to try  
Both love and Jealousy;  
My fair unconstant Lady let him see,  
And he will soon a jealous lover be.   

The Lover's Litany.  

FRom a fair face, and a false heart;  
From the force of Cupid's forked dart;  
From a wagtailed wench with an— wart,  
Libera me.   

From an oiled skin, and a false hair;  
From towsed, sullied, and o'er-jaded ware;  
From a painted From of St. James his fair,  
Libera me.   

From a wanton hag, and a noseless Joan;  
From ent'ring the pass a Frenchman has gone;  
From her that will for a shilling be won,  
Libera me.   

From a City-decoy, and a suburb-Bawd;  
From a Panders gripe, and a courtesans fraud;  
From a parched Parachito, whose face is flaued,  
Libera me.   

From a drunken female, who spreads her thighs;  
From an old woman that hath lust in her eyes;  
From a common strumpet who seems to be nice,  
Libera me.    

The Bridemaids Song.  
FRom the Temple to the Board,  
From the Board unto the Bed,  
We conduct your maidenhead;  
Wishing Hymen to afford  
All the pleasures that he can  
'Twixt a woman and a man.   

A Song to be sung the marriage-night, by two, in parts.  

The first.  
THine, O Hymen, thine, O she  
Whose beauties verse, Calliope,  
Sing to marriage-rites an Io.  
Io to Hymen.   

The second.  
To thee (Apollo) is my suit;  
Lend me, a while, thy silver Lute,  
O what a woe it is to bring  
A Bride to bed, and never sing  
Io to Hymen.   

Ambo.  
When she's old, still seem she young;  
When she's weak, to her be strong;  
Be Cyprus both, and Paplos here:  
Love sing with merry cheer,  
Io to Hymen.    

Ad eundem; the bridegroom being wanting at bedtime.  
DRop golden showers; gentle sleep,  
And all the Angels of the night,  
Which do us in protection keep,  
Make the Bride dream of delight.  
Morpheus, be kind a little, and be  
Death's true Image; for 'twill prove  
To this poor bride, that then th' art he:  
Her lord is absent from her love.  
Thus with sweet sweets can heaven mix gall;  
Come quickly, Bridegroom, or not at all.   

Song.  
SIng sweetly, that our notes may cause  
The heavenly orbs themselves to pause,  
And at our music stand as still  
As at Jove's amorous will.  
So now release them, as before,  
 waited long enough: no more.   

The description of a matchless beauty, written at the request of the most brave and gallant Lady, the Lady L. S. during my residence at Winchester, 1648.  

HEr hair like hemlocks, careless fall,  
To deck her amorous eyes withal;  
As fiery as the evening, where  
We read the next day will be fair.   

Her curious forehead well doth show  
Where Carbuncles in number grow.  
But the beauty of her nose  
Would fright a man out of his clothes,   

To dance a naked rounddelay  
When on the tobacco-pipe you play;  
And the pale brightness of her lips,  
Doth force the Sun to an eclipse.   

Her cheeks of fat and soggy stuff,  
Like the running dropsey, swell and puff.  
But oh, the apples on them grow,  
I think were rotten long ago.   

Her precious neck and breasts display  
Her skins antiquity: for they,  
Like a dried dunghill, chop and break,  
Until her snout gins to leak.   

Her parched fists defy the Sun;  
For all the malice he hath done  
Can't change her hid; nor any stain  
Corrupt it, for it's died in grain.   

Her spacious belly, and her waste,  
Have grease sufficiently to baste  
A herd of swine: they have such store,  
A Shambles cannot purchase more.   

Her thighs like two Colossus seem,  
Proportioned with her bodies teem:  
And those which bear her ponderous betch,  
Are mighty columns full of itch.   

But some, that have her hooves espied,  
With fear the fools fell down and died.  
Yet all this while, I have forgot  
Her tongue, as still as Canonshot.   

All parts of her, I can't display;  
The rest unseen, the Devil may.  
She is the wonder of our age;  
Nor lacks she ought but a large cage.    

England's Elysium.  
An Heroic Poem intended.  

THou fertile Island, seated in the sea;  
Whose waves do dance, by music of the Moon;  
That on thy banks pretty Lavolta's play,  
As if they would entreat thee take a boon.  
Receive all fish that's food, and bless the store:  
For never monster shall come near thy shore.   

Thou little world, yet all without the world;  
Thou second Eden, seated in the west:  
From thee thy fountains in seven mouths are hurled;  
Such as from Nile, the garden door so blest.  
Humber, ware, Tine, Dee, four so have their names;  
Severn, and Owze, the last and richest Thames.   

No beasts of danger live upon thy earth;  
No Panther, Tiger, aught procuring harms:  
To Lions, Dragons, thou dost give no birth;  
Yet with them both, thou dost support thine arms.  
Lions we have not, as in other parts;  
But we have men, with Bears and Lion's hearts.    

A Song.  

FOolish I, why should I grieve  
To sustain what others feel?  
What, suppose frail women leave  
Those they loved, should I conceal  
Comforts rest  
From my breast,  
For a fickle brittle woman?  
No, no, no;  
Let her go:  
Such as these be true to no man.   

2.  
Long retired hast thou been,  
Sighing to the barren Rocks;  
Nor by sheep, nor Shepherd seen:  
Now return unto thy flocks.  
For shame away;  
Do not stay  
With these moving loving women:  
They remove  
From their love;  
Such as these do oft undo men.     

ODES.  

ODE I.  
A Dialogue between a Lover and his Mistress.  Lov. 
HEnce lose alluring looks; no more of love;  
No more thy seeming virtues shall deceive  Mis. 
I know my dearest speaks but this to prove me  
How well I love: thou thinkest it doth not grieve me.  Lov. 
Thy beauty was a bait, to draw mine eye.  Mis. 
And with thy look my heart was set on fire:  Lov. 
I thought to find a suiting soul in thee:  Mis. 
Thy love's the I mit that bounds my desire.  Lo. 
Thy looseness makes my love's date now expire.  Mis. 
Where then thy vows?  Lov. 
Gone with thy seeming worth.  Mis. 
And made to me.  Lov. 
no: virtue brought them forth,  
Which failing, now no fuel feeds my fire.  Mis. 
My heart's the harbour, where thy hopes must stay.  Lov. 
The ground not good, the Anchor draws away.   

ODE. 2.  Adrastus, Clariana. Adrastus. 
Dost not thou, Clariana, read  
Amorous volumes in my eyes?  
Doth not every motion plead,  
What I'd show, and yet disguise?  
Senses act each others part;  
Eyes, as tongues, reveal the heart.  Clariana. 
I saw love, as lightning, break  
From thy eyes, and was content  
Oft to hear thy silence speak:  
Silent love is eloquent.  
So the sense of learning hears  
The dumb music of the spheres.  Adrastus. 
Then there's mercy in your kind,  
Listening to an unfeigned love:  
Or strives he to tame the wind,  
Who would your compassion move?  
No; y'are piteous, as y'are fair:  
Heaven relents, o'ercome by prayer.  Clariana. 
But lose man's too prodigal  
In the expense of vows;  
And thinks to him kingdoms fall,  
When the heart of women bows.  
Frailty to your arms may yield;  
Who resists you, win the field.  Adrastus. 
Triumph not, to see me bleed:  
Let the Boar, chased from his den,  
On the wounds of mankind feed:  
Your soft Sex should pity men.  
" Malice well may practise art:  
" Love hath a transparent heart.  Clariana. 
Yet is love all one deceit;  
A warm frost, a frozen fire:  
" She within themselves great,  
" Who is slave to no desire.  
Let youth act, and age advise;  
And then love may find his eyes,  Adrastus. 
Hymen's Torch yields a dim light,  
When ambition joins our hands.  
" A proud day, but mournful night,  
" She sustains, who marries lands.  
" Wealth slaves man: but for their ore,  
" The Indians had been free, though poor.  Clariana. 
And yet wealth the fuel is  
Which maintains the Nuptial fire,  
And in honour there is bliss:  
They are immortal who aspire.  
But" Truth says, No joys are sweet,  
" But where united hearts do meet.  Adrastus. 
Roses breathe not such a scent,  
To presume the neighbouring groves,  
As when you affirm, content  
In no sphere of glory moves.  
" Glory narrow souls combines;  
" Noble hearts love only joins.   

ODE 3.  
A Lover expecting his Mistress presence.  

BRight dew, which dost the field adorn,  
As the earth, to welcome in the morn,  
Would hang a jewel, on each corn,   

Did not the piteous night, whose ears  
Have oft been conscious of my fears,  
Distil you from her eyes as tears.   

Or that my Mistress for your zeal,  
When she her beauties shall reveal,  
Might you to Diamonds congeal.   

If not your pity, yet howe'er  
Your care I praise, 'gainst she appear  
To make the wealthy Indies here.   

But see, she comes: bright lamp o'th' sky,  
Put out thy light; the world shall spy  
A fairer Sun, in either eye;   

And liquid pearl hang heavy now  
On every grass, that it may bow,  
In veneration of her brow.   

Yet if the wind should curious be;  
And were I here should question thee:  
He's full of whispers, speak not me.   

But if the busy tell-tale day,  
Our happy interview betray;  
Lest thou confess too, melt away.    

ODE. 4.  

1.  
I Can love, and love entirely,  
And can prove a constant friend:  
But I must be loved as dearly,  
And as truly to the end.  
For her love no sooner slaketh,  
But my fancy farewell taketh.   

2.  
I cannot endure delaying;  
I must have her quickly won:  
Be she nice (though not denaying)  
By her leave, I then have done.  
For I am not yet at leisure  
To wait for a doubtful pleasure.   

3  
With beauty I will not be blinded,  
Yet I will none foul affect:  
With wealth I will not be wound,  
If in behaviour be defect.  
Beauty stamed, such love dieth;  
Wealth decayed, such love flieth.   

4  
Gifts do good; yet he is silly  
That therein expendeth store:  
If he win not (tell me) will he  
Not be merely mocked therefore?  
It is better to be keeping,  
Then to sow, not sure of reaping.   

5  
Be she rich, and fair, and gained,  
If I sickleness do find,  
My desires are quickly wained;  
I can steer with other wind.  
For virtue I have vowed to choose her:  
When that fails, I will refuse her.    

A Riddle.  
WHat 
* Bythebird, ones thought is understood; which flies with such swiftness, that it is not seen of any, but conjectured & known by the outward signs and gestures of body.  Bird is that so light,  
Her place that never changeth?  
She flies by day and night;  
In all the world she rangeth.  
Over the Sea at once she flies,  
Mounting above the lofty skies;  
She's never seen by eyes:  
And who doth seek to show her,  
Hath been accounted wise;  
Yet sometimes we do know her,  
Only the walls by viewing well  
Of her close house where she doth dwell.   

Another.  
NOr life nor virtue have 
* The corn; which being sown in the earth, and seeming dead, casteth forth a green blade, and in time groweth to be ripe in despite of all storms and foul weather. It nourishetch mankind, and therefore is honoured by them as a father.  I, lest I die:  
I borrow of my buried Trunk chief strength:  
Though I am dead, o'er time yet triumph I,  
o'er time, that every thing consumes at length.  
What's dead, disdained is; yet all afford  
Me honour, and their chief preserver name:  
All men may rightly call me their best Lord,  
Since (without me) the world they can't maintain.  
Yet though so much good doth from me proceed;  
Yet thankless worldlings do not stick at all  
To cut me off in summer with great speed,  
And beat me into little powder small.  
Yet had I rather cruelly thus perish,  
Then fail with my best strength mortals to cherish.   

Poesies for Rings.  

THou art my star;  
Be not irregular.   

Without thy love,  
I backward move.   

Thine eyes so bright  
Are my chief light.   

This intimates  
True Lovers states.   

My life is done  
When thou art gone.   

A double Poesy.  
This hath no end,  
My sweetest friend.  
Our loves be so,  
No ending know.    

Poesies upon Bracelets.  

AS love gives life to every part,  
So this gives life unto my heart.  
This chastely lies, and lives with me:  
Oh that I might do so with thee!   

Another.  
How might I triumph in my bliss,  
If love were where my Bracelet is!  
For than should love do no such harm,  
To wring my heart, but wreath my arm.    

A wish.  
Eyes hid my love, and do not show  
To any, but to her, my notes;  
Who only doth that cipher know,  
Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts.  
Belie your looks in others sight;  
And wrong yourselves, to do her right.    

Songs and Sonnets.  

Song 1.  

TAke, O take those lips away,  
That so sweetly were forsworth;  
And those eyes, like break of day,  
Lights that do misled the morn.  
But my kisses bring again;  
Seals of love, though sealed in vain.   

2.  
Hid, O hid those hills of snow,  
Which thy frozen blossoms bears;  
On whose tops, the pinks that grow  
Are of those that April wears.  
But first set my poor heart free,  
Bound in those joy-chaines by thee.    

Song 2.  

O for a Bow I of rich Canary,  
Fat Aristippus, sparkling Sherry,  
Some Nectar else, from June's dairy:  
O these draughts would make us merry!   

O for a wench! I deal in faces,  
And in other daintier things:  
Tickled am I, with her embraces:  
Fine dancing in such fairy rings.   

O for a plump fat leg of Mutton,  
Veal, Lamb, Capon, Pig, and Coney:  
None is happy, but a Glutton;  
None an Ass, but who wants money.   

Wines indeed, and Girls are good;  
But brave victuals feast the blood.  
For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer,  
Jove would come down, to surfeit here.    

Song 3.  

Tell me, Jove, should she disdain,  
Whether it were greater pain,  
Silent in thy flames to die,  
Or say I love, and she deny?   

Flames suppressed, do higher grow:  
Should she scorn, when she does know  
Thy affection, thou shalt prove  
A glorious martyrdom for love.   

Better to love's mercy bow;  
She may burn as well as thou.  
Oh then, timorous heart, proceed:  
For wounds are death, that inward bleed.    

Song 4.  

Charm, O charm, thou God of sleep,  
Her fair eyes, that waking mourn;  
Frightful visions from her keep,  
Such as are by sorrows born.  
But let all the sweets that may  
Wait on rest, her thoughts obey.   

Fly, O fly, thou God of love,  
To that breast thy dart did wound:  
Draw thy shaft, the smart remove;  
Let her wont joys be found.  
Raise up pleasure to a flood  
Never ebbing; new joys bud.    

Song 5.  

When that I poor soul was borne,  
I was born unfortunate;  
Presently the Fates had sworn  
To foretell my hapless state.   

Titan his fair beams did hid;  
Phoebe clipped her Silver light:  
In my birth my mother died,  
Young and fair, in heavy plight.   

And the nurse that gave me suck  
Hapless was, in all her life;  
And I never had good luck,  
Being maid, or married wife.   

I loved well, and was beloved;  
And forgetting was forgot:  
This a hapless marriage moved;  
Grieving, that it kills me not.   

With the earth would I were wed,  
Then in such a grave of woes  
Daily to be buried,  
Which no end nor number knows.    

Song 6. The Fisherman's Ditty.  

THough the weather jangles  
With our hooks and angles;  
Our nets be shaken, and no fish taken;  
Though fresh Cod and Whiteing  
Are not this day biting  
Gurnet nor Cunger, to satisfy hunger;  
Yet look to our draught.   

Hale the main bowling,  
The Seas have left their rolling,  
The waves their huffing, the winds their puffing;  
Up to the topmast, Boy,  
And bring us news of joy!  
Here's no demurring; no fishes stirring;  
Yet something we have caught.    

Song 7.  
What motions, times, and changes?  
What ways? what uncouth ranges?  
What slights? what delusions?  
What gladness (in conclusions)  
Have risen of such sorrows?  
One faith yet all these borrows;  
And one good love assureth,  
And all misfortune cureth.  
And since from grief they vary,  
Good Fortune, come, and tarry.   

Song 8.  
My heart in flames do fry  
Of thy beauty,  
While I  
Dye:  
Fie;  
And why  
Shouldst thou deny  
Me thy sweet company?  
My brains to tears do flow,  
While all below  
Doth glow:  
Foe;  
If so,  
How canst thou go  
About to say me no?   

Song 9  

1.  
THis Lady ripe, and calm, and fresh,  
As Eastern Summers are,  
Must now forsake both time and flesh,  
T'add light to some small star.   

2.  
Whilst that alive each star decayed  
She may relieve with light;  
But death sends beauty to a shade  
More cold, more dark than night.   

3.  
The saucy faith of man doth blind  
His pride, till it conduce  
To destiny all his abject-kind  
For some eternal use.   

4.  
But ask not bodies doomed to die,  
To what abode they go:  
Since knowledge is but sorrows Spy,  
It is not safe to know.    

Song 10. The constant Lover.  

Time's change, and shall (as we do see)  
And life shall have an end;  
But yet my faith shall ever be  
Whereon mine eyes depend.   

The days and moments, and their scope;  
The hours, with their changes wrought,  
Are cruel enemies to hope,  
And friends unto a loving thought.   

Thoughts still remain, (as we do see)  
And hope shall have an end:  
But yet my Faith shan't wanting be,  
My hope for to defend.    

Sonnet I.  
Cupid's craft.  
I Played with Love, Love played with me again;  
I mocked at him, but he mocked me indeed:  
He would not let my heart his art exceed;  
For (though a boy) yet mocks he doth disdain.  
A friend he is to those that do not fain.  
My jests (it seems) do true affection breed:  
And now if Love is not revenged with speed,  
My heart can witness it with earnest pain,  
That one may love, and jest it out again.   

Song II. Being a Pastoral Ditty.  

1.  
IN this green mead, Mine eyes, what do you see;  
The Bagpipe of my Nymph, so passing fair?  
Unless my senses dream, so should it be;  
For sure this is the Oak, where, with despair,  
She leaned unto; and here the grass yet lies,  
And field, which she did water with her eyes.   

2.  
Jove, I thee pray, if this I do but fear,  
And if my dream do fall out sure or no,  
By all the love to Nympths that thou didst bear,  
Open mine eyes, the truth that I may know.  
Help me to pray him, green and flowery Mead;  
Help me to pray him, Oak, with branched head.   

3.  
This Bagpipe of my Nymph I will devise,  
To hang it here (fair Oak) to honour thee:  
A worthy Trophy, though before mine eyes  
Lying disgraced; For tears they cannot see.  
If it be sure, or if I dream in vain,  
Spoiled in this mead with parching sun and rain.   

4.  
That gracious Nymph, who gave my heart the stroke,  
In this green Mead I saw (a heavenly Prize)  
And (if I dream not) leaning to that Oak;  
Nay sure I did behold her with mine eyes.  
O that she had but seen me then again,  
Or that I had but seen, and dreamed in vain!    

Sonnet II.  

CVpid was angry with my merry face,  
Because I ever laughed him to scorn;  
And all his followers (hapless and forlorn)  
I mocked in public and in private place:  
Wherefore he armed himself to my disgrace,  
When time a fit occasion did suborn:  
But I despised his flames, his power did scorn.   

Nor did I any of his hests embrace:  
Who seeing that he built upon the sand;  
Since by a face he could me not devour,  
He showed me, then, a fine and dainty hand;  
Which once beheld, it lay not in my power  
For to remain unconquered; no, nor would  
I be delivered now, although I could.    

Song 12. An invitation to love.  

PLeasures, beauty, youth attend ye,  
Whiles the spring of nature lafteth:  
Love and melting thoughts befriend ye;  
Use the time, ere Winter hasteth.  
Active blood and free delight,  
Place, and privacy, invite:  
Do, do, be kind as fair;  
Lose not opportunity for air.   

She is cruel, that denies it:  
Bounty best appears in granting.  
Stealth of sport as soon supplies it,  
Whiles the deuce of love are wanting.  
Here's the sweet exchange of bliss,  
When each whisper proves a kiss.  
In the game are felt no pains;  
For in all, the loser gains.    

Sonnet III.  
THey say love swore, he never would be friend,  
If mortal jealousy were not in a place;  
And beauty never be in any face,  
Unless that pride did on her thoughts attend:  
These are two hags, which hideous hell doth send,  
Our sweet content to troube and disgrace:  
The one, the joy of love, to pain doth chase;  
The other pity from the heart defend.  
Beauty, and love, were both forsworn by me  
And thee; my making my unsure estate  
In joy and happiness so fortunate;  
Because since first thy figure I did see,  
Being so fair, yet prouder waist thou never,  
Nor I in love, that could be jealous ever.   

Song 13.  

LOve, if a God thou art,  
Then evermore thou must  
Be merciful and just.  
If thou be just, O wherefore doth thy dart  
Wound mine alone, and not my Mistress heart?   

If merciful, then why  
Am I to pain reserved?  
Who have thee truly served,  
While she, that for thy power cares not a fly,  
Laughs thee to scorn, and lives in liberty.   

Then if a God thou wouldst accounted be,  
Heal me like her, or else wound her like me.    

Sonnet FOUR  

THe Bat, that lurketh in a stony wall,  
Flies here and there, assured of her sight;  
When that the signs of darksome night she sees  
Approaching on; contented therewithal:  
But when she spies Apollo's beams so bright,  
Her fault she doth acknowledge, and recall.  
So now of late it did to me befall;  
And with my wand'ring mind it well agrees.   

For I did think there was no other light,  
Nor beauty, but in her who did invite  
My senses first to love: but, to my thrall,  
When I beheld my Mirabel, bedight  
With beauties, and such grace angelical;  
Then by and by I knew that heretofore  
I plainly erred, but never could do more.    

Song 14.  

ARe women fair? yes wondrous fair to see too;  
Are women sweet? yea, passing sweet they be too.  
Most fair, and sweet, to them that inly love them;  
Chaste & discreet, to all save those that prove them   

Are women wise? not wise, but they be witty:  
Are women witty? yea, the more the pity.  
They are so witty, and in wit so wily,  
That be you ne'er so wise, they will beguile ye.   

Are women fools? not fools, but foundlings many:  
Can women fond, be faithful unto any?  
When snowwhite Swans do turn to colour sable,  
Then women fond will be both firm and stable.   

Are women Saints? no Saints, nor yet no Devils:  
Are women good? not good, but needful evils.  
So Angellike, that Devils I do'ned doubt them;  
So needful Ills, that few can live without them.   

Are women proud? I, passing proud, & praise them:  
Are women kind? I, wondrous kind, & please them;  
Or so imperious, no man can endure them;  
Or so kindhearted, any may procure them.    

Sonnet V.  
AS many stars as heaven containeth, strive  
To frame my harm, and luckless hap to show;  
And in the earth, no grass nor green doth grow,  
That to my grief the least of comfort gives.  
" Love unto fear subjected, ever drives  
" A soul to coldest ice. O bitter woe,  
That he whom Fortune contradicteth so,  
Continually, with Jealousy, must live!  
The fault (dear Mistress) I must lay on thee,  
And all my grief; on thee I do complain  
(O cruel soul) that pity dost disdain:  
For if thou hadst but taken part with me,  
I would not care, though 'gainst me did conspire  
Heaven, Earth, and Love, and Fortune, in their ire.   

Song 15. All woman are not evil.  

1.  
THey meet but with unwholesome Spring,  
And Summers, which infectious are:  
They hear, but when the Mermaid sings,  
And only see the falling star;  
Whoever dare  
Affirm no woman chaste and fair.   

2.  
Go cure your Fevers, and you'll say  
The Dog-days scorch not all the year:  
In Copper-mynes no longer stay,  
But travel to the West, and there  
The right ones see,  
And grant all Gold's not Alchemy.   

3.  
What madman (cause the glo-worm's flame  
Is cold, swears there's no warmth in fire?  
'Cause some make forseit of their name,  
And slave themselves to man's desire;  
Shall the sex free  
From guilt, damned to the bondage be?    

Sonnet. 6.  
Written to the Authors first Love.  

IS't, that my pocl-holed face doth beauty lack?  
No. Your sweet sex sweet beauty praiseth;  
Ours, wit and valour chief raiseth.  
Is't, that my muskless  are plain and black?  
No. What wise Ladies love fine noddies,  
With poor-clad minds, and rich-clad bodies?   

Is't, that no costly gifts mine Agents are?  
No. My free heart, which I present you,  
Should more than Gold or Peal content you.  
Is't, that my Verses want invention rare?  
No. I was never skilful Poet:  
I truly love, and plainly show it.   

Is't, that I vaunt, or am effeminate?  
O scornful Vices, I abhor you:  
Dwell still in Court, the place fit for you.  
Is't, that you fear my love soon turns to hate?  
No. Though disdained, I can hate never;  
But loved, where once I love, love ever.    

Song 16. A Pastoral Dialogue,  
Penned at the command of my noble friend, M. Theodorus Lo Esquire, on the attaining his Mistress love.  MELIBEUS, ERGASTUS Mel. 
SHepherd, why dost thou hold thy peace?  
Sing, and thy joy to us report.  Erg. 
My joy (good Shepherd) would be less,  
If it were told in any sort.  Mel. 
Though such great savours thou dost win,  
Yet deign thereof to tell some part.  Erg. 
The hardest thing is to begin,  
In enter prizes of such art.  Mel. 
It is not just we should consent  
That thou shouldst not thy joys recite.  Erg. 
The soul that felt the punishment,  
Can only feel this great delight.  Mel. 
That joy is small, and doth not shine,  
That is not told abroad to many.  Erg. 
If it be such a joy as mine,  
It can't be pensilled out by any.  Mel. 
How can that heart of thine contain  
A joy that is of so great force?  Erg. 
I have it, where I did retain  
My passions of so great remorse.  Mel. 
So great and rare a joy as this,  
No man is able to withhold.  Erg. 
But that the greatest pleasure is,  
That in low language can't be told  Mel. 
Yet I have heard thee heretofore,  
Thy joys in open songs report.  Erg. 
I said I had of joy some store;  
But not how much, or in what sort.  Mel. 
Yet when a joy is in excess,  
Itself it will unfold.  Erg. 
Thus than my joys I do express;  
I clip my Arnageld.   

Sonnet VII.  
SHe that denies me, I would have  
Who craves me, I despise:  
Venus hath power to rule my heart,  
But not to please my eyes.  
Temptations offered, still I scorn;  
Denied I wish them still:  
I'll neither glut my appetite,  
Nor seek to starve my will.  
Diana double clothed, offends;  
So Venus naked quite:  
The last beggars a surfeit, and  
The other not delight.  
That crafty girl shall please me best,  
That No for Yea can say;  
And every wanton willing kiss  
Can season with a Nay.   

Song 17.  

1.  
WHen to her Lute Althaea sings,  
Her voice revives the leaden strings;  
And doth in highest notes appear,  
As any challenged echo clear.  
But when she doth of mourning speak,  
Even than her sighs the strings do break.   

2.  
And as her Lute doth live or die,  
(Led by her passions) so must I:  
For when of pleasure she doth sing,  
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring.  
But if she do of sorrow speak,  
Even fresh my heart the strangs do break.    

Sonnet VIII.  

1.  
LIke the Violet, which alone  
Prospers in some happy shade,  
My dear Mistress lives unknown,  
To no loser eye betrayed:  
" For she's to herself untrue,  
" Who delights i' th' public view.   

2.  
Such her beauty, as no arts  
Hath enriched with borrowed grace:  
Her high birth no pride imparts;  
For she blushes in her place.  
Folly boasts a noble blood:  
She is noblest, being good.   

3.  
She's cautious, and ne'er knew yet  
What a wanton courtship meant,  
Nor speaks loud, to boast her wit;  
In her silence eloquent.  
Of herself survey she takes;  
But between men no difference makes.    

Song 18.  
A Country-Courtship, written during my abode at S.r. E. D's house in Wilishire.  

1.  
CHloris, my only Goddess, and my good;  
Whiter then is th' untrodden snowy way,  
And redder than the rose but late a bud,  
Half blown, and plucked with dew by break of day.  
To view, more comely than the Plane-tree's shape,  
And sweeter than the ripe and swelling grape;  
More pleasant than the shade in summertime,  
Or the sunbeams in winter's coldest prime.   

2.  
More fresh than any cool and trembling wind,  
Morenoble then the fruit that Orchards yield;  
More jocund than the tender Kid by kind,  
When full it skips, and traverseth the fields;  
More flowery than the rich and pleasant mead,  
With painted flowers in midst of May bespread;  
More sost then spotless down on Cygnets breast,  
Or the sweet milk, and cheese-curds yet unpressed.   

3.  
Clusters of Grapes do beautify my Vines,  
Some golden purple-red, all fair and full;  
Of part whereof I make most dainty wines,  
And part of them I keep for thee to pull:  
And with thy hands, most delicate and fair,  
Gather thou may'st ripe Plums, by goodly pairs,  
Under the shadow of thy boughs, to ease thee.   

4.  
Here I have Damsens, Nuts, and coloured Pears,  
With Peaches fine, that would each eye invite;  
And every tree, and fruit this Island bears,  
All for thy service, pleasure, and delight.  
And as my heart, to please thee, I have bowed;  
So have all these, the selfsame office vowed,  
In Autumn (if thy husband I might be)  
Chestnuts and Meddlers I would keep for thee.    

Sonnet. IX.  
The Lover embracing his Mistress.  
A 'Bout the husband-Oak the Vine  
Thus wreaths to kiss his levy face;  
Their streams thus Rivers join,  
And lose themselves in the mbrace:  
But Trees want sense, when they enfold;  
And waters, when they meet, are cold.  
Thus Turtles, bill, and groan,  
Their loves into each others ear;  
Two flames, thus burn in one,  
When their curled heads to heaven they rear:  
But Birds want soul, though not desire;  
And flames material, soon expire.   

Song 19  Sung by three Beggars. IRUS, BRUNELLO, FURBO. IRUS. 
BRight shines the Sun, play Beggars, play,  
Here's scraps enough to serve to day.  
What noise of Vials is so sweet,  
As when our merry clappers ring?  
What mirth doth want, where Beggars meet?  
A Beggar's life is for a King.  
Eat, drink, and play, sleep when we list,  
Go where we will, so stocks be missed.  
Bright shines the Sun, play Beggars, play;  
Here's scraps enough to serve to day.  BRUNELLO. 
The world is ours, and ours alone,  
For we alone have world at will;  
We purchase not, all is our own;  
Both fields and streets we Beggars fill.  
Nor care to get, nor fear to keep,  
Did ever break a Beggar's sleep.  
Bright shines the Sun, etc.  FURBO. 
A hundred head of black and white,  
Upon our downs securely feed;  
If any dare his Master by't,  
He dies therefore, as sure as creed:  
Thus Beggars lord it as they please;  
And none but Beggars live at ease.  
Bright shines the Sun, etc.   

Sonnet X.  

DIsdain, that so doth fill me,  
Hath surely sworn to kill me;  
And I must die.  
Desire, that still doth burn me,  
To life again will turn me;  
And live must I.  
O kill me then, Disdain,  
That I may live again.   

2.  
Thy looks are life unto me,  
And yet those looks undo me:  
O death and life.  
Thy smile some rest doth show me,  
Thy frown doth soon overthrow me:  
O peace and strife.  
Nor life nor death is either;  
Then give me both, or neither.   

3.  
Life only, cannot please me;  
Death only, cannot case me:  
Change is delight.  
I live, that death may kill me,  
And die that life may fill me  
Both day and night.  
If once Desire decay,  
Despair will wear away.    

Song 20.  Sung by a Shepherd and a Shepherdess: AMYNTAS, AMARILLIS. Amynt. 
THe cause why that thou dost deny  
To look on me, sweet Foe, impart.  Amar. 
Because that doth not please the eye,  
Which doth offend and grieve the heart.  Amynt. 
What woman is, or ever was  
That when she looketh, was not moved?  Amar. 
She that resolves her life to pass,  
Neither to love, nor to be loved.  Amynt. 
There is no heart so fierce or hard,  
That can so much torment a soul;  Amar. 
Nor Shepherd of so small regard,  
That Reason will so much control.  Amynt. 
How falls it out, love doth not kill  
Thy Cruelty with some remorse?  Amar. 
Because that Love is but a Will;  
And  doth admit no force.  Amynt. 
Behold what reason now thou hast  
To remedy my loving smart.  Amar. 
The very same binds me as fast  
To keep such danger from my heart.  Amynt. 
Why dost thou thus torment my mind,  
And to what end thy beauty keep?  Amar. 
Because thou call'st me still unkind,  
And pitiless, when thou dost meet.  Amynt. 
Is it because thy cruelty,  
In killing me, doth never end?  Amar. 
No; but because I mean thereby  
My heart from sorrow to defend.   

Sonnet XI.  

1.  
Amphion, O thou holy shade,  
Bring Orpheus with thee;  
That wonder may you both invade,  
To hear my melody.  
You who are soul (not rudely made)  
Up with material ears,  
Are fit to hear the music of these spheres.   

2.  
Hark, when my Mistress Orbs do move,  
By my first moving eyes:  
How great's the Symphony of love?  
But 'tis the destiny  
Will not so far my prayers approve,  
To bring you hither; here  
Is a true heaven, and Elysium there.    

Song 20.  

Lose your lids, unhappy eyes,  
From the sight of such a change;  
Love hath learned to despise;  
Self-conceit, hath made him strange:  
Inward now, his sight he turneth,  
With himself, in love he burneth.   

If abroad he beauty spy,  
As by chance he looks abroad;  
Or it is wrought by his eye,  
Or forced out by Painter's fraud:  
Save himself, none fair he deemeth,  
That himself too much esteemeth.   

Coy disdain, hath kindness place,  
Kindness forced to hid his head,  
True desire is counted base;  
Hope with hope, is hardly fed:  
Love is thought a fury needless;  
He that hath it, shall die speedless.   

Then mine eyes, why gaze you so?  
Beauty scorns the tears you shed;  
Death you seek to end my woe;  
O that I of death were sped!  
But with love, hath death conspired,  
To kill none whom Love hath fired.    

Sonnet XII.  

LEt the silence of the night,  
At my will, her duty show,  
Hearken to me, every wight,  
Or be still, or speak but low:  
Let no watching dog, with spite,  
Bark at any, to or fro,  
Nor the Cock (of Titan bright  
The foreteller) once to crow.  
Let no prying Goose excite  
All the Flock to squeak a-vow:  
Let the winds retain their might,  
Or a little while not blow,  
Whilst all ears I do invite,  
To hear the Ditty I bestow;  
In the which, I nill recite  
Her deserts, which ever grow,  
Nor her beauties, so bedight,  
Fairer than the Rose, or snow;  
Nor her virtues exquisite,  
Which no man deserves to know;  
For into Seas infinite,  
With a small Bark, it were to go.   

I will only sing and write  
In what miseries I flow;  
That in sorrows I delight,  
Praising Love's all-conquering bow:  
Wishing to eternal night,  
(To end my sorrows) I might go.    

Song 22.  

THine eyes so bright  
Bereft my sight,  
When first I viewed thy face:  
So now my light  
Is turned to night;  
I stray from place to place.   

Then guide me, of thy kindness;  
And I will bless my blindness.    

Sonnet XIII.  

NOw do the birds, in their warbling words,  
Welcome the year;  
With sugared notes, they chimup through their throats,  
To win a Fear.   

Sweetly they breathe the wanton love  
That Nature in them warms;  
And each to gain a mate doth prove,  
With sweet enchanting charms.   

He sweetly sings, and stays the nimble wings  
Of her in the air:  
She hovering stays, to hear his loving lays,  
Which woo her ther.   

She becomes willing, hears him woe;  
Gives ear unto his song:  
And doth (as Nature taught her) do;  
Yields, sued unto not long.   

But my Dear stays, she feeds me with delays,  
Hears not my moan:  
She knows the smart, in time will kill my heart,  
To live alone.   

Learn of the birds, to choose thee a Fear,  
But not like them to range.  
Have they their mate but for a year?  
Yet let us never change.    

Song 23. A Riddle.  

I Saw a hill upon a day,  
Lift up above the air;  
Which watered with blood always,  
And tilled with great care.  
Herbs it brought forth,  
Of much worth.   

Pulling a handful from that ridge,  
And touching but the same;  
Which leaving near unto a bridge,  
Doth cause much sport and game,  
(A thing scarce of belief)  
Lamenting without grief.    

Sonnet XIIII.  
IN heaven the blessed Angels have their being,  
In hell, the Fiends appointed to damnation;  
To men and beasts, earth yields firm habitation;  
The winged Musicians, in the air are fleeing.  
With fins, the people gliding,  
Of water have th' enjoining;  
In fire all else destroying,  
The Salamander finds a strange abiding;  
But I (O wretch) since I did first aspire,  
To love a beauty, beauties all excelling,  
Have my strange adverse dwelling,  
In heaven, hell, earth, water, air, and fire.   

Song 25. Love's Labyrinth, to Mistress Mary Loe.  
Lover's do make themselves like conquered slaves;  
Sometimes themselves most valiant they do fain,  
Sometimes great Lords, with many other braves;  
Sometimes thrown down, and vanquished again.  
Their wounds, their joys, their pains their pleasures make:  
And happy comfort in their prisons take.  
A thousand times they curse their hapless stars,  
Despising life, and happy death Implore,  
Yet in the end, so valiant in those wars  
Of life and death, and other passions more,  
That thousand deaths, they say they pass and try,  
And yet they never make an end to die.  
They give, They gain, They heal, They wound, They ply  
Their soul, Their life, Their harms, Their hearts, Their tears:  
They joy, They live, They burn, They plain, They die  
With hap, With hope, With heat, With grief, With fears.  
And so in all their lives, and what they say,  
There is a strange confusion every day.   

Epithalamium, Or A nuptial-song.  
LEet now each field, with flowers be painted  
Of sundry colours, sweetest odours glowing;  
Roses yield forth your smell, so finely tainted;  
Calm winds, the green leaves move, with gentle blowing.  
The Crystal rivers flowing.  
With waters, be increased;  
And since each one, from sorrow now hath ceased,  
(From mournful plaints and sadness)  
Ring forth, fair Nymphs, your joyful songs for gladness.  
Of that ' sweet joy, delight you with such measure,  
Between you both, fair issue to engender;  
Longer than Nestor, may you live in pleasure,  
The Gods to you, such sweet content surrender,  
That may make mild and tender  
The Beasts in every mountain,  
And glad the fields, and woods, and every fountain,  
A bjuring former sadness.  
Ring forth fair Nymphs, your joyful songs for gladness.  
Let amorous birds, with sweetest notes delight you;  
Let gentle winds refresh you, with their blowing;  
Let Ceres with her best of goods requite you,  
And Flora deck the ground where you are going;  
Roses and Lilies strowing,  
The Jasmine, and the Gillow-flower,  
With many more; and never in your bower  
Taste of houshold-sadness.  
Ring forth; fair Nymgps, your joyful songs for gladness.   

Sonnet XV.  
ANother Cupid reigns within my breast  
Then Venus' son, that blind and frantic boy:  
Divers his work, intent, and interest;  
His fashions, sports, his pleasures, and his joy.  
No sleights, deceits, nor woes, he doth inspire;  
He burns not like to that unseemly fire.  
From Reason, Will cannot my love entice,  
Since that it is not pleased in this vice.   

Song 26.  
In praise of the Country-life, to my noble friend Mr. Jennings.  
AMbition here no snares nor nets regards,  
Nor Avarice for Crowns doth lay her baits:  
The people here aspire not to etates,  
Nor hunger after favours and rewards.  
From guile, and fraud, and passions, as we see,  
Their hearts are ever free.  
Their faith's not vain,  
Both good and plain:  
Their malice small,  
They just to all:  
Which makes them live in joy and quiet peace,  
And in a mean sufficient for their ease.   

Sonnet XVI.  
ONce early, as the ruddy bashful morn  
Did leave Apollo's Purple-streaming bed,  
And did with Scarlet-streams the East adorn;  
I unto my dear Mistress chamber sped:  
She (Goddess-like) stood combing of her hair,  
Which like a sable veil did clothe her round:  
Her Ivory Komb was white, her hand more fair;  
She straight and tall, her tresses trailed to ground.  
Amazed I stood, thinking my Dear had been  
Turned Goddess, every sense to Sight was gone.  
With bashful blush she fled, I once being seen,  
Left me transformed (almost) into stone:  
Yet did I wish so ever t'have remained,  
Had she but stayed, and I my sight retained.   

Song 27. The Insatiate Lover.  
AS soon may water wipe me dry,  
And fire my heat allay;  
As you with favour of your eye  
Make hot desire decay.  
The more I have,  
The more I crave:  
The more I crave, the more desire,  
As piles of wood increase the fire.    

The Author's conclusion.  

REst, good my Muse, and give me leave to rest;  
We stive in vain;  
Conceal thy skill, within thy sacred breast;  
Though to thy pain.  
The honour great, which Poets wont to have,  
With worthy deeds, lie in oblivions grave:  
Each man will hid his name,  
Thereby to hid his shame;  
And silence is the praise their virtues crave.   

2.  
To praise is flattery, malice to dispraise;  
Hard is the choice;  
What cause is left for thee, my Muse, to raise  
Thy heavenly voice?  
Delight thyself on sweet Parnassus' hill,  
And for a better time reserve thy skill;  
There let thy silver sound,  
From Cyrrha-wood rebound,  
And all the vale, with pleasing music fill.   

3.  
Then shall those fools, that now preser each Rhyme,  
Before thy skill,  
With hand and foot, in vain assay to climb  
Thy sacred hill:  
There shalt thou sit, and scorn them with disdain,  
To see their fruitless labour all in vain,  
And they shall fret with spite,  
To see thy glory bright,  
And know themselves thereto cannot attain.     

EMBLEMATICAL FANTASTICS; Moore emphatical and numerous than all ever yet printed.  

To the Reader.  
Search thou all  books upon earth's  globe  
Lee Heelme, and ride the Astrolabe;  
Such Fancies here I hold to view,  
Can nowhere else be seen by u.   

2 2 1 is odds, i c:  
6 2 6 most even b.  
1 2 2, and 2 2 6,  
At Barleybreak may play fine tricks.  
2 2 6, and 6 2 1,  
May b in hell, when u are gone.   

 two hearts joined in one Dis-joyed can't be,  
If Love do say, Amen, I c.  
For where  two hearts love mutually,  
There the Affections bb.   

 pillory Put in thy  foot  
Or pay ; 'tis not  boot  
To strive, for u were drunk to day.  
Thus 'tis with  cups &  pipes to play.   

 horns be his good luck,  
Well branched, such as wears  a buck  
Whose  eyes staring ever b  
Upon  the crest of cuckoldry 

The Crest of Cuckoldry: A yellow field, a pair of horns, & a key     

 a harp is Music I would wish,  
A Carp me thinks is finest  depiction of fish  
and a  coney  
And good Canary for my money.   

U Drawer wash the  jugs &  glasses  
So that each man may see  two faces  
When he looks on them. Next bring hither  
Tobacco, and  six pipes six pipes together.   

Beneath  a tree a tree 2 lovers sat:  
 a hand from heaven pointed at  
 three suns . U must imagine none  
But would have run, 'tis 10 2 1.  
But them I  saw sit still & dally.  
1000 kisses on the Tally  
They carved, and  held hands held hands risen up,  
Meaning to drink a spiced  cup  
No  sun or  moon or  stars can thwart  
Those  hearts are slueed by Cupid's  dart  
What  bird that flies in heavens  eye  
Whose  beak chirps not Love's melody?   

A Song.  
A Shepherd sat beneath  a tree :  
Quoth he, My fears and doubts B,  
Jest Cupid with his  bow bow and  dart  
Should freshly wound my wounded  heart  
Why should the lustre of  a face  
 eye  hand or  foot prevail,  
That I must dote, to my disgrace,  
While Cupid doth my force assail?  
His  crook his & his  bag  
His  pipe lay broken at his feet:  
The  birds that on the trees did wag,  
In mournful quires did sing full sweet.  
No  snake nor  toad durst there appear;  
Sylvanus did command them thence:  
No saucy Huntsman durst come there,  
To chase the  coneys from their residence  
The gods, by their almighty power,  
For this sweet Shepherd kept this Bower.   

O Why should u so captious b?  
No fault I would have lovers c  
In their beloved's. Those 2 nice  
Me thinks are still yy.  

Question.  
GOod Sir, how came you lose your  nose   

Answer.  
With walking in those mists arose  
In Pric-ardy.   

Question.  
Indeed 'tis true,  
The French many makes to rue.  
Whenas thy once go down,  
Hold fast thy  hair upon thy  crown   

Answer.  
No matter, 'tis but a French Jig;  
And I can buy  a wig  
 a lover's knot untwined can't b.  
 two hands  two hearts make 1 i c.   

r great brags deeds? or can he be  
True 2 1, hath broke with 3?  
He's knavish yy, and ne'er was true:  
Besides, in means he doubles u.   

An l of Pudding can't suffice  
His gut that is of III size.    


Ever in a wandering Maze  
Are those that do on Beauty gaze:  
Still perplexed, full of Fears;  
Their hours are months, their months are years.    

 concrete poem arranged as a maze 

Lovers see more wonders than  
Madmen when they are alone:  
If once possessed, forty to ten,  
If love leave them till life is gone.     

 concrete poem arranged in a spiral 

Round about all in a Ring  
A Lovers Obiit set us sing  
Strew red Roses Lilies Fine,  
The Hyacinth and jassamine:  
Bring green Time and Eglansine  
yea and Vervain most Divine  
about about With nimble pace  
While This holy Ground We Trace  
lo Paeans sing we all  
To Cupid's bow Aeth●●●●.     

 concrete poem in the form of a door 

Broken sleeps, tormenting nights,  
Such as Death itself affrights;  
Leanness, roving, idle praises,  
Curses, blessings, strange  
Fantasies, Fevers, Agues, and Despair,  
First built Loves Castle  
in the Air.  
Foolish Mortals, do not post  
To enter here, unto your cost.  
Cupid's Messengers will come,  
DESIRE and INCLINATION,  
You need not fear,  
Will bring you here,  
To taste those Ills  
That thousands kills.  
Force not yourselves,  
Ye foolish Elves,  
To dote  
Upon a Note  
is sung  
By her is young.  
For know, one time or other you shall prove,  
(Maugre your wills) there is a god of love.      

Additional amorous Discourses, Poems, Dialogues, Letters, etc.  

A Young Gentleman being taken with the love of a Lady, thus accosteth her. Suppose the name to be FORTUNATUS, and ADRASTINA.  For. 
ALl hail, thou model of divine perfections: may all the blessings heavens can send to mortals, shower down upon your head. Vouchsafe to cast one favourable look upon a creature wholly devoted to your service; and let not rigour steer your actions, to play the tyrant over him, whose heart is vowed a Sacrifice to your love.  Adrast. 
Pardon, Sir, a woman's weakness, if she take the boldness to say, her shallow capacity cannot apprehend the height of your Oratory: yet must I render thanks for your wishes, and wish that I could be so thankful as to meet you in an equal affection: but since affection cannot be forced, you must pardon me, if I say, I cannot love.  Fortu. 
Not love? heaven's forbidden that so great cruelty should reside in so divinely fair a creature. Let not such harsh speeches proceed from so sweet a mouth, unless it be out of a Maiden bashfulness; whose very strongest negatives do but affirm a grant: such I both hope and wish is your denial.  Adrast. 
I must confess, Sir, your thoughts I cannot hinder; yet would I gladly persuade you to believe the truth, that my denial is unfeigned: however, I shall willingly submit my weaker judgement to the government of your better understanding.  Fortu. 
Divinest Lady, to whose beauty I am be holding for whatever I have; since you have been pleased to honour me with so high a title as is that of your governor, give me leave to command (but alas, 'tis impossible) or at least to beg (which is most suitable) one salve from those Srar-shining eyes, which have shot forth their conquering darts at my lovesick heart, making me acknowledge the conquest yours, myself happy in your being victorious. O heavenly Adrastina! govern and direct me; for I am wholly given over unto thee.  Adra. 
Sir, Were I but ascertained of the truth and reality of your affection, I might perhaps meet your love with an equal burning; but—  Fortu. 
Pardon, sweet soul, my interrupting you. If my love be not real, let me be an object of all men's scorn, and let the heavens, (as a just guerdon of my dissembling) shower down upon me their most horrible plagues: but if it be love, chaste and real love, let our souls meet in a reciprocal affection, and be imparadized into fruition of each other.  Adrast. 
As far as a Virgin's modesty will permit her, hereafter I shall be ever ready to accomplish your desires, and obey your commands; and in the mean time be confident, that I am entirely yours. But time calls me away. All happiness attend you.  Fortu. 
And as in you all virtues shine, so upon you may all the blessings both of heaven and earth wait.   

A Letter to a Gentlewoman requesting Love.  
COnsidering with myself, most divine Lady, the many virtues wherewith nature hath in a superabundant measure adorned you, and then weighing the insufficiency of any service I can do you; my trembling hand is scarce able to hold the pen, and my stammering tongue dare hardly express that which my afflicted heart desireth to manifest unto you: yet love, which holds in his dominion my inflamed heart, forceth me to lay open to your sweetest self the secrets of my love-tormented breast. Excuse then, I humbly beseech you, these humble lines, that invisibly present to your fair hands an humbler suit than can be expressed. I beseech you to extend a gracious hand, to stay a fainting soul from sinking, that without you is as nothing, whose worth and remembrance gives me being: for I desire not to be, where your being is not; It is that only that betters my joy, and makes me sensible of content, there being no content equal to the enjoying a companion of so great worth. To conclude, I shall expect the sentence of my life or death in your answer, and remain so perfectly yours, that I can say nothing near it, when I say I am,  
Madam, your most faithful, most obedient, and most affectionate servant.   

Another to a Gentlewoman desiring his forbearance to visit her, &c,  
WIth what words sufficiently to set forth my affection, and with what expressions high enough to manifest the constancy of my love, because I cannot tell; I shall appeal to yourself, whether the sincerity of my actions, and the integrity of my words, be not able to justify me. And I dare appeal to heaven, whether or no my words have in the least manner tended to dissimulation, swerving from professed truth, or my actions digressed from nature: but since your rigour pleases to command, I shall withdraw my person; yet in lieu of return, will leave my heart with you; and maugre fate, subscribe myself,  
Mistress, ever thine, in an unalterable affection.   

A Gentleman debarred the society of his Mistress, thus writes to her.  
SInce my misfortunes are so great, that those most happy opportunities we formerly enjoyed by a mutual intercourse and converse, are at present vanished, I cannot but by these manifest the constancy of my affection, which shall remain even to my latest gasp. I hope, nay am confident, that you will not now, after the heaping on me so many and so great favours, estrange yourself: and for my part, I am and even will be, wholly thine. And since my endeavours have been so happy to win your favour, they will double in length, and redouble in goodness, the remainder of my days. All my right in all things, is yours, and your demand my content: you are my joy; and my greatest height of happiness is to enjoy you. Your person is the food of my thoughts, the relief of my wishes, and the repast of my desires. Your love to me, is a continual hunger, after which I daily, earnestly, more and more long; your absence, my extreme famine, which makes me pine away with grief. And if any poor endeavours of mine may be but pleasing to your most virtuous self, I shall esteem myself most happy, when most serviceable to you: And, in the mean while, shall rest assured of your love, as you may of having his heart, who is  
Yours inseparably.   

A Gentleman having made his suit by speech, thus seconds it by writing.  
THat I should begin my Letter with the declaration of my love, seems to me altogether preposterous and unnecessary, sigh I manifested it to you so long since: But I may well bemoan my ill fortune, that cannot yet gain your good opinion of me, to credit your words, but that you still think me one of those who are altogether faithless. Is it my lot, for Love, to reap Disdain? Let me but know wherein I have offended, and my life shall answer my misdemeanour. All I desire, is love, your love; because nothing can satisfy love, but love. I could enlarge: but, lest I be too troublesome, I will say no more, but that I am  
Your affectionate servant.   

Her Answer.  
Sir,  
I Received a Paper from you, which I here answer, to clear myself of that accusation (of being scornful) which you cast upon me. That I do not forget you, witness this: but yet I am so far from being pleased with your Letters, that I can hardly bear the reading them, especially since they proceed from a deceitful heart, as I believe yours is. If then you love me, as you profess, show it in this, That you trouble me no more with your Letters; in hopes whereof, I remain,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

His Reply.  
My Dearest,  
THat you do not forget me, is my only, my chief happiness; but, that to think of me, should move you to impatience, is my greatest misery. What greater torment, then to love, and not to be loved again? Heaven and earth are not able to parallel so great cruelty. But your words, that you cannot believe my feigned vows, carry with them a kill accent. O heavens! bear ye witness of my reality and sincere affection. I love you, as I profess: but by obeying your command, a breach might be made into the love of  
Yours while he lives, and even in death.   

Another.  
ACcording to my duty, and the obligements that lic upon me, for the manifestation of my loyal constancy, I do hereby humbly kiss your hands. protesting that my love increases and renews, with the day, more and more. The Sun in its greatest splendour, hath been overpow'red with clouds, and darkened with mists; and sometimes even the most constant affection has been scandalised with disloyalty. Let Envy then pine itself to death, and let Malice burst itself with rage; yet will I remain constant, yet will I be unremovable, never to be altered from my settled resolution, which is to be  
Yours wholly and only.   

A Gentleman to his Mistress, having won her consent to affection.  
THe thoughts of those many great favours I have received from you, especially your grant of affection, drive me to so high a rapture of joy, that I am neither able to contain myself in any bounds, nor yet to express the ardency of my affection. What shall I say? I am so full of love, that there is no room in my heart for any thought but of thee. Happy I, who am blessed with the love of so heavenly, so virtuous a companion. Now shall cuhearts seed on pleasures, and our eyes behold the bliss of each other in the full comfort of all content: we will sleep in love, and wake and walk in all sulness of joy; enjoying in our hearts more delights, than either Nature affords, or Art can express: among which, this shall be chief, That thou art mine, and that I am  
Thine, &c,   

A Gentleman crossed in his affection, thus writes to his Mistress.  
THere is no creature in this spacious fabric of the whole world so wide, either of Sense or Reason, which being diseased or afflicted, but doth find, by mere instinct of nature, some present remedy to help his infirmity, Man only excepted, who can find no medicine, by whose secret virtues he may allay his grief. This now I know by proof, and therefore speak by experience. But it is not to complain of you, that I now take pen in hand, but only to lament my unfortunate birth, that has brought me into so unhappy a predicament, as to be contemned of you. And I protest, I have called my soul to an account for all her actions, but cannot accuse any one of them. Go then, my Paper, and, in your Master's name, first humbly kiss her hands, then tell her she can never heal the wound she hath made in her Faith, and my Love; which I am resolved to carry with me to my grave; hoping that the heavens, moved at last, will, through my patiented suffering, make me as dear to you, as you are now cruel to me. However, no earthly thing shall hinder me from serving you: for I will rather die, then be inconstant in my love; and will flee, with the hazard of my life, the reproach of disloyalty.   

A Gentleman going into the Country, after this manner writes his Adieu to his Mistress.  
TO tell you of my constancy, I think is unnecessary, since you find it; and to declare in what a continued course of perseverance, my faithful affection has gone, from its very beginning to this present, would make my Letter swell to a Volume. Besides, so perfect a thing as my love to your divine self, as it will suffer no question, so it seems to receive injury by addition of any words unto it. I could not but write to you, not knowing whether you would be pleased to grant me the favour to see you, or make me happy in the fruition of your company before my departure. And when I am abroad, my actions shall testify that you are always in my heart. And if I can be so happy to keep a room in your thoughts and memory, it will be my greatest comfort in my loneliness, and my chief joy in my recess, etc.   

A Letter protesting love.  
WIth how great pleasure do I now, whilst I sit alone, recount my happiness in my love, which, in my greatest me lancholy, is my chiefest and most most pleasing comfort! If you knew but the delight that I take in the remembering your dear self, you would wonder at my felicity. I cannot tell how to express my affection. I love, I love you, yea you alone, with an everlasting and most virtuous affection. But this is too short: since then words sail, services and actions shall take their place; whose real performance shall prove a perfect demonstration of the never-altering, neverdying affection of  
(My Dear) Yours devoted, to eternily.   

A Gentleman in the Country writes to his Mistress in London.  
IT is not length of time, distance of place, or absence from you, can any whit lessen my love, or put the remembrance of your most dear self either out of my mind or heart. And seriously, were it not for the want of your dear company, I could be content always to be here: but you are the Star on whom both my good fortune and welfare depends; you are the Loadstone, whose virtue attracts, keeps, possesses my heart and thoughts, wherever my person is. This very thing makes this place tedious to me, in that I am debarred of your society: but if the place were sweetened with your presence, I should account every tree a Paradise, and every tree would seem an Elysium, etc.   

A Gentleman writes to his displeased Mistress.  
IF ever any man could on a sudden be thrown down from the highest pinnacle of Joy, to the lowest gulf of infinite unsupportable miseries; certainly I am he: for your (causeless) anger hath filled me with such a confusion of thoughts, that I know not which way to turn myself. But now at last I have got my pen to paper; which does in all humility crave pardon of you, if in any thing I have offended, or were guilty of what you mislike; and withal, promises such an amendment for the future, as shall never incur the danger of your dislike. And if ever my thoughts did receive so much as a fainting in their affections; if they have not continually with more and more ardour from time to time pursued the possession of your favour, then let heavens most horrible plagues fall upon me. Do not then use him so hardly, who would for your sake hazard himself and all his future hopes. Nay, though you should be cruelly severe to me, yet let me say thus much; There is no one in the world that does, or shall more cordially affect your person, or more really wish your good, than my dejected self, and  
Your despised servant.   

A Letter requesting love.  
SEeing the many virtues that so resplendently shine in you, and that heavenly beauty wherewith Nature in an extraordinary measure hath eariched you; unless I were blotted with a stupid senslesness, I cannot but acknowledge you divine, and able to command Cupid to let fly a shaft where you please. Hoping therefore your ingenuity will admit my unpolished lines without a superficial complimental gloss, or the rich accent of a ceremonial eloquence, (which could I use; I would not) yet censure me not to be altogether void of Oratory, when my style is bound to be friendly; and the best lines are drawn from the centre of a strong affection. Know, I love: nay, start not, Madam, at that word, since you can so easily prescribe a remedy for my love-inflamed heart. Love is all I crave; which with modesty may be granted to  
(Madam) Yours to eternity.   

A Letter from a Gentleman in the Country, to his sweetheart in the City.  
OF all earthly things, there is nothing wherein I take so much pleasure, or whence I receive so great content, as in the fulfilling your commands; which are so  with virtue, that I cannot but admire, nay adore the person in whom so much good resides. What then are all my services? even not worthy to be taken notice of by so great virtuous deserts. Should I not adore, should I not serve, should I not with a most constant affection love your dear self, I might well be branded with the base stain of stupidity. I protest, were the place of my being a Paradise, and were my company all Saints; yet, without you, should I receive little pleasure in the one, and less comfort in the society of the other. You are always present in my heart and thoughts; and as I walk alone in the fields, heaven can bear me witness how often it has heard me record your name; and with what joy I was wrapped, when the solitary woods with a pleasing echo reiterated the same, etc.   

A Letter suing for Love.  
Dear Madam,  
I Cannot but in all humble reverence, by these, as much as they can, manifest that affection which my stammering tongue knows not how to express, nor my unable pen to delineate. Oh that my heart were transparent! there would you see a Seat ordained for your virtuous and sweetest self; a Palace of Love, where affection daily waits, to do you service; a Castle altogether impregnable, till 'twas overpow'red by darts of love, shot from your eyes, by the string of virtue. How then to express a gratitude sufficient to answer your goodness, is a thing altogether impossible, your virtue being as unlimitable as my affection: but such as I can, I willingly offer; myself, my love, yea my whole fortunes, I humbly present you withal. You have taken me out of myself; and my thoughts are not so often in mine own breast, as where you are. You are the Lodestar of my thoughts, and the life of my desires, with whom alone I desire to pass my life. No marvel, if all love, if all desire, if all affect you: for worth and desert cannot lie unregarded. I resign myself as your prisoner, and as a Trophy of your victories, to remain  
Yours in life, and even in death.   

A Letter of compliment from one friend to another.  
Sir,  
I Doubt not (nay, I am confident) that you will wonder, that after the ungrate silence of so many bypast years, I should now begin to make an apology: but, I hope, my negligence acknowledged, will obtain a parden. Desiring therefore that you will think of me with favour, and impute my fault, not to a willing ingratitude, but to a too great distance. But why speak I of distance? it was not that could make me hold back my due respects; but an incertainty, nay, I may truly say, an impossibility to send, was my chief, nay my only reason: yet I hope a good occasion will now ere long bring us together, and afford us that opportunity of renewing friendship, which I have long wished, and shall in no mean measure rejoice at last to enjoy: then shall be a time of more real and full expressions of my respects towards you, then can find compass within this narrow page: then shall be a time, when, by a return of courtesies for received obliging favours, I shall endeavour to repay that friendship which I well understand I own unto you. And till I can be happy in the fruition of this time, know that I study gratitude, and shall ever seriously endeavour to seem as I am, and be as I seem,  
SIR, Your most obliged servant.   

A Gentleman thus writes to his dispeased uncle.  
SUch and so great has been my former unhappiness, that those which should have been the tenderers of my service and respects, could have no intercourse: but seeing that it hath pleased God that the mutual love (which should before have proceeded from one to another to the comfort of both) hath again received a new birth; I hope that all injuries and bypast discontents laid aside, you will look upon me with a favourable eye.  
You know, worthy Sir, that I have a long time sailed in a deep Sea of affliction and sorrow, which still has increased and flowed in upon me, and will continue, unless your love and favour extend itself not only to the pacifying the impetuousness of its waves, but also to the bringing it to so low an ebb, as I may safely come to the solong-looked for shore, etc.   

To a friend, for a received courtesy.  
THere hath no one experiment or occurrence happened in my time, which hath more commended and confirmed my judgement and skill of inspection into a man, than this performance of yours: for I must ingenuously confess, at the first acquaintance I had with you, I read that same reality and civility in you, which now I see lively acted by you: so that I know not whether I should applause my judgement more, or congratulate my happiness in your acquaintance, from whom I have received a courtesy of that nature, as cannot be expressed, without a due consideration of, and reflection on the high consequence and concernment of it, together with a ready thankfulness to you the author thereof; of whom I may justly say, that it hath not been so truly occasioned by some, that Forgetfulness commonly waits upon Absence, but that you will have it falsified of yourself: which not only augments, but heightens the courtesy beyond the attempt of requital. And if you have any occasions wherein I may serve you, command me freely, as  
Your friend and servant.   

Another.  
I Have hourly before me so many Monitors and Remembrancers of my engagement to you, as is sufficient to convert Ingratitude: in which respect, how am I troubled to discharge this debt! which is so great, that you must not expect an entire payment, but to take it out in several acknowledgements, as opportunity shall favour me. And since the best way to cross out the score of your merit, is to begin early to make payment, I cannot omit to give you hearty thanks for your favours, which have perpetually engaged  
Your very friend.   

A Letter of Compliment.  
Sir,  
MY unwilling error of not answering your Letter, I am confident your sweet indulgence will readily pardon. I could wish you were truly sensible, how happy I conceived myself in this fortunate opportunity, as literally to present you with these best of wishes I have oft (with no small ambition) sought personally to neliver, That the choicest of all joy and happiness may be showered down upon you. And for that I yet remain in your remembrance, is my singular happiness, and your mere goodness: for, from my own worthlesness, and the strong conceit I had of your change, I could not but collect a total eclipse of your favourable aspect. And that you will be pleased to bear with this my conceited prolixity, is the earnest desire of  
(Sir) Your very humble servant.   

A Letter to his Mistress.  
GO, happy Paper, by command;  
Take liberty to kiss a hand  
More white than any part of thee,  
Although with spots thou graced be.  
The morning-air perfumed in May,  
The glory of the clearest day;  
The firstborn Rose of all the Spring;  
The Down beneath the Turtles wing;  
A Lute just reaching to the ear.  
Whate'er is soft, or sweet, or fair,  
Are but her shreds, who fills the place  
And sum of every single grace.  
As in a child the Nurse descries  
The mother's lips, the father's eyes,  
The uncle's nose, and doth apply  
An owner unto every part: so I  
In her could analyze the store  
Of all the choice ere Nature bore.  
Each private piece to mind may call  
Some worth, but none may match it all.  
Poor emblems! they can but express  
One element of Comeliness:  
None are so rich to show in one  
All simples of perfection:  
Nor can the Pencil represent  
More than the outward lineament;  
Then who can limn the Portraiture  
Of Beauties live behaviour?  
Or what can figure every kind  
Of Jewels that adorn her mind?  
Thought cannot draw her picture full:  
Even thought, to her, is gross and dull.   

A Song.  

1.  
KEep on your Mask, and hid your eye;  
For with beholding you, I die:  
Your fatal beauty, Gorgonlike,  
Dead with astonishment will strike.  
Your piercing eyes (if them I see)  
Are worse than Basilisks to me.   

2.  
Shut from mine eyes those hills of snow;  
Their melting valley do not show:  
Those Azure paths lead to despair.  
O vex me not: forbear, forbear.  
For while I thus in torments dwell,  
The sight of heaven is worse than hell.   

3.  
Your dainty voice, and warbling breath,  
Sounds like a sentence passed for death:  
Your dangling tresses are become  
Like Instruments of final doom.  
Oh, if an Angel torture so,  
When life is done, where shall I go?    

A Poet to his Mistress.  

THat I do love, it comes to me by kind;  
That I love much, it much delights my mind:  
That I love you, it is my choice of heart;  
That I love you alone, 'tis your desert.  
I love, yea much, yea you, yea you alone;  
By kind, mind, heart, desert, and all in one.   

Another.  
HEr Face, her Tongue, her Wit,  
So fair, so sweet, so sharp;  
First drew, then bend, last knit  
Mine eye, mine ear, my heart.    

On his Mistress.  

IF any do desire to know  
Where the flowers of Virtue grow;  
Where content, delight, or mirth  
Doth inhabit upon earth:  
Let them resort to me, and I  
The place thereof will soon descry.   

Where's Piety without deceit,  
Where Love without Strife or debate;  
Where Beauty's mixed with comely grace,  
Virtue resideth in that place.  
And in my Love all these do meet;  
No marvel then if she be sweet.    

The Question.  

1.  
I Ask thee, whence those ashes were,  
Which shrine themselves in plaits of hair?  
Unknown to me. Sure each morn dies  
A Phoenix for a Sacrifice.   

2.  
I ask thee, whence those ruddy blooms  
Perched on her cheek in scarlet gowns?  
Unknown to me. Sure that which flies  
From fading Roses, her cheek dies.   

3.  
I ask thee, whence those Airs which fly  
From birds in sweetest harmony?  
Unknown to me. But sure the choice  
Of accents echoes from her voice.   

4.  
I ask thee of the Lily, whence  
It gained the type of innocence?  
Unknown to me. Sure Nature's deck  
Was ravished from her snowy neck.   

5.  
I ask thee, whence those active fires  
Take light, which glide through burnished air?  
Unknown to me: unless there flies  
A flash of lightning from her eyes.    

The Answer explicatory.  

1.  
O No; heaven see men's fancy stray  
To idolise but dust and clay:  
That emblem gave, that they might see,  
Your beauty's date but dust should be.   

2.  
O no; that Rose, when June is past,  
Looks pale, as with a poisoned blast:  
And such your beauty, whenas time,  
Like winter, shall o'ertake your prime.   

5.  
No; Philomela, when Summer's gone,  
Hasts to the woods, her rape to moon;  
(Unwilling hers) ashamed to see  
Your (unlike hers) unchastity.   

4.  
O no; the Phoenix shuns that place,  
And fears the lustful sires embrace  
Of your hot breast and barren womb,  
As death, or some perpetual Tomb.   

5.  
O no; those stars that fly but the sight  
Of what you act in dead of night:  
Ashamed themselves should Panders prove  
To your insatiate beastly love.    

The affirmative Answer.  

1.  
ASk me no more, whither do stray  
The golden atoms of the day:  
For in pure love heaven did prepare  
Those powders to enrich your hair.   

2.  
Ask me no more, whither doth haste  
The Nightingale, when Summer's past:  
For in your sweet dividing throat  
She winters, and keeps warm her note.   

3.  
Ask me no more, where those storms light,  
Which downward stoop in dead of night:  
For in your eyes they set, and there  
Fixed become, as in their Sphere.   

4.  
Ask me no more, where Jove bestows  
(When June is passed) the fading Rose:  
For in your beauties orient deep,  
All flowers as in their beds do sleep.   

5.  
Nor ask me more if East or West  
The Phoenix builds her spiced nest:  
For unto you at last she flies,  
And in your fragrant bosom dies.    

The Moderatrix.  

1.  
I'Ll tell you where's another Sun  
That sets as rising it begun:  
It is myself, who keep one sphere,  
And were the same, if men so were.   

2.  
What need I tell, that life and death  
May pass in sentence from one breath?  
So issue from mine equal heart  
Both love and scorn on men's desert.   

3.  
I'll tell you in what heavenly hell  
An angel and a fiend do dwell:  
It is mine eye, whose glassy book  
Sends back the gazer's divers look.   

4.  
I'll tell you, in a divers scale,  
One weight can up and downward hale.  
You call me Thistle, you a Rose;  
I neither am, yet both of those.   

5.  
I'll tell you where both frost and fire,  
In peace of common seat conspire:  
My frozen breast the flint is like,  
Yet yields a spark, if well you strike.    

Conclusion.  
Then you that love, and you that loath,  
With one respect I answer both:  
For round about me glows a fire  
Can melt and harden cross desire.   

A Dialogue between a Maid and a young Youth.  Maid. 
STay, lovely boy, why flee'st thou me,  
That languish in these flames for thee?  
I'm black, 'tis true, and so is Night;  
And Love doth in dark shades delight.  
The whole world, do but close thine eye,  
Will seem to thee as black as I:  
Or opeed, and view what a dark shade  
Is by thine own fair body made,  
That follows thee where-ere thou go:  
Ah, who (allowed) would not do so!  
Let me for ever dwell so nigh,  
And thou shalt need no other shade but I  Boy. 
Black maid, complain not that I fly,  
Since Fate commands antipathy.  
Prodigious will that union prove,  
Where night and day together move.  
And the conjunction of our lips,  
Not kisses make, but an eclipse;  
In which the mixed black and white  
Portend more terror than delight.  
Yet if my shadow thou wilt be,  
Enjoy thy dearest wish: but see  
Thou take my shadows property,  
Which hastes away when I come nigh:  
Else stay while death hath blinded me,  
And then I will bequeathe myself to thee.   


Epigram in Amorem.  
LOve is all eyes, admits of no delay,  
And through great hardships makes an easy way.   

Epigram in eundem.  
LOve, like a clouded star, does shine most bright,  
Where somewhat covered by misfortunes night.    

In praise of his Mistress.  

1.  
I Have a Mistress for perfections rare  
In all men's eyes, but in my thoughts most fair.  
She is a model of divine perfections;  
Fortunes darling, Nature's wonder:  
She is the sweetest of all sweet complexions,  
And of future joys the founder:  
In whose sweet looks are blessings three;  
Beauty, and Love, and Modesty.   

2.  
Of all her sex, she is the only splendour,  
And an ornament to Fame:  
For they are few can equal praises render  
To her more-then-matchless frame.  
Whhm if the Trojan Paris had but seen,  
Beauty had had no other Queen.   

3.  
She is the only Jewel I desire:  
I can but wonder at her beauty:  
She is the noble Lady I admire,  
To whom I own submissive duty.  
Her modest comely shape it so exceeds,  
That (to her) sweetest Roses seem but weeds.  
Fairest, to your praise, I dare affirm and tell,  
Some may come nigh, few match, but none excel.    

Epigram in Amorem.  
O Heavenly Love, that canst without control,  
In such a happy woe involve my soul!  
Who tells me that? Love woe? no; 'tis a stem  
Branching from heavens Imperial Diadem.  
A roll of faults the great 
* Tevent.  Comedian brings,  
And says they are the meanest of Love's stings.  
The 
* Ovid. & alii. Jove.  Poet sings the Deity of Love,  
And its descent brings down from mighty  
Which shall I credit? (for they disagree)  
The Poets sung his divine Pedigree.  
Then all confess with me, infer hence even,  
All's throughly good that does come down from heaven.  
Though 
* Viz. Love.  thou wert fatal, yet I still would cry,  
If Love be death, then let me ever die.   

To his Mistress Fidelia.  
SHall I court Beauty of the richest dye,  
In fixing dimness on the clearest eye?  
Making spectators proud, if but one glance,  
Or smile from it, do on them wondering chance.  
Then blame me not; for my Fidelia's fair,  
Her beauty never sullied by bold air.  
Shall I court riches, and account myself  
Well matched, if wedded but to worldly pelf?  
Cease Envy then, and henceforth blame not me:  
For why? Fidelia is too rich for me.  
Shall I seek noble birth, and think't a grace  
To match myself with one of noble race;  
Hoping to be esteemed, 'cause men may see  
The empty boast of a long Pedigree?  
Then come, Fidelia; for we will enlarge  
A Musterroll more lasting, with less charge.  
Shall I court one that's chaste, who is as free  
From all black deeds as purest Lilies be  
From spots, before that ruder hands do smutch  
Their unstained beauty with a sordid touch?  
Such is Fidelia, whom the Turtle-dove  
Alone resembles in her chastest love.  
Shall I court Verrue, and account her best  
To be accepted as my constant guest?  
Come then, Fidelia, thou most blessed soul,  
Who dost all virtues in thyself inroul.  
Who'll blame me now? Fidelia's fair, chaste, good,  
Possessed of riches, come of noble blood.  
And now, Fidelia, do'ned you think that I  
Have said aught here, that may be thought too high:  
Nor think I flatter, pray: for if you be  
Such to none else, by— ye are to me.   

A SONG. His Mistress sad and grieved.  

1.  
CAn any see my Mistress frown,  
And yet not with her be cast down?  
The Sun, as mourning, light withdrew;  
Day clouds itself in sable hue.  
I in her countenance did see  
How great a darkness soon would be.   

2.  
The grief that did my Love annoy,  
Anticipates our next days joy:  
The heavens, with her, are sad, and cloud  
Their shining beauty in a cloud;  
Distilling down themselves in rain,  
That sorrow should such beauty stain.   

3.  
Can I be merry, and she grieve?  
Shall I mine eyes from tears reprieve,  
Since melancholy has possessed  
(My only Joy) thy lovely breast?  
Oh no! her sadness I can'ned see,  
But with a loving sympathy.   

4.  
See how her tears bedew her cheeks;  
Her sighs her inward sadness speaks.  
How can my joys increase or grow,  
Since you, my Sun, are clouded so?  
Help (heavens) to cheer her, or I die:  
Her grief's my endless misery.    

A Song, out of my History of F. and A. A Gentlewoman singing to her Lute, sends forth this Ditty.  

1.  
IS not (sweet Lute) my chaste life best?  
No foolish thoughts ever come near  
My unpolluted maiden-brest,  
That make me either doubt or fear.  
Come then, my Lute, and help me with thy play,  
To pass some trifling idle hours away.   

2.  
Poor silly souls! guided amiss  
Into belief by Poet's tales,  
That such a thing as Cupid is,  
Whose arrow levelled never fails  
But I (my Lute) am free: help me to play,  
With thy sweet notes, some trifling hours away.   

3.  
Thus will I keep my Virginity,  
Seeking to get no other mate,  
Whereon my bale or joy shall lie,  
Then thou my Lute, who first my state.  
Come then (Companion) help me with thy play,  
To pass some trifling idle hours away.    

Song 2. ex eadem.  

1.  
IN setters bound, I freedom find;  
And though I am with cares oppressed,  
Yet have I now content in mind,  
And am from troubles quite released.  
How can this be? In Love's Gyves I am bound,  
Yet joy and freedom in my love have found.   

2.  
Since Fortune then has rocked my sense  
Into a sleep which fancy pleases;  
I will not seek to give offence  
To her who thus my torment eases;  
But with a quiet silence will submit,  
Enforced by Love's power unto it.    

Song 3. ex eadem.  
COme, Philomela, thou messenger of Spring;  
Tune thy more pleasing notes, and to us sing;  
And of thy fellow-fingers get a Choir,  
To chant such consorts as exceeds desire.  
See! it is done: hark how the pretty birds  
Set out their notes; how freely they afford  
Their harmony, which with delight our souls  
Into a sweet felicity inrouls.  
See how the sportive winds, with gentle gales,  
On yond bough kisses constantly entails;  
And they as 'twere with willing bend meeting,  
His persevered and constant proffered greeting.  
Would you know why the birds so pleasant are?  
Why winds and trees such love t'each other bear?  
'Tis this; That I should with a loving fear,  
As they me teach, know, Adrastina's here.    

Certain Complimental Letters, and Forms both to begin and end all Epistles.  

A Letter of Love.  
IF I were to wish a titular happiness, it should only be, now to know by what name, of somewhat more than ordinary nearness, I might tender my best respects and affection towards you: but such is my unworthiness, as hath no such power in any small proportion to be endeared to your goodness; though, of all other earthly things, I most earnestly desire the accomplishment: it would make me, of now miserable, to approach to some possibility of comfort. I confess I love you, first, in your person, whose feature merits beyond admiration; secondly, your virtuous worth and unparallelled qualities, rarely found in these giddy times, (both suiting in a fit way to imparadise the possessor) hath forced many to attempt the attaining, and hath taken me, whose resolution was quite retired from such apprehensions, etc.   

Another.  
I Beseech you, Madam, excuse my boldness, in taking in hand to discover unto you the Martyrdom I suffer for your excellency: which is so much the more ardent, in that I keep it close and covert: yet cannot the reverence I bear you have so great a sway, but that my affection forces me to discover itself unto you. Be pleased then, in your most mild nature, and more temperate consideration, to vouchsafe with patience to hear my humble suit, and to apply some Cordial to my wounded heart, which lies both hopeless and hapless, unless your mercy deign a cure. O bitter () constant only to averseness; in all that tends to my consolation, unconstant; One day promising success to my well-cherished and aspiring hopes, the next day punishing my desires with cruelty: now wring my hopes with a willing consent, and making my soul bathe in the stream of heavenly contentment; and immediately thrusting my heart out of Paradise, into the wild desert of Discourtesy; thus continuing rather to kill, than cure the wound given by thy dear self, etc.   

A Letter from one friend to another.  
IF I had begun my friendship with thee for the increase of thy riches, it should now have vanished, because Fortune frowns on thee in the decay of thy wealth: but such could never have been rightly called Friendship, but mere Flattery: but you know my heart is yours in a perpetual friendship; insomuch that if there be any thing wherein I may employ myself to pleasure you, you may command me, as him who is gladly ready to accomplish your will, and to wait upon your commands.   

One writes after this manner to a Slander.  
UNto thee, which speakest evil of me, I intent not to answer evil, lest thereby thou shouldst be deterred from saying evil by me, that is to say, from praising me: for who is more rightly praised, than he of whom evil is spoken by an evil man? And be not angry that I call thee evil, since it is so far from being evil said, that nothing can be said better.   

A short and witty Letter to a friend.  
THou supposest thyself to be contemned, because I visit thee not by my Letters: I might despise, though I should write unto thee: for if I contemned thee, then durst I write unto these Answers, either that I am busied, or that I cannot spare so much time for thee. Farewell.   

A Letter to a forgetful friend.  
I See in thee the old Proverb shall be verified: for thou hast sent me that, which, at my last being with thee, thou didst promise. I find myself grieved, if thou hast forgotten it; but it increaseth my trouble, if thou hast not forgotten it. To forget, is the property scarce of a friend: but not to give according to promise, when it is remembered, is the known (or at least, suspected) badge of an enemy. Hereafter, either never promise, or perform better: for, much more friendly had it been, to have absolutely denied that, which I so earnestly requested, than not to perform that, which you so liberally promised: then had we still been pares, equal; for I had received no injury, in regard you owed me nothing: but now I take myself to be wronged, because you are and must be in my debt, seeing you promised it me. And yet it will not enter into my belief, nay, nor into my thoughts, that you are of those people, whom their promises bind not. But that hereafter I may not have cause to believe it, I would wish you to keep such promises to yourself. Only this I request, that if you will perform unto me that benefit, yet leave off to be injurious, in forbidding me to hope any longer in vain. To conclude, I shall think myself obliged to you, if you give me that which I request; and shall greatly wonder, if you give it me not. Farewell.   

A Letter of Thanks for courtesies.  
Sir,  
I Had thought, by my Letters, several times, to have returned you thanks for those many favours I have and do daily receive from, your hands, lest I might have been thought ingrateful, or esteemed rude: yet still deferred I the time, as not willing by my haste to trifle time from your more serious affairs. But now the thought of the greatness of your friendly love to me, makes me break my long-kept silence (to avoid the stain of uncivil & proud, and to give you thanks not only because you bestow on me so great commendations, but in regard of your friendship. To you ought I to make recompense, even above my power; for whose sake, no labour should be spared, but even the most difficult things achieved, by (Sir)  
Your most affectionate friend.   

A Letter to a friend, to put him in mind of some business.  
IT is very well known unto me, that no neglect hath at any time kept you back from satisfying my desires, which, through your innate goodness, you have ever reputed as your own. And now not only the offer which with a willing mind you have many times made; but also the experience which I have had of you, emboldens my Pen to trouble you. My business, therefore, and the urgency of mine occasions, constraining me to make use of that love and affection whick I know you bear me, in being mindful of those things whereof you know, that they may not fail for want of a manager; hoping to be pleasured of you, as of him in whose care I fix my trust in all things: in return whereof, you shall dispose of me, as of  
Your perfect and real friend.   

A Letter of request to a friend.  
THe hopes and fidelity which I have always had in you, and the offers which many times, with an affectionate mind, you have made unto me, doth comfort me in my affliction, and move me in this my necessity to have recourse unto you; remaining confident, that your deeds will be correspondent unto your words, and that you will help me. Hoping therefore your willingness, and not doubting your ability, I desire that you would aid me against the contrarieties of my adverse fortune, whose impetuousness, without your assistance, will make me lose myself and you.  
Your ready friend to serve you.   

A Letter to a friend.  
COnsidering with myself the small puissance of my weak Pen, and with what authorised eloquence it were necessary to fill my Letters to you; I am as it were astonished, and especially for the receipt of your copious Epistles: but my unable hand being unable that way, knows only how to teach me to subscribe myself  
Yours, etc.   

The Answer.  
YOur phrase of speech is so neatly adorned, and so eloquently compacted, that it will ask much time of a knowing Pen to make a sufficient and suitable answer: therefore I, who am ignorant, must not think to do it. But though I have not that Oratory that were requisite, yet must I enforce myself, for duty-sake, to write you some part of an Answer, that so you might rather blame me for insufficiency then ingratitude. Hoping therefore you will not so much look at the stile, as the hand; and pardon the failings, because your friend's, I remain, etc.   

A Letter of Thanks.  
THough at the present, through Fortune's unconstancy, and the contrariety of the times, I find myself unable to make a return sufficient for your deserts; yet I trust that you will so accept of my good will, as to esteem me thereby to have satisfied for every default of my unfortunate Fortune, taking the will for the deed. But if ever Fortune, who is changeable, do again lay aside her cruelty, and smile upon me, blowing with the wind of Prosperity upon the sails of mine honest intent; there is not a man in the whole world, that more largely shall dispose of me and all my possibilities, then shall your goodness, etc.   

Another.  
IF God had so enriched me with his favour, that I had been as able to have made a retaliation for so many your benefits, as I find myself not only able and willing, but even desirous to render you infinite thanks; assure yourself I would have been as ready to the satisfaction of the deed, as the good will. Therefore, as far as extendeth at this present my weak ability, I mind not to be ungrateful to you. I give you therefore most hearty thanks for your courtesies to your undeserving servant; and offer myself always unto you, in all that shall be possible for me, etc.   

A Letter of News.  
Sir,  
I Hope you will pardon my silence hitherto, seeing these times befit none but Satirists to write, who in their railing terms can best paint out men's actions, and give your ears better satisfaction than our threadbare Rhetoric, which becomes nothing so ill as News, especially if bad: therefore I could wish, that Feet as well as Hands might guide my Pen, that so I might become Satirist, and better acquaint you with that of which I shall speak a little in brief. We are here in a halting condition, by the loss of those members which were lately cut off; and expect every day a final ruin, unless, like the snake after dissection, we can assume our own genuine parts, and so again become whole, etc. No more at present, but that I am  
SIR, Your assured friend.   

A Letter to a friend.  
Sir,  
THough I love to be free with a friend, yet am I ever loath to over-burden a free friend, and making Friendship my rule. I hope I shall not transgress, though I make bold to put you in mind of me: and seriously, had I not a present occasion, I should neither be so importunate nor troublesome. The performance of this, will add a stronger tye to our friendship. And as I rejoice in the happiness of my enjoying such a friend; so I will be bold to say, You shall never have cause to repent or be ashamed of the friendship of  
SIR, Yours assuredly to serve you.   

A Letter of excuse for not writing.  
IF in times past I have not written unto you, as my duty was, it hath been for the urgent business and great affairs that hindered me, and not but that my whole trust and confidence hath always remained in you: And chief, when I record with myself the singular love which you have always with great reality expressed towards me. And because it is better to express some part of my duty late, then never; I am moved to write unto you these presents, that you may participate with me of my profit and prosperity, as you have formerly of my adversity; aiding, counselling, and favouring me, more than I could think to deserve of you, etc.   

A Letter of Thanks.  
ALthough I have no business whereof I may write unto you; yet nevertheless, the great love equal betwixt us, will not suffer me to let slip any messenger that goes towards you, whereby I may testify my thankfulness to you for the pains you have taken in my business: and know, that I confide so much in you, that I intrust and trouble you still further, desiring your assistance; and if you have any occasion to use me, I shall serve you most willingly: and if you will visit these parts, you cannot be more welcome to any friend, than you shall be to him, who rejoices in the happiness of your acquaintance; the continuance whereof he as much desires.  
Yours, etc.   

A short Letter to all his friends.  
YOu are many, which at once demand Letter from me; and behold, I send unto you that are many, but one only Letter: for it be hoveth to send one only Epistle to many, whom only love: the which shall be as good as many, when many of you shall read it.   

Divers Forms of Subscribing and Superscribing Letters.  

Subscriptions.  
YOur most obedient son.  
Yours affectionately.  
Yours in a perpetual friendship.  
Yours to serve you in all things to his power.  
Your most humble, most obedient, and most affectionate servant.  
Yours living and dying.  
Yours in an unalterable affection.  
Yours inseparably.  
Your real and ready friend.  
Yours to be commanded.  
By yours assured.  
Your faithful friend for ever.  
Your loving father.  
Your very dutiful daughter.  
Your obliged kinsman.  
Your friend and master.  
Your trusty servant, to do your commands.  
Your Lordship's humble honourer.  
Yours to my latest gasp.  
The humble admirer of your incomparable beauty.  
Yours faithfully, though neglected.  
Yours eternally, even in death.  
Yours sans compliment.   

Superscriptions.  
TO the high and mighty Lords, the State's General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands.  
For the Right Honourable my very good Lord, R. Earl of Essex.  
For the high and mighty Prince, Lewis 12. King of France and Navar.  
For the Right Honourable, the Lord Viscount Say and Seal, etc.  
To the Right Worshipful, Sir P. R. Knight, of Eton in Bedford-shire.  
For the Worshipful Master A. Merchant and Citizen of London.  
For his assured and trusty friend, Mr M. P.  
For his approved friend T. M. Esquire.  
For his most loving father Mr E. C.  
To his loving son C. L. at his chamber in Grays-Inne, these.  
For his trusty and faithful servant, D. E.  
For his desired friend M. T. aboard the Antilope i● the Downs.  
For my very dutiful daughter E. M.  
To his loving Master, Mr. E. P.  
For the dearest to me of all earthly creatures, Mistress M. K. these, with my love and service.  
To my best beloved choice, Mistress A. C.  
For my dear uncle, G. M. Esquire.  
For his hopeful kinsman, H. L. 〈◊〉.    
FINIS.