the Vipers which stuck to her hand Into the Fire Enslam'd with Love let 's bring Our Zeal-firâ—d Hearts as a Burnt off râ—ng To Great Jehovah whose Foreseeing Eye Hath struck these Bas'lisks with Mortality Let Quick-foot Verse Dance nimbly on the Rope Of Hanged Traytors and let 's wish the Pope Swing'd in our Bell-ropes or Consum'd 〈…〉 th' Flame Oâ— this Night's Bone-fire so shall His dire Name Be Curst in his own Fashion we handle No other Curse but his BELL BOOK and CANDLE And now let 's fill the Skies with shouts that even Our Joyes Rebound from whence they came to Heaven To an Handsome Gentlewoman on this part of her Anagram EACH BEAUTY SHOOTS EACH BEAUTY that your Features show SHOOTS at some Mark with Cupids Bow Your Beauties pierce through and melt Hearts As though they were Love's Fiery Darts Each Beauty Shoots your Beauteous Eyes Shed Rayes like Stars shot through the Skies To the same YOur Fore-head's Semicircled so The young God takes it for His Bow Swearing and Cursing FOnd Oaths backt on with Curses are the fell Oaths of Allegiance to the Prince of Hell Such Boyst'rous Breath ' its owners Soul will shake And Blow the Fire of the Infernall Lake Melancholy 'T Is Pia Mater in Discolour'd Weeds A Checker'd Plat form of Phantastick Deeds The Brain-Filme wrought into a Dismall Shroud The Sun o' th' Little World in a thick Cloud Swift Thought turn'd Fairy Wild wit gone astray A Fancy that i' th' Dark hath lost its way To Mr. F. M. YOur Strong-wing'd Fancy mounting with such Grace Is Eagle-ey'd looks Phoebus in the Face He is the Parent of your High born Strain His best Blood runs in your Poetick veyn To One marrying for Love not Money THou dost as all men ought to doe Heart-strings are best for Cupid's Bow Thanks To a Vertuous Gentlewoman who gave him a Dish of Sweet Meats WHat Modest Favour 's This forsooth T' avoyd my Thanks it stops my Mouth My Tongue 's confin'd to â—ast o' th' Meat I 'm forc'd as 't were my Words to EAT Your Eares thus â—scape my Thanks but I Present them here unto your Eye They come at last clad all in Black As Mourning that they come so slack So High my Gratefull Thoughts doe Swell I like the Dish so hugely well I Fancy you 're a Goddesse and dare say Your Sweet-Meat is Divine Ambrosia To his Honour'd Friend W. W. Esq SIth that I can't at full set forth My great Love and Thy greater Worth My Pen its hard Taske hath forsook I le say 't By Heart and not By Book To Mrs. M. S. in her Child-bed Dresse IN Child-bed look so Fine thus all confesse Phoebus looks Fairest in His Morning Dresse Come newly out of Bed my bold Muse sayes Your Sparkling Glances doe out vie His Rayes My Fancy like the Larke 〈◊〉 Fowlers GLASSE Playes in the MIRROIR of your lovely Face With wonder Caught she 's at a Non plus Set And thinks her self with VENVS in the NET To the same newly Married on her Anagram SO YOV'RE MATCHT SO YOU'RE well MATCHT I dare say Love Saw upon your Marriage-Day Fit Marriage is a Match thus you May see the Anagram is True You 're Fitly Married sure say I Fore-joyn'd by Consanguinity So you this Paradox make good Two may become One Flesh and Bloud Mars Togatus Or Fighting in the Schooles FOole What! dost strive with might and main For a Broke Pate to a Crackt Brain Thy Brains leake out already man And wouldst for Anger Break the Pan Thy Head swoll'n in this boyish Fight By Rising shewes that it is Light Thy Black Eyes by such Marks as these Wear Mourning for thy wits Decease Such Apish Braules who 'd not despise Whose Fume had not put out his Eyes Throughout the Schooles such Hissings are ' Sthough all the Furies Snakes were there Grave Zabarells and Aristotles Whose Thirsts nere reach beyond Beer-Bottles Come fiercely on who 'd not decline 〈◊〉 With Argumentum Bacillinum Young Preachers too stare stamp and Hum As if they 'd Kill both all and some Who â—â—e but saw their Fifty pushing Wou'd swear they learnt to Beat the Cushion Mad Poets too come Vap'ring here ' Sthough Helicon were Bottle Beer Each all his Faculties combines T 〈…〉 shew his Arme as Strong 's his Lines Had but â—iâ—stes seen these men He 'd Startled intoâ— wit agen Here seeing's Emblem wretched Else Actâ—on-like Hee d fled H mselfe Goe Sirs you are Fooles Rampant and To which ev'n Mad men set their Hand The WORME that gnawes your Pates was Bred By some Snake on Medusa's Head Hac Ignis Sive Lues Venerea BEware Fond Lads of a shrewd turne Loves Flames at last will surely Burn Another DAmn'd Venus whose Embrace is Pimp to Slaughter Thou burn'st mens Bodies here their Soules hereafter Lust WHen Satan shoots such Fiery Darts to Flâ— Is th' onely way to get the Victory Lust like a Baited Engine ne're annoyes If Passed by but being Touch'd destroyes To the Reader I fear no Carping Reader spare not What e're thy Judgment be I care not Young Muses like Young Men I hold For want of Wit shou'd be more Bold To Mr. E. F. The only Son of Sir E. F. Knight SO much of Vertues Light appeares In Ages Dawn your tender Years We hope you 'l ever shew your self to be True Heir of your Illustrious Familie Plaine Verse MY Verse is Plain I 'd have it so why not My Pegasus shall Amble still not Trot. To Mrs A. S. on the Death of her Two first Children YOur Fair Cheeks with Tears sprinkled shew Like Roses Pearled o're with Dew But be not so Discomforted Your Babes Departed are not Dead To keep them from all casuall Harmes Their Saviour takes them in His Armes These Olive-Branches by His care In Paradise Transplanted are So they become by their Decease A Garland to the Prince of Peace Allusion T Is Janus wit th' Two Splits of a learn'd Quill Th' best Emblem of Two-Topt Parnassus Hill To that Pretty Piece of Perfection Mrs L. C. NAtures Fine Thing Best Show that e're Came on the World 's The-tre My Young Muse takes you out to Hay And vowes she 'll ha' you Queene of May. But oh she cannot Deck you more Then Nature't selfe has done before Whatever of you she can say Is but to give Light to the Day Had sweet Adâ—nis but you seen How Hee 'd have scorn'd the Cyprian Queen I 'd almost thought the Fiction true That Gods Beget when I saw you Your Eyes your Cheeks are all so Fine I 'd think 'um but they 're Flesh Divine Yet this is but your Beauty's Spring What Plenty will the Harvest bring When you are Ripe in Years sure then Love will begin to love agen For you Blind Cupid need not shoot Your Glances Darts o' th' Eyes will do 't A Garland Hymen need not seek He may have 't in your Rosy Cheeke When e're He shall
clean In the fond streams of HIPPOCRENE To which some wisely have recourse To be made Poets Gra ' marcy Horse Vino pellite Curas HORACE thou' rt out Bacchus thy Wits harsh Master But lops thy Cares to make them grow the faster Be Drunk at Evening and thou'â—t find o' th Morrow That too much Liquor pickles up thy Sorrow Of Vulgar Criticks THeir Blindfold Censures out of Order Range Their words are WIND indeed as often Change Sometimes they 're Tempests too but I Defie them I 'le ne're be Puft up or be Blasted by them To the Eye Adulterer LEnd Eyes to Cupid View thy Handsom Lasses Drink Streams of Pleasure in those Christall Glasse But yet consider that this Splendid show Can only light thee to the Shades below On a Gentlewoman that would be married to none but a Rich man THus her Example proves that Ovid told That Cupids Arrow must be gilt with Gold Lasciva est nobis Pagina vita proba To the Author VVRiting's a Poets Life then sure if thou Do'st Write Lasciviously thou Liv'st so too To the same THou studiest Mischief when thou writest it Thy Bawdy Verse is but Adulterate Wit To an Epigrammatist that inveighs against Women THe Muses Man are Female may'st thou know it A Foe to their Sex can't be a good Poet. On the perfect Conclusion of a fierce War THose Thunder-bolts of Mars which lately fell Were but a Vâ—llâ—y to bid War Farewell To a Vertuous Gentlewoman weeping for the Death of her Eldest Brother my Bosom-Friend ALas sweet Lady must you sup So deeply of this Bitter Cup Your Brinish Tears increase the Smart O' th' Wounds of my Afflicted Heart Your Griefe 's Infectious I believe I 'm Griev'd afresh to see you Grieve Double Grief my Thought endures My Sighs like Ecchos answer Yours My Plaints are most beside mine own I 've yours too by Reflection I can't hear Moans for Him but I Must be ingag'd to Sympathy Lament not you let me ingrosse The Lamentation of this Losse You 've now a Second-self but I Lost such a one when He did die Nay more than such did's Title Merit You are One Flesh we were One Spirit How sadly then may I complain Grief Break my Heart and Crack my Brain To the same YOur wet Eyes are as I may say Like Sun-shine in a Rainy day On the Tempestuous season of Wind and Rain 1654. FOr th' Growth of our Iniquitie I fear our Fields will Barren be For Sin that hath â—a'n Root so deep The Heavens sure thus Sigh and Weep Strong Drink DRink 's Strong indeed with Stygian water Purl'd Like Alexander it o'recomes the World Charity VVHere Charity takes Cold the Country's Sick That 's th' Vitall Heat o' th' Body Politick Stupet hic vitio Nescit quid perdat alto Demersus summa rursus non bullit in â—â—dâ Per. Sa. 3. HIs Soul 's so Dark all o're He cannot see The Ugly Face of His Iniquitie Faln so in love with Vice He cannot Rise For Sampson like He'th lost both Strength Eyes His Dread Cool'd Heart 's Benumm'd He 's void of Sense His Burning Lust hath Scar'd His Conscience An unquiet-bad Conscience THe Worm of Conscience Feedeth on Our naturall Corruption Whiles Hell and Death lodge in our Breast Our Hearts may Sleep but cannot Rest Temptation THe Devil onely Tempts but wretched Elves We oft turn Devils and so Tempt our selves Pride PRide 's the Soul 's Blister scall'd by th' fire of Hel Ill Humours onely make the Mind to swell The World ne're saw one yet did entertain Pride Thought 's Iâ—postume but in a Sick-brain To a Lasciviâ—m P 〈…〉 FOr shame for shame leave off for as we 're told Cupid and Phoebus have been 〈◊〉 of old On Poetry THe Muses Sauce my Study's Strong-meat These Shall be my Play-mates not my Mistresses Of Partiality MEns Judgements often Erre that are too kinde They See not what they Say for Love is Blinde The World 's Fine Gentleman HE makes a Dainty Leg and Nod thus He Is every Inch well-bred ev'n Cap-a-pe To Vnlearned Criticks VVE don't estrange at your Grammatick War We know Rough Judgements must be prone to Jar. To an Hireling Poet. WIng'd Riches Hatch thy Muses Young and thus Thou mak'st an Hackney of thy Pegasus To his Displeased Pater in Phoebo Mr. F. M. YOu 're not in earnest sure and thus 'T is but Furor Poetic 〈…〉 Your Anger 's Faign'd though 't seem so Great You 're Incens'd by Poetick Heat Why man I spoke but like a Poet I said 't was bad I wo'nt stand to it Come let 's be Friends and doe not move Phoebus again to Quarrell with Love How much I 'm Griev'd Good Sir pray think My Muse for Mourning wears this Ink. On a NEWES-MONGER FAr and neer all th' Newes He hears Asses alwayes have long Ears To an Honourable Lady Rarely Accomplisht with Wit and Beauty FAir Venus and Minerva shew That They 're at length made Friends by you Yo 've given both Content both prize The APPLES of your Glis'tring Eyes Which t' each of them Assigned are For still you looke both wise and Faire Your wing'd Soule at each Glance doth Fly Out of the Casement of your Eye Whose Splendid Beams like Phoebus Rayes Create new Blossomes to my Bayes My Muses weak Eye gazing on This Daz'ling Sight Drops Helicon But its Streams are at best too base To wash your Ladyships Sweet Face Which is set in such Symmetrie That like the Soule 't seems Harmony Which sith it comes not to our Eares Is like the Musick of the Spheares Your Body is ail Symptomes show it So Fine that your Clear Soule shines through it 'T is Quaintly order'd as we find By th' Lady Governnesse your Mind Both your Parts thus as 't were All-one Are like a Constellation Your very Face my Muse dares say Is Parallel to th' Milkie way Your Wit and Beauty thus take Equall Place Your self make up these Twins A MVSE and GRACE On the fifth of November THus rend the Bowels of the Earth 't is well Dig deeper yet and so dig down to Hell Incarnate Fâ—ends seek out the way by th' Light Of your Dark Lanthorn to Eternall Night Think you with Royal Limbs to fill the Aire Because your Master's Lord and Soveraign there Wretches He cannot help you but Grim Death Shall in the Aire you struggle out of Breath Thus of Advancement which you hop'd to see The Fruit you 'l have but from a Gallow Tree So may all Craft taught by th' Old Serpent faile And Serpent like still bear a sting i' th' Taile To wound its Owners so may Trayt'rous Elves Find Death â—'th ' Pit which they have Digg'd themselves Kicking at us the Ugly Beast at Rome Hath spurn'd his Whelps given them the Doom Pushing He'th broke his Horns thus oft t is known The Stone 〈…〉 burst ' gainst that at which t is thrown Now then that we are safe and that our Land Hath cast
from others th'lesser Stars Are but this Greater Planets Pensioners What Helâ—â—on each Pen distilleth can Adde little to this boundlesse Ocean Here fix Poetick Raâ—ble whilst his Grace The Muses High-Priest enters th' Holy Place G. Towerson Art Bac. è Col. Reg. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 All is Vanity and vexation of Spirit ANd is the world like its Black Monarch made That being graspt we find it nought but shade Hell fiends need walk no more the World 's their own Converted to an Apparition 'T is nothing else but Empty shape and thus It seems to be our Malus Genius 'T is o' th' Old Serpents nature being Warme With Love its venome is impower'd to Harme Its Kisses still are Treacherous and so It often Huggs not to Embrace but Throw Sith then when t'r we 're happy here below Griefe but gives back to fetch the harder blow Since Nothing tipt with Essence is th'World's All And the Earths Globe but Fortunes Tennis Ball Fly up my Minde thy Pearches are Heav'ns Pole Earth's Gotham Hedge confines not Winged Soules Surely men of low degree are vanity and men of high degree are a lie to be laid in the balance they are altogether lighter then vanity Ps 629. HOw light is Man by ev'ry wind Of fortune here or there Inclâ—n'd Her blasts dispell his chiefest Trust And toss him to and fro like Dust He 's oft Puft up by th' Peoples Breath And bubble-like so vanisheth Oft whirled on the wings of Fame And swallow'd up by a Great Name Inferiours scorn'd are Great men curst Or swoll'n with Pride untill they Burst Praise Honor Riches Earthly Glory Like man are Pilgrims Transitory Till th'Night of Ignorance decline These Glow worms seem to him to shine So light 's his Head that Sov'raigne Part He'th nothing Heavy but his Heart Which Drunk with Pleasure still doth reele Or else is Broke on Fortunes Wheel Vain 's all his Labour vain his thought Himself 's but once remov'd from nought Void of all Solidity He 's lighter then vanity All is Vanity but He 's Vanity of Vanities Have pity upon me have pity upon me O ye my Friends for the hand of God hath touched me Job 19. 21. ON me my Friends ô pity take My Bowels quake The hand of God hath touched me Most terriblie Within without from top to Toe I 'm closely girt about with woe A wounded Spirit I must bear O'rewhelm'd with Fear Gods Terrours ah me have Confin'd My troubled Mind Shrunk from the Hope of all relief Within the straits of restlesse Griefe My flesh is all beset with sores It s very Pores Are Block'd up by this Siege of Death I can't vent breath But 't is so loathsome that you 'd think 'T were a Dead Bodie 's odious stink My Goods my Health my Friends and All Together fall I 've onely Life enough to Cry When shall I die Clothed with Clods of Dust e're dead My Flesh in 't self is Buried Mine eye is dim can only see My miserie My breath 's left but to frame my Moans And waft out Groans To Pity now my Friends incline Your hearts if Stony will break mine Lavatus Aethiops And he commanded the Chariot to stand still and they went down both into the water both Philip and the Eunuch and he baptized him Acts 8. 38. MOst happy Eunuch that hath Cur'd his Sick soule in this Bath By Baptism He 's Wash'd within Wrapt about with 's old Black Skin His soule Penitently sad Seems to be in Mourning clad This water Him t'Heavens Port bears Mixt with Paenitentiall tears Aqua vitae't proves to Him Dead in Tâ—espasses and Sin His soule 's a Diamond that 's set In a Cabinet of Jeat In dark-Lanthorns thus ther 's Light Thus a Star shines in Dark Night In 's Jesus is his Delight He shall walk with him in white Such Candid Aethiopes are seldome seen Faâ—r People oft arc Aethiopes within On Christmas day Vnto you is born in the City of David a Saviour which is Christ the Lord. Luke 2. 11. THis Day the LORD of Heaven and Earth Subjects Himself to Humane Birth By this Transcendent Mysterie God and Man are at Vnity Strange He that is was is to come Thus wrapt up in a Mortall Wombe Would th' Sun of Righteousnesse thus shroud His Glorious Lustre in a Cloud Of humble Flesh and Bloud and can Mans Maker be the Son of Man Hyperbole of wonder How Times Ancestor come forth but Now Nay Stranger Yet we may dare say Eternity was Born This Day Blest Angel Who these Tidings bring Ambassadour from th' King of Kings Th' articulate aire that wafts this news To th' Soul does th' Breath of life infuse This heav'nly sound the Shepheards ears Judge the best Musick of the Sphears As Orpheus's courser art drew sense This ravisheth intelligence Souls rapt up by this harmony Unto the Throne of Grace do fly Faith comes by hearing He that hears This Angels voice annoints his ears With th' Oyle of Gladness and by Faith Shall Live although he pass through death O Jesu who wast Born Jesus to me Grant that this day I be New-born to thee I am distressed for thee my brother Jonathan very pleasant hast thou been unto me thâ— love to me was wonderfull passing the love of women 2 Sam. 1. 26. I 'M slave to grief not mine own man For thee my brother Jonathan Twixt us who were in life all-one Death could cause no division I can't forsake thee dead but I Sith thou art dead must dayly die Tearing thee off my souls best part Fate could not choose but break my heart Those arrows which thou shot'st did prove The arrows of our mutual love Most pleasant hast thou been to me No Woman ever lov'd like thee W 'had more then Marriage-union Our souls had copulation Our heart-blood was so mixt that we Were'kin by CONSANGUINITY Thus't could not be thou shouldst be slain And I not feel the utmost pain Thy fate strikes at me in thy knell Methinks I hear my Passing-bell I scarce survive with sighs disturb'd my breath Seems to be seiz'd on by the pangs of Death How shall we sing the Lords song in a strange land Psal 1374. TO light hearts only such light mirth belongs Our fortune weeping will allow no songs These rivets yield us the fitt'st musick we Account their murmures our best harmony In them the Embleme of our fate appears Their murmures show our groans their streams our tears How shall we sing in a strange land our tongues Benumm'd with sorrow are unfit for sengs He profanes sacred melody that dares To sing in anguish and mix Sighs with Ayres Our unregarded Harps hung up you see Like Trophees to adorn griefs victory Our Ears so glutted with continuall Moans Can't relish th' Sweetnesse of such plealant Tones Then Mirth farewell 〈◊〉 our mournfull Gestures shall Still solemnize our Countryes Funerall Whilst she a Captive lives a wofull Death We wo'nt by Songs let any Joy draw breath