AURORATA. BY THOMAS PRVIE AN, Student of Gonvile and Caius College in Cambridge. Carmen amant Musae, carmen Apollo beat. Nec decrit musae Coelia pulchra me a. Ad Patrem suum charissinium Franciscum Prujean Med. Drem, Officium dicat snums cum hoc T. P. Numina carmen habent. Tu praestas, ni mihi fallor Dicatur libro hoc carmen & Officium. LONDON, Printed for Hugh Perry near Ivy Bridge in the Strand, 1644. TO THAT FAVOURER OF ARTS, The Right Honourable, the Countess of Dorset, Governess to our most Illustrious King's Children, etc. THO. PRU. tenders with his humblest service these few endeavours. To the true Pattern of Beauty and Virtue, the quintessences of all Perfection, my most honoured Cousins Mistress Margaret St. George, Mistress Mary St. George, Mistress Katherine St. George, Of Hatley St. George, Health and Peace. Honoured Cousins, IT is the nature of a S to open its leaves to none but the Sun, despising all other lights; And he, pleased with so true a servant, (though poor in all things else) shines more graciously upon it then any other. The poorness of my merit may well parallel me to this flower: And the rich portion of your favours (whose beams excel that radiant Monarches of the sky) you to him. My willingness to serve you, your commands shall never deny to be equal to my Precedents devotion to its Deity. These endeavours you have been pleased to style worthy a welcome at your fair hands, when they were tendered to kiss them. Doing so now, you will add to the engagements of him who is Your cousin and servant Thomas Prujean. POEMS. To the memory of Sir Philip Sidney. SInce that the world, owing so much to thee, Has paid so little, and thy memory Shines not with Rays fit for it, Justice may Call us ungrateful; but blessed Sidney stay, Thou playd'st the subtle thief, and with thy wit Hast stolen the rich'st gems of Phoeb's Cabinet. We court Minerva, and the nine Maids too, But they all bid us unto Sidney go, Helicon is drunk up, Elixirs spring Has now no Jove, but Sidney for its King. When we think for to wash in Thespia, It bids retreat, and to thee make our way. How can we deck thee with a verse that will Make thy fame be more glorious, sound more shrill? 'Twere a presumption, for to hope to be So great an artist in sweet Poetry. Can an earth's Genius, as thou didst, command The governor's of blessed Elizium's Land? If not, than jet our Fancies humbly sing Of Tamarisk's, not the only Sylvian King. All I desire is but to be a statre, That may be in thy rule, though ne'er so fare: Let loftier minds, a higher pitch to be, Coope all their fancies in cares misery. Whilst, thinking to make their forms so divine, They suddenly to chaos may decline. Yet this I will, which my ability Affords, admire, adore thy vuit and thee. And this I cannot do, unless thy light Makes me for to adore, admire thee, right. Rest let thy foul, pardoning what my muse May in thy vast Elysium pick and choose: For what strict doom thou fort mayst please to give Me, will not scape those, who best Poets live. To the Right Honourable, the Countess of Dorset, Governess to our most Illustrious King's Children, on the opening of the Newyeare. THe new year's come, and wished for Sol appears Clasped in Aurora's arms: His radiant Spheres Want nothing (Madam) for to make them give Their perfect lustre, but your saying live. If you but frown, it is enough to bring Deformed Chaos to be natures King. And for that cause 'tis not resolved on yet, Whether a night or day shall finish it. The fate is in your power. I fear 'twill be Our sable Monarch, gets the victory: Since th' other in its very infant rise Does offer here so poor a sacrifice. What can be rich, if that it wants your eye To guide it to so blessed a treasury? Where lies a Poet's fame, but in the hearse, Whilst (Madam) you be pleased to read his verse, And smile upon't? 'tis you can only raise The tender sprig, and make't a flourishing baise. Then let your beams shoot forth. Let sullen night Presume no more upon your happy light. Break through all clouds, and in my being blest Sol in his or be enjoys a happy rest. To Celia a Rapture. 1. Smile Celia, And give the world a Robe of light, that day may glide away, And crave of night to let her have a cloud To be her shroud; Blushing in envy for to be excelled by thee. 2. Make the Sun's Priest Forsake his beams, and turn to where thou be'st. Force him to nest Himself within a shade, to which his love A Foe did prove. That then the heavens may take't and place It where he was. 3. Make Atlas fear The Burden is on earth, that he should bear, When you appear. Make all the Gods descend to court your shrine With that one shine; And when they're come, say this is my Felicity. To my Book going to Celia. Go Book, enjoy thy happiness, 'Tis Coelia's hand, that thou must kiss: 'Tis Coelia's eye, that now will shine Upon thee; what is more divine? Some Momus, or some envious brat May say thy master is a chat, And not a Poet; tell'em then That Celia likes my Rugged Pen; And who dares show a rigid Front, When cheerfully she looks upon't? Her ear perhaps may let thy verse Into it, than my love rehearse. Whisper my sighs, whisper my tears, Which guide the minutes in their spheres. Whisper my wounds, and tell her how Much in her sending Balm she's slow: Yet whisper not her cruel, she May answer that my destiny Equals not hers; and so I am Not worthy of her servants name. Tell her, divineness strives to be Companion with blessed Piety; And if true vows will make me prove So, she shall have them in my love. Say to her, Cynthia will give Rays to base earth; why should I live Like to a hated shade? say she Lets, all that freedom have but me; Though, like the S, I bend My heart to where she beams do send. But tell her if I chance to die, She loses love, though't lived in me. On the spring to Caelia. 'tIs thee (fair Caelia) on whom nature has Bestowed that deity, which Flora's was. Her little young ones haste out of her womb To take the blessings, which from thee may come. The morn and her loved Phoebus dare no more Send them their radiant kisses when the store Of thy high Lustre comes, nor the loved sweet Of Zephyr fall upon them, when a fleet Thou sendest from thy breath, their mother dares Scarce say she gave them being: so appears Thy greatness in perfection. Glance 'twill be More, than these lights can give if't come from thee. Let one of thy Gales be sent (Caelia) Th' perfuming wind for shame will steal away. Yet my desire is, that thou wouldst not be Lavish to any in such gifts but me. Let it suffice, that the bright sun and morn Shines ' o'er them, teach them not the south to scorn. But let me have't twill make me immortal grow, Thy light, thy sweets, if thou canst stoop so low. To Doctor Gill on calling me his friend 'tis to thee Gill, I send, and though my verse Has not a Gem fit for Gustavus hearse: Yet I can deck a Phillis; and it is That sure which made me gain the happiness Of thy rich Friendship. Mars did deign to style Each light a bliss that came from Venus' smile. Nor can I read that he thought Lemniack Arms More worthy of him, than the Paphian Charms. Let it not then beget a blush in thee, That this thy warlike fancy chose out me. Thou adorest Mars, and I the Queen of love. To imitate him, thou my Friend shouldst prove. A Pastoral Poem. SHine (fair Clorinda) let thy Silvius see No more Eclipses, but of misery. Shoot forth thy beams, that the proud boasting day May then confess her every borrowed ray. Let not the Eastern King forsake thy sight; For he will (surely) yield thou gavest him light. Why should that face be subject to a cloud. Which beauty ever yet hath made its shroud? Did nature take such pains? was all this done To be a prey to base oblivion? Here is my verse; and though it treats of thee, The only erectresse of this war in me, Yet, rather than it should have such a doom, My fancy, and myself should have a tomb. An Architect has never a desire To see his work, as soon as done, expire. She is the chiefest, and thyself doth prove How much she is with a blessed fame in love. Thou once couldst wound, and canst thou not again Appear as glorious, as th' appearedst then? Thou first do'est captive, but the second time Thou'lt mount my fate unto its wished for clime That is when th' holy Rhetoric of thine eye (Fathomed) shows thou wilt my Clorinda be. To Celia on tendering her trosses. THe order of these is beneath That which comes from your heavenly breath; Than not as adders, take and prize, But as to your breath a sacrifice. To my worthy Master Mr. Webbe Master in Music and the King's servant, etc. Sir, THough my juice runs not within a lake Which from an orphans may some blessings take; Though my reed has had the hard fate to play Dissonant to you; yet my Coelias' Ray Has made me so much happy, as to be A harbourer of you in my Poetry. All, I entreat, is that you would but please To give these warbles of their blushes ease. My pipe is yet a virgin, and the fear Of a presumption makes the redds appear: So much within its notes: say you 'tis well, And that's enough the crimson to expel. On my doubting Celia had been dead. YEt I'll not say death has her; lest that day Crave an entombing with her, and night sway The sceptre in Elysium's floor; then would Th'earth-nourishing eye a darker empire hold. Death would proclaim it only that he might Grasp in his earthly arms dame nature's light. But if it be so, give the birds leave to have The happiness of chirping her to grave, And not the dull note of one * The country bell. bell: let then The flowers that lived by her, so die, that when They yield their sweets and colours, all may know They give her hearse but what they to her ow. I have a debt to pay her for a flame Which from her eyes unto my poor breast came. Yet 'tis not so: would heaven give leave to death In such a one to make his dart a sheath? Would they let such a one be vermins food, Whose beauty, sweetness and whose all o'er good They kept so for their palace? if it be so, Some gentle fame give me the bliss to know. I come (my Celia) death being blest with thee Where can I have, but there felicity? On the death of that beauteous virgin Mistress Eliz: Farmerie, daughter to the right Worshipful my most honoured friend John Farmerie Dr. in Law, Chancellor of Lincoln, etc. 'tIs not enough to weep. for if it were Nature would be dissolved into a tear: Fancy would glory, if that it could bring Pure Helicon to be a briny spring. Perhaps, dear beauty, thou didst only come To teach how we should know Elysium. 'tis our parts then to joy, not weep, that we Had the blessed sight of such felicity. Heaven will not be less glorious, and, to grieve For thy departure hence, a cause may give Of kindling wrath in it, because we go (For thy being theirs) the Pilgrimage of woe. We saw the Sun, the moon, the Stats, when life Was pleased to name thy divine self its wife. We saw thy eyes, too, in whose every glance A greater lustre, then theirs, seemed to dance: Beauty we see, which once Apelles drew, But never such as did appear in you. We smelled Arabia, yet far beneath Was it, in our thoughts, thy celestial breath. We perused virtues actions, but by thee We thought her excelled in divinity. In brightness, beauty, sweetness, virtue, all Might thee their only great example call. Is it profane to sorrow for thee? How Will that sin fill the world, when as they know That thou art gone? though we joy for their bliss, We must needs sigh, when we knew what it is That is fled from us. ti's the sweetest fair, Death gave heaven light, while we here darkened are. And then my candle went out. On the death of my most honoured uncle William Prujean Doctor in Physic, etc. THus does our bliss decline; thus does death's shade Muffle the lustre of each Thespian maid; Thus does Apollo lose his radiant dress, Thus Aesculapii lose their happiness. In thy blessed ash what does not buried lie, That may give gods and men felicity? Why are you tardy, when you should appear And teach me how to bleed a worthy tear? Or make sweet Ovid burst out of his cell To bring your grief to fame? me thinks they tell Me that thou art not dead; proud destiny Has but thy shroud of flesh, not memory; 'tis only we that lose-thee, now thou'rt gone From us, the glory comes to them alone. But since thy merits so celestial were, They might have made thy nature a blessed Star: For what thou hadst was counted so divine, That it could ne'er in too much glory shine. Yet, while my verse has life, nothing shall be, That's thine, a slave to more obscurity. On my hearing that Celia was dead. What is she dead? 1'st not enough to be A slave to love, but must such misery Claim my tears too? help me ye Nymphs to make My task an end; If your clear crystal lake Meets but my stream, I may perhaps compose A sacrifice most fitting for my woes. But durst fate seize upon thee? could he tell Thy heavenly body from thy soul so well? Did it excel earth's guilder? did it keep (As my blessed Celia did) that light a sleep, The while it durst appear? As did his eye When a poor taper would his viewer be? Did it excel the richest sacrifice, Which upon Venus altar ever lies? If so, yet more I can report of her, That goddess did not such bright beauty wear. 'Tis she, her priests did court, they would have had Venus no more, but (o') this divine maid. When she's a making ready for to go To earth's rugged lodge, this sweet nymphs for me do, Dress not her hearse with lilies, let no flower Boast it e'er was in my fair Coelias' bower. But make your blushes serve, and for the white Your glance though sorrows will give more delight: She has perfume enough still left be hind (Though thus) to give unto each mournful wind: Sing in her dirge, that she both loved, and is (Of him, that loved her) the best gemm of bliss. On my stealing a kiss from Celia asleep. Arapture NO more let vain Prometheus boasting cry He stole the fire, which made man perfect be, For had he but enjoyed such a bliss, He would have sworn that heat in Coela's lies. Still let sweet sleep embrace thee, whilst, thus, I Create myself a second deity. How they do err, who say a clouded light Presages nothing but a dismal night! For that, which on my Coelia's lust're lay, Guided me to the only truest day. A day, which, if I always might possess, Would yield me more, then earthly happiness. On my Celia being sick. CAnst thou be sick? dares pallidnesse proclaim Him King, and make the roses lose their name? Calls he not th' lily queen? and dares he take Possession of what she her throne does make? How hast thou lost thy beauty, which of late The gods were pleased to style their only kate? Thou never wast a wanton unto jove, Nor didst desire to be Adonis' love: That the two jealous minions might revenge Thy wicked deed with such a sudden change. Neither can they report that thou didst steal Celestial fire to make perfection well. Nor didst thou borrow glory. If there be Aught to be paid, it is by them to thee. Let me go cavil with the destiny That durst stir up heavens powers to this decree: Did not her lustre help the radiant Sun, Still shining bright when as his course was done, Did not your Cynthia robe her lesser lights, And herself too with her stolen smiles by nights? But (ah!) I see the cause. juno did fear That jove had got another lo hear. Love's mother, hearing of thy worth, was in A jealous fit, lest Cupid should again Court Psyche in thee: And for this they made Pandora give thy beauty such a shade. Poor plotters! think ye, that while you do shine? Light will not sacrifice to such a shrine? Can there be flowers, and not a Flora live? Or can your heaven without her Zephyr give? What is divine, what good, will strive to be In the same urn where Coelias' ashes lie. To Celia in saying she would not love. Will't thou not love? O! can there be In such a heaven lodged tyranny? Will Venus, when she burns; not give Her young Adonis leave to live? But let his flame consume him? will She, what she only loves, go kill? 'Tis not thy hearts command. In thee I find a happier destiny. Perhaps thou feign wouldst bed with Jove, Or have a Phoebus court thy love: Celestial powers may only style Them worthy of fair Coelia's smile. Can no way make this earth become A second blest Elysium? And man divine? thyself's enough The first of these two for to prove. Can Celia live, and the sweet place Which keeps her be denied its grace? Holiness makes a God. Can I Be termed profane that think of thee? Why did that wanton then above, Consecrate thoughts to Io's love? Why did Apollo hunt about To find the chaste Diana out? Did not rigid wars God please, When he thought on the Paphian ease? This was amongst them all so free, That 'twas at th'last called piety. In it I will them equal. My Thoughts only shall on Celia be. Now thou mayst render love for love, For I, by this, divine shall prove. Celia Lucens, or beauty's glory. 'TWas at that time (when night no Cynthia had, But of my Coelia's light her spangles made, And named her governess of all that sphere, When to Elysium we both swimming were, Our oars embraces, thoughts the boat, our love The Charon to our sweet desires did prove; When care was lulled) that in a rapture I Fancied my goddess in this majesty? Amidst a troop of Angels was a throne Placed, which, as I supposed, she sat upon; A robe she wore stuck all with virgin's smiles, Given, when they hoped to leave Diana's styles. A crown that did all natural gems despise, Decked with the brightness of true lovers eyes. Adored by all. Cupid at last came in, And for to crave her blessing did begin. Then did he think her strait the lovely she, To whom he once did yield his deity. She who the wonder wounded, and again Felt revel every where another pain: With that he asked her if she would forgive, And she Possestesse of his power should live. His bow he left, and quiver with her, he Forsook the place, and then the fancy me, She thought to cousin me, and shot a dart, (As if another wounded) at my heart. But then I cried, what's this? A pin? thy eye My Celia only can my wonder be. Then did we kiss, and in this dalliance lay, Whilst once more night had almost o'errun day. * Psycha. A Riddleon Celia. OF earth I am, yet have a light Brighter than's shot from Cynthia's sight. Dame Nature framed me, yet I have As great report as Fame Gods gave When once my favours shine, it is Termed equal with th'ethereal bliss For to receive their beam, I give With smiles felicity, to live In which diviner powers would be Earth's tenants and pilgrims to me: All this I am, all this I do, And they that know me will say so. An Acrostic on my most respected Cousin, Mistress MARGARET St. GEORGE. Mirrors delight! Darling to what may be Astemme in virtue! beauty's treasury! Rich too in Laurel, and that sacred fame Grafts envy in the Sisters at your name. Afraid they be, lest the world for your muse Rome's pride should damn, and you their Primate choose. Envious at your best fate! it is a she, That with her fame bedecks your Laurel tree. See holy Maids, be proud, your lustre's bright, As if by fame you never had a night. Enjoy your gem of happiness, and let No more base envy o'er you triumph get: The glory is sole yours. And you! She, Graced with true beauty, and Phoebean glee, Ever shine as you do: And since I did O'ercome all richer fancies, with my speed; Rehearsing of your too long darkened worth; Grant me your smiles to deck my verse, and I Entitl'c dare the best of Poetry. A Rapture on Celia. O! can the gods claim thanks for th'light They gave us mortals, when the bright Splendour of Celia does bestow Its sparks upon their deities? No, Their light does only nature gild, With hers, both it and they are filled. To Her. AVrora's blush with n▪ envy stain Thy purer Soul, because they feign It all's example, did they view Thy cheeks, they'd swear they never knew The lines they writ. Then Fame would say, Thy earth is an Arcadia. An Acrostic on my honoured cousin Mistress MARY St. GEORGE. Mixtures (whose meeting makes Dame nature's pain A greater palm, then that of heaven's gain) Rest in this beauteous mould. All virtues have Enriched them in her so, that they might crave Each one a title, being equal to Such as the gods do give their actions now. A one she is, whom wonder cannot make Its seat too much. Such things do harbour take Nested within her form and mind: He is Termed above happy, whom her favours bliss. Graced she is so, that for to be her slave Each higher power would their palace leave. O! had loves god once viewed her, he would be Richer in that then in his deity. Give her a look, and thou wilt say all this Encompasseth not what her merit is. Another on my Cousin KATHERINE. Know (Reader) she, whom I sing, hath A beauty, would beget a faith, That with its charm would make the Gods Her Courtiers, and with no small odds Each to be first would strive; Nay give Rich immortality to live In her high favour, whilst a day Night's triumph might become: the ray Even of Phoebus ne'er does shine So glorious, as this theme of mine At his love's sight, such glory ne'er In Io did Jove see appear. Not Venus, though she may be said The beauty of heaven. She has a shade Gained by her lust, which covers that Entitled hers; Mine such do hate. On her chaste breast no thought does lie Ruled by a foe to piety: Graced is my Poem that has its frame Enriched with her c●elestiall name. To my most honoured Cousin Mistress Katherine St. George. DId nature when she framed you make a scorn. Of reason's counsel? that thus to adorn You she hath thought it fit, or when your shrine Had got a being, did not she incline Somewhat to pride? and therefore let you be With all her glory? giving ne'er ashee Ought but her necessaries: she did buy Her pride at such a rate, as 'twas too high For her to give. All whom your glorious light Shoots its first splendour to, are at the sight Become their smile's whom souls do leave, Till from a second they themselves receive. When Io was kept from her wantoness wife, And made with brutes all ways to spend her life, Sure Nature stole the beauty which she had, When as she honoured the little Maid: With taking it upon her, to bestow It on the sex of women: but I know Not what unless 'twas pride which made her give It all to you▪ hoping for to outlive The gods in fame. And sure what she hath done, Has from them the great palm of glory won. To a proud ugly girl. TEmpt not opinions blasts for she will blow No courtiers phrases, but the world shall know The naked truth. And thy fine si●ian face Shall have displayed all its merited grace. Then shall the tailor's being bribed appear, The barbers ivery, which for teeth you wear. The painted image which you have to mask Your countenance with shall then be called to task. Nothing will scape her trumpet, which to make Keep silence, 'tis best you your pride forsake. Entertain virtue and in that excel Or thy fame willbe worse than hers in hell. On my most honoured cousin Mrs. Katherine St George. Fool that I am! to think the poets feign The phoenix. when I see her always reign! Sprung from the ashes of that glorious dame Whose deches the bloods of Greece and Troy became. Or from the holy relics in the urine, Where all perfection once was said to burn! He that can frame a fictions and express In't the true manner of a beauteous dress, Enjoys have, for his reward a crown of bay And is entitled darling of Phoebe's nay What merit I then that can vow a verse To him, and in it, for feigned, truth rehearse? Had but Narcissus, that self-loving boy, Viewed her, he would have blushed at his fond joy, Confessing that in her celestial face He is excelled in a poor atoms place. Or had the lovely Venus seen this bliss, She would have loathed at her wantonness; For did this once shine by her, she would seem So much deformed, in her own esteem, As she would think her goddesse-hood was given, But for a mock to her from th'voice of heaven; And that Adonis cooped her in his arms To make her proud of that, she had not, charms. Rest here heir to perfection. May thy fire Never take being: But, when't does, expire. To Celia. LEt not my verse (dear Celia) pass thy glance, For fear it should be catcht by Ignorance: 'tis not enough to crave the Muse's aid, Nor to mask under great Apollo's shade, Nor, if my Celia shine not, can I put Confidence in Minerva; though sh' unshut Her Cabinet of favours, and permit That I enjoy the brightest gems of it. 'Tis by my Celia, that I only sing; 'Tis from my Coelias' smiles my fancy's spring. 'tis in my Celia for to make my muse ●um, or as sweet a voice as any use. 'tis in my Celia for to Sidney me ti's in her for to make me Gardner be. Thy lovely light does all that's good, then let Me be so happy, as it for to get. Zephaniah. 32. She obeyed not the voice, she received not correction: she trusted not in the Lord, she drew not near unto her God. The Meditation SEe where thy love is soul: does it of thee As well, as fair jerusalem prophecy? Is Chaos turned so beauteous? canst thou come By Stygian worship to Elysium? If not, then pause a while; think what it is To study how thou may'st despise thy bliss. Will thy jehovah court thee to be bright, When thou so often makest a lul of night? The bruit, thou seest is sometimes named a dove Sometimes a lamb▪ but thou dost never prove Aught but a leopard▪ wolf, Embracing strife How to destroy the sweetness of thy life. Be not so vain a Palinurus; wake, Wake from thy drowsy sleep, and do not make Fate laugh at thee, let not thy costly ship, By snorting so, and self to ruin leap. Give not so much sail to this blustering wind, But let the sweet south guide thee who is kind, Hark how it whistles for to have thee come, Hark how it feign would make its port thy ho'mes. And give an audience to thy love, the he Whom thou desir'st to make thy deity. Hark how they all, who are his servants cry Wishing them out of his felicity. Dost thou not hear thy very lodge complain Of being for thy sake slave to so much pain? Dungeond from heavens lovd life, and for the same, Which with Elixir should set forth my name, Furys I have that in their memories put My blacker deeds, which time will never rot. Hearest thou gods voice? and is it not obeyed? And does not he let thy reward be paid? Is not the lord thought worthy of thy trust Who took thy faith, when thou wert almost lost! And paid thy debt, whenas the sergeant came A life, A life for thy great sins to claim? Is he nor worthy of thy heart, nor eye? Dost thou so recompense his army? Is majesty to have no more esteem, Then this neglect never to look on him? Stay giddy tenant: turn, O turn this way, Behold light once, and then thou'lt wish for day. Hear and obey, draw near, trust in thy God, In whom bliss only does enjoy abode Take not the subtle Grecians promised joy, 'Tis but a plot to ruin thy sweet Troy: Aeneas yet its feeble walls hath blest, Hector's exceller joys in it to rest, Crave help of these near wanting destinies To save thee from the future miseries. Shake off all Helen's, and let Priam's dye: Let thy sword flesh it on impiety. Fly out like lightning when thou dost espy A Menelaus offered injury. When wilt thou wake, my soul? when wilt thou give Night banishment, and under Phoebus live? O balm thyself with reason, let not sleep Make thee fall headlong into th' Stygian deep: Obey, believe, draw near unto thy Lord. Who with heaven's bliss thy actions will reward. The world's Pilgrimage to himself. ARt thou not weary yet? dost thou not see How much inglorious the world's glories be When once thine eye Entertains for an object his Who owes heaven's bliss? For to admire his sacred deity Is of more worth, than this to know, To which thou seem'st thy only zeal to vow. 2. Is nature avove him, who gave her birth? Is the world composed of aught else but earth? For shame no more, Hadst thou but once a holy heart Thou wouldst not part With it for all earth's Paradises store. Fades not beauty every day? Virtue's reward will ever with thee stay. 3. This gone, all joy dies with it that's expressed By being its landlord: thy heart makes thee blest. Jehovah please. Stay Traveller, make not such haste, See where is placed The only stock of truest happiness. 'Tis here, 'tis here, every thy heart; Embrace God's word, and from it never part. The Penitent. HOw shall I say, I've sinned? will not a sigh Or a true tear a fit expresser be For (ah!) poor me? How can I speak when justice stands so nigh? When conscience my accuser is, And tells me of sin's horridness? What have I sinned? dare I presume to go Tell God I am his friend, and prove his foe? Soul do not so. God sees my heart, and I will write In it, I only love his light. My heart, my secrets cabinet I'll show: My heart? what secret deeds have I kept in It, but my sin? The darkest night can show a beam, What shall I do with one poor gem? What light can the Sun give, when in a cloud▪ he's muffled up? then what's by this allowed? Yet do not fear, Gems are not hurt, because they foul appear. The Sun's the brighter at's return, Then when he did in's glory burn. Forsake thy sin, and hold sweet virtue dear. Take off that muddy veil, and thou shalt see How gratefully he will received of thee. O God, my Lord! How happy are they that obey thy Word! O let me range no more, but see How to know thee. I do confess, repent, and to thee cry For pardon Lord. O let me never die, But live with thee Eternally. Amen. The Cambridge Mouse. MY Cat once catcht a Mouse, a wondrous one, That readily could speak the English tongue. Be merciful, good mistress Gibbe, said she, Henceforth I nevermore will trouble ye. Her life and freedom strait was granted her; Yet once more with her brain she would confer, Seeing no Friday nights would bless her plot, She secretly unto my study got. Viewing a book which I in poetry Had made, strait witty she desired to be. Gibbe all this while did watch her, she began To style me non-sences companion. Then she had found out something that did make Me of Dame-follies brood. Thus she did take A course to spend an hour. I'faith at the last My Pus had got her in her clutches fast. Then cried she, um-what? is my prey become You my fine gossip? you would feign go home And lose your fame for these your witty jeers Given to my master; who now th' fool appears? You said my master was a nonsense grown. But you, I fear, will call less sense your own. Was't not enough, that many a meal I suffered thee my morsels for to steal; But must I hear thee blur my master's fame? Is this the recompense that I'm to claim? Thus will I thank thee; and with that she toare The Mouse in pieces, which with patience boar The punishment. Take heed who haunts my house. For at the last my Cat will catch the Mouse. SONNETS. A Sonnet against women by an unknown Author. COme away, do not pursue A shadow that will follow you. Women lighter than a feather, Got and lost, and altogether. Such a creature may be thought To have no soul, a thing of nought. 2. Come away, let not thine eyes Gaze upon their fopperies, Nor thy better Genius dwell Upon a Subject known so well. For whose folly, at the first, Man and beast became accursed. 3. Come away, thou canst not find One of all that's fair and kind, Brighter be she then the day, Sweeter than a morn in May; Yet her heart and tongue agrees, As we and the Antipodes. 4. Come away, or if thou must Stay a while; yet do not trust Nor her sighs, nor what she swears. Say she weeps, suspect her tears. Though she seems to melt with passion, 'tis old deceit; but in new fashion. 5. Come away, admit there be A natural necessity. Do not make thyself a slave For that, which she desires to have. What she will, or do, or say Is meant the clean contrary way. 6. Come away, or if to part Soon from her, afflicts thy heart; Fellow on thy sports a while. Laugh and kiss, and play, and smile. Yet, as thou lov'st me, trust her not, Lest thou becomest a— I know what. An Answer to it. STay, o stay, and still pursue Bad not such happiness adve. Knowest thou what a woman is? An Image of celestial bliss. Such a one is thought to be The nearest true divinity. 2 Stay o Stay. How can thine eye Feed on more felicity? Or thy better Genius dwell On Subjects that do this excel? Had it not been for her, at first, Man and beast had lived accursed. 3. Stay, o stay, has there not been Of beauty and of love a queen? Does not sweetness term a she Worthy 'tis only shrine to bee● And where will virtue choose to lie, If not in such a treasury? 4. Stay, o stay, where virtue hath A lodge, sure there must harbour faith. Have not women's tears and sights Struck pity into deities? Hard-hearted shepherd in her passion How can deceit become a fashion? 5. Stay o stay; wouldst thou live free? Then seek a nuptial destiny: 'Tis not nature's bliss alone, (She gives) but heavens, and that in one. What she shall, or do, or say, Never from truth shall go astray. 6. Stay, o stay, let not thy heart Afflicted bee; unless to part Soon from her. Sport, kiss, and play Whilst no hours enrich the day. And if thou dost a cuckold prove, Impute it to thy want of love. To Celia a Sonnet. MVst he enjoy loves divine happiness, whose foe he is? Who ne'er could entertain within's desire A single fire? On whose pale heart a flame receives That, burning, strait its being leaves? 2. Love's favourites take heat that will endure Constant and pure▪ 'Twill make their ashes, lying in the urn, To fire return, And when they're in Elysium, It in their souls will have a room. 3. Thy eyes (fair Celia) sent to me a heat, shall ne'er retreat, But (whilst I live) when most it doth expire, It shall burn higher. And such a charge I'll to it give, That though I die, it still shall live. A Sonnet. Wound not so deep; unless you will Send me a balm to cure the ill: Or breathe your scorn▪ that I may die And rid me of my misery. 'tis better to endure that, Then live for nought, but shooting at. 2. I'll not repeat your being fair; The envy of Cynthia shows you are; Nor can my heart proclaim you less, If bleeding wounds, the truth express; Yet think I do not Gods would let Nature the greater honour get. 3. The soul's the purer of the two; Then how pure must it be in you? To keep it so, sin not 'twill be Held then in th' inferiority. ●st not a sin to tyrannize? Then do not use it, and be wise. 4. That blush will wear, because 'tis given By earth's grand artist, not by heaven. Nor is that graceful stamp of white Of more endurance. Your delight Nature styles equal to ours, than (Since you are loved) faith love again. An Application of a French Sonnet. THe pretty birds chirpt in a wood Whose savage notes to hear, I stood. O how I did admire the spring, That such felicity did bring▪ 2. My very soul is charmed to see How blessed they live, who shepherds be. True love here always harbour hath, Diana's chasteness treads this path. 3. O that I had a flock! it ne'er Gives an increase to grief or carae. Happily do they live who keep Such innocents', as silly sheep. 4. All Flora's Darlings deck each gown, That Ceres has in every Down. False women's smoothed perjury Brings never here a misery. To myself on Celia a Sonnet. 1. bacl fond lover! court again! And do not stain divineness so, saying it can be Black cruelty. Though the same may cloud his sight, Must his flower despair of light? 2. Once more let her see thy heart, And never part, Until the doom of life or death Falls from her breath. Fatally she may begin: Boreas ushers Zephyr in. 3. Say she frowns, bid her frown still, They never kill. 'Tis policy, that makes her prove To night a love. The brightest stars presage a frost, Think her Eclipse inspires hope most. 4. The Phoenix ne'er did basely burn, That from her urn, Should an ignobler spring: then boast She loves thee most. Since that Urania gives all bliss, Thou shalt from Celia have no less. A Sonnet on Celia. Stoop Phoebus! here's one her right claims, Which is the place, wherein thy beams Stem themselves. She gives man's sight Object with a diviner light. 2. The S, that hath made thee Heretofore her deity, When she views th'lustre of my love, Will only to her votaress prove. 3. To Venus' beauty all its pure Essence did sacrifice; but sure Some want oneness hath made heaven chase Her out, and set Celia in her place. Another. A Star descended from above Upon a sudden towards my love, And (at her sight amazed) it was In fear it had forgot its place. For which, lest she should angry be, It left its flame and strait did die. A Sonnet. O Give me leave to gaze a while Upon that life-redeeming smile, Which in my love appears! Base grief, I now defy thy charms, Tending to nought but lovers harms By causing jealous fears. 2. Did not great Cupids, seeing his dart Keep such possession in my heart, (Thinking to pity me) Cause by his power this? hope to give That I shall ne'er hereafter live In less felicity? 3. Bring that to pass, and then I will With daily sacrifices fill Thy lap. O how they err. Who tell the world pity doth fly Thee as an utter enemy, And cruelties thy sphere! To myself on her Sonnet. 1. VIew both the Lily and the Rose; View both the blushing Pink, and those Which Flora holds most dear, yet see Thy Celia in her cheeks more be. 2. View all the beauty, that the love Of Phoebus calls hers, and 'twill prove But mean, where Celia does appear, Who will not say she heaven does bear? 3. View Venus, whose pure red and white The Gods do make their sole delight▪ View all that's in th' Elysium fields▪ All this and more thy Celia yields. 4. And will not this beget a flame Within thy breast? will not this tame Thy cruel thoughts of women? fie She has wounded thee, wilt scorn, and die? 5. No I no more will entertain Such foes to blisses whose every stain Makes my soul perish: I'll go and say I am thy Captive Celia. A Sonnet in the praise of Music. Bless * See the 9 Poem. Buvetia, bless the air, Breath but once, and 'tis enough For to recreate us here, Making us diviner prove. 2. Breath my death; For (in thy doom Though so stern a fate may lie) Who would not go seek a tomb If thy voice pronounces die? 3. Yet divineness gives the best, And thou art no other sure: O then send me happy rest, Ending what I now endure. 4. Knewst thou what it is to be Harb'rour of so deep a wound As I have received from thee, Then how sweetly love would sound? 5. Dear, let me that sweetness have, Name but love, and it will breed Such a charm, 'twill make thee leave Naming love, and love indeed. EPIGRAMS. To Dr. Gill. Thou seest my book, but thou wilt find the wit To be as hard, as good men are, to get. To Caelia. Thou sayest thou lik'st my verse, and I like thee; Give me but that, thou shalt have poetry. On Momus Momus can call another fool, but he Can never make his brain and wit agree. On Zoilus. Zoilus would feign carp, but that he feears, 'Twill jeer himself, because he's carped by trh'eares Woman. If whence this name had birth, you feign would know God made the man, but 'twas it, made the woe. Beauty. Beauty decays, they say, when age does comes; But I say no, while paint may have a room. Omnia fert aetas. Omnia fert aetas? no, it cannot bring Mun Salter, but he will with th' cuckoo sing To Erasmus. That thou'rt a man, each of thy learned works shows. But yet thy name tells us thou wast a mouse. To Cornutus. Such a one is thy wife, thou'rt very kind To have her for thyself, thy foe, or friend. To one who said she loved a soldier best of all men. I like thy choice; for 'tis not to be feared But when thou hast him, he'll stand to his guard. To Catiline. Valiant thou wert, witness thy death they give; But I had rather without valour live. To a beauteous maid being none of the wisest, that disdained a Scholar because he was not handsome. You both want something; thou want'st wit, and he Is none of th' fairest; beauty and wit agree. To Bess Broughton. Ben jonson wished thy pox at Vulcan's court: No doubt but 'tis, or something better for't. To a rich man dead. Living none loved thee worse; now thou art in Thy grave, none love thee better than thy kin. Of Poets. Fame gives a poet's very pretty. Then Why never loved? for poets are all men. A Caveat. 'Tis true, I never used to lie, but yet They call me poet, then there's fear of it, The Proverb. Never late to repent, the people say; Yet Wat is hanged; though he reputes, to day, Coelius. * Vide Mart. Coelius says that there's no high power; but I By Bess' voice will prove he tells a . Quinta. Quinta was whipped for having of a crack; And yet the judge's daughter broke her back. The monsieur. The monsieur swears that he must yet be higher. Take heed, above's the element of fire. Of Ben johnsons' death. Here lies the Fox, then what need we Feared, in a glass of sack? be free; Drink't off. By jesus Ben does swear Vulpona ne'er shall hurt us here. On Shanks. Shanks swears, he fasts; and always cries for beef. O how he fasts! that's how fast eats the thief! A phrase in Poetry. Fairer than that word fair, why so she must, Or be as black as Timothy's toasted crust. Of Ponticus. Ponticus questions me who is a Whore: I bid him look about, and he'll say more. My antagonist in love. ONe that was my Antagonest in love Unto my Mrs. did the favourite prove. His , his Hair, although it was his fate To bribe the hangman for that robe on's pate, Was still commended, which did make me go Suit myself like him, bribe the hangman too: All would not do, still he was in her eye, Still like him did I ever strive to be. At last he got the pox. Nay then cried I, Farewell, even take her. And send thee much joy. To Captain Timorous learning to dance. Captain, thou needst no teaching to be swift In th' foot, for as I hear, 'tis nature's gift. A Cobbler. A fellow asked a Cobbler if he had The art of making souls good that were bad? No, answered he, but if your soulebee dry In Hell, I'll liquered if you'll bringed to me. To Mons: Lafoole learning to sing. The note of pricksong is Lasoull, but thou Wilt make it with thy wit Lafoole I know. On Cottus. Cottus e'er lying in his bed forswears. And why? it has been sold this sixteen years. On Battus. Battus swears that he'll near be drunk, and still The pot shall never be from's head by's will. To Mons: Vertiger. He that does carp at others, 'tis because He (has no wit) then come thou, into this clause. To I. Day the scrivener. My verse is like an old house, it cannot stand With credit till it be helped by thy hand. Thou makest it wear out times large running, I Am bound to thee, and not my poetry. To Dr. Gill. To thee great Gill, my fearful muse does fly To get a guard for her famed Poetry: When thou but once commendest, not a look Of envious William will behold my book. To the Examples of all beauty, my honoured Cousins, Mistress Margaret Mary Katherine St. George. Continuance of what they have wisheth, T. P. Honoured Cousins, THe Mariner so lays his Stody, that when his Ship hath got into Neptune's gentle embraces, it may not go out again: Before, I sent a work which you liked, and with a gentle look was pleased to peruse it, with a fair acceptance gave it welcome. Should I trust to another fate it might be dangerous. Therefore since my former have sped so well, I have presumed to honour with your Names this Dedication. If you but send fair weather this time, I shall ever be Your devoted Shipman, Tho. Prujean. LOVES LOOKING-GLASS DIVINE AND HUMANE. The Divine one in Christ's Birth and Passion faithfully shown: The Humane one in four Epistles of juliets, Romeos, Lisander's, Calistas. By Tho. Prujean, Student of Caius and Gonvile College in Cambridge. LONDON, Printed for Hugh Perry, near Ivy Bridge in the Strand, 1644. LOVES LOOKING-GLASS. CHRIST'S BIRTH. A King of Kings, framer and governor Of all in all, the all titles meriter; Who reins the stormy fiend, who calms the blasts Of Aeols sons, who roughs and smooths like glass The lusty Ocean, when wantoning With Boreas, she oft makes fate to sing A victory over Nature: He who can Create, and chaos heaven, earth, sea and man, All with a breath. A Triple unity Being one, yet three; three, yet a single he: Who gives a birth to winter, he whose power Causes the virgins blush, and every flower To breath so sweetly. By whom Cynthia's light Casts such a glorious object to our sight: Who gives to Ceres all her beauteous glory, The Muse's deity, and of all the story. Had Virgil sung, for his Aeneas fame, This Mighties praise, truth had shined in his name; For all the titles, he could e'er have feigned, Would not have been with falsety once stained. Who gave both name, being, and place to nature, He took a shrine; and once became a creature, Trod earth's poor paths, who could in heaven sit, Or in a glory for his worth more sit. Now must we think what pomping should have been, When such a one to grace earth does begin. A Kings saluting of the world gives all Glories attendance exercise. Here call The towers loud voices men to joy, and here We see a house burnt for a bonfire. Now do the terren Phoebuses begin To strive who first should verse his welcome in. What does exceed endeavour? Here they dress A chamber with arts chiefest comeliness To entertain the mother, with a bed Worth more, than all the stock that Croesus had. Besides all this, we here enjoy the noise Of Wills and Richards bawling out Rejoice, And only that, if nothing else, one ring Like to a Star) the babe to its fate does bring. Of such a one deserves in th' memory Of all to be imprinted with such joy, Think how much more does his commander, maker, Merit in hearts: what joy should each partaker Of such a knowledge have, as doth contain His leaving of the womb, who brought to pain A period, and so much felicity, As, not enjoying of it, who's the he That can describe it? they, who have this bliss Can say no more, then as it shallbe, it is? Now for a room, now for a downy bed Neatly arted, where the mother must be laid; Now for the pledges of each joyful heart. 〈◊〉, but where is it? where is this desert ●ayd? not in Bethelem: the costly room Is a base ugly stable now become, The glorious, bed turned to an ox's stall, The joy to plots how to bring him to thrall. This is the entertainment, that they gave To him, who brought a Corrosine to save ●s from hell's poison. Nor was't any such ●ime dated glory, that he valued much. ●et him but have, for this most sumptuous room. 〈◊〉, heart decked rich with virtue. It will come More welcome to him. And for all the rest One that will say in thee I'm only blest. LOVES LOOKING-GLASS. CHRIST'S PASSION. Man's only friend by man is doomed to be An underling to worthless destiny. He, who even now an endless life could give, Must now be feign to say, he must not live: Must not? alas! he will not, and all is To gain his enemy immortal bliss. Show me a Gordian Priest so holy bent, As to submit to such a punishment. Show me a man too, that would choose to die Rather then's brother should thus punished be. Show me a child, would consecrate his breath (Rather then's father should be hurt) to death. Show me a father that would take this doom, Rather then's progeny should have a tomb. Show me a Subject that is termed a he, Devoted so much unto piety, That, rather than his king should suffer this, He would forgo all life's sweet happiness. Show me a mother that would do so much For her own babe, and all without a grudge. And is't not worth a wonder, here, that one Should suffer for's foe such affliction? It does command thy admiration, man; For it was caused by thy great Ocean— Excelling sins; thy king, thy God must do All this to make thee to forsake thy woe; To leave thy hunger, and to take thy food; To make thee only to accept thy good. And is this all too little? wilt thou still Take hunger and leave food, fly good, love ill? The Pelican can do no more, but leave Her life, the pretty young ones for to save; And if they will run from her, how can she Become their helper in that misery? The hen but guards, and if the chick will stray From under her, it must be the kites prey. Yet stay fond man; thou hast a better guide, One, that will call thee, when thou goest aside. One, that will rather thy entreater be, Then have thee banished heavens felicity. He dies for us, we sin; yet his desire Pursues us that we to his grace aspire. The Argument of Romeos and Juliets. ROmeo and juliet, issues of two enemies, Mountegue and Capulet Citizens of Verona, fell in love one with the other: he going to give her a visit meets Tybalt her kinsman, who urging a fight was slain by him: for this Romeo was banished and resided at Mantua, where be received an Epistle from juliet. LOVES LOOKING-GLASS. juliet to Romeo. FOr health and happiness doth juliet pray To come to Romeo, and his Mantua. His Mantua! O in that title blest Would my poor fame could have such happy rest. Once it was so, once could this poor breast boast, (Rich only then) of being Romeo's host. No sooner do sleeps charms upon me cease, But fancy strait disturbs me of my ease. Her troops she brings, in which me thinks, I see Most of the horror call its subject thee. First, here comes Tybalt, tho'onely cause of all, That styles our misery original. Fired at thy sight, in's fury, now his breath Has no issue saving what treats of thy death. Then say I, what? dares man presume to give Death that, which heaven hath only chose to live? In thee, sweet Romeo, such perfection lies As would make up another Paradise! What has Elysium that is not in thee? A bliss that will wear out eternity: Where is that bliss, if not in Romeo's love? Can juliet ought else happier than that prove? When thou dost speak, a choir of Angels make From all their notes thy voice a being take. Thy eye casts beams, that look as if they were Contained in one above a natural sphere. Thy breath is always so delicious, As if thou hadst command o'er Zephyrus. And 'fore my dream was ended, powers had sent Thee valour to inflict a punishment Upon him for his boldness, which was done; And then, me thought, I did begin to moan. But then I began to cry, why should these eyes Pay to a grief, unlawful, sacrifice? Why should I weep? because my enemy Became Fates slave, and Romeo from it free. Is he a friend that would deny to give, But rather take away by what I live? My life, my dearest joy, my Romeo? Yet are my roses overcome by woe. From thee they had their name, and sure thy love Their planter, nourisher, blossomer did prove. From thy sweet lips (when thou didst first salute Me at the Mask) my cheeks did steal this suit Of crimson, and since thou didst kiss more free, They got what made up their maturity. As that celestial * His breath. gale its wont course Enjoyed, it was their blossomers sweet nurse. When I resolved the author of all this, I strait bethought how many trespasses I had committed, wasting so away In grief of his dire foe, so rich a May. And yet, me thought I a parcaker had In this my sorrow: pardon if I said It was thyself. Then quickly thus cried I, Romeo is one of my society. Fame growing big with envy, 'cause on me Are fixed the rays of such a deity. My Romeo loves me and her snaky twines Take from that noble wrath their wrinkled lines. She bursts, and in each ear the poison fly'es, Carrying of Tibalt's death, the Prince espies Some murmur for him: he soon questions why The murmur is, who has this sad reply. Search soon was made for thee whom in my arms I catcht into my bed. These sudden harms Struggling to keep from thee, and fearing lest Thou shouldst be taken, all sleep was from me cast. Then did I close'em, and cried prithee stay. But thou wert gone, alas! to Mantua. Can no high power inspire their wills into Our great anointed; That my Romeo His juliets bed might still have blest: could none Of thy divine parts plead? must thou be gone? Is Mantua the only place that must Have of my Romeo the happy trust? Me thinks I hear the pretty birds begin To consecrate notes to thy welcome in. The flowers begin to court thee, that they may Have both a god and goddess to obey. But * A lover's jealousy eu●ningly expressed. gentle sweet tell them thy Juliet has Worth that does all their goddesses surpass. Parts to be gained, that do deserve a throne Of happiness, such as the gods sit on. I will maintain it, since I merited To be one worth thy love remembered. Cursed be that Tybalt, that young Phaeton, Whom valour had bestowed her reins, upon; That he must needs strive thy world for to burn, And find by thee preferment for the urn. That Mantua and not these arms must have The happiness thy body to receive. How long of Romeo must I dream, and when I think I have thee, catch the air again? Once thou vow'dst by thyself, which I did take To be a greater than thou e'er couldst make By heaven its self, to that thy vow did tend, As in it thou thy love didst then commend, Yet keep it as thou wilt, all juliets cry Will be with Romeo to live and die. LOVES LOOKING-GLASS. Romeo to juliet. THe greet thou sentest not more belongs to me. Then when I am sweetly embraced by thee, Only to that place is ascribed all bliss, Where Romeo with his fair juliet is. Mantua's nothing but a cage of woe Where thou art not, all countries will prove so. Where is it that the world forgets not day, When once it views my juliet is away? The brighter Cynthia does enlarge her dress, That she might offer thee a sacrifice Worthy thy fair acceptance. The infant lights Forsake our clouds for to bedeck thy nights. Thy memory should before this complain, That it does one of such poor worth contain. Justice should blame thy fancies, 'cause they be Drawn on no other object saving me. My riches are all digged from Sorrow's mine, Only some favours, that I keep of thine. There thou hast stocked me well, then why do I Make myself of so little value be? One glance of thine is able to create A man, an Angel, or of purer state. How many crowns stemmed with that influence Had I the night before I went from thence? I now give credit to thy words, which treat Of my being in divinest parts so great. But juliet, if in this esteem I live, How must thou shine, that didst all to me give? And yet thy love has made me raise my pride So high, that all but thee I have denied. There's none does merit, now thou'st shined on me, My giving love to her, but only thee. And since 'tis so, since thou hast made me prove Above the merit of all but thy love, Let it be thus my juliet, let me have The bliss of being thy Romeo to my grave. What is it to be banished from my earth, When juliet to my comfort gives a birth? When juliet gives me an Ironic nay, Blushing entreaties for to kiss and play? Let Tibalt die, and Romeo be sent As a just doom) away to banishment. What is it to observe so heavy a doom, When I may call my juliet my home? For Iuliet's smile, who would not undergo The clumsey look of any Prince or more? Say juliet that she loves, all this distress 'twill transmigrate into a happiness. Yet when I name thy cousin grief does view Some blood of thine in him, and that will sue To have a tributary brine. The muse That sings his death, may out of th' Laurel choose As fair a branch as any. It is thee (When he sings him) shall bless his poetry. The Destinies grew proud, when as they had Got so much juliet within their shade. And had he thought how much the world he blest, His sword would have enjoyed a happy rest. Had he but harped of being thy kinsman borne, This fire would ne'er have given his ash the urn. Verona I must leave, law will not let Me of my sweet enjoying juliet. The blessed infusion I did take from thee, Makes all the birds strive which should welcome me With the best notes, esteeming Romeo The god they ought to sacrifice unto. The flowers do court me, thinking that I am A priest, that from their Flora lately came, To give them some rich nature. Here the Rose Bids the wind kiss her leaves, & strait she strewed Them for my foot-step, th' Lily offers up The richest of her beauty in a cup. All this I had by th' pledge of thy dear love, Which for to gain a second time, I'll prove A desperate Leauder: Break through Seas, So with my Hero I may take my ease. Let Neptune rage, and throw his curls about, Dart ruin at me, yet I will get out. And when I am at Hero's Sestian rowre. Laugh at the poorness of the Sea-gods power. Let the poor Spider envy lay her snare. All is too weak if juliets love bids tear, I'll prove the Swallow, and undo again, What to make perfect, cost her so much pain. And fly into thy lap, my wished-for nest, If thou'lt give leave that in it I may rest. Did the devouring gulfs betwixt us lie, Them would I venture juliet for to see. Let Death gape for to catch me as I come; Yet I'll not turn before I see thy home. And let not fear whither that rosy bed Upon thy checks, nor make the Lily dead. Know I am Romeo still, know I am he. Who vowed what never shall be broke to thee. Myself shall be myself; who dutes, who will Forsake life for to run to deadly ill? When I name juliet, and voice she is mine, 〈◊〉 make a boast I equal powers divine. ●'m banished fair Verona, and will be Banished life, yet never untrue to thee. The Argument of Lisander's and Calistas'. LIsander in a fight was so wounded, that he could not hold his sword, and so let it fall: Cleander (Calistas' husband Lisander's Mrs.) was killed with it, which made him to be tainted with the murder. Berontus Cleander's brother, knowing of the love between these two, laid Calista in prison as a cause thereof, but Lisander was out of the way. In this distress, she writes to him, fearing his having done it, and desiring to know the certainty. Love's LOOKING GLASS. Calista to Lisander. Imprisoned both in body, and in mind Calista sends some comfort for to find Of thee Lisander, that with joy she may Swan it out bravely at her dying day. Would certainty inform thou wert not he Whose fatal hand enriched destiny With my loved Lord Cleander: or would death, When he uncaves my soul, dip every breath And memory, that has it, in his lake, His sacrifice I here myself would make. I honour sons to valour. Though it be But counterfeit, yet it shows well in thee. From them, whose tongues would favour no report, My ears have cane thy merit, all the court Makes their sole eloquence Lisander's name, Striving whose wit should bless the wing of fame, Worth never was adored with such a zeal, As is Lisander's. All things learn to tell Us the glad tidings. Every silver Spring Glories, when that Lisander it may bring Unto a happy shore. Never a friend Is there of mine, but does thy valour send As if it were a Marses. Some did taste (That were their enemies) of what thou hast; When as the Sylvian gods had left them to * Ruin, thou conquenedst that fiercer foe. For strangers thou didst hazard out the die: Then must Cleander know thy cruelty? Must friendship have no recompense, but this? What is in it, that can be happiness? Each son to Aeol, when they waft away, What thou hast done, will lose their dress of day, And be turned, with its foul infection, To cloudy vapours. Is Cleander gone? And by Lisander has the frown of fate Loured on him? O unhappy friendship's ●●ate! To what did all the sighs and tears of thine Tend, when thou didst commend thy love in brine? And sorrow's air unto the woods, when each Of th' harbingers thou how to mourn didst teach? When as the marry gold desired no sun, To show she thy unhappy sat did moan? Didst thou e'er hope for to enjoy my love. When treacherous to Cleander thou didst prove? Thou didst not play the Politician right Enough, to kill him in the dead of night. A prepared field had better fitted this, Since thou art termed a Son to nobleness, One of her chiefest too: thy memory (Which filled the world) will by this ruin'd be. Thus does Lisander give reward (they'll say) For his friend's love, his friend's life takes away. 'Tis false, Lisander did it not. Ye reeds. That to each goal of wind do bend your heads Ye feathery waving fancies, ye that do The falsest always give your credits to. And thou base rumour that dar'st stain the worth Of heaven's darling! Thunder will break forth. And kerb thy trumpetting. Though thou be'st free A while, the Powers will find their enemy. Can he, whom great Bellona favoured best, Forsake her deity, and so stain his crest? Perjured Berontus but Cl●rind● * more! Dare ye wipe of Lisander's noble score? Divinity, should he but go astray, Would turn into sins night its glorious day. He surely is the mover of that sphere, And where his soul directs, it must be there. Be bright Lisander, show thy innocence, Let that bright Sun display its influence; That all may see thee morelesse, all may know Thou ne'er to such an Erinnys didst owe Or any thought, or action. What's divine That will not have some clouds before it shine? Yet I'll disperse all these. And since 'tis done Confess to the world, the deed was mine alone, 'Twas mine Lisander. This my right hand did That which so long and often I denied. Yet blame me not, young courtier, for 'twas thee That wert the cause of this my cruelty. Thou sud'st for love, and for to recompense It with a grant, I attempted this offence, A sword was found there bloody. All secure I made when I had done the act: so pure An essence of rich policy did give Me leave, that while its harborour to live. Not for to rage's, because I fear to die; (Moore would I undergo sweet friend for thee, Were I but sure thou wouldst constant prove. But how can murderers be true in love? Rage did not make me do this stirred by that. Fear? 'tis (alas) the only thing I hate. Yet me thinks I should pair it with another. But what thou ere hast, I here do smother done. Live still Lisander. And for all thy vows Thy signs, thy tears, take this, which love allows. If thou dost the most wretcht Calista see Yielding to death, as 'tis the law's decree, Say to thyself, Lisander, she did die Not for Cleander's murder, but for thee. The Judge shall yield thee guiltless, and for this Let me but have one tear my dust to bliss. * He freed her father and brother from thiefs in a wood. * Her maid who voiced abroad the false intelligence. LOVES LOOKING-GLASS. Lisander to Calista. KNowing, by th' superscription, whence these came And that they had the fair Calista's name; Heaven I invoked to make me worthy to Enrich my eyes with what the inside show. How often I adored, how often kissed The paper where I thought thy hand not missed; For to recount would puzzle any one, Though he was an Arithmatition In loves sweet merchandise. Why, what can come (Than said I) from Calista but a doom To love her whilst I live? and where can bliss Ly, if not in so great a happiness? Then I presumed to read. But when I see A conspiration for my misery, When I did view my friend Cleander's death, And me the fatal cause given by thy breath, My full blown worth began to fade me thought, My eyes to dimness, as they read, was brought. Thy letter did so gloriously appear, With thy styled justice, I durst not come near, For fear the rays should burn me: how dare I Think myself clear, when thou accusest me? My martial hazards did not freeze my blood So much, as when I saw thy nuntioes brood Stuck with so many of thy angers darts. Now does Lisander read, and now he starts. First with a pleasing calm my heart is blest, Now comes a Boreas, and denies me rest. His raging blasts he every where sends, and Makes my poor soul subject to their command; Whilst the flame is dispersed through every poor, Ready to cast me unto Charon's shore. Some words I happily receive of love, But thousands my joys enemies do prove. Neptune, in's fury, ne'er could give such shocks Unto a ship, as I have by these rocks. jove ne'er had with the gyaganticke race Such trouble, as I have in one lines space. Their supposed truths I tremble to deny, Because they feign themselves to come from thee. Should I deny what is from heaven sent, How could I look for a less punishment, Then it's hate to reward me? Sweeting speak, My part is only no reply to make. But will the powers no succour to me lend? Can my poor innocence find ne'er a friend? Must envy have her will, and justice die? Must virtue now be thought impiety? I must conclude it so, for they confine From liberty thee, th' only stock divine Of all Elysium's governor's. Has he No pity, whom we call our Deity? Love in its self being so just a thing, So holy, should have such a God and King: How have I been unto my vows untrue To merit, sweet Calista, this of you? Or to Cleander's friendship how false have I been that here my love must find a grave? Yet have you not the taint as well as I? Enjoy I not Calista's destiny? To tender arguments so 'gainst me is, 'Twould make me prisoner from my happiness, Else I could bring (o that I nought could bring But what would make me with Calista sing!) My loyalty to valour; who can I taint Me there? Calista, that ne'er erring Saint, Yet cannot all these crimson gems, I wear, Pleaders for their Lisander now appear? They can, but dare not, till Calista's face Banishes frowns, and takes her candours grace. My very sword, if that Calista say It must, its trusty master will betray, Rather than lose success to its plot, 'twill run To my foe, and help there to eclipse my Sun. Hot in disputing of a question, sent Unto me, faint I grew. A banishment From life I fear, which made me soon let go My nipping sophister, my sword, my woe. Which, since I could not find. But (ah!) all this Rather detracts, then adds to happiness. Why do I blame my valour? 'cause it veiled To envies cloudy frowns? could I have sailed Unto a better shore with my wish? 'twas 'Cause I should take with fair Calista place. Why do I chide my wounds, because they hide Themselves, and would not for their Master plead? Why do I rage's, and question thee my sword, 'Cause thou didst run from me thy trusty Lord? Some happy fate▪ that knew my friend should die, And she be doomed the cause, instructed ye How you should make me blest. I do accept What you in store so long have for me kept. We shall have nothing when thou'rt gone but strife, Who shall with thee first sacrifice their life. The Rose, the Lily, Panciby, what's best Of nature's joy will seek with thee to rest. The meaner beauties will desire to stay To gain, when thou art gone, perfections bay. Both will die once, both will enjoy one death, Who will not with Calista lose his breath? To myself an Allegory. ANchor within this port, thy ship has yet The smiles of Neptune, and no tempests met. Yet has no Doris wrought her brow, nor given Envious or angry looks; All smooth and even Gives thee a welcome yet. Yet England's flood Curls not her silver main but for thy good. Yet has Elysium's calmest breath appeared, No angry North yet, yet nothing to be feared. The gods have to thy voyage prosperous been, Trust not another fortune, here strike in. O happy shore! when I salute thy sand, Me thinks my mother has me at command. Where can an infant think to far the best, If at her dug it is denied to feast? Thou stretchest forth thine arm to catch thy son (Sweet Thamesis) with ruin half undone. Ah! hold me fast, lest a dissembling wave (With witching charms) makes me thy true love leave. For when Sh'has got me at her wished-for state, I must endure the rigid front of fate. Keep me close in thine arms, for if I find Thy friendly pledges, set none else be kind. The care is taken. Ah! blessed mother, see On thee depends my only destiny. Let envy bubble, if there's such a fiend Against me. Thamesis but prove my friend. Or let her Dogfish bark, I now am free, When once thy eye yields that I happy be. Then go no further, here unsaile thy ship. She will not hurt, but save, if thou'lt be kept. FINIS.