Cupid's Cabinet Unlocked, OR, THE NEW ACADEMY OF COMPLIMENTS, Odes, Epigrams, Songs, and Sonnets, Poesies, Presentations, Congratulations, Ejaculations, Rhapsodies, etc.  
With other various fancies.  
Created partly for the delight, but chief for the use of all Ladies, Gentlemen, and Strangers, who affect to speak Elegantly, or write Quaintly  
By W. Shakespeare.   

A SONNET. Inviting to some pleasant walk.  

1.  
COme away blest Souls, no more  
Feed your eyes with what is poor,  
'Tis enough that you have blest  
What was rude, what was undressed,  
And created with your eyes  
Out of Chaos Paradise.   

2.  
These Trees, no golden Apples give,  
Here's no Adam, here's no Eve,  
Not a Serpent dares appear  
While you please to tarry here.  
Oh! then sit, and take your due,  
Those the first fruits are that grew  
In this Eden, and are thrown  
On this Altar as your own.    

AN EPIGRAM.  
A Wonderful scarcity will shortly ensue  
Of Butchers, of Bakers, and all such as brew.  
Of Tanners, of Tailors, of Smiths, and the rest  
Of all occupations, that can be expressed,  
In the year of our Lord, seven hundred and ten  
I think, for all these will be Gentlemen.   

A CHARM, To expel Melancholy.  
HEnce loathed Melancholy  
Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight born  
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shriecks, and sights unholy,  
In the Stygian Cave forlorn  
Find out some uncouth cell,  
Where the night Raven sings  
And brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings  
There, (ragged as thy locks)  
Under those Ebon shades, and low browed Rocks  
In dark Cimmerian shades for ever dwell.   

The Soldier's Song.  

COme let the state stay,  
and drink away,  
There is no business above it,   

It warms the cold brain,  
Makes us speak in high strain,  
he's a fool that does not approve it.   

The Macedon youth  
Left behind this truth,  
That nothing is done, with much thinking:   

He drunk, and he fought  
Till he had what he sought;  
The world was his own by good drinking.    

AN EPIGRAM.  
CAriola hath a spot upon her face,  
Mixed with sweet beauty, adding to her grace,  
By what sweet influence, it was begot  
I know not, but it is a spotless spot.   

De eadem.  
As with fresh meat, mixture of Salt is meet,  
And Vinegar doth relish well the sweet,  
So in fair faces moulds sometime arise,  
Which serve to stay the surfeit of our eyes.   

A Song.  
O'er the smooth enamelled green,  
Where no print of step hath been,  
Fellow me as I sing,  
And touch the warbled string.  
Under the shady roof  
Of branching Elm, starre-proof,  
Fellow me  
I'll bring you where 
* A feigned name given by the Author to his Mistress.  Clarissa sits  
Clad in splendour as befits  
Her Deity.  
Such a Rural Queen  
All Arcadia hath not seen.   

AN EPIGRAM.  
WIse is that fool, that hath his Coffers full,  
And riches freed, adorn the veriest gull,   

He hath, he hath the red sinn', and the yellow.   

Five LYRIC PIECES, Dedicated, by the Author, to the truly fair, and noble Mistress, E. C.  

1.  
I Can no longer (sweet) forbear  
Since, now, your cation is my fear,  
And the wrinkles, on your brow  
(More white than Pelops shoulder) blow  
Large furrows, on my panting heart;  
Cupid's sledge, not Cupid's Dart  
Hath bruised, not pierced it; why should I  
Alone, in silence pine, and die?  
And not as others, find a vent?  
Wind's earthquakes cause, when they are penned  
In hollow Grots, but gently sail  
With a smooth, and easy gale,  
When their Patents signed to blow,  
When, and where they list to go.   

2.  
Shall I impeach myself, and say,  
I have deserved this dire delay,  
And that your frowns I merit more  
Than all your favours heretofore.  
Shall I divulge the truth, and tell  
I am (in Love) an infidel?  
Nature in giving form to thee,  
Exhausted all her treasury,  
He than that doth not idolise  
Her Master piece, and sacrifice  
Devoutly to it, needs must be  
A wretch, profane, and I am he.  
My error's found, and now command  
My penance, what comes from your hand,  
I shall with a religious awe,  
Accept, and make your will my Law.  
Pronounce it Lady, let your threat  
Be, as my quondam crime was, great.   

3.  
Now purged by blessed, and holy fire  
Let me, triumphant, strike my Lyre,  
And sing her praises, who doth deign  
To be my Goddess once again,  
And let my piercing numbers move,  
As Orpheus erst, the shady grove  
Of Ossa, and allure each stone,  
As once the Harp of Amphion,  
Like him of Sulmo, let me sing  
And gently strike Catullus string,  
Or give me Flaccus heavenly note,  
That I may like some Cherub vote,  
Hark Goddess, thus doth Clio sing  
Echoed from Parnassus spring.   

4.  
What th'antic Bards fabled of old,  
In thee a real truth will hold,  
Hyperion shines, more often than  
He would, upon the race of men,  
To gaze on thy bright beauty; thee  
He hath designed his Laurel Tree,  
And jove with horn's would crown his scull  
Once more, save that thou hat'st a Bull:  
Bacchus hath often fed thy taste  
As (she, so many ages past)  
Fair haired Erigone, and swears  
Thou art the sweetest of thy years,  
Saturnus sister, Pallas, she  
That took conception of the Sea,  
Striving for Ate's gift, had lost  
That which, Dardania, dearly cost,  
Hadst thou thyself to Paris shown,  
The Apple [sure,] had been thy own  
Divinest beauty, fairer fair  
Than she Thyoneus made a star.  
Men say three Graces, but thy worth  
Doth canonize thee for a fourth;  
So sweet thy look, so grave thy gate  
Such lustre (ne'er, yet pointed at  
By Petrarches pen) doth richly flow,  
Only an Angel's pen can show  
Its perfect essence, how can I  
Give thy eccentric entity.   

5.  
Come then (my dearest, let's combine)  
As the strong Oak, and creeping Vine,  
And mix in an alternate war,  
[A happy ill, a peaceful jar]  
While we in bickering do consent  
Our skirmish shall be incruent,  
And when weare married, we'll compare  
Our mouths, and thence fetch fresher air.  
Throw by thy vestments then, and show  
My eyes, a walking hill of snow.  
Oh, how my ravished sense doth glory  
To sleep on such a promontory,  
Now while our pleasant toil we ply,  
Hark, how the spheres in harmony  
Do meet, Neptune forgets to roar,  
The Sirens sport upon the shore.  
Nature herself doth smile, and all  
Creatures (save those irrational)  
In imitation of our loves  
Practise the Compliment of Doves  
This pleasant juncture (from on high)  
Another age doth typify,  
Which shall be truly styled of Gold,  
When Love shall not be bought, or sold.    

A Letter.  
Dearest Lady,  
SInce 'tis my fate to be thy slave,  
Render such pity thou wouldst crave,  
If 'twere thy fortune so to be  
To him, that Courts his destiny,  
My moans sufficient were to melt  
A flinty heart, who Love ne'er felt,  
Yet all those tears do prove in vain,  
To quench my scorching Lovesick pain,  
'Twas those Magnetic eyes that drew  
My heart from me at the first view,  
If then to Love, thou were't the womb  
That gave it life, be not the Tomb.  
If thou be'st pleased, exile delay  
Dangers attend a tedious way,  
Few are the words, that may combine  
Our hearts, 'tis only say, thou'rt mine,  
But if another hath possessed  
Those joys, that should have made me blest,  
Be speedy in thy doom, and I  
By death am freed from misery.  
Yours, and not his own K. D.   

SONG In parts.  GALFREDO, LUCINDA. GALFREDO. 
DIdst thou not once, Lucinda, vow,  
For to love none but me.  LUCINDA. 
I, But my Mother tells me now,  
I must love wealth, not thee.  GALFREDO. 
'Tis not my fault, my flocks are lean,  
Or that they are so few.  LUCINDA. 
Nor mine, I cannot love so mean,  
So poor a thing as you.  GALFREDO. 
But I must love thee, now believe,  
I'll seal it with a kiss.  LUCINDA. 
I'll give thee no more cause to grieve,  
Than what thou findest in this.  GALFREDO. 
Then witness all you powers above,  
And by these holy bands.  LUCINDA. 
Let it appear, the truest Love  
Comes not through wealth, or Lands.   

The search. AN ODE.  

1.  
ECho, sweetest Nymph, that liv'st unseen,  
Within thy airy cell,  
By slow Meander's margin green,  
And in the violet embroidered vale,  
Where the Love-lorn Nightingale,  
Nightly to thee her ravishment doth tell.   

2.  
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair  
That likest thy Narcissus are,  
Oh, if thou have  
Hid them in some flowery cave,  
Tell me but where,  
Sweet Queen of parley, daughter of the sphere.  
So may'st thou be translated to the skies,  
And give resound to heavenly harmonies.    

AN EPIGRAM.  
ULysses, having scaped the Ocean stood,  
Twice ten years' pilgrimage in foreign Lands,  
And the sweet songs of Sirens, tuned to blood,  
And Cyclops jaws, and Circe's charming hands  
Comes home, and, seeming safe, as he mistakes  
He steps awry, and falls into a jakes.   

A SONG.  

1.  
POx take you Mistress, I'll be gone,  
I have a friend to wait upon,  
Think you I'll myself confine  
To your humours, Lady mine,  
No your lowering seems to say,  
'Tis a rainy drinking day:  
To the Tavern lie away.   

2.  
There have I a Mistress got  
Cloistered in a pottle pot  
Brisk, and sprightly, as your eyes,  
When those richer glances flies,  
Plump, and; bounding lovely fair,  
Buxom, lively, debonair,  
And she's called, sack my dear.   

3.  
Sack's my better Mistress fare,  
Sack's my only beauty's star.  
She with no disdain will blast me,  
Yet upon the bed she'll cast me,  
And the truth of her to say,  
Spirits in me she'll convey,  
More than thou canst take away.   

4.  
Yet, if thou wilt take the pain  
To be good, but once again,  
Do but smile, and call me back,  
And thou shalt be that Lady, Sack,  
Faith, but try, and thou shalt see  
What a loving Soul I'll be,  
While I'm drunk, with nought but thee.    

MAY MORNING.  
NOw the bright morning star, day's harbinger,  
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her  
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws  
The yellow Cowslip, and the pale Primrose.  
Hail bounteous May, that dost inspire  
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire,  
Woods, and Groves, are of thy dressing,  
Hill, and Dale, doth boast thy blessing.  
Thus we salute thee, with our early song,  
And singing welcome thee, and wish thee long.   

A Letter.  
SWeetest, thy name to me doth promise much,  
Oh, that thy nature also were but such  
But whence (alas) the difference doth grow,  
Is hid from me, nor can I come to know  
Unto thy excellent, and sovereign beauty  
I'm bound, in all the bonds of love, and duty,  
I that till now, could never learn to know,  
Whether that Love were seated high, or low.  
I, that as yet, did never know loves law,  
Nor ere was loving longer than I saw,  
I that have never known (what now is common)  
Or to throw handsome sheep's eyes at a woman,  
I that as yet, have never broke my sleep,  
Nor ever did surmise, what charms did keep  
Lovers eyes open, now too well can tell  
Those things, that (sure) would please a Lover well.  
Shall I relate it to thee? yes I will,  
And being told, do thou, or save, or kill,  
It would be his chief glory, if he might  
Be ever resident in's Mistress sight,  
'Twould please him greatly (sure) to have the hap  
For to repose himself, in's Mistress lap,  
Or else to have his Mistress, (kind, and fair)  
With her white hand, to struck his Amber hair,  
Or else to play at foot-st, a while with him,  
Or else to play at Barleybreak, to breathe him,  
Or with him for to walk, a turn, or two,  
Or else him for to kiss, to call, or woe,  
Or entering into some retired Grove,  
Beneath some pleasant shade, to talk of love,  
Or when he's sure, there are no jealous spies  
To clip her, and look Babies in her eyes,  
Or when that action doth begin to fail  
For to supply it, with a pleasing tale;  
How Venus was, unto lame Vulcan wed,  
And yet how Mars, got into Vulcan's bed.  
And while that he, and she, did make but one,  
Poor Vulcan, was constrained to lie alone,  
Or if this cannot joy enough afford,  
It will be well, for to observe each bird,  
How choicely she doth single out her mate,  
And unto none, but him herself doth take,  
To mark their sportive billing, each with other,  
Their Love, and dalliance pronounced t'other,  
Or if this chance for to yield no content,  
Then to resort, unto each pleasant plant,  
Which, by the Artist grafted skilfully,  
Doth bring forth fruit, the more abundantly,  
But to conclude, it would please him best (with me)  
Himself, and Mistress, in one bed to see.  
Lady, the humblest, and faithfullest of your servants R. H.   

PRESENTATIONS Of Gifts, Or Love tokens.  

The presentation of a pair of Gloves.  
HOw happy are these skin's, that licence have  
To kiss those hands, and fold those fingers brave,  
Which to salute, even love himself desires,  
Longing with such warm snow, to cool his fires,  
These are too trivial ornaments, to shroud  
Those hands, o'er which a bright refulgent cloud  
Thrown, from the clear reflection of your eyes,  
(The which the Sun, and Moon, do equalise)  
Ever adorns, and obvious to the view  
To Juno's anger, and Minerva's too.  
Vouchsafe (dear Saint) what time you draw on these,  
To think upon the dire perplexities  
Your votary endures, and now at last  
As these do clip your hands, let him your waste.   

The presentation of a pair of Knives.  
THese (dearest Mistress) like your beauty are,  
theyare bright, and sharp, and cut most singular.  
As doth your beauty, so they'll clearly shave  
Any poor heart, that's destined for your slave,  
When these you draw, think on those cutting woes,  
Those pangs, those dolours, those vexatious throes  
My mind endures for your neglect, and say,  
thou'rt welcome now, for thou hast cut thy way.   

The presentation of a pair of Bracelets.  
HAd it been possible, in power of Art,  
Tears (the salt issue of a grieved heart)  
So to cement, and harden that with ease,  
They kindly might associate, as do these;  
Mistress I could have spared, at cheap rate  
Enough, for to have bought an Indians fate;  
So often have the Lymbecks, of my eyes  
Condoled, in briny drops, your cruelties  
These, for your use, were plundered from the Sea,  
Where they were guarded by Lycothoe,  
She to Ulysses, proved most kind, and I  
Hope some hid virtue in these stones doth lie  
Infused by her, Oh, now no longer check  
My hopes, as these about your snowy neck  
Have place, so be you pleased at length (dear Saint)  
My Arms with the same office to acquaint.   

A persuasion to Love.  
THe deeper (Mistress) that your Love is set,  
The more form, and impression it will get;  
And bring forth riper fruits, than such as grow,  
And foolishly are planted, scarce so low.  
If you please to command me, what I seem  
By this stamped word Impression, for to mean?  
I'll tell you (Lady) only such as these  
Impressions have, and still can women please.  
Coin, only for its stamps sake we allow,  
And that same evidence is weak you know  
And faulty (sure) that hath no seal to show  
Stamp, or Impression, and even such I ken  
Are all your Sex, until theyare stamped by men,  
Weak, weak you are, heaven knows, for why? you take  
Your chief perfections from the man you make,  
Then Lady, if you have desire to be  
Perfect, you needs must have recourse to me,  
Or to some other, that will freely give  
The same our father Adam gave to Eve.  
Alas, 'tis nothing, pray you (Mistress) take it,  
There's many wish it, that seem to forsake it,  
And when the shameful dance is past and done,  
They much do wish, they had the same begun  
A score of year's, before at first they learned it,  
And now with any cost, they'll gladly earn it.   

The presentation of a Muff.  
THis is no 
* Skins of the greatest price, and only worn by Kings,  ERMINES skin, though I  
Can wish no worse obscurity,  
Clouded your radiant hands, but this▪  
Next unto that the costliest is,  
Such as the noblest Russian Dame  
On gaudy days, is proud to claim.  
Sol now, in other parts doth reign  
Bootes' (in his frozen wain)  
His Viceroy is, Hiems doth find  
Conjunction with the bleak North wind,  
By aid of this (dear Saint) you may  
Deride the fury of the day,  
When you shall deign this fur to wear,  
Oh! think what mighty power you bear  
Over my senses, sometimes i'll,  
And sometime warm, as fear doth fill  
My heart, or joy ravish my mind  
In hope, you yet may prove more kind.    

AN ODE CONGRATULATORY.  
BLessed be this pair  
On the earth, in the air.  
Blessed in their lasting joys,  
Blessed in their Girls, and boys,  
Let them live to hear it told  
Their great grandchildren are grown old,  
Let her beauty ever last,  
And her vigour never waste,  
Let the Sea, that bounds these Isle's  
Ebb, at least ten thousand miles,  
And return no more, but leave  
New Kingdoms for them to bequeath,  
Let their bodies not be sound,  
Dwelling in the sluttish ground.  
But translated to those Thrones  
Only built for blessed ones.   

AN EPIGRAM.  
SIllius hath brought from strange, and foreign Lands,  
A black, and Sootia wench, with many hands,  
The which (say some) in golden Letters say,  
She is his dearest wife, not stolen away,  
He might have saved (heaven knows) with small discretion  
The Paper, and the Ink, and his confession;  
For none, that doth behold her face, and making  
Will judge she ere was stolen, but by mistaking.   

SONNET.  

ADieu sweet Delia, for I must departed,  
And leave thy sight, and with thy sight all joy  
Convoyed with care, attended with annoy,  
A vagabonding wretch from part to part.   

Only dear Delia, grant me so much grace,  
As to vouchsafe this heart, distraught with sorrow,  
To attend upon thy shadow, even, and morrow,  
Whose wont pleasure was to view thy face.   

And if sometimes, thou pensive do remain,  
And for thy dearest dear, a sigh lettest slide,  
This poor attendant sitting by thy side,  
Shall be thy Echo, to reply again.   

Then farewell Delia, for I must away,  
But to attend thee, my poor heart shall stay.    

A TALE.  
A Man there was, who lived a merry life,  
Till in the end, he took him to a wife,  
One that no image was (for she could speak)  
And now and then her husband's costrel break,  
So fierce she was, and furious as in sum,  
She was an arrant Devil of her tongue.  
This drove the poor man to a discontent,  
And oft, and many times did he repent,  
That e'er he changed his former quiet state,  
But alas, repentance then did come too late,  
No cure he finds, to heal this malady,  
But makes a virtue of necessity,  
The common cure for care to every man,  
A pot of nappy Ale, where he began  
To fortify his brains, 'gainst all should come,  
'Mongst which, the clamour of his wives lowed tongue,  
This habit grafted in him, grew so strong,  
That when he was from Ale, an hour seemed long,  
So well he liked th' profession, on a time  
Having stayed long at pot (for rule nor line  
Limits no drunkard) even from morn to night,  
He hasted home apace, by the Moon light,  
Where as he went, what fantasies were bred  
I do not know, in his distempered head,  
But a strange Ghost appeared (and forced him stay)  
With which perplexed, he thus began to say,  
Good spirit if thou be, I need no charm,  
For well I know, thou wilt not do me harm,  
Or if the Devil, sure, me thou shouldst not hurt,  
I wed thy sister, I am plagued for't,  
The spirit well approving what he said,  
Dissolved to air, and quickly vanished.   

A pleasant Song.  

1.  
WHen Autumn' disrobed the woods of their leaves,  
And provident Ceres, had got in her sheaves,  
When Acorns were fallen,  
And Shrubs were grown dead,  
Then frosty old Hiems, with Flora would wed.   

2.  
A rotten old Rustic, with hobnails in's shoes,  
With cobbled old Rhetoric, a Virgin he woes;  
Yea, virtue proves venial,  
And beauty is sold,  
And Mopsus get his Misa, with Plutho's gold.   

3.  
Since lovely Corinna, so peerless a Gem,  
Must match with a block, and so sapless a stem,  
Let Daphne bewail it,  
And Cynthia mourn.  
And all the Nymphs mirth, into heaviness turn.   

4.  
Diana the loss of her Nymph doth deplore,  
And vows him Actaeon's bad fortune, and more,  
A Bull Jove will make him,  
And so he doth vow,  
His wife he will turn into IO the Cow.   

5.  
Like Venus to Vulcan, so chaste let her prove,  
As constant and quiet, as juno to jove,  
As kind as Xanthippe.  
To Socrates was.  
So let this rude Coridon find his sweet Lass.    

POESIES for RINGS.  

MAy no annoy  
Disturb our joy.   

Another.  
Suspicion fly  
And jealousy.   

Another.  
We jointly both  
Have plighted troth.   

Another.  
Where's Love, there's bliss;  
Where's hate, there's disse.   

Another.  
Our loyal Love  
Was made above.   

Another.  
No ill shall spot  
Our Gordian knot.   

Another.  
Our hands have given  
Our hearts to Heaven.   

Another.  
Thou art my star,  
Be not irregular.   

Another.  
What can outvie  
Our Harmony?    

A PROPHETIC ODE.  
WHen men and women blushless grow  
In filthiness, and act it so,  
As if a stallion to be known,  
A Princely quality were grown,  
Or when your Ladies do appear,  
(As if old heathenish Rome were here)  
By Coachfulls', with a brazen face,  
To see men run a naked race,  
And when sin to a rankness springs  
Beyond the reach of libel,  
And libelling so common be,  
That none shall from their dirt be free,  
Though ne'er so innocent (but those  
Whom no man hates, envies, or knows)  
Then look for that, which will ensue  
Such impudence, if heaven be true.   

Epithalamium, Or A Nuptial Song.  
CRowned be thou Queen of love  
By those glorious powers above,  
Love, and beauty joined together,  
May they col, and kiss each other,  
And in midst of their delight,  
Show the pleasure in the night,  
For where acts of love resort  
Longest nights, seem too too short.  
May thou sleeping dream of that,  
Which thou waking dost partake,  
That both sleep, and watching may,  
Make the darkest night seem day.  
In thy pleasures, may thy smile  
Burnish, like the Camomile,  
Which in verdure is increased  
Most, when it is most depressed.  
Virtues, as they do attend thee,  
So may Sovereign thoughts defend thee.  
Acting in thy love with him,  
Wedlock actions are no sin,  
Be he loyal ever thine,  
He thy picture, thou his shrine,  
Thou the metal, he the mint,  
Thou the Wax, and he the print,  
He the Lantern, thou the Lamp,  
Thou the bulloyn, he the stamp,  
He the image, leg, and limb,  
Thou the mould to cast him in,  
He the Plummet, thou the Centre,  
Thou to shelter, he to enter.   

The finishing of usual, and ordinary Epistles.  
YOur friend to serve you,  
Your faithful friend.  
Your obliged friend.  
Your friend and servant.  
Your constant friend.  
Your immutable friend.  

Or thus:  
Your servant.  
Your humble servant.  
Your very servant.  
Your humblest servant.  
The servant of your worth.  
The servant of your worthy virtues.   

Or thus.  
Your honourer.  
Your admirer.  
Your adorer.  
Your Beadsman.  
Yours devoted.  
Yours affectionately, etc.    

For Amorous Epistles.  
The honourer of your perfections.  
The adorer of your beauty.  
Your beauty's vassal.  
Your obsequious servant.  
Your languishing Lover.  
Yours, more than his own.  
Yours, wholly to be disposed of.  
Yours, in life, or death.  
Yours, or his Grave's.   

Superscriptions for usual, and ordinaly Epistles.  
For the much honoured.  
For my approved friend.  
For my true friend.  
For my much respected friend.  
For the much meriting, etc.  
For the worthily honoured.  
For my dearly loved friend.  
For the pious, and truly learned.   

Superscriptions for Amorous Epistles.  
FOr the truly chaste, and tightly beauteous.  
For the fair and virtuous.  
For the mirror of her Sex.  
For the beauteous, and most ingenious.  
For the glory of her Sex.  
For the gallant and truly noble.  
For the sweet and virtuous.  
For the truly chaste and pious.  
For the pattern of perfection.   

If any list to make a conceited conclusion to his Letter, than thus.  
FRom me, and mine,  
To you and yours,  
From time to times,  
Our prayers like showers  
Diffused be  
Incessantly.  
Your worth's observer.  
FINIS.