Aurora heavenâ— illustrious Queene Shakes off her â—able Robe and with a grace Smiles in the front of a faire morning face Just so my love as if night had beene noone Discards the element of the uselesse moone And from her glorious tapers sent a â—iâ—e To light the darkest thoughts to quicke deâ—iâ—e While thus from forth her to â—all gate she sent Breath form'd in words the marrow of content And have you Sir at such a tempting time Betâ—ayd my honour to this welcome crime By stealing pleasure from me t was thy Love I know that did thee to this trespasse move For I have prov'd thy faith which since I finde The trusty Inmate of a loyall minde Of force I must accept it and in part Of recompence afford thee all my heart Thus having ceaz'd my prize I told her sweet As by no fouler name we ere may greete So what is mine I tender all my selfe The poorest part of thy unvalued wealth Thou hast won much in this thy mercy showne That thus at last thou dost receive thy owne Least they who after me like fate shall prove Should say See what it is to be in Love I am in portu Loves Apostacy to his friend Mâ— E.D. Tut let her goe can I indure all this Yet dye to doate upon a Maydens kisse Is there such Magicke in her lookes that can Into a foole transfigurate a man Didst thou not love her trueâ— and she disdaine To meete thy vertue let her meete her shameâ— Were she as â—ane as she her selfe would be Adorn'd with all the cost of bravery Could she melt hearts of flint and from her eye Give her beholders power to live or die I' I 'de rather begge shee would pronounce my death Then beheâ— scorne though that preserv'd my breath Rise 〈◊〉 and be not fool'd S'soote what a shame Were it for thee to re-incense one flame From the declining spaâ—ke dost thou not know As shee 's a woman her whole sexe doth owe To thine all honour her false heart and pride Dare not oppose thy faith then turne high tyde And let her since her scornâ— doth so disease thee By her repentance strive againe to please thee The broken heart song Counâ— the sighâ— and count the teaâ—es Which have in 〈◊〉 my budding yeares Comment on my woâ—ull looke Which iâ— now blacke sorrows booke Read how love is overcome Weepe an â— sigh and then be dumbe Say it was your charity To helpe him whâ—â—â— eyes 〈◊〉 dry Here paint my Cleora's name Then a 〈◊〉 and then a flame Then marke how the heart doth fry When Clâ—oâ—a is so nigh I hough the flame did doe its part 'T was the name that broke the heaâ—â— Peace no more no more you need My sad history â—o read Fold the paper up agen And report to other men These complaints can justly prove Hearts may breake that be in love Women are mens shadowes 1. FOllow a shadow it flies you Seeme to fly it it will pursue So court a Mistresse she denies you Let her alone she will couâ—t you Say are not women truly then Styl'd but the shadowes of us men 2. At morne and even slâ—des are longest At Noone they are or short or none So men at weakest they are strongest But grant us perfect th' are not knowne Say are not women truly then Styl'd but the shadows of us men Per Ben. Iohnson Women are not mens shadowes E Contra 1. The sunne absented shadowes then Cease to put on the formes of men But wives their husbands absent may Beare best their formes they being away Say are noâ— women falsly then Stil'd but the shadowes of us men 2. Shadowes at Morne and Even are strong At noone they are or weake or none Women at Noone are ever long At night so weake they â—all along Say are not won â—n â—â—â—â—ly then Stil'd but the shadowes of us men 3. As bodies are contracted shadowes so Contract themselves to formes as bodies doe Let men be bounded neere so close I wisâ— Women will rove and â—amble where they list Say are not women falsly then Stil'd but the shadowes of us men To his worthy friend Mistresse I charge thee by those eyes of thine Give mee my heart Those eyes that stole it out of mine I felt the smart And least the theâ—t you should deny Looke where you keepe it in your eye And now I have espy'd it there Thinking to catch it You chaine and wind it in your haire But still I watch it And so got loose from thence it flyes And sports agen upon your eyes Though now to cozen mee you seeke Thinking to hide It in the dimple of your cheeke I have disery'd How now discovered it doth skip 'Twixt the soft prison of each lippe Yes yes I see it stealing goe Least I should find it Through the long gallery of snow And still I mind it How you have shuffled it betweene Your breasts not thinking it is seene See see I see it creeping in neare you I feare Through the small 〈◊〉 of your skinne to shelter there As if that 〈◊〉 could 〈◊〉 mee Alas I know things I not see But if nor eye nor haire nor cheeke Nor lip nor breast nor heart it keep Give me them all for every part Thou hast has part of mee my heart To Mistresse While a the lockes of time and smoother faâ—â—e Than sliding streames thy skinne and â—â—esses are Sweete a Aâ—abian Odors when in fire Their strugling spirits upwards do expire When as the curteous wind doth court our sence And raâ—ish it with sweete intelligence Is thy pure breath onely this difference know That sent is 〈◊〉 but thine is naturall sâ— Soft as the plumie mosâ—e that over-spreads The tender circle of young Turtles heads Are thy two breasts which enviously do swell To thinke that that should this this that excell And yet asham'd such strife their pride hath bred Both blush and tip themselves with bashfull red Types locks streams odors downe nor blushes are So red so soft so sweet so smooth so faire On a Lillie now withered in her bosome Blest in thy happy bed faire Lilly lye To shade thee from the Sunne of her bright eye But doe not in a wanton pride preferte Thy selfe as adding whitenesse unto her Alas what glory could in thee appeare So eminent if not transplanted there But see thou fadest already poore proud flowre Whose fate is limited to one short howre And since thou wouldst for such a beauty vie Thy conquer'd envie makes thee pale and dye Come sit thee downe and with a mislyn charme Ceaze my incircled arme Till lockt in fast imbraces wee discover In every eye a lover Then lost in that sweete extacy of blisses Wee 'le speake our thoughts in kisses In which wee 'le melt our soules and mixe them so That what is thine or mine there 's none shall know Rare mistery of love and wonders too Which none but wee can doe Nor shall the leaden spirits of all
want of eyes Did point his name the way to kisse the skies Young schollers in the darke might grope like fooles Were not he plac't the lanthorne of the Schooles The world had lost among it 's Worthies one Aleâ—dos Who had not Homer sung had neere beene knowne Ulysses act had perish'd like a toy Had this blind guide not led him out of Troy And rapt his memory up so safe in rime That it shall equall if not out-live time Maro thy lines great Caesar hath extold That paid each severall verse a piece of gold Yet thought his purchase easie and did more Esteeme thy wit than all his wealth and store And justly too since what thy labour spent On him lasts longer than his monument This Rome being fired is ashes but his name Lives Salamander-like spight of the flame Didst thou not snatch Aâ—neas from that fire That up to Illions Turrets did aspire And bor'st his feeble father by thy pen On his sons shoulders through an hoast of men For which thy selfe great Virgill shalt remaine To endlesse times even till thou rise againe No envious fire thy able skill shall burne Till fire and earth into one substance turne Yill when that I may come to speakâ— our dayes Daniel thou livest circled with breath for bayes Nor Spencer to whose verse the world doth owe Millions of thankes can unremembred goe Nor thou great Johnson who knowst how to write Such lines as equall profit with delight Whil'st thy untired readers wish each sheete Had beene a volume 't is so neate so sweete Next fame seemes charily to spread her wings O're what the never dying Drayton sings Still lives the Muses Appollinean son The Phaenix of his age rare Harrington Whose Epigrams when time shall be no more May die perhaps but never can before This cloud can witnesse that a Poet may Bring darknesse out of light make night seeme day These can make lawes and Kingdomes alter States Make Prince Gods and poore men Potentates An amorous verse â—aire Ladies â— innes your loves Sooner than busk points â—arthingalls or gloves A Poets quill doth stand in greater stead Than all such â—oyes to gaine a maiden head A line well writ and by a Potent skill Charmes the rapt soule with musique of a quill VVhilst the by standers deem 't a blisse to die Tickled to death by such sweet harmony Againe if thou deserve the Muses frowne Wretch that thou art a quill can hurle thee downe To that abisse of ignomy that fate Cannot condemne thee to a baser state I will make each finger point at thy disgrace And like a Monster each man shâ—n thy face VVhile thou thus branded finding no reliefe With a strong halter choakest thy stronger grieâ—e Thus Poets like sates factors here do hold All power underneath their pens controld Lastly deare brother thinke not I forgot Amongst this learned â—ile to ranke my Scot Thy early Muse sings in so sweeâ—e a straine As if Apollo had compos'd thy vaine Superlatively taking while each letter Disdaines our Moderne Poets should sing better Now saints my pen and fainting feares that I My selfe may perish if wiâ—h clemencie My reader censure not yet hopes to raise A memory to it selfe though not of praise That I being earth something may live of mâ—e Perhaps this paper if approv'd by thee Against prejudicate opinion THe humble soule the mind opprest Shall finde unto his conscience rest The cleare in heart the single eye Laughs at his neighboâ—rs jealousie Then let men censuâ—e what they can The inside makes the honest man who 'ld thinke a clod of earth should hold Within a masse of splendent gold So silly woods have fragrant smels And Pearles are sound in sordid shels Base sâ—â—bards hold approved swords And 〈◊〉 covers golden words Digge up the earth â—nd burne the wood The gold and smell will both be good Unsheath the blade the booke untye One takes your heart toâ—her your eye Had these laid still they might have gone Thought hardly worth the looking on Then judge what folly there had beene To câ—nsure any thing unseene Mors aequo pede pulsat Pauperum taberâ—as Regumque turres MAns life 's a game each hath his card in 's hand And death a while a looker on doth stand At last hee shuâ—fles in a gamester too Then cuts deales rubbes and winnes and so adieu The King like common creatures in death must Find no respect nor reveâ—ence in the dust Their royalty put off their state laid downe There sits a clod oâ— dirt where once a Crowne Their eyes like expir'd tapers drop and fall And leave theâ—t Sockets emptie for the Ball Or golden Globe which once their hands did keepe A knot of wormes doth role about and creepe Who â—ast no difference 'twixt their flesh and those Who fed lesse dainty wore fatre courseâ— cloathes In his dominion Death impartiall knowne The King and begger there are all but one Rejoyce then rich men and your game pursue In death I 'le be as good a man as you To the Noble Sr Francis Drake DRake perreratinovit quem terminus orbis Et cujus faciem vidit uterque polus Si taceant bomines facient te Sydera notam Solâ—escit conctis non memor essesui The Translation DRake who the world hast conquer'd like a scrole VVho saw'st the Articke and Antarticke Pole If men were silent staâ—res would make thee knowne Phoebus forgets not his companion To his friend Mr Em. D. on a rich vaporing sot whom hee stiles Ignoramus BLesse us why here 's a thing as like a man As Nature to our fancie fashion can Beshâ—ew mee but he has a pretty face And weares his tapier with indifferent grace Makes a neat congie dances well and sweares And weares his Mistresse pendant in 〈◊〉 eares Has a neaâ— foot as ever kist the ground His shoes and roses cost at least five pound Those hose have not a peere for by relation They 're cut a moneth at least since the last fashion He knowes two Ladies that will vow there 's none At Court a man of parts but he alone And yet this â—op scarce ever learn'd to know The mixture of the dis-joyn'd Christ-crosse row Strip off his ragges and the pooâ—e thing is then The just contempt of understanding men Being Fortunes minion Nature thought it fit Since he had wealth enough he should want wit To my matchlesse friend my dearest William Scot a New-yeares guift How shall I thanke my fate that wrought this end To my best wishes that thou art my friend I may lose all if I have any wealth My sicknesse may bereave mee of my health Bondage may steale my freedome but my love Which is a sacred blessing from above Can neere be wanting since 't is lock't in thee Who art true friendships safest treasurie It joyes mee that my soule so well did light To dwell with thine thou that dost speake and write And thinke the same with mee as if my spirit Did nothing
complemâ—nt alone invites the â—aâ—e No I have prov'd thee and thy preâ—ious name Confirmes thy nâ—ture to be like the same A glorious Gâ—m whose lustre doth out shine All those poore merits that I dare call mine And I must prize thee since thy worâ—h is showne Superlâ—â—ive and farre above mine owne Suffice it that my friendship and my Art Sâ—â—â—ves still to weare thee Pearle upon my heart Epigram 18. To the Heroicall Captaine Thomas Jamâ—s of his discovery made by the Northwest passâ—ge towards the South Sea 1631. HEroicke soule thy memory must live Beyond those stone built structures that can give Their earth an Ages talke or can assure The effigies of some mony Gull shall dure Till spiders eate his memory Oh poore glory T' inscrible a Marble with the tedious story Of some stout Sir whose vertue neere was more Than how to quarrâ—llâ— for perhaps a whore But thou great James hast by thy Actions fram'd A trophie that hereafter thou being nam'd Men shall rise up with â—everence and keepe Thy â—ame from freezing when thy Ashes sleepe To the same Captaine on his Couragious and pious behaviour in the said voyage MArchlesâ—e Commander when fierce winds did hurle Water to aire and made the old waves curle To mounts of solid liquor when strong streames Of moving marble did assault thee James Did not thy conquer'd courage like the rest Flag and sit heavie on thy hopelesse breast Didst thou not faint to heare the Thunder roare And â—urious seas rebell against the Shoare Didst thou not quake at this why then I see Thy soule though prison'd in thy flesh was free Thou werr above a man thy zeale like fire Dissolv'd th' opposing Ice and did aspiâ—e Through all the stormes of darke condensed ayre Wrapt in a sheeâ—e of storme-contemning prayer These were prevailiâ—g blowes and broke more Ice At once then all your hands at ten-times twice This man'd your ship securely through the maine And stered you safely to your home againe I. B. Epigram 19. A Complaint of his separation from his Mistris caused by his friends injunction DEare Heart remember that sad hower When we were forc't to part How on thy cheekes I wept a shower With sad and heavy heart About thy waste my Armes did twist Oh! then I sight and then I kist Ten thousand feates and joyes in one Did such distraction frame As if the livelesse world would runne To Chaos backe againe Whilst my poore heart amidst these feares Lay bathâ—d in my milke warme teares Ah then I thought and thinking wept How friends and fate diâ—ower On thee I eander how they kept Thee from thy Heroes Tower While thunder groâ—nd and heaven did weepe To rocke thy sence in silent sleepe But fate must unresisted stand Oh who can it oppose Necessiti's a Tyrant and No meane in mischiefe knowes Else might my fairer Love and I Unsever'd live till one did dye Just so the hungry Inâ—ant from His Motheâ—s dugge is tane When his weake arme 's yet spread along More dulcid milke to gaine And nothing brings the babe to rest Untill he sleepe upon her brest Thus being banisht from my Love And forâ—'t to leave her sight No thoughts but those of her can move In me the least delight But like true steele my heart doth pant To touch the long'd-for Adamant Oh let no storme of discontent Be clouded in your browes Deare friends that have my being lâ—nt Give being to my vowesâ— I will much engage my heart if when I say shee 's mine you ' â—e say Amen Such kindnessâ— to our true love showne Shall binde uâ—doubly then your owne Epigram 20. To the memory of his honoured friend Master John Donne an Eversary BLest dust and better soule to you alone I raise this structure not in Jet or Stone Whose â—â—aileâ—y in its luster onely can Tell us below there lyes a sâ—â—ayler man But heighâ—ned by those severall glories which Doe â—qually your better selfe in rich In those â—ude lines if such poore things can live I would a memory to your being give Burst ope thy Cell blest shade and â—ise that we May doe some homage to thy excellency Or that thy gâ—â—ar example may invite Us to a wish of everlasâ—ing night In which thy Sun of vertue shall appeare Sâ—â—ull as if earth had no darkenesse there Oh happy spring of thine whose seede and flower Was sowed and bloom'd and witherd in an hower For if long age be counted but a span Thy inch of time scarce measur'd halfe a man But sleepe sleepe best of spirits why should I Disturbe thy ashes t is a misery To know thou wert and art not for so men Mourne Jewels they once had but lost agen So he whose bitter fate is forc't to prove The misery of a memorable Love Remembring what it was and since no more He may enjoy it as he did before Weepes the sad consequence and prints thereby His sorrowes offerd to the Readers eye But I must leave thee thus and thinke of thee To the mad world a just Antipathy Thou were not of those men whose gowne and hood Must plead a wisdome though not understood Nor of the tribe of such as easily can Drop jests or vapours upon any man These are the Indians that doe frâ—ske and râ—n To the false rayes of each supposed Sunne Simple Americans that doe ingrosse The â—oyes of every noble genius Nor were you such whose cunning had the â—kill To murder a friend closely nor to kill With a pretence of safety your just Endes Depended not on liking of your friends But if the opposites of vice may be Exprest by any contrariety Let all men know what all men wish which is But a content on earth and after blisse Which thou art crownd with thus some stones are set At greater rate then some whole Cabinet When thy triumphant spirit once did inne At the poore cottage of thy â—rayler skinne Though every thought was payment of a rent To high and worthy such a tenement Yet as it had a knowledge did dispiaâ—e Because thou wouldst not â—arry longer there It droopes and ruinates it selfe and â—alls In every glory oâ— its principalls So Princes in a journey having beene The honoured guests of some poore village Inne Are mourn'd at their departure and now more Grieves the sad host then he was glad before Come Virgins you whose innocency can Embalme the memâ—ry of a divine man Yâ—u whose unspotted glories as your faces Preserve your fame and multiply its graces Whose easie goodnesse never did affect To wound obedient spirits with neglect Noâ— triumph in the fall of former loves Come come blest Virgins bring your peacefull Doves And at the Alâ—aâ— of his sacred â—hrine Present them and your zeale as I doe mine That to the world hereafter may be read Here innocency by Virgins wound lyes dead An Elegie on the death of his loving friend I C WHy should the labour of my mournefull Verse Find so sad subject as thy
POEMS ' DIVINE AND HVMANE BY THOMAS BEEDOME LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-Head-Alley neer Cornehill 1641. To the Reader BOokes are the pictures of mens lives delineated first by fancy and by judgement drawne to the life Such is this peice the living Idea of him that writ it who though now dead has a living Monument to his worth His Booke which despight of fire can never conâ—ert to ashes 'T is Lentum Ilium slow Troy that will not bee easily consinned he shall live in Paper which shall make him live in 's Marble And in this good Reader his worth shall bee Emergent he has don many things well and nothing ill Therefore receive him as an absolute testimony of wit and fancy or else deceive thy selfe since his workes are as excellent as singular HEN. GLAPTHORNE On the deceased Authour Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems REader it grieves meeâ— that I cannot bring A fresh Encomion but am forc't to sing A withered Elegie and onely boast The wealth and treasure of a friend that 's lost Beedom I doe admire thy verse The sweet And gentle cadence of their ordered â—eet Whose couplets kisse with so divine an Art As if the Sibills had about thy heart Layd their propheticke Spells and every line Deare Beedom I doe season with my brine Though there was salt enough in them before To keepe thy bayes still fresh But I deplore As others doe for there thy Art is showen In stealing pitty thus from every one For unlesse tribute of some sighâ— are paid Thy jealous Lover and thy constant Maid Cannot be read and these all sadly vie As true oblations to thy obsequie But when I wander in thy other walkes And see the flowers of poesie on their stalkes Florish in pride of fancy I beginne Almost to thinke Idolatry no sinne For such a perfume breakes the yeelding Ayrâ— I am urg'd to offer for thy soule a prayer And thinke in that sweet incense may arise My love and wishes as a sacrifice Thou 'lt gaine a â—trange advantage of thy fate That 's forc't to valew thee at equall rate With the sâ—le Phenix for frâ—m thy pure dust Thy fame takes wing and perching on the trust Of thy firme friend though round with envy hurl'd Dares with a broad eye looke upon the world He being best knowne Beedom to thy wit Thou wisely mad'st executor to it Who not defrauding of the world its due Presents thy worke unto the wiser few Me thinkes I heare from thy most gratefull clay Soft murmurs breake and speaking seeme to say Thanks my deare Wilbore for thy love and care By this my Genius clames an ample share For by the Elixir of thy friendly art My memory which is my better part Shall live which ages hence shall gladly see Wrought by the wonder of Loves chimistrie And such a Tombe Beedom thy friend will make That all consuming time can never shake Let others build I by that friend am sent To bring this first stone to his Monument Ed. May On the death and Poems of his most deare friend Master I homas Beedome VVHy did thy muse display her eaglets wing And â—ale a flight at heaven why did shee sing Like to the earely Larke when she begunne Glad carolls in the eare o' the listning Sunne Till heavens inhabitants did even conspire To snatch thee as a chanter to their quire But glorious Beedome ere he left the earth Did give to fame a Monument a birth To such a living fancy as in spight Of fate shall like a precious ray of light Dwell 'bout his urne where all the muses sit Wayling the losse of his emergent wit And weeping ore his ashes till their eyes Instead of teares shed mournfull Elâ—gies Penei â—n Daphne there her armes displayes As if she would intombe him in her bayes And she who Phoebus hot pursuit did shunne Imbraces the old ashes of his sonne There a bright troope of Virgins that from farre Appeare resembling every one a starre Drown'd in a see of pearle doe sadly rise From his lov'd true each one without their eyes Wept out or burning left there as they 'd meant Those lights for tapers to his Monument Where shall we find at such a time a soule That could in flowing numbers even controule Arts nimblest currents and most swiftly glide Without least noyse admir'd before espide So have I seene a gentle streame with sweet And fluent motion softly hast to meet Its mother Ocean and inrich her store With a more gratefull tribute then before A thousand violent torrents pâ—id whose waves Though lowder brought lesse musicke to their graves His life was all one harmony and in 's death Numerous and full of sweetnesse was his breath Expanded like the Swans concluding layes In lasting accents that shall speake his prayse While Feather-footed time does swiftly passe Or has a sand left in his plenteoresâ— glasse This is my vote which to thy Booke shall be A just applauseâ— to thee an Elegie Hen. Glapthorne On his deserving Friend Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems HOw fond is this age growne 't will fearce admit Distinction betweene ignorance and wit Each weares the others habit neither 's knowne By the wanted proper dresse that was its owne And every day new Authors doe appeare As they the paper Merchants factors were And boast themselves the muses sons when they Rime onely for some life-preserving pay Expect here no such Author if thou 't looke On th' inside more then th' outside of the Booke Put on thy judgements eyes and thou shalt find This Authors fancy rich as was his mind W. C. To his Friend the Author Master Thomas Beedom before his death on these his Poems THis is the riming Age no wonder now To heare Thalia whisling at the plow All traffiâ—ke with the Muses t is well knowne The Scullers boat can touch at Helicon Who quassâ—s not there doe we not daily see Each garded foot-boy belch out Poetrie Who so illiterate now that will râ—fuâ—e For some slight Minion to invoke a muse Yet honoured friend doe not imagin I In the lest taxâ— by great ability I know thee worthy of a â—etter fame Then my best study can afford thy name I onely would thy reader this informe Such empty nothings are thy muses scorne Nor doe I wish â—im slightly to o'relooke The bigâ—borne fancy of thy labour'd Booke For he that scans the Poems that are thine Must call them raptures sacred and divine Thou darling of the muses in whose quiâ—e Thou sha't sing Peans to Apollo's lyre And with his best lov'd Priests in equall state Sit justly crown'd a Poet â—aureate Em. D. To the Memory of his Ingenious friend Master Thomas Beedom and on these his Poems THâ—â—'s no just reason Friend that I should write Vnlesse I â—ould in swelling sighes indite My pregnant griefe till every line appeares A volumne of my sorrow
That had restoâ—'d the jewell which he lost And now acquited all those dismall feares Which had so many weâ—ping minutes lost Blushing Cherillus now salutes his sister And â—hanks the Godâ— that he unknown had mist her All soâ—row now is wip't from every eye Theâ—'s not a face that weares a mournfull looke Laughte triumphs while meager griefe doth dye As if fate had display'd some â—oâ—und bookâ— VVhich the by-standers reading joy to see How there their joy 's writ for eternitie Her father now 〈◊〉 their equall fires Since Hymen piâ—e of Fate did â—o command All union liv'd in their conjoynt desires Each soule lay pawnd in to ' theâ—s plighted hand Where they rest happy thus those Loves doe thrive VVhom Chastity through stormes sâ—ill keepes alive 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 FINIS POEMS To his Mistresse when shee was going into the Country YEs yes it must be so but must there be When you depart no memory had of mee My soule being rack't as large a distance too To meete you there as I must be from you While the glad spring for joy you shall be seene Meete your approach and cloath her selfe in greene And the fresh morning to salute your rise Bedewes the ground from it 's o'rejoyed eyes For joy like griese we know sometimes appeares Writ on our cheekeâ— with characters of teares Goe and be happy goe and when you see The trusty Ivy claspe it 's much loved tree And with it's amorous in twinings cover The welcome waste of it 's imbraced lover Thinke it our Embleme then and prov'd to be The happy shadow of my love and mee Goe and be happy and when some sweet brookes Calme as thy thoughts and smooth as are thy lookes Show thee thy face thou let thy thoughts supply And though I be not thinke that I am by For ifâ—the hearâ— bâ— taken for whole â—an I must be by thee be thou where thou can Goe and when pretty birds on some small spray Neere to thy window welcome in the day Awake and thinke when their sweete notes you heare I was before-hand and had sung them there Goe and whate're thou chance to heare or see Be it bird or brooke or shade of tree If it delights thee may my soule in it Move thy true joyes under that counterfeit So aske not how I doe when you are there For at your mercy well or ill I fare For now me thinkes my heart so high doth swell It must inforce a breath farewell farewell The Knell When the sad tolling of my bell you heare Thinke â—is some Angells trumpe and Judgments neere Then if but to repent you take the paine Your judgements past lye downe and sleepe agâ—ine The Perfume Not that I thinke thy breath lesse sweete than this Thy breath in which no pleasant sweets I misse Not that I thinke thy whiâ—e than this lesse faire Thy white to which all whites but blacknesse are Not that I thinke thy heart than this lesse pure Thy heart which â—o dull mixture can indure Send I this to thâ—â— but as gold well try'd Admiâ—s allay when it is purifi'd So by this foyle I would to thee impart What is thy breath thy whitenesse and thy heart Thy breath all perfumes doth as saue out-goe As doth thy whitenesse the descending snow The snow descends but by the winds being blowne Thy sweeter breath and whiter snows thine owne Thy heart lesse mixt than the sole Phoenix bed Proclaimes thee mistresse of a Maiden head And so there were no ashes after â—ire Would that were conquer'd in my loveâ— desire But if there be why can it not suffice That one being dead another Phoenix rise Thy maiden head being gone we still shall prove Both being one unparalell'd in love But I have riddl'd let me now unfold What is the perfume what the snow what gold All this and each of these thou knowâ—st thou art And I should know more did I know thy heart To his Mistresse on her scorne Resolve mee dearest why two heaâ—ts in one Should know the sinne of separation Must the sweete custome of our oft stolne kisse Be lost and wee live empty of those blisses Or do the stownes of some old over seer Nourish thy feare or make thy love lesse freer Why did'st thou suffer mee those sweets to steale Which but thine own no tongue can e're reveale And prompt mee to a daring to beleeve That my sad heart should find no cause to grieve Yet now at last hast mockt my hope so farre That I have â—ot a cloudâ— though meant a starreâ— Well take thy tryumph study but to be True to thy selfe as thou art false to mee And thou shalt meet a conquest yet when I Have groan'd unto the world my Elegy And thy unjust disdaine perhaps I shall Obtaine this honour in my funerall Thy poysonous guilt mixt with thy purged breath May make thee withâ—â— with mee unto death So shall I triumph in my Ashes too In that my innocence hath conquer'd you And then my eye rejoyce in that I have Thy scorne to be a mourner at my grave The Question and Answer WHen the sad â—ines of that face In it's owne wrinkles buried lyes And the stiffe pride of all it's grace By time undone â—als â—lacke and dyes Wilt not thou sigh and wish in some vext fit The it were now as when I courted it And when thy glasse shall it present Without those smiles which once were there Showing like some stale monument A scalpe departed from it's haire At thy selfe frighted wilt not start and sweaâ—e That I beleeved thee when I call'd thee faire Yes yes I know thou wilt and so Pitty the weakness◠〈◊〉 〈◊〉 That now hath humbled thee to know Though faiâ—e it was it is forlorne Loves sweetes thy aged corps embalming not What marvell if thy carkasse beauty â—ot Then shall I live and live to be Thy envie thou my pitty say When e're thou see mee or I thee Being nighted from thy beauties day 'T is hee and had my pride not wither'd mee I had perhaps beene still as fresh as hee Then shall I smile and answer 〈◊〉 thy scorne Left thee thus wrinkled slack't corrupt â—orlorne The new Petition Apollo once disdained not to keepe So he might keepe his love Admetuâ— sheepe The distaffe Hercules did exercise T' extract a smile from his deare Ladies eyes Olympicke Joane disdained not to take A bull's effigies for Europus sake A chilles fitter farre to deale with steele Did labour for his Mistresse at the reele Love spar'd Leander his pledg'd saith to save Died hugging in his armes the murdering wave Whil'st a new death his Heroe doth devise And drownd her selfe i th Ocean of her eyes By Pyramus the world did understand That love and life lay linked hand in hand When one was lost in Thisbe th' other flew Through the peirc't poâ—tals of his wound yet new Which when his Thisbe saw 't is hard to say Whose spirit posted fastest on
the way Thus some dejection others did invade Great opposition and have willingly laid Their lives at needlesse hazzard some have died And so have to the utmost satisfied What tyrant love could force and beyond this The great and true non ultra fixed is Yet happy this since what so c're they tryed Was on their Mistresse part regratified Oh who would when he saw an equall flame Of love in her he lov'd owâ— so much shame As to 〈◊〉 his life if her least griefe Did but invite his blood for her reliefe But this lorenamed courteous Ghost can beare Mee witnesse I have shed full many a teate Spoke the best language Rhetoricke affords I â—mbâ—d out my heart even to the life in words Would what they did did like occasion proffer And till that do I can no more but offer And yet for all my sufferings shee that is If I 〈◊〉 reach to call her so my bliâ—se Slights all my sorrowes Oh what eye could now Forbeare to veeld a teaâ—e when seeing how I love I am neglected weepe with mee All you the read my wrongs so if you be Compâ—ssionate perhaps your teares may move The frozen Mercy of my ice-white love Which if they doe if you at any time Shall 〈◊〉 drop I 'le lend you some of mine Methinkes I see you weepe deare Mistresse then Behold a Noble sea of pittying men Doth waft mee to your favour if you daigne Yet now at last to ease mee of my paine This glory shall unto your mercy rise That you have wip't all teares from lovers eyes Fooles Paradise or Reason Bewitcht apta Spicula sent nobis puris Simple as are the Elements unmixt Stedfast as is the earth whose footing 's fixt Untainted like the silver suite of Swan Alone like truth well ordered like a man Like these in each of these was I untill Upon a time Reason fell foule with Will Who back't with sence that it might battaile move Implor'd the ayde of all commanding Love Love by his mother taught doth soone comply To be an Actor in this treachery The battell 's wag'd and Reason flyes the field While Sence and Will to Love the Conquest yeeld I now loves subject am inforc't to doe What ever his designes commands mee too See see quoth hee do you behold that maid Whose equall doth not breathe and there he staid To draw fresh aire So quicke was hee to give Mee notice that I must no longer live In my owne selfe but her whom when I spy'd Mee thought I had beene happy to have dy'd Since I at once saw severally in one What joyn'd together made perfection Thâ—â— was Horella that bright shining staâ—â—e Who might have caused a second Trojan warre Were there a second Paris for her face The world might strive but then there sate a grace So chast that might expell each spurious thought Such as soule Hellen to her Paris brought There I might read in my Florella's lookes Such are indeed beauties most perfect bookes Loves pleasant Lecture where I might espie How Cupid once sought 〈◊〉 at her eye Whom the repell'd like snow the chast and cold Could not 〈◊〉 Sympathy to hold With his hot 〈◊〉 but melting quite put out That 〈◊〉 which warm'd her round about Cupid denied of this did backward start And ran for hast to hide him in her heart Where he renewed fresh flames and by delay So 〈◊〉 his wings he could not fly away Thus force perforce in her my conquer'd breast 〈◊〉 the poore Inne of such a God-borne guest Whom while I harbor it is hard to tell Whether his presence be a Heaven or Hell Such pleasurable paine such painfull pleasure Sometimes below and sometimes above measure Mars on a time forsooke his Venus bed Protesting he no longer would be led To those embraces which like Circâ—s charmâ— Made him forget the Heroicke use of Armes Venus heard this whiles halfe in anger shee Did thrust her darling Cupid off her knee Downe fall the youngster and in falling so Broke all his Arrows quiver and his bow His grandaâ—â—e Nature pittying the mischance Wipes the wagges eyes told him she would advance Him to his former office 〈◊〉 a dart That should transfixe the most obdurate heart She would create an eye and for a bow She 'd make a brow whose art inclining so Should shoote such shafts that diety should yeeld Themselves glad prisoners in the maiden field When streight she made Florella such a maid Who being nam'd need there ought else be said 'T is not long since that I heard I overs whine At those deepe wounds which from their Mistris â—yne They bleeding had receiv'd cause they could winne No mercy from them whilst I thought some pinne Had sâ—â—atch't their tender hands till I too late Grew sensible they were unfortunate In their lost loves cause when Florella sâ—ound Shee like a Commet strucke mee to the ground Till shee was pleas'd to cleare her glorious eyes Which summon'd mee from death to life to rise Wherefore you speedy Merchant dâ—e yâ—u runne Beyond the bounds of the all-bounding Sunne To seeke for Rubies Pearle and Ivory Adventuring hazard both of Land and â—kie When my â—lorella can afford all this Without your search in the tumultuous Seas Rubies and Pearle her lips and teeth her skinne Like hollow Ivory lockes those gâ—ms within For which you sondly up and downe doe rome When you may better find this wealth at home What would the Northerne Climâ—te hold too deare To purchase my Florella to live there That where the niggard sure denies to shine They might receive more lustre from her eyne But that I know she loves Religion best She had long since seene India the West But least those Pagans who adore the rise Of the bright Sunne should doate upon her eyes She was resolv'd to stay woe had I bin Had she gone thither to encrease their sinne East India nothing holds that's worth her view There 's nothing there that shee can take for new Their aire-perfuming spices pretious gum Their siagrant odors pleasant Cinamum All these and sweeter farre shee breathes whose smell Doth all thing but it selfe highly excell Once to my friend I did these lines rehearse Who streight way smil'd and did applaud my verse But Alâ— I feare 't was my Florella's name That 〈◊〉 his tongue so to belie my â—ame Once and but once I 〈◊〉 to have the sight Of my Florella who makes darkenesse light When leaden Morphâ—us did her sence surprize In the lock't casket of her closed eyes Fainâ— would I steale a kitâ—â— but as I strove Those searâ—â— * Judges of my sleeping love Did swell agâ—inst my pride and angry red Charg'd mee stand backe from her forbidden bed While they her precious breath did seeme to smother Each privately did steale a touch from th' other â— enviouâ— at their new begotten blisse Was bold on her soft lips to print a kisse At which she wak't And have you ever seene How â—aire
those Who speake of love in tame prose Beleeve our joyes but dully censure usâ— Onely for loving thus Ah! how I smile that doubtly blest we doe Injoy our selves and all their envie too The Choyce WHat care I though she be 〈◊〉 Haire snow-like hand or Sun-like eye If in that beauty I not share Were she deformed what care I. What care I though shee be foule Haire swaâ—thy hand or sunne burnt eye So long as I enjoy her soule Let her be so why what care I. Dimme sight is cosened with a glasse Of gaudy gowne or humerous haire Such gold in melting leave more drosse Than some unpolish't prices share Be she â—aire or soule or either Or made up of both together Be her heart mine have hand or eye Be what it will why what care I. EPITAPHS Epitaphium Regis Swedorum HEre sleepes hee who was and is The subject of eternall blisse Religion and no other end Caus'd him his blood means to spend He conquer'd all onely his breath He lost by which he conquer'd death Now would'st thou know whom we deplore 'T is Sweaden Reader husht no more â— est while thou read thou and this stone Be both alike by death made one For death and griefe are neare of kinne So thou might'st die being griev'd for him 〈…〉 Tho. â—eedome An Elegy on the death of the renowned and victorious Guâ—tavâ—s Adolphus King of Sweathland Can the dry sound Hee 's dead no more affright The world with terâ—our than had some meane knight Languish't to death in downe or can the sound That Sweaden hath received a fatall wound Passe by and like the bullet hurt no more Than his stout brest that felt the mortall sore Oh no! it rankles in each weak'ned part And strikes a chill amazement to the heart Of feeble Christendome that by his losse Puts on it's titles badge The Christian Crosse And 't was a great one too yet let none wonder That heaven forboâ—â— to ring his knell in thunder Or thaâ— some angry Meteor did not stare And to the world their publique losse declare No no some such Ambassador as this Had beene too mercifull land made us misse Our just deserved punishment â—or wee Knowing our sinne begot this misery Might by a faign'd repentance have procur'd A pardon for the Prince but now assur'd Of our owne weaknesse we with teares may say We are losers though our army wonne the day His death begot his conquest and his foes Mourn'd at his fate witnesse those death wing'd blows Which heaven by meanes of his impressure steele Did make their bleeding carcasses to feele Then what remaines but that ouâ— prayers gaine This be the latest losse we may sustaine And that no more of Heavens great Champions fall Through our default to so sad funerall To the truly worthy and his worthily honoured friend Mris Judith Dyke on the death of her brother Mr John Dyke obiit ult. Martii 1636. TAmely and soft as the Prophetique breath That pants the â—atall passing bull of death Move my sad soule and to his happy hearse Pay the deserved tribute of thy verse And you blest maid whose griefe hath almost wonne Death by your griefe to make you both but one Cease your laments for how can you be crost In this since what God finds can neâ—râ— be lost And wisely thinke you may offend in this Love hath its errours and may doe amisse Death may looke dreadfull in an ill mans eye 'T is no great thing to live but lesse to die To die indeed as Common people doe That with perplexed soules bid earth adieu And by necessity of late compeld Their strugling spirits to the Coffin yeeld Were matter worthy griefe and onely they Are like the houses that entombe them clay But where the soule like his rapt with desire Disdaines dull earth and aymes at glories higher And by a bright Angelicke fire inflam'd Mounts towards heaven as oâ—t as heares it nam'd Like a sweete odor upward as it goes It yeelds a persume to th' Almighties nose And hence ascended 't is ' not just that wee Lament at its exalted dignity And sure no matter if wee must away Whether it be to morrow or to day And if to day at morne or night or noone So wee die well what need we care how soone I know the fertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Ait And had the August of his age bin come They had bin crown'd with a blest harvest home But now hee 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but Angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a â—aâ—e VVorth your best thankes that day deserves it's date Be registred to Glory when his Maker Made him of him and all his blisse partaker Now dare you loose a teare unlesse it bee Because you are not happie yet as hee 'T is charity to wish you so but then As you know how yet God knowes better when Death comes to call yet not to call as one Though all men die yet good men well alone The Sunne 's not lost but set the approaching day Shall make it's light more glorious by delay If then in death such differences consist Desire so to dissolve to be with Christ So prayes for you your true friend The Beedome Encomium Poetarum ad fratrem Galiel Scot TWice I began and twice my trembling hand Startled from what my Genius did command Lest harmelâ—sse â— should hazzard all my fame And my attempt win nothing but selfe shame It deem'd the praise of Poets worth the pen Rather of Angels than of mortall men My bolder heart bâ—d on for blind men may Although not see yet know there is a day And said perhaps my credit I might save The proverbe sayes nought venter nothing have Then come yea Muses were you nine times nine I could imploy you in this worke of mine Fill my wide â—ailes that while you stand my friend I may swimme safe unto my journey's end Since the first Mistique Chaos did entombe The earths faire sabricke in confusions wombe There is no art can plead antiquity Before the heavenly birth of Poesie I speake of those arts which this day we call As witnesse to their nature Liberall Next by th' ffect the worth of things is knowne They in respect of this seeme to have none The end of verse is to preserve from death VVhat ever from a Poet tooke its breath VVitnesse that golden age whose fame lives still By some few drops from Naso's golden quill He rescued Satuâ—nes Godhead from the ground And by his lines his aged temples crown'd He in a brasse-outlasting paper page Created thee Great Jove a silver age Apollo for his Daphne to his Layes Owes a rich wreath of thunder-scorning bayes One petty blast from his immortall breath Preserv'd Diana's chastity from death Nor need Actâ—on take it much in scorne That Ovid did coâ—nute him with a horne Homer yet lives whose pen for