DIA, A POEM; To which is added Love made Lovely. By WILLIAM SHIPTON. Published by a Friend.  
Haec dedit ut Pereant.  
LONDON, Printed for Charles Tyus, at the Sign of the Three Bibles on the middle of London-Bridge, 1659.   

To the Truly Noble, EDWARD TROTTER. Esquire.  
Honoured Sir!  
I Must confess, a better Artist should have scanned the Jacobsladder of your favours, a more famous Archimedes have taught his star-gazeing eyes to feed on the Sunshine of your Courtesies, for the mere folly of Presumption, degraded the Cream of the Creation from Commencing Nobles in that Celestial Athens; And the high Element of perfection, where your Highness sits Enshrined, DEITY is a Pitch above the sorage of my scarce-Penfeathered Muse, to fly without the strong ambition of eagle's wings, whose Quicksighted eye, no Comet-Ray can force to obliquity. Yet I fear not, Gems never were Sullied for want of Cabinets, and Rosy-flowers, find always some engrafture Caesar by chance came an Executor to Virgil's Poems, and if you deny, a courteous entertainment, a Graveburiall may be had by any Saxon, Maecenas Patronised one from death, in the Living Monument of his breast, who himself said — Non tumulum quaero, sepelit Natura Relictos— I do Congratulate that from the Chaste debts, I owed to your goodness, an Incomparable, and new Phoenix is Produced to cancel the Bonds of obligations, who (while she intends no further a Progress, then to live and die, in the Perfumed India of your breast) can never be aboriive, I do Congratulate, that this new Star doth appear in our Horizon to adequate your Superintendent merits; before I wanted a Mathematic staff, to take the Pole and high Elevation of them. SIR, as she's the Paragon of all Ladies, be you the Patron of all Patrons, would you be a resolved Paris; well, she is a resolute Helen: Are you a chaste Platonic, than she is a chaster Vestal, frowns or smiles disray from the Celestial Orb of your brows. She is in your Protection. While I rest Hers, and your Adorer.  
William Shipton.   

SIR!  
IT was a sufficient salute for the Atherian Prince, to entertain the Roman Emperor in bidding him welcome to a banquet of Orations. Strange dainties indeed! And a new invented Rhetoric to express Congratulation: I wish it were so now, then might I only go into the Verdant Bowers of Helicons Elysium, to gather the Crimson Roses floreate in their chiefest blossom, to crop the gaudy Lilies Liveried, in the rich Diapry of Flora's Wardrobe, to make Salads for the feasts of your appetite, but such shadows please not with refreshing coolness, nor can the Painted Superficies of Apollo's Language court a nice Daphne; that is, allure your Fancy in the Enamouration of this beauty. I have, Read it was a Veneration for goddess Fortuna, if the Romans could have leave to express their Engagements, as if the Flexanimous Suada of their Complementive Eloquence, could cancel all obligations, and Cramp the Largest Indentures into Articles dormant, but here (though a Nobler favourite is my friend) that is, the smiling Oratory of your goodness gives an invitation, if I should break forth into a confession, it would be the confusion of lisping Eloquence. Yet grant the insufficiency, Humane instinct concludes the Epilogue of our lives, with the Epiphonema of gratitude, if a Cobler's Crow (taught by an Eloquent Grammar) Nature's documents, could Compliment this Languae with a salve Caesar, if the melodious Queristers turned Papists in their wooden cloisters can express their humble addresses to the Spring-Deity, with the cantation of an Avemary as we see Philomela in melancholy devotions adoring her shrine, and the rest like courtiers, enamoured on her beauties when she appears in the Virgin gayities of Maiden blushes; well may Rationality teach me a new Logic and make it the only Proprium of a man to be grateful, the silent Rivers, who in their soft murmurs already speak the tone of affections, can return their derivations to the Primitive Fountain, and you, who are the Original spring from which my Rivulets do flow, may well expect a return with usury, whereas my mites Widowed from other moneys adds nothing to your treasure. Yet I see you expect congratulation. Poor Phoebus, thy Castaly runs not with the same Nectar, as Pactolus his streams: our Parnassus has nothing but the regal Garland, and that is no sufficient present to commend your favours, or speak the Highness of your deserts; I should have with Hercules pursued the golden fruit (if I would follow the famed Querps of those brave Politicians, whom Love could never out wit) and present those Hesperides which times past, and Virgill's Amorist thought, sufficient to allure a lover, thus he Vaunts.  
Aurea mala decem misi, cras altera mittam,  
I should have with Trojan Hero attempted the Auriate bough which transported his ravished Genius before death to glorious Thessaly, and inoculate it in the Garden of your bounties, that so by the sweet breathing Zephirs playing two and fro its leaves, your pleasures being wafted to a Paradise of smiles; I might find a mild Purgatory to refine me to gratitude. But that is a second Aeneas his labour to perform; therefore I cannot sleep the same Dream, (that is) have the like felicity. How then shall I Ransack India of its Opal glories, for a satisfactory Done; When as the Ship of my intelligence cannot embark necessaries for so long a Voyage, or how should I Rifle the Phoenix her Fragrant Cabinet to offer Perfumes as a grateful Hecatomb? when as our Pegasus Icarian wings faints in the Sunshine, and my Short-handed expressions, cannot reach the Incense treasured on the sublime Magazine. I must condole my hard infortunes, or else invoke the Benign Stars for a more favourable influence. Yet stay darling Muse, Why so mleancholly? Here's one preservatives whose Balsam Ingredients will cure the malady; Here's a fortunate Orpheus, that by his powerful melody will make thee return from those Stygian shades of despair, the pale Violet can be entertained in the same Symposie, where the Ruby Roses have their sweetest allay. The Jesamine can refresh its homely Colours, where the pure Lilies resoliate their Superlative beauties, and so may the Raisin-tree of thy desires grow in the Felix Arabia of his breast, and consequently prove the 〈◊〉 perfume, in which the chaste Phoenix of his goodness, intends to suffer expiration, though by a Promethean coal she gets a second birth, as he who leapt into the Sea, left his Mortality behind him coming forth, animated with a new Creation; the Elephant adores the Sun in rejoicing under those glorious Rays, and I shall pay your favours a requital while this Dia dresseth her braveries in gay smiles at the Sunshine of your Celestial eyes, I will not therefore spin a Web of Eulogiums, and interweave it with fine threads of Hyperboles, to praise you for those courtesies I cannot congratulate, lest I should be (like the pretty Orator making a Panygericks in Hercules his Commendations) baffled with a Quis Unquam Vituperavit. Only I will entreat Dame Rhetoric, to dress me in her gaudy attirements, that I might still Ravish your Genius for more gifts of smiles, though I still Remain,  
Your servant, W. S.   

To the Author on his POEMS.  

Haet Geny how they live! thou Poet has  
Encomionized them, as the old Saints was  
Who to the highest Hemispheres did blaze,  
Known Commet-glories, in an unknown praise;  
She's shrined in verse, while the  Pagans did  
Eternize Ladies in Art's Pyramid:  
For want of Poëtry, what Ovid can,  
More merit th' honour of Rome's Vatican.   
How to the Remote Poles, dost thou define  

Thy Dia's heavenly essence, she's divine;  
Or else in this low Orb, we grant no one  
Scanned the Climacterick of perfection.   

Astrologers espied a star of late,  
What did it but thy Love Prognosticate,  
Venus her Progress is now known, but we  
Fair Dia made a Planet, guess 'tis she.   

Learned Galilaeus when he viewed a star  
About bright Sol, that East'ran Charitoer:  
Was a predictive type, which did forerun,  
Rare Dia a star, you friend the Sun.   

Hence let her shine! That Lovers may descry  
How by her smiles they live, by frowns they die  
Sometimes a Comet blazing forth their fate,  
Sometimes a ●●ar, the rage to mitigate:  
Sometimes to suffer, sometimes to endure,  
Loves Hellespont, without a Palinure.   

Tiber and Thames did only echo forth,  
Sydney's stella, and Castara's worth:  
Th' aequilibrios poised betwixt them here,  
Rivers be Tacent, but the Poets bear;  
A louder Breath, in verse for to proclaim,  
Saint-DIA'S, title 'bove a puny-name,  
She soars aloft, to a perfection higher,  
Where we cā't praiseher, but we may admire.   
Jo Cook, Cont. Aulae Clar.   

To the Author.  

Y Yes! Now I know thy lines do trace  
A lineage from great Phoebus' race:  
Whose Magick-words compels all times  
To veneration stars, from th' climes;  
Of th' Spicy East, to fall & turn,  
Melodious at thy Dia's Urn:  
While Cynthia from her glorious sphere,  
Salutes Earth's gloomy Cone to hear;  
That Harmony stay, and think it right,  
To be a Shade, to Dla's Light.  
And grant th' Olymprans feast their Palates,  
With poësy Parnassus-sallets:  
Rich like Ambrosia, and their dishes,  
Of Cancra, Taurus, Capra, Pisces.   

Yet we'll presume for to admire,  
Not praise that Sumptuous attire:  
We praise thy Verse, not dote upon,  
Those Rays of wits invention:  
We'll joy to see, not strive to give  
A character Superlative.  
Thy fame in Quartoes thou dost raise,  
Whose Comments must in Folioes praise;  
Wish that his Pen (as one of old)  
Should drop words, Stin'graphized in gold:  
Compendious Metaphors to glaze,  
From Pole to Pole, a worthies blaze.  
But that in vain! Thy verse is such,  
As scorns an unbald Critics touch;  
Thy Anthems Sugared in such strains,  
Pactolus-like, no dross contains.   

And now (Learned Poet) we le not hire,  
Delphic, Eolick, Lesbick Lyre;  
To court thy Geny, in brave phrases,  
Tuning our senses in amazes:  
To rear up Hecatombs requires,  
Th' existence of Poëtick fires.  
No; with us silence speaks the most,  
While thou'le in thine own praises boast.   
RICHARD SHIPTON.   


APRILL'S ROSE; OR, The sight of his LADY.  

AS the Vermilion blushed Aurora's gracé,  
So Rich infused through her Candid face,  
Emparadised the world at that rare sight,  
Revealed from dull Canopy of Night:  
And the great Phoebus at the day's ascent,  
Peeps from his Ivory-vernist Element;  
Into his golden Chariot, while the Don,  
Was welcomed with each Persian Orison.  
Sweet Dia with her gorgeous robes invest,  
Rose from the Perfumed Incense of her East;  
Enameling all the ground with Starry light,  
Beamed from the Candours of her Eyes most bright;  
That had not Sol been present, you'd have said  
She was the Luminary, he the shade.  
Such was the great similitudes to us,  
Phoebus and she are words Synonemus:  
Such was the various beauties she put on,  
The Orient figures her Complexion.  
●ere was a Diamond lustre, Pearly-eye;  
This was a Saint, that was a Deity?  
While thus the shined, in gaudertes so rare,  
Like Cynthta, in Diaphenous  of Air.  
Each winged Chorester poured forth the choice,  
Of ravishing Music in a well-tuned Voice;  
Quavering divisions with so swear't a note,  
As Swans Condole it in a dying throat.  
First Philomela touching the Warbling Lute,  
Give her Approach a harmony-salute:  
Resounding sweet Corantoes to the Skies,  
That they might Echo his loud Symphonies.  
Next followed all in order to display,  
Their valiant Sonnets in a Ranting Lay:  
Brave-breathed notes, which only could descry,  
How the spheres act their silent melody.  
The Roses plushed with Flora's Purple dye,  
Tinctured with the Heaven's galaxy:  
By Aprill's Pencil, did their lives renew  
I ately Entombed in the Pearled dew.  
Distilled from the Limbek of the Sky,  
In the rare Quintessence of Chemistry,  
Grow odoriferus at her Sunny Eyes,  
As if incensed for a Sacrifice.  
The Virgin-Lillies who did much condole,  
With cold Antipodes their Amorist Sol.  
Received new-birth dressed in a fresh array,  
Perfumed the ground as they would tribute pay:  
With richness of their gallantry which might,  
A too, too-high Ambitious Jove invite,  
To rest on that fair Ganopy supplied,  
With famed attendance of their glorious pride:  
My Dia, worthy of so great renown,  
Courted by those enamoured Flowers laid down  
Her blushing beauties, for to take repose  
O'th' Scarlet-violet and the Crimson-rose.  
Too-meritorious that their leavs might be  
Pressed with so rare a Treasury as She.  
A happiness denied where they possessed  
Th' Elezian fields of Canaan most blessed:  
'Twould ravish one to speak, but then to see,  
Would start a Stoic into Ecstasy;  
And as inspired with new-affections tell,  
Each wonder in a highflown Miracle.  
Thus sweetly taking rest, the wanton wind,  
Travelled amongst her glories, which refined  
By love's Calcining flames, did forth expire  
Incense like gums hallowed in Vestal fire.  
Th' Ubiqueous air fanned her limbs which lay,  
A cooling in those July-Groves of May:  
(Enveloped in the same pure extent,  
As Constellations in the Orient)  
Viewing Exactly what I looked upon,  
By (ameer Lattese-sight) reflection:  
Here one might see her Indy-brest unfold;  
What treasures we desire of Spice and Gold;  
What Genius would not act the famed pursuit,  
With Hercules t' attempt th' Hesperian fruit:  
Which as transplanted in her bosom grew  
More Sweet, more Rich, more Glorious to view;  
When she made lose her gay attirements then,  
I did expect a Paradise again:  
And consequently saw, for at that ,  
There was the deckings of a Heavenly shop,  
Where praises stood mute, Orators and sense,  
In admiration only did Commence:  
Student of Arts Science, enough to know,  
What in mysterious types her features show;  
Sometimes like the Christ allick Star doth shine,  
Her Ophire beauty in an Ivory shrine,  
Sometimes like blazing Meteors which display,  
Their Rough faced Omens in a bearded ray.  
That still the future hopes I had of bliss,  
Was dashed by Antiperistasis.  
Here her Bespangled tresses seemed to deck,  
The Lovely Tempe of her Coral neck;  
With rich Embroidery begun to stray,  
In curious Labyrinths at the Roundelar:  
Of gamesome wind dallying by such sort,  
Those curled Maeanders into amorous sport;  
How had I Captive been in those small Bands,  
Like Cupid fettered by Diana's hands:  
But the strong Magic of another grace,  
Drew me from doting on her beauteous face;  
How had my Fancies roved for ever ●n,  
Her breasts that Hony-planted ●elion.  
Whose balmy sweets had showered me with desire,  
Those sacred fields got on the Roman Pyre:  
When incense flames the glorious Conducts be,  
To waft a light Soul to Eternity,  
But when as one enjoined I thought to keep,  
Those pleasures 'twas the idle dream of sleep.    

A Quaery.  

Quest. HAs beauty Pearls from golden Eyes,  
In Rich-diged Mines of grace;  
Has it Glow-worm Embroideries,  
Enjewelled in a face.  
Then Let's disrobe.  
That heavenly Globe.  
Of all these Gems possessed,  
And so Enshrined,  
Like Saints divined:  
For ever we'll be blest.   

Answer. It wants no Ruby-bossed Gems  
Distilled from a tear;  
Nor Onyx-Saphir Diadems,  
Th'attire of Royal wear.  
No Bristol shine,  
But Diamond-fine,  
Such Jove-like fame besets,  
Who for their Dooms,  
Obtains such Tombs  
Enclosed are Mahomet's.   

Quest. Has beauty's blushes sugared feast.,  
Sweet viands sweeter taste!  
Rare welcomes for approved Guests,  
With Praised Ambrosia graced.  
Come to the skies,  
Rant Eulogies,  
Sip of those Wine-fed Pleasures;  
'Tis Pity we,  
Should let Love be  
A Miser in her Treasures.   

Answ. It wants no banqueting delights,  
Quilt up in Rich estates:  
The Epecurian Appetites  
Sucks their brave delicates.  
And he who's lips,  
Such Nectar sips.  
By an Immortal fame,  
At one Career,  
Mounts the top-Sphere  
Of Bacchus' Sack-bowld name.   

Quest. Has beauties Cheeks brave April's bowers,  
Enthroned with spicy breath;  
Is Flora Pregnant with her flowers  
Raised from the sick-bed-Earth.  
Then Cheeks of Or,  
We must adore  
Those Argent-crested glories,  
His tomb excels  
Who's closed in smells,  
And not in Poet-Stories.   

Answ. It has the Presumed Rosy sweets,  
The gold-array of Verses,  
The Virgin-Lillies Morpheus greets,  
To deck our funed all hearses.  
And if we be  
In livery,  
Clad of such amber-cloves:  
Howe'er we die,  
'Tis sure we lie,  
Like God, in Presumed Groves.   

Quest. Has beauty's brows no frowns but smiles,  
Life and no killing Courtesies,  
Dove-Lillies have their serpent-guiles,  
Stings with the sweetest honey lies.  
Mount the high-Sphere  
Of glory there  
True fulgence of whose Rays,  
Like Sol's famed wings  
N'Intempure flings,  
But fragrant blasts displays.   

Answ. It wants no Zephirs intermixed  
With golden joys of Loves,  
Their Haltion in her Centre fixed  
In downy Pleasure moves,  
A smile disrayd,  
From a Coy Maid  
A monument's most clear.  
Avaunt, Avaunt,  
Thou Troy-Novant  
Westminster-Tombs are here.   

Quest. Has beauty's face no tuned voice,  
So Ravishing the sense,  
The Spheres harmonious notes have choice  
Of Songsters to Commence  
Even at a lay,  
The God's array.  
As with Condensed air,  
That heavenly bliss,  
Immortal Is  
Superlatively Rare.   

Answ. It wants no Notes the highflown Lute  
Quavered from those Quires,  
Makes extasized men amute,  
Like the Phebeian Lyres.  
Here but the throngs,  
Of Musick-songs,  
At Sirens we do stay,  
Were't not Prophain,  
I'd say each strain,  
Chants Halleluiha.   

Quest. Has beauty's eyes the golden darts,  
Consentrick in a breast;  
This is the wound which cureth hearts,  
Makes melancholy blest.  
Tho some in love,  
Do swear they prove  
Distempered by that shot.  
'Tis sweet to me,  
Although it be  
A poisonous antidote.   

Answ. though't has, they win the fields,  
Whosoever those arms Impale,  
At Briseus shrine the stout Greek yields  
His Vulcan-coat of male.  
A biting kiss,  
Is the same bliss,  
As feasts high Jove's great palate,  
Give me the dart,  
A joyful smart  
Like weeds in Rosy-sallat.   

Quest. Has beauty's skin no downy beds.  
For Lover's wantom●ings,  
Jove dallieth with his Ganymeds',  
On Rose-laced flowers of Springs,  
Who in a trice  
Sees Paradise,  
In Lilies men Reside,  
As Poets feign  
Th' Elezian Plain,  
Souls have no other Pride.   

Answ. Yes, that it has, the Purple seed  
Of Velvit-violets-sent  
Unsoyled Ermines gloss the weed  
Her Royal Ornament,  
From April's bower,  
A verdant flower.  
But mean attiring is,  
On gaudies blaze  
Let no man gaze,  
The Gods go naked in bliss.   

Chorus.  
IF then a face a feature have,  
Such full Conserves of blisses.  
We will our famed Embalment crave.  
A donative of kisses,  
Platonic Soul,  
Doth but control.  
His great Immortal flight,  
While his coy breath  
Is spent in death  
Of an Oblivious night.   

Let's Rant Eucomiums to the skies,  
Salute this Lady Beauty;  
He who's undaunted Spirit tries  
This Mastership of duty  
Ecclipse Cupid's wings  
Makes blunt his stings,  
Which turns of Push-pike are,  
Or if they die,  
Transcribed on high,  
she's Comet and he's stare    

On a blush which Rising like Aurora Modestly Coloured his Lady Dias Face  

THe vaunting Stoics by th'ambitious thought,  
That their unpassionate Poor fools unfraught  
Themselves by that high and undaunted Rage,  
What Riches are enthroned i'th' Equipage  
Of a well-featured blush, or when a Pale.  
Wizard doth their faces circumvail:  
For when a blush tinctures her face, we seek  
The Orient Jewels on her Ruby Cheek.  
The Parian-marbled Ophir, or the store  
Of Eastern Gems glossed with bright Indies Or,  
When she unto a Colour Pale's confined,  
Christallick Pearls, white Chrystolite's combined,  
In that sweet Passion Margerites' besets,  
Her face with Saphirs-glimmering Quarelets.  
A blush and Pale, why? then I may behold  
Enough of Silver, and enough of Gold:  
Or else upon her fragrant breasts May's bowers,  
Lilies commingled with the Rofie-flowers:  
Blue veined Violets as the Pale for Red  
Carnation Tulips rarely figured;  
And in those dazzling eyes with high-sprung light,  
Adonis bathed in blood, Venus in white.  
Thus with the impression of an nobler Coin,  
Rubies with brightest Christols do Conjoin,  
Thus fiery Comets wantonly keep wars,  
With cold Virginity of snowy Stars:  
Sometimes behold her visage and you'll see,  
Her lustres hid in a Red Canopy.  
As when Aurora's blush signs forth the day;  
Byth' famed Appearance of a Rudish ray:  
Sometimes out prying judgements do confess,  
Pale Cinthia's mounted in a sable dress;  
And then we see by that miraclous sight,  
A sullen Cypress typify the night?  
So the fond Persians and the Pagans may,  
Adore the Moon, adore the break of day;  
While in her starry face we do descry,  
Those lights of Heaven's Physiognomy.  
The author of Love Melancholy drew,  
Her features in their particoloured hue;  
And here the pretty Pale the blush include,  
The Boy as sometimes chafed, is sometimes rude;  
And so reversed, the sense may thus be graced,  
The Boy is sometimes Rude, as some times chaste:  
What need my Hoof-beat-traveller mus●, or 〈◊〉,  
Seek Tyrian colours when that Purple dye  
Lints all my garments, Crimson not the faint,  
Cassock watchet of an English Paint.  
What need for brightest Diamonds? If I was,  
A Scholar sprung from old Pythagoras:  
I would enjoin my metempsuchosed fate,  
Within her Pearled eyes to transmigrate.  
A great blot is a Giant, red a ruby, white,  
Demonstrateth the shining Chrysolite;  
So if in Hyroglyphicks, I'd reveal.  
My mind, a blush a ruby were, a pale the Pearl.    

June's gaieties: OR, A Posy in his Lady Dia's breast.  

SEe how the Ruby Roses seeks,  
A fresh Ingrafture on your Cheeks;  
T'enjoy the balmy fragrance there,  
Distilling from a Sugared tear;  
New-startled blush of Flora's bower,  
Plush interlaced Tulip flower:  
Smiling upon the gaudy breast;  
Swears that th'elysian Confines blessed;  
Cause flowers in Loves-sportings-greet,  
Whilst they salute each Lady's feet:  
Tho here they would insweetness spent,  
Attempt a higher Compliment:  
But that the Sunshine of her face,  
Anticipates that heavenly grace:  
For should her eyes that bright-glored gem,  
Once blaze on their Carnation stem;  
Like a Red comet would protend,  
No Augury but their own end:  
Burnt by that Radiance hot, and dry,  
Evaporating from an Eye:  
Gold-mantled Lilies Robbed in white,  
Grew glorious to that Lady-light.  
Sprung from an eye so sweet, so thin,  
As Aprill's Spiced Incarnadin;  
Here grows a Pink there's a Rose found,  
This Clitephon that Rosamond.  
The Sisterhood of flowers do bring,  
Their vernal bloomings from the Spring:  
To Parallel a scent, a taste,  
Sugared Cream, with spice prefaced:  
But that's in vain 'tis feared each one,  
Will die by emulation.  
And so upon your lips theytd have,  
A funeral life, or genial Grave.  
Say they do die, the burials would,  
Outrant, high Pyramids of gold;  
Embalmed in fragrants of your breast,  
As the East wonder's in her nest:  
Say, they do live in perfumed breath,  
Outlasting Monuments of death:  
They might the Solisequium Scorn,  
Who Courts the Pale-blush tinctured morn;  
For on your Cheeks fair type of bliss,  
They have an everlasting kiss;  
So that the Stoic here would try,  
His Axiomized Apathy;  
As abor●ation to admire,  
A smooth-faced smile, not rough-skind Ire.  
The Cynic leave his tub, and trace,  
Sweet inspiration in her face;  
Call himself happy so to be,  
Blestwith that rare Divinity,  
What ere he think, I, I, would change,  
My shape to flower, say I might range:  
That face, that Cheek, the show to come,  
Of lover's best Elysium.    

Ambrosia. OR, His Lady DIA's Kiss.  

FAir type of Heaven, and I wish it were,  
My happiness to be Constellate there.  
And if it be a flame, than my desire,  
Was rapt like the old Prophet in a Fire:  
To that Pavilion where Jove-like bliss,  
Like Sainted deities Enthroned is.  
Nor would I be Profane, as to aver  
It Heaven, in a well-made character;  
Lest the Platonics Ignorant before,  
Now by their superstitous ways adore;  
Or else the Puritans Religion teach,  
As well to Kiss the Pulpit, in't to preach:  
And so the use at hand they will apply,  
When th' wanton doctrine of the text lays by.  
Or were I Prodigal of words, I might,  
Our great professed Libertines invite,  
To lash their tenets, at a luscious kiss,  
As the strict Christianity of bliss.  
Although some make it Pagantry, the sense  
Is true distilled to a Quintessence;  
For at the first appearance unto me,  
Her face was Heaven, herself a Deity.  
Her Radiant eyes like Pearled-stars that shine,  
In a degree compared 'bove Crystalline,  
Her voice tuned in so rare Concordance there,  
As Angels accents in the Sky tuned sphere;  
And may not then a kiss, so sweet a grace,  
Type of Heaven, cause type of her face:  
Be styled forth lest we like Atheists call  
Truth nonsense, and believe no heaven at all;  
And say we did her form would check that rise.  
Of Ignorance and show us Paradise,  
Bloomy with ravishing sweets so rare each one,  
As innocence i'th' first Creation.  
In Pagan's Language, kiss was a perfume,  
Whose vitals when Imbalmed did consume:  
In a sweet cloud of Incense, which breathed at  
The feigned place of rest, they knew not what,  
And if in Poet's metaphors to come,  
'Tis the bright Sunshine of Elysium:  
Then tell me you stern Critics why not I?  
Date it i'th' liberties of Poëtry.  
Authentic, by Poëtick licence we,  
Can talk (as truth) impossibility;  
And yet I would not have the Reader write,  
'Cause in sight of a kiss, within the sight  
Of Heaven, thus blind fools do oft mistake.  
And call it noon, when 'tis but the daybreak.    

Parnassus. OR, His Lady DIA'S praise.  

LEt Amorists dote on  
Chimaeras feigned worth,  
Who sips up Helicon?  
A Lady's name sets forth:  
With a more noble shrine,  
Then Deities that shine;  
In crimson Robes divine.   

Who sees her beauty-rays,  
For's Ink, must Nectar quaff;  
To reach the stublime lays,  
A Mathematick-stasse.  
The longest Pole of night,  
Will serve but to indite;  
Above the common flight.   

That we adore 'tis vain;  
Those muses much admired:  
Who wants a high-pitcht strain;  
Even at her face's inspired.  
Their couchant always lies;  
Upraised Hyperboles:  
Beyond a vulgar prize.   

Sol's pinions, if extract,  
Made by a cherubs skill;  
As glorious as exact:  
As is an Angel's quill.  
But fits enough to tell,  
Each wondrous miracle:  
In superhumane spell.   

Bright Legends of the gods,  
Those dignities t'unfold;  
At least would be at odds,  
In registers of gold:  
I love a heavenly Lute  
To sing, men are a mute  
That is beyond dispute.   

Those Hierarchy of maids  
Breathes to the star fed skies,  
From their Pierian vades,  
But fond Tautologies.  
And 'tis a common face  
That wants a beauty-grace,  
As poor men Herauld's blaze.   

A face so rich, so rare  
In Spicy-fragrant scents:  
Here's Alabaster-air,  
There's th' perfumed Orients.  
The rosy phoenix nest,  
In Sabian odours dressed  
Or flowrings of the east.   

The Indies guilded were,  
At her divine approach,  
When she'● (brave flowers appear)  
In Summer's verdant Coach:  
Rude Satires learn to trace,  
Sweet welcome in each place,  
At her bay-browed face.   

And Autumn's dying crest  
Dismantled of all fame,  
Her rich-weaved robes invest;  
At th' echo of her name.  
All has an appetite,  
To relish the delight  
Of her desired sight.   

Columbus Cloistered dwells,  
Within her glorious breast;  
Thence th' golden miracles,  
Discovers East, and West.  
And in her bosom gay,  
A man may, still survey;  
Newfound America.   

Nor is it strange that thance,  
At her incensed breath,  
Into rare quintessence,  
Trees should their gums unsheathe:  
And flowers sweetness yields,  
Ith' rose-adorned, fields;  
From forth their strongest shields.   

Since what men meant of old?  
That Okes should honey spill;  
By her happy featur's told,  
'Cause all their sweets distil.  
Deucalion's Flood,  
Runs from the smallest bud  
Of the most dry-grown wood.   

How fair that face will be,  
Would not the stoics fly,  
For to enjoy this rarity:  
Their mad-strained Heresy.  
Sure they'd confess  
Love, could they but guess  
It's only happiness.   

Would not the barbarous state,  
'Gainst nature's precepts war,  
Should beauty's compared fate;  
Some can did virtues spare:  
Yes, they would sure unite,  
In a most amorous spirit,  
Brave Hymen's famed rite.   

Had Homer Eyer, how he'd disgrace  
The blind mistakes he writ,  
On curious Helen's fairest face:  
With his skie-towring wit.  
For you're the same,  
I know that brow, that name  
Speaks Paris only Dame.   

As Greece, and Troy inspire  
Me, with a Heavenly sense;  
Carthage, and Rome in fire  
Shall fierce-made watrs commence:  
Here shall an Hector lie,  
There an Achilles die:  
By false-faced treachery.   

Here shall great Priam's wall  
With Tragedies be crushed;  
There th' famed Palladium fall;  
In monumental dust:  
And chaste Penelope  
Shall living be,  
A thrice-famed Deity.   

Come Sophos now, and drain,  
Th' Hippocrenian fount,  
Into a well penned strain,  
A sorage, 'bove the mount.  
Parnassus, for a theme,  
Sugared milky-way cream.  
Days glost with the Sunbeam.   

Fetched Metaphors from thence,  
The seat of Eulogies,  
For Panegyrics influence,  
A high-strained spear outvies,  
Strong notes above,  
Ela doth prove  
But sing-song for great love.   

Compendiums can't contain  
Those Orient jewels bright,  
Sol in's Meridian  
Eclipseth but this light:  
Poëtick-sounding praise  
Must have a high-strung raise;  
Beyond Seraphic blaze.   

All ancient Poet's strains  
Rapes profanations writ,  
Puffed up in merry veins  
From Heliconian pit;  
Whereas their verses prate  
That the most holy state  
Of Jove's adulterate.   

Had they but seen, they'd said  
In ranting Characters,  
Her virtuous beams displayed  
Souls paramount by here's:  
All colours else are faint,  
But that celestial paint,  
Which shadows forth this Saint.    

May's Cabinet. OR, His Lady displayed.  

SO grows the sweetened Genius of May,  
When Sol's Eoan-dye colours the day  
Into a Purple Pompery, whose Rays  
Damn- Tellus flowery Progeny displays;  
So grows the rare-set Eastern spicy flowers,  
Conserved in the sugared Indian bowers.  
Whose Candid odours highly do commence,  
More Incense than the balmy frankincense.  
As doth her breath which exhalations be  
Of all those sweets the famed Epitome.  
Thus th'early Lark, best Herald of the day,  
Summons up Phoebus with her lovely lay,  
When by her Angell-voyce she sing on high.  
Her purer Matins, to the purer sky.  
Tho we poor sacrilegious men can't prise  
The Anthem, 'tis her morning Sacrisice.  
While we in lethargy of sleep are drowned.  
She from her Rose-quilt bed with Lilies crowned.  
In Flora's gorgeous fields, betimes on wings.  
Her Orisons in brave Corantoes sings.  
As doth my Dia in a Cherubs note,  
Her high-raised ditties to the Heavens quote.   

So all the Stellate beauties called divine,  
Within the Orbs illustrious vizards shine  
Like Titan through a cloud whose splendours rise  
With more illumination to our eyes.  
Just when he peeps (his beams with glory fills)  
Over the shady trees, by th'Eastern hills.  
And at one instance flagged with light appears,  
No more he's Rayed in the sublime Spheres.  
So Constellations shine i'th' Centre fixed,  
Perti-per-pale, heat light intermixed.  
As doth my Dia's fair unblemished face  
Conspicuous shine, in each translucid grace.   

The Ruby Coral, and the diamond cliff.  
Swelled in a marble large as Teneriffe.  
Follisht with Ivory, artifice that vies,  
Those monumental old Immergeries,  
Like Rhetoric flourished in a gaudy name,  
By miscellanious metaphors of fame:  
Doth vaunt the Highness of its beauties bright,  
More luminous i'th' obscure vaults of night:  
As doth my Dia's eyes scorning to dwell  
Like Orient gems hid in an Oyster's shell.   

Thus sugared Hybla with its gums appears  
To cloud the lustres of those Hemis-pheers,  
And shrine Sol in its fragrant-Winding-sheets,  
Like Phoenix coffined in her funeral sweets.  
Arabia's Candia-Cassia, what rich smells  
I'th' Aromatick-flowry mountain dwells?  
What Rosaries doth Sabian Coasts digest,  
Or spice which i'th'odoriferous West.  
What Europe, in Prerogatives of bliss  
Has famed, is Dia's sweet Periphrasis.  
For her breasts Redolent do much excel  
Th' Amber, or each Ambrosaick smell.    

Adonis, OR, The Lover's Complaint.  

AH fair Dia, why so Proud?  
Rich attirements only crowd  
Your beams in a masking hood,  
As the kelder of a cloud.   

Sol sometimes doth overshad;  
And the Spheres in vain are 〈◊〉  
If their virtues be'nt displayed  
In their Oriental trade.   

And that's glaring forth the bright  
Modest excellence of light,  
Or else Cinthia's dimmer sight,  
Is as pure in darkest night.   

Ah fair Dia, why do you  
Shine, in such divined hue,  
Last those gauderies renew  
Me, 'tis but sky-coloured blue,  
More falsehearted, then 'tis true.   

Why do you sweet fair impart  
Frowns, for pretty smiles my heart  
Grieved, endures the living smart,  
Made by ' th' wanton's golden dart.   

Rather let me be embraced  
With your amorous fold chaste,  
From that gallaxied waist,  
Where all future blisses placed  
In eternal joys are graced.   

For I wish not April's bloom  
Great Pyramidalls of Room,  
For my Mahumeran-brave tomb,  
At the fates displacant doom,   

But, but your Elysium.  
Some have doted on the dry  
Pictures of Anatomy,  
In a Virgin-coloured die;  
And sweet Lady yield, lest I  
Love th'impossibility.   

Ixion did his fondness prove  
To catch Juno's cloud, who'll move  
Ith'large circuits of a Grove,  
Where that great Olimpique Jove,  
Found Calistoes' fit for love.   

And he's but a dulman for't,  
Who to the well-Ladyed Court  
Of dame Venus, doth resort  
If it be not for brave sport.   

Not the Cyprian wanton spruce,  
Would make Gallants so profuse;  
But the hopes of richer Juice,  
Which those Venuses produce.   

For my Part, 'tis my own mind,  
To approve those fruits I find  
Ruby Apples in a rind,  
On a Lady's cheeks combined,  
Or those eyes-glared could refined  
Taste must here like sight be dimmed.   

Ah fair Dia why so dressed  
In perfumes of spicy East,  
Phoenixlike, i'th'dying nest.  
All those sweets by you possessed  
Don't your fragrant name invest,  
Lest we smell them in a breast.   

Chorus.  
THen afford him your bright eyes  
Shining lights of beauties skies  
To revive him, where two tries  
Consorts, there's best melodies.    

Mahomet. OR, A fly buried in Dia's tear.  

MAd Courtier! was it not a Pitch too-high  
For weak ambition's wings to soar, or fly?  
Methinks a Pole of honour, so fublime,  
Fits only Pearls of this our modern time;  
For to salute and complementive sit  
Enshrined in that Royal Cabinet.  
Didst thou want heat? and thy feathers raise,  
To warm th'intempure at her ardent Rays,  
She might permit, the Sol doth oft embrace  
The dusky surface of an Aethiop's face.  
What? Phaeton, did not thy valour fear  
The hot-faced Phoebus of that Hemisphere?  
If by his beams thou fall, it is thy fault,  
Giants now penance for their lewd assault.  
What Icarus? was't thy vaunting pride to rise  
With waxed wings up to those fulgent skies?  
Presumptuous boy, thy destinies condole  
A lesser Sun corusk a lower Pole  
Than this high Orb of fame, might serve the turn,  
Where now thy fates a placant victim burn.  
There was no hopes but as thy pinneons felt,  
That purer heat must into sorrows melt,  
And drowned in sadder griefs, thy joys disrobe,  
In aiming at that high-sprung arched globe.  
But thou art dressed in funeral blacks we see  
Th'entombed in gildures of tears purity.  
Here's then the glory, his brave martyred fall  
Shall have the praise of great memorial,  
For never in the balmy beds of spice,  
Can dying lovers catch this Paradise.  
Th' Eoan Lady never could richer lie  
Embalmed with sweetened fumes of fragrancy,  
When she's resolved her chafed thoughts to expire  
Ith'pregnant incense of perfumed fire.  
Had Nature's Jewels been congealed to one,  
And metamorphosed to a diamond-stone.  
That marble for thy costly tomb might be  
No monarch-Epitaph of dignity.  
Or had the tall Pyramids of fame,  
Been consecrated to thy dying name.  
The Pincely gallantry would not at all  
So rare enriched have that funeral.  
A tear, why, why? that is a Pearled Shrine,  
T'enclose a Saint a Deity divine.  
A Saphire-Sepulcher a ruby Jet.  
T'Interre that great Almighty Mahomet.  
Those Mausolaeums Cleopatra would  
Scorn, burnished up with costly globes of gold.  
Might her rude f●me be monumented by  
Th' Elixar-Jewells, of an amber-Eye.  
Our shallow Praises, glossed, pure, bright,  
Are but dim shadows of that glimmering light.  
Lest we coin Heavens, by the Heaven's mint,  
And Diamond-Plumes on diamond feathers print.  
He whose last destiny's entombed there,  
Knows only th'high ambition of a tear.    

Aurora's blush, OR, The morning-sight of his Lady.  

AS Sol encircled in a ray,  
Summoned those Heranlds of the day,  
To mount their eastern steeds, and clear  
Night's Curtains from the veiled sphere:  
In a most gorgeous intent,  
To chase th'enamel orient;  
Near by the silent silver tides,  
Where Neptune in's attirements glides;  
Along the Meads which did transpire,  
Life perfumes halloweed in the fire;  
There smiling sweets fits on fair bowers,  
There Cloris tinsileth the flowers:  
The earth seemed clad in May, to scorn,  
Don Phoebus, and his rosy-morn:  
Whose oriency did far excel,  
Rich-loaded Cassia's fragrant smell.  
I viewed a Paragon whose bright,  
Appearance seemed the Queen of light;  
Rayed with such splendours here she bore,  
A comet, there a Meteor  
Dishevelled from a frondent brow,  
With Venus-myrtles, Cupid's yew.  
Her spangled tresses, tied in hairs  
Legends of Cupid's Prisoners;  
Whose Darts dispiled, all became,  
True votaries to her sacred name:  
So that the Poets god's divine,  
Adores a female's mortal shrine;  
Her eyes empearled in rosy-heat,  
Adonis well might bathe in sweat:  
Of th' Milky-way, her breasts upon  
Venus, her Offa, Pelion.  
Rivulets of Elixir did meet,  
In combination, kisses sweet;  
Strove through her eyes, that Crystal sluice,  
Like Alpheus courting Arethuse.  
Her candid beauties which arise,  
Compounds of Lilies Rosaries;  
As Solemnising in's element displays,  
The banks to Sunshine floods of rays.  
And as th' Hyblean Bird, who flings,  
On each sweet flower his painted wings:  
Cul● the mellifluous springs, and spreads,  
His ravishments on April's meads  
By curious chemistry and jets,  
On Flora's Hybla's or Hymets',  
She with her Ivory hands presumed,  
To rob each fragrant-sweet perfumed;  
Each ruby blossom on the stem,  
Presenting her a diadem;  
First on this bower, And then on that,  
Cupid's Venus-Ararat:  
Pinking her face, a gem more worth,  
Then Homer's swaggering lines set forth;  
Oth' Grecian Helena, her fights  
Puling Platonic souls delights.  
What could I think but that she was,  
True godhead of that Pearly lass;  
The gold-ruined fountains standing by,  
Like the sea-daughtered deity;  
Or Queen of June, from Aprill's race,  
And Tempe was this pleasant place,  
Where a yery Organists did throng,  
Their sweet voiced Anthems to a song;  
As the shril-luted echoes might,  
Salute Heaven, in a canting plight.  
But sad mistakes did every one,  
Act in their veneration:  
For Ave-maries unto her  
Sung. He, but she-birds, salve vir  
Here odoriferous Gums red-white,  
Damask-tinctured Margarite:  
Rosy conserveses, blooms of West,  
Spiceries, which bruised smells best;  
Or-discolouring argent pearl,  
Beautyfied that summer-girl.  
But lest Phoebus should impair,  
Her worth, by kissing such a fair;  
With his Auriferous beams, she hies,  
To yonder banks of strawberries.  
Under those Myrtles which appears,  
Saddest mementoes of Love's tears.  
I followed after the brave Dame,  
In those mild groves, cooling the flame;  
Of fiery- Sols expansive-rayes  
Which caused in those shades delays:  
Here I Adonis showed, and there  
Venus blushing form, her sphere,  
As ancient Am'rists did inter,  
Saints-loped in barks calendar:  
Here great Apollo tombed, we find,  
There Daphne corporate to a rind;  
But as those speeches, she was gone.  
Like an exhalation:  
Whether a sleep, I cannot tell,  
Or waked I cannot, so Farewell.    

Hymen, O Hymanaee; OR, An invitation to the Nuptial.  

UP with the morning Lark, my Dia, rise,  
From th'odoriferous beds of Rosaries,  
While we expect a more celestial fight,  
By th'day-break of your face disvaild from night:  
To a vermilion-morn whose blushing head,  
Like Lilies are, with scarlet roses spread;  
Laureate- Apollo his high Orbs out scans,  
As climant in the full Meridian's:  
Scattering the creamy-springs, with sugared rays,  
As Zephtrus mild smiles on flowers displays;  
Each winged Chorister, has raised on high,  
The dulcet Anthems of his melody:  
At Phosphorus shrine riding the early coach,  
Proud harbinger of Ruby-Sol's approach;  
And you fair Dia, still desire to spread,  
On Flora's drowsy flowers your sleepy head.  
But now awaked, richly yourself array,  
With the Injeweled sweets of Lady May;  
So rarely verdant in the Purled fields,  
Where maiden April, her famed fragrant yields  
In blushing glories, let the immortal seed  
Of Jove's great brain, (envy the gaudy weed  
Adorns your features) catcht at thinner air,  
Condensed to an Angel's garb most rare:  
In imitation, the robe to presume,  
Must mount in feathers of Seraphic plume;  
Whose rarefaction, though it can't excel,  
That filken garment, may be parallel.  
And first ransack rich July's wardrobe place,  
In Tellus flowery bosom highly grace;  
With redolentiall herbs, conserved sweets,  
Where red-faced Tulipt, Pale-faceed gilloes greets:  
And in a Rose-quilt coronet combine,  
Crimson-incarnat new-sprung J●zamine:  
Each parts-coloured Panucy Damask-flowers,  
Panting for incense, on those neighbouring bowers;  
Breathed odours from your breast, from yees the dew,  
Would soon with fame their Sunshine-lives renew.  
Next rifle Tyre for purple, and the sleek  
Eastern velvet, like her ruby cheek:  
The famed Licilian Seas where Corals be,  
Woods inter-grown with Africa's Ivory,  
Of which compose a garment, never seen  
To  th' ambition of Olympus Queen:  
With Aromatic spices, balm the best,  
Those sweetened raisins fragrant in the East;  
All compounds of May's simples by intent,  
T' enrich that incompared attirement.  
And now adorned hence, hence perfumed smells,  
Hence, hence Arabian-Ambers, which excels;  
The rosy-bloomings of a July-morn,  
Or rich Ambrosias which Jove's feasts adorn;  
Here Incense of an Holocausted fire  
The crimson flowers in their plush attire:  
Vermilion-Amithists, hot-Amulets,  
Pomander, Nardes', rare-Balsom, violets,  
You speak her artificial sweets, a name,  
But not at all her native-gusts proclaim:  
So sugared as dame natures curious quill,  
Pencilled exactly, by an untaught skill.  
Begun large Di'mond rocks, ye pearls adieu,  
We fond dig for pleasures in Peru;  
We seek the Orient gems, the Adamant,  
The Jewels which exotic nations vaunt:  
Too strictly there's no splendours like to hers,  
They're only rich, who'd the compettitors;  
To some you may add fame, but here's an eye,  
A Crystal pure shining transparently;  
Let India boast the same. It, it shall be  
Mirror of wonders to eternity.  
Lastly, go forth my Dia sweet, my sweet,  
Your lovesick Am'rist at the altar meet:  
Where to your face, beauty's chiefest skies,  
He immolates his heart a Sacrifice;  
Embrace he will your world, and yet partake,  
Only of Virgo in the Zodiac.  
And if what Poet feign you strictly prove,  
Then there's no Heaven, but in sacred love.    

The Nuptial.  

SLeep Phoebus; sleep, we don't expect the day,  
Should summoned be with Herald of a ray;  
From th' vestal Nunnery of Hermit-night,  
As a famed Ganymede, t' attend the light:  
For Sunshine glimmers in each Virgin-eyes,  
Rare, as Climacterick of the beauteous skies;  
When modest Titan gold-gemed raise extols,  
To highest Hemisphaeres from th' lowest poles,  
The rosy Bride decked in Aurora's weeds,  
Whose ruby blushes mounts the morning steeds;  
To luminate the Sphaerick-orbes has drawn,  
The tiffany Canopies like vails of Lawn:  
From celiall Phoebe's features, ushering on,  
A day in its well-measured motion;  
We see the Earth perfumed, and grown too proud,  
As misted with veil of a gummy cloud:  
While the Sea-musickt Siren's songs rejoice,  
Their incantations with a warbling voice;  
The grape-crowned god, his heels are tripped up,  
And Ivy-strength imbrued in each full cup;  
And Bericinthia's dulcet Lust resounds,  
It's past●rall Tympanies o'th' flowery grounds;  
Made rich by April's blossomings which be  
Apparellings, of Flora's Livery.  
Where Satyr-Corobants the Orgies dance,  
Where Bacchus-Priests the Jovial-Thyrce advance.  
Where Birds concentre in a sweetened note,  
Such admiration to the Heaven's vote.  
Now's a new Jubilee this sacred day,  
As crowned with Chapelets of verdant May,  
we'll rarely consecrate and it combine,  
Ith' fame of an Encomiastic line.  
we'll rant forth in Eulogiums and inter  
It in the Rubrics, of our Calendar.  
While thus we celebrate in one consent,  
Accustomed Rites of this brave merriment.  
Fair Venus shall, the divine Queen of Love,  
Make those transcendent joys Pathetic prove.  
Confirm their heavenly happiness to be  
Fastened with Gordian knots of unity.  
Nor shall the Sea-Nymph frown since 've possessed  
The Elysian Port with wanton glories blest.  
Rather since halcyon-days appear in state,  
Th' Rosy Lass should Loves congratulate,  
The Maiden Phenix feucht a far no more,  
Shall the Sea-traveller Argo wet its O●r,  
To seek a Paragon, a Master piece,  
She's silver Meda and the Golden-fleece,  
Nor shall sweet Phillis from Demophoon be  
Confined by a Cloustred secrecy,  
Rich Cloris wedded to the spring shall try,  
Her pregnant tillage by flowers progeny,  
And Virgined Lilies decked in Hymen's weed,  
Bright Gardens with a pure production spread.  
The Rose his plush, while smiling July yields  
Silke-blossomings ith'crimson-laced fields,  
Tinctured in that curious-trimed allay,  
By flower-Superlatives of gaudy- May.  
Cypros her silver doves their loves protest.  
By billing one each others amorous breast;  
In Imitation of your minds which are  
Trans-copied to a body singular.  
Now Hymen shall adumbrate your sweet brows  
With shady Garlands made of myrtle-bows;  
Till trains of Virgins as they laurel tye,  
Sing forth this pleasant Epithalamy.   

Wanton Amorists do not seek  
After superficial fair  
Room or Carthage, in the air,  
Painted dainties of a cheek.   

Touch the inward joys refined,  
Instruments are for the Play,  
Sunbeams gild a cloudy day,  
Hidden Pleasures cloys the mind.   

Steal no Comet to descry  
Solar glories of a glance,  
Blazoned beauties Radiance.  
Darted from a Pearled eye.   

But with sweetest love embrace  
Those Red-mantled beams which be  
Rayed in rich Oriencie,  
Off a starr-discoloured face.   

Rob no more brave Phoenix nest,  
Or the Indian sugared breath,  
From the spicy gums unsheathe  
To perfume the Lady's breast.   

But entomb your lovely arm  
In those Rosarie-set groves,  
Like the sky renowning Jove's,  
By a Cyprian-weaved charm,   

Do no more those Rays admire  
Which dame Nature doth bestow  
On a face by Cupid's bow.  
Darting an unvanquished fire.   

Foolish lover rather try,  
How you may those flames despise,  
Beamed from the Sunny eyes  
Of the Wanton's Chivalry.   

'Tis pure madness to obey  
The misteriall charm of loves,  
Whose divinest glory moves.  
In the Porp'hry chair of sway.   

Come divest that candidate,  
And untie that Gordian thread,  
Or that Nymph a triumph lead;  
From that vestallized state.   

None enslaved ever was  
To that Mirror of all hearts,  
Guided with the blindman's darts;  
That most Deified Lass.   

Much less to the forms which live  
In our modern times so rare,  
Black Swans flying in the air,  
From that face derivative.   

Do not emulate but get  
That ●o immaterial soul,  
Which lives now without control  
In a sweet breast's Cabinet.   

For a feature will expire,  
As the Diamond-Diadem,  
Grafted in an Oyster's stem.  
Cannot glore in rich attire.   

Gourt not fading beauties here,  
Like Platonics for the sight,  
The delicious appetite;  
Feeds within an active Sphere.   

Puling gamesters use no tilts,  
To confist the wanton maids,  
They have none but rusty blades,  
Though they show the golden hilts.   

For in Hymen's sugared feasts,  
All the viands served in dishes,  
Are more than some honey kisses  
Tabled up to Amorous guests.   

Here's a sweet-faced Ganymed,  
Here's a potion to apply  
'Gainst grief, sickness, malady;  
There's a downy-Carpet bed.   

Then join Combat with that Dame;  
Cesar Pompey here lies blest  
In a Potent arm a breast  
Of an Amazonian frame.   

And the field Pharsalia is  
Love's Pavilion, where the heart  
Suffers by the Cupid's dart  
Taking mark first at a Kiss.   

Nor is't a Gygantick fight,  
Venus' love-enamouring hum,  
Is Spanish-pike Danaish Drum.  
Which doth muster up delight.   

No wounds in this battle may  
Bleed, but kisses which career  
At the lips, each trembling spear,  
To a fierce Aceldama.   

CHORUS.  
IS it so? then let delight  
Wait upon this wedding Night.    

To one who was drawing forth the lineaments of his Lady Dia.  

STay Painter her to limne, each part  
Requires a more mysterious Art.  
That judgement shallow is, unless  
Each Paint a Metaphor express;  
A Common Beauty here decayed,  
May by thy Ret'rick be displayed  
In curious flourishes as trim.  
As Phydias did Minerva limn:  
So may an Artist bravely spread  
Dame Bausis, in a Virgin's weed;  
And where before a satire was  
A Venus or some Pearly Lass:  
But here's a form except thy paint  
Can shadow forth a perfect Saint.  
That Pencil really would seam  
Goliath, with his Weavers beam.  
But thus begin, if thou'lt go on  
To finish forth this Paragon,  
Prescribe a Heaven i'th' circuits there,  
Raise here a moved and a fixed sphere;  
Of Characters a brave compack,  
Sol riding round his Zodiac.  
Cynthta Silvering every place  
As Umpire of the night's sweet grace.  
Stars-Orient, spangled in a robe,  
As th'mantled surface of the Globe:  
Bright Constellations beaming by  
Th' E●an-Creamed Gallaxie.  
And all to typisie the bright  
Sunshine-face, of Eye-sprung light.  
Next paint her voice, but that's a theme,  
For those who on Parnassus' dream,  
A Cherubs Quill did ne'er declare.  
Wonders, to write, how flowers are  
Sweet, 'tis no Pitch, but to disclose  
In Paint the fragrance of a Rose.  
A Rapture is, a man may tell,  
No Pencil lymn, the lilly's smell,  
Avoyce so sweet, a voice so clear,  
As th' Harmonia of a Sphere.  
Angellick-breath, more famed, more rare  
Than all the Hallelujahs are,  
It to decipher, get that note  
With which the Prophet seemed to quote,  
A Cherub Sing, ●●t fear lest thence  
This Siren Extalize thy sense.   

Then to her breath, where fragrant comes  
An India sugared up with gums;  
Rich Rosaries, spice-Purled flowers,  
Gorgeous trimmed Posies on the bowers:  
Point it like the Arabian Coast,  
Which only doth of sweetness boast.  
Where's perfumed dainties for the taste,  
Enough for sight, most rarely placed.  
Then to her breasts sweet Gallaxie,  
Where all her Am'rists joys to be;  
Relished with Raisins, which grow on  
That sky-saluting Pe●ion.  
Here place Dame Flora's Chapelets  
Balm, Hyblas-honey, Hyomets;  
Sabean-Cassia, Ruby-mould,  
Fetched from our Hispanian gold.  
Here let banks or Lilies grow,  
There let cups of Nectar flow,  
To feast a palate, say he were,  
Descended from high Jupiter.  
Now the sum total well perform,  
By this artificial Norm;  
A Rose in tincture must descry  
The cheek, a star the shining eye;  
Her lina●ments will then surpass,  
That goodness, who halfe-shadowed was?  
Yet draw a curtain, lest each one,  
Who sees her? be Pygmalion:  
And so, enamoured of that paint,  
Embrace the picture for the Saint.    

To his Lady persuaded she was not fair.  

WHy? say you were (but you are fair,  
And of a beauty singular)  
The orient diamonds Cloystreed dwells,  
Ith' confines of the rugid shells;  
The nitreous Jewel always set  
Within a dusky Carcanet,  
Doth shin● transparent, purest whites,  
Seems Lilies by black opofites.  
So Cynthia in the night appears,  
More stellate than the Hemispheres;  
For our rare beauty spots in fashion,  
Are th' sky black-tinctured illustration;  
Helen did not her warts condole  
sees Venus', Venus by her mole.   

Give me a mistress whose bright eye,  
Like Sol is veiled in canopy;  
Whose lips and fragrant cheeks discloses  
A June of pinks, a May of roses,  
Though on those spiceries be drawn  
A Vizard, made of Cherry-lawn;  
For such a face with blackness closed,  
Is as the Moon when interposed  
She is a pearl Compassed with glass  
As Rosamond i'th' Labyrinth was,   

For Phoebus as the Car he rides,  
His beams Opacous Terra hides;  
From our weak sights, and maketh dim,  
Those candid glories comes from him:  
So may your excellencies be,  
Dull vailed with obscurity;  
And since your face, our Sun is made,  
Lady, let me be your shade.    

On his Lady Dia's weeping.  

I Often hard fond Am'rists but ne'er would  
Believe her eyes as Pearl her face as gold;  
Till from her eyes struck with her beauty-beames,  
Run crystal, mingled with Pactolus-streams:  
'Tis strange to some, her glories thus alone,  
Should be our greatest Phylosophick-stone;  
No, but 'tis true, her virtue-candors should,  
Turn stony lovers to a Ruby mould:   

For by the silent laurels as I stood,  
She wept of Jeweled Elixir a flood:  
In such a pearly Diamond as did rant,  
It's orient lustres, with the Adamant,  
A tear was the same-spreading herbal whence,  
Distilled th' extraction of a Quintessence:  
And then a sigh resulting from't was the  
Ruby, well made by that rare chemistry.   

First, as a long she walked the summer-meads,  
Where Aprill's Lilies boast their maidenheads,  
She made their colours mary-golds t'embrace,  
The splendent ardours of her Sunny face:  
They blushed to see her virgin-looks so red,  
Which tincture with their whites commingled,  
And so transformed at those golden sights,  
Like Heliotrops became her proselytes.   

Next to the murmuring currants did she go, love  
To pleasant Rivers sembleing silver Po;  
Where gliding streams speak dearest loves of  
As to her golden beauties they did move,  
And then the Poët's fictions did command,  
Truth from the existence of this ruddy sand;  
Changed by her tears to that new-fashoned state,  
As did Pactolus, Tagus, Ants-date:  
So stories which did admiration thunder,  
Are shrunk into a lesser cloud, than wonder:  
So have I seen an Optic glass to th'eye,  
A Ladies glorious beauties multiply;  
Which when reversed to the other end  
Did, in less contract, that same form commend:  
So have I seen bright Sol's Eoan ray,  
Into a miracle its beams display:  
When most in vaunting state, of lustures proud,  
Soon peep ith'v zard of an envious cloud;   

Thus having wept, each golden flower paid,  
Their rich-st●t●ibutes gallantly arrayed,  
The silken Tulip, Velvet-violet,  
In their famed robes her Ornaments beset;  
By an obedience to her form, which give  
Original sweets to them derivative:  
Plush-roses come, in scarlet dye to seek,  
From native Rubric of her coral cheek:  
A higher colour, of which fame possessed,  
Retired to th' Cloister of her crimson-brest;  
And rivulets kissed her beauteous garb, while she  
Set, frothy Venus in the foamy sea.   

But do not weep the floods to pearl,  
Be thrifty of your tears, proud girl;  
If we in Crystal swim, or should  
Like Midas nothing touch but gold;  
It were a torment, and each sense  
Misconstrue it, for pestilence.   

Minerva's Progeny when they  
Should drink up Hippocren, and sway,  
Ith' Prop'hry chair of their own wit;  
Will find no wine at all in it,  
And how then? 'tis not ale inspires  
Our muses with Poëtick-fiers:  
We must want Verses, you want praise,  
The Poet's laurel, Herald's blaze.   

The Cygnet who on silver Thames,  
Sits Prophesying death, the streams  
Turned into gold, will soon forget  
His name, and swear he's Mahomet  
Entombed in Pearl, brave Neptune might▪  
Be richer in his Amphi●rite,  
Yet, be not frugal lest some Sage,  
Sibyl of this Iron-age:  
Say (as by Rain the World of old)  
Deucalion's race should drown by gold.  
The Auriate Rivers opened lies,  
In fabulous, Mythologies,  
But fictive were that Crysian store,  
That Hermus running purest Ore;  
Unless you'd lived in those days,  
And weeping glossed them with bright rays;  
For all affirm, a golden sphere,  
And what's your eyes, if fixed there.   

Perhaps my Dia, this you did,  
To build a glorious Pyramid:  
For Venus, and the Non-eyed Boy,  
Spare such intents, a childish toy:  
First, make Parnassus rich, and we  
Who are called, poor by poetry;  
When as we reap our fruit, and bear  
The golden harvest of a tear;  
Erect an altar to your shrin,  
And Incense, Sacrifice divine.    

To his Lady at the Departure.  

NOw sets Sol's candours, all my daybreak light  
Is clouded in Oblivion's misty night;  
By an Ecliptic shade, made like to these,  
Phoebus-denounced cold Antipodes:  
For say what sadness could my noblest mind  
Have in the Labyrinths, of grief confined;  
Then such a Complementive harm, which proves,  
Rebellious Rivers in our sacred loves.  
But will you go fair Maid, I'll ne'er be  
Cured with cordials of a Jubilee;  
If on your Ruby lips, I take upon,  
A Farewell, Farewell salutation;  
Unless that dead, and Widowed kiss invite,  
Espousing Nuptial●s to your appetite.   

So many sweets of yours breathed forth a May,  
And now those bloomy fortunes must decay;  
Ere they be ripe, like early flowers which are  
Decrescent, as pale Luna rides the Car:  
The morn, their birthday celebrates and the  
Night Solemneth their sunerall, Obsequy:  
So many lustrious beams corruscant by  
The ardent Sunshine of your glorious eye;  
Emparadised my mind, and must I be  
Disvailed from that heavenly Majesty.   

Must the great Phoebus, in a doleful cloud  
Of sorrows, his Eoan lights enshroud;  
As he climbs up the Eastern hills to bring  
Rays, for the day odours t' in rich the spring:  
And shall the glimmering candours of my hope,  
Sink to the depth of morning's Horoscope;  
Where fates, malignant honours never, are,  
A bearded comet, or a smooth-faceed Star.   

No no, my Dia; It's a homely dress,  
The russet coat, of a grave Sheperdresse;  
Becomes the rural Meads in their best show,  
Let Galatea drive poor Virgil's plough:  
Or wash his Jambs with an attentive heed,  
Whilst he sings dit●ties on his oaten reed:  
Should clod-pate Tytyrus his rustic swains,  
Espy your beauty on their flowery plains;  
In admiration they'd conclude, you'd been  
A Deity, no pretty sheperlin.   

But stay my Dia, and we'll garlands wove  
The golden stalks, of spices lawrell-leafe;  
In a Rich chaplet, while each winged bird prates,  
The sympathies, of their most lovely mates:  
Where Flora her gay pleasures sporting yields,  
I'th' pearly buskins of Injew'led fields.  
So in a famed commixture there we'll see  
Lilies of th' Court, Roses of the Country.    

To his friend, on the sight of his Lady  

SEe where she comes behold, espy,  
A second Helen's beauteous face,  
A front of thunder lightning eye;  
Transmorphosing Actaeon's case.   

Just in my breast, for now I feel  
The golden dart no leaden steel,  
Ixion's everturning wheel.   

Forbidden it Jove, or how shall I  
At sacred Altars pray;  
When I am Venus Votary,  
Conducted with that Ray.   

Impossible to quench, I burn  
In flames less I return,  
Chas●e Phoenix from a dying Urn.   

Is Celia fallen from above,  
To Court some humane race.  
Here is no Ganymed of Love,  
A Paris, Jove like grace,   

To wanton with the sweetest sport  
As Petulants who do resort  
To the admired Roman Court.   

Is the World's Paramour in mind,  
In this undaunted wrath,  
Her childish Amorist to find  
Wildred in some Path.   

Of woods where noxious creatu●…s lie,  
And so in equipage to try  
If he be void of Jealousy.   

To wander thus, is but in vain,  
What secret Phillis proves,  
That heaven which mad Poets feign  
Elizium's but in Loves.   

Blest Indy's there, but every grace  
Of happiness dwells in the place  
Of a rare-welcomed embrace.   

There is an injewled May,  
On the odoriferous bowers.  
There is April's Courtiers gay,  
Dismantling royal flowers.   

June's Julis golden crest.  
All spiceries which verdant rest  
Ith'rosealls of the perfumed East.   

Elixar-fragrant blossoms rise  
With the impregnant sweets,  
Fair Types of flowery paradise,  
Pure Roses Lilies greets.   

And all to satisfy the sight  
Of her eye-viewing Appetite,  
Still hunting pleasures with delight   

But now 've seen enough I know.  
God's often are in humane show.    

To Dia on a vision.  

DId dreams in fair truth's garbs appear,  
I'd then acquaint each curious ear  
What beauty fancy represents,  
In concaves of benighted tents.  
Nature it seems puts on the dress  
Which Madams in the days confess;  
Deludes the Lover's wand'ring sense  
With shapes of seeming innocence.  
Mycillus dreamt until the Clock  
Struck Morning by Pythagorus' Cock:  
And thus Old Esop's tales doth say,  
Gold found i'th' night, was dross i'th' day.  
All hopes are vanished, thus we might  
No better warm at Gloe-worm light.   

Yet grant I credit give, will you,  
Admire or wonder it were true.  
Believe me (Dearest) 'twas a She,  
Deserves more praise, than flattery;  
A feature pure, whose splendours win  
A sacred Quill from Scraphin:  
Commends a stile no low, no less  
Than the grand Sophos could express.  
I gently viewed her by her Ray,  
The time was night, but she was day.  
Aurora's blush, her cheek, her lip,  
Where Phoebus did his Nectar sip.  
Ambrosia taste, a brow, an eye  
Like Luna in the spangld sky:  
Where like great Jove to dive in bliss,  
I did Court, Compliment and kiss  
Her Lilly-breast embossed with red,  
As Mars when took in Vulcan's bed.  
 Characters in blushes drew,  
Which made my lips mild language show.  
For say I did desire to drink  
Wine sugared from the Coral brink.  
Her lips, It water were if one  
Presume it from that Helicon.  
Though oft I did by Venus' charm,  
Embrace that Lady in my arm,  
'Cause he that plays the wanton-boy,  
Confesseth only love is joy.  
He plucks th' Hesperides and more  
Than Dragon chastity before.   

Yet Stay fair Dia, I'll not draw  
Those lines in metaphors, I saw  
None but yourself, I joy the fates,  
My misery commiserates.  
You are only She, I speak  
In so much flourishing Rhetoric,  
And when we two by love are one.  
In happy bands of Union.  
By calmest Haltion days of Love  
We'll make our joys Pathetic prove.    

To his Lady.  

IT is a Quaery often told,  
They cannot die who do unfold  
Strong cordials, strange, has every note  
A long, a Poison Antidote?  
Here's death, here is a corosive  
Physician, first see that you live.  
Yet such restoratives I find  
In the retirement of your mind,  
As that my sickness need not fear  
A Potion, if yourself be near.  
In conserveses sweet, like Charon's boat.  
I may to glorious Tempe float:  
For 'tis your breath I live upon,  
As th' airy-suckt Chameleon.  
And since it blows so Rare a scent,  
From your fair face it's Element.  
Not p●trefies it is profane,  
To say in Angel, earth remain.  
Come grant your beauties, then that I  
May worship the divinity.  
In your face couchant, as men's hearts  
Hung Trophies upon Cupid's darts,  
Oblations to a Deity  
Cannot Idolosisme be.  
I think by you, that frame will sure,  
No such base Pagantry endure:  
It moulded of a better blood,  
Is more defusive unto good.  
Yet say 'twill Idolation be.  
(As is great Saints Apostasy)  
A Sacrifice to you'd infer,  
Pish, I'll be made Idolater.   

Come, Autumn will a rival be,  
To those who seek your Treasury.  
And who would sail to India set,  
When there's no gold at all to get.  
When those Roseal cheeks composed  
Of sweetness is in dull age closed.  
Who'll call it Eden, than no flower  
Mellifluous it'h fragrant bower.  
Who'll call you Paragon (not he,  
None else but Helen, fair may be.  
None chaste but Phoenix knows) unless,  
We by her Moles a Venus guess.  
Who to the tree will make pursuit,  
When Hercules has got the fruit.  
'Tis not a superficial thing,  
Our fancies can to pleasures bring.  
●Tis Richer motions we throw in  
●ur Hymeneal Magazine.  
But stay, methinks in your eyes glance,  
Two Cupids are at dalliance,  
Those glimmering beams darting I see,  
Just as his holden arrows be.  
Sure they do strive, shall we divine,  
Whether of us must first resign,  
Venus grant it, be you long since,  
My Passions fierce, I did convince.  
I was in Love, Oh! Oh! 'tis true,  
And with no goddess else but you.  
See you not the sweet Marigold,  
Her gaudy colours doth unfold:  
At Phoebus' splendours every day  
To gild her leaves with his rich Ray.  
She like his Daphne drops the boughs,  
He taketh and Crowns his laurel brows.  
Learn of this flower, you shall not fear,  
I'll prove your Sun in every Spheer.  
You say I'm Scholar by my looks.  
Know I delight in two-leaf books.  
Hence you conjecture right, what man  
Would not attempt your Vatican.  
It is a treasure not a loss,  
That library each day to toss.  
Nor is't false Latin to decline  
My case with your sex toeminine.  
womans no Heteroclits are  
That serve a Number singular.  
Tho not Quae Genus is in Rate,  
Then every one would please his Pate.  
Yet the Grammatian must allow  
Your sex to be the Common of two  
Cease then sweet Lady for to be  
More stony than old Niobe.  
Lest I Pygmalion Court a Dame,  
Made of some wood insculpted frame:  
For tell me why, was love confined  
Into one Object virtuous mind  
But Lovers should as bodies may  
Carry their motions in one way.  
Who would not build an amorous nest,  
it'h Hybla's of your fragrant breast.  
Residing there, till he doth spy,  
All bliss and true felicity.  
There in that Centre he may move.  
By Juno's or Diana's Love.  
And sit like Haltion in that calm,  
Let Cupid bring a wound, you balm  
To cure the malady, hence  
As scorning loves antipathy.  
Will your embracement, have, of old  
As Jove did Danae's in gold.     

Cupid made to see, and Love made Lovely.  
SIrs, 'tis a Received Maxim, there's no new thing under earth, how many old things have we then above ground? and yet I could instance in this Protean Kingdom, still putting on pluralities of new-fashioned shapes, though amongst the nice scruples of ancient Philosophers; 'tis as true as the ●n doubted signs of Mathematic demonstrations Quoth, nihil dicitur, quod non suit dictum prius. It is evident then, therefore what Gigantic fables I have borrowed from this ga●agantain age, will not appear downright ●he●●; I do but disvail the beauty from a clou●●ed face, and make those Rays transparent, which vulgar heads could no way prize, because hid in a vizard, like the Oriental Diamonds, Cloysted in the strict Nunnery of in Oyster's shell. I do but dissipate the envious cloud, to a clear beam, and interprets the dusky types from unmysterious umbrages, for 'tis only Lust which huddles in the wanton twilight of dark expressions, whereas love scorns to be a Taper at the World's Torch; which soaring in the high Element of vaunting ambition, discovers her great Justres to undiscerning Conceptions. Look at Venus, she shames to flutter in Cynthia's  attirements, but displays like Juno's bird, her proud gaieties on this spacious Theatre. Look upon Cupid, though blind, yet always flatters his beauties in the Crystal glass of a Lady's eye.  
I must confess the total invention is not my own, yet where I borrowed any wit, I lent the composure of my fancy; Lux est umbra Dei, saith the Platonist, and yet how often do we admire that shade, Virgil in the Heroic Language of his noble attempt, made conspicuous the dim over sights of blind Homer, though we conclude him but the glimmering shadow of such a Sol, and no sublime honour to enthrone him in the meritorious Pavilion of highflown fame, as he who Charractered the light, to be the supreme desty's shade, thence made it more illustrious by such an Ecliptic brightness. I offer this to ●o man's Perusal, but whose amorous breasts are fit entertainments for this guest, for nothing but a Diamonds will make impression upon a Diamond (that is) None but a Lover regards the features of love. I therefore sault you in its Language, kiss your hands. And if you ask me what Love is  

I thus Answer.  
I Confess, now could I lash forth into the Coined streams of an Elegant Hyperbole. ●t were but sufficient to flatter your ambitions; But should I strive with the, winning persuasions, of smising Oratory, to ravish your suncses with the rare beauties of this high born Nymph, were but in vain, because I know you are not of the Platonics who diets their Appetites, with the notion of mingling Souls, when their bodies are at no other brookage, but a doting on contemplation. Away Adulterate speeches, like harlatory faces, painted outsides, to insinuate affections; Hence sweet Luliab●es, Ve●us Charms to impale madness with fair Alarements, the reality of such a sul●●nce is currant coin, when slattery's Eulogies are undervalved. love's beauty's are able to melt the Adamantine heart like the Pumix-stone to sweat water, though she proves imperious in the end, and by a wanton tyranny usurps, a Dominion greater than the World, till that rigour congeal them again to flint: Yet what a claim did the grand Sophoy attribute to this creature, while Parnassus was no Hill for their walks, and Helicon no Fount for them to swim: Methinks I see Socrates sad, in the glimmering twilight of his twinkling Candle, in the invention of this love; while it shows him nothing but his own obscurity: Methinks I see the swaggering Platonist bedewing his watery cheeks at Laethe's Rivulets, by the oblivion of this rare Idea. We see the Stagorite impearling his face with the Embroadery of an injewelled tear, because his inventions was so ebbed as not to know the tide-motions of this Euripus; We see the Naturalists heads veiled with sorrow, because not able to withdraw the shadowy curtain from this occult quality: We see the moralists pulls. beating slowly, in the attainment of those animate Ethics. And we see the Eagle-eyed wits of this age, the more they soared at, the sooner lose sight of those rays: I hear the Poets say, since the golden funeral of their happy times, love like Astraea flew into heaven; This would have quelled the aspiring attempts of those Amorists, had not the Interpreters made it dross in false Annotations; Aesop's Cock found a Pearl, but he wished it a Barley corn, yet it's probable love is on earth, for when I behold a Picture, how do some symptoms animate my duller spirits: And when I look upon a Picture, how do I commend the superficial Paint Rhetoricated in curious flourishes, and daighnes, an Eulogium on the ruder metaphors of the Artificer's shallow Judgement, which unpolite lineaments are in some sense beauty spots, to set a greater gloss upon the form, like those Solary motes which makes his Irradiant lustres diffuse a more glorious splend or, and therefore now I cannot hate a Lady for the nice disapprobation of deformity; the shadowy lineaments of dark colours, well lymns a Picture in its noble paint; natures landscape is feignedly drawn when a sable curtain veils the orient riches, and were Apelles' pencil set to the Portraiture, of a fair Nymph he would form her nigh the rough outfide of a misshapen Satire, thus roses grow sweeter besides stinking weeds, thus by the sullen Antiperistasis of a shade, Phoebus is splendent in the starr-rayed Meridian; thus Grammatick figures are not false Orthograpl●y. Helen may have a stain, the purest Venus a mole, and the finest lawn an ignoble fret: hence a crooked rod may be figured into a Mathematic staff, hence the distorted, Caverns of an old face are the grave characters of fame's Rubric, most sweetly Inbalming wrinkled cheeks, with bloomy roses, the decrepit form reversed, is but the studied Anagram of Prëtick glory, and I think the pretty Orater did no way flatter the mean beauty of his homely Lady, when he told her in the complementive Rhetoric of a high expression, Res sacra est deformitas: for indeed 'tis more divine than the winning Oratory of charming Pulchritude, which Philter, was magic enough to conquer a Romanceing Spirit, whose brandishing blade scorned to turn edge to a half-shadowed beauty, so than it may be good reason, why the puling Platonics would only live in contemplation because Venus her picture was half drawn. A reverend age is the very shape enstamped upon the perfect feature of Angels, whose superlative excellencies, rich in their natural Endowments, without the adulterate Chemistry of invention, to gild them with the tincture of an noble Paint, deserves to be adored as well as loved; For whatsoever seems so specified in the glorious modification of form, as requires our chiefest embraces, it results from this principle, that first of all it must be very lovely, now if any thing be deformed than it boasts the sage Records of an ancient antiquity, the rigid Stoic, whose satire robes looks more Prodigious than the old Synicke huddled in his rotten Tub, if he would retort his eye by a wanton Reflection would not be afraid at the unaffectionate light of his stony face: So that I congratulate the indulgent generosity of Madam nature who made my soul a Rasa tabula, where I might engrave the divine impression of a heavenly Lady, though I did never salute her, but in the murmuring tones of affectionate silence, I may feast the Insatiate appetite of my eyes, with the banqueting dainties of her presence, but I would not in the polite garb of gaudy eloqence, court a metaphorick oration from her ruby lips, Since the Poet has told me.  
Portentum est quoties Caepit Imago logus.  
What a Prodigious wonder 'tis  
To see a Picture speak, Court, kiss.  
But for me 'tis more easy to love, then to describe the existence of love, for it inhabitates the inward recesses of chaste hearts & therefore scorns the outward wanton of petulant tongues, the Painter represented nature appearing to Aristotle masked in a sad veil, and he as other Philosophers left her clouded in an obscure form and muffled up in the slip-cloaths of Materia, and I neither can draw the curtain from love's face, the better to admire its beauties; 'tis hid from the prying notions of my Quill; though it is Sainted in the white robes of Radiant light, perhaps we may semble her by some other objects, but such colours are dim, and such similitudes but weak demostrations; for what is it of Hyperbole to say in yonder Ruby-rose sits enthroned her golden cheeks, in this blushing tulip, discoloured with various Aparellings her violet veins, run in a modest current: In this Maiden-lilly, her virgins-skin glanceth a smiling blossom, and in this crimson Incarnadin waves the rich Ambrosia of her Curtal lips. No, no, In representation of this, the Heathen who studied so long as the blinking candle would glimmer to his nocturnal Lucubrations said that Lamp did show him only his own darkness, like the old Cynic with his Lanthornesplendor, at Noonday seeking a goodman in Athens: Neither did the exemplary documents, of Lascivious Poets give us a distinct evidence of this ray; It is better heard in the harsh melody of mournful sighs then seen in the young face of smooth effeminacy, and it is seen as well in the smooth face of young Effeminency, as heard in the harsh melody of mournful sighs; Yet mount the Top-Element of love, and you'll see Canaan by a Pisgath-fight; Cry aloud into the rebounding Caverns of its holy Nunnery, if you will hear it speak, for an Echo will not follow the weak voice. The old ginger was laughed at, who by looking intensively upon the Heaven's Physiognomy fell into a pit of waters.  
Inputeum Stollidus decîdit Asirologus.  
Th' ginger into a Well,  
By looking at the Heavens fell.  
Whereas in the crystal glass of that rivulet he might have seen the skies brightest beams uncurtained by an unconceived lustre, thus some in the description of Love have discovered their own folly, those who have striven in the Anatomy have only touched the superficies: A short Mathematic staff may reach the low Planets, but the Sun shine of Love is blazoned in a higher Pole, and therefore the ravished Archimedes may shoot forth his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 when he takes the elevation. Who ever did Paint the fragrancies of Aprill's Rose; 'tis a T●x beyond the Pen, as Pencil's Performance. I d●re give him leave who sees Love to fall in imoraces, & salute it with a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 welcome thou Lady Light; as the old Epicures desired to sip up their Quintessence in a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 if they could, which impossibility made the raging Stoics angry with Fortuna, in cheating them with the Lot yof blind uncertainties, & the unpassionate Stoic were dashed on Rocks of ansery, whien made their Wise Man who held an Apathy in his tenets, it a storm on Sea look pale, yet howsoever I cannot speak, alorions things are spoken of ●hee O Love! It was of thee that the famed Philosopher raised his Panygericks to a Map of the World, writ Hollinsheads, and spoke Folios. It was of thee, that the great Historian swollen his brain, till it run forth a second Helicon. And it was of thee, that the moralist raised, this Hyperbolical Eulogium, who can comment upon so Seraphic a a Text without an angel's sublime pinneon. What Jove in his Regal magnanimity would not be Captived with so ●●●re a beauty? what Adonis would fear to melt into so delicate a flame? What Apollo would not entertain the kind welcome of such a golden dart? Some have presumed to Paint the Little Wanton blind; and I dare avouch that Cupid too without tongue, Hence the sporting delicacy of words, are the sad tone of a sigh, breathing forth such fluttering expressions as the Paphian Doves do echo in the pleasant groves of Myrtle-boughs. Hence their fingers talk Love-ditties, and dialogues, are weaved in their Virgin-Garlands. Hence the accustomed Character of a glance, the pleasant eloquence of a chaste smile, are Loves vocal messengers carrying the sweet Embassy of a kiss. Sometimes their laughter like so so many Rhetoricating figures are composed in a legible Idiom; and sometimes the contracted cloud of a supercilious brow typified the indignation of a frowning Lover. It seems to some a glory, above weak humanity, that like Angels they should discourse by sight, without help of an Intellect, as if souls had their course, and recourse into divers bodies and in silent eloquence most learnedly to Compliment, but alllove has its vizards, and Venus her sectaries, can go unseen circumfused with Aeneas his cloud, through Public Assemblies. I therefore learn this one thing, Cupid wounds the heart with his false treachery, by the compulsion of an invisible dart, so he still possesseth the native Countries of his Primogenious habitations, as traduced from the Cimmerian vault of the Pimitive Chaos. Love thus flies the grand Rays of a hot faced Phoebus, and like the Owl flutters in the shady glimmerings of dark Twilight. For my part, I know not what Magic did not only include Impetuous Pasiphoe in the circled Meanders of a crooked Labyrinth, but also cloistered this secret Love in an obscure Hermitage; so heard is it without Ariadne's clew to find forth the inextricate windings, 'tis so hard a Riddle to interpret, that every one who loves, dotes on a Aenigme, and becomes a problem to himself; just like those, who in a wastage of dreams are carried to Elysium and when they wake be still in Bridewell, Now it tosseth him in the furious tyranny of the watery Sultan, and now it dandles him on the Calm lap of an Halcion-day, so that by the fluxes, and refluxes, of divers Protestations never taking firm Anchorage in the disturbed Port of his breast; he will confess from wind, and weatherbeaten waves the goddess Cyprida derives her generation, and not from the sweet Amber Greece of perfumes, as some in a flatter to that wanton Deity blazed forth an attribute▪ Thus, those whose delicate heads are surfaced with the Rich Diadem of Roses, are Crowned with the mock-Scepter of Royalty of thorns, As Churches are painted with antic Creatures to show mysterial glory, and the Beast with ten horns, are the ten Tribes of Israel. The Cobweb face, of a smooth Lady, who entangles Lovers in such tiffany threads, is Domitian's Compeer who made it his Royal labour to catch flies. So cruel is the obsequious Empory of of Love, that to be its Subject is to live and die; Just as Maiden Phoenix builds herself a vital pyre in which Enfranchised flames, she refines her aged gravities. So malignant is its favours, that it strikes a man into the dull malady of disasters, whereby it may have a high prerogative of honour, in applying preservatives, so dubious a Benefactor, that with Reciprocal heats, and colds, and various paraoxysmes, it inflames and Refrigerates breasts consecrated to such hallowed fires. It casts a Lover into those flames that it may thence snatch him, or by some providence let him burn, as flies who circumlude the raging Tapers, sometimes suffer martyrdom, and sometimes scorch their wings,  
The pale faced Miser he seeks himself in himself, like our Roaring gallants so ignorant of observations, in sailing the compass of this World's Circuit, as they would seek Rome in Rome. It is hard for him to love, It is hard for him not to love: but it is hardest for him to enjoy the delicate embraces of love, What infelicity implies his contradiction to wish he might not enjoy his wishes, the Majestic feature of a Lady's brow, adorned with the Laurel Chaplet of verdant chastity doth allure and affright the excellent claritude of a serene face, like Sol's Eoan Candours, doth refresh, and make blind his gazing eyes; The lightning of a beauty would make him fall in veneration of such a divinity, and yet like the gigantic Cyclops, he fears to be struck with a Thunderbolt. It intermingles joys with the antipathy of sorrow, that the compounds of pleasure might be more delighting; and it intermixeth grief in sympathy with mirth, that it might the more torment: So that he but dreams, who thinks his palate enough banqueted at the sweet meats of such felicity; For when his stupefied senses are discharmed, from that magical Lethargy, he will find a hungry Appetite: Therefore you must not expect a Carpet-way to this Canaan, without the Red Sea of afflictions: You must not expect a Lady whose waxed arms are melted into a sweet compliance of delicate Imbraceing, without the hard opposition of a stony heart; A Lady whose breath always exhales the fragrant odours of Incensed Cassia, without the least obnoxoius smell of unredolency, upon whose cheeks, nothing but smiling Roses, breathing a Panchaian air, and sweetest Lilies survive in a glorious gorgery, or from whose lips nothing but harmonious Diapazons distils the coranting notes of unparalled raptures for some times Love's morose, and flames like shaggy-disheveled hair of bearded Comets, which again appear beauteous as the smooth-faced stars.  
Yet I have often heard, and I pray you tell, why do you complain 'tis blind and mad, all those ill favoured warts add an illustrion to this Helen's Beauty; We see the Moon canopyed in a black mask: And the stellate Spheres have their glimmering Candours bright oriency, of which, lustres are never displayed in the glory of a full Orb: The lawny vizard of modesty veils loves face, as the thin Robe of a condensed cloud, through which, Phoebus darts his morning Radiums', Before Aurora's glister are unsheathed from the dark scabbard of night. how do we like the Antipodes despair in dull melancholy, till she is discurtained from those dead veils, to the full Zenith of a Noonday glory: Thus when the pretty smiles of love's refreshed flowerings are unclouded from the envious Aparellings of misterial umbrages, how do we triumph in exultation: For some things are but clothed with the gay Robes of orient colours, but she is flourished with Sunbeams, bespangled with the twinkling stars of rich Embroidery, Anaxagoras there, should not make me  my eyes. What if only to Phylozophise were to contemplate the small Ideas of nature, than this high endeavour of love, is the great work of Philosophy, though he who loves but what he knows, changeth his Philosophy into Logicks scientifical demonstration, and I truly think one may be satisfied, as soon with a bare Skeleton of syllogisms bones As be filled with the notion of glorious beauty, nothing, Nothing. You believe love is mad hear but the fallacies, Lovers use in disputations, and you will say it is without mood and figure: See these distriumphing Virgins huge trophies on the victor's bow, and you will say they are first circum-binded in cords of anger, then impaled in embracements of pleasure; the wanton heat of a lustful breast teacheth them to chant the sweet notes of a melodious Lyric, before it lets them Rant in the Lascivious harmony of soft Epigrams, For Love is made with reason, and all those doteings of a Captived mind, are the secret mysteries of divine rage: To Love, and to be mad are relatives in reciprocal terms; Thus Jove descended from his high Olympus, to enjoy the Heavenly features of an earthly Lady, and the action might be commendable; for conjugal Rights of Lovers, as our marrying solemnites admits no shame, and the foolish Poet was drunk with too much Nectar, when he said,  

In Caelum est meritrix, in Caelum turpis adulter.  
That starry Palace, Royal state  
Of Jove, is but adulterate.   
But thus much for the Proin, a long Prologue, I fear will have a short scene, a shorter Epilogue, and therefore it is time to make a leg, and Exit, lest the City Run forth at those Myndian gates, than first, to describe this Deity, listen and you will hear, Dionysius the Syracusian Monster by the Logic of his genuity defining Love to be a circle, à bono, per bonum, in bonum redeuntem; and I wishly concur with that Emblem, I confess as well as kisses, Rings, compliments, the pledges of love, we have our Hyroglyphicks too: that very circle doth express Cupid drawing his crooked Bow at my breast, already struck with the golden dart: That very circle doth represent the perpetual heat of Lovers, commingled with blood (as 'tis the Probatum est of Physicians) Circumrotated by a gyre, just like the Aetherian, fire moving in the Similitude of an Orb, So that whosoever loves, he is carried by a spherical motion which like the Egyptian Serpentine year.  
Sua per vestigia Revolvitur.  
Doth to such Circ'lar motions tend,  
As it gins where it doth end.  
And as it's motion, so it's self is without end, for who knows not the last fate of a man to be his dying testament, while his soul is exhaled into his dearest friend's bosom, as a farewell Legacy, the Romans I am sure were no less confident than superstitious in this custom, when as they would catch the last breath of their dying lovers, by laying mouth to mouth: So that I think Pythagoras did rightly Philosophize, when he fell in Love with a Metempsuchosis, and sacrificed to the birthday of that Lady Transmigration his great brain, had in conception, whose desultory Soul divesting its Painted slip-cloathes the body flew into some noble entertainment which the old Pagans in their foolish tenets baptised an Elysium. before we take our ultimum vale, from this sorrowful Theatre there is none happy, whom love and Philosophy doth not inspire, or ravish the Soul into an amazement of ecstasies, and therefore without it, I conclude with the poet, 
Dici beatum, ante obitum, Nemo.  
None without Love can ever be  
Happy, till death end misery.   
The one hales the admiring man into the astonishment of Contemplations, The other sets the lovely soul into the great wonder of embraces; the the one carries you into the pleasant Tempe of Heaven-sprung flowers whose dew watering those Rosy leaves is Nectar spilt from the Gallaxey at Ganymede's fall, where you may feed the nice desires of a stolen glance, or satisfy the curious smell with balmy incense of perfumed sweets. And p●ay you tell me, How can you deny the transcourse of souls, when bodies are at a distance: Have you not seen the Amorist's eye, always looking that way, his Lady sits enshrined, like a stately Deity; If they join hands, than the soul dines its Appetite in figurative speeches by twisting of fingers, if they sit together then the heart leaps up in exultation, and Running forth with a whole Troop of thoughts (as rustic fellows salutations, are with a good blow) knocks at the weak fort, till it surrender. Or what other Annotation is the Ruby-blush, colouring one's Sanguine face, with a purple dye but the passionate soul, which in its crimson-robes presently leaps into the Velvit cheeks as the Plush-index of a wounded heart: See but how desirously the soul lurks, into the Labyrinth of an ear, catching the silent Compliment, in an Eloquent language, and then answereing it again, in a silent echo, see but how the soul ingulphes herself in the large theatre of a glance, and you will say, it dies in continual speculation, for some say Love is blind, but Democritus put forth his eyes, the better to live in contemplations. Thus man himself shrinks his whole composure, into the little vail of an eye, and sometimes confines it in the little Cloy stir of an ear, as we see some Animals content with the small function of one sense.  
Listen, Methinks I hear Aristophanes say, it is the whole Sacrament of Love to reduce men to that Principle, from which they were extraduced. Thus by natural progress, the Occidental Sun returns to his spicy East, when as the new Morning is but a Revolution of the old day; thus Rivers by their filial gratitude ingulphe the vast Treasures of their pleasant streams, at Neptune's acceptance, to whom they are derivative. But thou O Thales in water! and thou O Empedocles in fire leaping, made too much hast not only Philosophy, but the Philosopher himself was resolved into the principles, and the vital particles of souls ingurgitated in their own Elements. Thus the errors of Philosophyzing spirits, excuse the errors of raging Lovers; and while the Mentes famelicae were nourished of what they consist. One would swear Bacchus his soul is made of a liquefied matter. One would swear the Red soul of Tyrant Caligula is made of blood, who wished the world but one neck, in which he might glut the hungry Appetite of his ravenous blade. One would swear the muck-worm soul of a Country-fellow, is made of dirt, and his body to be the strong clay-walls, and one would swear the barbarous souls of Stoics rising from a hard quarelet of stones, to be carved into the lovely statues of men, Or what if we should feign with the Platonics, who durst not touch the chastity of a Woman, that by the mere notion of mingling souls (ut ex communi seminario.) Men do result in a strict Epithalamy of Nuptial; 'tis a pleasant invention, indeed that without putting their bodies to any brookage, they have generation by kissing of hands, and twisting of eye beams, yet this persuades us, that souls at the first approach, run into embraces, like friends who not forgetting their once-acquaintance can entertain souls at a dreaming separation, and meet in salutations before their bodies be in sight, so now the Platonic takes his Metempsuchosis into memory, for it is his Love and Philosophy.  
Cui amare, ac Philosophari est Reminisci,  
For to Remember what's a kiss,  
Not to approved is all his bliss.  
Yet to whom, to love, and to Philosophize is all one, it is to erect the lapsed estates of Angellick creatures with a perpetual speculation of Heaven (and as the birds of the Sun are fed only with its Rays) it feasts them with a continued desire of eternity. This is that, I know not what candour, makes mortals in the emulation of gods, scan the high sphere of divinty. This is the eye whose splendours discover more newfound Treasures, then  Sol was able to view without tiring his swift-flown Steeds; this makes us as circumscribed in no Parenthesis of age, like a Posthumus being as spirits who enjoy the vast Kingdoms of th'ubiqueous air without limitation. Love thus doth all things, knoweth all things, yet in its description I must write Encomiums on the Deo Ignoto as the Pagans scuplted it on their altars.  
Some say Cupid is no real being, but a Chimaera. Yet Plato degenerates from such Principles, allows him something, though 'tis only the desire of Pulchritude in a fair Lody, and I make account too, the attempt of an ill-favoured feature, is not Love, but lust. How doth that Ignis fatuus bemire the Lily soul, in the dirty bogs of Quag-mire folly? How doth that melancholy distemper, like Don Quixots, fight with Windmills of fancy, and summons a man up to death, as Brutus his Malus-Genius did him to Pluto's Praetorium. If thus rash Phaeton-lust, as an intelligence move in the brain's golden Chariet, It will soon destroy the Micre-cosmman. Each Amorist who adores this Lust as a white Swan, will find the silly Goose Painted, as Aesop's Crow in the rich Attirement, Peacock feathers, Like the Devil sanctified in the bright Radiance of condensed air. Such a darling Dalilah will blind the eyes of Samson Love, and then expose it to scorn of the Worlds Philistims. Such a wicked Athenian mounts the high pole of honour, by firing the costly state of Love's Diana temple but that verified Axiom of Logicians proves loves glories.  
Nihil dat quod non habet,  
Amor nec habet, nec dat malum.  
Things must be ours, before we give  
First breath and then you'll sur'ly live.  
The Poet durst not unclothe his body, lest the wind, as the Eagle did Ganymed, should Rap him into the air, but he I am sure who unloades himself of lust's mantle, will then with Eliah fly into Heaven. Methinks Plato's philosopher digested dark divinity, (without the commotion of a recoiling stomach) for the glorious Candle of the transparent soul (saith he) was thrust into the blind-Lanthorn body, as a punishment for her Virgin lust: O had love been in those days, how had these glimmery shadings been dissipated to clear beams: how had that Maiden in her gay blushes been restored to primitive glory; for love is not ashamed of her beauties as the proud Corinthian Lais was who broke the lookingglass at sight of her aged front, carved forth with pale wrinkcles. Lust indeed may adorn itself in royal love's attirement, yet no jot the less lust for that, thus a Parrot in imitation of men, may dispute a Syllogism. Persius' in excuse to his lisping Satyrs Authoratizeth this.  
Corvos Poëtas, Poëtridasque Picas,  
Cantare Credas, Pegaseium melos.  
A song is hard, yet Daws may easy do it,  
A Crows an Orator, a Goose a Poet.  
But they conclude like the Roman bird, whom the Cobler's Grammar had elegantly taught when by an Extempore speech, she cried forth.  
Oleum & operam perdidi.  
For me to speak is all in vain,  
You lose your labour, I get pain,  
We delight only in the fruition of a fair beauty, and scorn the Lotteries of Penelope's wooers, who flew in a soarage of impossiblity; A picture lymned in the brave excellence of gaudy Symetries, may persuade the eyes of a gazing Spectator, but not a Lover. And he who looks on a Lady only to observe the fair tablature of her face, may as well deate on a Picture. Love is the only Orator whose smiling Rhetoric allures me to the felicious salute of embraces. Here I bring the old Philosopher Socrates to witness who would have the very carved Effigies painted in the insinuating colours of Love's bravest tinctures, how often with his sweet Appellatives in the Schools, as if in Venus Gymnasiums, hath he styled his Company Formosos auditores, such waxed minds, on whose melting Amorosities, the Signet of his eloquence might make impression: So than the flattering Compliment of a merry countenance may conquer the fortified Ilium of a Regal Lady. Helena may be surprised by a pleasant Robbery, without the emulation of so many Rivals; though once the high ambition of enjoying that unheard of form racked Troy in a decimal Torment of fire. A mild Hero may lead Venus a Trophy to his wanton bed, as a stern M●rs enjoy her in Vulcan's lodgings. The dirty Soul of a Clod-pate swain who knows nothing besides the beautifying of a goodly farm, can dive so far into Royal Love's Cabinet as to snatch the best Pearl he there finds enclosed; else our wanton Deity had never wished for the enjoyments of an Iron-side Vulcan, but he was mettle to the back, and therefore would not stand bend to his work.  
Pray tell me, if you, do not love, how can you think to be happy; for love like the Stoics hath a Domestic Pleropheria an unavoidable happiness, although the felicious Heathens could never reach Summum bonum beyond an imaginary conception. Thus by a Piece of Politic Stoicism can allay the raging infortunes of disquieted passions (as the sturdy Rocks quells Neptune's Proud waves) and makes them retire worsted. Some have canonised men whose radiant works sparkles in the Orient lustre of day beams, Aristotle was set up as a Pope in Philosophy, while his sectaries thought other writings but Err a-Patris neither gospel, nor law, but at love's rich strains rarely interlined with golden notions, all nations may fraught their Vessels, where the Heaven is made Heaven by its presence. The old Philosopher said, other Creatures were writ in Prose, but Man's soul was a perfect Poem, thus indeed we read, Tully's fiddler said his body never danced but when his soul played the Lessons, and if the soul be in Poësy, when love sings consort, then's the best melody, give me Poetry, music in words, and give me music, Poë●ry in sound, and what Queen of Shaeba would not hear the wisdom of such a Solomon. The Pagans Jupiter was maximus, because he was optimus, and whatsoever like love would be great, must be first good, And methinks those all-Religious Romans who tie their tutelary Angels in the large Pantheon with chains of gold, did but shadow forth this love, though in the form of a golden dart, it is entertained in the consecrated Vestry of a Man's heart; should we but see this glorious Planet, I can then tell how it would move in the Zodiac of our embraces, till by a Chemical touch of virtue, the strict imp●ings were turned to golden threads. Great Aristotle thought his strong drawn Arrow hit the mark, when he gave the definition of love, to be one soul in two bodies, methinks I might act the Philosopher, and say, it is two souls in one body, but those weak Raptures come short of an Hyperbole. This I would say, Plato in its features might see his ravishing virtue exist Incarnate This I would say, All the accurate accomplishments in the inferior World (as Cebes his famous piece of morality hung in the curious Temple of Saturn to confess the greater wisdom of that God) are but shadows of this Deity. For a little Atom may express this great World clouds of perfumes lodge their vast glories in the circumference of a grain, a small doth speaks Sol cli●enant in the large Meridian; and a round O notes the broad fact Moon, in a full Orb. In Maps points spells Parnassus, and a line great Helicon: Methinks it was but a fond vapouring of the Old P●ër, and only fit for the proud vaunts of an undaunted Stoic to say 
Primos in orbe deos fecit timor.  
'Twas fear at first which did create  
Gods, in their sanctified state.  With his good leave, I would alter the phrase and say 
Primos in orbe Deos fecit amor.  
'Twas the immortal name of Love,  
Made Gods on earth, in Heaven above.   
Love is a great Magician. Hence (as Enchanters) Lovers by shady umbrages and dark representations of a Lady burn themselves by a senseless Rapture carried by a delusive waf age into the air of fancy. Hence beauteous eyes, like the bewitching Basilisks stupefy the lover's mind, till by an unvanquished inflammation of desires, with Regulus in his barrel, he dies by looking at those sunny Rays, what else is, I pray, the soft allurements with which Endymion made Luna descend from her high sphere to his homely Cell. What else are these oft-repeated groans, but magical terms, charming philters, and Amatory numbers. Nay, and I know not whether to admire the strong motions in that which is beloved, or in the Lover, those delineaments of flatteries, those smiling faces moving with enchanting persuasions, where Love a circle, there exerciseth his execrations. Why Rosamond in her flourishing Epit●th was called Rosamundi may be thus noted, that Loves powerful Magickneverscrued her beauties to a higher perfection than the sading flower. Had Demosthenes been inspired with this love, as he was with eloquence, the Old Heathens might have hummed him with the deserved applause of 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.  
See where he goes in learned fame,  
It is Demosthenes by name.  Which Persius Englished in Latin by a mild satire.  
Et Pulchrum est digito monstrari, & dicier hic est.  
'Tis a grand honour 〈◊〉 be known,  
(And that's the man) with fingers shown.  
The Poets Libri were their Liberi which after ages put to Nurse's use, but when they are the Offspring of great love, all things comes to suck honey from their breasts, for my part I would have my last fate survive in its memorial, which speaks more than a glorious Urn, though I were entombed like Pompey with a 
Hic citus, est magnus.  
Here Pompey dead,  
Lies rarely buried.   
For I do remember, Alexander when he came to the Tomb of Achilles and saw that stout Greek shut (like a mirror in a Cabinet) in sobasea Mausolaeum, presently weptin words Haeccine sunt Trophaea? Can the World afford no better honours, had he been monumentized with its Oriental gems he would have been the Son of Jupiter, whose mother is Immortality. My scrip is always open, O for that, this great Maecenas would throw in some crumbs, the Channel of my life is almost dried, O for this Spring of flowing goodness, for its charity is not grown cold, nor doth those lustres here dwindle like the Morning stars into an Eve; as the Chaldeans writ their good men in Hyrogliphicks and intelligible words, that they might mould away in the rust of oblivion. For it was not the immortal Poësy of laureate Homer, nor the dippings of Lethe's Rivulets, but Love's ever verdant florishing, which deified the great Greek, as Poets, Kings, did always survive in the rare-living flowers of their Gardens. When some Poetasters were callow, and their scarce Penfeathered Pinneons knew a soarage of an airy travel. Homer had got wings and mounted the top-Eliment of immortality, while his flaggy Muse scans the brave ditties of Helen's Amorofities, beyond humane dispute. When the transcorporating pythagoreans did but lisp forth their broken language, Plato could speak and had been surely entombed in the monument of love, for an everlastang Pyramid but that foolishly he expected a Revolution, the Platonic year. Happy Aristotle well stamped his Eutelechia, for love is harmony, and harmony is the soul, and both together make the sublimest persection, & this made the laughing Philosopher waft his intellect to so high a grave as to think upon another life. This made Socrates bid his friends bury his body, but not think they had buried Socrates. This made the Stoics scorn their Welch-Pedegree whose tenets after death are to eat the green Cheese Moon. Here comes a Politic Plato and he will have Verses for his Sepulcher-stone; but let it be that Heroicon of Ovia. Here lies the Master of loves. Here comes Democritus with age's winding-sheet, grey hair, entreating the Athenian to be embezzled in honey, but let it be with Love's Rosaries, and such embalment will make his name fragrant to all posterity. Here comes a Roman, to have his Urn arrayed with sweet-smelled flowers, fading vanities. Venus' her Myrtle shall adorn my Hearse as an ever-verdant Cypress. For I can only shadow forth Love by Paradise, a bank of Lilies, a Garden of Roses. Caesar's Motto was a book and a spear, and at every onset, Love with the great Roman can subscribe on the book with the point of its sword. Veni, Vidi, Vici. I came, I saw, I overcame.  
Love is the extension of the soul, and lives defused through the glorious Microcosm man now here, now there, now every where. Whosoever loves, by that reason because he loves he is a number and no more one. In Love's Arithmetic he's more than a cipher. Inlov's Music he's more than a Semi-quaver. In Love's Geography he's more than a small point and in Love's laws he's no Ignoramus.  
Souls entertain souls, and Moralists who Sometimes graze with herds of Philosophers say, nunquam solus, quam cum minus solus, as if their bonus-genius, guardian Angels were their Comrades, & I think they might indeed lash forth into superstition, who were downright Pagans, and though amongst the Petulant Romans, young men were only to act Venus her interludes because a Crown of Roses did not become the gray-head yet how often have I seen the Stoick-looks of a dogish old man, quell the natural affections of a young Amorist (like a little Boy, pursuing the painted gaieytes of a Butterflies wings) that upon the assault, he might prove his only rival: How often would the old wanton desire to survive, like Mezentius in his Funeral Tomb, that he might espouse his second birth to the World in amorous celebrations; How often would the Antiplatonick desire to live Retro to embrace a beauteous Lady, though it be beyond the possibility of love, to prescribe an Apotheosis to any humanity. I have Read that noble Lycurgus made an Edict for every one to love, and no irrationality: For Venus' her Myrtle, as Bromius his Ivy, can court the Male with winning embraces, still weaving herself to & fro, in his boughs: And those feasting Symposists, I mean the devouring Epicures, could live in the world without adjuvances of an Omnipotent power, but not without the Omnipotent power of Love's Providence whose Godhead, they did invoke with strict Religion of their Christianity, though it was but a brutish Zeal, as by the fond tenets of superstition, the Egyptians worshipped Cats and Dogs, Onions and Leeks, Serpents and Crocodiles But Gellia impatient at her absent lover, would have been Prostrate to an Image (so sung the Cambo-Brittanian, Epigrammatist) which was a higher Crimen then ever Egypt committed, with his Nilean Monsters, yet it is a piece of Piety to pity her madness, for some will love foolishness, rather than not love, the Poet argues the fact as Innocence; because.  
Semel Insanivimus Omnes.  
None can hinself commend for all,  
Are lame enough since Adam's fall.  
It is impossible to dim the Radiant light, of love's splendours, or give those glimmering Rays a total Privation, for we admire at the inviolated beams of translucent Phoebus; so may we the hot sparks of Cupidinian fire, whose Vestal flames have no extinguisher, It's refulgent illustrations which lies darting in a large Lature of an Orient Pearl, will never be abbreviated in the small Epitome of a spark, Those vigorous beams, which lustre forth in the highest Meridian of a Noonday glory, will never glimmer in the Matutine blush of a Rudish dawn, Love it fell from Heaven (where Prometheus stole his animate fire) and though it halts a little, for want of Immortality, like the Poet's Mythology of limping Vulcan, it asspires to the same centre: If your unruled presumption scorn to ride, with a small bit, but in an unbridled passion Curveight a loft, to the nullifying of this Sun beam, either it will fire your desires into a correspondency, or dazzle your dull eyes, in the black veil of obscure night, and the next morning, reclused from that intolerable Purgatory, turn Persian, & fall into adoration: It is just like the proud boughs of the Palm, the more they are trodden down, the higher the rise: And in a delicate compliment, wantoness with your oppression: Saith the comic.  
Quis desiderio, sit Pudor aut modus.  
No measure for desire, mad waves,  
Rocks, adamantine strength out braves.  
And indeed my desires, when they lash forth, tends by a natural motion, to the fairest Centre; and thinks never sufficiently they embrace a Lady, by embraces, or enjoys enough of her enjoyments: As now it is impossible but to love, so I would not have you love divers objects, Penelope (that quoted Matron of Chastity) is figured plaiting her lose tresses into one Embroidery, to show we must not diffuse our affections, on various pleasures, Alexander when he had got one World, like a Child, cried for another, but the great armies of such inconsiderate desires, you may disband, which but aggravate the fruition, if you be men, in whose Heroic natures all courteous entertainment, for brave Ladies, do generally concentre, and combine sine tongues, melting into amorous speeches still Perioded with the sweet Catastrophe of a kiss. Smiling faces, Ravishing their eyes Piercing those Sunny beams, with secretaemulations; And composed of all other virtues by your deserts, which in others would appear an Hyperbole. Then seek brave Paragons, equally endowed with rarest excellencies, let their bloomy cheeks outvie Aprill's carnation Roses, fragrant in freshest buds, let their white hands, Excel the finest Lilies of flowery May, like Virgin sweets, enthroned in July's bosom; Let their ruby lips be the banqueting Table of pleasure; Whose balmy dainties are more rare than that Ambrosia, long since I heard a Poet talk of, I may believe it, though I never see't: There like Mount Hybla's Lord Paramount, whose Epicurean stomach, like the strict Publican, takes the Tole of spicey flowers, and at last Entombs his aery-body, loaden with riches in a Honey comb, you may feast, and then be interred in the rareties, more famous than those sparkling Adamants. Cleopatra Pyramized for her costly Marble, such Ladies you may love at the first sight, yet make use of second considerations, for sometimes we are deceived by the adulterate paint of pulchritude, and are miserable indeed, when we think ourselves happy: He darkened his house, who made sullen the Sun, with writing too often Fiat lux in his windows, Pygmalion was enamoured on the Picture he had so beauteously figured, and really thought it Divine: The curled locks of Epicurus-opinions brandishing the rare outsides of a sophisticated face which clothed in the gayattirement of Silken robes, peeped from the spruce Nunnery of a naked breast; knew no other blandishing of virtues, or torments of death, but the kisses of Venus: He who's dwellings are in a Garden, cannot crown his wanton head in Rosebuds, without the pricking coyness of surly thorns. The carrousing merry Anacreon, that quaffing Greek, whose tippling Cups were crowned brimmers, in full Canary, at the health of his Paramour, was by a most Emphatical Tautopathy choked with the dry husk of a Grape, Ixion affectionately Embraced the cloud for Juno, therefore folly is the property of a man, as humanum est errare. Here we see some men , in their predominant passions, and others no way love enough, as to arrive at that infortunate happiness Men like Hymetta's Birds, culls only sweet flourishings, distilling the Elixir of them to a cunning Chemistry; to whom (as it is true amongst Pylosophers) it is sceptically propounded to love, & so by that inconstancy to extract flower, ever & anon, another flower, till by a various mellification, they suck all the redolent sweets from Flora's sields: Indeed, it is confessed, we cannot always live in embraces, those virtues we behold in a Lady's beauty, or in a Picture, where we see drawn her breasts, the pretty Images of virtue, here Ossa bedewed with milk, there Pelion Embalmed with Honey, the more we gaze upon them without any interval in beholding another object, the sooner our weak eyes are dazzled from any glances; But do you sirs suffer those little rays of love. I once stood amute to see, to illustrate, their splendours without any glimmerings, for I am not envious to see your brightest beams glare small splendour more glorious, than the small vapours of my twinkling twilight, rather with the Elephant I will rejoice, to hover under such blazeing Sunshine. Tapers thus adumbrate their light at the Meridian candour, of a Torch, and Stars in their highest Orbs, thinks it an honour to be shadows of a morning Phoebus.  
Love it is not the only prerogative of men, but other inferior creatures have it in a natural indowement: Hence Clite salutes the Sun with her golden leaves, invelopeing the bright Radiums' of hear, evaporated from his Rosy wings, in the Crystal Cabinet of her chaste bosom, till she becomes a Vagative star; With the same emulation of affections, the very stones drawing from the Vbiqueous air, his rarest Refulgences do in a solid and concrete light from their flinty Materia dissolve into an orient Pearl, brandishing no less a beauty, when like a satire it is rugged in snaggy deckings, or when 'tis gloriously burnished in chains of gold: Thus while Neptune receiveth silver Cinthea's famed motion on his pearly waters, rejoiceth no less, in the Celestial intelligence of that Orb, than he was before amazed with the beauteous approach of that lovely Venus; we want indeed a Phylosophicke herb but we have a Philomathematick flood, which furer then the strict Ephemerideses of water, shows us the sable deliquiums of pale Luna. We have Astronomical flowers which demonstrate the sun's high motion; Horologically denoting each point of the declining day. The superlative brightness of splendent Cynthia courts the Supersuperlative Radiance of resplendent Apollo, and Taper-glimmerings salutes Torch, brandishing, as the Hispanian Plebescites imitate the royal Majesty of their high Emperor: Look at the white Superficies Angel-glory on silver Doves, with what wanton contentions do they sound the noise of clamorous complaints. Hear the murmuring Turtles, who by a humane instinct Carolls the Epithalamy, when April gins to cast her Nun-like skin and present herself to open view for a bloomy Virgin, and you will confess these are the lively Emblems of men whose heat, of love should make them chant a song, to see a Lady in whose refreshing bosom, you might cool the burning flames: Yet some  on the superficial pleasure, Loves but for a day. Neither how to answer that Religion, can I any way determine, sure if the world be blind, they will have women to be the Expletive Particle of that Homer: They find forth a new way of Embracements, and by the Petulant Method of such wanton, divirgineth Love, the feigned stories of Poëtick fury, that single souls wandered on the happy bowers of Elysium, (add this Comment to brighten the Text) that the very flowers gorgeously arrayed in fresh Apparellings, of summer-triming April, wheresoever those Sainted Ladies troad, grew up, and thence derive their generations, who (while they immured a little by meditation) fell in embraces with their tender feet, as Heliotrops at the morning Apollo.  
Non alia Coeli gaudia amare, aut amari, Nen alia terrae.  
To love, and to be loved is the  
Heaven, and earth's Inbile.  
For the Divine Artificer, (before this World's fabric was made by the Architectonicall power of his word, from the preexistent Chaos) had but this solace to live, in love and contemplation; which is felicity enough, and more Perfection than was on this side Heaven. Those too fortunate stars do not appear so welcome to the banqueting devotions, of poor Mariners, as they are at the entertainment of their own selves, they leap into one body (while the one gives half of his Immortality to the other) and like Hypocrates-twins cries and laughs, lives and dies, at one breath: Hence for a secret embrace (as Venus her votaries were carried to their Nuptials like the Roman Ladies in a silken veil (Hercules was voted a Demi-god in Love's Registers, and had more Treasures of honours, entailed upon his valour, when he conquered the Monster Women, then when he shook his sharp-darted Lance at the cruelest Hydra.  
What need the Soul seek stately Divinity, if it have but love, The Ethnics vaunted Nature in such Hyperbolical vaporing, as if that only Deity could make them happy: What some of their sect whispered forth, some spoke aloud 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉? What are other things to us? yet who wonders at a Panygercik Encomionized in the praise of the Moon, with them who never beheld the Sunbeams, but such felicity is dormant; neither can those highflown wings soar at the far stretched eliment of perfection, but with one hand pitched up to Heaven, like the Boy in the Emblem, has the other hand stretched down to Hell. The Stoics, happy men, whose holy eyes still looked through the windows of light, never did adventure so high in towering expressions to make their souls- Pinneons, mount the top-sphere of felicity; they indeed dared to call it a spirit as in some sense, dim-twilight reason issuing from darklanthorn Nature shown them it was separable from the body, and Pythagoras before had took his transmigration into a Frog. But Love needs not such false Heraldry; whose name long since was blazoned on Incarnate Deity, and should she again (as divine Plato thought of virtue) assume a Corporal being, the least glance of such a brave Paragon, would dazzle our Ruffling gallants into the dimest Night of wonder, while I myself might Chant this dirge—  vidi, ut Perij.  
The starr-fed Mathematicians would scorn Heaven's illustrious Physiognomy, while the long Jacbos-staffe of their desires, aims at their skye-like face. The Philosophers would scorn their threadbare Coat of Physiology, to blazon the rare composure of her Metaphysical features. And the wearied Pilgrim, whose weak head is decayed in the Elaborate travels of Religion, would sing a Requiem to his journeys, and fall in adoration of such a shrine. The Poet he ●ells, us Jupiter est quodcunque amas: Whatsoever we love, is a Godhead to ourselves. And is it so? Then the covetous man, who courts his Decoy Gold, till it looks Red in anger, or when he falls to adoreed, blusheth at his Idolatry, he kisseth Jove in a piece of money. Yet, for Jupiter was metamorphosed to a golden shower in the attempt of a silver Danae. And is it so? then the good old man who kissed his Cow, was Jove in one sense; thus was Eurpa dismounted on Cretas florulent Plains by a wanton Bull: And is it so? Then the epicure devours Jove at his Sumptuous Bacchinalls changed to a Lilly-Swan. Yet luxurious in those chaster plumes, he sips up Jupiter, wantoning with Ganymed in Nectar and Ambrosia. The Heathens did deify the worst of men, that they might colour the black aspersions of sad crimes, with that pure tincture of innocence, because their alligation was made in immutation of those gods; thus the fool in the Comedy seeing Jupiter acted in Adultery; would needs commit a Rape, because Jove did so; but love is of a better temper, and to falfifie those glories of its goodness by our equality is a piece of folly, for the Indians can paint the Devil white, that he in those innocent Robes might seem their God in a higher degree of Perfection, & indeed the Camelion-as can appear in any colour. Thus we may know divine love (all created excellencies shines with borrowed beams, for when the Heathens beautified their nature as a Goddess they went a gathering Hyperboles in the Poet's gardens, to flourish forth that Entity, as the Painter run with his bill of Items, from one a Cheek, from one a Lip, from another an Eye, (to represent the most beautiful Venus) she blazeth forth in her own lustres, & other beauties would but like great blots deface the Copy, or by a tedious Parenthesis check, and eclipse so rare a Sunshine. I confess the grunting Epicurians by the vain froth of foamy imaginations, would model for their Diana according to their own corruptions; but those garlick-pallates sauced with Onionsmells are banished this Respublick, (as Poets were, who made adulterate their gods from Plato's Idea) for will we new-mold Love in a worse Effigies, that were to tae● Rural pleasures, for Angelical dainties; Avaunt! Avaunt such madness! We will not Court the flint for a flowery arbour, whenas we have Hebe's to make our downy beds and Love's Ganymeds' to attend our Royallties, yet here my feeble wings only flutter a Toarage, nor can they scan the high pole of its deserts, here like Geographers, who in describing the Terra incognita fill a Map with Antic creatures, Monsters, and prodigious sights: So I must either write Mysteries, a Rose, a Cheek, a Crystal, a Tear, a Ruby, a Lip, a Comet, an Eye to describe Love; or leave a space to be filled by a better Artist. For the stout Aristotelans, who thought Sol's Rays, to their Prying curiosities, were but atendants, and the Platonics, who raised their flaunting wits to a higher bravery, by calling his illustrations their shades, could never touch the ●igh sphere of this glory; like moiling Muck worms they gruffle in the dust, and ●o return to their first Nothing, which immateriality after annihilation, love only can make immortal. The Egyptians Hieroglyphic for Legislative power was Oculus ●n sceptro. And if we mortals were Curtained from the fair Prospect of Love by the cloudy vizard of ignorance, how would the World look like the great Polyphem in his dark Cave without an eye.  
Monstrum horrendum, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.  
To see a man without an eye.  
Doth argue much deformity.  
And now although Love may be wand'ring, proved by so many instances, like the steel touched with the attractive virtues of two Lodestones, tends to neither, and yet to both: First hover over those pleasant thicks where it pryeth with constant devotions, and by and by flapping its falcon-wings to yonder groves as resolute in fervent vow, still at the last fixeth its Moral constancies in one end. Feign an imperious or obsequious supremacy in Love (than those brave Eteocles and Polynices rules in subalternate courses) both are but one singular possession entertaining one Master. Feigh love in its high attributes to be a deity, than it is but agent in the theheavenly bondaries of one Paradise. Feign this tenuous Love melting into the airy felicity of kisses to be fire, then it's motion is concentric in one sphere. And feign it to be a gift, than it is sent to the acceptance of one Lady, as Caesar shovelled in his Indian pearls at the consecration of Lauretto's shrine, as heavenly Sidney breathed his sublimest Eulogiums in the Panegyrics of immortal Stella deified by his Angel-Quill, and as the Roman Petrarch solicited only the glorious fame of Laura's beauties. For not to be Resolved in one object is to aver the Plurality of Nuptials in soul●, and admit of a Polygamy in Hymeneals of friendship, this were to tie and loose, Nubere & denubere, and they that use that graduation; I would have them cried up for mad men, or begged for fools.  
Some have thought this Love which distinguisheth men from bruits should turn men into bruits. A pretty Metamorphosis indeed! Sure Ovid was of a better temper, then to libel against that Saint he much adored, to think so as a Stoics barbarity whose unpessionate soul is but the dirty excrements of stone. Can humane Love shrink into the black Rays of an inhuman Apostasy? Forbidden it Jove. They merely dream and therefore fancy such infelicity, for dreams are the fancies of men asleep, and fancies are the dreams of men awake. No, No, None can love too much, when none can love enough, for although its Rays are displayed to some in a greater Meridian as Phoebus his beams by a peculiar influence inaureates the Rhodian Kingdoms, yet in case there is no fear of a beautifying condition, for some in the very hot Sphere of their imbred desires can live untouched like the Cold Salamander in her house of fire. And in other some love is the assistant form as those Ethnic Philosophers ascribed an Intelligence to the Heavens, and since the old Pagans would attribute no oblivion of life unto love, it must have a Rational body wherein the vital spirits might live Posthumus, as a shade circumludeth Apollo's lustres.  
Yet perhaps in spite of Cupid you scorn to love, well, say it were so, that his infant Ladship could not strike sparks from that flinty Resolution. The very Magnetic brow of a stately Lady would fire that snowy chillness to an amorous heat. Her winning affections would invite your Appetite, as an Orator's swelling metaphors to feed upon fancies, the starry Splendances of a Radiant eye (where the little boy sits enshrined, darting his flamy shafts) would force your Captive Genius to embraces. And yet how often in catching at her beauty (the fair shade of her body) shall you be deluded like birds who pecked at the tempting allurements of Zeuxis his Painted grapes, how oft shall you freeze in hot embers of the torrid Zone. How oft melt in heat under the cold blasts of the frigid Orb, so that as Agrippa bought the Roman Empire for Tyrant Nero with the Prize of her own life. Occidat modo imperet— You would desire to be laid on the funeral Pyre suppose those perfumed flames would waste your second resurrection to her Elysium. 'Tis Cupid's Revengements indeed, yet to be excused, for he follows the judgement of his eyes, more than his mind, and therefore falls into it by a blind ignorance. For my Part, I would crowd into the hot sparks of a Lady's eye, in ambition to scorch my wings with the proud fly. For my part, I would verdure like the Purple Roses on her Crimson cheeks, Say, May leavs were dulled by those eye-lightning beams.  
Nil dulcius est amari, aut amare, praeter hoc ipsum amare, aut amari.  
Nothing's like love, but love, a beam, a beam,  
aequals, Gallaxia Milkey-Cream.  
For tell me, have I not seen Xerxes and Polydorus crave their Statues instead of nobler objects, and fall into a compliment. I mean a kiss. Like women of Gauls, whom brave Caesar's Curbed with one word for playing wantonly with little dogs. Have I not seen Lesbian by a solemn matrimony embracing the Sparrow, and as often have, as she wished for a transmigration making good our Poëticall Metamorphosis, which would have rationals migrate into stones, trees, fishes, birds. Neither is it strange to me! that any man at Cupid's entreaties should become votary to a Woman's shrine. For Love is a God persuasive enough in an oily language first inspired from the Romans mellifluous Suada, and therefore the old Phylosophizing Poets, who preserved the Epithet from Lethe's sponge did not colour, their expressions with the least false Paint of flatteries. This he hath of god head to reient into commiserations at the reared Hecatombs of his adorers. This he hath of godhead to bestow his favours on each amorous dotard who entreats him for the sweet Tempe of a silver-breasted Lady. This makes me believe, a Deity is infinite, and Love like a circle is without end. And this makes be believe, since his Secretaries as Pious Converts sacrifizeth their victims in sacred Rites of Reverential venerations. And while men's breasts are the Altars, Love himself turns into fire: Where the offered heart s●ans heaven in Perfumed incense: So indeed it is, when I hear Dirgicall Threnothreambicks foot it away for haste in a Lover's breath. It represents fire Circumcepted in a cloud, each groan, thunder asp●reing into flames: as often as I see the boiling bubbles of tears, than I think on Aetna's burning Incendaries, or the Vesuvian Coals sparkling in midst of snow, like Tapers made to burn in waters. As I see Love put on the shaggy flames of despair, than I confess the Ruggy fates of a bearded Comet like the dishevelled hair of Heavens stars aemulated in those Raging sums.  
Methinks I hear Love claim a Heriotdue in the Tenements of Heaven, while souls desuninated become derivative from the  stars appearing at their festival Natalitiums, as often as the fiery natures of those Lascivious Planets desires Injunction, as Mars with Venus, and Jupiter with Luna, Men by wanton effeminacy, are Vxorius Requiring the gallant conjunction of Hymeneals. so that, those benign Meteors don't ominate the successive fortunes, but espouseth their faint hopes by Real enjoyments. Yet to pass by those proud wanton in a sphere above my humirepens Muse, and to Philosophize in the least Punctilios. It is not the heat of Heavens, but of a Lover's breast which congregates the Homogeneal wonders, for man and wife are but in a canonic Phrase an Hermaphrodite, it is not the celestial influences which drives a man into the sweet Ocean of pleasures, but the heady streams of Nature's zeal, though by not understanding the card by which he avoideth Shipwreck, sometimes sets sail into the mare-mortuum of sorrows: And thus by a delight of deception, not only beauty but the similitudes of beauty he joyfully adores. He sucks the liquid honey distilling its sugared sweets from a Roseal lip, though he be pricked with an obnoxius sting, as Cupid's plumed darts, feathered with gold, the more they please, the more they torment for Roses grow on the surly brier, and sweet meats are allayed with sour sauce. So that old Maro was a Coujurer to confine his reaons, to a circle where there was no Vacuum left to be filled with contradictions: The fairest flower has a bad Redolency & by Flora's meads Jacet anguis in herba. Thus the sweet Music of Rhetoricating figures, doth by deosculating our mouths, taint them with the Red-tincture of flatteries, and then from the honey filth, of poisonous Roses, steal the white extraction of Lilly-kisses. When a lady's Dovemind purples her cheeks Argent. Or, there you may behold the rich-bowers of Damask-Pancies, or if her Crimson cheeks were coloured with the Sanguine dye of a Velvet-blush, the pretty shape of Cupid comes taillured forth from that Artist, though no otherwise then the Melancholic body, feigns distinct Species of shades sembling those whom great Poëtastors told of long since, to wander this fide Styx, which vanish at the approach, and disappear at the action of enjoyments, but when the Crimson Canopy disvailed her brightest beauties; beholding the ravishing felicities of that Divine form by amolestious Quaery, it makes transparent my cares, how I should be entertained in those sporting pleasures, the sweet Thessaly of a love-dyeing soul, where her Regal brow is the great dining House of Hospitality, and those pleasant Rays trajected from a Sunny eye, the Sugared dainties, Where if you listen to the silent Oratory of Smilespoken expressions; you may catch at the silken-wit, Oracles wrapped up in rich Eloquence, where the brave force of manners being represented in the Epitome of her face, with your intelligent eyes, you may ●ead, the animate System of Ethics. Where When you see her Orient beauty bound in the Diamond-garment of a Pearl, in a wonder you may exclaim, O Nets! O Vulcan! behold Venus diprehended in Mars his stony arms; And O Beauty! say I, not worthy the dishonour of this Empire. We congratulate ●ove, and his Rapacious Eaglet which did not envy this earthly Pulchritude, Plato might here ravish himself with this Philosophy; and contemplate a purer Idea with his eyes, then purblind Meditations; thou might ●t have set thy young man, O Socrates in the transparent lustres of her Cheeks, as in a glass, to make gaudy his flattering beauties, and for thee O Eudoxus, it is lawful, Sol's Rays being outvyed, at this great Luminary to speculate (like Minippus in the Moon) the Natures of humanity. Orpheus' his Lyre was but Predominant to wild beast, but here's a Voice would curb Philosophers of a Rational being, Phoebus his splendours has lost the prerogative, for here's a Ray, able to force obliquity in the best-sighted Eaglet, Here's a face able to ravish a man, though of a Platonic tenet, and we who cannot love this perfection, just like little boys become Enamoured on our own Pictures, for it is not the folly of one Narcissus to fall in love with the body's shadow, neither answer me thus, 'tis a shade, how can it love again, know it is a necessity of nature, to light one Incendarie at another, one flame at another flame: And it is an Approved Magic beyond the aequipollent power of Charming Philters.  
Si vis amari ama.  
First ask, and then an Answer taketh place, Salute, and then's a Resaluting grace.  
Lastly, as it is an Indign thing to give a reason of love; So that love is most condign which (as on some flowers grow no seed) has the existence of Eternity. It comes from no cause, and like the heaven is moved with an invisible intelligence, for there is an occult Sympathy, where without Propinquity the familiar souls sit hand in hand, as Planum doth adhere to Planum by a concinnious glutany, if we may believe our Mathematic demonstrations. And now though Love by an Astronomical deliniation is a circle without end. I by a Geographical description will make a full point.    


On the death of his Friend TAOMAS SHIPTON Drowned.  
AN ELEGY.  

TO drown thee twice in Water, and in tears,  
Is double sin, and th' Historiographers  
Would write it Chronicle, that Readers may  
At it their tributary wonders pay:  
But peace dear ashes, 'tis not our intent  
To bury the i'th' watery Element;  
Of our sad eyes, as by a tear Pearled,  
Into a Marble monument congealed,  
Then might our grief, as deluged by woe:  
With sorrows aqueducts so over flow;  
As now Entombed (in the same Sea perplexed)  
Dye mourning Comments, on a mourn'd-for text.  
We don't condole thy fate, nor roses bring  
The Velvet-Violets, of the Maiden-spring:  
Nor the gay Lilies of a gaudy verse  
In rich attirements, to adorn thy hearse;  
Thy fragrant glories (without flowers of same,)  
Is Spicery enough, t' embalm thy name:  
And make't like Neptune's Amber-grace which may?  
But touch the watery surface of the Sea.  
we'll not bemoan thy obsequies, nor get  
Those relics closed in a rich Mahomet,  
Who's grave is air, more sainted like doth lie  
Betwixt two Magn●t●, earth, and Loadstone-skye.  
It is a soil to wear no robes but black,  
And shows that age did its perfection lack;  
Whenas thy fall Anteus-like, doth rise  
With greater fame, than our straight souls can prise:  
It is not beauty, tincture, and that die,  
On sullen cheeks limned with grief's agony;  
Nor is't the best Presume, to smell the sent  
Of incense on his grave, most Redolent:  
For with those Thracians, Revellings of mirth,  
Were cries Produced at each young man's birth  
But high-sung Aieres in corranting breath  
Of harmony, was Carolled at their death.  
We may admire that burial not lament  
Th' Autumn of his June, and April spent,  
In tootoo ripe a blossom, with delight,  
Rich Rosebuds are decayed in a Night:  
Spring-Lillies, in their nonage thus do fade,  
Like Heliotrops, at Sol's declining shade:  
e'er May December meet, and so do vary  
Th' Year to a continnued January.  
Now happy Soul, who from the floods appear,  
T' have gained the purchase of a better sphere;  
And sits enshrined in those sublime skies,  
Amongst the h●aven-bred-holy Hierarchies  
Of Angels, who in rhapsodies of love  
Chants Hallelujahs to the Gods above:  
Though we with the proud and ambitious fly  
Kiss the world's flames and so as Martyrs die.  
The body, as the Prophet's mantle fell  
In raging Rivers, which with billows swell;  
By all transcendancy I dare avouch,  
Thou scanned Heaven, in Elia's fiery Couch.    

On the death of the most Heroic Lord SHEFFIELD, AN ELEGY.  

ANd why a tear in tune from Poet's Eyes?  
Words holocausted up in Elegies,  
Like to his Corpse Embalmed in perfumed spice,  
Were to strew flowers upon Paradise.  
A Comment pleaseth, to dark things annexed,  
But mysteries Reveals this unknown text;  
Inteares we th' Red-sea pass, but wit's Twilight,  
Comes short of Canaan, in its Pisgah-sight;  
Nor can the Cloud which us poor Isralites guides,  
(Part perpale Rainbow) cleared be on bothsides  
Eye-beamed streams dissects yet we do try.  
Ope-Superficies as Anatomy.  
For those who Angels would embrace, thus they're  
Gulled with fair seem, of Condensed air;  
Nor is his nature less, Man-sprung-divine  
Saints would do homage, to's immortal shrine;  
Persians adore his eye, India his Cherubs face,  
Emparadized with white Seraphic grace;  
O, for Old Plato, that his eyes might see  
The Non-created, wish made Entity;  
he'd swell in Cups of Nectar, for to seek  
Virtue Incarnate, on that Heavenly cheek:  
O, for Pythagoras Ravished Soul to swear,  
He's metempsochosed to a starry sphere,  
Since he deserves the sky lamenting Rome,  
We'll grant th' Horizon but his proper Tomb:  
Though we can't say therelyes great Sheffield's soul  
Enshrined i'th' Pyramid of that high Pole;  
Cause constellations from their orders be,  
Rolled by the Havens large cosmography  
Nimrod. Orion swallows Comets are  
Oft shrunk, Osiris lost in the Dog-star:  
'Twill please to say, his deified fate  
In Mars, in Jove, or Phoebus did translate.  
Can Caesar die, said some, (or tell me can  
Any survive) the voice fits God, not man:  
If they do live as Saints, as men they talk,  
Who e'er did yet in Sempiternum walk:  
The platonists are surs to die, who were  
Unsure to have their great Platonick-year;  
Great: Aristotle spoke, as if he went  
A sorage 'bove the highest Element;  
Methinks that Etelechia stampt●unknown,  
His body was a little too-high flown;  
The Roman-urns outlasts the men unborn,  
As Pagans-evening were th' Antipod's morn.  
Death's but a sleep, and bodies when they die,  
Divests the slip  of mortality:  
For t'h Soul's Eoan lustre's rarely kept,  
When'ts from dark Lantern of the body crept;  
And old Methusalem might much surpass  
Times registers in monumentall-brasse:  
He's now Entombed and therefore let him lie,  
Th' Immortal relics of a Deity.    

On his honoured Friend Mr. ROBERT WILSON, a Famed Musician.  

GReat Phoebus spent large rivals every day,  
T' inspire the muses with a well-sung Lay;  
As if the way to banqu'rupt their control,  
Were to amaze, then ravish the blind Soul.  
Thus our Coy-maiden, thoughts had in suspense  
Those sublime Raptures of's intelligence;  
Till he committed Rape by sweet desire  
Affected with that am'rous-courtier Lyre:  
And like (chaste Daphne) to his high renown,  
Our vestal minds becomes his flowery Crown;  
'Twas Phoebus large prerogative to men,  
The famed Musician he's Apollo then.  
What rare Eulogiums did the Poet's paint  
(Whose words now shallow are, and Colours faint)  
On Orpheus' modulations Philters proved,  
To make rude Satyrs, like fair Nymphs beloved,  
With his harmonious strains, as almost die,  
T' enjoy the feature of this rarity.  
Feature said I! ●es. They saw him sit  
Like the inspired Oracle of wit:  
Those sensitive adorers thought indeed,  
Some beauteous Sibyl hid i'th' oaten reed.  
But those were highflown fond Hyperboles,  
And Pearled praise, of Diamond flatteries;  
For all those attributes could never raise  
His glories to a Panygericks phrase;  
What we do wonder call, is but his due,  
And types transparent, to a better view:  
Orph'us is but his Echo, we may give  
A note 'bove Ela's breath superlative:  
To style him Anti-Orph'us which word were  
Too narrow to extend that character,  
Had we a riper Judgement to descry,  
The crippled state of lame Tautology.  
Melodius, Daulia, Histories do feign,  
Proud Ter'us did to Terquine's sport constrain,  
It's fiction so, but that his winning Lay  
Sold ravish her, i'th' verdant fields of May:  
Doth verify the story sinceed holds good,  
She breathes the high-wept harmony in flood:  
As if condoled, the rape rejoiced the gain  
Of honeyed Ditties, in a sugared strain:  
For as by Metenpsuchosis his fate  
Did in this nice Platonic transmigrate:  
She seems to tune her pleasant notes, and sings,  
As he, brave Music to th' harmnnious strings;  
She aemulates those tones, but being outv●'d,  
Like Sapho's birds, doth quote him deified.  
Ask not what Sirens are! Here's harmony,  
(Riddles Oedipean there opened lie)  
And you will say, these Sougsters' all agree  
In th' high-breathed notes, of his Suaviloquie;  
Sober Ulysses Envious at his Charms,  
Mercuri●an would impale, in his joyed arms;  
Those dulcet concord's, arrogant to be  
A partner in th' enchanting Symphony.  
Ask not what Angels are, or any choice  
Of Superlun'ry, Saints list●n to his voice;  
And you'll conclude, that dulciloquious lay,  
Chants forth their holy Haleluiah.  
Ask not how Cherubs their sweet aites distils  
From th' unheard Oracle of silent Quills:  
Or spheres speaks Music in the tong-tyed mind,  
But Wilson quote, and then the word's defined.    

S ●. Andrew.  

Hail Rosy-morne, from forth thy Lilly-bed,  
Like milk-way Cream with rud strawberried  
Hail to those beauteous features pearled i'th' sky  
Like N●ptun's brave Sea-daughtered Deity.  
Is this sweet Plato's, great admired return?  
Chaste Phoenix rising from that Roman Urn,  
After Embalmed, on that funeral Pyre,  
Comes recreated to Prometh'an fire.  
And here's a Revolution, Old age spent,  
Tends to a youth-renewing Eliment.  
While Pagan Gods, but fond interment gets,  
Days are the tombs out lasting Mahomet's.  
But stay, a Comet in the skies alone,  
Is it this Genius resurrection:  
Whose Torch- Apollo's fiery beams displays,  
Dishevelled in the flamy-bearded Rays,  
Or is't the star by Scripture-Miracles,  
Which of some hidden mystic Manna tells:  
Diviners let us know, it soon we'll be  
Magis t'observe this rare divinity,  
Or English Persians turned by holy state  
Adore this Heaven having candidate.  
Speak Planitaries, you who Nectar quaff.  
With Jove cannot a Methematick-staffe  
Reach the sublimest Hierarchies, is't him,  
Cherub, Angel●, Saint, or Seraphim,  
Who mounts the Eastern Coursiers to out s●an  
Sol in his Climinant Maridian  
For were the Grecian Augurs Pliant here,  
T'anatomize the surface of this Sphere.  
They'd say in yonder bright-disvailed Pole.  
Enshrined lies, an Immaterial soul.  
This holy Morn (indeed looked red) espied  
A Blush of him appeared as deified;  
Beam sdarting mildly in the smiling breasts;  
S. Andrew sure in Sagitarius rests.  
We might believe, but Virgo farr-off shines,  
I mean weet Mary in our Gospel-lines;  
'Twas not in vaine●t, his dawn of day to greet  
Th' unseen Saints our heard-discourse did meet:  
For spirits though invisible they be,  
Yet always moves in an ubiquity,  
Suppose S. Andrew's soul, a Rose we seek  
It in the Orient morning's blushing cheek:  
For there's a Paradisiall Type, just now to come,  
Of flower-●mbroidred Fair-Elizium:  
Say its Tulip, Lilly, or the Damask flower,  
Those party-colours, of Aurora's bower:  
blazons the Heraldry, here Or indites  
There's the same Copy in its Argent white.    

On a Lay Clergyman, who in stead of his Sermon-notes, pulled forth a Paper thus written. Item for Hens and Cocks, Item for Bacon and Beef.  

ANd what a Priest? An Elder, Yet profane,  
O sweet mistake, the Prodigal must gain;  
The fatted-Calf, and that in Gospel-sence  
Speaks Morrally, a good benevolence:  
And grant this was your mind, yet the intent  
Slipped, and brought Christmas in the midst of Lent.  
For then the Heaven's signs did Pisces note,  
Not Aries head, or Taurus' neck and throat,  
Was the Church marted by our Ruling states?  
Strange Reformations bears unwonted dates!  
Cathedral Epicurians in each place,  
The Psalme-Book should be turned to a Grace.  
I never Read but of a Turkish Crew,  
That disht Scripture-meats of pork: a Jew  
Would bridle here is mouth, because that their  
Great Synagogue, though but an open fair,  
Has ne'er a Boar in use, 'tis not divine,  
Say they, for Satan entered into Swine.  
Did M. Lilly teach you this Decorum,  
Old Sermons baked in Horde● farra forum;  
Will wrap Que-genus up in Pudding-pie,  
Such Antichrists, by Lyden's Prophecy;  
On Christmas day will preach, beloved's dine,  
My flesh is bread (Ambrosia) my blood (Nectar) wine:  
Will smile, Pheoebus passing Phoebe's horn,  
From feast of Cancer, into Capricorn,  
Will touch no sign but Taurus' Claret red,  
Drink, which Aquarius draws from Ganymed:  
As Country-farmers, at the stellid-train,  
No comet would espy but Charles-his-Wain,  
Sure such Gramatick Ars, no rules affords,  
In right construction of the double words;  
They're Heretics (let's the correction pause)  
Who errs in search of th' fundamental cause.  
The Caba isticall divines had got,  
'Gainst hunger's poison, a strong antidote;  
For a Horse-stomack, is a beast unseen,  
('Twould eat Parnassus, and drink Hippocren)  
That in their Temple stood, a Crane, a stork:  
Here Limbs of Capra, there Westphalia-pork:  
And the pure Innocence has her command,  
(All Doves, no Serpents fosters in our Land;)  
Yet you'll be superstitious, you'll be sinner,  
And Jew too, for a Circumcision dinner;  
Expound the fragments of five loaves, though thence  
You bring no baskets full of Inference.  
Hence is it so! Then give me leave to try,  
One point of Scripture, and I will apply;  
Your head the Zodiac is, your mouth the Centre,  
Where ●aurus, Capra, Pisces, all do enter;  
O poor Phylistims, I much doubt they pass,  
Sad Execution, Jawbone of an Ass.  
'Caus flesh is grass, do y'eat that Hixy-dox  
You learned by fothering of th' Egyptian Ox:  
And well  be, for he who stood amute,  
At Romulus, admire may you as Bruit;  
Rome's Church, and ours in all Extremes agree,  
The Kirk of Scots, in this has sympathy;  
We these, and they compelled to a strict last,  
Some's business is to ear, and some's to fast.  
But Sir, what Crumbs of Comfort do you Preach?  
That Grand-impostor-Mahomet did teach;  
(Always people feast) you will be made,  
By Goose, and Capon Brother of the blade,  
You take the toll of meats, do what you can:  
The Pharisee, becomes a Publican:  
For all this time, your Text displayed we,  
Call it true Mincemeat of Divinity.    

Gun-Powder-treason.  

Dark Lantern Lights of fate, what prodigy  
Vizard's the morning Sol, in sable dye,  
Of an Ecliptict shade? 'tis Faux, in vain,  
Sad-canopying our Meridian.  
Dusk twilight, glimmers in the darkest cells,  
As Diamonds in their rugid Confines dwells:  
And yet as shaggy Comets, fiery, flaming are,  
Prognostics in their mad-dishevelled hair;  
So those encircled Rays of taper's were,  
But falling stars, in our low Hemisphere.  
We see time's, Monsters play the Hypocrite,  
Dissembled in the heat of glow-worms light;  
We see Dame-natures' face from a thick cloud,  
With a bright blush of pretty smiles, grow proud:  
As Phoebus peeps his Rays, from milk-way cream  
And then displayed is to a Noonday beam;  
As Orient Rubies in a spark's disguise,  
It's lustrious Candours doth Epitomise:  
And presently dishadowed from that night,  
Enjewels glories, like the Margarite:  
Thus the pale Candl's coloured a red torch,  
We kiss the Foun●, who but adored the porch;  
Thus Tant'lus, told Jove's high decrees concealed  
A Plot is but a mystery revealed:  
A Text glossed with dark Comments, a coined word  
Of phrase, true Anti-type of Jonah's gourd:  
Now Radiant in a high sprung Sunny flame,  
Now glimmery Ganopyed, with lesser fame;  
The Roman rusty blades; with golden hilts,  
Like Christians walking in the Pagan's stilts:  
Mount Hybla's Epicure, which culls the flowers,  
Virginlike bloomy, on May's maiden bowers;  
After he sucked those hony-creamed breasts,  
Leaves them fit entertainment for more guests;  
Their gaudy waif of rich attirement seams,  
To glare in gildure of as noble beams,  
And if the nice similitude hold true,  
We flowers our chaster Phoenix-age renew;  
Compiled in large Hecatombs t'expire,  
In sweetened perfumes without raging fire.  
'Twas but vain Policy to veil the bright,  
Unblemished beauty of our Lady light;  
Sol in a shadowy Masque, his beams displays  
The Popish Candle ne'er outwent those Rays:  
That were a tapers flaunting flames to give.  
A Commendamus most Superlative:  
That were to say the star's dimlights amaze,  
More than sierce Meteors in a furious blaze:  
That were to speak the New-sprung dawn of day,  
Like vapouring Morn in vaunting colours gay;  
And than it were large Egypt's coasts to swell,  
With the vast treasures of brave Israel.  
But thanks to Jove? hatred's Reformed to love  
The Roman Eagles' shrunk into a Dove:  
Th' uncircumcised Phylistins head is made,  
A Trophy carried on his brandished blade:  
Nero sung Rome in dieant, while's his hate,  
Lamed the Pantheon, to a Crippled state;  
But we by miracles laid on the pity,  
Sing Romans Martyerd on the tyrant fire.  
Yet say those Rebel-Catholicks intent,  
Had brought the World to an astonishment  
Without the Red-sea torment, no one man,  
On Carpet-wayes, did pass to Canaan;  
He but condoled his Pimples the next morn,  
Whom beds of Roses did all night adorn:  
Had we been burnt, 'tis nothing to admire,  
Eliah scanned Heaven thus in flames of fire.    

Christmas day.  

ANd do we Poets need to blaze the fire,  
(Strung from famed lyrics of great Phoebus' lyre)  
Thus elimentall in our breasts that sphere,  
Where god-Apollo laughs but once i'th' year:  
No, no such madness Micro Cosm-man,  
May turn into a red-sea Canaan:  
When as this day's rash Phaeton will bring,  
And he as Nero, on Rome's burning sing,  
The World to dissolution Heaven's bright  
With earth's dark vanit into combustion one,  
Here to bemoan this Tragic Scene thought these  
Make legs, and Ex'unt without Plaudites:  
While wiser Solomon at th' fabrick's stations,  
Would change his Canticles in's Lamentations:  
For sparkling sack (Red fire) look mad to burn  
Men Romanized on our England's Urn:  
I mean the Pitcher interlined with best;  
Ruby-Renish broached from hogshead west;  
Or do we Painters need, for to display,  
In Hieroglyphics this mysterious day;  
As Ancients represent Church secret features,  
By Giants Sphinxes, and such antic Creatures;  
Some Monsters Epicene and Mascaline's grace,  
With Taurus' neck, but Aries head and face:  
Name but one single word, in two sense tries,  
Christmas, Bacon-Beef, as Pudding-pies;  
Or say we've Metaphors from nature's stocks,  
A Capon this day notes, and shrovetide Cocks.  
'twas mad conceits? When our forefathers had  
Naught else but crumbs and voiders, richly clad;  
With painted daintes, so that days at last  
Were kalendred, with Rubrics for a fast.  
Alas? we Sons of our great Adam's age,  
Can banquet in a dish his he●tage;  
Of Pulse and water, such weak fair as that,  
Would ne'er like Daniel, make our English fat:  
Our appetites on divine Saint-dayes seeks  
T' adore Egyptian-as sweet onions, Leeks;  
Of loaus the Scripture speaks, & we would twist  
Fishes to them, as Quakers Lyden's grist.  
Is good-meat Antichrist? No! No such thing,  
Dove's heads do never bear the Serpent's sting;  
Hear but it Preach a text, flesh bread, blood wine, cheer,  
Is a Theanthropos man-sprung divine.  
Then welcome Christmas with thy wont  
I'd bring a ranting Carol in March-beer;  
And Sacrificeed to thy December-name,  
By glasses sparkling with the Red-shrine flame.  
Only I fear Sack-Hecatombs appease  
Not once those Manna-eating Deities:  
I Paper want too, for offence ' its meet,  
One penance should, in compass of a sheet.    

St John.  

BLaze forth great star, Nor are we sad to see,  
That famed Platonic Reminiscencie:  
Brought to a truth, thus Sol retires to feast,  
From th' west'ran Climates, in his spi●ie East.  
When the new-morn brave Herald in a ray,  
Is th' Pevolution of an ancient day:  
For gaudy lustres mantled, Ruby-bright,  
Were ne'er Eclipsed by the pale-shrined night;  
In Occidental fates, but would appear  
Superlative-endowed, ith'high-poled sphere.  
When Mosesses do die, for th' bodies-stations,  
Those Devil's summons up hot disputations;  
With the Arch-Angels cause the spirits then,  
Scorns to degenerate in Lapsed men.  
And let the body fade 'tis a divine,  
Endowment, must Immortal parts enshrine:  
Eltah lost his mantle, Camel's hair,  
Ith' sky not like those shaggy Comets are;  
A Leather-girdle, Capra-like, Can't be,  
As Taurus signs of man's eternity;  
Souls throw their slip-cloaths off to holy state,  
Earth's Winding-sheets are most impropriate;  
For in the sacred volumes I learn this,  
That Heavenly Angels do go naked in bliss;  
Or grant his body walks, It's like the dead,  
(On one S. day) fair shadows without head.  
But can it be! Was the great Lord of light  
Disvailed, from Morning, to a Noonday bright;  
Ere this small beam had one sweet smiling spent,  
In orient blazes from the Element,;  
I should have thought this daystar, John, did ride,  
Rare Harbinger of that great Sun-shine's pride:  
Enamelling all the Orbs before the ray,  
Did in a full Meredian-Zenith sway.  
John Prophesied first, Divinely born,  
As pearly S●ars, foretell the Ruby morn;  
He chants plainsong, by a well Luted note,  
Breathed Hallelujahs, of a Cherub's throat:  
And then Christ's Chorus (rare Harmonia)  
Run sweet divisions on the sugared Lay.  
Fond Pagants now t'out last death's fatal doom,  
In vain erect Piramydalls, of Rome;  
The large Pantheon, days are th' only bliss,  
Where Genij live in Apotheosis.    

A Letter.  
SIr,  my modesty has been dumb, Necessity must speak, and every word turn Orator, nor need they wish (as the foolish Roman in Caesar's Ampitheater) to have your Ears the Auditors tied to their lips, since Oratory is more persuasive then, when Pytho inspired the Grecian Comedians, on the pretty stages, with Flexanimous Eloquence; yet, I will grant my Demosthenian Learning but lisping wit: That my entreaties may be the more necessary Evacuated, of supersluous Compliments; Pray, therefore send me Doctor Brown's Vrn-Buriall, as a courtesy I have promised, and by your Courtesy you shall ever engage me,  
Warly: your servant.   

The Answer.  
SIR! Had not your silent notes spoke, the words had looked for a Pyramid, my breast to resound their Echo as Virgill's Hylas was by all the Neighbouring Shores, but they survive as the Romans genij when their bodies are entombed in a dispute of Contra-Resurrection. Strange! that when the words salute the death bed of a grave, the sense should walk, and Penance in a sheet of paper to expect their Vrn-buriall. First, Let the sense be dead, as is the Letters, and I will sing my Conclamatum est to them, as you must Vale! Vale! To his Urn.  
WILLIAM SHIPTON.   

SIR, No wonder if my Notes be silent, conferred with the boisterous inundations of your Stentorian words, and are not as Nilus proud streams kept in the banks of order, your breast you called a Pyramid (and the Egyptians lay up their Corn in Pyramids) in my opinion you might better have called your belly the Pyramid, which is the Receptacle of Corn minced into bread.  
Your belly might the Echoes too rebound,  
'Cause emptiness affords the greatest sound.  
I thought your words had been asleep, And so I will speak few charms, lest they prove Contra-disputants of their Resurrection by confining them to a perpetual Night. Methinks the adulterous lines were more fit to do penance in a sheet of paper, and with my connivance been buried in the Urn of oblivion. And seeing I am weary of your clamorous words I must cry Conclamatum est, or bury them with an Vltimum Vale in the fiery Urn of a Chimney.  
J. W.   

The Answer.  
HOw wishedly did you second my voice and it were sin to say any mean note, played Basse on a troublesome string. How wishedly did the Chorus of your fancy run divisions, on my plainsong wit. Your notes conferred sweetly without jars, only you sung Elegies and so drowned my sweet Hylas in Nilus his streams, by a Seaburiall, and take heed lest you like its Rivers bring forth impersect productions, your brave lays will all be penned from a large-long to a Sembrief's-Semiquaver, but I will take no more notice of them, only I should be a●t to quarrel at this word Boisterous, but that it was fixed in the round Zodiac of your anger and charms confining things into a circle makes them burst forth into wind; besides your humirepens Muse was in the Low-Countries of wit, and so might well with those Lap-land Inhabitants bag up air in the strong Caxvas-phrase of a sentence. But stay methinks your Law plays the Ignoramus, your Gospel's acts for Erra-Patris, Nilus writ for Hilas, gross Logic has no Reason, if it be not irrationality to forget the Proprium of a man, though here if I laugh, I still keep my own denomination. Your good decorum runs against tide, while Nilus is the fit Hellespont for those Leander's (your writings) to swim. I cannot think you were drunk with Nectar, when you read that word, because your Tapster-Muse forgot the barrel, as to a spire unto the Eliment of water, besides your rants had been Poetical liberties, and here you are restrained by the strict gaul-signification of this word in the Imprisoment of folly, 'tis true enough therefore in Warley (your name) we will change the Letter L. to T. and then the watry-strains might well be dischannelled from some Fountain, Yet to wave that, your Letters are too Heroic to deny a Pyramid, freshmens' minds are always hungry, and if Pyramids were the Egyptian Corn store houses. I may allow you such a Tomb, for it were no way an enshrinement insufficient to your honours if the place would contain so great a loaf to lie buried, if it could not, how would the Echo of your name have open air to fancy abroad without infection. It would decease without a bond, and so by no conditions, be bound to appear at the day of Resurrection, you talk of my Muse being asleep (though yours was awake) I dreamed what the language would be, a little Harlatory-Oratory, and yet because they were forced from your Epigrammicall wantonnings (as you verif●●e it, in two lines) they shall not Penance for being ravished, and though you would have buried those adulterous lines (as you term them) in the Urn of oblivion you might have drowned them) as the Gotham's Sophoi did their water serpent) in Laethe's Rivulets when you talked so much of a raging River, and say you had done so, I would not have forgot to lament my farewell-salutations; nor had you need to have exclaimed against my Vales to their souls transported to Elysium when those Romans used a more hideous noise of conclamations, and I thank you for burning them in the fire because those Pagans had of a Christian, the custom of proper burial.  
WILLIAM SHIPTON.   

To his Friend who drew the Pencill's lineaments and Pens Encomiums of His Lady Dias  

A polo or Apelles? speak,  
Deciphering Art with Rhetoric;  
Thy Pencil in well-fashioned trim,  
Doth praise and yet her features Limn  
How could it be? and yet you do it,  
At one time Pictor both, and Poet.  
'Tis just as Phydias carved his name,  
By Verse within Minerva's frame,  
Or as Vlysse's Pedlar felt,  
Here th' needle, there the sword and belt.  
Methinks at light of her, I gaze  
On Venus and Minerva's face.  
In such brave tinctures as doth lie  
Hippocrates his Gemini.  
The difference 'twixt them, thus imparts,  
Here's beauties Moles, there's beauties warts.  
For in her compofition's placed  
Vesta's blushes, Lucrece chaste.  
Just if we should in paint disclose,  
One cheek a Lily, the other Rose.  
Poëme and paint, did here inspire,  
True substance with Prometheus' fire.  
Which nobler is, than Pyrrha's stones  
Halfe-made, hal●-Carkasse, or half-hones,  
Here could we love, if that we might  
View Helen's, not Diana's sight,  
But that thou drive us in delays.  
For but denies, what th' other says.  
Fair Contradictions ●ull us here  
In secret charms 'twixt hope and fear.  
Yet since thou'st lymned her we'll grant,  
Thee best Painter, she best Saint.    

A Monster.  

STrange shape of man! dame Nature sure doth try  
Erratas in her own Philosophy,  
That the great Stag'rite stumbled who foresaw,  
Uncertain Physics at a certain Law.  
Th' Beast unnatural is, and therefore may,  
Make humane matter Metaphysica.  
Were he our Native England's doubtful sight,  
I mean both man and wife Hermophradite.  
It would less wonder speak but him to see,  
Notes afric, Arabic, Welch-Pedigree.  
Only that at Sol's Rays i'th' high-blazed noon,  
He scorns to toast the lovely green-cheese moon.  
Lest Jove should in a great Bravado say  
It dropped from Heaven pressed i'th' milky-way.  
Is he a Logic Creature man and brute,  
've no half- rationals without dispute,  
Either in sigures he is understood,  
Or plainly dressed in notions A●la mood.  
'Twould vex an Argument demonstrative to see  
Vagum Individium, He, nor She.  
'Tis Probable, not Cogent, for who can  
Say this He, woman is, that She's man.  
Look in his face, a sky, and you'll consent,  
Here lies the East of th'day, there th'Occident.  
Here lies Sol blushing in his Morning Plight  
There Cynthia masked with dull-vizard night.  
Sure at his birth were tragi-Comick, plays,  
As Sunshine glimmers in the Cloudy days.  
'Twas feared this Janns should be a fate's loss,  
Because the Pile enstamped was with Cross.  
And when in kelder (that's within the womb)  
A Carol for his life, a Dirge the Tomb.  
Was chanted forth, a large, a long-Relief,  
And then a Semi-quaver, a Sembrief.  
This for his Generation now I fear,  
Corruption of this Monster draweth near.  
Howe'er, nor Sea, in earth, nor air he lye●.  
We'll dole his burial with our laughing cries.    

To his Friend concerning the Perfections of DIA.  

WHat if my Lady's glories I  
Should blazon in art's Heraldry.  
Calling that Crystal globe her eyes,  
The Constellations of the skies.  
Where Venus and Adonis are,  
Signs shining in their Character.  
Her breast the Indies whence we spy,  
Those fragrant banks of spicery.  
Whence balmy Nectar's sweets distils  
From Limbecks of those gummy hills.  
Majestic neck, whose Roseal Ray,  
Baffles the Cherub's Milky-way.  
Or say her lips I glaze with Red,  
And call them Cupid's Nuptiall-bed,  
Speak them the Phylosophick touch  
(To burnish gold and Ruby such)  
As Alchemists) if my heart be  
Robbed by their kissing Chemistry.  
Prometheus' flames they came too late,  
Her He'ven-bred soul to Animate.  
So the instinction of a coal  
Inspired her (which was never stoal)  
Ah! too divine her Nature is,  
Created by immortal bliss,  
In her composure Venus fair  
Minerva's, Juno's Fiats are.  
Too too sublime are these, each strain,  
Wrapped in a Metaphorick vein,  
And yet, if in the chaste-sprung Love,  
But once she'll correspondent Prove.  
I must confess my Ink a die,  
Too fiant to scan Hyperbole.    

DIA Praying.  

AS sweet Aurora blushes spreads  
Th' harmonious spheres in golden weeds.  
Whence Phoebus in his Chariot hurled  
Rides the round Circuit of the World.  
The Minstrels wakened by that Ray  
Of Ruby Sol in's Pearly day.  
Assumes their pinnions to the skies,  
With a melodious Sacrifice,  
In curious Anthems as they sing  
The Vernal April's of the spring.  
My Dia glorious by her Light,  
(From th' obscure Chaos of dull Night  
Reclused) through the Enameled sky,  
In haste on winged Zeal did fly.  
The Elements were mute to hear  
Th' Articulate Accents of her there,  
Displaying speeches with intent,  
To breathe them to astonishment.  
Stars turned Argus-sights to spy,  
Her footsteps in the galaxy.  
Proud that their Rays were trodden upon,  
By her Perambulation.  
They viewed (as he described aright,  
Blessed Canaan with a Prospect-sight.  
Smelled you the sweet-breathed Ruby Rose,  
Which on the stem of sugar grows.  
Whose Rubric colour doth abound,  
Fresh Nard in an Exotic, ground,  
Smelled you dame Flora's wardrobe Rare,  
Perfumed with Alabaster air:  
Whose sweet Conferves are far above  
The Muscat of a Lady's glove.  
Smelled you the dying Phoenix nest,  
Which is with Sabian sweets oppressed.  
Like Paradise, just so divine,  
So Rare, so precious is each line;  
Each word a sweet perfumed gums,  
As sugared spice from India comes.  
Each Monosyllabon may be  
Balm, honey from Mount Hybla's tree.  
Saw you the Pearls in high renowns,  
Which decks Rome's great Imperial Crowns,  
Sprung from Rocks-Diamond every Gem,  
Speaks Caesar and his Diadem.  
Saw you the Rubies India brings,  
As donatives to its Rude Kings.  
The sparkling Chrysolites rich shrine,  
Glimmering flames in'ts golden Mine.  
Such was an eye whose pearly streams  
Run Tagus, dartings, Crystal beams,  
Which famed appearance forced no less,  
Then Angels to subserve her bless.    

To DIA ask him concerning the supremacy of her beauty.  

HAve you not heard, when April did invest,  
With Roseal flowers mount Ida's lovely crest  
As that it's fragrant sweets might well invite  
Sick stomaches of a Maideos' Appetite.  
And Regal Paris in old Russet grey.  
Coversed with the Ilian flocks each day.  
Jove's right ambitious Ladies did contest,  
Whose beauty worst, whose beauty was the best.  
Each swaggering Vant, coranting highly forth,  
In great gran●does grandeurs of their worth.  
And  their disputations could not end  
Thee from the sublime Court of Heaven descend,  
To plead with mortal, and th' Immortal Race,  
Made Parts inde to State the questioned Case.  
But he poor soul, did only gaze upon  
The rich approach of each rare Paragon.  
Till Juno first advanced on to speak  
The sweet Appellatives of Rhetoric.  
Have she th'imperial Crowns and D'adems,  
Voted to him th' attire of Regal stems.  
What India brings, what has the Arabtan coast?  
What Ruby Pearls doth golden Tagus boast?  
Is he for wealth, then she'd his glories Vant,  
A Di'mond-Rock, rich Crystal, Adamant,  
Is be for fame? then she would raise his might,  
As Besili●ks eye to conquer with the sight.  
Or with the Roman Caesar in the field,  
Brandish his triumphs to a batnassed shield,  
Would he attempt high honour in the Court,  
Or seek ambition at some nobler sport.  
she'd bring him gallant Courtigrs for delights,  
Rare flatteries of smiling Proselytes.  
To climb the stately Cedar without fall,  
For th'great-swelled honour of the little ball.   

Next came Minerva whose great trimphs sit  
Crowned Laureate in the Porphery chair of wit.  
Drinks Helicon at every thirsty Lay,  
Cramps large Parnassus in one stalk of Bay.  
Here in the gaudy garbs of congues she would  
Lint with fine Metaphors of Rhet'ricks' gold.  
Have dressed this Princely Boy more Rare  
Than Cobweb Ladies decked in tiffany-Air.  
What laurels has the two top lofty hill,  
What Nectar doth from Hyppocren distil?  
What spring with flowery fragrants purled shows?  
What Hyhla with its honeyed sweets overflows?  
She promised, and the clouds-aspiring fame  
Of conquests which in virtue's shrine doth flame.  
And all such glorious Treasures she'd display,  
●●so be crowned Lady in this warring-day.  
Next Lovely Venus from the wanton sphere  
Of golden beauty glorious did appear.  
Elixar-Presence changed him to bliss  
By Phylosophick Metamorphosis.  
First from those luscious breasts she slipped down  
Her brave enriched flower-embroidered gown.  
This show those pleasant dainties did invite  
The ravished taste as almost ravished sight.  
Love so persuasive motives there did find,  
He who was dimmed before was now struck blind  
And as the sight she charmed the other sense  
Of hearing by a Swan-sung Eloquence.  
Say Royal Prince what's honour but the scar  
Of Chivalry i'th' Registers of war:  
What's wit but babbling Echo of false fame,  
And only happy in it's Coined name.  
For you Sir 'tis the Praevalentist charm,  
To wanton in a Lady's Lily arm.  
To give ambition glut and it's own fill,  
Or with World's Eaglets soar Promotion's hill:  
Here such a candid beauty I'll unfold,  
Sol in his travels ne'er could one behold.  
So amorous for delight, each lovely part  
Speaks her perfections drawn from nature's art,  
And needs not the adulterate shrine of Paint,  
To write her Deity, or limn her Saint.  
Then happy Wanton for your mind she'll be,  
As you to her a constant Votary.  
It is sublime enough, and grand Renown  
For you? Let but the golden prise me crown.  
Now Paris screwed up to the full extent,  
Of wonder at each Courting blandishment.  
Beauty's fair Madam spoke in winning grace.  
With kind acceptance did her words embrace.  
How could the Auditor but stand amute,  
When th' Orator attempted a salute.  
In such rich strains of speech as to invent  
An Answer needs a studied Complent,  
The Judge was silent, but a speaking kiss  
Proclaimed this sentence, your face fairest is,  
He Crowned with Myrtles she with golden ball,  
Dame Venus stood the conqueror of all.  
Now Dia fair those Premisses ●ore-see  
What the coclusion of yourself will be,  
Brave vaunting Learning glorious fame despised  
Sweet faced beauty for the best was prized.  
Then all ambitions will your form embrace  
The Cyprian-feature in your Vestal face.    

On the death of the truly Noble.  

ANd is He dead! then must his fall  
Require great Englands' funeral.  
To mourn in tears from doleful Eyes,  
In sad breathed notes of Elegies.  
How can we but lament his fate  
The Gods seem to Commiserate.  
They'd turn him to a Swan, a Stone,  
Like Niobe, Don-Phaeton.  
The Sun seems sullen grown that we  
Expect the World's Catastrophe.  
Less by a Cat'rackt dimmed then might  
Our eyes have darkness, Sol have Light.  
Perhaps he grieus, as th' Element,  
Drops dewy tears at's Occident.  
The Orbs since he their hold is gone,  
St●ps and do set the motion.  
Grant we Pythagoras doctrine true.  
Souls Metempsuchosed renew.  
Their substancy, and shapes return,  
Like Phoenix in a dying Urn.  
We'll not condole to paint in dye;  
Eulogiums of Hydography:  
Nor sorrow from our saddest eyes,  
In water-verse faint Elegies;  
But that we hope not for, How then!  
We'll say here lies the best of men;  
And sinceed no Superstition writes,  
For to perform the Funeral Rites;  
In Zealous acts of Pomp Let's try  
His great Renown of, Obsequy.    

To DIA a Sacrifice.  

BRing sweet fragrants, costly gums,  
With Odours which from India comes,  
Like spicy balm, which candyed lies  
'Mongst Sabea's richest Rosaries;  
That generous wine whose mirth distils  
Fair Jubilees, i'th' East'ran hills:  
The Western climate, or the skies,  
Which long 'bove the Antipodes rise;  
For their Mole-natures has a birth,  
Down in the lower parts of Earth.  
Let the sweet Diapasmes be  
Brought to the Incense, and that tree  
Which the Chaste Indian choose to have,  
For Gen'all bed, and Funeral grave;  
Those spiceries, which on the Pyre  
Embalms her corpse, till she expire;  
Ravish Odoriferous all  
Our Hecatombs, excessive shall,  
Perform their vows, o'th' Altar this,  
Where Dia's name Ensculpted is.  
Let all the Vestals who admire,  
Love can posesse such a chaste fire;  
Bring sugared Nectar, honey smells  
Which in th' Americk confines dwells;  
Famed Aromaticks Amber juce,  
Which the Exotic fields produce.  
Mixed with their purest zeal shall flame,  
A Perfume glorious as the same;  
Shall rarify our Orbs, at least  
That Angels may behold the feast:  
Though Jove, as bashful for his rapes,  
Transfigured, to obtain escapes:  
Will scarce descend (as he has graced,  
Some Lovers) unto ours so chaste:  
Yet purer Detties admit,  
At this great Symposy to sit;  
The Eastern Rivers thus intent,  
To yield the sweetest, rarest sent:  
And Oriant Pearls joyed for to same  
Th' Altar with, a Ruby frame.  
While sacred Virgins in the height,  
Of service shall the Tapers light;  
Which like the Vestalized fire,  
Will never in ' its flames expire.  
I'll then on it (the Priest) Intery  
My heart, Sole Sacrifice to her.    

A Flower in DIA'S Bosom.  

HOw can it be? That's not thy sphere,  
I think thou'rt but translated there  
And too-sublime, a course doth run,  
To be the flower of such a Sun.  
For tell me who doth not entwine,  
A second Synod Catiline;  
In Pills, and Powder-works to spoil,  
Thee, in that Jove-enamouring soil.  
Th' ginger will sure envy  
That height, of thy felieity;  
When's Mathematic staff comes short  
In reaching, such a Heav'n-sprung Court.  
The Lover too, he thinks thy fate  
Is happy, his unfortunate;  
Unless what spells Thy name he know  
Whether th' Hyaci'nth or no;  
Then 'tis Apollo who'll enjoy,  
His Daphne, once a Virgin Coy.  
Perhaps the regal flower, which brings  
Th' Inscript names of Lords, and Kings;  
Then it (as Hieroglyphics) show  
Such Subjects to her shrine must bow.  
Or is't the flower Adonis best  
Thus verdant, in his Venus' breast;  
Where a mild April doth renew  
His blossoms, with a balmy dew:  
And bids him suck the pearly juice,  
Which fragrants in her hands produce;  
I hate his blessedness, if so  
The Lad my Rival, there do grow.  
No, 'tis my DIA. I who close  
Your Eye-beams look Pale as the Rose;  
Which when Apollo shows no Ray  
Its verdures in a night decay;  
You gild my glories more and more,  
(Like dross refined into Oar)  
H●th ' Radiums' of your sunny-eye,  
My deadness, but again supply.  
And since it is no flower, but is  
A Jove in Metamorphosis;  
A Love transformed by a devise,  
A man (yet flower) i'th' Paradise;  
Let my leaves have Expansion,  
Ith' Odours of your b●est alone,  
Nor shall I Burial want, when I  
In Perfumes live, In Perfume die.    

To DIA, Concerning his Sacrifice.  

HOw could you but Fair DIA praise,  
The Crystal Pyramid, the Bays;  
Whole Helicon of wine, burnt to a flame,  
In paying debts to your De'fied name.  
Did you not wish Catullus nose,  
To swell the perfumes which arose  
From the pure Incense, and the smells  
Panchaian broached from gummy shells.  
To see it, it would scarce suffice,  
With Argus to be called Eyes:  
To view the glories, Lyncaeus might  
Be counted a dull Pisgah-sight.  
Th' Arabian's Bird, sweet Roseal nest,  
Of Myrrh was rifled, as each breast,  
Was in such great amazements thence  
Clad with rich Robes of frankincense.  
Those Aramatick sweets, the best  
Bright Oriency, dishoared from East;  
With Storax offered in brave gems,  
Beset with Lilies, on their stems;  
All burnt in Odours, were till th' day,  
Rich seamed as Faelix Ara'ba.  
And though the purest Virgins came,  
To light the Torches into flame:  
None as yourself, were half Divine,  
In glory dignities, or shrine.  
Hence beauty, conquering strongest Art,  
The best Oblations of my heart:  
Devoted to yourself, I made,  
And Socerdotall office played.  
Receive it Dia, for alone  
My hearts with you, 'tis from me gone.   
FINIS.