those within but to come forth do venter That stately Place againe they never enter The Precinct's strengthened with a Ditch of Feares In which doth swell a Lake of Inky Teares Of madding Lovers who abide their moaning And thicken even the Aire with pitious groaning This Hold to brave the Skies the Destines fram'd And then the Fort of Chastity is nam'd The Queen of the third Heaven once to appall it The God of Thrace Here brought who could not thrall it For which he vow'd ne're Arms more to put on And on Riphean Hils was heard to groan Here Psyches Lover hurles his Darts at randon Which all for nought him serve as doth his Brandon What grievous Agony did invade my Mind When in that Place my Hope I saw confin'd Where with high-towring Thoughts I only reacht her Which did burne up their Wings when they approacht her Me thought I set me by a Cypresse shade And Night and Day the Hyacinthe there read And that bewailing Nightingales did borrow Plaints of my Plaint and sorrows of my Sorrow My food was Worm-wood mine own Teares my drinke My rest on Death and sad Mishaps to thinke And for such Thoughts to have my Heart enlarged And ease mine Eyes with brinie Tribute charged Over a Brook I laid my pining Face But then the Brooke as griev'd at my Disgrace A Face Me shew'd so pin'd sad over-clouded That at the Sight afray'd mine Eyes them shrowded This is the guerdon Love this is the Game In end which to thy Servants doth remaine More would I say when Feare made Sleep to leave me And of those fatall Shadows did bereave me But ah alas instead to dreame of Love And Woes I now them in effect did prove For what into my troubled Braine was painted Awak'd I found that Time and Place presented SONNETS AH burning Thoughts now let me take some Rest And your tumultuous Broyles a while appease Is 't not enough Stars Fortune Love molest Me all at once but ye must too displease Let Hope though false yet lodge within my brest My high Attempt though dangerous yet praise What though I trace not right Heavens steppy waies It doth suffice my Fall shall make me blest I do not doat on Daies I feare not Death So that my Life be good I wish't not long Let me Renown'd live from the Worldly Throng And when Heaven lists recall this borrowed Breath Men but like Visions are Time all doth claime He lives who dies to win a lasting Name SON THat learned Grecian who did so excell In Knowledge passing Sense that he is nam'd Of all the after Worlds Divine doth tell That all the Time when first our Soules are fram'd Ere in these Mansions blind they come to dwell They live bright Rayes of that Eternall light And others see know love in Heavens great height Not toyld with ought to Reason do rebell It is most true for straight at the first sight My Mind me told that in some other place It elsewhere saw th' Idea of that face And lov'd a love of Heavenly pure delight What wonder now I feele so faire a flame Sith I her lov'd ere on this Earth She came SON NOr Arne nor Mincius nor stately Tiber Sebethus nor the Flood into whose streames He fell who burnt the world with borrowed beames Gold-rolling Tagus Munda famous Iber Sorgue Rosne Loire Garron nor proud-banked Seinâ— Peneus Phasis Xanthus humble Ladon Nor She whose Nymphes excell her loved Adon Faire Tamesis nor Ister large nor Rheine Euphrates Tigrâ—s Indus Hermus Gange Pearly Hydaspes Serpent-like Meander The Floud which robbed Hero of Leander Nile that far far his hidden Head doth range Have ever had so rare a cause of praise As Ora where this Northerne Phoenix stayes SON TO heare my plaints faire River Christalline Thou in a silent slumber seems to stay Delicious Flowers Lilly and Columbine Ye bow your Heads when I my Woes display Forrests in you the Mirtle Palme and Bay Have had compassion listning to my groanes The Winds with sighs have solemniz'd my moanes 'Mong leaves which whisper'd what they could not say The Caves the Rocks the Hills the Sylvans Thrones As if even pitty did in them appeare Have at my sorrow rent their ruthlesse stones Each thing I find hath sence except my Deare Who doth not thinke I love or will not know My Griefe perchance delighting in my woe SON SWeet Brook in whose cleare Christall I my eyes Have oft seen great in labour of their teares Enamell'd Banke whose shining gravell beares These sad Characters of my miseries High Woods whose mounting tops menace the Sphears Wild Citizens Amphions of the Trees You gloomy Groves at hottest Noons which freeze Elysian shades which Phoebus never cleares Vaste solitary Mountaines pleasant Plaines Embroydred Meads that Ocean-waies you reach Hills Dales Springs All whom my sad cry constraines To take part of my plaints and learne woes speech Will that remorselesse faire e're pity show Of grace now answer if ye ought know No. SON WIth flaming Horns the Bull now brings the yeare Melt do the Mountains rouling flouds of Snow The silver Rivers in smooth Channels flow The Late-bare Woods green Anadeams do weare The Nightingall forgetting Winters woe Cals up the lazy Morne her notes to heare Spread are those Flow'rs which names of Princes beare Some red some azure white and golden grow Here lowes a Heifer there be-wailing strayes A harmelesse Lambe not far a Stag rebounds The Shepheards sing to grazing flocks sweet Layes And all about the Ecchoing Aire resounds Hils Dales Woods Flouds ev'ry thing doth change But She in rigour I in Love am strange SON THat I so slenderly set forth my Mind Writing I wot not what in ragged Rimes Orecharg'd with brasse in these so golden Times When otherâ— towre so high am left behind I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred Cell To bind my Brows with fresh Aonian Baies But leave 't to those who tuning Sweetest Laies By Tempe sit or Aganippes Well Nor yet to Venus Tree do I aspire Sith She for whom I might affect that praise My best attempts with cruell words gainsaies And I seek not that others me admire Of weeping Myrrhe the Crowne is which I crave With a sad Cypresse to adorne my Grave MADRIGALL WHen as She smiles I find More light before mine Eyes Than when the Sun from Inde Brings to our World a flowry Paradise But when She gently weeps And poures forth pearly showers On cheeks faire blushing flowers A sweet melancholy my senses keeps Both feed so my disease So much both do me please That oft I doubt which more my heart doth burne Love to behold her smile or Pitty mourne SON MY Teares may well Numidian Lions tame And Pity breed into the hardest heart That ever Pyrrha did to Maid impart When She them first of blushing Rocks did frame Ah Eyes which only serve to waile my smart How long will you my inward Woes proclaime May 't not suffice
you beare a weeping Part All Night at day but you must do the same Cease idle Sighs to spend your Stormes in vaine And these sweet silent thickets to molest Containe you in the Prison of my Brest You do not ease but aggravate my Paine Or if burst forth you must that Tempest move In sight of her whom I so dearely love SON YOu restlesse Seas appease your roaring Waves And you who raise huge Mountaines in that Plaine Aires Trumpeters your hideous sounds containe And listen to the plaints my griefe doth cause Eternall Lights though adamantine Laws Of Destinies to move still you ordaine Turne hither all your Eyes your Axels pause And wonder at the Torments I sustaine â—ad Earth if thou made dull by my disgrace Be not as senselesse aske those Powers above Why they so crost a Wretch brought on thy Face Fram'd for mishap th' Anachorit of Love And bid them that no more Etnaes may burne To Erimanth ' or Rhodâ—pe me turne SON IF crost with all mishaps be my poore Life If one short day I never spent in mirth If my Sp'rit with it selfe holds lasting strife If sorrows death is but new sorrows birth If this vaine World be but a mournfull Stage Where slave-borne Man plaies to the laughing Stars If Youth be toss'd with Love with Weaknesse Age If Knowledge serves to hold our Thoughts in Wars If Time can close the hundred Mouths of Fame And make what 's long since past like that 's to be If Vertue only be an Idle Name If being borne I was but borne to dye Why seek I to prolong these loathsome daies The fairest Rose in shortest time decaies SON ALl other Beauties howsoe're they shine In Haires more bright than is the golden Ore Or cheeks more faire than fairest Eglantine Or hands like hers that comes the Sun before Match'd with that Heavenly Hew and shape divine With those deare Stars which my weak thoughts adore Look but as shaddows or if they be more It is in this that they are like to thine Who sees those Eyes their force that doth not prove Who gazeth on the dimple of that chin And finds not Venus Son entrench'd therein Or hath not sence or knows not what is Love To see thee had Narcissus had the grace He would have died with wondring on thy Face SEXTAIN THe Heaven doth not containe so many Stars Nor levell'd lye so many leaves in Woods When Autumne and cold Boreas sound their Wars So many Waves have not the Ocean Floods As my torn Mind hath torments all the Night And Heart spends Sighs when Phoebus brings the Light Why was I made a Partner of the Light Who crost in birth by bad aspect of Stars Have never since had happy Day nor Night Why was not I a liver in the Woods Or Citizen of Thetis christall Floods But fram'd a Man for Love and Fortunes Wars I look each Day when Death should end the Wars Vncivill Wars 'twixt Sense and Reasons Light My Paines I count to Mountaines Meads and Floods And of my sorrow Partners make the Stars All Desolate I haunt the fearfull Woods When I should give my selfe to rest at Night With watchfull Eyes I ne'r behold the Night Mother of Peace but ah to me of Wars And Cynthia Queen-like shining through the Woods But straight those Lamps come in my thought whose Light My Judgement dazel'd passing brightest Stars And then my Eyes in-isle themselves with Floods Turne to their Springs againe first shall the Floods Cleare shall the Sun the sad and gloomy Night To dance about the Pole cease shall the Stars The Elements renew their ancient Wars Shall first and be depriv'd of Place and Light Ere I find rest in City Fields or Woods End these my daies you Inmates of the Woods Take this my Life ye deep and raging Flouds Sun never rise to cleare me with thy Light Horror and Darknesse keep a lasting Night Consume me Care with thy intestine Wars And stay your Influence o're me bright Stars In vaine the Stars th' Inhabitants o' th' Woods Care Horror Wars I call and raging Floods For all have sworne no Night shall dim my Sight SON O Sacred Blush enpurpling Cheekes pure skies With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne O bashfull look sent from those shining eyes Which though slid down on Earth doth Heaven adorne O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies That can at once both blesse and make forlorne Deare corrall Lip which Beauty beautifies That trembling stood before her words were borne And you her Words Words no but golden Chaines Which did inslave my eares ensnare my soule Wise Image of her Mind Mind that containes A power all Power of Senses for to controule So sweetly you from Love disswade do me That I love more if more my Love can be SON SOund hoarse sad Lute true witnesse of my woe And strive no more to ease selfe chosen paine With soule-enchanting sounds your accents straine Unto these teares incessantly which flow Sad Treeble weep and you dull Basses show Your Masters sorrow in a dolefull straine Let never joyfull Hand upon you go Nor Consort keep but when you do complaine Flie Phoebus Raies abhor the irkesome Light Woods solitary shades for thee are best Or the black horrours of the blackest Night When all the World save Thou and I do rest Then sound sad Lute and beare a mourning part Thou Hell canst move though not a Womans Heart SON IN vaine I haunt the cold and Silver Springs To quench the Fever burning in my veines In vaine Loves pilgrim Mountaines Daâ—es and Plains I over-run vaine help long absence brings In vain my Friends your Counsell me constraines To fly and place my Thoughts on other things Ah like the Bird that fired hath her Wings The more I move the greater are my paines Desire alas Desire a Zeuxis new From th' Orient borrowing Gold from Westerne skies Heavenly Cinabre sets before my Eyes In every place her Haire sweet look and Hue That flie run rest I all doth prove but vaine My life lies in those Eyes which have me slaine SON SLide soft faire Forth and make a Christall Plaine Cut your white Locks and on your foamy Face Let not a wrinkle be when you embrace The Boat that Earths Perfections doth containe Winds wonder and through wondring hold your pace Or if that ye your hearts cannot restraine From sending sighs feeling a Lovers Case Sigh and in her faire haire your selves enchaine Or take these sighs which absence makes arise From my oppressed brest and fill the sailes Or some sweet breath new brought from Paradise The flouds do smile Love o're the winds prevailes And yet huge Waves arise the cause is this The Ocean strives with Forth the Boat to kisse SON TRust not sweet soule those curled waves of Gold With gentle Tides that on your Temples flow Nor Temples spred with Flakes of Virgin snow Nor snow of Cheeks with Tyrian graine enrold Trust not those
but only so far Embleme Thee As in a circle men the Deity A wreath of Bayes we 'll lay upon thy Herse For that shall speake Thee better than our Verse That art in number of those Things whose end Nor whose beginning we can comprehend A Star which did the other Day appeare T'enlighten up our dark'ned Hemispheare Nor can we tell nor how nor whence it came Yet feele the heat of thy admired flame 'T was thou that thaw'd our North 't was thou didst cleare The eternall mists which had beset us here Till by thy golden Beames and powerfull Ray Thou chas'd hence Darknesse and brought out the Day But as the Sun though he bestow all Light On us yet hinders by the same our sight To gaze on him So thou though thou dispence Far more on us by thy bright influence Yet such is thy transcendent brightnesse we Thereby are dazled and cannot reach thee Then art thou less'ned should we bound thy Praise T' our narrow dull conceit which cannot raise Themselves beyond a vulgar Theame nor flye A pitch like unto thine in Poesie Yet as the greatest Kings have sometimes dain'd The smallest Presents from a poore mans hand When pure devotion gave them it may be Your Genius will accept a mite from me It speaks my Love although it reach not you And you are praised when I would so do John Spotswood To William Drummond of Hawthornden I Never rested on the Muses bed Nor dipt my Quill in the Thessalian Fountaine My rustick Muse was rudely fostered And flies too low to reach the double mountaine Then do not sparkes with your bright Suns compare Perfection in a Womans worke is rare From an untroubled mind should Verses flow My discontents makes mine too muddy show And hoarse encumbrances of houshold care Where these remaine the Muses ne're repaire If thou dost extoll her Haire Or her Ivory Forehead faire Or those Stars whose bright reflection Thrals thy heart in sweet subjection Or when to display thou seeks The snow-mixt Roses on her Cheekes Or those Rubies soft and sweet Over those pretty Rows that meet The Chian Painter as asham'd Hides his Picture so far fam'd And the Queen he carv'd it by With a blush her face doth dye Since those Lines do limne a Creature That so far surpast her Feature When thou shew'st how fairest Flora Prankt with pride the banks of Ora So thy Verse her streames doth honour Strangers grow enamoured on her All the Swans that swim in Po Would their native brooks forgo And as loathing Phoebus beames Long to bath in cooler streamos Tree-turn'd Daphne would be seen In her Groves to flourish green And her Boughs would gladly spare To frame a garland for thy haire That fairest Nymphs with finest fingers May thee crown the best of singers But when thy Muse dissolv'd in show'rs Wailes that peerlesse Prince of ours Cropt by too untimely Fate Her mourning doth exasperate Senselesse things to see thee moane Stones do weep and Trees do groane Birds in aire Fishes in flood Beasts in field forsake their food The Nymphs forgoing all their Bow'rs Teare their Chaplets deckt with Flow'rs Sol himselfe with misty vapor Hides from earth his glorious Tapor And as mov'd to heare thee plaine Shews his griefe in show'rs of raine Mary Oxlie of Morpet POEMS The First Part. IN my first Prime when childish Humours fed My wanton Wit ere I did know the Blisse Lies in a loving Eye or amorous Kisse Or with what Sighs a Lover warmes his Bed By the sweet Thespian Sisters Errour led I had more mind to read than lov'd to write And so to praise a perfect Red and White But God wote knew not what was in my Head Love smil'd to see me take so great Delight To turne those Antiques of the Age of Gold And that I might more Mysteries behold He set so faire a Volume to my Sight That I Ephemerides laid aside Glad on this blushing Book my Death to read SON I Know that all beneath the Moon decaies And what by Mortalls in this World is brought In Times great Periods shall returne to nought That fairest States have fatall Nights and Daies I know that all the Muses heavenly Layes With Toyle of Spright which are so dearely bought As idle sounds of few or none are sought That there is nothing lighter than vaine Praise I know fraile Beauty like the purple Floure To which one Morne oft Birth and Death affords That Love a jarring is of Minds Accords Where Sense and Will bring under Reasons Power Know what I list this all can not me move But that alas I both must write and love SON YE who so curiously do paint your Thoughts Enlightning ev'ry Line in such a guise That they seem rather to have fallen from Skies Than of a humane Hand by mortall Draughts In one Part Sorrow so tormented lies As if his Life at ev'ry Sigh would part Love Here blindfolded stands with Bow and Dart â—here Hope looks pale Despaire with flaming Eyes Of my rude Pensill look not for such Art My Wit I find too little to devise So high Conceptions to expresse my smart And some say Love is faign'd that 's too too wise These troubled Words and Lines-confus'd you find Are like unto their Modell my sick Mind SON Aye me and I am now the Man whose Mâ—se In happier Times was wont to laugh at Love And those who suff'red that blind Boy abuse The noble Gifts were given them from above What Metamorphose strange is this I prove My selfe now scarce I find my selfe to be And thinke no Fable Circes Tyrannie And all the Tales are told of changed Jove Vertue hath taught with her Philosophy My mind unto a better Course to move Reason may chide her full and oft reprove Affections Power but what is that to me Who ever thinke and never thinke on Ought But that bright Cherubine which thraâ—ls my Thought SON HOw that vaste Heaven intitl'd First is rol'd If any glancing Towres beyond it be And People living in Eternity Or Essence pure that doth this All uphold What motion have those fixed Sparkes of Gold The wandring Carbuncles which shine from high By Sprights or Bodies crosse-waies in the Skie If they be turn'd and mortall Things behold How Sun posts Heaven about how Nights pale Queen With borrowed Beames lookes on this hanging Round What cause faire Iris hath and Monsters seene In Aires large Fields of light and Seas profound Did hold my wandring Thoughts when thy sweet Eye Bade me leave all and only thinke on Thee SON FAire is my Yoake though grievous be my Paines Sweet are my Wounds although they deeply smart My Bit is Gold though shortened be the Reines My Bondage brave though I may not depart Although I burne the Fire which doth impart Those Flames so sweet reviving Force containes That like Arabia's Bird my wasted Heart Made quick by Death more lively still remaines I joy though oft my waking Eyes spend Teares I
shining Lights which wrought my woe When first I did their azure Raies behold Nor voice whose sounds more strange effects do show Than of the Thracian Harper have been told Look to this dying Lilly fading Rose Darke Hyacinthe of late whose blushing Beames Made all the neighbouring herbs and grasse rejoyce And thinke how little is 'twixt Lifes extreames The cruell Tyrant that did kill those Flow'rs Shall once aye me not spare that Spring of yours SON IN Minds pure Glasse when I my selfe behold And lively see how my best daies are spent What clouds of care above my head are rold What comming ill which I cannot prevent My course begun I wearied do repent And would embrace what Reason oft hath told But scarce thus thinke I when Love hath controld All the best reasons Reason could invent Though sure I know my labours end is griefe The more I strive that I the more shall pine That only death shall be my last reliefe Yet when I thinke upon that face divine Like one with Arrow shot in laughters place Maugre my Heart I joy in my disgrace SON DEare Quirister who from those shadows sends Ere that the blushing Morne dare shew her Light Such sad lamenting straines that Night attends Become all Eare Stars stay to heare thy plight If one whose griefe even reach of thought transcends Who ne're not in a Dreame did taste Delight May thee importune who like case pretends And seems to joy in woe in Woes despight Tell me so may thou Fortune milder try And long long sing for what thou thus complaines Since Winter 's gone and Sun in dapled skie Enamour'd smiles on Woods and flowry Plaines The Bird as if my questions did her move With trembling wings sigh'd forth I love I love SON O Cruell Beauty sweetnesse inhumane That night and day contends with my desire And seeks my hope to kill not quench my fire By Death not Baulme to ease my pleasant paine Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire And bound my blisse do not alas disdaine That I your matchlesse worth and grace admire And for their cause these torments sharpe sustaine Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames And Phaëton that Heaven him rest of breath And Daedals Son who nam'd the Samian streames Their haps I not envy my praise shall be That the most faire that lives mov'd me to â—ye SON THe Hyperborean Hills Ceraunus Snow Or Arimaspus cruell first thee bred The Caspian Tigers with their milke thee fed And Faunes did humane bloud on thee bestow Fierce Orithyas lover in thy bed Thee lull'd asleep where he enrag'd doth blow Thou didst not drinke the Flouds which here do flow But teares or those by ycie Tanais Head Sith thou disdaines my love neglects my griefe Laughs at my groanes and still affects my death Of thee nor Heaven I 'll seek no more reliefe Nor longer entertaine this loathsome breath But yeeld unto my Stars that thou maiest prove What losse thou hadst in losing such a Love SONG PHOEBUS arise And paint the sable Skies With azure white and red Rowse Memmons Mother from her Tythons bed That she thy Careere may with Roses spread The Nightingales thy comming each where sing Make an eternall spring Give life to this darke World which lâ—eth dead Spread forth thy golden haire In larger locks than thou wast wont before And Emperour-like decore With Diadem of Pearle thy Temples faire Chase hence the ugly Night Which serves but to make deare thy glorious Light This is that happy Morne That day long-wished day Of all my life so darke If cruell Stars have not my ruine sworne And Fates my hopes betray Which purely white deserves An everlasting Diamond should it marke This is the Morne should bring unto this Grove My Love to heare and recompence my love Faire King who all preserves But show thy blushing Beams And thou two sweeter Eyes Shall see then those which by Peneus Streames Did once thy heart surprise Nay Suns which shine as cleare As thou when two thou did'st to Rome appeare Now Flora decke thy selfe in fairest guise If that ye Winds would heare A voice surpassing far Amphions lyre Your furious chiding stay Let Zephire only breathe And with her Tresses play Kissing sometimes those purple ports of Death The Winds all silent are And Phoebus in his chaire Ensaffraning Sea and Aire Makes vanish every Star Night like a drunkard reeles Beyond the Hills to shun his flaming Wheeles The Fields with flow'rs are deckt in every hue The Clouds with Orient Gold spangle their blew Here is the pleasant place And nothing wanting is save She alas SON WHo hath not seen into her saffran Bed The Mornings Goddess mildly her repose Or her of whose pure bloud first sprang the Rose Lull'd in a slumber by a Mirtle shade Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red Makes Phoebe look so pale which she did close In that Jonian Hill to ease her woes Which only lives by her deare kisses fed Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep The sighing Rubies of those heavenly lips The Cupids which brests golden Apples keep Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse And he them all shall see perhaps and prove She waking but perswades now forceth Love SON SEe Cithereas Birds that milk-white paire On yonder leavie Mirtle Tree which grone And waken with their kisses in the Aire Th' enamour'd Zephires murmuring one by one If thou but sense hadst like Pigmalions Stone Or hadst not seen Medusas snaky haire Loves lessons thou mightst learn and learn sweet faire To Summers heat ere that thy Spring be growne And if those kissing lovers seeme but Cold Look how that Elme this Ivy doth embrace And binds and claspes with many a wanton fold And courting Sleep o'reshadows all the place Nay seems to say deare Tree we shall not part In sign whereof loe in each leafe a Heart SON THe Sun is faire when he with crimson Crown And flaming Rubies leaves his Easterne bed Faire is Thaumantias in her Christall gown When clouds engemm'd shew azure green and red To Westerne Worlds when wearied Day goes down And from heavens windows each Star shows her head Earths silent daughter Night is faire though brown Faire is the Moon though in Loves livery cled The Spring is faire when it doth paint Aprill Faire are the Meads the Woods the Floods are faire Faire looketh Ceres with her yellow haire And Apples-Queene when Rose-cheekt she doth smile That Heaven and Earth and Seas are faire is true Yet true that all not please so much as you MADRIGALL LIke the Idalian Queene Her haire about her Eyne And necke on brests ripe Apples to be seen At first glance of the Morne In Cyprus Gardens gathering those farie flowers Which of her blood were borne I saw but fainting saw my Paramours The Graces naked danc'd about the place The Winds and Trees amaz'd With silence on her gaz'd
in the Aire By sporting childrens Breath Who chase it every where And strive who can most motion it bequeath And though it sometime seem of its own might Like to an Eye of gold to be fix'd there And firme to hover in that empty height That only is because it is so Light But in that Pompe it doth not long appeare For when 't is most admired in a thought Because it earst was nought it turnes to nought SON MY Lute be as thou wert when thou did grow With thy green Mother in some shady Grove When immelodious Winds but made thee move And Birds their ramage did on thee bestow Since that deare voice which did thy sounds approve Which wont in such harmonious Straines to â—low Is reâ—t from Earth to tune those spheares above What art thou but a Harbinger of woe Thy pleasing Notes he pleasing Notes no more But Orphans wailings to the fainting Eare Each Stroke a sigh each Sound draws forth a Teare For which be silent as in woods before Or if that any hand to touch thee daigne Like widow'd Turtle still her losse complaine SON AH Handkercher sad present of my Deare Gift miserable which doth now remaine The only Guerdon of my helplesse Paine When I thee got thou shewst my state too cleare I never since have ceased to complaine I since the Badge of Griefe did ever weare Joy in my Face durst never since appeare Care was the Food which did me entertaine But since that thou art mine O do not grieve That I this Tribute pay thee for mine Eine And that I this short Time I am to live Laundre thy silken Figures in this Brine No I must yet even beg of thee the Grace That in my Grave thou daigne to shroud my Face MAD. TRees happier far than I Which have the grace to heave your Heads so high And over-look those Plaines Grow till your Branches kisse that lofty Skie Which her sweet selfe containes There make her know mine endlesse Love and Paines And how these Teares which from mine Eyes do fall Helpt you to rise so Tall Tell her as once I for her sake lov'd Breath So for her sake I now court lingring Death SONG SAd Damon being come To that for-ever Lamentable Tombe Which those eternall Powers that all controule Unto his living Soule A melancholy prison had prescrib'd Of Colour Heat and motion depriv'd In Armes weake Fainting Cold A Marble he the Marble did infold And having warme it made with many a showre Which dimmed Eyes did poure When Griefe had given him leave and sighs them staied Thus with a sad alas at last he said Who would have thought to me The place where thou did'st lie could grievous be And that deare body long thee having sought O me who would have thought Thee once to find it should my Soule confound And give my Heart then death a deeper wound Thou did'st disdaine my Teares But grieve not that this ruthfull Stone them beares Mine Eyes for nothing serve but thee to weep And let that course them keep Although thou never wouldst them comfort show Do not repine they have part of thy woe Ah wretch too late I find How Vertues glorious Titles prove but wind For if that Vertue could release from Death Thou yet enjoy'd hadst Breath For if she ere appear'd to mortall Eine It was in thy faire shape that she was seen But O! if I was made For thee with thee why too am I not dead Why do outragious Fates which dimm'd thy sight Let me see hatefull light They without me made Death thee surprise Tyrants no doubt that they might kill me twice O Griefe And could one Day Have force such excellence to take away Could a swift-flying Moment ah deface Those matchlesse gifts that Grace Which Art and Nature had in thee combin'd To make thy Body paragon thy Mind Hath all pass'd like a cloud And doth eternall silence now them shroud Is that so much admir'd now nought but Dust Of which a Stone hath Trust O change O cruell change thou to our sight Show'st the Fates Rigour equall to their Might When thou from earth diâ—'st passe Sweet Nymph Perfections Mirrour broken was And this of late so glorious World of ours Lâ—ke Medows without Flowers Or Ring of a rich Gem which blind appear d Or Starless night or Cynthia nothing clear'd Love when he saw thee dye Entomb'd him in the lid of either Eye And left his Torch within thy sacred Vrne There for a Lampe to burne Worth Honour Pleasure with thy life expir'd Death since grown sweet begins to be desir'd Whilst thou to us wert given The Earth her Venus had as well as Heaven Nay and her Suns which burnt as many Hearts As he the easterne parts Bright Suns which forc'd to leave these Hemispheares Benighted set into a Sea of Teares Ah Death who shall thee flie Since the most mighty are o'rethrown by thee Thou spar'st the Crow and Nightingall dost kill And triumphst at thy will But give thou cannot such another Blow Because Earth cannot such another show O bitter sweets of Love How better is 't at all you not to prove Nor when we do your pleasures must possesse To find them thus made lesse O! That the cause which doth consume our joy Would the remembrance of it too destroy What doth this life bestow But Flow'rs on Thornes which grow Which though they sometime blandish soft delight Yet afterwards us smite And if the rising Sun them faire doth see That Planet setting doth behold them die This world is made a Hell Depriv'd of all that in it did excell O Pan Pan Winter is fallen in May Turn'd is to night our Day Forsake thy Pipe a Scepter take to thee Thy locks disgarland thou black Jove shall be The Flocks do leave the Meads And loathing three leav'd Grasse hold up their Heads The Streames not glide now with a glentle Rore Nor Birds sing as before Hills stands with clouds like Mourners vail'd in black And Owles upon our Roofes foretell our wrack That Zephire every yeare So soone was heard to sigh in Forrests here It was for her that wrapt in Gowns of Greene Meads were so earely seen That in the saddest Months oft sang the Mearles It was for Her for her Trees dropt forth pearles That proud and stately Courts Did envy these our Shades and calme Resorts It was for Her and she is gone O woe Woods cut againe do grow But doth the Rose and Dazy winter done But we once dead do no more see the Sun Whose Name shall now make ring The Ecchoes of whom shall the Nymphets sing Whose heavenly voice whose Soule-invading Straines Shall fill with Joy the plaines What Haire what Eyes can make the Morne in East Weep that a fairer riseth in the West Faire Sun post still away No Musicke here is left thy Course to stay Sweet Hybla Swarmes with Wormewood fill your Bow'râ— Gone is the flower of Flow'rs Blush no more Rose nor Lilly
end To kisse the Earth at last he did pretend And bowing down besought with humble grace An aged Woman neare to give some place She turn'd and turning up her Hole beneath Said Sir kisse here for it is all but Earth Proteus of Marble THis is no work of Stone Though it seems breathlesse cold and sense hath nonâ— But that 〈◊〉 God which keeps The monstroâ—â— people of the raging Deeps Now that he doth not change his shape this while It is thus constant more you to beguile Pamphilus SOme Ladies wed some love and some adore them I like their wanton sport then care not for them Apelles enamour'd of Campaspe Alexanders Mistris POore Painter while I sought To counterfeit by Art The fairest Frame which Nature ever wrought And having limm'd each Part Except her matchlesse Eyes Scarce on those Suns I gaz'd As Lightning falls from Skies When straight my Hand grew weake my Mind amazd And ere that Pencill halfe them had exprest Love had them drawn no grav'd them in my Brest Campaspe ON Stars shall I exclaime Which thus my Fortune change Or shall I else revenge Upon my selfe this shame Inconstant Monarch or shall I thee blame Who lets Apelles prove The sweet Delights of Alexanders Love No Stars my selfe and thee I all forgive And Joyes that thus I live Of thee blind King my Beauty was despis'd Thou didst not know it now being known 't is priz'd Cornucopia IF for one only Horne Which Nature to him gave So famous is the noble Unicorne What praise should that Man have Whose Head a Lady brave Doth with a goodly paire at once adorne Love suffers no Parasol THose Eyes deare Eyes be Spheares Where two bright Suns are roll'd That faire Hand to behold Of whitest Snow appeares Then while ye coyly stand To hide from me those Eyes Sweet I would you advise To chuse some other fanne than that white Hand For if ye do for truth most true this know Those Suns ere long must needs consume warme Snow Unpleasant Musick IN fields Ribaldo stray'd Mayes Tapestry to see And hearing on a Tree A Cuckow sing sigh'd to himselfe and said Loe how alas even Birds sit mocking me Sleeping Beauty O Sight too dearely bought Shee sleeps and though those Eyes Which lighten Cupids Skies Be clos'd yet such a grace Environeth that Place That I through Wonder to grow faint am brought Suns if ecclips'd you have such power divine What power have I t' endure you when you shine Alcons Kisse WHat others at their Eare Two Pearles Camilla at her Nose did weare Which Alcon who nought saw For Love is blind robb'd with a pretty Kisse But having known his misse And felt what Ore he from that Mine did draw When she to come again did him desire He fled and said foule Water quenched Fire The Statue of Venus sleeping PAssenger vexe not thy Mind To make me mine Eyes unfold For if thou shouldst them behold Thine perhaps they will make blind Laura to Petrarch I Rather love a Youth and childish Rime Than thee whose Verse and Head are wise through Time The Rose FLow'r which of Adons Bloud Sprang when of that cleare Floud Which Venus wept another white was borne The sweet Cynarean Youth thou lively shows But this sharpe-pointed Thorne So proud about thy Crimsin Folds that grows What doth it represent Boares Teeth perhaps his milk-white Flanke which rent O show in one of unesteemed Worth That both the kill'd and killer setteth forth A Lovers Prayer NEare to a Christall Spring With Thirst and Heat opprest Narcissa faire doth rest Trees pleasant Trees which those green plains forth bring Now interlace your trembling Tops above And make a Canopy unto my Love So in Heavens highest House when Sun appeares Aurora may you cherish with her Teares Iolas Epitaph HEre deare Iolas lies Who whilst he liv'd in Beauty did surpasse That Boy whose heavenly Eyes Brought Cypris from above Or him to death who look'd in watry Glasse Even Judge the God of Love And if the Nymph once held of him so deare Dorine the faire would here but shed one Teare Thou shouldst in Natures scorne A Purple Flow'r see of this Marble borne The Trojan Horse A Horse I am who bit Reine rod Spur do not feare When I my Riders beare Within my Wombe not on my Back they sit No streames I drinke nor care for Grasse or Corne Art me a Monster wrought All Natures workes to scorne A Mother I was without Mother borne In end all arm'd my Father I forth brought What thousand Ships and Champions of renowne Could not do free captiv'd I raz'd Troy's Town For Dorus. WHy Nais stand ye nice Like to a well wrought Stone When Dorus would you kisse Denie him not that blisse He 's but a Child old Men be Children twice And even a Toothlesse one And when his Lips yours touch in that delight Ye need not feare he will those Cherries bite Love vagabonding SWeet Nymphs if as ye stray Ye find the froth-borne Goddesse of the Sea All blubb'red pale undone Who seeks her giddy Son That little God of Love Whose golden shafts your chastests Bosomes prove Who leaving all the Heavens hath run away If ought to him that finds him she 'll impart Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my Heart To a River SIth She will not that I She to the World my Joy Thou who oft mine annoy Hast heard deare Floud tell Thetis if thou can That not a happier Man Doth breathe beneath the Skie More sweet more white more faire Lips Hands and Amber Haire Tell none did ever touch A smaller daintier Waste Tell never was embrac't But peace since she forbids thee tell too much Lida SVch Lida is that who her sees Through Envy or through Love straight dies Phraene A Onian Sisters help my Phraenes Praise to tell Phraene heart of my heart with whom the Graces dwell For I surcharged am so sore that I not know What first to praise of 〈…〉 Brest or Neck of Snow Her Cheeks with Roses spred or her two Sun-like Eyes Her teeth of brightest pearl her lips where Sweetnes lies But those so praise themselves being to all Eyes set forth That Muses ye need not to say ought of their Worth Then her white swelling Paps essay for to make known But her white swelling paps through smallest vail are shown Yet She hath something else more worthy than the rest Not seen go sing of that which lies beneath her brest And mounts like fair Parnasse where Pegasse well doth run Here Phraene stay'd my Muse ere she had well begun Kisses desired THough I with strange Desire To kisse those rosie Lips am set on fire Yet will I cease to crave Sweet kisses in such store As he who long before In thousands them from Lesbia did receive Sweet heart but once me kisse And I by that sweet blisse Even sweare to cease you to importune more Poore one no number is Another Word of me ye shall not
For humanes Earth enjoying Angels Heaven Swift is your mortall Race And glassie is the Field Vaste are Desires not limited by Grace Life a weake Taper is Then while it light doth yeeld Leave flying Joyes embrace this lasting Blisse This when the Nymph had said Shâ—e div'd within the Floud Whose Face with smyling Curles long after staid Then Sighs did Zephyres presse Birds sang from every Wood And Ecchoes rang this was true Happinesse An Hymne on the Fairest Faire I Feele my Bosome glow with wontlesse Fires Rais'd from the vulgar presse my Mind aspires Wing'd with high Thoughts unto his praise to clime From deep Eternity who call'd forth Time That Essence which not mov'd makes each thing move Uncreate Beauty all-creating Love But by so great an object radiant light My Heart appall'd enfeebled rests my Sight Thick Clouds benight my labouring Ingine And at my high attempts my Wits repine If thou in me this sacred heat hast wrought My Knowledge sharpen Sarcells lend my Thought Grant me Times Father world-containing King A Pow'r of thee in pow'rfull Laies to sing That as thy Beauty in Earth lives Heaven shines It dawning may or shadow in my Lines As far beyond the starry walls of Heaven As is the loftiest of the Planets seven Sequestred from this Earth in purest light Out-shining ours as ours doth sable Night Thou all-sufficient Omnipotent Thou ever-glorious most excellent God various in Names in Essence one High art enstalled on a golden Throne Out-stretching Heavens wide bespangled vault Transcending all the Circles of our Thought With diamantine Scepter in thy Hand There thou giv'st Laws and dost this World command This World of Concords rais'd unlikely sweet Which like a Ball lies prostrate at thy Feet If so we may well say and what we say Here wrapt in flesh led by dim Reasons ray To show by earthly Beauties which we see That spirituall Excellence that shines in thee Good Lord forgive not far from thy right Side With curled Locks Youth ever doth abide Rose-cheeked Youth who gaâ—landed with Flow'rs Still blooming ceaselessely unto thee pow'rs Immortall Nectar in a cup of Gold That by no darts of Ages thou grow old And as ends and beginnings thee not claime Successionlesse that thou be still the same Neare to thy other side resistlesse Might From Head to Foot in burnisht Armour dight That rings about him with a waving Brand And watchfull Eye great Sentinell doth stand That neither Time nor force in ought impaire Thy Workmanship nor harme thine Empire faire Soone to give Death to all againe that would Sterne Discord raise which thou destroy'd of old Discord that foe to order Nurse of War By which the noblest things demolisht are But caitife she no Treason doth devise When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise Thy all-upholding Might her Malice raines And her to Hell throws bound in iron Chaines With Locks in waves of Gold that ebbe and flow On Ivory neck in Robes more white than Snow Truth stedfastly before thee holds a Glasse Indent'd with Gems where shineth all that was That is or shall be here ere ought was wrought Thou knew all that thy Pow'r with time forth brought And more things numberlesse which thou couldst make That actually shall never being take Here thou beholdst thy selfe and strange dost prove At once the Beauty Lover and the Love With Faces two like Sisters sweetly faire Whose Blossomes no rough Autumne can impaire Stands Providence and doth her looks disperse Through every Corner of this Universe Thy Providence at once which generall things And singular doth rule as Empires Kings Without whose care this world lost would remaine As Ship withou a Master in the Maine As Chariot alone as Bodies prove Depriv'd of Soules whereby they be live move But who are they which shine thy Throne so neare With sacred countenance and look severâ— This in one hand a pondrous Sword doth hold Her left staies charg'd with Ballances of Gold That with Brows girt with â—ays sweet-smiling Face Doth beare a Brandon with a babish grace Two milke-white Wings him easily do move O she thy Justice is and this thy Love By this thou brought'st this Engine great to light By that it fram'd in Number Measure Weight That destine doth reward to ill and good But Sway of Justice is by Love withstood Which did it not relent and mildly stay This World ere now had found its funerall Day What Bands enâ—â—â—ctred neare to thâ—se abide Which into vaste Infinity them hide Infinity that neither doth admiâ— Place Time nor Number to 〈◊〉 on it Here Bounty sparkleth here doth Beauty shine Simplicity more white than Gelsomine Mercy with open wings aye-varied Blisse Glory and Joy that Blisses darling is Ineffable all-pow'rfull God all free Thou only liv'st and each thing lives by thee No Joy no nor Perfection to thee came By the contriving of this Worlds great Frame Ere Sun Moon Stars began their restlesse race Ere painted was with light Heavens pâ—re Face Ere Aire had Clâ—uâ—s ere Clouds wept down their show'rs Ere Sea embraced Earth ere Earth bare Flow'rs Thou happy liv'dst World nought to thee supply'd All in thy selfe thy selfe thou satisfi'd Of Good no slender Shadow doth appeare No age-worne tâ—aâ—ke which shin'd in thee not cleare Perfections Sum prime-cause of every Cause Midst end beginning where all good doth pause Hence of thy Substance differing in nought Thou in Eâ—ernity thy Son forth brought The only Birth of thy unchanging Mind Thine Image Pattern-like that ever shin'd Light out of Light begotten not by Will But Naâ—ure all and that same Essence still Which thou thy selfe for thou dost nought possesse Which he hath not in ought nor is he lesse Thâ—â— Thee his great Begâ—ttâ—â— of this Light Eternall Double kindled was thy Spright Eternally who is with Thee the same All-holy Gift Embassadour Knot Flame Most sacred Triad O most holy One Unprocreate Father â—ver-procreate Son Ghost breath'd from both you were are still shall be Most blessed Three in One and One in Three Uncomprehensible by reachlesse Hight And unperceived by excessive Light So in our Soules three and yet one are still The Vnderstanding Memory and Will So though unlike the Planet of the Daies So soone as he was made begat his Raies Which are his Off-spring and from both was hurld The rosie Light which consolates the World And none fore-went another so the spring The Well-head and the Streame which they forth bring Are but one selfe-same Essence not in ought Do differ save in order and our Thought No chime of Time discernes in them to fall But Three distinctly â—ide one Essence all But these expresse not Thee who can declare Thy being Men and Angels dazel'd are Who would this Eden force with wit or sense A Cherubin shall find to bar him thence Great Architect Lord of this Universe That light is blinded would thy Greatnesse pierce Ah! as a Pilgrim who the Alpes doth passe Or Atlas Temples crown'd
thee are one that which hath run And that which is not brought yet by the Sun To thee are present who dost alwaies see In present act what past is or to be Day-livers we rememberance do lose Of Ages worne so Miseries us tosse Blind and lethaâ—gick of thy heavenly Grace Which Sin in our first Parents did deface And even while Embrions curst by justest doome That we neglect what gone is or to come But thou in thy great Archives scrolled hast In parts and whole what ever yet hath past Since first the marble Wheels of Time were roll'd As ever living never waxing old Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday An undivided Now a constant Ay. O King whose Greatnesse none can comprehend Whose boundlesse Goodnesse doth to all extend Light of all Beauty Ocean without ground That standing flowest giving dost abound Rich Pallace and Endweller ever blest Never not working ever yet in Rest What wit cannot conceive words say of Thee Here where we as but in a Mirrour see Shadows of shadows Atomes of thy Might Still owly-eyed when staring on thy Light Grant that released from this earthly Jaile And freed from Clouds which here our Knowledge vaile In Heavens high Temples where thy Praises ring In sweeter Notes I may heare Angels sing GReat God whom we with humbled Thoughts adore Eternall Infinite Almighty King Whose Dwellings Heaven transcend whose Throne before Archangels serve and Seraphines do sing Of nought who wrought all that with wondring Eyes We do behold within this various Round Who makes the Rocks to rocke to stand the Skies At whose command Clouds peales of Thunder sound Ah! spare us Wormes weigh not how we alas Evill to our selves against thy Laws rebell Wash off those spots which still in Conscience Glasse Though we be loath to look we see too well Deserv'd Revenge oh do not do not take If thou revenge who shall abide thy Blow Passe shall this World this World which thou didst make Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow What Soule is found whom Parents Crime not staines Or what with its own Sins defil'd is not Though Iustice Rigor threaten yet her Raines Let Mercy guide and never be forgot Lesse are our Faults far far than is thy Love O what can better seeme thy Grace divine Than they who plagues deserve thy Bounty prove And where thou show'r mayst Vengeance there to shine Then look and pitty pittying forgive Us guilty Slaves or Servants now in thrall Slaves if alas thou look how we do live Or doing ill or doing nought at all Of an ungratefull Mind a foule Effect But if thy Gifts which largely heretofore Thou hast upon us pour'd thou dost respect We are thy Servants nay than Servants more Thy Children yes and Children dearely bought But what strange Chance us of this Lot bereaves Poore worthless Wights how lowly are we brought Whom Grace once Children made Sin hath made Slaves Sin hath made Slaves but let those Bands Grace breake That in our Wrongs thy Mercies may appeare Thy Wisdome not so meane is Pow'r so weake But thousand waies they can make Worlds thee feare O Wisdome boundless O miraculous Grace Grace Wisdome which make winke dimme Reasons Eye And could Heavens King bring from his placeless Place On this ignoble Stage of Care to dye To dye our Death and with the sacred Streame Of Bloud and Water gushing from his Side To make us cleane of that contagious Blame First on us brought by our first Parents Pride Thus thy great Love and Pity heavenly King Love Pity which so well our Loss prevent Of Evill it selfe loe could all Goodness bring And sad beginning cheare with glad event O Love and Pity ill known of these Times O Love and Pity carefull of our need O Bounties which our horrid Acts and Crimes Grown numberless contend neare to exceed Make this excessive ardour of thy love So warme our Coldness so our Lifes renew That we from Sin Sin may from us remove Wisdome our Will Faith may our Wit subdue Let thy pure Love burne up all worldly Lust Hells candid Poyson killing our best part Which makes us joy in Toyes adore fraile Dust Instead of Thee in Temple of our Heart Grant when at last our Soules these Bodies leave Their loathsome Shops of sin and Mansions blind And Doome before thy Royall Seat receive A Saviour more than Judge they thee may find THE WANDRING MUSES OR The River of FORTH FEASTING IT BEING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince James King of Great Brittaine France and Ireland BY WILLIAM DRUMMOND Of HAVVTHORNDEN LONDON Printed in the Yeare 1656. To His Sacred Majesty IF in this Storme of joy and pompous Throng This Nymph great King doth come to Thee so neare That thy harmonious Eares Her accents heare Give Pardon to Her hoarse and lowly Song Faine would shee Trophees to Thy Vertues reare But for this stately taske She is not strong And her Defects Her high Attempts do wrong Yet as she could She makes thy Worth appeare So in a Map is shown this flowry Place So wrought in Arras by a Virgins Hand With Heaven and blazing Stars doth Atlas stand So drawn by Char-coale is Narcissus Face She like the Morn may be to some bright Sun The Day to perfect that 's by her begun The River of FORTH FEASTING A Panegyrick to the High and Mighty Prince James King of Great Brittaine France and Ireland WHat blustring Noise now interrups my Sleeps What ecchoing Shouts thus cleave my christall Deeps And seems to call me from my watry Court What Melody what sounds of Joy and Sport Are convey'd hither from each Night-borne Spring With what loud Rumours do the Mountaines ring Which in unusuall Pompe on tip-toes stand And full of Wonder overlook the Land Whence come these glitt'ring Throngs these Meteors bright This golden People glancing in my sight Whence doth this Praise Applause and Love arise What Load-star East-ward draweth thus all Eyes Am I awake Or have some Dreames conspir'd To mock my Sense with what I most desir'd View I that living Face see I those Looks Which with Delight were wont t' amaze my Brooks Do I behold that Worth that Man divine This Ages Glory by these Bankes of mine Then find I true what long I wish'd in vaine My much beloved Prince is come againe So unto them whose Zenith is the Pole When six black Months are past the Sun doth roll So after Tempest to Sea-tossed Wights Faire Helens Brothers show their clearing Lights So comes Arabias wonder from her Woods And far far off is seen by Memphis Flouds The feather'd Sylvans Cloud-like by her flie And with triumphing plaudits beat the Skie Nyle marvels Seraps Priests entranced rave And in Mygdonian stone her Shape ingrave In lasting Cedars they do marke the Time In which Apollos Bird came to their Clime Let Mother Earth now deckt with Flow'rs be seen And sweet-breath'd Zephyres curle the Meadows green Let Heaven weep Rubies
art not Great Nor glorious By this Monument turne wise One it enshrineth sprung of ancient stemm And if that Bloud Nobility can make From which some Kings have not disdain'd to take Their proud Descent a rare and matchlesse Gemm A Beauty here it holds by full assurance Than which no blooming Rose was more refin'd Nor Mornings Blush more radiant ever shinâ—d Ah! too too like to Morne and Rose at last It holds her who in Wits ascendant far Did Yeares and Sex transcend To whom the Heaven More Vertue than to all this Age had given For Vertue Meteor turn'd when she a star Faire Mirth sweet Conversation Modesty And what those Kings of Numbers did conceive By Muses Nine and Graces moe than Three Lye clos'd within the Compasse of this Grave Thus Death all Earthly glories doth confound Loe how much Worth a little Dust doth bound FAr from these Bankes exiled be all Joyes Contentments Pleasures Musick cares reliefe Tears Sighs Plaints Horrours Frightments sad Annoies Invest these Mountaines fill all Hearts with Griefe Here Nightingals and Turtles vent your moanes Amphrisian Shepheard here come feed thy Flocke And read thy Hyacinth amidst our Groanes Plaine Eccho thy Narcissus from our Rocks Lost have our Meads their Beauty Hills their Gemms Our Brooks their Christall Groves their pleasant shade The fairest Flow'r of all our Anademms Death cropped hath the Lesbia chaste is dead Thus sigh'd the Tyne then shrunke beneath his Urne And Meads Brooks Rivers Hills about did mourne THe Flower of Virgins in her Prime of yeares By ruthlesse Destinies is ta'ne away And rap'd from Earth poore Earth before this Day Which ne're was rightly nam'd a Vale of Teares Beauty to Heaven is fled sweet Modesty No more appeares She whose harmonious sounds Did ravish Sense and charme Minds deepest wounds Embaulm'd with many a Teare now low doth lye Faire Hopes now vanish'd are She should have grac'd A Princes Marriage-Bed but loe in Heaven Blest Paramours to her were to be given She liv'd an Angell now is with them plac'd Vertue is but a Name abstractly trimm'd Interpreting what she was in effect A shaddow from her Frame which did reflect A Pourtrait by her Excellencies limm'd Thou whom free-will or chance hath hither brought And read'st Here lies a Branch of Maitlands stemm And Sâ—ytons Off-spring know that either Name Designes all worth yet reacht by humane Thought Tombes else-where use Life to their Guests to give These Ashes can fraile Monuments make live Another on the same subject LIke to the Gardens Eye the Flower of Flow'rs With purple Pompe that dazle doth the Sight Or as among the lesser Gems of Night The Usher of the Planet of the Houres Sweet Maid thou shinedst on this World of ours Of all Perfectiâ—ns having trac'd the hight Thine outward frame was faire faire inward Powers A Saphire Lanthorne and an incense light Hence the enamour'd Heaven as too too good On Earths all-thorny soyle long to abide Transplanted to their Fields so rare a Bud Where from thy Sun no cloud thee now can hide Earth moan'd her losse and wish'd she had the grace Not to have known or known thee longer space HArd Laws of mortall Life To which made Thrales we come without consent Like Tapers lighted to be early spent Our Griefes are alwaies rife When joyes but halting march and swiftly fly Like shadows in the Eye The shadow doth not yeeld unto the Sun But Joyes and Life do waste even when begun On the Death of a Nobleman in Scotland buried at Aithen AIthen thy Pearly Coronet let fall Clad in sad Robes upon thy Temples set The weeping Cypresse or the sable Jet Mourne this thy Nurslings losse a losse which all Apollos Quire bemoanes which many yeares Cannot repaire nor Influence of Spheares Ah! when shalt thou find Shepheard like to him Who made thy Bankes more famous by his worth Then all those Gems thy Rocks and Streams send forth His splendor others Glow-worm light did dim Sprung of an ancient and a vertuous Race He Vertue more than many did embrace He fram'd to mildnesse thy halfe-barbarous swaines The Good-mans Refuge of the bad the fright Unparaleld in friendship worlds Delight For Hospitality along thy Plaines Far-fam'd a Patron and a Patterne faire Of Piety the Muses chiefe repaire Most debonaire in Courtesie supreame Lov'd of the meane and honour'd by the Great Ne're dasht by Fortune nor cast down by Fate To present and to after Times a Theame Aithen thy Teares poure on this silent Grave And drop them in thy Alabaster cave And Niâ—bes Imagery become And when thou hast distilled here a Tombe Eâ—chace in it thy Pearls and let it beare Aithens best Gem and honour shrin'd lies here FAme Register of Time Write in thy Scrowle that I Of Wisdome Lover and sweet Poesie Was cropped in my Prime And ripe in worth though green in yeares did dye IUstice Truth Peace and Hospitality Friendship and Love being resolv'd to dye In these lewd Times have chosen here to have With just true pious their Grave Them cherish'd he so much so much did grace That they on Earth would choose none other Place WHen Death to deck his Trophees stop thy breath Rare Ornament and Glory of these Parts All with moist Eyes might say and ruthfull hearts That things immortall vassal'd were to Death What Good in Parts on many shar'd we see From Nature gracious Heaven or Fortune flow To make a Master-Piece of worth below Heaven Nature Fortune gave in grosse to Thee In Honour Bounty Rich in Valour Wit In Courtesie Borne of an ancient Race With Bayes in war with Olives crown'd in Peace Match'd great with Off-spring for great Actions fit No Rust of Times nor Change thy Vertue wan With Times to change when Truth Faith Love decay'd In this new Age like Fate thou fixed stay'd Of the first World an all-substantiall Man As earst this Kingdome given was to thy Syre The Prince his Daughter trusted to thy Care And well the credit of a Gem so rare Thy loyalty and merit did require Yeares cannot wrong thy Worth that now appeares By others set as Diamonds among Pearles A Queens deare Foster Father to three Earles Enough on Earth to triumph are o're yeares Life a Sea-voyage is Death is the Haven And fraught with honour there thou hast arriv'd Which Thousands seeking have on Rocks been driven That Good adornes thy Grave which with thee liv'd For a fraile Life which here thou didst enjoy Thou now a lasting hast â—reed of Annoy WIthin the Closure of thiâ— Narrow Grave Lye all those Graces a Good-wife could have But on this Marble they shall not be read For then the Living envy would the Dead THe Daughter of a King of Princely Parts In Beauty eminent in Vertues chiefe Loadstar of Love and Loadstone of all hearts Her Friends and Husbands only Joy now Griefe Is here pent up within a Marble Frame Whose Paralell no Times no Climates claime VErses fraile Records are to keep a Name Or raise from Dust Men to a Life of Fame The sport and spoyle of Ignorance but far More fraile the Frames of Touch and Marble are Which envy Avarice Time e're long confound Or mis-devotion equalls with the Ground Vertue alone doth last frees man from Death And though despis'd and scorned here beneath Stands grav'n in Angels Diamantine Roles And blazed in the Courts above the Poles Thou wast faire Vertues Temple they did dwell And live ador'd in thee nought did excell But what thou either didst possesse or love The Oraces Darling and the maids of Jove Courted by Fame for Bounties which the Heaven Gave thee in great which if in Parcels given Too many such we happy sure might call How happy then wast thou who enjoyedst them all A whiter Soule ne're body did invest And now sequestred cannot be but blest Inroâ—â—'d in Glory ' midst those Hierarchies Of that immortall People of the Skies Bright Saints and Angels there from cares made free Nought doth becloud thy soveraign Good from Thee Thou smil'st at Earths Confusions and Jars And how for Centaures Children we wage wars Like honey Flies whose rage whole swarmes consumes Till Dâ—st thrown on them makes them vaile their plumes Thy friends to thee a Monument would raise And â—imne thy Vertues but dull griefe thy Praise Breakes in the Entrance and our Taske proves vaine What duty writes that woe blotâ— out againe Yet Love a Pyramid of Sighs thee reares And doth embaulme thee with Fare-wells and Teares Rose THough Marble Porphyry and mourning Touch May praise these spoiles yet can they not too much For Beauty last and this Stone doth close Once Earths Delight Heavens care a purest Rose And Reader shouldst thou but let fall a Teare Upon it other flow'rs shall here appeare Sad Violets and Hyacinths which grow With markes of griefe a publike losse to show II. Relenting Eye which dâ—ignest to this Stone To lend a look behold here he laid one The Living and the Dead interr'd for Dead The Turtle in its Mate is and she fled From Earth her choos'd this Place of Griefe To bound Thoughts a small and sad Reliefe His is this Monument for hers no Art Could frame a Pyramide rais'd of his Heart III. Instead of Epitaphs and airy praise This Monument a Lady chaste did raise To her Lords living fame and after Death Her Body doth unto this Place bequeath To rest with his till Gods shrill Trumpet sound Though time her Life no time her loâ—â— could bound To Sir W. A. THough I have twice been at the Doores of Death And twice found shut those Gates which ever mourn This but a Lightning is Truce ta'ne to Breath For late borne sorrows augure fleet return Amidst thy sacred Cares and Courtly Toyles Alexis when thou shalt heare wandring Fame Tell Death hath triumph'd o're my mortall Spoyles And that on Earth I am but a sad Name If thou e're held me deare by all our Love By all that Blisse those Joyes Heaven here us gave I conjure thee and by the Maids of Jove To grave this short remembrance on my Grave Here Damon lies whose Songs did sometime grace The murmuring Esk may Roses shade the place FINIS