send Whose drowsinesse hath wrong'd the Muses friend What hope Aurora to propitiate thee Vnlesse the Muse sing my Apology O in that morning of my shame when I Lay folded up in sleepes captivity How at the sight did'st Thou draw back thine Eyes Into thy modest veyle how did'st thou rise Twice di'd in thine owne blushes and did'st run To draw the Curtaines and awake the Sun Who rowzing his illustrious tresses came And seeing the loath'd object hid for shame His head in thy faire Bosome and still hides Mee from his Patronage I pray he chides And pointing to dull Morpheus bids me take My owne Apollo try if I can make His Lethe be my Helicon and see If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on mee Hence 't is my humble fancy finds no wings No nimble raptures starts to Heaven and brings Enthusiasticke flames such as can give Marrow to my plumpe Genius make it live Drest in the glorious madnesse of a Muse Whose feet can walke the milky way and chuse Her starry Throne whose holy heats can warme The Grave and hold up an exalted arme To lift me from my lazy Vrne to climbe Vpon the stooped shoulders of old Time And trace Eternity But all is dead All these delicious hopes are buried In the deepe wrinckles of his angry brow Where mercy cannot find them but ô thou Bright Lady of the Morne pitty doth lye So warme in thy soft Brest it cannot dye Have mercy then and when he next shall rise O meet the angry God invade his Eyes And stroake his radiant Cheekes one timely kisse Will kill his anger and revâ—ve my blisse So to the treasure of thy pearly deaw Thrice will I pay three Teares to show how true My griefe is so my wakefull lay shall knocke At th' Orientall Gates and duly mocke The early Larkes shrill Orizons to be An Anthem at the Dayes Nativitie And the same rosie-fingerd hand of thine That shuts Nights dying eyes shall open mine But thou faint God of sleepe forget that I Was ever knowne to be thy votery No more my pillow shall thine Altar be Nor will I offer any more to thee My selfe a melting sacrifice I 'me borne Againe a fâ—esh Child of the Buxome Morne Heire of the Suns first Beames why threat'st thou soâ— Why dost thou shake thy leaden Scepter goe Bestow thy Poppy upon wakefull woe Sicknesse and sorrow whose pale lidds ne're know Thy downy finger dwell upon their Eyes Shut in their Teares Shut out their miseryes Loves Horoscope LOve brave vertues younger Brother Erst hath made my Heart a Mother Shee consults the conscious Spheares To calculate her young sons yeares Shee askes if sad or saving powers Gave Omen to his infant howers Shee asks each starre that then stood by If poore Love shall live or dy Ah my Heart is that the way Are these the Beames that rule thy Day Thou know'st a Face in whose each looke Beauty layes ope loves Fortune-booke On whose faire revolutions wait The obsequious motions of Loves fate Ah my Hearâ— her eyes and shee Have taught thee new Astrology How e're Loves native houres were set What ever starry Synod met 'T is in the mercy of her eye If poore Love shall live or dye If those sharpe Rayes putting on Points of Death bid Love be gone Though the Heavens in counsell sate To crowne an uncontrouled Faâ—e Though their best Aspects twin'd upon The kindest Constellation Cast amorous glances on hâ—s Birth And whisper'd the confederate Earth To pave his pathes with all the good That warmes the Bed of youth and blood Love ha's no plea against her eye Beauty frownes and Love must dye But if her milder influence move And guild the hopes of humble Love Though heavens inauspicious eye Lay blacke on loves Nativitye Though every Diamond in Ioves crowne Fixt his forehead to a frowne Her Eye a strong appeale can give Beauty smiles and love shall live O if Love shall live ô where But in her Eye or in her Eare In her Brest or in her Breath Shall I hide poore Love from Death For in the life ought else can give Love shall dye although he live Or if Love shall dye ô where But in her Eye or in her Eare In her Breath or in her Breast Shall I Build his funerall Nest While Love shall thus entombed lye Love shall live although he dye Sospetto d' Herode Libro Primo Argomento Casting the times with their strong signes Death's Master his owne death divines Strugling for helpe his best hope is Hero'ds suspition may heale his Therefore he ends a fiend to wake The sleeping Tyrant's fond mistake Who feares in vaine that he whose Birth Meanes Heav'n should meddle with his Earth 1 MVse now the servant of soft Loves no more Hate is thy Theame and Herod whose unblest Hand ô what dares not jealous Greatnesse tore A thousand sweet Babes from their Mothers Brest The Bloomes of Martyrdome O be a Dore Of language to my infant Lips yee best Of Confessours whose Throates answering his swords Gave forth your Blood for breath spoke soules for words 2 Great Anthony Spains well-beseeming pride Thou mighty branch of Emperours and Kings The Beauties of whose dawne what eye may bide Which With the Sun himselfe weigh's equall wings Mappe of Heroick worth whom farre and wide To the beleeving world Fame boldly sings Deigne thou to weare this humble Wreath that bowes To be the sacred Honour of thy Browes 3. Nor needs my Muse a blush or these bright Flowers Other then what their owne blest beauties bring They were the smiling sons of those sweet Bowers That drinke the deaw of Life whose deathlesse spring Nor Sirian flame nor Borean frost deflowers From whence Heav'n-labouring Bees with busie wing Suck hidden sweets which well digested proves Immortall Hony for the Hive of Loves 4. Thou whose strong hand with so transcendent worth Holds high the reine of faire Parthenope That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth A Name in noble deedes Rivall to thee Thy Fames full noise makes proud the patient Earth Farre more then matter for my Muse and mee The Tyrrhene Seas and shores sound all the same And in their murmures keepe thy mighty Name 5. Below the Botome of the great Abysse There where one Center reconciles all things The worlds profound Heart pants There placed is Mischifes old Master close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing Snakes that kisse His correspondent cheekes these loathsome strings Hold the perverse Prince in eternall Ties Fast bound since first he forfeited the skies 6. The Iudge of Torments and the King of Teares Hee fills a burnisht Throne of quenchlesse fire And for his old faire Roabes of Light hee weares A gloomy Mantle of darke flames the Tire That crownes his hated head on high appeares Where seav'n tall Hornes his Empires pride aspire And to make up Hells Majesty each Horne Seav'n crested Hydra's horribly adorne 7. His Eyes the sullen dens of Death and
shall the Morning see Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of Day But all his Counsellours must summon'd bee To meet their troubled Lord without delay Heralds and Messengers immediately Are sent about who poasting every way To th' heads and Officers of every band Declare who sends and what is his command 65. Why art thou troubled Herod what vaine feare Thy blood-revolving Brest to rage doth move Heavens King who doffs himselfe weake flesh to weare Comes not to rule in wrath but serve in love Nor would he this thy fear'd Crown from thee Teare But give thee a better with himselfe above Poore jealousie why should he wish to prey Vpon thy Crowne who gives his owne away 66 Make to thy reason man and mocke thy doubts Looke how below thy feares their causes are Thou art a Souldier Herod send thy Scouts See how hee 's furnish't for so fear'd a warre What armour does he weare A few thin clouts His Trumpets tender cryes his men to dare So much rude Shepheards What his steeds alas Poore Beasts a slow Oxe and a simple Asse Il fine del libro primo On a prayer booke sent to Mrs. M. R. LOe here a little volume but large booke Feare it not sweet It is not hipocrit Much larger in it selfe then in its looke It is in one rich handfull heaven and all Heavens royall Hoasts incampt thus small To prove that true schooles use to tell A thousand Angells in one point can dwell It is loves great Artillery Which here contracts it selfe and comes to lye Close coucht in your white bosome and from thence As from a snowy fortresse of defence Against the ghostly foe to take your part And fortifie the hold of your chast heart It is the Armory of light Let constant use but keep it bright You l find it yeelds To holy hand and humble hearts More swords and sheilds Then sinne hath snares or hell hath darts Onely bee sure The hands bee pure That hold these weapons and the eyes Those of turtles chast and true Wakefull and wise Here is a friend shall fight for you Hold but this booke before your heart Let prayer alone to play his part But o' the heart That studyes this high art Must bee a sure house keeper And yet no sleeper Deare soule bee strong Mercy will come ere long And bring her bosome full of blessings Flowers of never fading graces To make immortall dressings For worthy souls whose wise embraces Store up themselves for him who is alone The spouse of Virgins and the Virgins son But if the noble Bridegrome when hee comes Shall find the wandring heart from home Leaving her chast abode To gad abroad Amongst the gay mates of the god of flyes To take her pleasures and to play And keep the divells holy day To dance in the Sunneshine of some smiling but beguiling Spheare of sweet and sugred lies Some slippery paire Of false perhaps as faire Flattering but forswearing eyes Doubtles some other heart Will git the start And stepping in before Will take possession of the sacred store Of hidden sweets and holy joyes Words which are not heard with eares These tumultous shops of noise Effeactuall whispers whose stâ—â—l voyce The soule it selfe more feeles then heares Amorous Languishments Luminous trances Sights which are not seen with eyes Spirituall and soule peircing glances Whose pure and subtle lightning â—lies Home to the heart and setts the house on fire And melts it downe in sweet desire Yet doth not stay To aske the windowes leave to passe that way Delicious deaths soft exhalations Of soule deare and divine annihilations A thousand unknowne rites Of joyes and rarifyed delights An hundred thousand loves and graces And many a misticke thing Which the divine embraces Of the deare spowse of spirits with them will bring For which it is no shame That dull mortality must not know a name Of all this hidden store Of blessing and ten thousand more If when hee come Hee find the heart from home Doubtles hee will unload Himselfe some other where And powre abroad His precious sweets On the faire soule whom first hee meets O faire ô fortunate ô rich ô deare O happy and thrice happy shee Deare silver breasted dove Who ere shee bee Whose early Love With winged vowes Makes haste to meet her morning spowse And close with his immortall kisses Happy soule who never misses To improve that precious houre And every day Seize her sweet prey All fresh and fragrant as hee rises Dropping with a balmy showre A delicious dew of spices O let that happy soule hold fast Her heavenly armefull shee shall tast At once ten thousand paradises Shee shall have power To rifle and deflower The rich and rosâ—all spring of those rare sweets Which with a swelling bosome there shee meets Boundlesse and infinite bottomlesse treasures Of pure inebriating pleasures Happy soule shee shall discover What joy what blisse How many heavens at once it is To have a God become her lover On Mr. G. Herberts booke intituled the Temple of Sacred Poem sent to a Gentlewoman KNow you faire on what you looke Divinest love lyes in this booke Expecting fire from your eyes To kindle this his sacrifice When your hands unty these strings Thinke you have an Angell by th' wings One that gladly will bee nigh To wait upon each morning figh To flutter in the balmy aire Of your well prefumed prayer These white plumes of his heele lend you Which every day to heaven will send you To take acquaintance of the spheare And all the smooth faced kindred there And though Herberts name doe owe These devotions fairest know That while I lay them on the shrine Of your white hand they are mine In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa that sought an early Martyrdome LOve thou art absolute sole Lord Of life and death To prove the word Wee need to goe to none of all Those thy old souldiers stout and tall Ripe and full growne that could reach downe With strong armes their triumphant crowne Such as could with lusty breath Speake lowd unto the face of death Their great Lords glorious name to none Of those whose large breasts built a throne For love their Lord glorious and great Wee ll see him take a private seat And make his mansion in the milde And milky soule of a soft childe Scarce had shee learnt to lisp a name Of Martyr yet shee thinkes it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so brave a death Shee never undertooke to know What death with love should have to doe Nor hath shee ere yet understood Why to show love shee should shed blood Yet though shee cannot tell you why Shee can love and shee can dye Scarce had shee blood enough to make A guilty sword blush for her sake Yet has shee a heart dares hope to prove How much lesse strong is death then love Bee love but there let poore sixe yeares
Bee posed with the maturest feares Man trembles at wee straight shall find Love knowes no nonage nor the mind T is love not yeares or Limbes that can Make the martyr or the man Love toucht her heart and loe it beats High and burnes with such brave heats Such thirst to dye as dare drinke up A thousand coled deaths in one cup. Good reason for shee breaths all fire Her weake breast heaves with strong desire Of what shee may with fruitlesse wishes Seeke for amongst her mothers kisses Since t is not to bee had at home Shee l travell to a martyrdome No home for her confesses shee But where shee may A martyr bee Shee l to the Moores and trade with them For this unvalued Diadem Shee offers them her dearest breath With Christs name â—nt in change for death Shee l bargain with them and will give Them God and teach them how to live In him or if they this denye For him shee l teach them how to dye So shall shee leave amongst them sowne Her Lords blood or at lest her owne Farewell then all the world adeiu Teresa is no more for you Farewell all pleasures sports and joyes Never till now esteemed toyes Farewell what ever deare may bee Mothers armes or fathers knee Farewell house and farwell home Shee s for the Moores and Martyrdome Sweet not so fast Loe thy faire spouse Whom thou seek'st with so swift vowes Calls thee back and biâ—s thee como T' embrace a milder Martyrdome Blest powers forbid thy tender life Should bleed upon a barbarous knife Or some base hand have power to race Thy Breasts chast cabinet and uncase A soule kept there so sweet O no Wise heaven will never have it so Thou art Loves victim and must dye A death more misticall and high Into Loves hand thou shalt let fall A still surviving funerall His is the dart must make the death Whose stroake shall taste thy hallowed breath A dart thrice dipt in that rich Hame Which writes thy spowses radiant name Vpon the roofe of heaven where ay It shines and with a soveraigne ray Beats bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles So rare So spirituall pure and faire Must be the immortall instrument Vpon whose choice point shall be spent A life so loved and that there bee Fit executioners for thee The fairest and the first borne Loves of fire Blest Seraphims shall leave their quire And turne Loves souldiers upon thee To exercise their Archerie O how oft shalt thou complaine Of a sweet and subtile paine Of intollerable joyes Of a death in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes againe And would for ever so be slaine And lives and dyes and knowes not why To live but that he still may dy How kindly will thy gentle heart Kisse the sweetly killing dart And close in his embraces keep Those delicious wounds that weep Balsome to heale themselves with thus When these thy deaths so numerous Shall all at last dye into one And melt thy soules sweet mansion Like a soft lumpe of Incense hasted By too hot a fire and wasted Into perfuming cloudes So fast Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last In a disolving sigh and then O what aske not the tongues of men Angells cannot tell suffice Thy selfe that feel thine owne full joyes And hold them fast for ever there So soone as thou shalt first appeare The moone of maiden starres thy white Mistresse attended by such bright Soules as thy shining selfe shall come And in her first rankes make thee roome Where mongst her snowy family Immortall wellcomes wait on thee O what delight when shee shall stand And teach thy Lipps heaven wâ—th her hand On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses What joy shall seize thy soule when shee Bending her blessed eyes on thee Those second smiles of heaven shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart Angeâ—ls thy old friends there shall greet thee Glad at their owne home now to meet thee All thy good workes which went before And waited for thee at the doore Shall owne thee there and all in one Weave a Constellation Of Crownes with which the King thy spouse Shall build up thy triumphant browes All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy pains set bright upon thee All thy sorrows here shall shine And thy sufferings bee devine Teares shall take comfort and turne Gems And wrongs repent to diadems Even thy deaths shall live and new Drosse the soule which late they slew Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lambes warres Those rare workes where thou shalt leave witt Loves noble history with witt Taught thee by none but him while here They feed our soules shall cloath thine there Each heavenly word by whose hid flame Our hard hearts shall strike fire the same Shall flourish on thy browes and bee Both fire to us and flame to thee Whose light shall live bright in thy face By glory in our hearts by grace Thou shalt looke round about and see Thousand of crownd soules throng to bee Themselves thy crowne sonnes of thy nowes The Virgin births with which thy spowse Made fruitfull thy faire soule Goe now And with them all about thee bow To him put on heel say put on My Rosy Love that thy rich Zone Sparkeling with the sacred Hames Of thousand soules whose happy names Heaven keeps upon thy score thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starres and so Thou with the Lambe thy Lord shall goe And where so e're hee sitts his white Steps walke with him those wayes of Light Which who in death would live to see Must learne in life to dye like thee An Apologie for the precedent Hymne THus have I back againe to thy bright name Faire sea of holy fires transfused the flame I tooke from reading thee 't is to thy wrong I know that in my weak and worthlesse song Thou here art set to shine where thy full day Scarce dawnes ô pardon if I dare to say Thine own deare books are guilty for from thence I learnt to know that Love is eloquence That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try If what to other tongues is tun'd so high Thy praise might not speak English too forbid by all thy mysteries that there lye hid Forbid it mighty Love let no fond hate Of names and words so farre prejudicate Soules are not Spaniards too one frendly flood Of Baptisme blends them all into one blood Christs Faith makes but one body of all soules And loves that bodies soule no Law controules Our free trafick for heaven we may maintaine Peace sure with piety though it dwell in Spaine What soule soever in any Language can Speake heaven like hers is my soules country-man O 't is not Spanish but 't is heaven she speakes 'T is heaven that lies in ambush there and
breakes From thence into the wondring readers breast Who finds his warme heart hatcht into a nest Of little Eagles and young Loves whose high Flights scorne the lazie dust and things that dye There are enow whose draughts as deep as hell Drinke up all Spaine in Sack let my soule swell With thee strong wine of Love let others swimme In puddles we will pledge this Seraphim Bowles full of richer blood then blush of grape Was ever guilty of change wee our shape My soule some drinke from men to beasts ô then Drinke wee till we prove more not lesse then men And turne not beasts but Angels Let the King Mee ever into these his Cellars bring Where flowes such Wine as we can have of none But him who trod the Wine-presse all alone Wine of youths Life and the sweet deaths of Love Wine of immortall mixture which can prove Its tincture from the Rosie Nectar wine That can exalt weak earth and so refine Our dust that in one draught Mortality May drinke it selfe up and forget to dy On a Treatise of Charity RIse then immortall maid Religion rise Put on thy selfe in thine own looks t' our eyes Be what thy beauties not our blots have made thee Such as e're our dark sinnes to dust betray'd thee Heav'n set thee down new drest when thy bright birth Shot thee like lightning to th'astonisht earth From th' dawn of thy faire eye-lids wipe away Dull mists and melancholy clouds take day And thine owne beames about thee bring the best Of whatsoe're perfum'd thy Eastern west Girt all thy glories to thee then sit down Open this booke faire Queen and take thy crown These learned leaves shall vindicate to thee Thy holyest humblest handmaid Charitie Sh'l dresse thee like thy selfe set thee on high Where thou shalt reach all hearts command each eye Lo where I see thy offrings wake and rise From the pale dust of that strange sacrifice Which they themselves were each one putting on A majestie that may beseem thy throne The holy youth of heav'n whose golden rings Girt round thy awfull Altars with bright wings Fanning thy faire locks which the world beleeves As much as sees shall with these sacred leaves Trick their tall plumes and in that garb shall go If not more glorious more conspicuous tho Be it enacted then By the faire lawes of thy firm-pointed pen Gods services no longer shall put on A sluttishnesse for pure religion No longer shall our Churches frighted stones Lie scatter'd like the burnt and martyr'd bones Of dead Devotion nor faint marbles weep In their sad ruines nor Religion keep A melancholy mansion in those cold Vrns. Like Gods Sanctuaries they lookt of old Now seem they Temples consecrate to none Or to a new God Desolation No more the hypocrite shall th' upright be Because he 's stiffe and will confesse no knee While others bend their knee no more shalt thou Disdainfull dust and ashes bend thy brow Nor on Gods Altar cast two scorching eyes Bak't in hot scorn for a burnt sacrifice But for a Lambe thy tame and tender heart New struck by love still trembling on his dart Or for two Turtle doves it shall suffice To bring a paire of meek and humble eyes This shall from hence-forth be the masculine theme Pulpits and pennes shall sweat in to â—edeem Vertue to action that life-feeding flame That keeps Religion warme not swell a name Of faith a mountaine word made up of aire With those deare spoiles that wont to dresse the faire And fruitfull Charities full breasts of old Turning her out to tremble in the cold What can the poore hope from us when we be Vncharitable ev'n to Charitie In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi D. Andrews HAec charta monstrat Fama quem monstrat magis Sed ipsa nec dum fama quem monstrat satis Ille ille totam solus implevit Tubani Tot ora solus domuit famam quoque Fecit modestam ment is igneae pater Agilique radio Lucis aelernae vigil Per alta rerum pondera indomito Vagus Cucurrit Animo quippe naturam ferox Exhausit ipsam mille Foelus Artibus Et mille Linguis ipse se ingentes procul Variavit omnes fuitque toti simul Cognatus orbi sic sacrum solidum jubar Saturumque coelo pectus ad patrios Libens Porrexit ignes hac eum Lector vides Haec ecce charta O Vtinam audires quoque On the Assumption HArke shee is called the parting houre is come Take thy farewel poore world heaven must go home A peece of heavenly Light purer and brighter Then the chast stars whose choice Lamps come to light her While through the christall orbs clearer then they Shee climbes and makes a farre more milky way Shee 's call'd againe harke how th' immortall Dove Sighs to his silver mate rise up my Love Rise up my faire my spotlesse one The Winter 's past the raine is gone The Spring is come the Flowers appeare No sweets since thou art wanting here Come away my Love Come away my Dove cast off delay The Court of Heav'n is come To wait upon thee home Come away come away Shee 's call'd againe and will shee goe When heaven bids come who can say no Heav'n calls her and she must away Heaven will not and she cannot stay Goe then goe glorious on the golden wings Of the bright youth of Heaven that sings Vnder so sweet a burden goe Since thy great Sonne will have it so And while thou goest our song and wee Will as wee may reach after thee Haile holy Queen of humble hearts Wee in thy praise will have our parts And though thy dearest looks must now be light To none but the blest heavens whose bright Beholders lost in sweet delight Feed for ever their faire sight With those divinest eyes which wee And our darke world no more shall see Though our poore joyes are parted so Yet shall our lips never let goe Thy gracious name but to the last Our Loving song shall hold it fast Thy sacred Name shall bee Thy selfe to us and wee With holy cares will keepe it by us Wee to the last Will hold it fast And no Assumption shall deny us All the sweetest showers Of our fairest Flowers Will wee strow upon it Though our sweetnesse cannot make It sweeter they may take Themselves new sweetnesse from it Mary men and Angels sing Maria Mother of our King Live rarest Princesse and may the bright Crown of an incomparable Light Embrace thy radiant browes ô may the best Of everlasting joyes bath thy white brest Live our chaste love the holy mirth Of heaven and humble pride of Earth Live Crowne of Women Queen of men Live Mistris of our Song and when Our weak desires have done their best Sweet Angels come and sing the rest Epitaphium in Dominum Herrisium SIste te paulum viator ubi Longum Sisti Nescese erit huc nempe properare te scias quocunque properas
home with an holy strength Snathc't her self hence to Heaven fill'd a bright place Mongst those immortall fires and on the face Of her great maker fixt her flaming eye There still to read true pure divinity And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrinke Into this lesse appearance If you thinke T is but a dead face art doth here bequeath Looke on the following leaves and see him breath Ad Reginam ET verò jam tempus erat tibi maxima Mater Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem Tempus erat ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent Sarcina ne collo sit minùs apta tuo Scilicet ille tuus timor spes ille suorum Quo primumes felix pignore facta parens Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur enses Iam patris magis est jam magis ille suus Indolis O stimulos Vix dum illi transiit infans Iamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum Improbus ille suis adeò negat ire sub annis Iam nondum puer est major est puero Si quis in aulaeis pictas animatus in iras Stat leo quem docta cuspide lusit acus Hostis io est neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem Nempe decet tantus non minor ira manus Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit hasta bacillum est Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat Stat leo ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet Tam torvum tam dulce micane nescire â—atetur Márs ne sub his oculis esset an esset Amor. Quippe illîc Mars est sed qui bene possit amari Est Amor certe sed metuendus Amor Talis Amor talis Mars est ibi cernere qualis Seu puer hic esset sive vir ille deus Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris Res ecce in lusus non operosa tuos Basia jam veniant tua quatacunque caterva Iam quocunque tuus murmure ludat amor En Tibi materies tenera tractabilis hic est Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis Salve infans tot basiolis molle argumentum Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum O salve Nam te nato puer aurâ—e natus Et Carolo Mariae Tertius est oculus Out of Martiall FOure Teeth thou had'st that ranck'd in goodly state Kept thy Mouthes Gate The first blast of thy cough left two alone The second none This last cough Aelia cought out all thy feare Th' hast left the third cough now no businesse here Out of the Italian A Song To thy Lover Deere discover That sweet blush of thine that shameth When those Roses It discloses All the flowers that Nature nameth In free Ayre Flow thy Haire That no more Summers best dresses Bee beholden For their Golden Lockes to Phoebus flaming Tresses O deliver Love his Quiver From thy Eyes he shoots his Arrowes Where Apollo Cannot follow Featherd with his Mothers Sparrowes O envy not That we dye not Those deere lips whose doore encloses All the Graces In their places Brother Pearles and sister Roses From these treasures Of ripe pleasures One bright smile to cleâ—re the weather Earth and Heaven Thus made even Both will he good friends together The aire does wooe thee Winds cling to thee Might a word once flye from out thee Storme and Thunder Would sit under And keepe silence round about Thee But if Natures Common Creatures So deare Glories dare not borrow Yet thy Beauty Owes a Duty To my loving lingring sorrow When to end mee Death shall send mee All his Terrors to affright mee Thine eyes Graces Guild their faces And those Terrors shall delight mee When my dying Life is flying Those sweet Aires that often slew mee Shall revive mee Or reprive mee And to many Deaths renew mee Out of the Italian LOve now no fire hath left him We two betwixt us have divided it Your Eyes the Light hath râ—st him The heat commanding in my Heart doth sit O! that poore Love be not for ever spoyled Let my Heat to your Light be reconciled So shall these flames whose worth Now all obscured lyes Drest in those Beames start forth And dance before your eyes Or else partake my flames I care not whither And so in mutuall Names Of Love burne both together Out of the Italian WOuld any one the true cause find How Love came nak't a Boy and blind 'T is this listning one day too long To th' Syrens in my Mistresse Song The extasie of a delight So much o're-mastring all his might To that one Sense made all else thrall And so he lost his Clothes eyes heart and all In faciem Augustiff Regis à morbillis integram MVsaredt vocat alma parens Academia Noster Enredit ore suo noster Apollo redit Vultus adhuc suus vultu sua purpura tantum Vivit admixtas pergit amare nives Tune illas violare genas tune illa profanis Morbe ferox tantas ire per or a notis Tu Phoebi faciem tentas vanissime Nostra Nee Phoebe maculas novit habere suas Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur Ipsa sedet radiis ô bene tuta suis Quippe illic deus est coelûmque sanctius astrum Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis Quòd facie Rex tutus erat quòd caetera tactus Hinc hominem Rex est fassus inde deum On the Frontispiece of Isaacsons Chronologie explained IF with dictinctive Eye and Mind you looke Vpon the Front you see more then one Booke Creation is Gods Booke wherein he writ Each Creature as a Letter filling it History is Creations Booke which showes To what effects the Series of it goes Chronologie's the Booke of Historie and beares The just account of Dayes Moneths and Yeares But Resurrection in a Later Presse And New Edition is the summe of these The Language of these Bookes had all been one Had not th' Aspiring Tower of Babylon Confus'd the Tongues and in a distance hurl'd As farre the speech as men o th' new fill'd world Set then your eyes in method and behold Times embleme Saturne who when store of Gold Coyn'd the first age Devour'd that Birth he fear'd Till History Times eldest Child appear'd And Phoenix-like in spight of Saturnes rage Forc'd from her Ashes Heyres in every age From th' rising Sunne obtaining by just Suit A Springs Ingender and an Autumnes Fruit. Who in those Volumes at her motion pen'd Vnto Creations Alpha doth extend Againe ascend and view Chronology By Optick Skill pulling farre History Neerer whose Hand the piercing Eagles Eye Strengthens to bring remotest Objects nigh Vnder whose Feet you see the Setting Sunne From the darke Gnomon o're her Volumes runne Drown'd in eternall Night never to rise Till Resurrection show it to the eyes Of Earth-worne men and her shrill Trumpets sound Affright the Bones of Mortals
Mother Warmes in the one cooles in the other Shee sings thy Teares asleepe and dips Her Kisses in thy weeping Eye Shee spreads the red leaves of thy Lips That in their Buds yet blushing lye Shee 'gainst those Mother-Diamonds tryes The points of her young Eagles Eyes Welcome though not to those gay flyes Guilded i' th' Beames of Earthly Kings Slippery soules in smiling eyes But to poore Shepheards simple things That use no varnish no oyl'd Arts But lift clean hands full of cleare hearts Yet when young Aprils husband showres Shall blesse the fruitfull Maia's Bed Wee 'l bring the first-borne of her flowers To kisse thy feet and crowne thy head To thee Dread Lambe whose Love must keepe The Shepheards while they feed their sheepe To thee meeke Majesty soft King Of simple Graces and sweet Loves Each of us his Lamb will bring Each his payre of silver Doves At last in fire of thy faire Eyes Wee 'l burne our owne best sacrifice Vpon the Death of a Gentleman FAithlesse and fond Mortality Who will ever credit thee Fond and faithlesse thing that thus In our best hopes beguilest us What a reckoning hast thou made Of the hopes in him we laid For Life by volumes lengthened A Line or two to speake him dead For the Laurell in his verse The sullen Cypresse o're his Herse For a silver-crowned Head A durty pillow in Death's Bed For so deare so deep a trust Sad requitall thus much dust Now though the blow that snatcht him hence Stopt the Mouth of Eloquence Though shee be dumbe e're since his Death Not us'd to speake but in his Breath Yet if at least shee not denyes The sad language of our eyes Wee are contented for then this Language none more fluent is Nothing speakes our Griefe so well As to speake Nothing Come then tell Thy mind in Teares who e're Thou be That ow'st a Name to misery Eyes are vocall Teares have Tongues And there be words not made with lungs Sententious showers ô let them fall Their cadence is Rhetoricall Here 's a Theame will drinke th' expence Of all thy watry Eloquence Weepe then onely be exprest Thus much Hee 's Dead and weepe the rest Vpon the Death of Mr. Herrys A Plant of noble stemme forward and faire As ever whisper'd to the Morning Aire Thriv'd in these haphy Grounds the Earth's just pride Whose rising Glories made such haste to hide His head in Cloudes as if in him alone Impatient Nature had taught motion To start from Time and cheerfully to fly Before and seize upon Maturity Thus grew this gratious plant in whose sweet shade The Sunne himselfe oft wisht to sit and made The Morning Muses perch like Birds and sing Among his Branches yea and vow'd to bring His owne delicious Phoenix from the blest Arabia there to build her Virgin nest To hatch her selfe in 'mongst his leaves the Day Fresh from the Rosie East rejoyc't to play To them shee gave the first and fairest Beame That waited on her Birth she gave to them The purest Pearles that wept her Evening Death The balmy Zephirus got so sweet a Breath By often kissing them and now begun Glad Time to ripen expectation The timourous Maiden-Blossomes on each Bough Peept forth from their first blushes so that now A Thousand ruddy hopes smil'd in each Bud And flatter'd every greedy eye that stood Fixt in Delight as if already there Those rare fruits dangled whence the Golden Yeare His crowne expected when ô Fate â— Time That seldome lett'st a blushing youthfull Prime Hide his hot Beames in shade of silver Age So rare is hoary vertue the dire rage Of a mad storme these bloomy joyes all tore Ravisht the Maiden Blossoms and downe bore The trunke Yet in this Ground his pretious Root Still lives which when weake Time shall be pour'd out Into Eternity and circular joyes Dance in an endlesse round againe shall rise The faire son of an ever-youthfull Spring To be a shade for Angels while they sing Meane while who e're thou art that â—assest here O doe thou water it with one kind Teare Vpon the Death of the most desired Mr. Herrys DEath what dost ô hold thy Blow What thou dost thou dost not know Death thou must not here be cruell This is Natures choycest Iewell This is hee in whose rare frame Nature labour'd for a Name And meant to leave his pretious feature The patterne of a perfect Creature Ioy of Goodnesse Love of Art Vertue weares him next her heart Him the Muses love to follow Him they call their vice Apollo Apollo golden though thou bee Th' art not fairer then is hee Nor more lovely lift'st thy head Blushing from thine Easterne Bed The Gloryes of thy Youth ne're knew Brighter hopes then he can shew Why then should it e're be seene That his should fade while thine is Greene And wilt Thou ô cruell boast Put poore Nature to such cost O 't will undoe our common Mother To be at charge of such another What thinke we to no other end Gracious Heavens do use to send Earth her best perfection But to vanish and be gone Therefore onely give to day To morrow to be snatcht away I 've seen indeed the hopefull bud Of a ruddy Rose that stood Blushing to behold the Ray Of the new-saluted Day His tender toppe not fully spread The sweet dash of a shower now shead Invited him no more to hide Within himselfe the purple pride Of his forward flower when â—o While he sweetly 'gan to show His swelling Gloryes Auster spide him Cruell Auster thither hy'd him And with the rush of one rude blast Sham'd not spitefully to wast All his leaves so fresh so sweet And lay them trembling at his feet I 've seene the Mornings lovely Ray Hover o're the new-borne Day With rosie wings so richly Bright As if he scorn'd to thinke of Night When a ruddy storme whose scoule Made Heavens radiant face looke foule Call'd for an untimely Night To blot the newly blossom'd Light But were the Roses blush so rare Were the Mornings smile so faire As is he nor cloud nor wind But would be courteous would be kind Spare him Death ô spare him then Spare the sweetest among men Let not pitty with her Teares Keepe such distance from thine Eares But ô thou wilt not canst not spare Haste hath never time to heare Therefore if hee needs must go And the Fates will have it so Softly may he be possest Of his monumentall rest Safe thou darke home of the dead Safe ô hide his loved head For Pitties sake ô hide him quite From his Mother Natures sight Lest for Griefe his losse may move All her Births abortive prove Another IF ever Pitty were acquainted With sterne Death if e're he fainted Or forgot the cruell vigour Of an Adamantine rigour Here ô here we should have knowne it Here or no where hee 'd have showne it For hee whose pretious memory Bathes in Teares of every eye Hee to whom our
Sea of thy blood Their little channels can deliver Something to the generall flood But while I speake whither are run All the Rivers nam'd before I counted wrong there is but one But ô that one is one all'ore Raine-swolne Rivers may rise proud Threatning all to overflow But when indeed all 's overflow'd They themselves are drowned too This thy Bloods deluge a dire chance Deare Lord to thee to us is found A deluge of deliverance A deluge least we should be drown'd Nere was 't thou in a sence so sadly true The well of living Waters Lord till now Sampson to his Dalilah COuld not once blinding me cruell suffâ—ce When first I look't on thee I lost mine eyes Psalme 23. HAppy me ô happy sheepe Whom my God vouchsafes to keepe Even my God even he it is That points me to these wayes of blisse One whose pastures cheerefull spring All the yeare doth sit and sing And rejoycing smiles to see Their greene backs were his liverie Pleasure sings my soule to rest Plenty weares me at her brest Whose sweet temper teaches me Nor wanton nor in want to be At my feet the blubb'ring Mountaine Weeping melts into a Fountaine Whose soft silver-sweating streames Make high Noone forget his beames When my waiward breath is flying Hee calls home my soule from dying Strokes and tames my rabid Griefe And does woe me into life When my simple weaknesse strayes Tangled in forbidden wayes Hee my Shepheard is my Guide Hee 's before me on my side And behind me he beguiles Craft in all her knotty wiles Hee expounds the giddy wonder Of my weary steps and under Spreads a Path cleare as the Day Where no churlish rub saies nay To my joy-conducted Feet Whil'st they Gladly goe to meet Grace and peace to meet new laies Tun'd to my great Shepheards praise Come now all yee terrors sally Muster forth into the valley Where triumphant darknesse hovers With a sable wing that covers Brooding Horror Come thou Death Let the damps of thy dull Breath Overshadow even the shade And make darknesse selfe afraid There my feet even there shall find Way for a resolved mind Still my Shepheard still my God Thou art with me Still thy rod And thy staffe whose influence Gives direction gives defence At the whisper of thy Word Crown'd abundance spreads my Bord While I feast my foes doe feed Their rank malice not their need So that with the self-same bread They are starv'd and I am fed How my head in ointment swims How my cup orelooks her Brims So even so still may I move By the Line of thy deare Love Still may thy sweet mercy spread A shady Arme above my head About my Paths so shall I find The faire Center of my mind Thy Temple and those lovely walls Bright ever with a beame that falls Fresh from the pure glance of thine eye Lighting to Eternity There I 'le dwell for ever there Will I find a purer aire To feed my Life with there I 'le sup Balme and Nectar in my Cup And thence my ripe soule will I breath Warme into the Armes of Death Psalme 137. ON the proud bankes of great Euphrates flood There we sate and there we wept Our Harpes that now no Musicke understood Nodding on the Willowes slept While unhappy captiv'd wee Lovely Sion thought on thee They they that snatcht us from our Countries brest Would have a Song carv'd to their Eares In Hebrew numbers then ô cruell jest When Harpes and hearts were drown'd in Teares Come they cry'd come sing and play On of Sions songs to day Sing play to whom ah shall we sing or play If not Ierusalem to thee Ah thee Ierusalem ah sooner may This hand forget the mastery Of Musicks dainty touch then I The Musicke of thy memory Which when I lose ô may at once my Tongue Lose this same busie speaking art Vnpearcht her vocall Arteries unstâ—ung No more acquainted with my Heart On my dry pallats roofe to rest A wither'd Leafe an idle Guest No no thy good Sion alone must crowne The head of all my hope-nurst joyes But Edom cruell thou thou cryd'st ddowne downe Sinke Sion downe and never rise Her falling thou did'st urge and thrust And haste to dash her into dust Dost laugh proud Babels Daughter do laugh on Till thy ruine teach thee Teares Even such as these laugh till a venging throng Of woes too late doe rouze thy feares Laugh till thy childrens bleeding bones Weepe pretious Teares upon the stones A Hymne of the Nativity sung by the Shepheards Chorus COme wee Shepheards who have seene Dayes King deposed by Nights Queene Come lift we up our lofty song To wake the Sun that sleeps too long Hee in this our generall joy Slept and dreampt of no such thing While we found out the fair-ey'd Boy And kist the Cradle of our King Tell him hee rises now too late To shew us ought worth looking at Tell him wee now can shew him more Then hee e're shewd to mortall sight Then hee himselfe e're saw before Which to be seene needs not his light Tell him Tityrus where th' hast been Tell him Thyrsis what th' hast seen Tytirus Gloomy Night embrac't the place Where the noble Infant lay The Babe lookt up and shew'd his face In spight of Darknesse it was Day It was thy Day Sweet and did râ—se Not from the East but from thy eyes Thyrsis Winter chid the world and sent The angry North to wage his warres The North forgot his fierce intent And lest perfumes in stead of scarres By those sweet Eyes persuasive Powers Where he meant frosts he scattered Flowers Bâ—th We saw thee in thy Balmy Nest Bright Dawne of our Eternall Day Wee saw thine Eyes-break from the East And chase the trembling shades away Wee saw thee and wee blest the sight Wee saw thee by thine owne sweet Light Tityrus I saw the curl'd drops soft and slow Come hovering o're the places head Offring their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the faire Infants Bed Forbeare said I be not too bold Your fleece is white but 't is too cold Thyrsis I saw th'officious Angels bring The downe that their soft brests did strow For well they now can spare their wings When Heaven it selfe lyes here below Faire Youth said I be not too rough Thy Downe though soft's not soft enough Tityrus The Babe no sooner 'gan to seeke Where to lay his lovely head But streight his eyes advis'd his Cheeke 'Twixt Mothers Brests to goe to bed Sweet choise said I no way but so Not to lye cold yet sleepe in snow All. Welcome to our wondring sight Eternity shut in a span Summer in Winter Day in Night Chorus Heaven in Earth and God in Man Great litle one whose glorious Birth Lifts Earth to Heaven stoops heaven to earth Welcome though not to Gold nor Silke To more then Caesars Birthright is Two sister-Seas of virgins Milke With many a rarely-temper'd kisse That breathes at once both Maid and
Morae praetium erit Et Lacrimae Si jacere hic scias Gulielmum Splendidae Herrisiorum familiae Splendorem maximum Quem cum talem vixisse intelexeris Et vixisse tantum Discas licet In quantus spes possit Assurgere mortalitas De quantis cadere Quem Infantem Essexia vidit Quem Iuvenem Cantabrigiae vidit Senem ah infaelix utraque Quod non vidit Qui Collegii Christi Alumnus Aulae Pembrokianae socius Vtrique ingens amoris certamen fuit Donec Dulciss Lites elusit Deus Eumque coelestis Collegii Cujus semper Alumnus fuit socium fecit Qui ipse Collegium fuit In quo Musae omnes gratiae Nullibi magis sorores Sub praeside religione In tenacissimum sodalitium coaluere Quem Oratoriae Agnovcre Quem Poetica Agnovcre Quem Vtraque Agnovcre Quem Christianum Agnovcre Quem Poetam Agnovcre Quem Oratorem Agnovcre Quem Philosophum Agnovcre Quem Omnes Agnovcre Qui Fide Superavit Qui Spe Superavit Qui Charitate Superavit Qui Humilitate Superavit Qui Mundum Superavit Qui Coelum Superavit Qui Proximum Superavit Qui Seipsum Superavit Cujus Sub verna fronâ—e-senilis animus Sub morum facilitate severitas virtutis Sub plurima indole pauci anni Sub majore modestia maxima indolesadeo se occuluerunt ut vitam ejus Pulchram dixeris pudicam dissimulationem Imo vero mortem Ecce enim in ipso funere Dissimulari se passus est Sub tantillo mar more tantum hospitem Eo nimirum majore monumento quo minore tumulo Eo ipso die occubuit quo Ecclesia Anglicana ad vesperas legit Raptus est ne malitia mutaret Intellectun ejus Scilicet Id Octobris Anno S 1631. An Himne for the Circumcision day of our Lord. RIse thou first and fairest morning Rosie with a double red With thine owne blush thy cheekes adorning And the deare drops this day were shed All the purple pride of Laces The crimson curtaines of thy bed Guild thee not with so sweet graces Nor sets thee in so rich a red Of all the faire cheekt flowers that fill thee None so faire thy bosome strowes As this modest Maiden Lilly Our sinnes have sham'd into a Rose Bid the golden god the Sunne Burnisht in his glorious beames Put all his red eyed rubies on These Rubies shall put out his eyes Let him make poore the purple East Rob the rich store her Cabinets keep The pure birth of each sparkling nest That flaming in their faire bed sleep Let him embrace his owne bright tresses With a new morning made of gems And weare in them his wealthy dresses Another day of Diadems When he hath done all he may To make himselfe rich in his rise All will be darknesse to the day That breakes from one of these faire eyes And soone the sweet truth shall appeare Deare Babe e're many dayes be done The Moone shall come to meet thee here And leave the long adored Sunne Thy nobler beauty shall bereave him Of all his Easterne Paramours His Persian Lovers all shall leave him And sweare faith to thy sweeter powers Nor while they leave him shall they loose the Sunne But in thy fairest eyes find two for one On Hope By way of Question and Answer betweene A. Cowley and R. Crashaw Cowley HOpe whose weake being ruin'd is Alike If it succeed and if it misse Whom Ill and Good doth equally confound And both the hornes of Fates dilemma wound Vaine shadow that doth vanish quite Both at full noone and perfect night The Fates have not a possibility Of blessing thee If things then from their ends wee happy call 'T is hope is the most hopelesse thing of all Crashaw Deare Hope Earths dowry and Heavens debt The entity of things that are not yet Subt'lest but surest being Thou by whom Our Nothing hath a definition Faire cloud of fiâ—e both shade and light Our life in death our day in night Fates cannot find out a capacity Of hurting thee From thee their thinne dilemma with blunt horne Shrinkes like the sick Moone at the wholsome morne Cowley Hope thou bold taster of delight Who in stead of doing so devour'st it quite Thou bring'st us an estate yet leav'st us poore By clogging it with Legacies before The joyes which wee intire should wed Come deflour'd virgins to our bed Good fortunes without gaine imported bee So mighty Custome's paid to thee For joy like Wine kept close doth better taste If it take ayre before its spirits waste Crashaw Thou art Loves Legacie under lock Of Faith the steward of our growing stocke Our Crown-lands lye above yet each meale brings A seemly portion for the Sons of Kings Nor will the Virgin-joyes wee wed Come lesse unbroken to our bed Because that from the bridall checke of Blisse Thou thus steal'st downe a distant kisse Hopes chaste kisse wrongs no more joyes maidenhead Then Spousall rites prejudge the marriage-bed Cowley Hope Fortunes cheating Lotterie Where for one prize an hundred blankes there bee Fond Archer Hope who tak'st thine ayme so farre That still or short or wide thine arrowes are Thine empty cloud the eye it selfe deceives With shapes that our owne fancie gives A cloud which gilt and painted now appeares But must drop presently in teares When thy false beames o're Reasons light prevaile By ignes fatus not North starres we sayle Crashaw Faire Hope our earlier Heaven by thee Young Time is taster to Eternity The generous wine with age growes stong not sower Nor need wee kill thy fruit to smell thy flower Thy golden head never hangs downe Till in the lap of Loves full noone It falls and dyes oh no it melts away As doth the dawne into the day As lumpes of Sugar lose themselves and twine Their subtile essence with the soule of Wine Cowley Brother of Feare more gaily clad The merrier Foole o' th' two yet quite as mad Sire of Repentance shield of fond desire That blows the Chymicks and the Lovers fire Still leading them insensibly on With the strange witchcraft of Anon. By thee the one doth changing Nature through Her endlesse Laborinths pursue And th' other chases woman while she goes More wayes and turnes then hunted Nature knowes Crashaw Fortune alas above the worlds law warres Hope kicks the curl'd heads of conspiring starres Her keele cuts not the waves where our winds sture And Fates whole Lottery is one blanke to her Her shafts and shee fly farre above And forrage in the fields of light and love Sweet Hope kind cheat faire fallacy by thee Wee are not where or what wee bee But what and where wee would bee thus art thou Our absent presence and our future now Crashaw Faith's Sister Nurse of faire desireâ— Feares Antidote a wise and well stay'd fire Temper'd 'twixt cold despaire and torrid joy Queen Regent in young Loves minoritie Though the vext Chymick vainly chases His fugitive gold through all her faces And loves more fierce more
loves Bow Yet pay lesse Arrowes then they owe. Smiles that can warme The blood yet teach a charme That Chastity shall take no harme Blushes that bin The burnish of no sin Nor flames of ought too hot within Ioyes that confesse Vertue their Mistresse And have no other head to dresse Feares fond and flight As the coy Brides when Night First does that longing lover right Teares quickly fled And vaine as those are shed For a dying Maydenhead Dayes that need borrow No part of their good Morrow From a â—ore spent night of sorrow Dayes that in spight Of Darkenesse by the Light Of a cleere mind are Day all Night Nights sweet as they Made short by lovers play Yet long by th' absence of the Day Life that dares send A challenge to his end And when it comes say Welcome Friend Sydnaean showers Of sweet discourse whose powers Can Crowne old Winters head with flowers Soft silken Hours Open sunnes shady Bowers Bove all Nothing within that lowers What ere Delight Can make Dayes forehead bright Or give Downe to the Wings of Night In her whole frame Have Nature all the Name Art and ornament the shame Her flattery Picture and Poesy Her counsell her owne vertue bee I wish her store Of worth may leave her poore Of wishes And I wish No more Now if Time knowes That her whose radiant Browes Weave them a Garland of my vowes Her whose just Bayes My future hopes can raise A trophie to her present praise Her that dares bee What these Lines wish to see I seeke no further it is shee 'T is shee and heere Lo I uncloath and cleare My wishes cloudy Character May shee enjoy it Whose merit dare apply it But Modesty dares still deny it Such worth as this is Shall fixe my flying wishes And determine them to kisses Let her full Glory My fancyes fly before yee Bee ye my fictions But her story Imprimatur Na Brent FINIS THE TABLE THe Weeper Page 1 The Teare 6 Divine Epigrams begin at page the 8 On the Water of our Lords Baptisme 8 Act. 8. on the Baptized Aethiopian 8 On the Miracle of multiplyed Loaves 8 Vpon the Sepulchre of our Lord 8 The Widows Mights 9 Luke 15. on the Prodigall 9 On the still surviving markes of our Saviours wounds 9 Acts 5. the sick implore St. Peters shadow 9 Mark 7. the Dumbe healed and the people enjoyned silence 10 Mat. 28. Come see the place where the Lord lay 10 To Pontius washing his hands 10 To the Infant Martyrs 10 On the Miracle of Loaves 11 Mark 4. Why are ye afraid O ye of little faith 11 On the blessed Virgins bashfulnesse 12 Vpon Lazarus his Teares 12 Two men went up into the Temple to pray 12 Vpon the Asses that bore our Saviour 12 Mathew 8. I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roofe 13 Vpon the Powder day 13 I am the doore 13 Math. 10. The blind cured by the word of our Saviour 14 Math. 27. And he answered nothing 14 To our Lord upon the water made wine 14 Mathew 22. Neither durst any man from that day aske him any more questions 15 Vpon our Saviours Tombe wherein never man was laid 16 It is better to goe to heaven with one eye c. 16 Luke 11. Vpon the dumb divell cast out and the slanderous Iewes put to silence 16 Luke 10. And a certaine Priest comming that way looked on him and passed by 16 Luke 11. Blessed be the paps which thou hast sucked 17 To Pontius washing his blood-stained hands 17 Math. 23. To build the Sepulchres of the Prophets 17 Vpon the Infant Martyrs 18 Ioh. 16. Verily I say unto you yee shall weepe and lament 18 Ioh. 15. Vpon our Lords last comfortable discourse with his Disciples 18 Luk. 16. Dives asking a drop 18 Mark 12. Give to Caesar and to God 19 But now they have seen and hated 19 Vpon the Thornes taken down from our Lords head bloody 19 Luke 7. Shee began to wash his feet with teares and wipe them with the haires of her head 20 On St. Peter cutting off Malchus his eare 20 Iohn 3. But men loved darknesse rathet then light 20 Act. 21. I am ready not onely to be bound but to dye 20 On St. Peter casting away his nets at our Saviours call 20 Our Lord in his Circumcision to his Father 21 On the wounds of our crucified Lord 21 On our crucified Lord naked and bloody 22 Easter day 22 On the bleeding wounds of our crucified Lord 23 Sampson to his Dalilah 24 Psalme 23. 25 Psalme 137. 27 A Himne on the Nativity sung by the Shephcards 28 Vpon the death of a Gentleman 31 Vpon the death of Mr. Herrys 32 Another upon the death of the most desired Master Herrys 33 Another 36 His Epitaph 38 An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife which dyed and were buried together 39 An Epitaph upon Doctor Brooke 40 Vpon Master Stannoughs death 40 Vpon the Duke of York his birth A Panegyrick 41 Vpon Fords two Tragedyes Loves Sacrifice and the broken heart 45 On a foule morning being then to take a Iourney 45 Vpon the faire Aethiopian sent to a Gentlewoman 46 On Marriage 47 To the morning Satisfaction for sleep 47 Loves Horoscope 49 Sospetto d'Herode Libro primo 51 On a Prayer booke sent to Mrs M. R. 74 On Master George Herberts booke intituled the temple of Sacred poems sent to a Gentlewoman 78 In memory of the Vertuous and Learned Lady Madre de Teresa that sought an early Martyrdome 79 An Apologie for the precedent Himne 85 On a Treatise of Charity 86 In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi Dr. Andrewes 89 On the Assumption 90 Epitaphium in Dominum Herrissium 92 An Himne for the circumcision day of our Lord 94 On Hope by way of Question an Answer between A. Cowley and R. Crasnaw 96 MVsicks Duell 103 Principi recens natae omen maternae Indolis 108 Out of Virgil in the praise of the Spring 110 With a Picture sent to a friend 111 In praise of Lessius his rule of health 112 The beginning of Heliodorus 114 Out of the Greeke Cupids Cryer 115 On Nanus mounted upon an Ant 117 Vpon Venus putting on Mars his Armes 117 Vpon the same 017 In Senerissimae Regine partum Hyemalem 118 Vpon Bishop Andrewes his Picture before his Sermons 120 Ad Reginam 121 Out of Martiall 122 Out of the Italian A Song 123 Out of the Italian 125 Out of the Italian 126 In faciem Augustiss Regis à morbillis integram 127 On the Frontispice of Isaacsons Chronologie explained 128 Or thus 129 An Epitaph upon Master Ashton a conformable Citizen 130 Rex Redux 131 Out of Catullus 132 Ad Principem nondum natum 133 Wishes to his supposed Mistresse 134 FINIS