LUNATICUS INAMORATUS OR, The Mad Lover.  

HArk how the Welkin Thunders; Hark! stand, stand.  
Dire Flames Belch forth, the Fury's are at hand.  
Pluto by Styx! Foul Tisiphone avant:  
Ho Proserpina! beauteous Proserpina, grant  
Me a Boon; Command that Cerberus lie still:  
Tell the lowed Cur, 'tis Amarantha's Will:  
My Amarantha; She, who's now at Play  
With Ariadne, in the Milky-way.  
The Studded-Crown is staked; O unkind part,  
Against a Crown to wage thy Lovers-Hart:  
Why Covets Amarantha such a Gemm?  
Jove shall present thee with his Diadem.  
But, that these cursed- Manacles forbid;  
I'd mount the Globe, and place it on thy Head.  
Aurora speak; What! has my Angel Won?  
'Tis so, 'tis so; now give it, to th' Sun,  
Th' day's proud-Post; He'll drink thy Health at Night,  
In Sweets extracted from his Thetis sight.  
What Plagues are these Cold-Chains? Why, Ixion!  
Sisyphus, Sisyphus! lay by that Stone;  
Pledge Me, and Tantalus: This Glass to Her  
Who Tinds the Stars, keeps Me a Prisoner.  
Come, ye smoky Cyclops, come, Drink apace:  
That, to your Mistress; next, to Juno's Grace:  
To Neptune now, quafed off ye frolic Slaves;  
For Neptune Tipples the Impostumed Waves.  
Sirrah Boy, Ganymede, fill up their Bowls:  
'Tis well; the Horned-God keeps thirsty-Souls.  
More Nectar still, A Tun to him that sits  
Collecting Notions from a Bedlams Wits,  
Arm, arm Alcides! Sooty Fiends Invades  
The Flowry-borders of the Elizian-Shades.  
Charon, Scull, Ferryman, Steer towards Shoar;  
Stem that proud Wave; Bear-up, now waft me o'er.  
Whence blows that Gust? be calm, be calm; rude Wind  
Obey; Love, and my thoughts are unconfined.  
Bold slave forbear to touch it; know that Rose,  
Only to deck my Amarantha Grows.  
The Ruddy-Morne has strung of Dewy-Pearl;  
A double Carcanet for thee, my Girl.  
Look, where She comes; Hyperion stay,  
And strew thy Golden-Attoms in Her way.  
Venus, thy Chariot; quick, How dar'st thou see  
Her walk on foot, that is more fair than Thee?  
Attendance there; the Graces I'll prefer;  
'Twould Grace the Sacred-Nine to wait on Her,  
Jove, Tune the Whirling-Sphears; Arion come,  
And Sing my Sweet a Lovers Requium.   

Ha Squalled Villain! Scourge me; hold,  
I'm still, I'm still; Dear Heart, I was too bold:  
Forbear, I'm quiet now: the God's can tell,  
My Amarantha does not take this well.   

These Ginn's oppress. 'Tis Gold, pure Gold; the Stone,  
Dropped from the Ringlet of an Amazon.  
Hyppolita, perhaps, a Pilgrim might  
Do Adorations to't, it looks so bright.  
Who Hollows there, Rogue, Captive, Lunatic;  
If Molops hear, he'll lash thee to the quick.   SINGS 

Her Hair upon Her Shoulders spread;  
Each curl, a Fringe for Beauty's Bed:  
Jun's-Roses in Her Checks are born:  
From either Eye,  
A Serene Sky,  
Opes like the Windows of the Morn.   

Where is my Angel? Ah! to sleep shrunk in;  
Toth' fragrant Bud of some choice Jessamin:  
Or rests in Flora's Lap.   

Hark, silence there, does not yond, doleful Bell,  
Sound hollow as it were a mourning knell;  
What sad departing Soul with lingering breath,  
Disturbs the drowsy Bed-maker of Death.  
For Amarantha, ha, and would she go,  
Not once farewell; unkind, not let me know.  
Dead, Amarantha dead, draw o'er the Light,  
The sullen Curtains of the gloomy Night:  
Aurora's blushes, darkest Clouds Eclipse,  
Grow pale, as now my Amarantha's lips.  
My Glory dead? Her Tenement resign,  
Why would she not, an Inmate, dwell in mine.  
See where she hovers, like a Cherubin,  
Hast, hast, bright Soul, to thy Celestial Inn.  
Stay not to Banquet, these insatiate Eyes,  
That must do service at thine Obsequies:  
Ye purer Spirits of the Air attend,  
My wand'ring Angel to her journey's end:  
With Sable cloth, the spangled Canopy,  
That every Star may mourn as well as I:  
And as ye pass, her Legacies proclaim,  
To me her heart, to th' World her Virtuous, name.  
Come swift winged Mercury, 'tis thou must be  
The Messenger, betwixt my Love and me.  
Where have you hid her Relics? Let me climb,  
And fix them 'bove the reach of wrinkled Time.  
Go, tell her Hermes, how my thoughts are bend,  
On Parian Cliffs, to raise her Monument.  
Plutus, base Miser, it is thou detains  
My Jewels Cabinet; thy hollow Veins,  
I'll rend in sunder; search the Infenced Deeps,  
Breakup the Cells, where all thy Treasures sleeps.  
Discover what thy Avaricious mind,  
Since the Proleptick Age, hath close confined;  
Black-warders, of your fordid Masters o'er  
By Dis, and Hell, I conjure you to restore  
His Theft; How dare you keep what must be set,  
With Columns double Arched on Arraret?  
Ho, Light-heeled Boy, What hast thou brought me there?  
A Letter, ha, a Letter from my Dear  
Sealed with a Kiss.  
Who would not over Rapid Torrents wade,  
To kiss the Lips, that this Impression made.  
A curled Lock and Diamond too, by Styx,  
The wanton Archers strange Hyrogliphicks.  
My Amarantha deems me still as wife,  
As when I guessed her meaning by her Eyes;  
To read these Characters, writ by her looks,  
The gravest Cato, would have left his Books.   

From the Region of the Moon.  

Inhabits Amarantha there? A place,  
Beseeming such a Beauty, such a Grace.  
Tarquin withdraw thy lustful Fancy from her,  
She's now Diana's chiefest Maid of Honor.  
The sportful Goddess often takes delight,  
To let her wear the Crescent of the Night;  
And with her smiling Nymphs attending, stray  
O'er Latmos, Ephesus, and Cayria.  
Ovid, thy Courtship She'll no more approve,  
She must be courted with, Platonique Love,  
Such as the holy Virgin Nun may pant,  
When ended prayers to her Indulgent Saint.  
chaste Votaress, I will offer at thy Shrine,  
Flames, for their purity, shall equal thine.  
Permit me though, when under Morpheus charms,  
To dream I kiss, and keep Thee in mine Arms.  
Soft Rest approach, polluted thoughts be gone,  
Thou shalt be Cynthia, I, Endyminon.   
With ALLOWANCE.    

LONDON, Printed by Sarah Griffin. 1667.