[Page] POËMS, BY HENRY GLAPTHORN.
Sustineamque Comam metuentem frigora Myrtum,
Atque ita sollicito multus Amante legar.
LONDON, Printed by Richard Bishop, for Daniel Pakeman; and are to be sold at his Shop, at the Rain-bow, neer the Inner Temple Gate. 1639.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, IEROME, Earle of PORTLAND.
My Lord,
DEdications, from some Writers are meere Customes; from others Complements; but from mee neither: my Muse being yet too young to be authorized by Custome, to intrude upon a Patron, (this being the earliest flight of her ambition:) and my Reason too old to suffer mee to be guilty of Complement to one so furnished with all Reality and VVorth as is your Lordship. [Page] My motive, Sir, to this audacious errour is only the pretence of my respective dutie; and for that cause, will (I hope) merit an indulgent pardon. VVhat you shall here find set down, were the Maiden-Studies of a Muse, which aspires to no other Fame than your allowance: nor can my selfe atchieve a greater quiet to my soule, nor ayme a higher glorie, than to see my selfe by your free acceptance of this triviall Sacrifice rank'd amongst
The humblest honourers of your Name and Family: HENRY GLAPTHORNE.
Vpon the Duke of York his Birth-night at Richmond.
To the PRINCE, and the rest of his MAIESTIES Children.
BLessings surround this Presence: To begin
Our votes to You without a praier, were sin
'Gainst our religious loyalty: could our care
And zeal transform our very souls to praier;
'Twere a just tribute due to You, who are.
The best of Princes; each of You a Starre
That gilds our Brittish Orb with rayes more bright
Than was in Paradise the worlds first light.
Hark! whence this suddain harmony! the Spheares
Strive to divulge their duties; there appeares
A generall joy in Heav'n; this night has hurld,
In stead of darknesse, gladnesse ore the world;
Has calm'd the sea, on which the Tritons play,
And Syrens sing, for joy; not to betray.
But why this triumph? 'Twas because this night,
Sweet Prince, Your Birth did beautifie the light;
Adjudge a second Columne to sustaine
The glorious building of your Fathers raigne,
[Page 2]
To be our second Hope, the cause that we
Doe pay our vowes to this Solemnitie,
In wishes, which a Mother might befit,
Or a full Lover in his zeal of wit.
May all Your lives be one continued Youth,
Attended on by health, mirth, beautie, truth.
May You live free from dangers, nay from fears,
And grow in graces as You do in years:
Shoot up like infant-Cedars, straight and even,
Till Your brave Heads aspire to neighbour Heaven;
While wee, with a most humble flame inspir'd,
Live to behold Your worth, and to admire't.
Entertainment to the Prince Elector at Mr. Osbalston's.
PRotect me my best Stars! A suddain fear
Seises my faculties; there's something here
Surely includes divinely now I see
A power inferiour scarce to Majestie;
Claimes my Prerogative; which, since to You,
To Whom he place is consecrate by vow,
I do resigne with freedome; blest Delight
For this shall change her Tempe, and invite
The jocund Graces hither, to erect
Their Pallace here, Mirth being th' Architect:
Favonian winds shall with as mild a breath
As is expir'd by spotlesse babes in death,
[Page 3] Here one continued summer still display,
Making this seem a new
Arabia.
But whence assume I this Prophetick rage?
Rapt with whose sacred furie, I presage
This happy Omen? 'Tis your smiles inspire
(Gracious and Noble) with Aetheriall fire
My frosty soule (so as Promethian heat
Gave the cold clay warmth, masculine and great).
Thus for my selfe. The places Genius now
For your Inviter, who by me does vow
His heart your humble Sacrifice; since Heaven
Accepts a graine of Incense, that is given
With a true zeale, better than pounds of Gumms,
Or Alters smoking with fat Hecatombs
From fain'd Devotion: He does hope Your eyes
Will dart a beame to fire his Sacrifice;
Whose quickning lustre, like the Sun may bring
Upon the place and him, a constant Spring.
To Lucinda, upon the first sight of her Beautie.
ENcountring her, I thought the morning Star
Had left the
Nabatbeans, till on her
My wondring eyes with a more perfect sight
Gazing, beheld, that
Venus was but bright,
Shee glorious. To venture to compare
Her cheeks to Lillies, Sun-beams to her hair,
Were to allow her mortall: far from me
Be so much sin gainst beauties Deitie.
Tell the wild Indian that with prostrate brest
Adores the Sun-rise in the gorgeous East,
His labour's lost; 'tis needlesse any more
To fish for Pearle or Diamond on their shore:
Nor Pearls, nor Diamonds, Rubies, or the rest
Of Metaphors, by which are oft exprest
Our common beauties, nere can hope to be
Grac'd by being us'd as an Hyperbolie
In her delineation. 'Twas the light
Of her br
[...]t eyes depriv'd mine of the sight
They once enjoy'd: those fools who sought to make
A Star of
[...]nices haire, might take
Hers for a Planet, fix it, and ne're fear
To dazzle Phoebus lustre in the sphear.
Lucinda describ'd.
THere's not an eye that views
Lucinda's face,
But wondring at the perfect grace
That does within that modell rest,
Esteems her most transcendently above
The power of Fancie, Art, or Love,
Truly to be exprest.
To say each golden tresse that does adorne
Her glorious Forehead might bee worne
By
Iuno or by beauties Queene,
Were to prophane her sacred threds; for they
Could not such precious Locks display
On the
Idalian Greene.
They are then gorgeous ornaments, and bee
The upper branches of that tree
Which easily does men intice,
Beleeving it the tree of life, to say
That they have found a ready way
To th' long lost Paradice.
Her Iv'rie Forehead curious Nature hath
Created for the milkie path;
By which the covetous gazers seek
To find a passage by her tempting eyes
Without their soules intire surprize
To th' Apples in her cheek.
[...]
[...]
[Page 6] Those suns of brightnesse which so farre out-shine
Humanitie, that their divine
Lustre perswades us, 'tis no sin
To think each as a Seraphin does stand
To guard that blest forbidden Land,
And the faire fruit within.
Of which her lips like swelling Grapes appeare,
The sweetest children of the yeare,
In Natures crimson liv'rie drest,
And by her balmie breath, to ripenesse brought:
They smile, then blush, as if they sought
Strait softly to be prest.
Then (as two full Pomegranates) lower growes
Her breasts; such wonders sure as those
Will force nice mis-beliefe to know
That miracles as yet unceas'd remaine,
Since there doth flourish in each veine
Violets on stalks of Snow.
But these (though true descriptions) are so farr
Beneath her worth. I have a Warr
Within my pensive soule, to see
So many wondrous rare Perfections dwell
In one, yet find no Parallell
In spacious Poetrie.
To Lucinda departing.
OH! stay
Lucinda, and let flie
A thousand loves from thy bright eye,
By which inspir'd I will expresse
Thy beauties, my faire Shepheardesse.
Thy Cheek, loves Tempe, where does grow
Warme Roses in soft beds of Snow.
This wonder (Dearest) is to tell
The world, th' art Beauties miracle.
The envious Panther, at thy breath,
Excelling his, does sigh to death;
And at the lustre of thine eye
Stars wink, are buried in the Skie.
The amorous Thorne (that does intwine
In pricklie armes the Eglantine,)
When thou thy brightnesse dost display,
Blossomes, and makes even Winter May.
The wanton Syrens that beguile
With flatt'ring accents, at thy smile
Chaunt layes as harmlesse as the Dove,
Or Red-brest when she courts her Love.
But all these glories could not fire
My frostie soule with big desire;
The Cause that made
Lucinda mine
Could not be humane, shee's divine.
To Lucinda weeping.
VVEep not
Lucinda, 'lesse you meane
To purge the world from filth, as cleane
As are your thoughts: too rich a prize
For earth, is such a sacrifice.
Such tears as yours, suppose young May
Does to the flowers each morning pay.
Such tears must sure all eyes intice
To think your eyes Loves Paradice.
Oh! they have emptied Natures Store,
Made Snow, and emulous Chrystall poore:
Your tears may justly claim pretence
To be the balme of Innocence.
But least such Gemmes should be confin'd
To earth; behold the amorous wind
Catching them, fixes every one
In heaven, a Constellation.
But since (my dearest) thou wilt weep,
Thy tears for holyer uses keep;
When plagues upon the earth are hurld,
Let fall one drop, 'twill save the world.
To Lucinda. A New-years Gift.
DRraw that black vail, (my fair one) do not shrowd
Those eyes in silken mists, or in a cloud
Of waving Curle: be mercifull, appear
Like thy bright self, and bring the infant Year
Into the world; old Time her Mother's run
Into so dull a Lethargie; the Sun
Is frozen in his couch, and cannot rise
Til thaw'd by th' temp'rate vertue of thine eies,
Those soft and gentle Stars, whose pure and clear
Rayes, from the Chaos would have forc'd the year.
Up then, Illustrious Beautie, gild the day;
Change Januarie into youthfull May.
See the cold earth does Winters liv'rie shift,
Off'ring the fresh Spring as your New-years Gift;
While the pale Couslip does the Primrose call
To wait on You at this new Festivall,
Created by your beams: the Winds invite
The nimble winged messengers of light,
The early Lark, and chirping Thrush to tune
Their notes as chearfully, as when in June
They softly whisper to the azure skie
Of a clear day, a beauteous Augurie.
How triviall is a Poets force! I can
Teach birds t' admire you, the rich Ocean
Tender its mines of Pearl, the Earth salute
Thee with its choisest metals, flowrs and fruit.
[Page 10] Impose a tribute on the Sun, force Stars
T'adore you more than erring Mariners
Do them in Tempests. But when I impart
An offring on the Alter of my heart
To thy commanding Deity, I can pay
Nought but a wreath of Mirtle or of Bay,
A Poets humble sacrifice; unlesse
My wishes (which realitie expresse,
Though unperform'd) may guiltlesly aspire
To die the Martyrs of your sacred fire.
May all the happinesse Heav'n can conferre
Be acted on your lives faire Theater:
May you be chast as beautifull; mischance
Never disturbe your peace, not in a trance:
May you live long, and healthfull: may no page
Of your lives volume, have a line for Age
To write his gastly name in; but when Time
Growes old and sickly on you, and does clime
With eager feet, your hill of youth, may all
His steps be slip'rie, may he backward fall
Beyond his fates recoverie, till hee bring
Your fading minutes back into the spring
Of strength and beauty, til your cheek does wear
The fame bright lustre that adorns this year.
Which I doe wish the power of gentle Fate
May to my Love and yours make fortunate.
To Sleep, upon Lucinda layd to rest.
HEnce ugly Image of grim death; how dare
Thy sawcie boldnesse venture on this faire
Epitome of heaven? Dost think that shee
Participates of fraile mortalitie
In such a drowsie passion? (Foole) go stretch
Thy remisse wings ore some poor aguish wretch,
Some with'red Hag, whom for her youths loose sin,
Just Heaven has destin'd to be kept within
The prison of her bed; from her be gone:
The light can suffer no privation.
Wert thou not stupid, deafe? didst thou not heare
When shee enrich'd her pillow, how each Spheare
Striv'd to expresse its dutie, which should bee
Prime Quirister, in whistling harmonie
To th'Citizens in Heaven, who at that call
Invited Saints to chant a Madrigall
Devoted to her silent rest? The Ayre
Grew clear and pleasing, every cloud so fayre;
Heav'ns forehead wore no wrinkles, violent floods
Kiss'd the smooth pebles, and the woods
With their Inhabitants conjoynd in this,
T'afford her senses a sweet Extasis.
Didst thou not see how every glorious Star,
With their pale Mistris Moon, to wait on her,
[Page 12] Officiously contracted their dim light
To Tapers, that at opening of her sight
They might new gild their Rayes. The Indian which
Had nere been poor, had he not first been rich,
Dives for unvalued Pearle, and fears to rise
Till he can borrow lustre from her Eyes
To polish his dull Merchandize. Oh shee!
The Abstract of all which wild Poetrie
In its loose raptures taught, wherein her rest
Invites the Winds (as when the Phoenix nest
Is by their flavour fir'd) to mix their breaths
With hers, so precious, that (abortive Death's
First child) dull Sleep, like to the Nightman, must
By stealth injoy it: see the parched Dust
Turnes to
Assyrian odors, and does skip
Like an enamor'd Fairie to her Lip,
Where
Venus Roses grow. Rest safe, my Sweet,
Till Sylvans wake, and till the Muses greet
Thee with their choisest harmonie; till night
Acknowledge all that it injoyes of light,
To thee the Queen of Splendor, whose bright Rayes
Renewes in mee the more than Halcion dayes
Love in its Primitive purenesse wore. Then rise,
And let mine draw new Influence from thine Eyes.
To Lucinda: inviting her from her Chamber.
(doom
VVHat means this absence (fair One)? What sad
Impose you on your self, that one poor Room
Includes your glorious Beautie? Is the Ayr
Lesse wholsome here, the Skie lesse clear, lesse fair?
Or to inrich that, have you tane a pride,
Meaning t' impov'rish all the Rooms beside?
The little Birds that by the Window flie,
Wanting your presence, straight fall down and die:
And I, who eas'ly could have fixt your Name
A Planet in the Firmament of Fame;
Who could have drest your head with Lightning, and
Hung at each Hair a Starrie Diamond;
Who could have sent the cunning Boy to seek
His last lost Arrow in your polish'd Cheek;
Who could have rais'd a Mount upon your Lip,
On which (like Fairies) all the Loves should trip,
And added to your Breath such a perfume,
As ever spending, never should consume:
Who could have fetcht the Indies (both) to deck
Thi well-form'd Iv'rie Pallace of your Neck;
And like a cunning Painter, have exprest
The Worlds perfections in your Globe-like Brest:
Praising each Feature so, till every part
Appear your Face, and Conquer'd every heart.
[Page 14] I for a wreath of Willow cast away
My flowry Chaplet of the greener Bay:
Dipping my Pen in tears, what ere it be
That I would write, it proves an Elegie.
You must expell this Sadnesse; You, whose light
Eclipses that pale Virgin of the Night,
The solitary Moon, whose every Ray
Transcends the clearest lustre of the Day:
You in whose eyes sit flames, which can beget
Themselves a living Spheer in every Wit:
You that are All Women can be, and more
Than Youth and Beauty ere disclos'd before:
Who doe resemble Heav'n so neer, You'd want
Onely the Name (not Nature) of a Saint.
You with a smile, can like the West-wind bring
An unexpected Summer on the Spring;
And with one Beame, or comfortable Glance
Ravish my soule into so high a trance,
That Your bright Head shall hit the Stars, and flie
To Heaven o'th' swift wings of my Poesie:
While I, with equall feare and hope possest,
Tender my Heart your Sacrifie, and rest
Your Servant.
To Lucinda. He being in Prison.
REceive these lines from your imprison'd Friend,
As the last Farewell which his hand must send
To greet your Eyes, from which mine borrow'd light
To guide my wandring Fancie to the sight
Of Mortals wonder, in your Essence: Love
First darted Raies from those bright Stars to move
Me to admire your Beautie: But agen
To make old Nature proud, as when my Pen
Flowd with mellifluous Epithites, to show
The glorious shape shee fully did bestow
On your unequal'd Frame. To say your haire
Are nets of Gold, whose Tramels might insnare
The King of gods; or that your Iv'rie brests
Are Balls of Camphire, sweeter than the nests
Where the
Arabian Phenix does desire
To burne her selfe; (as I have done, in fire
More precious than her Funerall flames) would add
New griefs, so powerfull as would force mee mad
(Were I of stronger temper). Since I've lost
Those rarities bought with the pricelesse Cost
Of my unvalued Libertie: which now
I must forgoe for ever; from the Vow
You made before the Hierarchie of Heaven
(Which now I summon witnesses how even
My Love has been) I free you; If you heare
That wilfully I perish'd, one poor teare
[Page 16] (I aske no more) shed, and my Soule, when Death
Has robd my carcasse of its loathed breath,
Shall pray, that you hereafter may possesse
A Friend that lov'd your Memorie no lesse
Than I, who spight of Fortune will be blest
That once I was term'd Yours; though now I rest
Forsaken.—
To Lucinda, revolted from him.
'TWas I who made thee Beauteous before;
You might have sate regardlesse at your dore,
Or past the Streets (as other Women doe)
Without salutes, or being congee'd to:
When now each eye that sees thee, does admire
To view a mortall Creature to aspire
So neer the Heav'nly Essence: every tongue
(Since I set out thy Excellence among
Men of ingenuous Spirits) strives to raise
Thy Name beyond the name of Praise.
Nature did well (I must confesse) to frame
Thee of her choisest Matter; for the same
You stand indebted to her, and 'tis fit
You should acknowledge thankfulnesse for it.
The Orient Pearl new taken from the shell,
Though't be as precious in it self, to sell,
Cannot so fitting and commodious bee
As when 'tis polishd by a Lapidarie.
[Page 17] The glistring Diamond shines not to the sight
Till by the Mill and Cutter 'tis made bright;
You had as much implicite Beautie (true)
As now you have, when first I did you view;
But like a Diamond clouded ore with Drosse,
It gave small lustre, cause unknown it was:
I polish'd it by giving it a Name;
Beautie's regardlesse, till adorn'd by Fame.
But Oh the Faith of Women! Can there be
Evasions found for such Apostacie
As is in you? What Penance can abridge
Such an Impietie, such dire Sacriledge
'Gainst Love's imperiall Godhead, to resist,
Contemn his Orgies, which by me his Priest
He did enjoyn, by his own powerfull Name
You should observe with a religious Flame?
And you had vow'd to do it, swore that I
Should offer up to his great Deitie
Your heart; which Love himselfe would not despise
(But beg for such a welcome Sacrifice,
More precious than the sweet
Panchayan Gumms,
The Phoenix Pile, or fuming Hecatombs).
But as a vapour which the flatt'ring Sun
Attracts to th' pure Ayrs middle Region,
Under pretence to give a new Starre birth,
And throwes a fading Meteor to the Earth;
So fell your Heart from Love's unspotted Throne
By your intemp'rate violation
Of Vows to me; in which if you persist,
Mercie will blot you from her candid List,
As a prodigious Monster, and firme Truth
Blush at a perjurie so black in Youth,
[Page 18] So white as yours: at which the Rose-cheek'd Morne
Might once have borrow'd lustre, and unshorne
Apollo brightnesse: Oh! why should there rest
Such falshood, such unkindnesse in a Brest
Whose superficiall figure does outgoe
In whitnesse Lillies, or untrodden Snow?
Ingratefull Woman! what unborne offence
Can give a specious Shadow, a Pretence
To thy unhallow'd falshood? what strange Cause
Thy suddain change, this alteration drawes?
Perhaps now I have set thy Beautie forth,
With all the Attributes expressing Worth,
That when I did but speak of thee, or write,
Fancie and Love daunc'd in each Epithite.
Some other Suitor, who to please your eares,
Purchases Raptures, which his dull brain bears
As Parrots what is taught them, who can speak
But by tradition, has surpriz'd your weak
Imagination; and does proudly boast
In gaining that which me most labour cost.
Or else perhaps your over-curious eye
Has spy'd some new unknown deformitie
In me; or 't may be possible you think
(Which is most likely) that the Muses drink
Is quite exhausted; that my wearie Quill
Wants moisture to explain your Praises still,
In that full way, that over-liberall strain
My Genius us'd at first your Love to gain.
If this be it, I'll fill the
Daphnean Quire
With a fresh Chaunter, snatch bright
Phaebus Lyre
From his swift Fingers, and once more rehearse
Thy worth in such a strange mellifluous Verse,
Thy Praises do her Lustre far excell;
Gabius shall weep that his
Lycoris name
Is now surpass'd by thy immortall Fame:
And (my great Master)
Ovid shall confesse
Corynna's shining Beautie to be lesse
Than thine; since he, for his
Corynna's sake
Did only three Books of Loves choice Art make;
But I for thine will such Conceits devise,
That after no Invention shall arise.
Yeeld then, and let us ryot in the Sweets
That in Youth, Love, and glorious Beauty meets;
That all the gods may envie to behold
Us over-doe their Fables;
Dana's Gold
Be counted Drosse, and
Laeda's Swan appear
Black as a Crow, when whiter Thou art there.
First shall my Lips with an unvalued Kisse
Suck from (those fragrant Mountainets of blisse)
Thy melting Lips, more sweetnesse than the Bees
Extract from Roses, or
Hyblaean Trees,
When to the Ayr their tender wings they yeeld,
And with their mouths depopulate the field.
And then descending to thy Iv'rie Neck
My wandring Fancie shall my dull Lips check,
That they ore-slipt thy Cheek; thence they shall flye
With hot propension to thy flaming Eye;
Thence to that smooth, that polish'd plain of Snow,
On which thy Brests (those Hils of wonder) grow,
Where little Cupids daunce, and do contend
Which of them first shall venture to descend
To the Elisian Vallies, that doe lie
'Twixt them and that rich Mine of puritie,
[Page 20] Thy slender Waste. What does remain below,
'Tis fit that none but you and I should know,
When like a vent'rous well resolved man
I sail through yourunfathom'd Ocean
To Loves safe Harbour; I'm too modest (Sweet)
With wide expressions of our Loves to greet
Thy willing eares, since I for my part meane
In Action, not in Words to be obscene.
VNclose those Eye-lids, and out-shine
The brightnesse of the breaking day;
The light they cover is divine,
Why should it fade so soone away?
Stars vanish so, and day appeares,
The Sun's so drown'd i'th' morning's teares.
Oh! let not sadnesse cloud this Beautie,
Which if you lose you'll nere recover;
It is not Love's, but Sorrowes dutie
To die so soon for a dead Lover.
Banish, oh! banish griefe, and then
Our Joyes will bring our Hopes agen.
Epithalamium.
THe Joyes of Youth, and what the Spring
Of Health, Strength, Happiness can bring,
Wait upon this Noble paire.
Lady, may you still be faire
As earliest Light, and stil enjoy
Beauty which Age cannot destroy.
May you bee fruitfull as the Day;
Never Sigh but when you Pray;
Know no Grief, but what may bee
To temper your Felicitie.
And You my Lord, may truest Fame
Still attend on your great Name.
Live both of you espous'd to Peace,
And with your years, let Love increase.
Goe late to Heav'n, but comming thither,
Shine there, two glorious Starres together.
Epithalamium.
THe holy-Priest had joynd their Hands, and now
Night grew propitious to their bridall Vow;
Majestick
Iuno, and young
Hymen flyes
To light their Pines at the fair Virgins eyes;
The little Graces amorously did skip
With the small
Cupids from each Lip to Lip;
Venus her self was present, and untide
Her Virgin zone, when loe on either side
Stood as her Hand-maids, Chastitie and Truth,
With that immaculate guider of her Youth,
Rose-colour'd Modestie; these did undresse
The beauteous Maid, who now in readinesse,
The nuptiall Tapors waving 'bout her Head,
Made poor her Garments and enrich'd her Bed.
While the fresh Bridegroome, like the lusty Spring,
Did to the holy Bride-bed with him bring
Attending masc'line Vertues; down he laid
His snowie Limbs by a far whiter Maid.
There Kisses link'd their Minds; as they imbrace,
A Quire of Angels flew about the place,
Singing all Blisse unto this Pair for ever,
May they in Love and Union still persever.
Upon a Gentleman playing on the Lute.
STrange miracle! Who's this that wears
The native Liv'rie of the Sphears;
Transforming all our sense to Ears?
Surely it cannot bee a sin
To think there is, or may have bin
On earth a heavenly Seraphin.
That granted, certain 't must bee hee;
In any else there cannot bee,
Such a Coelestiall Harmonie.
When glorious He with swift pursute
Touch't the soft Cordage of his Lute,
The Genius of the World was mute.
Amphion so his hand let fall,
VVhen at th'inchantment of his call
Stones danc'd to build the
Theban VVall.
VVhose numerous Fingers, whiter farre
Than
Venus Swans or
Ermines are,
VVag'd with the amorous strings a Warre;
But such a Warre as did invite
The Sense of Hearing, and the Sight
To riot in a full delight.
For as his Touch kept equall pace,
His Looks did move with such a grace;
We read his Musick in his Face.
Live Noble Youth, let Heav'n inspire
Thee with its owne eternall Fire,
While all that hear thee doe admire.
Love.
LOve's a Child, and ought to be
Won with smiles: his Deitie
Is cloath'd in
Panthers skins which hide
Those parts which kill, if but espy'd;
Hates Wars, but such as mildly led
By
Venus are to pleasures Bed;
There do soft imbraces fight,
Kisses combate with delight.
Amorous looks, and sighs discover
What be fits a timerous Lover.
But who ere to
Love doth yeeld,
Mars his Spear, nor
Pallas Shield
Can save from ruine; for
Loves Fire
Once enkindled by desire,
Blown by thoughts impetuous blasts,
It for ever burning lasts.
The Sphear to which it strives to flie
Are humane hearts that seek to die;
These (like fuell)
Loves fire cherish,
Till they to ashes burne and perish.
To a reviv'd Vacation Play, Prologue.
IT is a dead Vacation; yet we see
(Which glads our souls) a wel-set Company
Adorn our Benches: We did scarce expect
So full an Audience in this long neglect
Of Court and Citie Gentry, that transfer
In Terme their Visits to our Theater.
The Countrey Gentlemen come but to Town
For their own bus'nesse sake, to carry down
A sad
Sub-poena, or a fearfull Writ
For their poor Neighbour, not for love of Wit.
Their comely Madams too come up to see
New Fashions, or to buy some Raritie
For their young Son and Heir, and only stay
Till by their Sheepshearing they'r call'd away.
The Courtiers too are absent, who had wont
To buy your Wares on trust, they'r gone to hunt
The nimble Buck i'th' Countrey; and conceive,
They give you Int'rest, if you but receive
A haunch of Ven'son, or if they supplie
Your Wives trim Churching with a Red-Deer Pie.
Few Gentlemen are now in Town, but those
Who in your Books remain uncross'd for Clothes,
Who, when you aske them money, are so slack
To pay't; their answer is, What do you lack?
[Page 27] You are our daily and most constant Guests,
Whom neither Countrey bus'nesse nor the Gests
Can ravish from the Citie; 'tis your care
To keep your Shops, 'lesse when to take the Ayr
You walke abroad, as you have done to day,
To bring your Wives and Daughters to a Play.
How fond are those men then that think it fit
T'arraigne the Citie of defect of Wit?
When we do know you love both wit & sport,
Especially when you've vacation sor't.
And now we hope you've leisure in the Citie
To give the World cause to suspect you witty.
We would intreat you then put off awhile
That formall brow you wear when you beguile
Young Chapmen with bad Wares; pray do not look
On us, as on the Debtors in your Book,
With a shrewd countenance; what we act to day
Was for your sakes; (some think) a pretty Play;
Nay wee our selves almost presume it good
Because we hope it will be understood
By your capacious Brains, which know to get
Wealth, and for that cause we can't doubt your Wit;
At least we dare not, since wee'r bound to say
All those are witty come to see our Play.
For Ezekiel Fen at his first Acting a Mans Part. PROLOGVE.
SUppose a Merchant when he lanches forth
An untry'd Vessell, doubtfull of its worth,
Dare not adventure on that infant Peece
The glorious fetching of a golden Fleece
From the remot'st Indies. 'Tis so with mee,
Whose Innocence and timerous Modestie
Does blush at my own shadow, prone to feare
Each Wave a Billow that arises here;
The Company's my Merchant nor dare they
Expose my weak frame on so rough a Sea,
'Lesse you (their skilfull Pilots) please to stear
By mild direction of your Eye and Ear
Their new rigg'd Bark. This is their hopes and mine
Promise my selfe; if you like North-stars shine,
I like a daring, and adventrous Man,
Seeking new paths i'th' angry Ocean,
In threatning Tempests, when the surges rise
And give salt kisses to the neighb'ring Skies,
When blustring
Boreas with impetuous breath
Gives the spread Sailes a wound to let in Death,
Cracks the tall Mast, forcing the Ship (though loth)
On its carv'd Prow to wear a Crown of sroth;
Will face all perils boldly, to attain
Harbour in safety; then set forth againe.
To Mr. Charles Cotton.
YOu that are he, you that are onely he,
Who are what every noble Soule should be,
The Abstract of Mankind, who truely can
Contract Wits spacious Orb into a span;
Have stock enough of goodnesse to restore
VVhat erring Nature ever lost before.
'Tis not the greatnesse of your Name or Blood
Makes mee adore you, 'tis because you'r good.
The Wits
Maecenas can without a storme
Of triviall words, even actuate and inform
With spritly soule that matter which would lie
Lost like a lumpe, without a memorie
Or life t'ingender Wit. Think there can bee
In mee (dear Sir) no seeds of Flatterie.
Rapt with an holy Zeal, I needs must sing
Your ample Worth; and when I touch a string
Of my
Phoebeian Lyre, chast
Daphne shall
Tender her Bayes to deck the Festivall:
Devoted to your merit,
Bacchus then
Shall with his richest Nectar-swelling Pen
Indue me with such Wine, as I do think,
At least I wish, that you this night may drink;
Pure blood of the rich
Spanish Grape which may
Make you immortall, and atchieve the Bay
Poets by drinking ayme at. May there bee
In your carouses, VVit and Companie
[Page 30] Fit for your dear enjoying; may the wealth
Of noble VVine enrich you with a Health
Great as my wishes; while forgotten I
By your Commands, banish'd that Company
I so admire, in my
Archaick bed
Sigh like a Girle, whose precious Maidenhead
Is ravish'd from her; till your future view
Banish that pensive sadnesse, and renew
The happinesse of
Your Servant.
To my Friend, Advice.
IN Natures Annals Mans's the perfect Story,
And you of man had been the perfect glory,
Had not the errour of your giddie youth
Sold the Inheritance of that noble truth
Entaild on glorious manhood: you who are
In your desires so much irregular,
That your Ambition is to have your May,
Your flower of Youth spent in the fruitlesse play
Of gaining Female favours. In your blood
Live flames, (which felt) yet are not understood;
Continuall
Aetnaes in your veines nere cease
To burne, yet doe by burning even increase.
What pleasure find you in a foolish Kisse,
Or wanton look, that you do place your blisse,
[Page 31] Your minds Elisium in an amorous glance,
Or Priapeian night-work, such a trance,
A dreame, a nothing? Can that be the summe
O joy that you should aime at; to become
For that an Idiot; to enthrall your heart
To one whom nature made your weaker part,
Your houshold servant; to adore her haire,
Make of her face an Idoll, which though faire,
Is but a painted Sepulchre within
Containing rotten ashes of black sin,
Reliques of soule corruption! oh! reclaime
Those sordid thoughts, and let a nobler aime
Be your minds Object, be the finall Cause
Of your youths Actions; Let not Cupids Laws
Govern you wholly: For your female Creatures,
Inchanting Divels clad in humane features,
Earths needfull evils; Women, they whose name
Divided, does most perfectly proclaime
Their bad Condition; they, whose Beauty must
Be to men fire-brands to enkindle Lust;
They are that sweet and undigested meat
That does consume all those that dare to eat
The too delicious Banquet; Bels that sings
One tune at Weddings and at Buryings;
Serpents whose cunning carriage can intice
Another
Adam out of Paradice.
They'r all extremely good, or fraught with evils:
If good, best Saints; if bad, the worst of Divels.
Pardon mee (sacred Woman-hood) that I
Who've rais'd your Beautie to a Deitie,
Who know you good and vertuous, that you can
Excell in worth as well as feature, Man;
[Page 32] That I should for the love I bear this Youth,
Injure the innocence of your matchlesse truth:
'Tis to reclaime his follies: Let him see
How bad the worst of your frail Sexe can bee.
Ile expiate this crime hereafter, pay
To your chast thoughts my own yet Virgin Bay;
How much am I your friend then, that dare chuse
To hazzard the fresh honour of my Muse
For your dear sake; that with one loving breath
Giving you life, betray my selfe to death?
But this is friendships dutie, and I must
Rather to you that to my self be just.
Oh! Noble Youth, when you with judgment shall
Read all the Texts not held Canonicall
In womens Legends, when you shall behold
In Times successive Volume, what's inrol'd
Concerning them, how many leaves are spent
Upon their Lives, and each a Monument
Speaking the mischiefes that of old did rise
From the intemperate glances of their eyes:
And when Times Herald Fame shall usher in
Those whom Antiquitie brands for that sin:
Bring
Helen forth and the lascivious Boy
Wrapt in the flames (themselves did cause) of
Troy:
When faire incest'ous
Myrrha you shall see
Groaning within the entrails of a Tree;
View wanton
Lais, who so oft did sell
Her beauteous youth, a horrid Fiend in Hell;
Or
Tyrian Dido with big rage possest,
Opening the white dores of her Love-sick brest
To let in wilfull death; Or when you shall
Read modern Stories more Authenticall
[Page 33] Then Poetry has taught: You shall survey
Those Monsters,
Nero and
Caligula,
Naked and trembling; then with guilty feare
Insatiate
Messalina shall appeare;
Then the two Queens of Naples, who in Name
Were parallels as well as in their fame,
Whose appetites could never be withstood (blood.
Till their owne bloods quench'd their owne heate of
When you have seen these, turn your eyes and look
On that fair paper, that unspotted Book,
Where happier Stories flourish: and behold
Inscrib'd in Characters of purest Gold
Those glorious Names that Fame records to bee
Th' immaculate Champions of blest Chastitie;
Selfe-murdred
Lucrece, 'twill a Saint expresse,
And damne foule
Tarquin for's lasciviousnesse:
Chast
Arethusa there displayes her Beams,
That shine, though drown'd in lustful
Alphey's streams.
Daphne, that
Phoebus hot pursuit did shun,
Looks brighter now than the lascivious Sun.
But vain are all examples; since even we
By Reasons Mistris, wise Philosophie,
In Ethicks are instructed that we must
Think each thing wicked which we know unjust:
And what more dire injustice can there be
Than to our selves a want of Charitie?
But I'm too serious now, and must excuse
The over-bold instructions of my Muse:
I know dear friend, you'r so maturely wise,
You can see vice, though cloth'd in the disguise
Of vertue; and 'tis needlesse then to preach
Doctrine to you, who abler are to teach
[Page 34] Than be instructed: but my Pen does move
Only by true directions of my love,
From which if you receive the least offence,
I must appeale to th' Court of Innocence
From your harsh Censure; since what I have said
Was not to chide you, Friend, but to perswade.
VErtues reward is Honour, and though you
Wear no more Titles than descend as due
From your brave Ancestors, yet to your Blood
'Tis an addition (Sir) to be thought good.
You, whose demeanor bears that equall port,
You've won the love, not envie of the Court;
That can observe the forme and Laws of State,
Gaining mens emulation, not their hate;
That with a noble temper can decide
The diffrence 'twixt formalitie and pride,
That your indifferent actions are as far
From b'ing too common, as too singular,
So that with glorious freedome you direct
Your Will to what it ought most to affect.
You in whose Nature (as two Suns) arise
The Attributes of Bountefull and Wise.
You that are Valiant, (as Fames eldest Child
Honour) yet teach even Valour to be mild.
You that (in brief) with certain judgment can
Be perfect Courtier, yet be perfect Man.
'Tis no Poetick flattry that does raise
My eager Muse up to this height of Praise.
[Page 35] Big with an holy and Prophetick rage,
In Fames great Book, I in an ample Page
Wil fix the Annals of your Worth, which shall
When other Names are held Apocryphall,
In that eternall Volume be annext
A faire Appendix to that glorious Text.
But now (Great Sir) 'tis time that I excuse
The too audacious errours of my Muse,
And by my humble wishes strive to win
A full remission for its daring sin.
May you enjoy what ever Strength and Health
Can yeeld of pleasure; or unbounded Wealth
Can without riot purchase: may you bee
As free from others envie, as y'are free
From its desert: and may you (which long since
You had) grow great i'th' favour of your Prince.
May not mischance invade your souls blest peace;
But may it even as it consumes, increase.
And when decrepid age shall slowly creep
Over your Youth, and to eternall Sleep
Confine your eye-lids; may you then expire
Blest as a Martyr that does Court the Fire.
Poets are Prophets Sir; and things indeed
Happen, when they but wish they may succeed.
Vpon the right Honourable RICHARD Earle of Portland, late Lord High Treasurer of ENGLAND. ELEGIE.
HOw dul's my Faith! 'twould pusle my belief
That there could be room left on earth for grief,
Did not the Worlds great Genius seem to powre
Its very eyes out in a plenteous showre,
As if it meant its moysture should create
Another Deluge, spight of pow'rfull Fate.
The Stars are mournfull grown, and do conspire
With unaccustom'd tears to quench their fire.
The Sun himselfe looks heavie, and puts on
(In spight of Light) a sad privation, (breath
Since Noble
PORTLAND's fall, whose glorious
Was too too precious to bee stolne by Death.
Grim Tyrant hold thy hand, if thou 'lt imploy
Thy unresisted Shafts, let them destroy
Only those petty subjects, whom their Fate
Never produc'd for Pillars of the State;
[Page 37] The Kingdome well may spare them, and their losse
Would rather be a blessing than a crosse.
There's multitudes that only seek to bee
The ends, not raisers of their Familie,
To whom thy Darts (their Patrimony spent)
Would be most welcome Cures of discontent.
Ambitious Furie! 'Tis thy only aime
To vanquish those same true born sons of Fame
That rise by noble merit; such was hee
To whom my Muse does pay this
Elegie.
He who though plac'd in Honors highest seat,
Striv'd rather to be counted Good than Great.
Into whose Essence (all conceiv'd) that State
Did its own soule even transubstantiate:
Such were his Counsels, so supremely wise,
They alwaies conquerd where they did advise.
His Judgement too so strong, and so mature,
What ere it promis'd, seem'd to be secure:
Yet 'twas with such a moderation mixt,
That as on Law, so 'twas on Conscience fixt.
All's actions were so even, they nere did force
The great mans Envie, nor the poor mans Curse.
Such was his Life, so temperate and just,
It nere knew Malice, nor commerc'd with Lust.
What suddain trance surrounds me? what extreme
Passion confines my senses to a Dreame?
I feele a lazie humour slowly creep
Over my Fancie, charming it to sleep,
Or rather, that (entranc'd) it might supply
Great
PORTLAND's Herse with a fit
Elegie.
Now a Poetick furie brings mee on
To mount to Fames eternall Mansion,
[Page 38] Where upon Marble Seats I did behold
Those glorious Worthies so renound of old
For prudent Counsels, who were held the health,
The very life and soule o'th' Common-wealth.
There the mellifluous
Cicero did shine
Bright with the spoiles of vanquish'd
Cataline;
And as his Motto, ore his Throne there hung,
Arms yeeld to Arts; let Swords give place to th' Tongue.
There
Roman Fabius sate, who wrought the fall
(By his delays) of Punick
Hanuibal.
'Mongst other forraigne Statesmen, there appears
Those of our Nation, who for many years
Did in ambiguous Fortunes frown and smile,
Uphold the Fate and Glory of this Isle.
There that great Marshall
Pembroke did sustaine
The reeling Pillars of third
Henries Raigne,
And of this our
English heaven advance
Himselfe the
Atlas gainst invading
France.
(After a numerous Companie) in his Pall,
And other holy Robes, Fame did install
Illustrious
Morton, that compos'd the Jarre
Betwixt the House of
York and
Lancaster.
There
Sackvile, Cecill, Egerton, were plac'd,
On whom as I stood gazing, Fame in hast
Approaching, did command them to prepare
For
PORTLAND's welcome to that Theater
Of ever-living Honour; and to mee,
Goe sing (quoth shee) this Worthies
Elegie.
Straight (as the Muses Priest) I did obey,
And gan to touch my Instrument, when they
Leaving their Thrones, with an unanimous voice
Welcom'd the Sage Lord, and did give him choice
[Page 39] Which Seat he would accept; but modest hee,
Repaid their Courtesie with Courtesie,
Till Fame her selfe installd him, and did give
His merit this Inscription, which shall live,
As his great Name, unraz'd:
Here PORTLAND
lies,
That was as truely Iust as hee was Wise;
Cautious, yet full of Councell; Mild, yet free
From seeking idle Popularitie;
To Goodmen gentle, to the Bad severe;
Lov'd Vertue for its selfe, and not for Feare.
This Fame inscrib'd, and this shall deck his Herse,
While there is Time, or memorie of Verse.
On Sir Robert Ayton, late Secretarie to her Majestie. ELEGIE.
TEares are all Great mens Obsequies, when they
Break from the glorious prison of their Clay;
A thousand fluent eyes their losses mourns,
As if they meant to drowne them in their Urnes.
If then this sorrow customarie bee,
How many eyes should bee wept out for thee?
Admired
Ayton! every mournfull breath
Lamenting thine should sigh it self to death,
As proud to wait on thy pure Soul, which fled
To heaven so swiftly; none did think thee dead,
Till the loud Bell (Deaths Trumpet) did proclaime
Thy flight to immortalitie; then Fame
Herselfe put on Griefs Liverie, and sung
Thy weighty losse, till shee had lost her tongue
In that sad use, as if shee meant to have
A Tombe for all her Storie in thy Grave.
Thou, who when living, Truths example stood,
To teach Great men how to be Great & Good;
Nay, to be Wise and Learnd, to act each part
Of their Lives Scene, with Vertue and with Art,
Which thou mad'st Vertues Hand-maid, and with skil
Manag'd thy Greatnesse, without Greatnesse ill.
[Page 41] But Sorrow does distract me, and my Zeal
Of Grief for thee does (with the practise) steal
Away my Muses Faculties, and now
Deaths Embleme
(Cypresse) hangs upon my Brow
Heavie as thy cold Marble; else ere this,
My pregnant Muse, big with an Extasis
Of Wonder, had endeavour'd to set forth
The unexpressive glorie of thy Worth:
It had displaid thy Learning, which was such,
That it (in justice) may compare with much
Admired
Barclay, or be said to side
With Wit-excelling
Buchanan, (the pride
And glorie of thy Nation) 'Twas so known
To both the Kingdomes, each would gladly own
Thee as their Off-spring, but ours (grieving) must
Only be happy to preserve thy dust:
Which as if Fame had meant it should inherit
The glorie due unto thy living Merit,
This unaccustom'd Honour to it brings,
To mix with sacred ashes of our Kings.
Good, is in Subjects Kingly, and in thee
All Graces strive to make an Unitie
Of pious goodnesse; many flames so meet,
And curle into one Pyramid, then greet
Their subtle Spheare; in
Aytons equall Brest
Dwels all that could for Vertue be exprest.
So that the brightnesse of his Lives just glory
Shall shame the Bad, be to the good a Story.
Vpon the Noble Colonell-Generall Burroughs, slaine at the Isle of Ree. ELEGIE.
ADmired BURROUGHS! though to deck thy Herse
Thy Merits challenge a tenth Muses Verse;
Though, if thy Valour just reward should have,
Mars should turne Poet, write thy Epitaph:
Yet let not thy blest soule (Heroick Spirit)
That now in heavens great Armie does inherit
The Civick Garland, Laurell, and enjoyes
More glorious triumphs than the Romish toyes
Us'd to grace happie Conquests with, despise
This, though no Hecatombe, yet a Sacrifice,
Which the well-wishes of a bleeding heart
Offers as Fun'rall flames to thy desert.
To say thou wert Wise, Valiant, and the rest
Of those good Attributes thy Worth exprest
T' include in it, were nothing; 'twere more fit
That some sweet Genius some
Ovidian Wit
Should studie for new Epithites t' expresse
Thee as thou wert then living, that's no lesse
Than Master of those Gifts, which here related
Would make old Nature proud she had created
A work of so much wonder, that pale Death
Has lodg'd thee now (Illustrious Soule) beneath
A pile of Marble, whose hard entrails weep
O're thy cold ashes; and since yron-sleep
[Page 43] Has clos'd thy eye-lids, let thy silent Grave
Retain with thee this for thy Epitaph:
Here lies a Colonell, slaine by fatall Shot;
Who lost his Reg'ment, and a Kingdome got.
Vpon the right Honourable, the Lady Elisabeth Rich. ELEGIE.
VVHy looks the day so dull? why does't appear
As if it were contracted to a Tear?
Or rather had put off essentiall Light,
To shrowd its Lustre in eternall night?
The Clouds are drowsie, as they meant to sleep,
Or rather pregnant (with salt Dew) to weep.
'Tis past the Morning now, Day needs not powre
Its precious moysture on each amorous Flowre;
The Violets want not liquid pearls t' adorne
Their azure ears, nor from the beauteous Morne
Does the pale Couslip or the Primrose seek
A Christall Gemm to hang upon its Cheek;
Their pride does wither, they hang down their heads,
As if they would intombe them in their beds.
The Sun-aspiring Lark under his Wing
Hanging his head, seems now to sigh, not sing.
What should portend this sadnes? why should mirth
Seem thus o'th' suddain to bee fled from Earth?
[Page 44] No Comet has appear'd of late, no Star
With blazing brightnesse threatned Death or War.
The Cause then of this suddain change must be
Beyond the reach of wise
Astrologie.
(My Fancie has 't.) This alteration falls
Only at Beauties, Vertues Funeralls.
These are no common Obsequies, since Shee
(Illustrious Ladie) is enforc'd to bee
The Cause of these lamented Rites, by proud
Imperious Death confin'd into a Shrowd:
Shee that was so superlatively Good,
Her Vertue was her Honour more than Blood:
Whose Innocence and Love was all her Care:
Who was as purely Chast as Shee was Fayre:
So full of noble Carriage, that her Life
May be the Figure of a perfect Wife.
Look here you curious Great Ones, here doth ly
A Glasse for you to dresse your Actions by.
'Twas not the name of
Ca'ndish, so ally'd
To Worth, that could in her beget least Pride;
Nor did shee boast her Title, being led
A glorious Bride to hopefull
Rich his Bed.
Gentle as Summer Evenings, or as Ayre
In its first native Puritie; and Faire
As was the Beams of the Created Light,
Before it ever had convers'd with Night;
Humble as Vot'ries, that in Pray'r expire;
And Chast as those who never know Desire
Was this Religious Dame; who nere can die,
Since her own Fame has writ her
Elegie.
Vpon the death of his Sister, M rs. Priscilla Glapthorne. ELEGIE.
Happie
Arabians, when your
Phoenix dies
In a sweet pile of fragrant Spiceries!
Out of the Ashes of her Myrrh-burn'd Mother,
(That you may still have one) springs up another.
Unhappie we! Since 'tis your
Phoenix nature,
Why could nor ours, our only matchlesse Creature
Injoy that right? Why from the Mothers Urne
Did not another
Phoenix straight returne?
Oh! there's a reason; 'twas cause Natures Store
All spent on her, is now become too poore
To frame her equall, so that on her Herse
My trembling hand shall hang this Fun'rall Verse.
Vertue and Beautie, none can boast to have,
They both are buried in her silent Grave;
Who was Loves, Truths, Beauties and Vertues Pride;
With her Love, Truth, Beautie and Vertue dyd.
Vpon the death of M rs. Susanna Osbalston. ELEGIE.
I Pree thee leave me, Grief; if thou wilt stay
Within my panting Brest, shew mee the way
To present death; or force my eyes to shed
So large a flood of Tears, as may bee spred
Like a transparent Christall Sheet upon
Her Grave, that so no other worthlesse Stone
Aspire t' adorne her Monument. Oh Shee!
Who was what ev'ry loyall Wife should bee:
Shee in whose living Character was writ
A modest Sweetnesse cloath'd in harmlesse Wit:
Not like those ayrie Dames that only strive
To keep their Faces, not their Fames alive:
That prey upon their Husbands wealth, consume
Whole Sign'ories in Painting and Perfume:
That only make an Idoll of their Will,
And hate all Good, 'cause they account it Ill.
No, shee was pleasing, void of least Offence;
Was fully Wise, yet full of Innocence.
But oh! how I undoe my selfe! I now
Must pull my Lawrell from my wrinkled Brow,
[Page 47] And wreath'd in deathfull Cypresse, sadly call
My Muse to wait upon her Funerall.
Light thy sick Tapers, pensive Muse, and come
To wait her Death, and thine owne Martyrdome;
For neverbe invok'd to write (by mee),
When hers is writ, another
Elegie.
Now in that silent Tenement of Death,
The Church, go sing in a soft Swan-like breath,
A
Requiem to thy memory; and there
Drowne ev'ry word thou utter'st with a Teare:
But let them be such Tears as may expresse
Not Sorrow, but a joyfull Extasis.
And You (dear Sir) in whom there doth survive
So much of her, shee needs must rest alive
In your yet bleeding memory; You that know
How much each tributarie-Grace did owe
To her unmatch'd Perfections; how that shee
Was Vertues, Beauties just Epitome:
How that her Eyes were Sphears in which did move
The equall Orbs of Chastitie and Love:
Her Cheeks two fields of purity, where grew
The Rose and Lilie, mixt i'th' mutuall hue
Of Smiles and Blushes; how each outward part
Did speak the richer lustre of her Heart,
Her Minds intensive glory. When you think
Justly on this, her Grave no more shall drink
Your frequent Tears; but fraught with noble Mirth,
You'll soon devest your Soul of all that's Earth
About it; say, 'twas justice to transferre
From this dull Region such a matchlesse Starre,
And fix't i'th' Christall Heav'n; you'll then confesse
Your constant Love to her appear'd far lesse.
[Page 48] In Griefe than Joy; for sorrow spent for this
Her happinesse, is envie to her blisse,
Not charitie t'her memory; yet my Verse
Shall hang a lasting Hatchment on her Herse,
My Lawrell deck her Urne, in which does lie
As much as of Mortalitie could die.
You Sir, who then best knew her perfect Life,
Ought to rejoyce, not grieve for your dead Wife.
SYLVIA. A FRAGMENT.
AS
DAMON thus did 'plaine,
Behold a Cloud (out of the foamie Maine)
'Gan to arise, and over-looke the Earth,
Scorning the Sea (from whence it took its birth)
As dull and pond'rous; still it mounts up higher
With azure Wings, as if it meant t'aspire,
Spight of commanding Natures free Consent,
To place 'bove Ayr the watry Element;
Whose vain ambition, from his calid Sphear,
When nimble Fire, the chief and supreme Peere
Of Elements, beheld; his servent Ire
Increas'd his furie, adding Fire to Fire,
Making him hotter than the eighth degree,
Which is prescrib'd him by Philosophie;
And calling to his accident, the Heat
That by him sate upon a brazen Seat;
Threatens to blow up the
Sicilian earth.
He bad him quell that over-daring Foe,
Who still made hast to his own overthrow.
Heat strait obayd; and wrapping up in Smoke
His horrid Flames, a speedy passage took
Into the fierie Regions, and with force
Of rayes more ardent than the Suns bright Horse
When they ore-turn'd their Masters purple Carr,
And drownd in
Po, the ventrous Waggoner,
Drew up the willing Cloud, that striv'd to flie,
With
Icarus to its owne Tragedie.
Just as a Load-starre, whose attracting force
Does cause the Iron leave its native Course,
And mount to it; so did Heats pow'rful might
Inforce the following Cloud, till it had quite
Pass'd the first Kingdome, and was upward gone
Into the pure Ayrs middle Region;
Then back with speed, the Heat gan homeward fare
And left the Cloud to th' mercy of the Ayre;
Whose subtle bodie being light and drie,
Could not indure the Clouds moist qualitie.
(Clouds and all heavie Meteors, Rain, and Snow,
Haile, and the like, are Bodies mixt, that grow
Out of the Earth, and watry Element,
Which by their nature pond'rous, still are bent
Down to the Center, but the Ayre and Fire
Of more pure substance, seek to force them higher
Towards the Sphear, that in their downfall thence
They may triumph, and shew their Eminence
Over those dullerbodies; but the natures
Of these two grosse, yet fully simple Creatures
[Page 51] Will not permit ascension, they attract
Therefore these Meteors upwards, which compact
Of humid Vapours, needs must seek to bow
Downwards again): Our Cloud then which was now
Left by its hot Conductor, straight was cast
By the inraged Ayr with greater hast,
To kisse the Center (than a
Parthian Bow
Can shoot an Arrow, or a Morter throw
Deathfull Granado's): in its way it strook
Upon the Firmament, and there b'ing broke,
Its wat'ry substance did obscure the Plaine
And gawdie Heaven with Clouds, which sought again
To joyn in one, and fill the buxome Ayre,
Just as you've seen a Painter on a faire
White Table drop some little spots of Black,
Which running here and there, at length does make
One Colour in the Grownd-work; or as when
Two num'rous Hosts of wel-resolved men
Meet in the Field, and with the murd'rous Smoak
Of their Death-sending Muskets, strive to choak
Their bloody facts from view of lightsome day,
The Sulphure flying many a sev'rall way,
At last does meer, and dim the Christall Sky:
So did this Cloud, now many, by and by
One Cloud agen; which when the Rose-cheek'd Sun
(Who had but halfe his daily labour run)
Saw from his shining Chariot, on hee speeds,
Driving amain his Nectar-glutted Steeds
Through the dark Welkin, now he 'gins to call
On
Pirois, now on
Aethon, then lets fall
His angry Whip upon their sweaty backs,
Now pulls the Raines hard, which again he slacks,
[Page 52] That they might have more free and open Course
T'expell the Cloud, which scorning the Suns force,
With pitchie mists did so obscure his light,
That day seem'd turn'd into
Cimmerian Night.
Then straight the Cloud out of its watrie Store
Showr'd as if godly
Pyrrhus age once more
Had been approaching, when blew
Proteus drave
His flocks to see the Mountains, Fishes clave
Unto the Elmes, before a noted seat
For harmlesse Turtles. All the Winds did meet
In hostile opposition;
Auster fought
With
Lybs, and he with
Boreas, who from out
His rapid throat cast gusts, and did display
His wings as wide, as when
Orythia
Was by him ravisht: Thunder from the Skie
Like to lovd musick, made a Harmonie:
With the Winds whistling shrilnesse, Seas did roare
Rising in frothie Mountains, that the Shore
Trembled for feare, lest the impetuous Waves
Should passe their Limits, and become the Graves.
To the adjoyning Meadowes: And our Swaine
Damon, who erst in Tears began to plaine
His
Kala's losse, now let that salt dew fall,
To solemnize his poor Flocks Funerall.
For loe big-swelling with the late-falne Raine
Tyber broke ore his Banks, and ran amaine
Into the Meadowes, where our Shepheards kept
Their Woolly Charge, which presently was swept
Down by the greedy River, as wee see
A Towne beleagur'd by its Enemie,
When by an on-slaught 'tis surpriz'd and tane,
Both old and young are by the Martiall Traine
[Page 53] Of the Victorious Souldiers murdred: so
Dealt the inraged River; to and fro
It ran, and bore down all; the tender Lambs
That then were sucking of their milkie Dams,
Ere they could waile their deaths with one sad bleat,
Were swallow'd up, yet hanging on the Teat.
Nor did the Flocks horn'd-Leaders brazen Bell
Serve him for ought, unlesse to ring a knell
To the Folds drowning: 'twas in vain to strive,
For the poor Shepheards now to save alive
Themselves was all their studie; to a Wood,
Whose top had long a mark to Sea-men stood,
They trembling fled, when straight the Cloudy Skie
'Gan to cleer up, and
Phoebus lightsomely
Agen to shine; the Muses of this Grove
To chaunt their sylvan Madrigalls, and move
The Stones to listen, and the loftie Trees
To bow their dewie heads; the busie Bees
Leaving the hollow Oaks which the late Rain
Had forc'd 'em enter, now began again
Their little thighs with juyce of Thyme to fill;
But the amazed Shepheards trembling still,
Could scarce give credit to their wondring eyes,
(Such pow'r has feare if throughly it surprize
Our soule and sences) they beheld the Wood
As't had been water; thought each plash a flood,
And every drop that from the boughs did fall
They thought a tear shed for their Funerall.
In this amazement standing; to their sight
An object was presented, naked quite,
Save that her snowie Smock did compasse in
Its white embraces, her far whiter Skin.
[Page 54] They saw bound to an Oak so rare a Creature,
As seem'd to be the work on which old Nature
Had spent her best Materialls.
Not
Cytherca, when shee naked rose
From the Seas wat'ry bosome, did disclose
Halfe of her Beauties; not the nimble Maid,
To whose swift Feet so many Suitors paid
Their heads as tribute; nor the Wood-nymphs Queen
When shee was bathing by
Acteon seen,
Showd like to her; by whom
Pigmalion might
Have tane a Patterne, and have fram'd a right
Modell of Beautie: her attractive Haire,
Bright as the Sun-beams, drew th' inamour'd Ayr
Gently to waft it; and her Pearls of Sight,
Though drown'd in Tears, cast forth a glitt'ring light,
That through dark Sorrow shin'd; the winged Boy
Leaving his Mothers Fountains, came
[...] injoy
Those Christal Wels, whose pure drops could redresse
Sooner than Nectar, hot Loves thirstinesse.
The Naiades, and tripping Fairie Elves
Repin'd to see in their owne Woods, themselves
So farre surpass'd in Beautie; and the Grove
Thinking't had been
Sylvanus fairest Love,
Brought thither all his Off-spring, with pretence
To doe his Gods belov'd Nymph reverence.
First did the Thorne most amorously begin
To twine about her, yet nere prick'd her skin;
Then aged Palmes, and Victor-crowning Bayes
Halfe-withered (at her Eyes all quickning Rayes)
Came and renew'd their freshnesse; and the Yew
Unkind to wearie Passengers, at view
[Page 55] Of her, lost all his poyson; and the Tree
Whence
Venus Minion in his Infancie
Was by the Wood-nymph taken, did presume
To borrow sweetnesse from her breaths persume;
Here did the Cedar meet the stately Pine,
And it the Cypresse, seeking to intwine
Their bushie tops, which Arbour-wise did run
To shade her Face, and robb the am'rous Sun
Of his desired Kisses; all the Wood
At view of her, as much amazed stood,
As when the
Oegrin Harpists cunning hand
Gave life to Mountains, forc'd
Panchaya stand
Shaking her Balmie Tresses. Had the deep
Sighs shee expir'd not shewd that life did keep
In her a happie residence, the Swaines
Would have imagin'd that her azure Veines,
Her Iv'rie Neck, and swelling Brests, the rest
Of her Dimensions, not to be exprest,
T'have been
Diana's Statue, there erected
To be ador'd; but when they had respected
Her sighs, and saw her living as sh' ad been
Some Sylvan Goddesse, or the Nymph whose green
Scepter commands the Forrests; they askd' grace
For off'ring entrance to that sacred place.
The bashfull Virgin, from her weeping eyes
Shot glitt'ring Rayes hot Loves Incendiaries,
Teaching Daies Tapor a more glorious Shine
Than Diamonds give to Jet, when they intwine,
At them the frozen Waggoner might thaw
His Chariot axel'd with congealed Snow;
And the slow moving North-Star having felt
Their temp'rate heat, his Isicles would melt,
[Page 56] And being affrighted at the sight of men,
Call'd up the blood into her Cheeks agen
Which fear had made depart thence; blushing red,
As does
Aurora when shee leaves the Bed
Of old
Tythonius; saine she would have got
Into the Wood, tooke
Daphne from the hot
Pursuit of lustfull
Cynthius; the Oak
She oft besought to lend its Bark to cloak
Her from their view,
[...] when she saw how vain
Her wishes were, shee then began a main
To beat her Brests, and from her radiant eyes
To send a showre, whose drops were of more price
Than those which conquer'd
Danae: As shee thought
With plaints and grievous sighs to have besought
The Shepheards to unbind her; from the thick
Of the green Wood, came running toward her, quick
As some
Numidian Lyon from his Den,
(Half-starv'd with hunger) to his prey, three men
Three Monsters rather, clad in Weeds of haire,
Save that their Legs, and Armes, and Necks all bare,
Look'd rougher than their Garments; to the Maid
Then bent their cruell steps, who humbly praid
The Heavens for pitie; on the Villains went
Towards the Oak with a most damn'd intent
To ravish her; the Trees that by her stood
Began lament; the light Nymphs of the Wood
Implor'd the chast
Diana to defend
Her wretched Votresse; and the Birds did tend
The Ayr with dismall screetches;
Phylomell
In mourning accents fram'd her voice to tell
The Vengeance due to Ravishers: the Fite
That burn'd their entrails, blown by soul desire,
[Page 57] Made their eyes sparkle, yeelding horid sight
Unto their fact, whose blacknesse did affright
The blushing Sun, who bid his golden head
And seem'd to suffer an Eclipse through dread
Of that dark deed; and now they did begin
With sacrilegious hands to touch that skin,
Which soft as
Lydian Silk, did even intice
Love there to build his choicest Paradice.
When the inraged Shepheards, who beheld
Their monstrous purpose, with stern fury fild,
Ran to her succour; as a Bear, whose young
Is stolne away, or as a Wolfe among
A flock of Sheep, when by the Pastors care
Hee's hindred of his prey; just so did fare
The disappointed Letchers; and with cries
Whose hideous sound lent thunder to the skies,
They rush'd upon the Shepheards, who prepar'd
For all incounters, stood upon their guard,
And with their hooks, which sometimes us'd to catch
The tender Lambs and bleating Ewes, they watch
To meet their blows, and strength with strength repel;
All strook together, yet not one blow fell
In vain to th' ground; the sweat and purple blood
That trickled from them, dim'd their sights, yet stood
The fight in equall ballance; now the Swaines,
And then the Wood-men had the odds; their paines
Seem'd not to make 'em wearie; these did fight
Spur'd on by lust, and these in justice right.
Now 'gan they grapple, and with all their force
Striv'd to oerthrow each other; no remorse
Of their own harms, could move their angrie minds
To come to parley: furie when it blinds
[Page 58] Our soules, is such a passion; not the rage
Of hungrie Indian Lyons, when they wage
With rav'nous Leopards battell for their prey,
Was like to theirs; fierce Bears and Tygers may
Be held as mild; the
Brittish Mastiffes sight
With his couragious
Irish opposite,
The Dragon arm'd with plates of strongest Male,
Against
Ioves Bird; the Sword-sish and the Whale
Were models of this combate; till at length,
Might overcame, Vertue gave place to Strength:
The Shepheards breathlesse were; their angrie foes
Wax'd more couragious, and did seek to close
With their half-vanquish'd enemies: as a Steed
Who having run with over-hastie speed
Most of his Race, does, ere it fully end,
Tire; so the Shepheards who did rashly spend
Their spirits at the entrance of the Fray,
Ere it was done, had none to spend, yet they
With courage held the Fight up, till by force
Mastred, they fell, each with a wounded Corse
Striking the earth now when they could no more
Strike their inhumane foes. The savage Bore
That in revenge wrathfull
[...] sent
To spoile the
Chaledonian Continent,
When he had drawn the valiant
Dardans blood,
Could not triumph more; they insulting stood
Like to so many Goshawks ore their prey,
Ore the poor Swains; what then could
Sylvia,
(So hight the Nymph) expect, but present death,
Or ravishment? Which to prevent, her breath
She sought to stop with her gold
[...] haire,
But when it came into her lips, it there
[Page 59] Amorously hung, spight of her force, to suck
Myriads of melting kisses; see the luck
Heavens had ordain'd to save her; with her cries
And with the late-fought Combats Ecchoing noise,
Drawn to the place, arriv'd an armed Knight,
Who to avoid the fearfull tempests might,
Had tane the Woods for shelter, just as they
With barbarous outcries were about to slay
The honest Shepheards, whom when he did view
In that apparant perill, straight he flew
Upon the lustful butchers, and his Sword
Dealt deathfull dole amongst 'em; they afford
Him blowes for blowes, and dangerous fight maintain
Till his strong hand victoriously had slain
The fiercest of them; then the other paire,
Like to a stone that through the subtle Ayre
Flies from a forcing sling, so fast they fled
Into the Wood; the Shepheards almost dead
With wounds and bruises, joyfully did rise
To thank their Saviour, who had cast his eyes
Up to the Tree where lovely
Sylvia stood,
Bound like the
Tyrian Damsell when the stood
Sent up a Whale to eat her. This strange sight
So full of wonder, filld the courteous Knight
With admiration, and desire to know,
Both who shee was, and who had us'd her so.
And hasting forward to the holy tree,
He gently 'gan to loose her bands; but shee
Who in th'
Idea of her frighted thought
Saw nothing but her foes, imagin'd nought
But present Rape, gave up her Virgin breath
From whence shee had it, and enrioh'd foul Death
[...]
[...]
[Page 60] With the most precious flavour: not the Boy
Now turn'd a Flow'r whom,
Phoebus did destroy
With his Sledg-casting; nor
Orithia's faire
Sister, sweet
Proeris, whom the name of Ayre
Brought to her ruine; nor
Ioves beam burn'd Love
In death appear'd so amorous. As a Dove
Trus'd by a Falcon gently takes the stroke
Of Death; so did shee. The broad spreading Oak
Erst proud of its faire Captive, sadly now
Began lament, and mournfully to bow
His aged head, to kisse her liveliest Corse;
The Wood-nymphs mournfull plaints did even enforce
The neighb'ring Rocks to weep; our Shepheards tears
Watred the earth: in her sad death, appeares
His
Kala's losse to
Damon, so that hee
Wept both for hers, and
Kala's Tragedie.
But all their woes were nothing to the plight.
Of sorrow seizing on the gentle Knight,
When hee beheld her perish; that his griefe
Made him forget to tender quick reliefe
Unto her fainting; yet at last he ran
Unto a neighb'ring fountaine, and began
To catch the glyding water, which did meet
His labouring hands, thence leapt into her sweet
Though dying face, shee only in a swound,
And not quite dead; the saving water found
Means to recure her, (for tis sure the
[...]
Of suddain traunces, which possesse a Creature
Only when Feate does call from every part
The lively blood to aid the fainting heart,
Agen to vanish, when the blood is call'd
By some quick motion to the parts appall'd
[Page 61] For want of it;) Shee therefore in this guise
Handled, unseald (forthwith) her death-clos'd eyes.
As the transplendent Guider of the Day
Obscur'd by clouds, more brightly does display,
When h'ath ortcome them, his all-piercing light;
So did the blazing Comets of her sight
Dart now more lucid clearnesse, every beame
Of it deserving to have been a Theame
For all the Poets. Not the
Cyprian Rose
Or silver Lillie, what can we suppose,
Was like her Cheeks? Hyperbolies must needs
Fail to expresse that which it selfe exceeds
All Metaphors: in them the blushing Red
Striv'd to appeare, and back unwilling fled
To give that place to the more pow'rfull White:
Judge but what fulnesse of sincere delight
Rapt the late fearfull Knight when he did see
Her live agen; hee hasted to the tree,
And kindly chear'd her tim'rous heart; the Maid
Could scarce beleeve her ears or eyes, which paid
Joy a most welcome tribute; to unbind
Her cords he hasted, while the mossie rind
Of the broad spreading tree did strive to cleave
To her fair skin, as if't had rather leave
Its mother Oak than her; beneath the shade
Of a thick Fig-tree she before had laid
Her light silk garments, which the Shepheards brought
To cloath her with; the loving vestures sought
To flie unto her bodie; soon as shee
Had put them on, with blushing modestie
Shee thank'd the noble Champion and the Swains,
Who for her sake had undergone such pains
[Page 62] As merited requitall; but a look
From her sweet self both Knight and Shepheards took
As a reward sufficient; they would faine
Have ask'd her name, but durst not; how shee came
To be distrest so; but lest shee should chance
With thought of it to fall into a Trance
Agen, they would not crave't; She humbly prayed
The Knight and Shepheards, she might be conveyd
By them home to her Fathers house, that stood
Under the covert of that lucklesse Wood
Where shee had run such danger: Straight way they
Leaving the cursed Villaines corps a prey
To meager Wolves, the leavie Grove forsook;
Shee being their Guid, a beaten Path they took
Into a Meadow, where the Flowers did strive
With eager motion, which should first revive
From their late drowning, that they so might meet
With dewie lips the beauteous Virgins feet.
Caetera desant.
FINIS.