wildest Pow'rs doth tame His Providence extending every-where His Justice which proud Rebels doth not spare In every Page no Period of the same But silly we like foolish Children rest Well pleas'd with colour'd Velum Leaves of Gold Faire dangling Ribbands leaving what is best On the great Writers sense ne're taking hold Or if by chance we stay our Minds on ought It is some Picture on the Margine wrought THe Griefe was common common were the cries Teares Sobs and Groanes of that afflicted Traine Which of Gods chosen did the Sum containe And Earth rebounded with them pierc'd were Skies All good had left the World each Vice did raign In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise And all Degrees and each Estate did staine Nor further had to go whom to surprize The World beneath the Prince of Darknesse lay And in each Temple had himselfe install'd Was sacrific'd unto by Prayers call'd Responses gave which fooles they did obey When pittying Man God of a Virgines wombe Was borne and those false Deities strooke dumbe RUn Shepheards run where Bethlem blest appears We bring the best of News be not dismay'd A Saviour there is borne more old than yeares Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stay'd In a poore Cottage Inn'd a Virgin Maid A weakling did him beare who all upbeares There he in Cloaths is wrapt in Manger laid To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheares Run Shepheards run and solemnize his Birth This is that Night no Day grown great with Blisse In which the Power of Satan broken is In Heaven be Glory Peace unto the Earth Thus singing through the Aire the Angels swame And all the Stars re-ecchoed the same O Than the fairest day thrice fairer night Night to best Daies in which a Sun doth rise Of which the golden Eye which cleares the Skies Is but a sparkling Ray a Shadow light And blessed ye in silly Pastors sight Mild Creatures in whose warme Crib now lies That Heaven-sent Youngling holy-Maid-born Wight ' Midst end beginning of our Prophesies Blest Cottage that hath Flow'rs in Winter spread Though withered blessed Grasse that hath the grace To deck and be a Carpet to that Place Thus singing to the sounds of oaten Reed Before the Babe the Shepheards bow'd their knees And Springs ran Nectar Honey dropt from Trees TO spread the azure Canopy of Heaven And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold To stay the pondrous Globe of Earth so even That it should all and nought should it uphold To give strange motions to the Planets seven Or Jove to make so meek or Mars so bold To temper what is moist dry hot and cold Of all their Jars that sweet accords are given Lord to thy Wisdom's nought nought to thy Might But that thou shouldst thy Glory laid aside Come meanely in mortality to ' bide And die for those deserv'd eternall plight A wonder is so far above our wit That Angels stand amaz'd to muse on it THe last and greatest Herauld of Heavens King Girt with rough Skins hies to the Desarts wild Among that savage brood the Woods forth bring Which he more harmelesse found than man and mild His food was Locusts and what there doth spring With Honey that from Virgine Hives distill'd Parcht Body hollow Eyes some uncouth thing Made him appeare long since from Earth exil'd There burst he forth all ye whose Hopes rely On God with me amidst these Desarts mourne Repent repent and from old errours turne Who list'ned to his voice obey'd his cry Only the Ecchoes which he made relent Rung from their flinty Caves repent repent THese Eyes deare Lord once Tapers of Desire Fraile Scouts betraying what they had to keep Which their own heart then others set on fire Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep These Locks of blushing deeds the gilt attire Waves curling wrackfull shelves to shadow deep Rings wedding Soules to Sins lethargick sleep To touch thy sacred Feet do now aspire In Seas of care behold a sinking Barke By winds of sharpe remorse unto thee driven O let me not be Ruines aym'd at marke My faults confest Lord say they are forgiven Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian faire His teare-wet Feet still drying with her Haire I changed Countries new delights to find But ah for pleasure I did find new paine Enchanting Pleasure so did Reason blind That Fathers love and words I scorn'd as vaine For Tables rich for bed for following traine Of carefull servants to observe my Mind These Heards I keep my fellows are assign'd My Bed's a Rock and Herbs my Life sustaine Now while I famine feele feare worser harmes Father and Lord I turne thy Love yet great My faults will pardon pitty mine estate This where an aged Oake had spread its Armes Thought the lost Child while as the Heards he led And pin'd with hunger on wild Acorns fed IF that the World doth in amaze remaine To heare in what a sad deploring mood The Pelican poures from her brest her Bloud To bring to life her younglings back againe How should we wonder at that soveraigne Good Who from that Serpents sting that had us slaine To save our lives shed his Lifes purple flood And turn'd to endlesse Joy our endlesse Paine Ungratefull Soule that charm'd with false Delight Hast long long wander'd in Sins flowry Path And didst not thinke at all or thoughtst not right On this thy Pelicans great Love and Death Here pause and let though Earth it scorn heaven seâ— Thee poure forth tears to him pour'd Bloud for thee IF in the East when you do there behold Forth from his Christall Bed the Sun to rise With rosie Robes and Crowne of flaming Gold If gazing on that Empresse of the Skies That takes so many formes and those faire Brands Which blaze in Heavens high Vault Nights watchful eyes If seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands Of bellowing Billows have their course confin'd How unsustain'd the Earth still stedfast stands Poore mortall Wights you e're found in your Mind A thought that some great King did sit above Who had such Laws and Rites to them assign'd A King who fix'd the Poles made Spheares to move All Wisdome Purenesse Excellency Might All Goodnesse Greatnesse Justice Beauty Love With feare and wonder hither turne your Sight See see alas him now not in that State Thought could fore-cast Him into Reasons light Now Eyes with tears now Hearts with griefe make great Bemoane this cruell Death and ruthfull case If ever Plaints just Woe could aggravate From Sin and Hell to save us humane Race See this great King nail'd to an abject Tree An object of reproach and sad disgrace O unheard Pity Love in strange degree He his own Life doth give his Bloud doth shed For Wormelings base such Worthinesse to see Poore Wights behold his Visage pale as Lead His Head bow'd to His Brest Locks sadly rent Like a cropt Rose that languishing doth fade Weake Nature weepe astonish'd World lament Lament you Winds
you beare a weeping Part All Night at day but you must do the same Cease idle Sighs to spend your Stormes in vaine And these sweet silent thickets to molest Containe you in the Prison of my Brest You do not ease but aggravate my Paine Or if burst forth you must that Tempest move In sight of her whom I so dearely love SON YOu restlesse Seas appease your roaring Waves And you who raise huge Mountaines in that Plaine Aires Trumpeters your hideous sounds containe And listen to the plaints my griefe doth cause Eternall Lights though adamantine Laws Of Destinies to move still you ordaine Turne hither all your Eyes your Axels pause And wonder at the Torments I sustaine â—ad Earth if thou made dull by my disgrace Be not as senselesse aske those Powers above Why they so crost a Wretch brought on thy Face Fram'd for mishap th' Anachorit of Love And bid them that no more Etnaes may burne To Erimanth ' or Rhodâ—pe me turne SON IF crost with all mishaps be my poore Life If one short day I never spent in mirth If my Sp'rit with it selfe holds lasting strife If sorrows death is but new sorrows birth If this vaine World be but a mournfull Stage Where slave-borne Man plaies to the laughing Stars If Youth be toss'd with Love with Weaknesse Age If Knowledge serves to hold our Thoughts in Wars If Time can close the hundred Mouths of Fame And make what 's long since past like that 's to be If Vertue only be an Idle Name If being borne I was but borne to dye Why seek I to prolong these loathsome daies The fairest Rose in shortest time decaies SON ALl other Beauties howsoe're they shine In Haires more bright than is the golden Ore Or cheeks more faire than fairest Eglantine Or hands like hers that comes the Sun before Match'd with that Heavenly Hew and shape divine With those deare Stars which my weak thoughts adore Look but as shaddows or if they be more It is in this that they are like to thine Who sees those Eyes their force that doth not prove Who gazeth on the dimple of that chin And finds not Venus Son entrench'd therein Or hath not sence or knows not what is Love To see thee had Narcissus had the grace He would have died with wondring on thy Face SEXTAIN THe Heaven doth not containe so many Stars Nor levell'd lye so many leaves in Woods When Autumne and cold Boreas sound their Wars So many Waves have not the Ocean Floods As my torn Mind hath torments all the Night And Heart spends Sighs when Phoebus brings the Light Why was I made a Partner of the Light Who crost in birth by bad aspect of Stars Have never since had happy Day nor Night Why was not I a liver in the Woods Or Citizen of Thetis christall Floods But fram'd a Man for Love and Fortunes Wars I look each Day when Death should end the Wars Vncivill Wars 'twixt Sense and Reasons Light My Paines I count to Mountaines Meads and Floods And of my sorrow Partners make the Stars All Desolate I haunt the fearfull Woods When I should give my selfe to rest at Night With watchfull Eyes I ne'r behold the Night Mother of Peace but ah to me of Wars And Cynthia Queen-like shining through the Woods But straight those Lamps come in my thought whose Light My Judgement dazel'd passing brightest Stars And then my Eyes in-isle themselves with Floods Turne to their Springs againe first shall the Floods Cleare shall the Sun the sad and gloomy Night To dance about the Pole cease shall the Stars The Elements renew their ancient Wars Shall first and be depriv'd of Place and Light Ere I find rest in City Fields or Woods End these my daies you Inmates of the Woods Take this my Life ye deep and raging Flouds Sun never rise to cleare me with thy Light Horror and Darknesse keep a lasting Night Consume me Care with thy intestine Wars And stay your Influence o're me bright Stars In vaine the Stars th' Inhabitants o' th' Woods Care Horror Wars I call and raging Floods For all have sworne no Night shall dim my Sight SON O Sacred Blush enpurpling Cheekes pure skies With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne O bashfull look sent from those shining eyes Which though slid down on Earth doth Heaven adorne O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies That can at once both blesse and make forlorne Deare corrall Lip which Beauty beautifies That trembling stood before her words were borne And you her Words Words no but golden Chaines Which did inslave my eares ensnare my soule Wise Image of her Mind Mind that containes A power all Power of Senses for to controule So sweetly you from Love disswade do me That I love more if more my Love can be SON SOund hoarse sad Lute true witnesse of my woe And strive no more to ease selfe chosen paine With soule-enchanting sounds your accents straine Unto these teares incessantly which flow Sad Treeble weep and you dull Basses show Your Masters sorrow in a dolefull straine Let never joyfull Hand upon you go Nor Consort keep but when you do complaine Flie Phoebus Raies abhor the irkesome Light Woods solitary shades for thee are best Or the black horrours of the blackest Night When all the World save Thou and I do rest Then sound sad Lute and beare a mourning part Thou Hell canst move though not a Womans Heart SON IN vaine I haunt the cold and Silver Springs To quench the Fever burning in my veines In vaine Loves pilgrim Mountaines Daâ—es and Plains I over-run vaine help long absence brings In vain my Friends your Counsell me constraines To fly and place my Thoughts on other things Ah like the Bird that fired hath her Wings The more I move the greater are my paines Desire alas Desire a Zeuxis new From th' Orient borrowing Gold from Westerne skies Heavenly Cinabre sets before my Eyes In every place her Haire sweet look and Hue That flie run rest I all doth prove but vaine My life lies in those Eyes which have me slaine SON SLide soft faire Forth and make a Christall Plaine Cut your white Locks and on your foamy Face Let not a wrinkle be when you embrace The Boat that Earths Perfections doth containe Winds wonder and through wondring hold your pace Or if that ye your hearts cannot restraine From sending sighs feeling a Lovers Case Sigh and in her faire haire your selves enchaine Or take these sighs which absence makes arise From my oppressed brest and fill the sailes Or some sweet breath new brought from Paradise The flouds do smile Love o're the winds prevailes And yet huge Waves arise the cause is this The Ocean strives with Forth the Boat to kisse SON TRust not sweet soule those curled waves of Gold With gentle Tides that on your Temples flow Nor Temples spred with Flakes of Virgin snow Nor snow of Cheeks with Tyrian graine enrold Trust not those
you Heaven that all containes And thou my Soule let nought thy Griefes relent Those Hands those sacred Hands which hold the reines Of this great All and kept from mutuall wars The Elements beare rent for thee their Veines Those Feet which once must trade on golden Stars For thee with Nails would be pierc'd through and torn For thee Heavens King from Heaven himselfe debars This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith Ye now that are and ye yet to be borne Not to behold his great Creators Death The Sun from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light And faintly journies up Heavens saphyre Path And cutting from her Brows her Tresses bright The Moone doth keep her Lords sad Obsequâ—es Impearling with her Teares her Robe of Night All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies The Earth and elementall Stages quake The long-since dead from bursted Graves arise And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take And beare a part with him who all them wrought And Man though borne with cries shall pitty lack Thinke what had been your state had he not brought To these sharpe Pangs himselfe and priz'd so high Your soules that with his Life them life he bought What woes do you attend if still ye lye Plung'd in your wonted ordures wretched Brood Shall for your sake againe God ever die O leave deluding shews embrace true good He on you calls forgo Sins shamefull trade With Prayers now seek Heaven and not with Bloud Let not the Lambs more from their Dams be had Nor Altars blush for sin live every thing That long time long'd for sacrifice is made All that is from you crav'd by this great King Is to beleeve a pure Heart Incense is What gift alas can we him meaner bring Haste sin-sick Soules this season do not misse Now while remorselesse Time doth grant you space And God invites you to your only Blisse He who you calls will not deny you Grace But low-deep bury faults so ye repent His Armes loe stretched are you to embrace When Daies are done and Lifes small sparke is spent So you accept what freely here is given Like brood of Angels deathlesse all-content Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven COme forth come forth ye blest triumphing Bands Faire Citizens of that immortall Town Come see that King which all this All commands Now overcharg'd with Love die for his own Look on those Nailes which pierce his Feet and Hands What a sharpe Diadem his Brows doth crown Behold his pallid Face his heavy frown And what a throng of Thieves him mocking stands Come forth ye Empyrean Troupes come forth Preserve this sacred Bloud that Earth adornes Gather those liquid Roses off his Thornes O! to be lost they be of too much worth For Streams 1 Juice 2 Balm 3 they are which quench 1 kills 2 charmes 3 Of God 1 Death 2 Hell 3 the wrath 1 the life 2 the harmes3. SOule whom Hell did once inthrall He He for thine offence Did suffer Death who could not die at all O soveraigne Excellence O life of all that lives Eternall Bounty which each good thing gives How could Death mount so high No wit this Point can reach Faith only doth us teach He died for us at all who could not dye LIfe to give life deprived is of Life And Death display'd hath Ensigne against Death So violent the Rigour was of Death That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes Pow'rs to Death But willingly Life down hath laid Life Love gave the wound which wrought this worke of Death His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life Now quakes the Author of eternall Death To find that they whom late he rest of Life Shall fill his Roome above the lists of Death Now all rejoyce in Death who hope for Life Dead Jesus lies who Death hath kill'd by Death No Tombe his Tombe is but new Source of Life RIse from those fragrant Climes thee now embrace Unto this World of Ours O haste thy Race Faire Sun and though contrarie waies all yeare Thou hold thy course now with the highest Sheare Joyne thy blew Wheeles to hasten Time that low'rs And lazy Minutes turne to perfect Houres The Night and Death too long a league have made To stow the World in Horrours ugly shade Shake from thy Locks a Day with Safron raies So faire that it outshine all other daies And yet do not presumâ— great Eye of Light To be that which this Day must make so bright See an Eternall Sun hasts to arise Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies Or any stranger Worlds Heavens Concaves have But from the Darknesse of an hollow Grave And this is that all-powerfull Sun above That crown'd thy Brows with Rays first made thee moâ— Lights Trumpeters ye need not from your Bow'rs Proclaime this Day this the angelick Pow'rs Have done for you But now an opall hew Bepaints Heavens Christall to the longing view Earths late hid Colours shine Light doth adorne The World and weeping Joy forth comes the Morne And with her as from a Lethargick Trance The breath return'd that Bodies doth advance Which two sad Nights in Rock lay coffin'd dead And with an iron Guard invironed Life out of Death Light out of Darknesse springs From a base Jaile forth comes the King of Kings What late was mortall thrall'd to every woe That lackeys life or upon sense doth grow Immortall is of an eternall Stampe Far brighter beaming than the morning Lampe So from a black Ecclipse out-peares the Sun Such when her course of Daies have on her run In a far Forrest in the pearly East And she her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest The lovely Bird with youthfull Pens and Combe Doth sore from out her Cradle and her Tombe So a small seed that in the Earth lies hid And dies reviving bursts her cloddy Side Adorn'd with yellow Locks of new is borne And doth become a Mother great with Corne Of Graines brings hundreds with it which when old Enrich the Furrows which do float with Gold Haile holy Victor greatest Victor haile That Hell doth ransake against Death prevaile O how thou long'd for com'st with joyfull cries The all-triumphing Palatines of Skies Salute thy rising Earth would Joyes no more Beare if thou rising didst them not restore A silly Tombe should not his Flesh enclose Who did Heavens trembling Tarasses dispose No Monument should such a Jewell hold No Rock though Ruby Diamond and Gold Thou didst lament and pitty humane Race Bestowing on us of thy free-given Grace More than we forfeited and losed first In Eden Rebells when we were accurst Then Earth our portion was Earths Joyes but given Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with heaven O what a hight of good upon us streames From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames When we deserv'd shame horrour flames of wrath Thou bledst our wounds and suffer didst
but only so far Embleme Thee As in a circle men the Deity A wreath of Bayes we 'll lay upon thy Herse For that shall speake Thee better than our Verse That art in number of those Things whose end Nor whose beginning we can comprehend A Star which did the other Day appeare T'enlighten up our dark'ned Hemispheare Nor can we tell nor how nor whence it came Yet feele the heat of thy admired flame 'T was thou that thaw'd our North 't was thou didst cleare The eternall mists which had beset us here Till by thy golden Beames and powerfull Ray Thou chas'd hence Darknesse and brought out the Day But as the Sun though he bestow all Light On us yet hinders by the same our sight To gaze on him So thou though thou dispence Far more on us by thy bright influence Yet such is thy transcendent brightnesse we Thereby are dazled and cannot reach thee Then art thou less'ned should we bound thy Praise T' our narrow dull conceit which cannot raise Themselves beyond a vulgar Theame nor flye A pitch like unto thine in Poesie Yet as the greatest Kings have sometimes dain'd The smallest Presents from a poore mans hand When pure devotion gave them it may be Your Genius will accept a mite from me It speaks my Love although it reach not you And you are praised when I would so do John Spotswood To William Drummond of Hawthornden I Never rested on the Muses bed Nor dipt my Quill in the Thessalian Fountaine My rustick Muse was rudely fostered And flies too low to reach the double mountaine Then do not sparkes with your bright Suns compare Perfection in a Womans worke is rare From an untroubled mind should Verses flow My discontents makes mine too muddy show And hoarse encumbrances of houshold care Where these remaine the Muses ne're repaire If thou dost extoll her Haire Or her Ivory Forehead faire Or those Stars whose bright reflection Thrals thy heart in sweet subjection Or when to display thou seeks The snow-mixt Roses on her Cheekes Or those Rubies soft and sweet Over those pretty Rows that meet The Chian Painter as asham'd Hides his Picture so far fam'd And the Queen he carv'd it by With a blush her face doth dye Since those Lines do limne a Creature That so far surpast her Feature When thou shew'st how fairest Flora Prankt with pride the banks of Ora So thy Verse her streames doth honour Strangers grow enamoured on her All the Swans that swim in Po Would their native brooks forgo And as loathing Phoebus beames Long to bath in cooler streamos Tree-turn'd Daphne would be seen In her Groves to flourish green And her Boughs would gladly spare To frame a garland for thy haire That fairest Nymphs with finest fingers May thee crown the best of singers But when thy Muse dissolv'd in show'rs Wailes that peerlesse Prince of ours Cropt by too untimely Fate Her mourning doth exasperate Senselesse things to see thee moane Stones do weep and Trees do groane Birds in aire Fishes in flood Beasts in field forsake their food The Nymphs forgoing all their Bow'rs Teare their Chaplets deckt with Flow'rs Sol himselfe with misty vapor Hides from earth his glorious Tapor And as mov'd to heare thee plaine Shews his griefe in show'rs of raine Mary Oxlie of Morpet POEMS The First Part. IN my first Prime when childish Humours fed My wanton Wit ere I did know the Blisse Lies in a loving Eye or amorous Kisse Or with what Sighs a Lover warmes his Bed By the sweet Thespian Sisters Errour led I had more mind to read than lov'd to write And so to praise a perfect Red and White But God wote knew not what was in my Head Love smil'd to see me take so great Delight To turne those Antiques of the Age of Gold And that I might more Mysteries behold He set so faire a Volume to my Sight That I Ephemerides laid aside Glad on this blushing Book my Death to read SON I Know that all beneath the Moon decaies And what by Mortalls in this World is brought In Times great Periods shall returne to nought That fairest States have fatall Nights and Daies I know that all the Muses heavenly Layes With Toyle of Spright which are so dearely bought As idle sounds of few or none are sought That there is nothing lighter than vaine Praise I know fraile Beauty like the purple Floure To which one Morne oft Birth and Death affords That Love a jarring is of Minds Accords Where Sense and Will bring under Reasons Power Know what I list this all can not me move But that alas I both must write and love SON YE who so curiously do paint your Thoughts Enlightning ev'ry Line in such a guise That they seem rather to have fallen from Skies Than of a humane Hand by mortall Draughts In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies As if his Life at ev'ry Sigh would part Love Here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart â—here Hope looks pale Despaire with flaming Eyes Of my rude Pensill look not for such Art My Wit I find too little to devise So high Conceptions to expresse my smart And some say Love is faign'd that 's too too wise These troubled Words and Lines-confus'd you find Are like unto their Modell my sick Mind SON Aye me and I am now the Man whose Mâ—se In happier Times was wont to laugh at Love And those who suff'red that blind Boy abuse The noble Gifts were given them from above What Metamorphose strange is this I prove My selfe now scarce I find my selfe to be And thinke no Fable Circes Tyrannie And all the Tales are told of changed Jove Vertue hath taught with her Philosophy My mind unto a better Course to move Reason may chide her full and oft reprove Affections Power but what is that to me Who ever thinke and never thinke on Ought But that bright Cherubine which thraâ—ls my Thought SON HOw that vaste Heaven intitl'd First is rol'd If any glancing Towres beyond it be And People living in Eternity Or Essence pure that doth this All uphold What motion have those fixed Sparkes of Gold The wandring Carbuncles which shine from high By Sprights or Bodies crosse-waies in the Skie If they be turn'd and mortall Things behold How Sun posts Heaven about how Nights pale Queen With borrowed Beames lookes on this hanging Round What cause faire Iris hath and Monsters seene In Aires large Fields of light and Seas profound Did hold my wandring Thoughts when thy sweet Eye Bade me leave all and only thinke on Thee SON FAire is my Yoake though grievous be my Paines Sweet are my Wounds although they deeply smart My Bit is Gold though shortened be the Reines My Bondage brave though I may not depart Although I burne the Fire which doth impart Those Flames so sweet reviving Force containes That like Arabia's Bird my wasted Heart Made quick by Death more lively still remaines I joy though oft my waking Eyes spend Teares I
shining Lights which wrought my woe When first I did their azure Raies behold Nor voice whose sounds more strange effects do show Than of the Thracian Harper have been told Look to this dying Lilly fading Rose Darke Hyacinthe of late whose blushing Beames Made all the neighbouring herbs and grasse rejoyce And thinke how little is 'twixt Lifes extreames The cruell Tyrant that did kill those Flow'rs Shall once aye me not spare that Spring of yours SON IN Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold And lively see how my best daies are spent What clouds of care above my head are rold What comming ill which I cannot prevent My course begun I wearied do repent And would embrace what Reason oft hath told But scarce thus thinke I when Love hath controld All the best reasons Reason could invent Though sure I know my labours end is griefe The more I strive that I the more shall pine That only death shall be my last reliefe Yet when I thinke upon that face divine Like one with Arrow shot in laughters place Maugre my Heart I joy in my disgrace SON DEare Quirister who from those shadows sends Ere that the blushing Morne dare shew her Light Such sad lamenting straines that Night attends Become all Eare Stars stay to heare thy plight If one whose griefe even reach of thought transcends Who ne're not in a Dreame did taste Delight May thee importune who like case pretends And seems to joy in woe in Woes despight Tell me so may thou Fortune milder try And long long sing for what thou thus complaines Since Winter 's gone and Sun in dapled skie Enamour'd smiles on Woods and flowry Plaines The Bird as if my questions did her move With trembling wings sigh'd forth I love I love SON O Cruell Beauty sweetnesse inhumane That night and day contends with my desire And seeks my hope to kill not quench my fire By Death not Baulme to ease my pleasant paine Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire And bound my blisse do not alas disdaine That I your matchlesse worth and grace admire And for their cause these torments sharpe sustaine Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames And Phaëton that Heaven him rest of breath And Daedals Son who nam'd the Samian streames Their haps I not envy my praise shall be That the most faire that lives mov'd me to â—ye SON THe Hyperborean Hills Ceraunus Snow Or Arimaspus cruell first thee bred The Caspian Tigers with their milke thee fed And Faunes did humane bloud on thee bestow Fierce Orithyas lover in thy bed Thee lull'd asleep where he enrag'd doth blow Thou didst not drinke the Flouds which here do flow But teares or those by ycie Tanais Head Sith thou disdaines my love neglects my griefe Laughs at my groanes and still affects my death Of thee nor Heaven I 'll seek no more reliefe Nor longer entertaine this loathsome breath But yeeld unto my Stars that thou maiest prove What losse thou hadst in losing such a Love SONG PHOEBUS arise And paint the sable Skies With azure white and red Rowse Memmons Mother from her Tythons bed That she thy Careere may with Roses spread The Nightingales thy comming each where sing Make an eternall spring Give life to this darke World which lâ—eth dead Spread forth thy golden haire In larger locks than thou wast wont before And Emperour-like decore With Diadem of Pearle thy Temples faire Chase hence the ugly Night Which serves but to make deare thy glorious Light This is that happy Morne That day long-wished day Of all my life so darke If cruell Stars have not my ruine sworne And Fates my hopes betray Which purely white deserves An everlasting Diamond should it marke This is the Morne should bring unto this Grove My Love to heare and recompence my love Faire King who all preserves But show thy blushing Beams And thou two sweeter Eyes Shall see then those which by Peneus Streames Did once thy heart surprise Nay Suns which shine as cleare As thou when two thou did'st to Rome appeare Now Flora decke thy selfe in fairest guise If that ye Winds would heare A voice surpassing far Amphions lyre Your furious chiding stay Let Zephire only breathe And with her Tresses play Kissing sometimes those purple ports of Death The Winds all silent are And Phoebus in his chaire Ensaffraning Sea and Aire Makes vanish every Star Night like a drunkard reeles Beyond the Hills to shun his flaming Wheeles The Fields with flow'rs are deckt in every hue The Clouds with Orient Gold spangle their blew Here is the pleasant place And nothing wanting is save She alas SON WHo hath not seen into her saffran Bed The Mornings Goddess mildly her repose Or her of whose pure bloud first sprang the Rose Lull'd in a slumber by a Mirtle shade Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red Makes Phoebe look so pale which she did close In that Jonian Hill to ease her woes Which only lives by her deare kisses fed Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep The sighing Rubies of those heavenly lips The Cupids which brests golden Apples keep Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse And he them all shall see perhaps and prove She waking but perswades now forceth Love SON SEe Cithereas Birds that milk-white paire On yonder leavie Mirtle Tree which grone And waken with their kisses in the Aire Th' enamour'd Zephires murmuring one by one If thou but sense hadst like Pigmalions Stone Or hadst not seen Medusas snaky haire Loves lessons thou mightst learn and learn sweet faire To Summers heat ere that thy Spring be growne And if those kissing lovers seeme but Cold Look how that Elme this Ivy doth embrace And binds and claspes with many a wanton fold And courting Sleep o'reshadows all the place Nay seems to say deare Tree we shall not part In sign whereof loe in each leafe a Heart SON THe Sun is faire when he with crimson Crown And flaming Rubies leaves his Easterne bed Faire is Thaumantias in her Christall gown When clouds engemm'd shew azure green and red To Westerne Worlds when wearied Day goes down And from heavens windows each Star shows her head Earths silent daughter Night is faire though brown Faire is the Moon though in Loves livery cled The Spring is faire when it doth paint Aprill Faire are the Meads the Woods the Floods are faire Faire looketh Ceres with her yellow haire And Apples-Queene when Rose-cheekt she doth smile That Heaven and Earth and Seas are faire is true Yet true that all not please so much as you MADRIGALL LIke the Idalian Queene Her haire about her Eyne And necke on brests ripe Apples to be seen At first glance of the Morne In Cyprus Gardens gathering those farie flowers Which of her blood were borne I saw but fainting saw my Paramours The Graces naked danc'd about the place The Winds and Trees amaz'd With silence on her gaz'd
in the Aire By sporting childrens Breath Who chase it every where And strive who can most motion it bequeath And though it sometime seem of its own might Like to an Eye of gold to be fix'd there And firme to hover in that empty height That only is because it is so Light But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare For when 't is most admired in a thought Because it earst was nought it turnes to nought SON MY Lute be as thou wert when thou did grow With thy green Mother in some shady Grove When immelodious Winds but made thee move And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow Since that deare voice which did thy sounds approve Which wont in such harmonious Straines to â—low Is reâ—t from Earth to tune those spheares above What art thou but a Harbinger of woe Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more But Orphans wailings to the fainting Eare Each Stroke a sigh each Sound draws forth a Teare For which be silent as in woods before Or if that any hand to touch thee daigne Like widow'd Turtle still her losse complaine SON AH Handkercher sad present of my Deare Gift miserable which doth now remaine The only Guerdon of my helplesse Paine When I thee got thou shewst my state too cleare I never since have ceased to complaine I since the Badge of Griefe did ever weare Joy in my Face durst never since appeare Care was the Food which did me entertaine But since that thou art mine O do not grieve That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine And that I this short Time I am to live Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine No I must yet even beg of thee the Grace That in my Grave thou daigne to shroud my Face MAD. TRees happier far than I Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high And over-look those Plaines Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie Which her sweet selfe containes There make her know mine endlesse Love and Paines And how these Teares which from mine Eyes do fall Helpt you to rise so Tall Tell her as once I for her sake lov'd Breath So for her sake I now court lingring Death SONG SAd Damon being come To that for-ever Lamentable Tombe Which those eternall Powers that all controule Unto his living Soule A melancholy prison had prescrib'd Of Colour Heat and motion depriv'd In Armes weake Fainting Cold A Marble he the Marble did infold And having warme it made with many a showre Which dimmed Eyes did poure When Griefe had given him leave and sighs them staied Thus with a sad alas at last he said Who would have thought to me The place where thou did'st lie could grievous be And that deare body long thee having sought O me who would have thought Thee once to find it should my Soule confound And give my Heart then death a deeper wound Thou did'st disdaine my Teares But grieve not that this ruthfull Stone them beares Mine Eyes for nothing serve but thee to weep And let that course them keep Although thou never wouldst them comfort show Do not repine they have part of thy woe Ah wretch too late I find How Vertues glorious Titles prove but wind For if that Vertue could release from Death Thou yet enjoy'd hadst Breath For if she ere appear'd to mortall Eine It was in thy faire shape that she was seen But O! if I was made For thee with thee why too am I not dead Why do outragious Fates which dimm'd thy sight Let me see hatefull light They without me made Death thee surprise Tyrants no doubt that they might kill me twice O Griefe And could one Day Have force such excellence to take away Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface Those matchlesse gifts that Grace Which Art and Nature had in thee combin'd To make thy Body paragon thy Mind Hath all pass'd like a cloud And doth eternall silence now them shroud Is that so much admir'd now nought but Dust Of which a Stone hath Trust O change O cruell change thou to our sight Show'st the Fates Rigour equall to their Might When thou from earth diâ—'st passe Sweet Nymph Perfections Mirrour broken was And this of late so glorious World of ours Lâ—ke Medows without Flowers Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear d Or Starless night or Cynthia nothing clear'd Love when he saw thee dye Entomb'd him in the lid of either Eye And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne There for a Lampe to burne Worth Honour Pleasure with thy life expir'd Death since grown sweet begins to be desir'd Whilst thou to us wert given The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven Nay and her Suns which burnt as many Hearts As he the easterne parts Bright Suns which forc'd to leave these Hemispheares Benighted set into a Sea of Teares Ah Death who shall thee flie Since the most mighty are o'rethrown by thee Thou spar'st the Crow and Nightingall dost kill And triumphst at thy will But give thou cannot such another Blow Because Earth cannot such another show O bitter sweets of Love How better is 't at all you not to prove Nor when we do your pleasures must possesse To find them thus made lesse O! That the cause which doth consume our joy Would the remembrance of it too destroy What doth this life bestow But Flow'rs on Thornes which grow Which though they sometime blandish soft delight Yet afterwards us smite And if the rising Sun them faire doth see That Planet setting doth behold them die This world is made a Hell Depriv'd of all that in it did excell O Pan Pan Winter is fallen in May Turn'd is to night our Day Forsake thy Pipe a Scepter take to thee Thy locks disgarland thou black Jove shall be The Flocks do leave the Meads And loathing three leav'd Grasse hold up their Heads The Streames not glide now with a glentle Rore Nor Birds sing as before Hills stands with clouds like Mourners vail'd in black And Owles upon our Roofes foretell our wrack That Zephire every yeare So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests here It was for her that wrapt in Gowns of Greene Meads were so earely seen That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles It was for Her for her Trees dropt forth pearles That proud and stately Courts Did envy these our Shades and calme Resorts It was for Her and she is gone O woe Woods cut againe do grow But doth the Rose and Dazy winter done But we once dead do no more see the Sun Whose Name shall now make ring The Ecchoes of whom shall the Nymphets sing Whose heavenly voice whose Soule-invading Straines Shall fill with Joy the plaines What Haire what Eyes can make the Morne in East Weep that a fairer riseth in the West Faire Sun post still away No Musicke here is left thy Course to stay Sweet Hybla Swarmes with Wormewood fill your Bow'râ— Gone is the flower of Flow'rs Blush no more Rose nor Lilly
Amber do send forth Her Heaven hath golden Stars to crown thy Worth Moeris THe sister Nymphs which haunt the Thespian springs More liberally their Gifts ne're did bequeath To them who on their Hils suckt sacred Breath Then unto thee by which thou sweetly sings Ne're did Apollo raise on Pegase Wings A Muse more neare Himselfe more far from Earth Than thine whether thou weep thy Ladies Death Or sing those sweet-sowre Pangs that Passion brings To write our Thoughts in Verse doth merit Praise But thus the Verse to gild in Fictions Ore Bright rich delightfull doth deserve much more As thou hast done these thy melodious Layes No doubt thy Muses faire Morne doth bewray The swift Approach of a more glistring Day TEARES ON THE DEATH OF MOELIADES BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAVVTHORNEDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To the Author IN Waves of Woe thy Sighs my Soule do tosse And make run out the floud-gates of my teares Whose rankling Wound no smoothing Baume long beares But freely bleeds when ought upbraids my Losse 'T is thou so sweetly Sorrow makest to sing And troubled Passions dost so well accord That more Delight Thy Anguish doth afford Than others Joyes can Satisfaction bring What sacred Wits when ravish'd do affect To force Affections Metamorphose Minds Whilst numbrous Power the Soule in secret binds Thou hast perform'd transforming in Effect For never Plaints did greater Pitty move The best Applause that can such Notes approve Sr W. ALEXANDER Teares on the Death of MOELIADES O Heavens then is it true that Thou art gone And left this woefull Isle her Losse to moane Moeliades bright Day-star of the West A 〈◊〉 blazing Terrour to the East And neither that thy Spirit so heavenly wise Nor Body though of Earth more pure than Skies Nor royall Sâ—em nor thy sweet tender Age Of cruell Destinies could quench the Rage O fading Hopes O short-while lasting Joy Of Earth-borne man that one Houre can destroy Then even of Vertues Spoiles Death Trophies reares As if he gloried most in many Teares Forc'd by hard Fates do Heavens neglect our Cries Are Stars set only to act Tragedies Then let them do their Worst since thou art gone Raise whom thou list to Thrones enthron'd dethrone Staine Princely Bow'rs with Bloud and even to Gange In Cypresse sad glad Hymens Torches change Ah thou hast left to live and in the Time When scarce thou blossom'd'st in thy pleasant Prime So falls by Northern Blast a virgin Rose At halfe that doth her bashfull Bosome close So a sweet Flower languishing decaies That late did blush when kist by Phoebus Raies So Phoebus mounting the Meridians height Choak't by pale Phoebe faints unto our sight Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see The Life of all this All so chang'd to be In gloomy Gowns the Stars this losse deplore The Sea with murmuring Mountaines beats the Shore Black Darkenesse reeles o're all in thousand Show'rs The weeping Aire on Earth her sorrow poures That in a Palsey quakes to see so soone Her Lover set and Night burst forth ere Noone If Heaven alas ordain'd thee young to die Why was 't not where thou might'st thy Valour try And to the wondring World at least set forth Some little Sparke of thy expected Worth Moeliades O that by Isterâ— Streames 'Mong sounding Trumpets fiery twinkling Gleames Of warme vermilion Swords and Cannons Roare Balls thick as Raine pour'd on the Caspian Shore 'Mongst broken Spears 'mongst ringing Helms shields Huge heapes of slaughtred Bodies long the Fields In Turkish bloud made red like Marses Star Thou endedst had thy Life and Christian War Or as brave Burbon thou hadst made old Rome Queen of the World thy Triumph and thy Tombe So Heavens fair Face to th' unborne World which reads A Book had been of thy illustrious Deeds So to their Nephews aged Syres had told The high Exploits perform'd by thee of old Towns raz'd and rais'd victorious vanquish'd Bands Fierce Tyrants flying foyl'd kill'd by thy Hands And in rich Arras Virgins faire had wrought The Bayes and Trophies to thy Country brought While some New Homer imping Wings to Fame Deafe Nilus dwellers had made heare thy Name That thou didst not attaine these Honours Spheares Through want of Worth it was not but of Yeares A Youth more brave pale Troy with trembling Walls Dâ—d never see nor She whose Name appalls Both Titans golden Bow'rs in bloudy Fights Mustring on Mars his Field such Mars-like Knights The Heavens had brought thee to the highest Hight Of Wit and Courage shewing all their Might When they thee fram'd Aye me that what is brave On Earth they as their own so soon should crave Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thale to Hydaspes pearly shore When Forth thy Nurse Forth where thou first didst passe Thy tender Daies who smil'd oft on her Glasse To see thee gaze Meandring with her Streames Heard thou hadst left this Round from Phoebus Beames She sought to flie but forced to returne By Neighbouring Brooks She set her selfe to mourne And as she rush'd her Cyclades among She seem'd too plain that Heaven had done her wrong With a hoarse plaint Cleyd down her steepy rocks And Tweid through her green Mountaines clad with flocks Did wound the Ocean murmuring thy death The Ocean it roar'd about the Earth And to the Mauritanian Atlas told Who shrunke through griefe and down his white hairs rold Huge Streames of tears which changed were to flouds Wherewith he drown'd the neighbour plains woods The lesser Brooks as they did bubling go Did keep a Consort to the publike Woe The Shepheards left their Flocks with down-cast eies ' Sdaining to look up to the angry Skies Some brake their Pipes and some in sweet-sad Layes Made senselesse things amazed at thy Praise His Reed Alexis hung upon a Tree And with his Teares made Doven great to be Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to Hydaspes pearely shore Chaste Maids which haunt faire Aganippes Well And you in Tempes sacred Shade who dwell Let fall your Harps cease Tunes of Joy to sing Dissheveled make all Parnassus ring With Anthâ—amesâ—ad â—ad thy Musick Phoebus turne To dolefull plaints whilst Joy it selfe doth mourne Dead is thy Darling who adorn'd thy Bayes Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet Layes And to a Trumpet raise thy amorous Stile That floting Delos envy might this Isle You Acidalian Archers breake your Bows Your Torches quench with teares blot Beauties Snows And bid your weeping Mother yet againe A second Adoâ—s death nay Mars his plaine His Eyes once were your Darts nay even his Name Where ever heard did every Heart inflame Tagus did court his Love with Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes But ah poore Lovers Death them did betray And not suspected made their Hopes his Prey Tagus bewailes his Losse in Golden Streames Rhein with his Towns faire Seine with all she claimes Moeliades sweet courtly Nymphs deplore From Thule to
of the Spheares When Quills could move no more and force did faile Though down I fell from Heavens high azure bounds Yet doth Renowne my Losses countervaile For still the Shore my brave attempt resounds A Sea an Element doth beare my Name What Mortalls Tombe's so great in Place or Fame On his Lady beholding her selfe in a Marble WOrld wonder not that I Keep in my brest engraven That Angels face hath me of Rest bereaven See Dead and Senselesse things cannot deny To lodge so deare a Guest Ev'n this hard Marble Stone Receives the same and loves but cannot groane To sleep HOw comes it Sleep that thou Even kisses me affords Of her deare her so far who 's absent now How did I heare those Words Which Rocks might move and move the Pines to Bow Aye me before halfe day Why did'st thou steale away Returne I thine for ever will remaine If thou wilt bring with thee that Guest againe A pleasant deceit OVer a christall Source Iolas laid his face Of purling Streames to see the restlesse Course But scarce he had o'reshadowed the Place When in the water he a Child espies So like himselfe in stature Face and Eyes That glad he rose and cried Deare Mates approach see whom I have descried The Boy of whom strange stories Shepheards tell Oft-called Hylas dwelleth in this Well The Canon WHen first the Canon from her gaping Throat Against the Heaven her roaring Sulphur shot Jove wakened with the noise did aske with wonder What Mortall Wight had stolne from him his Thunder His christall Tow'rs he feared but Fire and Aire So high did stay the Ball from mounting there Thais Metamorphosis INto Briareus huge Thais wish'd she might change Her Man and pray'd him not thereat to grudge Nor fondly thinke it strange For if said she I might the parts dispose I wish you not a hundred Armes nor Hands But hundred things like those With which Priapus in our Garden stands The quality of a Kisse THe kisse with so much strife Which I late got sweet Heart Was it a sign of Death or was it Life Of Life it could not be For I by it did sigh my Soule in thee Ne was it Death Death doth no joy impart Thou silent stand'st ah what did'st thou bequeath A dying Life to me or living Death His Ladies Dog WHen Her deare Bosome clips That little Cur which fawnes to touch her Lips Or when it is his hap To lie lap'd in her Lap O it grows Noon with me With hotter-pointed Beames I burne then those are which the Sun forth streames When piercing lightning his Rayes call'd may be And as I muse how I to shose extreames Am brought I find no Cause except that She In Loves bright Zodiack having trac'd each Roome To the hot Dog-star now at last is come An Almanack THis strange Ecclipse one saies Strange Wonders doth foretell But you whose Wives excell And love to count their Praise Shut all your gates your Hedges plant with Thornes The Sun did threat the World this time with Hornes The Silk-Worme of Love A Daedale of my Death Now I resemble that slie worme on Earth Which prone to its own harme doth take no rest For Day and Night opprest I feed on fading Leaves Of Hope which me deceives And thousand Webs do warpe within my Brest And thus in end unto my selfe I weave A fast-shut Prison or a closer Grave Deep impression of Love to his Mistris WHom a mad Dog doth bite He doth in Water still That mad Dogs Image see Love mad perhaps when he my Heart did smite More to dissemble his Ill Transform'd himselfe to thee For thou art present ever since to me No Spring there is no Floud nor other Place Where I alas not see thy Heavenly Face A Chaine of Gold ARe not those Locks of Gold Sufficient Chaines the wildest Hearts to hold Is not that Ivory Hand A Diamantine Band Most sure to keep the most untamed Mind But ye must others find O yes why is that Golden One then woâ—ne Thus free in Chaines perhaps Loves Chaines to scorne On the Death of a Linnet IF cruell Death had Eares Or could be pleas'd by Songs This wing'd Musician had lâ—v'd many yeares And Nisa mine had never wâ—pt these Wrongs For when it first took Breath The Heavens their Notes did unto it bequeath And if that Samians sentences be true Amphion in this Body liv'd anew But Death who nothing spares and nothing heares As he doth Kings kill'd it O Griefe O Teares Lillas Prayer LOve if thou wilt once more That I to thee returne Sweet God make me not burn For quivering Age that doth spent Daies deplore Nor do thou wound my Heart For some unconstant Boy Who joyes to love yet makes of Love a Toy But ah if I must prove thy golden Dart Of grace O let me find A sweet young Lover with an aged Mind Thus Lilla pray'd and Idas did reply Who heard Deare have thy wish for such am I. Armelins Epitaph NEare to this Eglantine Enclosed lies the milke-white Armeline Once Cloris only joy Now only her annoy Who envied was of the most happy Swaines That keep their Flocks in Mountaines Dales or Plains For oft she bore the wanton in her Arme And oft her Bed and Bosome did he warme Now when unkinder Fates did him destroy Blest Dog he had the Grace That Cloris for him wet with teares her Face Epitaph THe Bawd of Justice he who Laws controll'd And made them fawn and frown as he got gold That Proteus of our State whose Heart and Mouth Were farther distant than is North from South That Cormorant who made himselfe so grosse On Peoples Ruine and the Princes Losse Is gone to Hell and though he here did evill He there perchance may prove an honest Devill A Translation FIerce Robbers were of old Exil'd the Champian Ground From Hamlets chas'd in Cities kill'd or bound And only Woods Caves Mountaines did them hold But now when all is sold Woods Mountaines Caves to good Men be refuge And do the Guiltlesse lodge And clad in Purple Gowns The greatest Theeves command within the Towns Epitaph THen Death thee hath beguil'd Alectos first borne Child Then thou who thrall'd all Laws Now against Wormes cannot maintaine thy Cause Yet Wormes more just than thou now do no Wrong Since all do wonder they thee spar'd so long For though from Life thou didst but lately passe Twelve Springs are gone since thou corrupted was Come Citizens erect to death an Altar Who keeps you from Axe Fuell Timber Halter A Jest. IN a most holy Church a holy man Vnto a holy Saint with Visage wan And Eyes like Fountaines mumbled forth a Prayer And with strange Words and Sighs made black the Aire And having long so stay'd and long long pray'd A thousand crosses on himselfe he lay'd And with some sacred Beads hung on his Armâ— His Eyes his Mouth his Temples Brest did charme Thus not content strange Worship hath no
end To kisse the Earth at last he did pretend And bowing down besought with humble grace An aged Woman neare to give some place She turn'd and turning up her Hole beneath Said Sir kisse here for it is all but Earth Proteus of Marble THis is no work of Stone Though it seems breathlesse cold and sense hath nonâ— But that 〈◊〉 God which keeps The monstroâ—â— people of the raging Deeps Now that he doth not change his shape this while It is thus constant more you to beguile Pamphilus SOme Ladies wed some love and some adore them I like their wanton sport then care not for them Apelles enamour'd of Campaspe Alexanders Mistris POore Painter while I sought To counterfeit by Art The fairest Frame which Nature ever wrought And having limm'd each Part Except her matchlesse Eyes Scarce on those Suns I gaz'd As Lightning falls from Skies When straight my Hand grew weake my Mind amazd And ere that Pencill halfe them had exprest Love had them drawn no grav'd them in my Brest Campaspe ON Stars shall I exclaime Which thus my Fortune change Or shall I else revenge Upon my selfe this shame Inconstant Monarch or shall I thee blame Who lets Apelles prove The sweet Delights of Alexanders Love No Stars my selfe and thee I all forgive And Joyes that thus I live Of thee blind King my Beauty was despis'd Thou didst not know it now being known 't is priz'd Cornucopia IF for one only Horne Which Nature to him gave So famous is the noble Unicorne What praise should that Man have Whose Head a Lady brave Doth with a goodly paire at once adorne Love suffers no Parasol THose Eyes deare Eyes be Spheares Where two bright Suns are roll'd That faire Hand to behold Of whitest Snow appeares Then while ye coyly stand To hide from me those Eyes Sweet I would you advise To chuse some other fanne than that white Hand For if ye do for truth most true this know Those Suns ere long must needs consume warme Snow Unpleasant Musick IN fields Ribaldo stray'd Mayes Tapestry to see And hearing on a Tree A Cuckow sing sigh'd to himselfe and said Loe how alas even Birds sit mocking me Sleeping Beauty O Sight too dearely bought Shee sleeps and though those Eyes Which lighten Cupids Skies Be clos'd yet such a grace Environeth that Place That I through Wonder to grow faint am brought Suns if ecclips'd you have such power divine What power have I t' endure you when you shine Alcons Kisse WHat others at their Eare Two Pearles Camilla at her Nose did weare Which Alcon who nought saw For Love is blind robb'd with a pretty Kisse But having known his misse And felt what Ore he from that Mine did draw When she to come again did him desire He fled and said foule Water quenched Fire The Statue of Venus sleeping PAssenger vexe not thy Mind To make me mine Eyes unfold For if thou shouldst them behold Thine perhaps they will make blind Laura to Petrarch I Rather love a Youth and childish Rime Than thee whose Verse and Head are wise through Time The Rose FLow'r which of Adons Bloud Sprang when of that cleare Floud Which Venus wept another white was borne The sweet Cynarean Youth thou lively shows But this sharpe-pointed Thorne So proud about thy Crimsin Folds that grows What doth it represent Boares Teeth perhaps his milk-white Flanke which rent O show in one of unesteemed Worth That both the kill'd and killer setteth forth A Lovers Prayer NEare to a Christall Spring With Thirst and Heat opprest Narcissa faire doth rest Trees pleasant Trees which those green plains forth bring Now interlace your trembling Tops above And make a Canopy unto my Love So in Heavens highest House when Sun appeares Aurora may you cherish with her Teares Iolas Epitaph HEre deare Iolas lies Who whilst he liv'd in Beauty did surpasse That Boy whose heavenly Eyes Brought Cypris from above Or him to death who look'd in watry Glasse Even Judge the God of Love And if the Nymph once held of him so deare Dorine the faire would here but shed one Teare Thou shouldst in Natures scorne A Purple Flow'r see of this Marble borne The Trojan Horse A Horse I am who bit Reine rod Spur do not feare When I my Riders beare Within my Wombe not on my Back they sit No streames I drinke nor care for Grasse or Corne Art me a Monster wrought All Natures workes to scorne A Mother I was without Mother borne In end all arm'd my Father I forth brought What thousand Ships and Champions of renowne Could not do free captiv'd I raz'd Troy's Town For Dorus. WHy Nais stand ye nice Like to a well wrought Stone When Dorus would you kisse Denie him not that blisse He 's but a Child old Men be Children twice And even a Toothlesse one And when his Lips yours touch in that delight Ye need not feare he will those Cherries bite Love vagabonding SWeet Nymphs if as ye stray Ye find the froth-borne Goddesse of the Sea All blubb'red pale undone Who seeks her giddy Son That little God of Love Whose golden shafts your chastests Bosomes prove Who leaving all the Heavens hath run away If ought to him that finds him she 'll impart Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my Heart To a River SIth She will not that I She to the World my Joy Thou who oft mine annoy Hast heard deare Floud tell Thetis if thou can That not a happier Man Doth breathe beneath the Skie More sweet more white more faire Lips Hands and Amber Haire Tell none did ever touch A smaller daintier Waste Tell never was embrac't But peace since she forbids thee tell too much Lida SVch Lida is that who her sees Through Envy or through Love straight dies Phraene A Onian Sisters help my Phraenes Praise to tell Phraene heart of my heart with whom the Graces dwell For I surcharged am so sore that I not know What first to praise of 〈…〉 Brest or Neck of Snow Her Cheeks with Roses spred or her two Sun-like Eyes Her teeth of brightest pearl her lips where Sweetnes lies But those so praise themselves being to all Eyes set forth That Muses ye need not to say ought of their Worth Then her white swelling Paps essay for to make known But her white swelling paps through smallest vail are shown Yet She hath something else more worthy than the rest Not seen go sing of that which lies beneath her brest And mounts like fair Parnasse where Pegasse well doth run Here Phraene stay'd my Muse ere she had well begun Kisses desired THough I with strange Desire To kisse those rosie Lips am set on fire Yet will I cease to crave Sweet kisses in such store As he who long before In thousands them from Lesbia did receive Sweet heart but once me kisse And I by that sweet blisse Even sweare to cease you to importune more Poore one no number is Another Word of me ye shall not
thee are one that which hath run And that which is not brought yet by the Sun To thee are present who dost alwaies see In present act what past is or to be Day-livers we rememberance do lose Of Ages worne so Miseries us tosse Blind and lethaâ—gick of thy heavenly Grace Which Sin in our first Parents did deface And even while Embrions curst by justest doome That we neglect what gone is or to come But thou in thy great Archives scrolled hast In parts and whole what ever yet hath past Since first the marble Wheels of Time were roll'd As ever living never waxing old Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday An undivided Now a constant Ay. O King whose Greatnesse none can comprehend Whose boundlesse Goodnesse doth to all extend Light of all Beauty Ocean without ground That standing flowest giving dost abound Rich Pallace and Endweller ever blest Never not working ever yet in Rest What wit cannot conceive words say of Thee Here where we as but in a Mirrour see Shadows of shadows Atomes of thy Might Still owly-eyed when staring on thy Light Grant that released from this earthly Jaile And freed from Clouds which here our Knowledge vaile In Heavens high Temples where thy Praises ring In sweeter Notes I may heare Angels sing GReat God whom we with humbled Thoughts adore Eternall Infinite Almighty King Whose Dwellings Heaven transcend whose Throne before Archangels serve and Seraphines do sing Of nought who wrought all that with wondring Eyes We do behold within this various Round Who makes the Rocks to rocke to stand the Skies At whose command Clouds peales of Thunder sound Ah! spare us Wormes weigh not how we alas Evill to our selves against thy Laws rebell Wash off those spots which still in Conscience Glasse Though we be loath to look we see too well Deserv'd Revenge oh do not do not take If thou revenge who shall abide thy Blow Passe shall this World this World which thou didst make Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow What Soule is found whom Parents Crime not staines Or what with its own Sins defil'd is not Though Iustice Rigor threaten yet her Raines Let Mercy guide and never be forgot Lesse are our Faults far far than is thy Love O what can better seeme thy Grace divine Than they who plagues deserve thy Bounty prove And where thou show'r mayst Vengeance there to shine Then look and pitty pittying forgive Us guilty Slaves or Servants now in thrall Slaves if alas thou look how we do live Or doing ill or doing nought at all Of an ungratefull Mind a foule Effect But if thy Gifts which largely heretofore Thou hast upon us pour'd thou dost respect We are thy Servants nay than Servants more Thy Children yes and Children dearely bought But what strange Chance us of this Lot bereaves Poore worthless Wights how lowly are we brought Whom Grace once Children made Sin hath made Slaves Sin hath made Slaves but let those Bands Grace breake That in our Wrongs thy Mercies may appeare Thy Wisdome not so meane is Pow'r so weake But thousand waies they can make Worlds thee feare O Wisdome boundless O miraculous Grace Grace Wisdome which make winke dimme Reasons Eye And could Heavens King bring from his placeless Place On this ignoble Stage of Care to dye To dye our Death and with the sacred Streame Of Bloud and Water gushing from his Side To make us cleane of that contagious Blame First on us brought by our first Parents Pride Thus thy great Love and Pity heavenly King Love Pity which so well our Loss prevent Of Evill it selfe loe could all Goodness bring And sad beginning cheare with glad event O Love and Pity ill known of these Times O Love and Pity carefull of our need O Bounties which our horrid Acts and Crimes Grown numberless contend neare to exceed Make this excessive ardour of thy love So warme our Coldness so our Lifes renew That we from Sin Sin may from us remove Wisdome our Will Faith may our Wit subdue Let thy pure Love burne up all worldly Lust Hells candid Poyson killing our best part Which makes us joy in Toyes adore fraile Dust Instead of Thee in Temple of our Heart Grant when at last our Soules these Bodies leave Their loathsome Shops of sin and Mansions blind And Doome before thy Royall Seat receive A Saviour more than Judge they thee may find THE WANDRING MUSES OR The River of FORTH FEASTING IT BEING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince James King of Great Brittaine France and Ireland BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND Of HAVVTHORNDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To His Sacred Majesty IF in this Storme of joy and pompous Throng This Nymph great King doth come to Thee so neare That thy harmonious Eares Her accents heare Give Pardon to Her hoarse and lowly Song Faine would shee Trophees to Thy Vertues reare But for this stately taske She is not strong And her Defects Her high Attempts do wrong Yet as she could She makes thy Worth appeare So in a Map is shown this flowry Place So wrought in Arras by a Virgins Hand With Heaven and blazing Stars doth Atlas stand So drawn by Char-coale is Narcissus Face She like the Morn may be to some bright Sun The Day to perfect that 's by her begun The River of FORTH FEASTING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince James King of Great Brittaine France and Ireland WHat blustring Noise now interrups my Sleeps What ecchoing Shouts thus cleave my christall Deeps And seems to call me from my watry Court What Melody what sounds of Joy and Sport Are convey'd hither from each Night-borne Spring With what loud Rumours do the Mountaines ring Which in unusuall Pompe on tip-toes stand And full of Wonder overlook the Land Whence come these glitt'ring Throngs these Meteors bright This golden People glancing in my sight Whence doth this Praise Applause and Love arise What Load-star East-ward draweth thus all Eyes Am I awake Or have some Dreames conspir'd To mock my Sense with what I most desir'd View I that living Face see I those Looks Which with Delight were wont t' amaze my Brooks Do I behold that Worth that Man divine This Ages Glory by these Bankes of mine Then find I true what long I wish'd in vaine My much beloved Prince is come againe So unto them whose Zenith is the Pole When six black Months are past the Sun doth roll So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights Faire Helens Brothers show their clearing Lights So comes Arabias wonder from her Woods And far far off is seen by Memphis Flouds The feather'd Sylvans Cloud-like by her flie And with triumphing plaudits beat the Skie Nyle marvels Seraps Priests entranced rave And in Mygdonian stone her Shape ingrave In lasting Cedars they do marke the Time In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flow'rs be seen And sweet-breath'd Zephyres curle the Meadows green Let Heaven weep Rubies
He sure may couâ—â— with all â—he waves that meet To wash the Mauritanian Atlas feet Though crown'd thou weâ—t not nor a King by Birth Thy Worth deserves the richest Crown on Earth Search this halfe-Spheare and the Antartick Ground Where is such Wit and Bounty to be found As into silent Night when neare the Beare The Virgine Huntâ—esse skiÌ„nes at full most cleare And strives to match her Brothers golden Light The Hoast of stars doth vanish in her sight Arcturus dies cool'd is the Lions ire Po burns no more with Phaëtontall Fire Orion faints to see his Armes grow black And that his flaming Sword he now doth lack So Europes Lights all bright in their Degree Lose all their Lustre parallel'd with Thee By just Discent Thou from more Kings dost shine Than many can name Men in all their Line What most they toyle to find and finding hold Thou scornest orient Gems and flatt'ring Gold Esteeming Treasure surer in Mens Brests Than when immur'd with Marble clos'd in Chests No stormy Passions do disturbe thy Mind No mists of Greatnesse ever could thee blind Who yet hath been so meeke Thou life didst give To them who did repine to see Thee live What Prince by Goodnesse hath such Kingdoms gain'd Who hath so long his Peoples Peace maintain'd Their Swords are turn'd to Sythes to Culters Speares Some Giant Post their antick Armour beares Now where the wounded Knight his Life did bleed The wanton Swaine sits piping on a Reed And where the Canon did Joves Thunder scorne The gawdy Hunts-man winds his shrill-tun'd Horne Her green Locks Ceres doth to yellow die The Pilgrim safely in the shade doth lye Both Pan and Pales carelesse keep their Flocks Seas have no Dangers save the Winds and Rocks Thou art this Isles Palladium neither can Whiles thou dost live it be o're-thrown by Man Let others boast of Bloud and Spoyles of Foes Fierce Rapines Murders Iliads of Woes Of hated Pompe and Trophees reared faire Gore-spangled Ensignes streaming in the Aire Count how they make the Scythian them adore The Gaditan and Souldiour of Aurore Unhappy Boasting to enlarge their Bounds That charge themselves with cares their friends with Wounds Who have no Law to their ambitious Will But Man-plagues borne are humane Bloud to spill Thou a true Victor art sent from above What others straine by Force to gaine by Love World-wandring Fame this Praise to thee imparts To be the only Monarch of all Hearts They many feare who are of many fear'd And Kingdoms got by Wrongs by Wrongs are tear'd Such Thrones as Bloud doth raise Bloud throweth down No Guard so sure as Love unto a Crown Eye of our westerne World Mars-daunting King With whose Renowne the Earths seven Climates ring Thy Deeds not only claime these Diadems To which Thame Litty Taye subject their Streames But to thy Vertues rare and Gifts is due All that the Planet of the Yeare doth view Sure if the world above did want a Prince The world above to it would take Thee hence That Murder Rapine Lust are fled to Hell And in their Rooms with us the Graces dwell That Honour more than Riches Men respect That Worthinesse than Gold doth more effect That Piety unmasked shows her Face That Innocency keeps with Power her Place That long-exil'd Astrea leaves the Heaven And turneth right her Sword her Weights holds even That the Saturnian world is come againe Are wish'd effects of Thy most happy Raigne That dayly Peace Love Truth Delights encrease And Discord Hate Fraud with Incumbers cease That Men use strength not to shed others Bloud But use their strength now to do others Good That Fury is enchain'd disarmed VVrath That save by Natures Hand there is no Death That late grim Foes like Brothers other love That Vultures prey not on the harmelesse Dove That VVolves with Lambs do friendship entertaine Are wish'd effects of thy most happy Raigne That Towns encrease That ruin'd Temples rise That their wind-moving Vanes do kisse the Skies That Ignorance and Sloath hence run away That buri'd Arts now rowse them to the Day That Hyperion far beyond his Bed Doth see our Lions rampe our Roses spred That Iber courts us Tyber not us charmes That Rhein with hence-brought Beames his bosome warmes That Ill doth feare and Good doth us maintaine Are wish'd Effects of thy most happy Raigne O Vertues Patterne Glory of our Times Sent of past Daies to expiate the Crimes Great King but better far than thou art great VVhom State not honours but who honours State By VVonder borne by VVonder first install'd By VVonder after to new Kingdoms call'd Young kept by VVonder from home-bred Alarmes Old sav'd by Wonder from pale Traitours Harmes To be for this Thy Raigne which VVonders brings A King of VVonder VVonder unto Kings If Pict Dane Normane Thy smooth Yoke had seen Pict Dane and Norman had thy Subjects been If Brutus knew the Blisse Thy Rule doth give Even Brutus joy would under Thee to live For Thou Thy People dost so dearely love That they a Father more than Prince Thee prove O Daies to be desir'd Age happy thrice If you your Heaven-sent-Good could duly prize But we halfe-palsie-sick thinke never right Of what we hold till it be from our sight Prize only Summers sweet and musked Breath VVhen armed VVinters threaten us with Death In pallid Sicknesse do esteeme of Health And by sad Poverty discerne of Wealth I see an Age when after some few yeares And Revolutions of the slow-pac'd Spheares These daies shall be 'bove other far esteem'd And like Augustus palmy Raigne be deem'd The Names of Arthur fabulous Paladines Grav'n in Times surly Brows in wrinckled Lines Of Henries Edwards famous for their Fights Their Neighbour Conquests Orders new of Knights Shall by this Princes Name be past as far As Meteors are by the Idalian Star If Gray-hair'd Proteüs Songs the Truth not misse There is a Land hence-distant many Miles Out-reaching Fiction and Atlantick Isles Which Homelings from this little World we name That shall imblazon with strange Rites his Fame Shall reare him Statues all of purest Gold Such as Men gave unto the Gods of old Name by him Temples Pallaces and Towns With some great River which their Fields renowns This is that King who should make right each wrong Of whom the Bards and mystick Sybills sung The Man long promis'd by whose glorious Raigne This Isle should yet her ancient Name regaine And more of Fortunate deserve the Stile Than those where Heavens with double SuÌ„mers smile Run on Great Prince Thy Course in Glories way The end the Life the Evening crowns the Day Heape worth on worth and strongly soare above Those heights which made the World Thee first to love Surmount thy selfe and make thine Actions past Be but as Gleames or Lightnings of thy last Let them exceed those of thy younger Time As far as Autumne doth the flowry Prime Through this thy Empire range like worlds bright Eye That once each
art not Great Nor glorious By this Monument turne wise One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stemm And if that Bloud Nobility can make From which some Kings have not disdain'd to take Their proud Descent a rare and matchlesse Gemm A Beauty here it holds by full assurance Than which no blooming Rose was more refin'd Nor Mornings Blush more radiant ever shinâ—d Ah! too too like to Morne and Rose at last It holds her who in Wits ascendant far Did Yeares and Sex transcend To whom the Heaven More Vertue than to all this Age had given For Vertue Meteor turn'd when she a star Faire Mirth sweet Conversation Modesty And what those Kings of Numbers did conceive By Muses Nine and Graces moe than Three Lye clos'd within the Compasse of this Grave Thus Death all Earthly glories doth confound Loe how much Worth a little Dust doth bound FAr from these Bankes exiled be all Joyes Contentments Pleasures Musick cares reliefe Tears Sighs Plaints Horrours Frightments sad Annoies Invest these Mountaines fill all Hearts with Griefe Here Nightingals and Turtles vent your moanes Amphrisian Shepheard here come feed thy Flocke And read thy Hyacinth amidst our Groanes Plaine Eccho thy Narcissus from our Rocks Lost have our Meads their Beauty Hills their Gemms Our Brooks their Christall Groves their pleasant shade The fairest Flow'r of all our Anademms Death cropped hath the Lesbia chaste is dead Thus sigh'd the Tyne then shrunke beneath his Urne And Meads Brooks Rivers Hills about did mourne THe Flower of Virgins in her Prime of yeares By ruthlesse Destinies is ta'ne away And rap'd from Earth poore Earth before this Day Which ne're was rightly nam'd a Vale of Teares Beauty to Heaven is fled sweet Modesty No more appeares She whose harmonious sounds Did ravish Sense and charme Minds deepest wounds Embaulm'd with many a Teare now low doth lye Faire Hopes now vanish'd are She should have grac'd A Princes Marriage-Bed but loe in Heaven Blest Paramours to her were to be given She liv'd an Angell now is with them plac'd Vertue is but a Name abstractly trimm'd Interpreting what she was in effect A shaddow from her Frame which did reflect A Pourtrait by her Excellencies limm'd Thou whom free-will or chance hath hither brought And read'st Here lies a Branch of Maitlands stemm And Sâ—ytons Off-spring know that either Name Designes all worth yet reacht by humane Thought Tombes else-where use Life to their Guests to give These Ashes can fraile Monuments make live Another on the same subject LIke to the Gardens Eye the Flower of Flow'rs With purple Pompe that dazle doth the Sight Or as among the lesser Gems of Night The Usher of the Planet of the Houres Sweet Maid thou shinedst on this World of ours Of all Perfectiâ—ns having trac'd the hight Thine outward frame was faire faire inward Powers A Saphire Lanthorne and an incense light Hence the enamour'd Heaven as too too good On Earths all-thorny soyle long to abide Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide Earth moan'd her losse and wish'd she had the grace Not to have known or known thee longer space HArd Laws of mortall Life To which made Thrales we come without consent Like Tapers lighted to be early spent Our Griefes are alwaies rife When joyes but halting march and swiftly fly Like shadows in the Eye The shadow doth not yeeld unto the Sun But Joyes and Life do waste even when begun On the Death of a Nobleman in Scotland buried at Aithen AIthen thy Pearly Coronet let fall Clad in sad Robes upon thy Temples set The weeping Cypresse or the sable Jet Mourne this thy Nurslings losse a losse which all Apollos Quire bemoanes which many yeares Cannot repaire nor Influence of Spheares Ah! when shalt thou find Shepheard like to him Who made thy Bankes more famous by his worth Then all those Gems thy Rocks and Streams send forth His splendor others Glow-worm light did dim Sprung of an ancient and a vertuous Race He Vertue more than many did embrace He fram'd to mildnesse thy halfe-barbarous swaines The Good-mans Refuge of the bad the fright Unparaleld in friendship worlds Delight For Hospitality along thy Plaines Far-fam'd a Patron and a Patterne faire Of Piety the Muses chiefe repaire Most debonaire in Courtesie supreame Lov'd of the meane and honour'd by the Great Ne're dasht by Fortune nor cast down by Fate To present and to after Times a Theame Aithen thy Teares poure on this silent Grave And drop them in thy Alabaster cave And Niâ—bes Imagery become And when thou hast distilled here a Tombe Eâ—chace in it thy Pearls and let it beare Aithens best Gem and honour shrin'd lies here FAme Register of Time Write in thy Scrowle that I Of Wisdome Lover and sweet Poesie Was cropped in my Prime And ripe in worth though green in yeares did dye IUstice Truth Peace and Hospitality Friendship and Love being resolv'd to dye In these lewd Times have chosen here to have With just true pious their Grave Them cherish'd he so much so much did grace That they on Earth would choose none other Place WHen Death to deck his Trophees stop thy breath Rare Ornament and Glory of these Parts All with moist Eyes might say and ruthfull hearts That things immortall vassal'd were to Death What Good in Parts on many shar'd we see From Nature gracious Heaven or Fortune flow To make a Master-Piece of worth below Heaven Nature Fortune gave in grosse to Thee In Honour Bounty Rich in Valour Wit In Courtesie Borne of an ancient Race With Bayes in war with Olives crown'd in Peace Match'd great with Off-spring for great Actions fit No Rust of Times nor Change thy Vertue wan With Times to change when Truth Faith Love decay'd In this new Age like Fate thou fixed stay'd Of the first World an all-substantiall Man As earst this Kingdome given was to thy Syre The Prince his Daughter trusted to thy Care And well the credit of a Gem so rare Thy loyalty and merit did require Yeares cannot wrong thy Worth that now appeares By others set as Diamonds among Pearles A Queens deare Foster Father to three Earles Enough on Earth to triumph are o're yeares Life a Sea-voyage is Death is the Haven And fraught with honour there thou hast arriv'd Which Thousands seeking have on Rocks been driven That Good adornes thy Grave which with thee liv'd For a fraile Life which here thou didst enjoy Thou now a lasting hast â—reed of Annoy WIthin the Closure of thiâ— Narrow Grave Lye all those Graces a Good-wife could have But on this Marble they shall not be read For then the Living envy would the Dead THe Daughter of a King of Princely Parts In Beauty eminent in Vertues chiefe Loadstar of Love and Loadstone of all hearts Her Friends and Husbands only Joy now Griefe Is here pent up within a Marble Frame Whose Paralell no Times no Climates claime VErses fraile Records are to keep a Name Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame The sport and spoyle of Ignorance but far More fraile the Frames of Touch and Marble are Which envy Avarice Time e're long confound Or mis-devotion equalls with the Ground Vertue alone doth last frees man from Death And though despis'd and scorned here beneath Stands grav'n in Angels Diamantine Roles And blazed in the Courts above the Poles Thou wast faire Vertues Temple they did dwell And live ador'd in thee nought did excell But what thou either didst possesse or love The Oraces Darling and the maids of Jove Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven Gave thee in great which if in Parcels given Too many such we happy sure might call How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all A whiter Soule ne're body did invest And now sequestred cannot be but blest Inroâ—â—'d in Glory ' midst those Hierarchies Of that immortall People of the Skies Bright Saints and Angels there from cares made free Nought doth becloud thy soveraign Good from Thee Thou smil'st at Earths Confusions and Jars And how for Centaures Children we wage wars Like honey Flies whose rage whole swarmes consumes Till Dâ—st thrown on them makes them vaile their plumes Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise And â—imne thy Vertues but dull griefe thy Praise Breakes in the Entrance and our Taske proves vaine What duty writes that woe blotâ— out againe Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee reares And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Teares Rose THough Marble Porphyry and mourning Touch May praise these spoiles yet can they not too much For Beauty last and this Stone doth close Once Earths Delight Heavens care a purest Rose And Reader shouldst thou but let fall a Teare Upon it other flow'rs shall here appeare Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow With markes of griefe a publike losse to show II. Relenting Eye which dâ—ignest to this Stone To lend a look behold here he laid one The Living and the Dead interr'd for Dead The Turtle in its Mate is and she fled From Earth her choos'd this Place of Griefe To bound Thoughts a small and sad Reliefe His is this Monument for hers no Art Could frame a Pyramide rais'd of his Heart III. Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise This Monument a Lady chaste did raise To her Lords living fame and after Death Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath To rest with his till Gods shrill Trumpet sound Though time her Life no time her loâ—â— could bound To Sir W. A. THough I have twice been at the Doores of Death And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn This but a Lightning is Truce ta'ne to Breath For late borne sorrows augure fleet return Amidst thy sacred Cares and Courtly Toyles Alexis when thou shalt heare wandring Fame Tell Death hath triumph'd o're my mortall Spoyles And that on Earth I am but a sad Name If thou e're held me deare by all our Love By all that Blisse those Joyes Heaven here us gave I conjure thee and by the Maids of Jove To grave this short remembrance on my Grave Here Damon lies whose Songs did sometime grace The murmuring Esk may Roses shade the place FINIS