else but what is thine inherit If e're which heaven desend and still uphold Our league should breake Oh! horror to be told And that the knot of our strong amity Should be dissolv'd by any crime in mee Then count mee lighter than my fleeting breath Show by this paper and I 'le blush to death But I feare no such mischiefe since ouâ— love So aptly in each others soules doth move No Rhetoricke can my zeale to thee impart So well I love thee that thou hast my heart And that my action may concord with time Be this thy New-yeares guift and call mee thine Ever till death T. B. The Corner stone 'T Was a faire stone though it was abus'd And by the senselesse builder was refus'd Alas their sinne blind soules and blinder eyes Sought by the pride of all their industries To polish maâ—tle porphery or that On which proud folly set so high a * rare And with such earth-bred trifles to refine Materiall Temples to the powre divine Whilst that bright stone from th' heavenly square taken Lies on the mountaine by these fooles forshaken Ah! had they knowne the value of this Jem It had not beene so under priz'd by them Oh! when that Babell building of their sinne Shall ruin'd dash upon themselves agin And wanting props to under-set it shall Uppon the builders head with teâ—â—our fall How will they wish this abject stone had beene By faith well laid them and their sinnes betweene Then had it like a storme-contemning rocke Secur'd their Mansions from their heavy shocke Of wrath and judgement both the which unjust Shall make them roare with woe Oh! had I wist Lord be the Basts of my hopes high Throne And then I 'le build on that strong Corner-stone The Royall Navy WHat 's breath a vapor glory a vaine chat What 's man a span what 's life shorter than that What 's death a key for what to ope heavens dore Who keepes it time for whom both rich and poore What 's heaven a haven what 's ships anchor there Hope faith and love with one small pinnace feare What are those men of warre how fraught with armes What burthen weighty suiting their alarum Whose ships the Kings what colours the red crosse What ensignes bloody from their Princes losse And whither bound to earth Oh! what 's their strife To conquer breath and glory man and life Oh! I foresee the storme Lord I confesse Then vapour or vaine chat or span I 'm lesse Save a relenting â—oe thy glories are More excellent in peace than death and warre For to that time that time his key shall lend And to thy tent my yeelding spirit send I will strike saile to these and strive to prove Thy Captive in my hope faith feaâ—e and love EPIGRAMS Epigram 1. To my deare friend William Harrington T Is true my Will and I confesse I owe Thy friendship more than this yet to beâ—â—ow A 〈◊〉 upon a â—rend hath sometimes bin A 〈◊〉 worth th' acceptance of a â—ing Though my pen-seathâ—r'd Muse yet cannot teach My feeble quill to that â—ap't height to reach 'T will be no lesse content to mee if shee Be but well entertain'd deare friend of thee Thou art a King in friendship and I may Then thus to my no little comfort say That too good Wills my worthlesse Muse hath won My Scot and my no lesse-lov'd Harrington Thy friend Th. Beed Epigram 2. Of one Mary Fraile who lay with Mr Reason MAry was long desirous for to marry And vow'd that past fifteene she would not tarry I am suâ—e this vow of modesty did faile Alas yet pardon her for flesh is Fraile No suitors came nor could her longing eyes Meeâ—e any that might seaze her as his prize But making conscience not to breake her vow Shee is as then the promist no maid now Though thou know'st not why she so young did sport I 'de have thee thinke Fraile had some Reason â—or't Epigram 3. On the same Mary a great lover of Mary-bones WHy she doth Mary-â—ones afâ—ect would'st know I thinke the reason is not hard to show The bone she cannot eaâ—e that 's hard as flinâ— Oh then I guesse the cause there 's something in'tâ— Well what 's that something Oh my Muse there sticke She that loves marrow likely loves a Epigram 4. To the excellent Poets Mr George Withersâ— I Never saw thee but should grossely lie To say I know thee not for â—illy I Or one that is more stupid well may guesse At what thou art by what thoâ— dost expresse Oh that blest day when first my willing hand Opt the remembrance of this Sinsicke land Trust mee I griev'd to thinke that now my age Had sixteene summers acted on this stage Yet was a stranger to so raâ—e a soule As thine whose heaven-bred boldnesse durst controle Without respect of persons every sinne That to thy knowledge had committed bin Then next thy Satyres and thy Motto I Made hast to purchase where I might espio How some too base for earth not worth a name Sought by their mire and dirt to clâ—y thy same And credit mee I hardly could forbeare Upon these pittied lines to drop a teare But that I know vertue oppos'd by fate Lookes greatest like the Sunne in lowest stare When other wits who have in some base time Imploy'd of â—ate that they might conquer time Shall like those paper toyes in which they trust Be eate by wormes or molded into dust And want a name thou by thy vertues grac't Shall live till earth by fire be imbâ—ac't Thy unknown well-wisher Th. Beed Epigram 5. By way of consolation to his deare friend William Scot on the death of his brother Gilman Scot SUffer mee dearest friend to bring a verse Though uninvited to attend the hearse Of him whose memory death cannot bloâ— Since hee yet lives in thee my friendly Scot I know the â—ertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Art And had the August of his age bin come Y' had seene him crown'd with a rich harvest home But now he 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a fate Worth your best thankes that day deserves its date Be registred to glory when heaven pleas'd Him of his earthly flesh-encumbrance eas'd Yet daâ—e you lose a teare unlesse for joy That heaven in mercy gave him for the toy Which wee call breath a life that shall outlive What e're dull earth or all your love could give I know the fates have lop't off from your tree Many faiâ—e branches which I doubt not bee Againe sarre fairer than his muddy â—oyle Could suffer them to grow too for the â—oyle Of living was their trouble but that care They wisely did contemne and so repaire To that blest pallace which for pious men The maker fram'd and now is opt agen For this new entrance do not then once more Spend any uselesse teare behold
timelesse hearse My soule which now is not but where thou art Stayes but to tell the world we will noâ— part And the glad Casket which thy ashes beares Shâ—ll tide me after thee in miâ—e owne teares And then rejoyce that we whose hearts were one In death shall celebrate Communion Wisedome of fate that earely did remove Thee hence that I in heaven might seeke my love And so assure me that time thou couldst dye No beauty but must taste mortality I know my bounded every Grace In the strict limits of thy well built face And thought those principles of beauty there Unchangable as bodies in their sphere But I recant and tell the world this truth There is no priviledge in blood or youth Else how could'st thou whose every smile or breath Was a suâ—ficient antidote 'gainst death Have met a grave and like a drooping flowre Have wiâ—hered to nothing in an houre Sleepe while some Angell with a peaceâ—ull wing Courtaines thy ashes here and hovering O're thy innocuous breast by that display Informes mee where my dust must take its way Then my infranchis'd spirit up shall fly To our just wedding for eternity And pitty all those enmities below That did with hold us from uniting so And smile to know that all our envious friends Have lost their plot and we obtain'd our ends But wee will marry here in spight of those That would our much wish't meeting interpose Death shall be prest lye closer sweete make roome That wee may make our marriage bed thy Tombe My sonne give mee thy heart ANd why my heart since I have none Or if I have perhaps 't is stone And rather than have such a one Better have none Lord canst thou chuâ—e no other partâ— The world alas hath stole my heaâ—â— Pleasure intis't it by strange Art From mee to part One Angell lust and all the rest Possesses it or else as bad a guest And in the midd'st there is a neast For sloath to rest Envie would have it all but pride Disdaining any should divide Possession there Enter and then as tyrants who By bloud are rais'd their states undoe Doth domineeâ—e The Petition HEate mee my God and heare mee soone Because my morning toucheth noone Nor can I looke for their delight Because my noone layes hold on night I am all circle my morne night and noone Are individable then heare mee soone Thou art all time my God and I Am part of that eternity Yet being made I want that might To be as thou art Infinite As in thy flesh so he thou Lord to mee That is both infinite and eternity But I am dust at most but man That dust extended to a span A span indeed â—or in thy hand Stretcht or contracted Lord I stand Contract and stretch mee too that I may be Straightned on earth to be enlarg'd to thee But I am nothing then how can I call my selfe or dust or man Yet thou from nothing all didst frame That all things might exalt thy name Make mee but something then my God to thee Then shall thy praise be all in all to mee VVHen first of linne I tooke survey Sinne that first wrought poore mans decay Mee thought the seeming pleasures that it wore Betray'd a face So full of grace That I desir'd it more and more As raâ—â—les babies and such â—oyes Are the â—ull bundles of childhoods joyes I rested in appearance little knowing That such vaine things Which sorrow bring An alteration in their growing As warning once descri'd from sarre Through some darke cloud a glimeting starre That lead mee on to seeke its lustre out Hee that makes all Answer'd his call Had turn'd my erâ—or quiâ—e about Did'st thou not God divide those ' seas AEgypt and Israels death and ease When sepaâ—ated waves like Mountaines sweld On either side To quench their pride That 'gainst thy edict did â—ebell God didst not thou â—ebuke those seas Natures great burthen and disease When Peters Faith his failing strength did cherish When calling loud I' th watery cloud He cry'd â—ave Master or I perish Thou did'st my God and thou the world And sinne my beaten Barke have hâ—l'd In a more desperate storme yet still I see And heare the say To thy poore clay Is any thing too hard â—or mee The Inquisition 1. VVHere art thoâ— God or where is hee That can discover thee to mee The worlds without thee sure for here Doth domineere Hell flesh and sinne thou art not there 2. Doth Aire thy blessed spirit hold And â—â—om our eyes thy sight unsold Thou art not there my God for here Doth domineere Satan aires Prince thou art not there 3. Or doth thy sacâ—ed essence keepe Court in the Chamber oâ— the deepe No sure my God â— not so for here Doth domineere Leviathan thou art not there 4. Doth flames too subtill for our â—ence So spy impaild thy excellence No sure my God not so for here Doth domineere The fiery Prince thou art not there In none of these confind yet thou dost scatter Thy presence through both earth aire fire wateâ— 5. Each place containes thee God yet thou Art no where no where dost remaine Though every place wee thee allow No place we know can thee containe Then I have found thee now though here Nor here thou art not yet thou art Both there and here be anywhere So thou bee in my heart Where being Lord let that thy closet bee To keepe thee safe in mee and mee in thee A Proud man Vile worme of dust vaine clay how durst thou venteâ— To â—well thy selfe above the earth thy center Vapors exhal'd and lifted to the skies Or dissipare or else prove prodigies Why being nothing art thou Bold to d'on The ingloriouâ— itch of exaltation And by a peâ—ulant pride disdainst to bee More heightn'd by a selfe humility As if the Babell of thy thoughts could shroud Th' aspiâ—ing battlements within a cloud And so the mighty machin safely stand Whose weaker basis is but mosse and sand Strange mystery of sinne that drives us on As farie as heaven to â—ind perdition For wert thou there and prov'd to bee so then Heaven would â—ast downe a devill once agen Yet thus perhaps thy pride might â—â—â—ed bee The Prince of Devils doth but equall thee Change but the subject and some sins admit To hâ—mble minds a happy benefit To kill the man oâ— sin to coveâ— grace To â—resse by violence to Gods holy place Câ—ntention for a Crowne for blessing strife Are sins that â—â—ll mortalyty with life But to be proud not to be proud addes more Sinne to that pride than pride had sinne before Meditation 1. MY God came downe in thunder once but then The sonnes of men Affrighted at the dreadfull cracke Sounded fell backe Desiring not his presence so agen 2. My God came downe in whirlewinds too and flame But his great Name So blazon'd did astonish more Than heretofore When pointed thunder his loud Herrald came 3. My God came downe in
POEMS ' DIVINE AND HVMANE BY THOMAS BEEDOME LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-Head-Alley neer Cornehill 1641. To the Reader BOokes are the pictures of mens lives delineated first by fancy and by judgement drawne to the life Such is this peice the living Idea of him that writ it who though now dead has a living Monument to his worth His Booke which despight of fire can never conâ—ert to ashes 'T is Lentum Ilium slow Troy that will not bee easily consinned he shall live in Paper which shall make him live in 's Marble And in this good Reader his worth shall bee Emergent he has don many things well and nothing ill Therefore receive him as an absolute testimony of wit and fancy or else deceive thy selfe since his workes are as excellent as singular HEN. GLAPTHORNE On the deceased Authour Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems REader it grieves meeâ— that I cannot bring A fresh Encomion but am forc't to sing A withered Elegie and onely boast The wealth and treasure of a friend that 's lost Beedom I doe admire thy verse The sweet And gentle cadence of their ordered â—eet Whose couplets kisse with so divine an Art As if the Sibills had about thy heart Layd their propheticke Spells and every line Deare Beedom I doe season with my brine Though there was salt enough in them before To keepe thy bayes still fresh But I deplore As others doe for there thy Art is showen In stealing pitty thus from every one For unlesse tribute of some sighâ— are paid Thy jealous Lover and thy constant Maid Cannot be read and these all sadly vie As true oblations to thy obsequie But when I wander in thy other walkes And see the flowers of poesie on their stalkes Florish in pride of fancy I beginne Almost to thinke Idolatry no sinne For such a perfume breakes the yeelding Ayrâ— I am urg'd to offer for thy soule a prayer And thinke in that sweet incense may arise My love and wishes as a sacrifice Thou 'lt gaine a â—trange advantage of thy fate That 's forc't to valew thee at equall rate With the sâ—le Phenix for frâ—m thy pure dust Thy fame takes wing and perching on the trust Of thy firme friend though round with envy hurl'd Dares with a broad eye looke upon the world He being best knowne Beedom to thy wit Thou wisely mad'st executor to it Who not defrauding of the world its due Presents thy worke unto the wiser few Me thinkes I heare from thy most gratefull clay Soft murmurs breake and speaking seeme to say Thanks my deare Wilbore for thy love and care By this my Genius clames an ample share For by the Elixir of thy friendly art My memory which is my better part Shall live which ages hence shall gladly see Wrought by the wonder of Loves chimistrie And such a Tombe Beedom thy friend will make That all consuming time can never shake Let others build I by that friend am sent To bring this first stone to his Monument Ed. May On the death and Poems of his most deare friend Master I homas Beedome VVHy did thy muse display her eaglets wing And â—ale a flight at heaven why did shee sing Like to the earely Larke when she begunne Glad carolls in the eare o' the listning Sunne Till heavens inhabitants did even conspire To snatch thee as a chanter to their quire But glorious Beedome ere he left the earth Did give to fame a Monument a birth To such a living fancy as in spight Of fate shall like a precious ray of light Dwell 'bout his urne where all the muses sit Wayling the losse of his emergent wit And weeping ore his ashes till their eyes Instead of teares shed mournfull Elâ—gies Penei â—n Daphne there her armes displayes As if she would intombe him in her bayes And she who Phoebus hot pursuit did shunne Imbraces the old ashes of his sonne There a bright troope of Virgins that from farre Appeare resembling every one a starre Drown'd in a see of pearle doe sadly rise From his lov'd true each one without their eyes Wept out or burning left there as they 'd meant Those lights for tapers to his Monument Where shall we find at such a time a soule That could in flowing numbers even controule Arts nimblest currents and most swiftly glide Without least noyse admir'd before espide So have I seene a gentle streame with sweet And fluent motion softly hast to meet Its mother Ocean and inrich her store With a more gratefull tribute then before A thousand violent torrents pâ—id whose waves Though lowder brought lesse musicke to their graves His life was all one harmony and in 's death Numerous and full of sweetnesse was his breath Expanded like the Swans concluding layes In lasting accents that shall speake his prayse While Feather-footed time does swiftly passe Or has a sand left in his plenteoresâ— glasse This is my vote which to thy Booke shall be A just applauseâ— to thee an Elegie Hen. Glapthorne On his deserving Friend Master Thomas Beedom and his Poems HOw fond is this age growne 't will fearce admit Distinction betweene ignorance and wit Each weares the others habit neither 's knowne By the wanted proper dresse that was its owne And every day new Authors doe appeare As they the paper Merchants factors were And boast themselves the muses sons when they Rime onely for some life-preserving pay Expect here no such Author if thou 't looke On th' inside more then th' outside of the Booke Put on thy judgements eyes and thou shalt find This Authors fancy rich as was his mind W. C. To his Friend the Author Master Thomas Beedom before his death on these his Poems THis is the riming Age no wonder now To heare Thalia whisling at the plow All traffiâ—ke with the Muses t is well knowne The Scullers boat can touch at Helicon Who quassâ—s not there doe we not daily see Each garded foot-boy belch out Poetrie Who so illiterate now that will râ—fuâ—e For some slight Minion to invoke a muse Yet honoured friend doe not imagin I In the lest taxâ— by great ability I know thee worthy of a â—etter fame Then my best study can afford thy name I onely would thy reader this informe Such empty nothings are thy muses scorne Nor doe I wish â—im slightly to o'relooke The bigâ—borne fancy of thy labour'd Booke For he that scans the Poems that are thine Must call them raptures sacred and divine Thou darling of the muses in whose quiâ—e Thou sha't sing Peans to Apollo's lyre And with his best lov'd Priests in equall state Sit justly crown'd a Poet â—aureate Em. D. To the Memory of his Ingenious friend Master Thomas Beedom and on these his Poems THâ—â—'s no just reason Friend that I should write Vnlesse I â—ould in swelling sighes indite My pregnant griefe till every line appeares A volumne of my sorrow
friend had strove T' exceed each other in a zealous loâ—e To thy blest memory and I smilâ—d to see Thy name thus rapâ—in immortalitie Yet paydâ—the 〈◊〉 tribute teares let fall As numerous drops at thy sad Funerall As did that friend whose pregnant Muse dares vie With griefe it selfe to weepe thy Eleâ—ie Yet durst not write my jealousie was such It wisely prompt me I should wrong too much Thy greater meritâ— had me rather mourne In griefe lov'd silence ore thy quiet urne Which I had done had I not seem'd to heare Once at the offering of a tribute teare To thy lov'd ashes a strange murmuring breath Breake forth from the still tenement of death Thy dismall grave and in a Language full Of incens'd anger vow to disanâ—â—ll All former friendship if I should denie Mongst other friends to write thy Elegie When thus ambiguous twixt my love and feares I vented thisâ— attended with my teares Strong course of Fate could he whose generous quill Bestow'd a life on others which else still Had Laine death's ruines die himselfe could he Whose powerfull Art spight of sterne destinie Broake up forgotten Monumentsâ— and made The intomb'd Heroes live againe that swaide Ore others Fates yet could this halfe-god â—â—eepe Into a grave and in cold Marble sleepe What tribe of Angels did invite thee hence Their glorious guest If not what curst offence Hath fond earth given thee That thou needs must â—â—tye So young from us to heavens eternitie Or did thy precious soule shake off its clay Cause nought below was worthy of her stay And being matchlesse here did upward move There to be rank'd with equall Saints above Sure thus it was and undeserving we May tax our merit not thy destinie Yet glorious Beedome though each friend appeares Almost thy Emblem made so by his teares For thy lamented losse yet when we looke On this immortall child of wit thy booke Smiles from our â—hâ—ekes all suner all teares doe drive Seeing in it thy fame shall ever live Time and thy Memory which no fate can sever Shall last like ages both conclude together Em. D. On the Poems of the Author his deare Brother Master Thomas Beedom deceased SIlence would best become me and I feare I spoile the consort by intrusion heere T is true I need not adde unto his praise Nor bring my sprig to complement his bayes But that the neerenesse of our birth and name Calls me to sticke my pinion to his fame Then Reader know we have not us'd our brains To usher in absurd uncivill straines Such as might pale the Paper blacke the Inke And cause the ghost of our dead friend to shrinke When judgements eye his Poems shall diseâ—rne No no t is otherwise here thou mayst learne Thy morall duty and it will appeare Mâ—yst please thy God as well as please thine eare He needs must say that will his worth commend He was an Academie in his friend And ready was requested to supply His need with soule or bodies remedy Fran. Beedome THE IEALOUS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID Written by T. B. Sat est pro laude Voluptas LONDON Printed by E. P. for Iohn Sweeting and are to be sold at his Shop at the signe of the Angel in Popes-head-Alley neer Cornhill 1641. THE AUTHOR TO the READER WHen Johnson Drayton and those happier men That can drop wonders from their fluent Pen Have with their miracles of Poetry Feasted thy eares and satisfi'd thy eye Then turne aside and 'mongst the vulgar things Place what my new-borne Muse abruptly sings Which though it be but meane as t is confest 'T hath ventured hard to please thee since t is prest If thou smile on it I shall thinke my braine Hath labour'd for this issue not in vaine If otherwise thou doe contemne my layes My pleasur 's more to me then all thy praise Sat est pro laude Voluptas Vale THOMAS BEEDOME THE IEALOVS LOVER OR THE CONSTANT MAID WHat time the noble Britaine did resist And vaâ—quish Roman Caesar with his hoast Who when he felt their fuâ—y did desist And fled from Albions white-wave-washed coast Where the stout Brittaines dy'd with Roman blood The Sea-greene face of the tumultuous stood There dwelt an antient honourable man Nere Sabrin's shore who was Cremillus hight In two faire twins his Off spring fiâ—st began A son and daughter brought at once to light Whose beauâ—ies with their vertues vy'd in growth Which should most grace their infancy and youth His son Cherillus but his fairer daughter He nam'd Pandora did you never view The liquid Châ—istall of a running water Streame through some guilded field where all things new The spring had made to such a place this Maid Vnhappily now growne a great one stâ—ai'd And while her eyes on the moyst Element Did cast their beâ—mes another shâ—pe she spy'd Far above hers on whom such lives were spent In Troy for whom so many Hero's dy'd This shape the fairest sure that er'e was showne Was but a meere reflexion of her owne While thus she gaz'd on her owne shade she thought Oh that I might leape in and seaze yon prize It were by death an easie purchase bought For who would live if not in yonder eyes Narcissus so himselfe himselfe forsooke Aâ—d dy'd to see his shadow in a brooke As yet the toy we call a Looking-glasse Wherein our siner Dames behold their faces Did rest unknown else t' had not comâ— to passe That this bright Maid repleat with all the graces Had in an Extasie thus stood amaz'd While onely on her lively selfe she gaz'd Still as she lookt she wishâ— some gentle fish Might now as once Arion it did beare Her on the friendly waves but oh her wish Could not implore an ayde from any there For they stood wondring that the earth could show A â—righter Nymph then Neptune could below One while she was resolv'd t' assay the water And so salute the thing she thought alive But then she poiz'd the danger that came after Lest she perhaps might never more survive Thus betweene joy and feare amaz'd she stood Viewing the wonders of the silver stood And as it chanc't to shade her from the Sun Vnto her brighter face she rai'd her hand She thought her shade did beckon her to come To Thetiâ— Aâ—bor and forsâ—ke the Land Who had done so had not a neighbouring brier Seiz'd her lov'd coat and made her so retire Injurious weed quoth she why hast thou staid Me from a happinesse I might have had Receive the just curse of a spotlesse Maid Mayst thou be henceforth held a thing so bad So rough that all may hate thee thus having sed It since remaines with prickles overspred By this Cherillus who had long time since Follow'd sterne Mars in the blacke field of wars Was home return'd from service of his Prince But wearing the true souldiers colours scars And time to doe him now the greater grace Had grafted well-set haires upon his face Who as
That had restoâ—'d the jewell which he lost And now acquited all those dismall feares Which had so many weâ—ping minutes lost Blushing Cherillus now salutes his sister And â—hanks the Godâ— that he unknown had mist her All soâ—row now is wip't from every eye Theâ—'s not a face that weares a mournfull looke Laughte triumphs while meager griefe doth dye As if fate had display'd some â—oâ—und bookâ— VVhich the by-standers reading joy to see How there their joy 's writ for eternitie Her father now 〈◊〉 their equall fires Since Hymen piâ—e of Fate did â—o command All union liv'd in their conjoynt desires Each soule lay pawnd in to ' theâ—s plighted hand Where they rest happy thus those Loves doe thrive VVhom Chastity through stormes sâ—ill keepes alive 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 〈…〉 FINIS POEMS To his Mistresse when shee was going into the Country YEs yes it must be so but must there be When you depart no memory had of mee My soule being rack't as large a distance too To meete you there as I must be from you While the glad spring for joy you shall be seene Meete your approach and cloath her selfe in greene And the fresh morning to salute your rise Bedewes the ground from it 's o'rejoyed eyes For joy like griese we know sometimes appeares Writ on our cheekeâ— with characters of teares Goe and be happy goe and when you see The trusty Ivy claspe it 's much loved tree And with it's amorous in twinings cover The welcome waste of it 's imbraced lover Thinke it our Embleme then and prov'd to be The happy shadow of my love and mee Goe and be happy and when some sweet brookes Calme as thy thoughts and smooth as are thy lookes Show thee thy face thou let thy thoughts supply And though I be not thinke that I am by For ifâ—the hearâ— bâ— taken for whole â—an I must be by thee be thou where thou can Goe and when pretty birds on some small spray Neere to thy window welcome in the day Awake and thinke when their sweete notes you heare I was before-hand and had sung them there Goe and whate're thou chance to heare or see Be it bird or brooke or shade of tree If it delights thee may my soule in it Move thy true joyes under that counterfeit So aske not how I doe when you are there For at your mercy well or ill I fare For now me thinkes my heart so high doth swell It must inforce a breath farewell farewell The Knell When the sad tolling of my bell you heare Thinke â—is some Angells trumpe and Judgments neere Then if but to repent you take the paine Your judgements past lye downe and sleepe agâ—ine The Perfume Not that I thinke thy breath lesse sweete than this Thy breath in which no pleasant sweets I misse Not that I thinke thy whiâ—e than this lesse faire Thy white to which all whites but blacknesse are Not that I thinke thy heart than this lesse pure Thy heart which â—o dull mixture can indure Send I this to thâ—â— but as gold well try'd Admiâ—s allay when it is purifi'd So by this foyle I would to thee impart What is thy breath thy whitenesse and thy heart Thy breath all perfumes doth as saue out-goe As doth thy whitenesse the descending snow The snow descends but by the winds being blowne Thy sweeter breath and whiter snows thine owne Thy heart lesse mixt than the sole Phoenix bed Proclaimes thee mistresse of a Maiden head And so there were no ashes after â—ire Would that were conquer'd in my loveâ— desire But if there be why can it not suffice That one being dead another Phoenix rise Thy maiden head being gone we still shall prove Both being one unparalell'd in love But I have riddl'd let me now unfold What is the perfume what the snow what gold All this and each of these thou knowâ—st thou art And I should know more did I know thy heart To his Mistresse on her scorne Resolve mee dearest why two heaâ—ts in one Should know the sinne of separation Must the sweete custome of our oft stolne kisse Be lost and wee live empty of those blisses Or do the stownes of some old over seer Nourish thy feare or make thy love lesse freer Why did'st thou suffer mee those sweets to steale Which but thine own no tongue can e're reveale And prompt mee to a daring to beleeve That my sad heart should find no cause to grieve Yet now at last hast mockt my hope so farre That I have â—ot a cloudâ— though meant a starreâ— Well take thy tryumph study but to be True to thy selfe as thou art false to mee And thou shalt meet a conquest yet when I Have groan'd unto the world my Elegy And thy unjust disdaine perhaps I shall Obtaine this honour in my funerall Thy poysonous guilt mixt with thy purged breath May make thee withâ—â— with mee unto death So shall I triumph in my Ashes too In that my innocence hath conquer'd you And then my eye rejoyce in that I have Thy scorne to be a mourner at my grave The Question and Answer WHen the sad â—ines of that face In it's owne wrinkles buried lyes And the stiffe pride of all it's grace By time undone â—als â—lacke and dyes Wilt not thou sigh and wish in some vext fit The it were now as when I courted it And when thy glasse shall it present Without those smiles which once were there Showing like some stale monument A scalpe departed from it's haire At thy selfe frighted wilt not start and sweaâ—e That I beleeved thee when I call'd thee faire Yes yes I know thou wilt and so Pitty the weakness◠〈◊〉 〈◊〉 That now hath humbled thee to know Though faiâ—e it was it is forlorne Loves sweetes thy aged corps embalming not What marvell if thy carkasse beauty â—ot Then shall I live and live to be Thy envie thou my pitty say When e're thou see mee or I thee Being nighted from thy beauties day 'T is hee and had my pride not wither'd mee I had perhaps beene still as fresh as hee Then shall I smile and answer 〈◊〉 thy scorne Left thee thus wrinkled slack't corrupt â—orlorne The new Petition Apollo once disdained not to keepe So he might keepe his love Admetuâ— sheepe The distaffe Hercules did exercise T' extract a smile from his deare Ladies eyes Olympicke Joane disdained not to take A bull's effigies for Europus sake A chilles fitter farre to deale with steele Did labour for his Mistresse at the reele Love spar'd Leander his pledg'd saith to save Died hugging in his armes the murdering wave Whil'st a new death his Heroe doth devise And drownd her selfe i th Ocean of her eyes By Pyramus the world did understand That love and life lay linked hand in hand When one was lost in Thisbe th' other flew Through the peirc't poâ—tals of his wound yet new Which when his Thisbe saw 't is hard to say Whose spirit posted fastest on
the way Thus some dejection others did invade Great opposition and have willingly laid Their lives at needlesse hazzard some have died And so have to the utmost satisfied What tyrant love could force and beyond this The great and true non ultra fixed is Yet happy this since what so c're they tryed Was on their Mistresse part regratified Oh who would when he saw an equall flame Of love in her he lov'd owâ— so much shame As to 〈◊〉 his life if her least griefe Did but invite his blood for her reliefe But this lorenamed courteous Ghost can beare Mee witnesse I have shed full many a teate Spoke the best language Rhetoricke affords I â—mbâ—d out my heart even to the life in words Would what they did did like occasion proffer And till that do I can no more but offer And yet for all my sufferings shee that is If I 〈◊〉 reach to call her so my bliâ—se Slights all my sorrowes Oh what eye could now Forbeare to veeld a teaâ—e when seeing how I love I am neglected weepe with mee All you the read my wrongs so if you be Compâ—ssionate perhaps your teares may move The frozen Mercy of my ice-white love Which if they doe if you at any time Shall 〈◊〉 drop I 'le lend you some of mine Methinkes I see you weepe deare Mistresse then Behold a Noble sea of pittying men Doth waft mee to your favour if you daigne Yet now at last to ease mee of my paine This glory shall unto your mercy rise That you have wip't all teares from lovers eyes Fooles Paradise or Reason Bewitcht apta Spicula sent nobis puris Simple as are the Elements unmixt Stedfast as is the earth whose footing 's fixt Untainted like the silver suite of Swan Alone like truth well ordered like a man Like these in each of these was I untill Upon a time Reason fell foule with Will Who back't with sence that it might battaile move Implor'd the ayde of all commanding Love Love by his mother taught doth soone comply To be an Actor in this treachery The battell 's wag'd and Reason flyes the field While Sence and Will to Love the Conquest yeeld I now loves subject am inforc't to doe What ever his designes commands mee too See see quoth hee do you behold that maid Whose equall doth not breathe and there he staid To draw fresh aire So quicke was hee to give Mee notice that I must no longer live In my owne selfe but her whom when I spy'd Mee thought I had beene happy to have dy'd Since I at once saw severally in one What joyn'd together made perfection Thâ—â— was Horella that bright shining staâ—â—e Who might have caused a second Trojan warre Were there a second Paris for her face The world might strive but then there sate a grace So chast that might expell each spurious thought Such as soule Hellen to her Paris brought There I might read in my Florella's lookes Such are indeed beauties most perfect bookes Loves pleasant Lecture where I might espie How Cupid once sought 〈◊〉 at her eye Whom the repell'd like snow the chast and cold Could not 〈◊〉 Sympathy to hold With his hot 〈◊〉 but melting quite put out That 〈◊〉 which warm'd her round about Cupid denied of this did backward start And ran for hast to hide him in her heart Where he renewed fresh flames and by delay So 〈◊〉 his wings he could not fly away Thus force perforce in her my conquer'd breast 〈◊〉 the poore Inne of such a God-borne guest Whom while I harbor it is hard to tell Whether his presence be a Heaven or Hell Such pleasurable paine such painfull pleasure Sometimes below and sometimes above measure Mars on a time forsooke his Venus bed Protesting he no longer would be led To those embraces which like Circâ—s charmâ— Made him forget the Heroicke use of Armes Venus heard this whiles halfe in anger shee Did thrust her darling Cupid off her knee Downe fall the youngster and in falling so Broke all his Arrows quiver and his bow His grandaâ—â—e Nature pittying the mischance Wipes the wagges eyes told him she would advance Him to his former office 〈◊〉 a dart That should transfixe the most obdurate heart She would create an eye and for a bow She 'd make a brow whose art inclining so Should shoote such shafts that diety should yeeld Themselves glad prisoners in the maiden field When streight she made Florella such a maid Who being nam'd need there ought else be said 'T is not long since that I heard I overs whine At those deepe wounds which from their Mistris â—yne They bleeding had receiv'd cause they could winne No mercy from them whilst I thought some pinne Had sâ—â—atch't their tender hands till I too late Grew sensible they were unfortunate In their lost loves cause when Florella sâ—ound Shee like a Commet strucke mee to the ground Till shee was pleas'd to cleare her glorious eyes Which summon'd mee from death to life to rise Wherefore you speedy Merchant dâ—e yâ—u runne Beyond the bounds of the all-bounding Sunne To seeke for Rubies Pearle and Ivory Adventuring hazard both of Land and â—kie When my â—lorella can afford all this Without your search in the tumultuous Seas Rubies and Pearle her lips and teeth her skinne Like hollow Ivory lockes those gâ—ms within For which you sondly up and downe doe rome When you may better find this wealth at home What would the Northerne Climâ—te hold too deare To purchase my Florella to live there That where the niggard sure denies to shine They might receive more lustre from her eyne But that I know she loves Religion best She had long since seene India the West But least those Pagans who adore the rise Of the bright Sunne should doate upon her eyes She was resolv'd to stay woe had I bin Had she gone thither to encrease their sinne East India nothing holds that's worth her view There 's nothing there that shee can take for new Their aire-perfuming spices pretious gum Their siagrant odors pleasant Cinamum All these and sweeter farre shee breathes whose smell Doth all thing but it selfe highly excell Once to my friend I did these lines rehearse Who streight way smil'd and did applaud my verse But Alâ— I feare 't was my Florella's name That 〈◊〉 his tongue so to belie my â—ame Once and but once I 〈◊〉 to have the sight Of my Florella who makes darkenesse light When leaden Morphâ—us did her sence surprize In the lock't casket of her closed eyes Fainâ— would I steale a kitâ—â— but as I strove Those searâ—â— * Judges of my sleeping love Did swell agâ—inst my pride and angry red Charg'd mee stand backe from her forbidden bed While they her precious breath did seeme to smother Each privately did steale a touch from th' other â— enviouâ— at their new begotten blisse Was bold on her soft lips to print a kisse At which she wak't And have you ever seene How â—aire
those Who speake of love in tame prose Beleeve our joyes but dully censure usâ— Onely for loving thus Ah! how I smile that doubtly blest we doe Injoy our selves and all their envie too The Choyce WHat care I though she be 〈◊〉 Haire snow-like hand or Sun-like eye If in that beauty I not share Were she deformed what care I. What care I though shee be foule Haire swaâ—thy hand or sunne burnt eye So long as I enjoy her soule Let her be so why what care I. Dimme sight is cosened with a glasse Of gaudy gowne or humerous haire Such gold in melting leave more drosse Than some unpolish't prices share Be she â—aire or soule or either Or made up of both together Be her heart mine have hand or eye Be what it will why what care I. EPITAPHS Epitaphium Regis Swedorum HEre sleepes hee who was and is The subject of eternall blisse Religion and no other end Caus'd him his blood means to spend He conquer'd all onely his breath He lost by which he conquer'd death Now would'st thou know whom we deplore 'T is Sweaden Reader husht no more â— est while thou read thou and this stone Be both alike by death made one For death and griefe are neare of kinne So thou might'st die being griev'd for him 〈…〉 Tho. â—eedome An Elegy on the death of the renowned and victorious Guâ—tavâ—s Adolphus King of Sweathland Can the dry sound Hee 's dead no more affright The world with terâ—our than had some meane knight Languish't to death in downe or can the sound That Sweaden hath received a fatall wound Passe by and like the bullet hurt no more Than his stout brest that felt the mortall sore Oh no! it rankles in each weak'ned part And strikes a chill amazement to the heart Of feeble Christendome that by his losse Puts on it's titles badge The Christian Crosse And 't was a great one too yet let none wonder That heaven forboâ—â— to ring his knell in thunder Or thaâ— some angry Meteor did not stare And to the world their publique losse declare No no some such Ambassador as this Had beene too mercifull land made us misse Our just deserved punishment â—or wee Knowing our sinne begot this misery Might by a faign'd repentance have procur'd A pardon for the Prince but now assur'd Of our owne weaknesse we with teares may say We are losers though our army wonne the day His death begot his conquest and his foes Mourn'd at his fate witnesse those death wing'd blows Which heaven by meanes of his impressure steele Did make their bleeding carcasses to feele Then what remaines but that ouâ— prayers gaine This be the latest losse we may sustaine And that no more of Heavens great Champions fall Through our default to so sad funerall To the truly worthy and his worthily honoured friend Mris Judith Dyke on the death of her brother Mr John Dyke obiit ult. Martii 1636. TAmely and soft as the Prophetique breath That pants the â—atall passing bull of death Move my sad soule and to his happy hearse Pay the deserved tribute of thy verse And you blest maid whose griefe hath almost wonne Death by your griefe to make you both but one Cease your laments for how can you be crost In this since what God finds can neâ—râ— be lost And wisely thinke you may offend in this Love hath its errours and may doe amisse Death may looke dreadfull in an ill mans eye 'T is no great thing to live but lesse to die To die indeed as Common people doe That with perplexed soules bid earth adieu And by necessity of late compeld Their strugling spirits to the Coffin yeeld Were matter worthy griefe and onely they Are like the houses that entombe them clay But where the soule like his rapt with desire Disdaines dull earth and aymes at glories higher And by a bright Angelicke fire inflam'd Mounts towards heaven as oâ—t as heares it nam'd Like a sweete odor upward as it goes It yeelds a persume to th' Almighties nose And hence ascended 't is ' not just that wee Lament at its exalted dignity And sure no matter if wee must away Whether it be to morrow or to day And if to day at morne or night or noone So wee die well what need we care how soone I know the fertile soyle of his pure heart Gave warmth to every vertuous roote of Ait And had the August of his age bin come They had bin crown'd with a blest harvest home But now hee 's clouded from your eyes to show That none but Angels worthy are to know What hee shall aged be Oh! 't is a â—aâ—e VVorth your best thankes that day deserves it's date Be registred to Glory when his Maker Made him of him and all his blisse partaker Now dare you loose a teare unlesse it bee Because you are not happie yet as hee 'T is charity to wish you so but then As you know how yet God knowes better when Death comes to call yet not to call as one Though all men die yet good men well alone The Sunne 's not lost but set the approaching day Shall make it's light more glorious by delay If then in death such differences consist Desire so to dissolve to be with Christ So prayes for you your true friend The Beedome Encomium Poetarum ad fratrem Galiel Scot TWice I began and twice my trembling hand Startled from what my Genius did command Lest harmelâ—sse â— should hazzard all my fame And my attempt win nothing but selfe shame It deem'd the praise of Poets worth the pen Rather of Angels than of mortall men My bolder heart bâ—d on for blind men may Although not see yet know there is a day And said perhaps my credit I might save The proverbe sayes nought venter nothing have Then come yea Muses were you nine times nine I could imploy you in this worke of mine Fill my wide â—ailes that while you stand my friend I may swimme safe unto my journey's end Since the first Mistique Chaos did entombe The earths faire sabricke in confusions wombe There is no art can plead antiquity Before the heavenly birth of Poesie I speake of those arts which this day we call As witnesse to their nature Liberall Next by th' ffect the worth of things is knowne They in respect of this seeme to have none The end of verse is to preserve from death VVhat ever from a Poet tooke its breath VVitnesse that golden age whose fame lives still By some few drops from Naso's golden quill He rescued Satuâ—nes Godhead from the ground And by his lines his aged temples crown'd He in a brasse-outlasting paper page Created thee Great Jove a silver age Apollo for his Daphne to his Layes Owes a rich wreath of thunder-scorning bayes One petty blast from his immortall breath Preserv'd Diana's chastity from death Nor need Actâ—on take it much in scorne That Ovid did coâ—nute him with a horne Homer yet lives whose pen for