AUTHOR Michael Drayton

TITLE Idea Sonnet Cycle

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Into these loves who but for passion looks,
    At this first sight here let him lay them by,
    And seek elsewhere in turning other books,
    Which better may his labour satisfy.
      No far-fetched sigh shall ever wound my breast;
    Love from mine eye a tear shall never wring;
    Nor in "Ah me's!" my whining sonnets drest,
    A libertine fantasticly I sing.
      My verse is the true image of my mind,
    Ever in motion, still desiring change;
    To choice of all variety inclined,
    And in all humours sportively I range.
      My muse is rightly of the English strain,
      That cannot long one fashion entertain.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Like an adventurous sea-farer am I,
    Who hath some long and dang'rous voyage been,
    And called to tell of his discovery,
    How far he sailed, what countries he had seen,
      Proceeding from the port whence he put forth,
    Shows by his compass how his course he steered,
    When east, when west, when south, and when by north,
    As how the pole to every place was reared,
      What capes he doubled, of what continent,
    The gulfs and straits that strangely he had past,
    Where most becalmed, where with foul weather spent,
    And on what rocks in peril to be cast:
      Thus in my love, time calls me to relate
      My tedious travels and oft-varying fate.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    My heart was slain, and none but you and I;
    Who should I think the murder should commit?
    Since but yourself there was no creature by
    But only I, guiltless of murdering it.
      It slew itself; the verdict on the view
    Do quit the dead, and me not accessary.
    Well, well, I fear it will be proved by you,
    The evidence so great a proof doth carry.
      But O see, see, we need inquire no further!
    Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found,
    And in your eye the boy that did the murder,
    Your cheeks yet pale since first he gave the wound!
      By this I see, however things be past,
      Yet heaven will still have murder out at last.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Taking my pen, with words to cast my woe,
    Duly to count the sum of all my cares,
    I find my griefs innumerable grow,
    The reck'nings rise to millions of despairs.
      And thus dividing of my fatal hours,
    The payments of my love I read and cross;
    Subtracting, set my sweets unto my sours,
    My joys' arrearage leads me to my loss.
      And thus mine eyes a debtor to thine eye,
    Which by extortion gaineth all their looks,
    My heart hath paid such grievous usury,
    That all their wealth lies in thy beauty's books.
      And all is thine which hath been due to me,
      And I a bankrupt, quite undone by thee.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Bright star of beauty, on whose eyelids sit
    A thousand nymph-like and enamoured graces,
    The goddesses of memory and wit,
    Which there in order take their several places;
      In whose dear bosom, sweet delicious love
    Lays down his quiver which he once did bear,
    Since he that blessed paradise did prove,
    And leaves his mother's lap to sport him there
      Let others strive to entertain with words
    My soul is of a braver mettle made;
    I hold that vile which vulgar wit affords;
    In me's that faith which time cannot invade.
      Let what I praise be still made good by you;
      Be you most worthy whilst I am most true!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Nothing but "No!" and "I!"[A] and "I!" and "No!"
    "How falls it out so strangely?" you reply.
    I tell ye, Fair, I'll not be answered so,
    With this affirming "No!" denying "I!"
    I say "I love!" You slightly answer "I!"
    I say "You love!" You pule me out a "No!"
    I say "I die!" You echo me with "I!"
    "Save me!" I cry; you sigh me out a "No!"
    Must woe and I have naught but "No!" and "I!"?
    No "I!" am I, if I no more can have.
    Answer no more; with silence make reply,
    And let me take myself what I do crave;
      Let "No!" and "I!" with I and you be so,
      Then answer "No!" and "I!" and "I!" and "No!"

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    How many paltry, foolish, painted things,
    That now in coaches trouble every street,
    Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings,
    Ere they be well wrapped in their winding sheet!
      Where I to thee eternity shall give,
    When nothing else remaineth of these days,
    And queens hereafter shall be glad to live
    Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise;
      Virgins and matrons reading these my rhymes,
    Shall be so much delighted with thy story,
    That they shall grieve they lived not in these times,
    To have seen thee, their sex's only glory.
      So shalt thou fly above the vulgar throng,
      Still to survive in my immortal song.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Love, in a humour, played the prodigal,
    And bade my senses to a solemn feast;
    Yet more to grace the company withal,
    Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest.
      No other drink would serve this glutton's turn,
    But precious tears distilling from mine eyne,
    Which with my sighs this epicure doth burn,
    Quaffing carouses in this costly wine;
      Where, in his cups, o'ercome with foul excess,
    Straightways he plays a swaggering ruffian's part,
    And at the banquet in his drunkenness,
    Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest heart.
      A gentle warning, friends, thus may you see,
      What 'tis to keep a drunkard company!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    There's nothing grieves me but that age should haste,
    That in my days I may not see thee old;
    That where those two clear sparkling eyes are placed,
    Only two loopholes that I might behold;
      That lovely arched ivory-polished brow
    Defaced with wrinkles, that I might but see;
    Thy dainty hair, so curled and crisped now,
    Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree;
      Thy cheek now flush with roses, sunk and lean;
    Thy lips, with age as any wafer thin!
    Thy pearly teeth out of thy head so clean,
    That when thou feed'st thy nose shall touch thy chin!
      These lines that now thou scornst, which should delight thee,
      Then would I make thee read but to despite thee.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    As other men, so I myself do muse
    Why in this sort I wrest invention so,
    And why these giddy metaphors I use,
    Leaving the path the greater part do go.
      I will resolve you. I'm a lunatic;
    And ever this in madmen you shall find,
    What they last thought of when the brain grew sick,
    In most distraction they keep that in mind.
      Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,
    Reason and I, you must conceive, are twain;
    'Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit.
    Bear with me then though troubled be my brain.
      With diet and correction men distraught,
      Not too far past, may to their wits be brought.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    To nothing fitter can I thee compare
    Than to the son of some rich penny-father,
    Who having now brought on his end with care,
    Leaves to his son all he had heaped together.
      This new rich novice, lavish of his chest,
    To one man gives, doth on another spend;
    Then here he riots; yet amongst the rest,
    Haps to lend some to one true honest friend.
      Thy gifts thou in obscurity dost waste:
    False friends, thy kindness born but to deceive thee;
    Thy love that is on the unworthy placed;
    Time hath thy beauty which with age will leave thee.
      Only that little which to me was lent,
      I give thee back when all the rest is spent.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    You're not alone when you are still alone;
    O God! from you that I could private be!
    Since you one were, I never since was one;
    Since you in me, myself since out of me.
      Transported from myself into your being,
    Though either distant, present yet to either;
    Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing;
    And only absent when we are together.
      Give me my self, and take your self again!
    Devise some means but how I may forsake you!
    So much is mine that doth with you remain,
    That taking what is mine, with me I take you.
      You do bewitch me! O that I could fly
      From my self you, or from your own self I!

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

      That learned Father which so firmly proves
      The soul of man immortal and divine,
      And doth the several offices define
      _Anima._       Gives her that name, as she the body moves.
      _Amor._        Then is she love, embracing charity.
      _Animus._      Moving a will in us, it is the mind;
      _Mens._        Retaining knowledge, still the same in kind.
      _Memoria._     As intellectual, it is memory.
      _Ratio._       In judging, reason only is her name.
      _Sensus._      In speedy apprehension, it is sense.
      _Conscientia._ In right and wrong they call her conscience;
      _Spiritus._    The spirit, when it to God-ward doth inflame:
      These of the soul the several functions be,
      Which my heart lightened by thy love doth see.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    Letters and lines we see are soon defaced
      Metals do waste and fret with canker's rust,
      The diamond shall once consume to dust,
    And freshest colours with foul stains disgraced;
    Paper and ink can paint but naked words,
      To write with blood of force offends the sight;
      And if with tears, I find them all too light,
    And sighs and signs a silly hope affords.
    O sweetest shadow, how thou serv'st my turn!
      Which still shalt be as long as there is sun,
      Nor whilst the world is never shall be done;
    Whilst moon shall shine or any fire shall burn,
      That everything whence shadow doth proceed,
      May in his shadow my love's story read.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    If he, from heaven that filched that living fire,
      Condemned by Jove to endless torment be,
      I greatly marvel how you still go free
    That far beyond Prometheus did aspire.
    The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind,
      Which from above he craftily did take,
      Of lifeless clods us living men to make
    He did bestow in temper of the mind.
    But you broke into heaven's immortal store,
      Where virtue, honour, wit, and beauty lay;
      Which taking thence, you have escaped away,
    Yet stand as free as e'er you did before.
      Yet old Prometheus punished for his rape;
      Thus poor thieves suffer when the greater 'scape.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Since to obtain thee nothing me will stead,
    I have a med'cine that shall cure my love.
    The powder of her heart dried, when she's dead,
    That gold nor honour ne'er had power to move;
      Mixed with her tears that ne'er her true love crost,
    Nor at fifteen ne'er longed to be a bride;
    Boiled with her sighs, in giving up the ghost,
    That for her late deceased husband died;
      Into the same then let a woman breathe,
    That being chid did never word reply;
    With one thrice married's prayers, that did bequeath
    A legacy to stale virginity.
      If this receipt have not the power to win me,
      Little I'll say, but think the devil's in me!

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    'Mongst all the creatures in this spacious round
      Of the birds' kind, the phoenix is alone,
      Which best by you of living things is known;
    None like to that, none like to you is found!
    Your beauty is the hot and splend'rous sun;
      The precious spices be your chaste desire,
      Which being kindled by that heavenly fire,
    Your life, so like the phoenix's begun.
    Yourself thus burned in that sacred flame,
      With so rare sweetness all the heavens perfuming;
      Again increasing as you are consuming,
    Only by dying born the very same.
      And winged by fame you to the stars ascend;
      So you of time shall live beyond the end.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    Stay, speedy time! Behold, before thou pass
      From age to age, what thou hast sought to see,
      One in whom all the excellencies be,
    In whom heaven looks itself as in a glass.
    Time, look thou too in this translucent glass,
      And thy youth past in this pure mirror see!
      As the world's beauty in his infancy,
    What it was then, and thou before it was.
    Pass on and to posterity tell this--
      Yet see thou tell but truly what hath been.
      Say to our nephews that thou once hast seen
    In perfect human shape all heavenly bliss;
      And bid them mourn, nay more, despair with thee,
      That she is gone, her like again to see.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    To this our world, to learning, and to heaven,
      Three nines there are, to every one a nine;
      One number of the earth, the other both divine;
    One woman now makes three odd numbers even.
    Nine orders first of angels be in heaven;
      Nine muses do with learning still frequent:
      These with the gods are ever resident.
    Nine worthy women to the world were given.
    My worthy one to these nine worthies addeth;
      And my fair Muse, one Muse unto the nine.
      And my good angel, in my soul divine!--
    With one more order these nine orders gladdeth.
      My Muse, my worthy, and my angel then
      Makes every one of these three nines a ten.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why?
    There was a time you told me that you would,
    But how again you will the same deny.
    If it might please you, would to God you could!
      What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not neither;
      Nor love, nor hate! How then? What will you do?
    What, will you keep a mean then betwixt either?
    Or will you love me, and yet hate me too?
      Yet serves not this! What next, what other shift?
    You will, and will not; what a coil is here!
    I see your craft, now I perceive your drift,
    And all this while I was mistaken there.
      Your love and hate is this, I now do prove you:
      You love in hate, by hate to make me love you.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still,
    Wherewith, alas, I have been long possessed!
    Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill,
    Nor give me once but one poor minute's rest.
      In me it speaks whether I sleep or wake;
    And when by means to drive it out I try,
    With greater torments then it me doth take,
    And tortures me in most extremity.
      Before my face it lays down my despairs,
    And hastes me on unto a sudden death;
    Now tempting me to drown myself in tears,
    And then in sighing to give up my breath.
      Thus am I still provoked to every evil,
      By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel-devil.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    A witless gallant a young wench that wooed--
    Yet his dull spirit her not one jot could move--
    Intreated me as e'er I wished his good,
    To write him but one sonnet to his love.
      When I as fast as e'er my pen could trot,
    Poured out what first from quick invention came,
    Nor never stood one word thereof to blot;
    Much like his wit that was to use the same.
      But with my verses he his mistress won,
    Who doated on the dolt beyond all measure.
    But see, for you to heaven for phrase I run,
    And ransack all Apollo's golden treasure!
      Yet by my troth, this fool his love obtains,
      And I lose you for all my wit and pains!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    With fools and children good discretion bears;
      Then, honest people, bear with love and me,
      Nor older yet nor wiser made by years,
    Amongst the rest of fools and children be.
      Love, still a baby, plays with gauds and toys,
    And like a wanton sports with every feather,
    And idiots still are running after boys;
    Then fools and children fitt'st to go together.
      He still as young as when he first was born,
    Nor wiser I than when as young as he;
    You that behold us, laugh us not to scorn;
    Give nature thanks you are not such as we!
      Yet fools and children sometimes tell in play;
      Some wise in show, more fools indeed than they.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Love, banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn,
    Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary;
    And wanting friends, though of a goddess born,
    Yet craved the alms of such as passed by.
      I, like a man devout and charitable,
    Clothed the naked, lodged this wandering guest;
    With sighs and tears still furnishing his table
    With what might make the miserable blest.
      But this ungrateful for my good desert,
    Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire,
    Who gave consent to steal away my heart,
    And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire.
      Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold,
      No marvel then though charity grow cold.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    I hear some say, "This man is not in love!"
    "Who! can he love? a likely thing!" they say.
    "Read but his verse, and it will easily prove!"
    O, judge not rashly, gentle Sir, I pray!
      Because I loosely trifle in this sort,
    As one that fain his sorrows would beguile,
    You now suppose me all this time in sport,
    And please yourself with this conceit the while.
      Ye shallow cens'rers! sometimes, see ye not,
    In greatest perils some men pleasant be,
    Where fame by death is only to be got,
    They resolute! So stands the case with me.
      Where other men in depth of passion cry,
      I laugh at fortune, as in jest to die.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    O, why should nature niggardly restrain
    That foreign nations relish not our tongue?
    Else should my lines glide on the waves of Rhine,
    And crown the Pyren's with my living song.
      But bounded thus, to Scotland get you forth!
    Thence take you wing unto the Orcades!
    There let my verse get glory in the north,
    Making my sighs to thaw the frozen seas.
      And let the bards within that Irish isle,
    To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall pass,
    Call back the stiff-necked rebels from exile,
    And mollify the slaughtering gallow glass;
      And when my flowing numbers they rehearse,
      Let wolves and bears be charmed with my verse.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    I ever love where never hope appears,
      Yet hope draws on my never-hoping care,
      And my life's hope would die but for despair;
    My never certain joy breeds ever certain fears.
    Uncertain dread gives wings unto my hope;
      Yet my hope's wings are laden so with fear
      As they cannot ascend to my hope's sphere,
    Though fear gives them more than a heavenly scope.
    Yet this large room is bounded with despair,
      So my love is still fettered with vain hope,
      And liberty deprives him of his scope,
    And thus am I imprisoned in the air.
      Then, sweet despair, awhile hold up thy head,
      Or all my hope for sorrow will be dead.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Is not love here as 'tis in other climes,
    And differeth it as do the several nations?
    Or hath it lost the virtue with the times,
    Or in this island alt'reth with the fashions?
      Or have our passions lesser power than theirs,
    Who had less art them lively to express?
    Is nature grown less powerful in their heirs,
    Or in our fathers did she more transgress?
      I am sure my sighs come from a heart as true
    As any man's that memory can boast,
    And my respects and services to you,
    Equal with his that loves his mistress most.
      Or nature must be partial in my cause,
      Or only you do violate her laws.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    To such as say thy love I overprize,
    And do not stick to term my praises folly,
    Against these folks that think themselves so wise,
    I thus oppose my reason's forces wholly:
      Though I give more than well affords my state,
    In which expense the most suppose me vain
    Which yields them nothing at the easiest rate,
    Yet at this price returns me treble gain;
      They value not, unskilful how to use,
    And I give much because I gain thereby.
    I that thus take or they that thus refuse,
    Whether are these deceived then, or I?
      In everything I hold this maxim still,
      The circumstance doth make it good or ill.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    When conquering love did first my heart assail,
    Unto mine aid I summoned every sense,
    Doubting if that proud tyrant should prevail,
    My heart should suffer for mine eyes' offence.
      But he with beauty first corrupted sight,
    My hearing bribed with her tongue's harmony,
    My taste by her sweet lips drawn with delight,
    My smelling won with her breath's spicery,
      But when my touching came to play his part,
    The king of senses, greater than the rest,
    He yields love up the keys unto my heart,
    And tells the others how they should be blest.
      And thus by those of whom I hoped for aid,
      To cruel love my soul was first betrayed.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Those priests which first the vestal fire begun,
    Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame,
    Devised a vessel to receive the sun,
    Being stedfastly opposed to the same;
      Where with sweet wood laid curiously by art,
    On which the sun might by reflection beat,
    Receiving strength for every secret part,
    The fuel kindled with celestial heat.
      Thy blessed eyes, the sun which lights this fire,
    My holy thoughts, they be the vestal flame,
    Thy precious odours be my chaste desires,
    My breast's the vessel which includes the same;
      Thou art my Vesta, thou my goddess art,
      Thy hallowed temple only is my heart.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Methinks I see some crooked mimic jeer,
    And tax my Muse with this fantastic grace;
    Turning my papers asks, "What have we here?"
    Making withal some filthy antic face.
      I fear no censure nor what thou canst say,
    Nor shall my spirit one jot of vigour lose.
    Think'st thou, my wit shall keep the packhorse way,
    That every dudgeon low invention goes?
      Since sonnets thus in bundles are imprest,
    And every drudge doth dull our satiate ear,
    Think'st thou my love shall in those rags be drest
    That every dowdy, every trull doth wear?
      Up to my pitch no common judgment flies;
      I scorn all earthly dung-bred scarabies.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Our floods' queen, Thames, for ships and swans is crowned,
    And stately Severn for her shore is praised;
    The crystal Trent for fords and fish renowned,
    And Avon's fame to Albion's cliff is raised.
      Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee;
    York many wonders of her Ouse can tell;
    The Peak, her Dove, whose banks so fertile be;
    And Kent will say her Medway doth excel.
      Cotswold commends her Isis to the Thame;
    Our northern borders boast of Tweed's fair flood;
    Our western parts extol their Wilis' fame;
    And the old Lea brags of the Danish blood.
      Arden's sweet Ankor, let thy glory be,
      That fair Idea only lives by thee!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Whilst yet mine eyes do surfeit with delight,
    My woful heart imprisoned in my breast,
    Wisheth to be transformed to my sight,
    That it like those by looking might be blest.
      But whilst mine eyes thus greedily do gaze,
    Finding their objects over-soon depart,
    These now the other's happiness do praise,
    Wishing themselves that they had been my heart,
      That eyes were heart, or that the heart were eyes,
    As covetous the other's use to have.
    But finding nature their request denies,
    This to each other mutually they crave;
      That since the one cannot the other be,
      That eyes could think of that my heart could see.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire,
      Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought,
      And knowing more than ever hath been taught,
    That I am only starved in my desire.
    Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire,
      Aiming at things exceeding all perfection,
      To wisdom's self to minister direction,
    That I am only starved in my desire.
    Marvel not, love, though I thy power admire,
      Though my conceit I further seem to bend
      Than possibly invention can extend,
    And yet am only starved in my desire.
      If thou wilt wonder, here's the wonder, love,
      That this to me doth yet no wonder prove.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    Some misbelieving and profane in love,
      When I do speak of miracles by thee,
      May say that thou art flattered by me,
    Who only write my skill in verse to prove
    See miracles, ye unbelieving, see!
      A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind,
      A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,
    One by thy name, the other touching thee.
    Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine;
      And mine ears deaf by thy fame healed be;
      My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee;
    My hopes revived which long in grave had lien.
      All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me,
      Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack
    To wound her heart whose eyes have wounded me
    And suffered her to glory in my wrack,
    Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee!
      By hellish Styx, by which the Thund'rer swears,
    By thy fair mother's unavoided power,
    By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears,
    When she was wrapt to the infernal bower!
      By thine own loved Psyche, by the fires
    Spent on thine altars flaming up to heaven,
    By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires,
    By all the wounds that ever thou hast given;
      I conjure thee by all that I have named,
      To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damned!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Dear, why should you command me to my rest,
    When now the night doth summon all to sleep?
    Methinks this time becometh lovers best;
    Night was ordained together friends to keep.
      How happy are all other living things,
    Which though the day disjoin by several flight,
    The quiet evening yet together brings,
    And each returns unto his love at night!
      O thou that art so courteous else to all,
    Why shouldst thou, Night, abuse me only thus,
    That every creature to his kind dost call,
    And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us?
      Well could I wish it would be ever day,
      If when night comes, you bid me go away.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    Sitting alone, love bids me go and write;
      Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay,
      Boasting that she doth still direct the way,
    Or else love were unable to indite.
    Love growing angry, vexed at the spleen,
      And scorning reason's maimed argument,
      Straight taxeth reason, wanting to invent
    Where she with love conversing hath not been.
    Reason reproached with this coy disdain,
      Despiteth love, and laugheth at her folly;
      And love contemning reason's reason wholly,
    Thought it in weight too light by many a grain.
      Reason put back doth out of sight remove,
      And love alone picks reason out of love.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Some, when in rhyme they of their loves do tell,
    With flames and lightnings their exordiums paint.
    Some call on heaven, some invocate on hell,
    And Fates and Furies, with their woes acquaint.
      Elizium is too high a seat for me,
    I will not come in Styx or Phlegethon,
    The thrice-three Muses but too wanton be,
    Like they that lust, I care not, I will none.
      Spiteful Erinnys frights me with her looks,
    My manhood dares not with foul Ate mell,
    I quake to look on Hecate's charming books,
    I still fear bugbears in Apollo's cell.
      I pass not for Minerva, nor Astrea,
      Only I call on my divine Idea!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    My heart the anvil where my thoughts do beat,
    My words the hammers fashioning my desire,
    My breast the forge including all the heat,
    Love is the fuel which maintains the fire;
      My sighs the bellows which the flame increaseth,
    Filling mine ears with noise and nightly groaning;
    Toiling with pain, my labour never ceaseth,
    In grievous passions my woes still bemoaning;
      My eyes with tears against the fire striving,
    Whose scorching gleed my heart to cinders turneth;
    But with those drops the flame again reviving,
    Still more and more it to my torment burneth,
      With Sisyphus thus do I roll the stone,
      And turn the wheel with damned Ixion.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Why do I speak of joy or write of love,
    When my heart is the very den of horror,
    And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,
    With all his torments and infernal terror?
      What should I say? what yet remains to do?
    My brain is dry with weeping all too long;
    My sighs be spent in utt'ring of my woe,
    And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.
      But still distracted in love's lunacy,
    And bedlam-like thus raving in my grief,
    Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye,
    Now call her goddess, then I call her thief;
      Now I deny her, then I do confess her,
      Now do I curse her, then again I bless her.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

    Some men there be which like my method well,
      And much commend the strangeness of my vein;
      Some say I have a passing pleasing strain,
    Some say that in my humour I excel.
    Some who not kindly relish my conceit,
      They say, as poets do, I use to feign,
      And in bare words paint out by passions' pain.
    Thus sundry men their sundry minds repeat.
    I pass not, I, how men affected be,
      Nor who commends or discommends my verse!
      It pleaseth me if I my woes rehearse,
    And in my lines if she my love may see.
      Only my comfort still consists in this,
      Writing her praise I cannot write amiss.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Why should your fair eyes with such sov'reign grace
    Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,
    Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place,
    Get not one glance to recompense my merit?
      So doth the plowman gaze the wand'ring star,
    And only rest contented with the light,
    That never learned what constellations are,
    Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight.
      O why should beauty, custom to obey,
    To their gross sense apply herself so ill!
    Would God I were as ignorant as they,
    When I am made unhappy by my skill,
      Only compelled on this poor good to boast!
      Heavens are not kind to them that know them most.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Whilst thus my pen strives to eternise thee,
    Age rules my lines with wrinkles in my face,
    Where in the map of all my misery
    Is modelled out the world of my disgrace;
      Whilst in despite of tyrannising times,
    Medea-like, I make thee young again,
    Proudly thou scorn'st my world-outwearing rhymes,
    And murther'st virtue with thy coy disdain;
      And though in youth my youth untimely perish,
    To keep thee from oblivion and the grave,
    Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish,
    Where I intombed my better part shall save;
      And though this earthly body fade and die,
      My name shall mount upon eternity.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Muses which sadly sit about my chair,
    Drowned in the tears extorted by my lines;
    With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,
    Painting my passions in these sad designs,
      Since she disdains to bless my happy verse,
    The strong built trophies to her living fame,
    Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse,
    Wherein the world shall now entomb her name.
      Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls,
    Sith she is deaf and will not hear my moans;
    Soften yourselves with every tear that falls,
    Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones,
      Which with my plaint seem yet with pity moved,
      Kinder than she whom I so long have loved.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Plain-pathed experience, the unlearned's guide,
    Her simple followers evidently shows
    Sometimes what schoolmen scarcely can decide,
    Nor yet wise reason absolutely knows;
      In making trial of a murder wrought,
    If the vile actors of the heinous deed
    Near the dead body happily be brought,
    Oft 't hath been proved the breathless corse will bleed.
      She coming near, that my poor heart hath slain,
    Long since departed, to the world no more,
    The ancient wounds no longer can contain,
    But fall to bleeding as they did before.
      But what of this? Should she to death be led,
      It furthers justice but helps not the dead.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    In pride of wit, when high desire of fame
    Gave life and courage to my lab'ring pen,
    And first the sound and virtue of my name
    Won grace and credit in the ears of men,
      With those the thronged theatres that press,
    I in the circuit for the laurel strove,
    Where the full praise I freely must confess,
    In heat of blood a modest mind might move;
      With shouts and claps at every little pause,
    When the proud round on every side hath rung,
    Sadly I sit unmoved with the applause,
    As though to me it nothing did belong.
      No public glory vainly I pursue;
      All that I seek is to eternise you.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Cupid, I hate thee, which I'd have thee know;
    A naked starveling ever mayst thou be!
    Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow
    For some poor rags wherewith to cover thee;
      Or if thou'lt not thy archery forbear,
    To some base rustic do thyself prefer,
    And when corn's sown or grown into the ear,
    Practice thy quiver and turn crowkeeper;
      Or being blind, as fittest for the trade,
    Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy;
    They that are blind are minstrels often made,
    So mayst thou live to thy fair mother's joy;
      That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way,
      Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write,
    And sayst my lines be dull and do not move,
    I marvel not thou feel'st not my delight,
    Which never felt'st my fiery touch of love;
      But thou whose pen hath like a packhorse served,
    Whose stomach unto gall hath turned thy food,
    Whose senses like poor prisoners, hunger-starved
    Whose grief hath parched thy body, dried thy blood;
      Thou which hast scorned life and hated death,
    And in a moment, mad, sober, glad, and sorry;
    Thou which hast banned thy thoughts and curst thy birth
    With thousand plagues more than in purgatory;
      Thou thus whose spirit love in his fire refines,
      Come thou and read, admire, applaud my lines!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    As in some countries far remote from hence,
    The wretched creature destined to die,
    Having the judgment due to his offence,
    By surgeons begged, their art on him to try,
      Which on the living work without remorse,
    First make incision on each mastering vein,
    Then staunch the bleeding, then transpierce the corse,
    And with their balms recure the wounds again,
      Then poison and with physic him restore;
    Not that they fear the hopeless man to kill,
    But their experience to increase the more:
    Even so my mistress works upon my ill,
      By curing me and killing me each hour,
      Only to show her beauty's sovereign power.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Calling to mind since first my love begun,
    Th'uncertain times, oft varying in their course,
    How things still unexpectedly have run,
    As't please the Fates by their resistless force;
      Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen
    Essex's great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain,
    The quiet end of that long living Queen,
    This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,
      We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever;
    Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel;
    Yet to my goddess am I constant ever,
    Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel;
      Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue,
      Yet am I still inviolate to you.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    What dost thou mean to cheat me of my heart,
    To take all mine and give me none again?
    Or have thine eyes such magic or that art
    That what they get they ever do retain?
      Play not the tyrant but take some remorse;
    Rebate thy spleen if but for pity's sake;
    Or cruel, if thou can'st not, let us scorse,
    And for one piece of thine my whole heart take.
      But what of pity do I speak to thee,
    Whose breast is proof against complaint or prayer?
    Or can I think what my reward shall be
    From that proud beauty which was my betrayer!
      What talk I of a heart when thou hast none?
      Or if thou hast, it is a flinty one.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Clear Ankor, on whose silver-sanded shore,
    My soul-shrined saint, my fair Idea lives;
    O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore
    Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes,
      Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring
    Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers,
    Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing
    Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers;
      Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen,
    "Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years
    And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been;
    And here to thee he sacrificed his tears."
      Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone,
      And thou, sweet Ankor, art my Helicon!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Yet read at last the story of my woe,
    The dreary abstracts of my endless cares,
    With my life's sorrow interlined so,
    Smoked with my sighs, and blotted with my tears,
      The sad memorials of my miseries,
    Penned in the grief of mine afflicted ghost,
    My life's complaint in doleful elegies,
    With so pure love as time could never boast.
      Receive the incense which I offer here,
    By my strong faith ascending to thy fame,
    My zeal, my hope, my vows, my praise, my prayer,
    My soul's oblations to thy sacred name;
      Which name my Muse to highest heavens shall raise,
    By chaste desire, true love, and virtuous praise.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    My fair, if thou wilt register my love,
    A world of volumes shall thereof arise;
    Preserve my tears, and thou thyself shall prove
    A second flood down raining from mine eyes;
      Note but my sighs, and thine eyes shall behold
    The sunbeams smothered with immortal smoke;
    And if by thee my prayers may be enrolled,
    They heaven and earth to pity shall provoke.
      Look thou into my breast, and thou shalt see
    Chaste holy vows for my soul's sacrifice,
    That soul, sweet maid, which so hath honoured thee,
    Erecting trophies to thy sacred eyes,
      Those eyes to my heart shining ever bright,
      When darkness hath obscured each other light.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    When like an eaglet I first found my love,
    For that the virtue I thereof would know,
    Upon the nest I set it forth to prove
    If it were of that kingly kind or no;
      But it no sooner saw my sun appear,
    But on her rays with open eyes it stood,
    To show that I had hatched it for the air,
    And rightly came from that brave mounting brood;
      And when the plumes were summed with sweet desire,
    To prove the pinions it ascends the skies;
    Do what I could, it needsly would aspire
    To my soul's sun, those two celestial eyes.
      Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone,
      It after thee is like an eaglet flown.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    You best discerned of my mind's inward eyes,
    And yet your graces outwardly divine,
    Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,
    Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine;
      You, in whom nature chose herself to view,
    When she her own perfection would admire;
    Bestowing all her excellence on you,
    At whose pure eyes Love lights his hallowed fire;
      Even as a man that in some trance hath seen
    More than his wond'ring utterance can unfold,
    That rapt in spirit in better worlds hath been,
    So must your praise distractedly be told;
      Most of all short when I would show you most,
      In your perfections so much am I lost.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    In former times, such as had store of coin,
    In wars at home or when for conquests bound,
    For fear that some their treasure should purloin,
    Gave it to keep to spirits within the ground;
      And to attend it them as strongly tied
    Till they returned. Home when they never came,
    Such as by art to get the same have tried,
    From the strong spirit by no means force the same.
      Nearer men come, that further flies away,
    Striving to hold it strongly in the deep.
    Ev'n as this spirit, so you alone do play
    With those rich beauties Heav'n gives you to keep;
      Pity so left to th' coldness of your blood,
      Not to avail you nor do others good.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    As Love and I late harboured in one inn,
    With Proverbs thus each other entertain.
    "In love there is no lack," thus I begin:
    "Fair words make fools," replieth he again.
      "Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed," quoth I.
    "As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow."
    "Fortune assists the boldest," I reply.
    "A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe!"
      "Labour is light, where love," quoth I, "doth pay."
    Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far born."
    Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the by away!"
      "You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn.
      And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
      Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Define my weal, and tell the joys of heaven;
    Express my woes and show the pains of hell;
    Declare what fate unlucky stars have given,
    And ask a world upon my life to dwell;
      Make known the faith that fortune could no move,
    Compare my worth with others' base desert,
    Let virtue be the touchstone of my love,
    So may the heavens read wonders in my heart;
      Behold the clouds which have eclipsed my sun,
    And view the crosses which my course do let;
    Tell me, if ever since the world begun
    So fair a rising had so foul a set?
      And see if time, if he would strive to prove,
      Can show a second to so pure a love.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part,
    Nay I have done, you get no more of me;
    And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
    That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
      Shakes hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
    And when we meet at any time again,
    Be it not seen in either of our brows
    That we one jot of former love retain.
      Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,
    When his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies,
    When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
    And Innocence is closing up his eyes:
      Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
      From death to life thou might'st him yet recover!

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    When first I ended, then I first began;
    Then more I travelled further from my rest.
    Where most I lost, there most of all I won;
    Pined with hunger, rising from a feast.
      Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go,
    Wise in conceit, in act a very sot,
    Ravished with joy amidst a hell of woe,
    What most I seem that surest am I not.
      I build my hopes a world above the sky,
    Yet with the mole I creep into the earth;
    In plenty I am starved with penury,
    And yet I surfeit in the greatest dearth.
      I have, I want, despair, and yet desire,
      Burned in a sea of ice, and drowned amidst a fire.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

    Truce, gentle Love, a parley now I crave,
    Methinks 'tis long since first these wars begun;
    Nor thou, nor I, the better yet can have;
    Bad is the match where neither party won.
      I offer free conditions of fair peace,
    My heart for hostage that it shall remain.
    Discharge our forces, here let malice cease,
    So for my pledge thou give me pledge again.
      Or if no thing but death will serve thy turn,
    Still thirsting for subversion of my state,
    Do what thou canst, raze, massacre, and burn;
    Let the world see the utmost of thy hate;
      I send defiance, since if overthrown,
      Thou vanquishing, the conquest is mine own.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

THINE eyes taught me the alphabet of Love,
To con my cross-row ere I learned to spell
(For I was apt, a scholar like to prove),
Gave me sweet looks when-as I learned well.
Vows were my vowels, when I then begun
At my first lesson in thy sacred name ;
My consonants, the next when I had done,
Words consonant and sounding to thy fame ;
My liquids then were liquid crystal tears,
My cares my mutes, so mute to crave relief ;
My doleful diphthongs were my life's despairs,
Redoubling sighs, the accents of my grief.
    My love's school-mistress now hath taught me so,
    That I can read a story of my woe. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

READING sometime, my sorrows to beguile
I find old poets hills and floods admire ;
One he doth wonder monster-breeding Nile,
Another marvels sulpjur Etna's fire ;
Now broad-brimmed Indus, then of Pindus' height,
Pelion and Ossa, frosty Caucase old ;
The Delian Cynthus, then Olympus' weight,
Slow Arar, frantic Gallus, Cydnus cold ;
Some Ganges, Ister, and of Tagus tell,
Some whirlpool Po and sliding Hypasis,
Some old Parnassus where the Muses dwell,
Some Helicon, and some fair Simois.
    Ah, fools, think I, had you Idea seen,
    Poor brooks and banks had no such wonders been.

RHYME a b b a c d d c e f f e g g

SINCE holy Vestal laws have been neglected,
The God's pure fire hath been extinguished quite ;
No virgin once attending on that light,
Nor yet those heavenly secrets once respected ;
Till thou alone, to pay the heavens their duty
Within the temple of thy sacred name,
With thine eyes kindling that celestial flame
By those reflecting sunbeams of thy beauty.
Here Chastity, that Vestal most divine,
Attends that lamp with eye which never sleepeth ;
The volumes of religion's laws she keepeth,
Making thy breast that sacred relic's shrine,
    Where blessed angels, singing day and night,
    Praise Him which made that fire which lends that light. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

MY fair, look from those turrets of thine eyes
Into the ocean of a troubled mind,
Where my poor soul, the bark of sorrow, lies,
Left to the mercy of the waves and wind.
See where she floats, laden with purest love,
Which those fair islands of thy looks afford,
Desiring yet a thousand deaths to prove,
Than so to cast her ballast overboard.
See how her sails be rent, her tacklings worn,
Her cable broke, her surest anchor lost ;
Her mariners do leave her all forlorn,
Yet how she bends towards that blessed coast !
    Lo, where she drowns in storms of thy displeasure,
    Whose worthy prize should have enriched thy treasure. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

IF chaste and pure devotion of my youth,
Or glory of my April-springing years,
Unfeignd love in naked simple truth,
A thousand vows, a thousand sighs and tears ;
Or if a world of faithful service done,
Words, thoughts and deeds devoted to her honour,
Or eyes that have beheld her as their sun,
With admiration ever looking on her ;
A life that never joyed but in her love,
A soul that ever hath adored her name,
A faith that time nor fortune could not move,
A Muse that unto heaven hath raised her fame ;
    Though these nor these deserve to be embraced,
    Yet, fair unkind, too good to be disgraced.

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

DIE, die, my soul, and never taste of joy,
If sighs nor tears nor vows nor prayers can move,
If faith and zeal be but esteemed a toy,
And kindness be unkindness in my love.
Then with unkindness, Love, revenge thy wrong,
O sweet'st revenge that e'er the heavens gave !
And with the swan record thy dying song,
And praise her still to thy untimely grave.
So in love's death shall love's perfection prove,
That love divine which I have borne to you,
By doom conceald to heavens above,
That yet the world unworthy never knew,
    Whose pure idea never tongue exprest :
    I feel, you know, the heavens can tell, the rest. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

BLACK pitchy night, companion of my woe,
The inn of care, the nurse of dreary sorrow,
Why lengthenest thou thy darkest hours so,
Still to prolong my long-time-looked-for morrow ?
Thou sable shadow, image of despair,
Portrait of hell, the air's black mourning weed,
Recorder of revenge, remembrancer of care,
The shadow and the veil of every sinful deed ;
Death like to thee, so live thou still in death,
The grave of joy, prison of day's delight ;
Let heavens withdraw their sweet ambrosian breath,
Nor moon nor stars lend thee their shining light ;
    For thou alone renew'st that old desire,
    Which still torments me in day's burning fire. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

WHO list to praise the day's delicious light,
Let him compare it to her heavenly eye,
The sunbeams to the lustre of her sight ;
So may the learned like the simile,
The morning's crimson to her lips' alike,
The sweet of Eden to her breath's perfume,
The fair Elysium to her fairer cheek,
Unto her veins the only Phoenix' plume,
The angels' tresses to her tressd hair,
The Galaxeia to her more than white ;
Praising the fairest compare it to my fair,
Still naming her in naming all delight.
    So may he grace all these in her alone,
    Superlative in all comparison. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

GO you, my lines, ambassadors of love,
With my heart's tribute to her conquering eyes,
From whence if you one tear of pity move
For all my woes, that only shall suffice.
When you Minerva in the sun behold,
At her perfections stand you then and gaze,
Where in the compass of a marigold
Meridianis sits within a maze.
And let invention of her beauty vaunt,
When Dorus sings his sweet Pamela's love,
And tell the Gods Mars is predominant,
Seated with Sol, and wears Minerva's glove ;
    And tell the world, that in the world there is
    A heaven on earth, on earth no heaven but this. 

RHYME a b a b c d c d e f e f g g

MANY there be excelling in this kind,
Whose well-tricked rhymes with all invention swell ;
Let each commend as best shall like his mind,
Some Sidney, Constable, some Daniel.
That thus their names familiarly I sing,
Let none think them disparagd to be ;
Poor men with reverence may speak of a king,
And so may these be spoken of by me.
My wanton verse ne'er keeps one certain stay,
But now at hand, then seeks invention far,
And with each little motion runs astray,
Wild, madding, jocund and irregular.
    Like me that lust, my honest merry rhymes
    Nor care for critic, nor regard the times. 

RHYME a a b b c c c 

EYES, with your tears blind if you be,
Why have these tears such eyes to see ?
Poor eyes, if your tears cannot move,
My tears, eyes, then must moan my love.
    Then, eyes, since you have lost your sight,
    Weep still, and tears shall lend you light,
    Till both dissolved and both want might.

RHYME a a b b c c c 

No, no, clear eyes, you are not blind,
But in my tears discern my mind ;
Tears be the language which you speak,
Which my heart wanting yet, must break.
    My tongue must cease to tell my wrongs,
    And make my sighs to get them tongues ;
    Yet more than this to her belongs. 

TITLE Odes

RHYME a a b a b

                    And why not I, as hee
                    That's greatest, if as free,
                      (In sundry strains that striue,
                    Since there so many be)
                      Th' old _Lyrick_ kind reuiue?

RHYME a a b a b

                    I will, yea, and I may;
                    Who shall oppose my way?
                      For what is he alone,
                    That of himselfe can say,
                      Hee's Heire of _Helicon_?                

RHYME a a b a b

                    APOLLO, and the Nine,
                    Forbid no Man their Shrine,
                      That commeth with hands pure;
                    Else be they so diuine,
                      They will not him indure.

RHYME a a b a b

                    For they be such coy Things,
                    That they care not for Kings,
                      And dare let them know it;
   Nor may he touch their Springs,
     That is not borne a Poet.                

RHYME a a b a b

   The _Phocean_ it did proue,
   Whom when foule Lust did moue,
     Those Mayds vnchast to make,
_  Fell, as with them he stroue,
   His Neck and iustly brake.

RHYME a a b a b

   That instrument ne'r heard,
   Strooke by the skilfull Bard,
     It strongly to awake;
   But it th' infernalls skard,
     And made Olympus quake.                         

RHYME a a b a b

   As those Prophetike strings
   Whose sounds with fiery Wings,
     Draue Fiends from their abode,
   Touch'd by the best of Kings,
     That sang the holy Ode.

RHYME a a b a b

   So his, which Women slue,
   And it int' Hebrus threw,
     Such sounds yet forth it sent,
   The Bankes to weepe that drue,
.    As downe the streame it went.             

RHYME a a b a b

   That by the Tortoyse shell,
   To MAYAS Sonne it fell,
     The most thereof not doubt
   But sure some Power did dwell,
     In Him who found it out.

RHYME a a b a b

   The Wildest of the field,
   And Ayre, with Riuers t' yeeld,
     Which mou'd; that sturdy Glebes,
   And massie Oakes could weeld,
     To rayse the pyles of _Thebes_.           

RHYME a a b a b

   And diuersly though Strung,
   So anciently We sung,
     To it, that Now scarce knowne,
   If first it did belong
     To _Greece_, or if our Owne.

RHYME a a b a b

   The _Druydes_ imbrew'd,
   With Gore, on Altars rude
     With Sacrifices crown'd,
   In hollow Woods bedew'd,
     Ador'd the Trembling sound.               

RHYME a a b a b

   Though wee be All to seeke,
   Of PINDAR that Great _Greeke_,
_    To Finger it aright,
   The Soule with power to strike,
     His hand retayn'd such Might.

RHYME a a b a b

   Or him that _Rome_ did grace
   Whose Ayres we all imbrace,
     That scarcely found his Peere,
   Nor giueth PHOEBVS place,
     For Strokes diuinely cleere.              

RHYME a a b a b

   The _Irish_ I admire,
   And still cleaue to that Lyre,
     As our Musike's Mother,
   And thinke, till I expire,
     APOLLO'S such another.

RHYME a a b a b

   As _Britons_, that so long
   Haue held this Antike Song,
     And let all our Carpers
   Forbeare their fame to wrong,
     Th' are right skilfull Harpers.           

RHYME a a b a b

   _Southerne_, I long thee spare,
   Yet wish thee well to fare,
     Who me pleased'st greatly,
   As first, therefore more rare,
     Handling thy Harpe neatly.

RHYME a a b a b

   To those that with despight
   Shall terme these Numbers slight,
     Tell them their Iudgement's blind,
   Much erring from the right,
     It is a Noble kind.                       

RHYME a a b a b

   Nor is 't the Verse doth make,
   That giueth, or doth take,
     'Tis possible to clyme,
   To kindle, or to slake,
     Although in SKELTON'S Ryme.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b

    Rich Statue, double-faced,
    With Marble Temples graced,
      To rayse thy God-head hyer,
    In flames where Altars shining,
    Before thy Priests diuining,
      Doe od'rous Fumes expire.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Great IANVS, I thy pleasure,
    With all the _Thespian_ treasure,
      Doe seriously pursue;
    To th' passed yeere returning,                             
    As though the old adiourning,
      Yet bringing in the new.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Thy ancient Vigils yeerely,
    I haue obserued cleerely,
      Thy Feasts yet smoaking bee;
    Since all thy store abroad is,
    Giue something to my Goddesse,
      As hath been vs'd by thee.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Giue her th' _Eoan_ brightnesse,
    Wing'd with that subtill lightnesse,                       
      That doth trans-pierce the Ayre;
    The Roses of the Morning
    The rising Heau'n adorning,
      To mesh with flames of Hayre.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Those ceaselesse Sounds, aboue all,
    Made by those Orbes that moue all,
      And euer swelling there,
    Wrap'd vp in Numbers flowing,
    Them actually bestowing,
      For Iewels at her Eare.                                         30

RHYME a a b c c b

    O Rapture great and holy,
    Doe thou transport me wholly,
      So well her forme to vary,
    That I aloft may beare her,
    Whereas I will insphere her,
      In Regions high and starry.

RHYME a a b c c b

    And in my choise Composures,
    The soft and easie Closures,
      So amorously shall meet;
    That euery liuely Ceasure                                   
    Shall tread a perfect Measure
      Set on so equall feet.

RHYME a a b c c b

    That Spray to fame so fertle,
    The Louer-crowning Mirtle,
      In Wreaths of mixed Bowes,
    Within whose shades are dwelling
    Those Beauties most excelling,
      Inthron'd vpon her Browes.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Those Paralels so euen,
    Drawne on the face of Heauen,                               
      That curious Art supposes,
    Direct those Gems, whose cleerenesse
    Farre off amaze by neerenesse,
      Each Globe such fire incloses.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Her Bosome full of Blisses,
    By Nature made for Kisses,
      So pure and wond'rous cleere,
    Whereas a thousand Graces
    Behold their louely Faces,
      As they are bathing there.                                

RHYME a a b c c b

    O, thou selfe-little blindnesse,
    The kindnesse of vnkindnesse,
      Yet one of those diuine;
    Thy Brands to me were leuer,
    Thy _Fascia_, and thy Quiuer,
      And thou this Quill of mine.

RHYME a a b c c b

    This Heart so freshly bleeding,
    Vpon it owne selfe feeding,
      Whose woundes still dropping be;
    O Loue, thy selfe confounding,                              
    Her coldnesse so abounding,
      And yet such heat in me.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Yet if I be inspired,
    Ile leaue thee so admired,
      To all that shall succeed,
    That were they more then many,
    'Mongst all, there is not any,
      That Time so oft shall read.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Nor Adamant ingraued,
    That hath been choisely 'st saued,                          
      IDEA'S Name out-weares;
    So large a Dower as this is,
    The greatest often misses,
      The Diadem that beares.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    Muse, bid the Morne awake,
      Sad Winter now declines,
    Each Bird doth chuse a Make,
      This day 's Saint VALENTINE'S;
    For that good Bishop's sake
    Get vp, and let vs see,
    What Beautie it shall bee,
      That Fortune vs assignes.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    But lo, in happy How'r,
      The place wherein she lyes,                              
    In yonder climbing Tow'r,
      Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise;
    O IOVE! that in a Show'r,
    As once that Thund'rer did,
    When he in drops lay hid,
      That I could her surprize.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    Her Canopie Ile draw,
      With spangled Plumes bedight,
    No Mortall euer saw
      So rauishing a sight;                                    
    That it the Gods might awe,
    And pow'rfully trans-pierce
    The Globie Vniuerse,
      Out-shooting eu'ry Light.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    My Lips Ile softly lay
      Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke,
    Dy'd like the dawning Day,
      As polish'd Iuorie sleeke:
    And in her Eare Ile say;
    O, thou bright Morning-Starre,                                    
    'Tis I that come so farre,
      My Valentine to seeke.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    Each little Bird, this Tyde,
      Doth chuse her loued Pheere,
    Which constantly abide
      In Wedlock all the yeere,
    As Nature is their Guide:
    So may we two be true,
    This yeere, nor change for new,
      As Turtles coupled were.                                  

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    The Sparrow, Swan, the Doue,
      Though VENVS Birds they be,
    Yet are they not for Loue
      So absolute as we:
    For Reason vs doth moue;
    They but by billing woo:
    Then try what we can doo,
      To whom each sense is free.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    Which we haue more then they,
      By liuelyer Organs sway'd,                                
    Our Appetite each way
      More by our Sense obay'd:
    Our Passions to display,
    This Season vs doth fit;
    Then let vs follow it,
      As Nature vs doth lead.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    One Kisse in two let's breake,
      Confounded with the touch,
    But halfe words let vs speake,
      Our Lip's imploy'd so much,                               
    Vntill we both grow weake,
    With sweetnesse of thy breath;
    O smother me to death:
      Long let our Ioyes be such.

RHYME a b a b a c c b

    Let's laugh at them that chuse
      Their Valentines by lot,
    To weare their Names that vse,
      Whom idly they haue got:
    Such poore choise we refuse,
    Saint VALENTINE befriend;                                   
    We thus this Morne may spend,
      Else Muse, awake her not.

TITLE

RHYME a a a

    If thus we needs must goe,
    What shall our one Heart doe,
    This One made of our Two?

RHYME a a a

    Madame, two Hearts we brake,
    And from them both did take
    The best, one Heart to make.

RHYME a a a

    Halfe this is of your Heart,
    Mine in the other part,
    Ioyn'd by our equall Art.

RHYME a a a

    Were it cymented, or sowne,                                
    By Shreds or Pieces knowne,
    We each might find our owne.

RHYME a a a

    But 'tis dissolu'd, and fix'd,
    And with such cunning mix'd,
    No diffrence that betwixt.

RHYME a a a

    But how shall we agree,
    By whom it kept shall be,
    Whether by you, or me?

RHYME a a a

    It cannot two Brests fill,
    One must be heartlesse still,                              
    Vntill the other will.

RHYME a a a

    It came to me one day,
    When I will'd it to say,
    With whether it would stay?

RHYME a a a

    It told me, in your Brest,
    Where it might hope to rest:
    For if it were my Ghest,

RHYME a a a

    For certainety it knew,
    That I would still anew
    Be sending it to you.                                             

RHYME a a a

    Neuer, I thinke, had two
    Such worke, so much to doo,
    A Vnitie to woo.

RHYME a a a

    Yours was so cold and chaste,
    Whilst mine with zeale did waste,
    Like Fire with Water plac'd.

RHYME a a a

    How did my Heart intreat,
    How pant, how did it beat,
    Till it could giue yours heat!

RHYME a a a

   Till to that temper brought,                                
    Through our perfection wrought,
    That blessing eythers Thought.

RHYME a a a

    In such a Height it lyes,
    From this base Worlds dull Eyes,
    That Heauen it not enuyes.

RHYME a a a

    All that this Earth can show,
    Our Heart shall not once know,
    For it too vile and low.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    Priests of APOLLO, sacred be the Roome,
    For this learn'd Meeting: Let no barbarous Groome,
          How braue soe'r he bee,
          Attempt to enter;
          But of the Muses free,
          None here may venter;
    This for the _Delphian_ Prophets is prepar'd:
    The prophane Vulgar are from hence debar'd.

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    And since the Feast so happily begins,
    Call vp those faire Nine, with their Violins;              
          They are begot by IOVE,
          Then let vs place them,
          Where no Clowne in may shoue,
          That may disgrace them:
    But let them neere to young APOLLO sit;
    So shall his Foot-pace ouer-flow with Wit.

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    Where be the Graces, where be those fayre Three?
    In any hand they may not absent bee:
          They to the Gods are deare,
          And they can humbly                                  
          Teach vs, our Selues to beare,
          And doe things comely:
    They, and the Muses, rise both from one Stem,
    They grace the Muses, and the Muses them.

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    Bring forth your Flaggons (fill'd with sparkling Wine)
    Whereon swolne BACCHVS, crowned with a Vine,
          Is grauen, and fill out,
          It well bestowing,
          To eu'ry Man about,
          In Goblets flowing:                                         
    Let not a Man drinke, but in Draughts profound;
    To our God PHOEBVS let the Health goe Round.

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    Let your Iests flye at large; yet therewithall
    See they be Salt, but yet not mix'd with Gall:
          Not tending to disgrace,
          But fayrely giuen,
          Becomming well the place,
          Modest, and euen;
    That they with tickling Pleasure may prouoke
    Laughter in him, on whom the Iest is broke.                 

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    Or if the deeds of HEROES ye rehearse,
    Let them be sung in so well-ord'red Verse,
          That each word haue his weight,
          Yet runne with pleasure;
          Holding one stately height,
          In so braue measure,
    That they may make the stiffest Storme seeme weake,
    And dampe IOVES Thunder, when it lowd'st doth speake.

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    And if yee list to exercise your Vayne,
    Or in the Sock, or in the Buskin'd Strayne,                 
          Let Art and Nature goe
          One with the other;
          Yet so, that Art may show
          Nature her Mother;
    The thick-brayn'd Audience liuely to awake,
    Till with shrill Claps the Theater doe shake.

RHYME a a b c b c d d 

    Sing Hymnes to BACCHVS then, with hands vprear'd,
    Offer to IOVE, who most is to be fear'd;
          From him the Muse we haue,
          From him proceedeth                                   
          More then we dare to craue;
          'Tis he that feedeth
    Them, whom the World would starue; then let the Lyre
    Sound, whilst his Altars endlesse flames expire.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b

    Maydens, why spare ye?
    Or whether not dare ye
      Correct the blind Shooter?
    Because wanton VENVS,
    So oft that doth paine vs,
      Is her Sonnes Tutor.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Now in the Spring,
    He proueth his Wing,
      The Field is his Bower,
    And as the small Bee,                                      
    About flyeth hee,
      From Flower to Flower.

RHYME a a b c c b

    And wantonly roues,
    Abroad in the Groues,
      And in the Ayre houers,
    Which when it him deweth,
    His Fethers he meweth,
      In sighes of true Louers.

RHYME a a b c c b

    And since doom'd by Fate,
    (That well knew his Hate)                                  
      That Hee should be blinde;
    For very despite,
    Our Eyes be his White,
      So wayward his kinde.

RHYME a a b c c b

    If his Shafts loosing,
    (Ill his Mark choosing)
      Or his Bow broken;
    The Moane VENVS maketh,
    And care that she taketh,
      Cannot be spoken.                                               

RHYME a a b c c b

    To VULCAN commending
    Her loue, and straight sending
      Her Doues and her Sparrowes,
    With Kisses vnto him,
    And all but to woo him,
      To make her Sonne Arrowes.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Telling what he hath done,
    (Sayth she, Right mine owne Sonne)
      In her Armes she him closes,
    Sweetes on him fans,                                        
    Layd in Downe of her Swans,
      His Sheets, Leaues of Roses.

RHYME a a b c c b

    And feeds him with Kisses;
    Which oft when he misses,
      He euer is froward:
    The Mothers o'r-ioying,
    Makes by much coying,
      The Child so vntoward.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Yet in a fine Net,
    That a Spider set,                                          
      The Maydens had caught him;
    Had she not beene neere him,
    And chanced to heare him,
      More good they had taught him.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

    Most good, most faire,
    Or Thing as rare,
    To call you's lost;
    For all the cost
    Words can bestow,
    So poorely show
    Vpon your prayse,
    That all the wayes
    Sense hath, come short:
    Whereby Report                                             

RHYME a a *

    Falls them vnder;
    That when Wonder
    More hath seyzed,
    Yet not pleased,
    That it in kinde
    Nothing can finde,
    You to expresse:
    Neuerthelesse,
    As by Globes small,
    This Mightie ALL                                           

RHYME a a *

    Is shew'd, though farre
    From Life, each Starre
    A World being:
    So wee seeing
    You, like as that,
    Onely trust what
    Art doth vs teach;
    And when I reach
    At Morall Things,
    And that my Strings                                               

RHYME a a *

    Grauely should strike,
    Straight some mislike
    Blotteth mine ODE.
    As with the Loade,
    The Steele we touch,
    Forced ne'r so much,
    Yet still remoues
    To that it loues,

RHYME a a *

    Till there it stayes;
    So to your prayse                                           
    I turne euer,
    And though neuer
    From you mouing,
    Happie so louing.

RHYME a b a b b

      Wer't granted me to choose,
    How I would end my dayes;
      Since I this life must loose,
    It should be in Your praise;
    For there is no Bayes

RHYME a a b a b b c c d c d d

      Can be set aboue you.
      S' impossibly I loue You,
    And for you sit so hie,
      Whence none may remoue You
    In my cleere Poesie,                                       
    That I oft deny
      You so ample Merit.
      The freedome of my Spirit
    Maintayning (still) my Cause,
      Your Sex not to inherit,
    Vrging the _Salique_ Lawes;
    But your Vertue drawes

RHYME a a b a b b

      From me euery due.
      Thus still You me pursue,
    That no where I can dwell,                                 
      By Feare made iust to You,
    Who naturally rebell,
    Of You that excell

RHYME a a b c b c b

      That should I still Endyte,
      Yet will You want some Ryte.
    That lost in your high praise
      I wander to and fro,
    As seeing sundry Waies:
    Yet which the right not know
      To get out of this Maze.                                        

RHYME a b c c a b

    You braue Heroique minds,
    Worthy your Countries Name;
      That Honour still pursue,
      Goe, and subdue,
    Whilst loyt'ring Hinds
    Lurke here at home, with shame.

RHYME a b c c a b

    _Britans_, you stay too long,
    Quickly aboard bestow you,
      And with a merry Gale
      Swell your stretch'd Sayle,                              
    With Vowes as strong,
    As the Winds that blow you.

RHYME a b c c a b

    Your Course securely steere,
    West and by South forth keepe,
      Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Sholes,
      When EOLVS scowles,
    You need not feare,
    So absolute the Deepe.

RHYME a b c c a b

    And cheerefully at Sea,
    Successe you still intice,                                 
      To get the Pearle and Gold,
      And ours to hold,
    VIRGINIA,
    Earth's onely Paradise.

RHYME a b c c a b

    Where Nature hath in store
    Fowle, Venison, and Fish,
      And the Fruitfull'st Soyle,
      Without your Toyle,
    Three Haruests more,
    All greater then your Wish.                                       

RHYME a b c c a b

    And the ambitious Vine
    Crownes with his purple Masse,
      The cedar reaching hie
      To kisse the Sky
    The Cypresse, Pine
    And vse-full Sassafras.

RHYME a b c c a b

    To whome, the golden Age
    Still Natures lawes doth giue,
      No other Cares that tend,
      But Them to defend                                        
    From Winters rage,
    That long there doth not liue.

RHYME a b c c a b

    When as the Lushious smell
    Of that delicious Land,
      Aboue the Seas that flowes,
      The cleere Wind throwes,
    Your Hearts to swell
    Approaching the deare Strande.

RHYME a b c c a b

    In kenning of the Shore
    (Thanks to God first giuen,)                                
      O you the happy'st men,
      Be Frolike then,
    Let Cannons roare,
    Frighting the wide Heauen.

RHYME a b c c a b

    And in Regions farre
    Such Heroes bring yee foorth,
      As those from whom We came,
      And plant Our name,
    Vnder that Starre
    Not knowne vnto our North.                                  

RHYME a b c c a b

    And as there Plenty growes
    Of Lawrell euery where,
      APOLLO'S Sacred tree,
      You may it see,
    A Poets Browes
    To crowne, that may sing there.

RHYME a b c c a b

    Thy Voyages attend,
    Industrious HACKLVIT,
      Whose Reading shall inflame
      Men to seeke Fame,                                        
    And much commend
    To after-Times thy Wit.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b a b

    This while we are abroad,
      Shall we not touch our Lyre?
    Shall we not sing an ODE?
      Shall that holy Fire,
    In vs that strongly glow'd,
      In this cold Ayre expire?

RHYME a b a b a b

    Long since the Summer layd
      Her lustie Brau'rie downe,
    The Autumne halfe is way'd,
      And BOREAS 'gins to frowne,                              
    Since now I did behold
      Great BRVTES first builded Towne.

RHYME a b a b a b

    Though in the vtmost _Peake_,
      A while we doe remaine,
    Amongst the Mountaines bleake
      Expos'd to Sleet and Raine,
    No Sport our Houres shall breake,
      To exercise our Vaine.

RHYME a b a b a b

    What though bright PHOEBVS Beames
      Refresh the Southerne Ground,                            
    And though the Princely _Thames_
      With beautious Nymphs abound,
    And by old _Camber's_ Streames
      Be many Wonders found;

RHYME a b a b a b

    Yet many Riuers cleare
      Here glide in Siluer Swathes,
    And what of all most deare,
      _Buckston's_ delicious Bathes,
    Strong Ale and Noble Cheare,
      T' asswage breeme Winters scathes.                              

RHYME a b a b a b

    Those grim and horrid Caues,
      Whose Lookes affright the day,
    Wherein nice Nature saues,
      What she would not bewray,
    Our better leasure craues,
      And doth inuite our Lay.

RHYME a b a b a b

    In places farre or neere,
      Or famous, or obscure,
    Where wholesome is the Ayre,
      Or where the most impure,                                 
    All times, and euery-where,
      The Muse is still in vre.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b

    The Ryme nor marres, nor makes,
    Nor addeth it, nor takes,
      From that which we propose;
    Things imaginarie
    Doe so strangely varie,
      That quickly we them lose.

RHYME a a b c c b

    And what 's quickly begot,
    As soone againe is not,
      This doe I truely know:
    Yea, and what 's borne with paine,                         
    That Sense doth long'st retaine,
      Gone with a greater Flow.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Yet this Critick so sterne,
    But whom, none must discerne,
      Nor perfectly haue seeing,
    Strangely layes about him,
    As nothing without him
      Were worthy of being.

RHYME a a b c c b

    That I my selfe betray
    To that most publique way,                                 
      Where the Worlds old Bawd,
    Custome, that doth humor,
    And by idle rumor,
      Her Dotages applaud.

RHYME a a b c c b

    That whilst he still prefers
    Those that be wholly hers,
      Madnesse and Ignorance,
    I creepe behind the Time,
    From spertling with their Crime,
      And glad too with my Chance.                                    

RHYME a a b c c b

    O wretched World the while,
    When the euill most vile,
      Beareth the fayrest face,
    And inconstant lightnesse,
    With a scornefull slightnesse,
      The best Things doth disgrace.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Whilst this strange knowing Beast,
    Man, of himselfe the least,
      His Enuie declaring,
    Makes Vertue to descend,                                    
    Her title to defend,
      Against him, much preparing.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Yet these me not delude,
    Nor from my place extrude,
      By their resolued Hate;
    Their vilenesse that doe know;
    Which to my selfe I show,
      To keepe aboue my Fate.

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b

      Her lou'd I most,
      By thee that 's lost,
    Though she were wonne with leasure;
      She was my gaine,
      But to my paine,
    Thou spoyl'st me of my Treasure.

RHYME a a b c c b

      The Ship full fraught
      With Gold, farre sought,
    Though ne'r so wisely helmed,
      May suffer wracke                                        
      In sayling backe,
    By Tempest ouer-whelmed.

RHYME a a b c c b

      But shee, good Sir,
      Did not preferre
    You, for that I was ranging;
      But for that shee
      Found faith in mee,
    And she lou'd to be changing.

RHYME a a b c c b

      Therefore boast not
      Your happy Lot,                                          
    Be silent now you haue her;
      The time I knew
      She slighted you,
    When I was in her fauour.

RHYME a a b c c b

      None stands so fast,
      But may be cast
    By Fortune, and disgraced:
      Once did I weare
      Her Garter there,
    Where you her Gloue haue placed.                                  

RHYME a a b c c b

      I had the Vow
      That thou hast now,
    And Glances to discouer
      Her Loue to mee,
      And she to thee
    Reades but old Lessons ouer.

RHYME a a b c c b

      She hath no Smile
      That can beguile,
    But as my Thought I know it;
      Yea, to a Hayre,                                          
      Both when and where,
    And how she will bestow it.

RHYME a a b c c b

      What now is thine,
      Was onely mine,
    And first to me was giuen;
      Thou laugh'st at mee,
      I laugh at thee,
    And thus we two are euen.

RHYME a a b c c b

      But Ile not mourne,
      But stay my Turne,                                        
    The Wind may come about, Sir,
      And once againe
      May bring me in,
    And help to beare you out, Sir.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

    The Muse should be sprightly,
    Yet not handling lightly
    Things graue; as much loath,
    Things that be slight, to cloath
    Curiously: To retayne
    The Comelinesse in meane,
    Is true Knowledge and Wit.
    Not me forc'd Rage doth fit,
    That I thereto should lacke
    Tabacco, or need Sacke,                                    

RHYME a a *

    Which to the colder Braine
    Is the true _Hyppocrene_;
    Nor did I euer care
    For great Fooles, nor them spare.
    Vertue, though neglected,
    Is not so deiected,
    As vilely to descend
    To low Basenesse their end;
    Neyther each ryming Slaue
    Deserues the Name to haue                                  
    Of Poet: so the Rabble
    Of Fooles, for the Table,
    That haue their Iests by Heart,
    As an Actor his Part,

RHYME a a *

    Might assume them Chayres
    Amongst the Muses Heyres.
    _Parnassus_ is not clome
    By euery such Mome;
    Vp whose steep side who swerues,
    It behoues t' haue strong Nerues:                                 
    My Resolution such,
    How well, and not how much
    To write, thus doe I fare,
    Like some few good that care
    (The euill sort among)
    How well to liue, and not how long.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Good Folke, for Gold or Hyre,
      But helpe me to a Cryer;
    For my poore Heart is runne astray
    After two Eyes, that pass'd this way.
     
RHYME a a *

        If there be any Man,
        In Towne or Countrey, can
        Bring me my Heart againe,
        Ile please him for his paine;
    And by these Marks I will you show,                        
    That onely I this Heart doe owe.
        It is a wounded Heart,
        Wherein yet sticks the Dart,

TITLE

RHYME a a b c b c d e d e
     
 Eu'ry piece sore hurt throughout it,
      Faith, and Troth, writ round about it:
    It was a tame Heart, and a deare,
        And neuer vs'd to roame;
    But hauing got this Haunt, I feare
        'Twill hardly stay at home.
    For Gods sake, walking by the way,                         
        If you my Heart doe see,
    Either impound it for a Stray,
        Or send it backe to me.

TITLE

RHYME a b a b c d c d

    I pray thee leaue, loue me no more,
      Call home the Heart you gaue me,
    I but in vaine that Saint adore,
      That can, but will not saue me:
    These poore halfe Kisses kill me quite;
      Was euer man thus serued?
    Amidst an Ocean of Delight,
      For Pleasure to be sterued.

RHYME a b a b c d c d

    Shew me no more those Snowie Brests,
      With Azure Riuerets branched,                            
    Where whilst mine Eye with Plentie feasts,
      Yet is my Thirst not stanched.
    O TANTALVS, thy Paines n'er tell,
      By me thou art preuented;
    'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in Hell,
      But thus in Heauen tormented.

RHYME a b a b c d c d

    Clip me no more in those deare Armes,
      Nor thy Life's Comfort call me;
    O, these are but too pow'rfull Charmes,
      And doe but more inthrall me.                            
    But see, how patient I am growne,
      In all this coyle about thee;
    Come nice thing, let my Heart alone,
      I cannot liue without thee.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

                      Couentry, that do'st adorne
                    The Countrey wherein I was borne,
                    Yet therein lyes not thy prayse
                    Why I should crowne thy Tow'rs with Bayes:
  'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds
  Thy Ports, nor thy proud Pyrameds,

RHYME a a *

  Nor thy Trophies of the Bore,
  But that Shee which I adore,
  Which scarce Goodnesse selfe can payre,
  First their breathing blest thy Ayre;      
  IDEA, in which Name I hide
  Her, in my heart Deifi'd,
  For what good, Man's mind can see,
  Onely her IDEAS be;
  She, in whom the Vertues came
  In Womans shape, and tooke her Name,

RHYME a a *

  She so farre past Imitation,
  As but Nature our Creation
  Could not alter, she had aymed,
  More then Woman to haue framed:            
  She, whose truely written Story,
  To thy poore Name shall adde more glory,
  Then if it should haue beene thy Chance,
  T' haue bred our Kings that Conquer'd _France_.
  Had She beene borne the former Age,
  That house had beene a Pilgrimage,

RHYME a a *

  And reputed more Diuine,
  Then _Walsingham_ or BECKETS Shrine.
    That Princesse, to whom thou do'st owe
  Thy Freedome, whose Cleere blushing snow,         
  The enuious Sunne saw, when as she
  Naked rode to make Thee free,
  Was but her Type, as to foretell,
  Thou should'st bring forth one, should excell
  Her Bounty, by whom thou should'st haue
  More Honour, then she Freedome gaue;
  And that great Queene, which but of late
  Rul'd this Land in Peace and State,
  Had not beene, but Heauen had sworne,
  A Maide should raigne, when she was borne.  

RHYME a a *

    Of thy Streets, which thou hold'st best,
  And most frequent of the rest,
  Happy _Mich-Parke_ eu'ry yeere,
  On the fourth of _August_ there,
  Let thy Maides from FLORA'S bowers,
  With their Choyce and daintiest flowers
  Decke Thee vp, and from their store,
  With braue Garlands crowne that dore.
  The old Man passing by that way,
  To his Sonne in time shall say,             

RHYME a a *

  There was that Lady borne, which long
  To after-Ages shall be sung;
  Who vnawares being passed by,
  Back to that House shall cast his Eye,
  Speaking my Verses as he goes,
  And with a Sigh shut eu'ry Close.
    Deare Citie, trauelling by thee,
  When thy rising Spyres I see,
  Destined her place of Birth;
  Yet me thinkes the very Earth               

RHYME a a *

  Hallowed is, so farre as I
  Can thee possibly descry:
  Then thou dwelling in this place,
  Hearing some rude Hinde disgrace
  Thy Citie with some scuruy thing,
  Which some Iester forth did bring,
  Speake these Lines where thou do'st come,
  And strike the Slaue for euer dumbe.

TITLE

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    Faire stood the Wind for _France_,
    When we our Sayles aduance,
    Nor now to proue our chance,
        Longer will tarry;
    But putting to the Mayne,
    At _Kaux_, the Mouth of _Sene_,
    With all his Martiall Trayne,
        Landed King HARRY.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    And taking many a Fort,
    Furnish'd in Warlike sort,                                 
    Marcheth tow'rds _Agincourt_,
        In happy howre;
    Skirmishing day by day,
    With those that stop'd his way,
    Where the _French_ Gen'rall lay,
        With all his Power.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    Which in his Hight of Pride,
    King HENRY to deride,
    His Ransome to prouide
        To the King sending.                                   
    Which he neglects the while,
    As from a Nation vile,
    Yet with an angry smile,
        Their fall portending.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    And turning to his Men,
    Quoth our braue HENRY then,
    Though they to one be ten,
        Be not amazed.
    Yet haue we well begunne,
    Battels so brauely wonne,                                         
    Haue euer to the Sonne,
        By Fame beene raysed.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    And, for my Selfe (quoth he),
    This my full rest shall be,
    _England_ ne'r mourne for Me,
        Nor more esteeme me.
    Victor I will remaine,
    Or on this Earth lie slaine,
    Neuer shall Shee sustaine,
        Losse to redeeme me.                                    

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    _Poiters_ and _Cressy_ tell,
    When most their Pride did swell,
    Vnder our Swords they fell,
        No lesse our skill is,
    Than when our Grandsire Great,
    Clayming the Regall Seate,
    By many a Warlike feate,
        Lop'd the _French_ Lillies.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    The Duke of _Yorke_ so dread,
    The eager Vaward led;                                       
    With the maine, HENRY sped,
        Among'st his Hench-men.
    EXCESTER had the Rere,
    A Brauer man not there,
    O Lord, how hot they were,
        On the false _French-men_!

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    They now to fight are gone,
    Armour on Armour shone,
    Drumme now to Drumme did grone,
        To heare, was wonder;                                   
    That with the Cryes they make,
    The very Earth did shake,
    Trumpet to Trumpet spake,
        Thunder to Thunder.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    Well it thine Age became,
    O Noble ERPINGHAM,
    Which didst the Signall ayme,
        To our hid Forces;
    When from a Medow by,
    Like a Storme suddenly,                                     
    The _English_ Archery
        Stuck the _French_ Horses,

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    With _Spanish_ Ewgh so strong,
    Arrowes a Cloth-yard long,
    That like to Serpents stung,
        Piercing the Weather;
    None from his fellow starts,
    But playing Manly parts,
    And like true _English_ hearts,
        Stuck close together.                                   

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    When downe their Bowes they threw,
    And forth their Bilbowes drew,
    And on the French they flew,
        Not one was tardie;
    Armes were from shoulders sent,
    Scalpes to the Teeth were rent,
    Downe the _French_ Pesants went,
        Our Men were hardie.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    This while our Noble King,
    His broad Sword brandishing,                                
    Downe the _French_ Hoast did ding,
        As to o'r-whelme it;
    And many a deepe Wound lent,
    His Armes with Bloud besprent,
    And many a cruell Dent
        Bruised his Helmet.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    GLOSTER, that Duke so good,
    Next of the Royall Blood,
    For famous _England_ stood,
        With his braue Brother;                               
    CLARENCE, in Steele so bright,
    Though but a Maiden Knight,
    Yet in that furious Fight,
        Scarce such another,

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    WARWICK in Bloud did wade,
    OXFORD the Foe inuade,
    And cruell slaughter made,
        Still as they ran vp;
    SVFFOLKE his Axe did ply,
    BEAVMONT and WILLOVGHBY                                   
    Bare them right doughtily,
        FERRERS and FANHOPE.

RHYME a a a b c c c b

    Vpon Saint CRISPIN'S day
    Fought was this Noble Fray,
    Which Fame did not delay,
        To _England_ to carry;
    O, when shall _English_ Men
    With such Acts fill a Pen,
    Or _England_ breed againe,
        Such a King HARRY?                                

TITLE

RHYME a b a b

    Vppon this sinfull earth
    If man can happy be,
    And higher then his birth,
    (Frend) take him thus from me.

RHYME a b a b

    Whome promise not deceiues
    That he the breach should rue,
    Nor constant reason leaues
    Opinion to pursue.

RHYME a b a b

    To rayse his mean estate
    That sooths no wanton's sinne,                             
    Doth that preferment hate
    That virtue doth not winne.

RHYME a b a b

    Nor brauery doth admire,
    Nor doth more loue professe
    To that he doth desire,
    Then that he doth possesse.

RHYME a b a b

    Loose humor nor to please,
    That neither spares nor spends,
    But by discretion weyes
    What is to needfull ends.                                  

RHYME a b a b

    To him deseruing not
    Not yeelding, nor doth hould
    What is not his, doing what
    He ought not what he could.

RHYME a b a b

    Whome the base tyrants will
    Soe much could neuer awe
    As him for good or ill
    From honesty to drawe.

RHYME a b a b

    Whose constancy doth rise
    'Boue vndeserued spight                                           
    Whose valewr's to despise
    That most doth him delight.

RHYME a b a b

    That earely leaue doth take
    Of th' world though to his payne
    For virtues onely sake
    And not till need constrayne.

RHYME a b a b

    Noe man can be so free
    Though in imperiall seate
    Nor Eminent as he
    That deemeth nothing greate.                                

TITLE

RHYME a a b c c b

    Singe wee the Rose
    Then which no flower there growes
      Is sweeter:
    And aptly her compare
    With what in that is rare
      A parallel none meeter.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Or made poses,
    Of this that incloses
      Suche blisses,
    That naturally flusheth                                    
    As she blusheth
      When she is robd of kisses.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Or if strew'd
    When with the morning dew'd
      Or stilling,
    Or howe to sense expos'd
    All which in her inclos'd,
      Ech place with sweetnes filling.

RHYME a a b c c b

    That most renown'd
    By Nature richly crownd                                    
      With yellow,
    Of that delitious layre
    And as pure, her hayre
      Vnto the same the fellowe,

RHYME a a b c c b

    Fearing of harme
    Nature that flower doth arme
      From danger,
    The touch giues her offence
    But with reuerence
      Vnto her selfe a stranger.                                      

RHYME a a b c c b

    That redde, or white,
    Or mixt, the sence delyte
      Behoulding,
    In her complexion
    All which perfection
      Such harmony infouldinge.

RHYME a a b c c b

    That deuyded
    Ere it was descided
      Which most pure,
    Began the greeuous war                                      
    Of _York_ and _Lancaster_,
      That did many yeeres indure.

RHYME a a b c c b

    Conflicts as greate
    As were in all that heate
      I sustaine:
    By her, as many harts
    As men on either parts
      That with her eies hath slaine.

RHYME a a b c c b

    The Primrose flower
    The first of _Flora's_ bower                                
      Is placed,
    Soo is shee first as best
    Though excellent the rest,
      All gracing, by none graced.

TITLE Elegies

RHYME a a *

    That ten-yeares-trauell'd _Greeke_ return'd from Sea
    Ne'r ioyd so much to see his _Ithaca_,
    As I should you, who are alone to me,
    More then wide _Greece_ could to that wanderer be.
    The winter windes still Easterly doe keepe,
    And with keene Frosts haue chained vp the deepe,

RHYME a a *

    The Sunne's to vs a niggard of his Rayes,
    But reuelleth with our _Antipodes_;
    And seldome to vs when he shewes his head,
    Muffled in vapours, he straight hies to bed.               
    In those bleake mountaines can you liue where snowe
    Maketh the vales vp to the hilles to growe;
    Whereas mens breathes doe instantly congeale,
    And attom'd mists turne instantly to hayle;
    Belike you thinke, from this more temperate cost,
    My sighes may haue the power to thawe the frost,
    Which I from hence should swiftly send you thither,
    Yet not so swift, as you come slowly hither.

RHYME a a *

    How many a time, hath _Phebe_ from her wayne,
    With _Phoebus_ fires fill'd vp her hornes againe;          
    Shee through her Orbe, still on her course doth range,
    But you keep yours still, nor for me will change.
    The Sunne that mounted the sterne Lions back,
    Shall with the Fishes shortly diue the Brack,
    But still you keepe your station, which confines
    You, nor regard him trauelling the signes.
    Those ships which when you went, put out to Sea,
    Both to our _Groenland_, and _Virginia_,
    Are now return'd, and Custom'd haue their fraught,
    Yet you arriue not, nor returne me ought.                         

RHYME a a *

      The Thames was not so frozen yet this yeare,
    As is my bosome, with the chilly feare
    Of your not comming, which on me doth light,
    As on those Climes, where halfe the world is night.
      Of euery tedious houre you haue made two,
    All this long Winter here, by missing you:
    Minutes are months, and when the houre is past,
    A yeare is ended since the Clocke strooke last,
    When your Remembrance puts me on the Racke,
    And I should Swound to see an _Almanacke_,                  

RHYME a a *

    To reade what silent weekes away are slid,
    Since the dire Fates you from my sight haue hid.
      I hate him who the first Deuisor was
    Of this same foolish thing, the Hower-glasse,
    And of the Watch, whose dribbling sands and Wheele,
    With their slow stroakes, make mee too much to feele
    Your slackenesse hither, O how I doe ban,
    Him that these Dialls against walles began,

RHYME a a *

    Whose Snayly motion of the moouing hand,
    (Although it goe) yet seeme to me to stand;                 
    As though at _Adam_ it had first set out
    And had been stealing all this while about,
    And when it backe to the first point should come,
    It shall be then iust at the generall Doome.
      The Seas into themselues retract their flowes.
    The changing Winde from euery quarter blowes,
    Declining Winter in the Spring doth call,
    The Starrs rise to vs, as from vs they fall;
    Those Birdes we see, that leaue vs in the Prime,
    Againe in Autumne re-salute our Clime.                      

RHYME a a *

    Sure, either Nature you from kinde hath made,
    Or you delight else to be Retrograde.
      But I perceiue by your attractiue powers,
    Like an Inchantresse you haue charm'd the bowers
    Into short minutes, and haue drawne them back,
    So that of vs at _London_, you doe lack
    Almost a yeare, the Spring is scarce begonne
    There where you liue, and Autumne almost done.
    With vs more Eastward, surely you deuise,
    By your strong Magicke, that the Sunne shall rise           
    Where now it setts, and that in some few yeares
    You'l alter quite the Motion of the Spheares.

RHYME a a *

      Yes, and you meane, I shall complaine my loue
    To grauell'd Walkes, or to a stupid Groue,
    Now your companions; and that you the while
    (As you are cruell) will sit by and smile,
    To make me write to these, while Passers by,
    Sleightly looke in your louely face, where I
    See Beauties heauen, whilst silly blockheads, they
    Like laden Asses, plod vpon their way,                      
    And wonder not, as you should point a Clowne
    Vp to the _Guards_, or _Ariadnes_ Crowne;

RHYME a a *

    Of Constellations, and his dulnesse tell.
    Hee'd thinke your words were certainly a Spell;
    Or him some piece from _Creet_, or _Marcus_ show,
    In all his life which till that time ne'r saw
    Painting: except in Alehouse or old Hall
    Done by some Druzzler, of the Prodigall.
      Nay doe, stay still, whilst time away shall steale
    Your youth, and beautie, and your selfe conceale            
    From me I pray you, you haue now inur'd
    Me to your absence, and I haue endur'd

RHYME a a *

    Your want this long, whilst I haue starued bine
    For your short Letters, as you helde it sinne
    To write to me, that to appease my woe,
    I reade ore those, you writ a yeare agoe,
    Which are to me, as though they had bin made,
    Long time before the first _Olympiad_.
      For thankes and curt'sies sell your presence then
    To tatling Women, and to things like men,                 
    And be more foolish then the _Indians_ are
    For Bells, for Kniues, for Glasses, and such ware,
    That sell their Pearle and Gold, but here I stay,
    So I would not haue you but come away.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Friend, if you thinke my Papers may supplie
    You, with some strange omitted Noueltie,
    Which others Letters yet haue left vntould,
    You take me off, before I can take hould
    Of you at all; I put not thus to Sea,
    For two monthes Voyage to _Virginia_,
    With newes which now, a little something here,
    But will be nothing ere it can come there.
    I feare, as I doe Stabbing; this word, State,
    I dare not speake of the _Palatinate_,                     
    Although some men make it their hourely theame,
    And talke what's done in _Austria_, and in _Beame_,
    I may not so; what _Spinola_ intends,
    Nor with his _Dutch_, which way Prince _Maurice_ bends;

RHYME a a *

    To other men, although these things be free,
    Yet (GEORGE) they must be misteries to mee.
      I scarce dare praise a vertuous friend that's dead,
    Lest for my lines he should be censured;
    It was my hap before all other men
    To suffer shipwrack by my forward pen:                     
    When King IAMES entred; at which ioyfull time
    I taught his title to this Ile in rime:
    And to my part did all the Muses win,
    With high-pitch _Pæans_ to applaud him in:
    When cowardise had tyed vp euery tongue,
    And all stood silent, yet for him I sung;
    And when before by danger I was dar'd,
    I kick'd her from me, nor a iot I spar'd.
    Yet had not my cleere spirit in Fortunes scorne,
    Me aboue earth and her afflictions borne;                         

RHYME a a *

    He next my God on whom I built my trust,
    Had left me troden lower then the dust:
    But let this passe; in the extreamest ill,
    _Apollo's_ brood must be couragious still,
    Let Pies, and Dawes, sit dumb before their death,
    Onely the Swan sings at the parting breath.
    And (worthy GEORGE) by industry and vse,
    Let's see what lines _Virginia_ will produce;
    Goe on with OVID, as you haue begunne,
    With the first fiue Bookes; let your numbers run            
    Glib as the former, so shall it liue long,
    And doe much honour to the _English_ tongue:

RHYME a a *

    Intice the Muses thither to repaire,
    Intreat them gently, trayne them to that ayre,
    For they from hence may thither hap to fly,
    T'wards the sad time which but to fast doth hie,
    For Poesie is follow'd with such spight,
    By groueling drones that neuer raught her height,
    That she must hence, she may no longer staye:
    The driery fates prefixed haue the day,                     
    Of her departure, which is now come on,
    And they command her straight wayes to be gon;
    That bestiall heard so hotly her pursue,
    And to her succour, there be very few,

RHYME a a *

    Nay none at all, her wrongs that will redresse,
    But she must wander in the wildernesse,
    Like to the woman, which that holy IOHN
    Beheld in _Pathmos_ in his vision.
      As th' _English_ now, so did the stiff-neckt _Iewes_,
    Their noble Prophets vtterly refuse,                        
    And of these men such poore opinions had;
    They counted _Esay_ and _Ezechiel_ mad;
    When _Ieremy_ his Lamentations writ,
    They thought the Wizard quite out of his wit,
    Such sots they were, as worthily to ly,
    Lock't in the chaines of their captiuity,

RHYME a a *

    Knowledge hath still her Eddy in her Flow,
    So it hath beene, and it will still be so.
      That famous _Greece_ where learning flourisht most,
    Hath of her muses long since left to boast,                 
    Th' vnlettered _Turke_, and rude _Barbarian_ trades,
    Where HOMER sang his lofty _Iliads_;
    And this vaste volume of the world hath taught,
    Much may to passe in little time be brought.
      As if to _Symptoms_ we may credit giue,
    This very time, wherein we two now liue,
    Shall in the compasse, wound the Muses more,
    Then all the old _English_ ignorance before;
    Base Balatry is so belou'd and sought,
    And those braue numbers are put by for naught,              

RHYME a a *

    Which rarely read, were able to awake,
    Bodyes from graues, and to the ground to shake
    The wandring clouds, and to our men at armes,
    'Gainst pikes and muskets were most powerfull charmes.
    That, but I know, insuing ages shall,
    Raise her againe, who now is in her fall;
    And out of dust reduce our scattered rimes,
    Th' reiected iewels of these slothfull times,
    Who with the Muses would misspend an hower,
    But let blind Gothish Barbarisme deuoure                    

RHYME a a *

    These feuerous Dogdays, blest by no record,
    But to be euerlastingly abhord.
      If you vouchsafe rescription, stuffe your quill
    With naturall bountyes, and impart your skill,
    In the description of the place, that I,
    May become learned in the soyle thereby;
    Of noble _Wyats_ health, and let me heare,
    The Gouernour; and how our people there,

RHYME a a *

    Increase and labour, what supplyes are sent,
    Which I confesse shall giue me much content;              
    But you may saue your labour if you please,
    To write to me ought of your Sauages.
    As sauage slaues be in great _Britaine_ here,
    As any one that you can shew me there
    And though for this, Ile say I doe not thirst,
    Yet I should like it well to be the first,
    Whose numbers hence into _Virginia_ flew,
    So (noble _Sandis_) for this time adue.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

              Deare friend, be silent and with patience see,
            What this mad times Catastrophe will be;
            The worlds first Wisemen certainly mistooke
            Themselues, and spoke things quite beside the booke,

RHYME a a *

            And that which they haue of said of God, vntrue,
            Or else expect strange iudgement to insue.
              This Isle is a meere Bedlam, and therein,
            We all lye rauing, mad in euery sinne,
            And him the wisest most men use to call,
            Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all;         
            He whom the master of all wisedome found,
            For a marckt foole, and so did him propound,
            The time we liue in, to that passe is brought,
            That only he a Censor now is thought;
            And that base villaine, (not an age yet gone,)
            Which a good man would not haue look'd vpon;

RHYME a a *

            Now like a God, with diuine worship follow'd,
            And all his actions are accounted hollow'd.
              This world of ours, thus runneth vpon wheeles,
            Set on the head, bolt vpright with her heeles;     
            Which makes me thinke of what the _Ethnicks_ told
  Th' opinion, the Pythagorists vphold,

RHYME a a *

  That the immortall soule doth transmigrate;
  Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,

RHYME a a *

  Through fools, and beasts, and lunatiques haue past,
  Are heere imbodyed in this age at last,
  And though so long we from that time be gone,
  Yet taste we still of that confusion.
  For certainely there's scarse one found that now,         
  Knowes what t' approoue, or what to disallow,
  All arsey varsey, nothing is it's owne,
  But to our prouerbe, all turnd vpside downe;

RHYME a a *

  To doe in time, is to doe out of season,
  And that speeds best, thats done the farth'st from reason,
  Hee 's high'st that 's low'st, hee 's surest in that 's out,
  He hits the next way that goes farth'st about,
  He getteth vp vnlike to rise at all,
  He slips to ground as much vnlike to fall;
  Which doth inforce me partly to prefer,             
  The opinion of that mad Philosopher,
  Who taught, that those all-framing powers aboue,
  (As 'tis suppos'd) made man not out of loue
  To him at all, but only as a thing,
  To make them sport with, which they vse to bring

RHYME a a *

  As men doe munkeys, puppets, and such tooles
  Of laughter: so men are but the Gods fooles.
  Such are by titles lifted to the sky,
  As wherefore no man knowes, God scarcely why;
  The vertuous man depressed like a stone,            
  For that dull Sot to raise himselfe vpon;
  He who ne're thing yet worthy man durst doe,
  Neuer durst looke vpon his countrey's foe,
  Nor durst attempt that action which might get
  Him fame with men: or higher might him set

RHYME a a *

  Then the base begger (rightly if compar'd;)
  This Drone yet neuer braue attempt that dar'd,
  Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares grow
  To any title Empire can bestow;
  For this beleeue, that Impudence is now             
  A Cardinall vertue, and men it allow
  Reuerence, nay more, men study and inuent
  New wayes, nay, glory to be impudent.

RHYME a a *

    Into the clouds the Deuill lately got,
  And by the moisture doubting much the rot,
  A medicine tooke to make him purge and cast;
  Which in short time began to worke so fast,
  That he fell too 't, and from his backeside flew,
  A rout of rascall a rude ribauld crew
  Of base Plebeians, which no sooner light,           
  Vpon the earth, but with a suddaine flight,
  They spread this Ile, and as _Deucalion_ once
  Ouer his shoulder backe, by throwing stones

RHYME a a *

  They became men, euen so these beasts became,
  Owners of titles from an obscure name.
    He that by riot, of a mighty rent,
  Hath his late goodly Patrimony spent,
  And into base and wilfull beggery run
  This man as he some glorious acte had done,
  With some great pension, or rich guift releeu'd,    
  When he that hath by industry atchieu'd
  Some noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd,
  In the forlorne hope of the times is plac'd,
  As though that God had carelessely left all
  That being hath on this terrestriall ball,

RHYME a a *

  To fortunes guiding, nor would haue to doe
  With man, nor aught that doth belong him to,
  Or at the least God hauing giuen more
  Power to the Deuill, then he did of yore,
  Ouer this world: the feind as he doth hate          
  The vertuous man; maligning his estate,
  All noble things, and would haue by his will,
  To be damn'd with him, vsing all his skill,
  By his blacke hellish ministers to vexe
  All worthy men, and strangely to perplexe

RHYME a a *

  Their constancie, there by them so to fright,
  That they should yeeld them wholely to his might.
  But of these things I vainely doe but tell,
  Where hell is heauen, and heau'n is now turn'd hell;
  Where that which lately blasphemy hath bin,       
  Now godlinesse, much lesse accounted sin;
  And a long while I greatly meruail'd why
  Buffoons and Bawdes should hourely multiply,
  Till that of late I construed it that they
  To present thrift had got the perfect way,

RHYME a a *

  When I concluded by their odious crimes,
  It was for vs no thriuing in these times.
    As men oft laugh at little Babes, when they
  Hap to behold some strange thing in their play,
  To see them on the suddaine strucken sad,         
  As in their fancie some strange formes they had,
  Which they by pointing with their fingers showe,
  Angry at our capacities so slowe,

RHYME a a *

  That by their countenance we no sooner learne
  To see the wonder which they so discerne:
  So the celestiall powers doe sit and smile
  At innocent and vertuous men the while,
  They stand amazed at the world ore-gone,
  So farre beyond imagination,
  With slauish basenesse, that the silent sit   
  Pointing like children in describing it.

RHYME a a *

    Then noble friend the next way to controule
  These worldly crosses, is to arme thy soule
  With constant patience: and with thoughts as high
  As these be lowe, and poore, winged to flye
  To that exalted stand, whether yet they
  Are got with paine, that sit out of the way
  Of this ignoble age, which raiseth none
  But such as thinke their black damnation

  To be a trifle; such, so ill, that when              
  They are aduanc'd, those few poore honest men
  That yet are liuing, into search doe runne
  To finde what mischiefe they haue lately done,
  Which so preferres them; say thou he doth rise,
  That maketh vertue his chiefe exercise.
  And in this base world come what euer shall,
  Hees worth lamenting, that for her doth fall.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Light Sonnets hence, and to loose Louers flie,
    And mournfull Maydens sing an Elegie
    On those three SHEFFIELDS, ouer-whelm'd with waues,
    Whose losse the teares of all the Muses craues;
    A thing so full of pitty as this was,
    Me thinkes for nothing should not slightly passe.
    Treble this losse was, why should it not borrowe,
    Through this Iles treble parts, a treble sorrowe:
    But Fate did this, to let the world to knowe,
    That sorrowes which from common causes growe,              
    Are not worth mourning for, the losse to beare,
    But of one onely sonne, 's not worth one teare.

RHYME a a *

    Some tender-hearted man, as I, may spend
    Some drops (perhaps) for a deceased friend.
    Some men (perhaps) their Wifes late death may rue;
    Or Wifes their Husbands, but such be but fewe.
    Cares that haue vs'd the hearts of men to tuch
    So oft, and deepely, will not now be such;
    Who'll care for loss of maintenance, or place,
    Fame, liberty, or of the Princes grace;                    
    Or sutes in law, by base corruption crost,
    When he shall finde, that this which he hath lost,
    Alas, is nothing to his, which did lose,
    Three sonnes at once so excellent as those:

RHYME a a *

    Nay, it is feard that this in time may breed
    Hard hearts in men to their owne naturall seed;
    That in respect of this great losse of theirs,
    Men will scarce mourne the death of their owne heires.
      Through all this Ile their losse so publique is,
    That euery man doth take them to be his,                          
    And as a plague which had beginning there,
    So catching is, and raigning euery where,
    That those the farthest off as much doe rue them,
    As those the most familiarly that knew them;
    Children with this disaster are wext sage,
    And like to men that strucken are in age;

RHYME a a *

    Talke what it is, three children at one time
    Thus to haue drown'd, and in their very prime;
    Yea, and doe learne to act the same so well,
    That then olde folke, they better can it tell.              
    Inuention, oft that Passion vs'd to faine,
    In sorrowes of themselves but slight, and meane,
    To make them seeme great, here it shall not need,
    For that this Subiect doth so farre exceed
    All forc'd Expression, that what Poesie shall
    Happily thinke to grace it selfe withall,
    Falls so belowe it, that it rather borrowes
    Grace from their griefe, then addeth to their sorrowes,

RHYME a a *

    For sad mischance thus in the losse of three,
    To shewe it selfe the vtmost it could bee:                  
    Exacting also by the selfe same lawe,
    The vtmost teares that sorrowe had to drawe
    All future times hath vtterly preuented
    Of a more losse, or more to be lamented.
      Whilst in faire youth they liuely flourish'd here,
    To their kinde Parents they were onely deere:
    But being dead, now euery one doth take
    Them for their owne, and doe like sorrowe make:
    As for their owne begot, as they pretended
    Hope in the issue, which should haue discended              
    From them againe; nor here doth end our sorrow,
    But those of vs, that shall be borne to morrowe

RHYME a a *

    Still shall lament them, and when time shall count,
    To what vast number passed yeares shall mount,
    They from their death shall duly reckon so,
    As from the Deluge, former vs'd to doe.
      O cruell _Humber_ guilty of their gore,
    I now beleeue more then I did before
    The _Brittish_ Story, whence thy name begun
    Of Kingly _Humber_, an inuading _Hun_,                      
    By thee deuoured, for't is likely thou
    With blood wert Christned, bloud-thirsty till now.

RHYME a a *

    The _Ouse_, the _Done_, and thou farre clearer _Trent_,
    To drowne the SHEFFIELDS as you gaue consent,
    Shall curse the time, that ere you were infus'd,
    Which haue your waters basely thus abus'd.
    The groueling Boore yee hinder not to goe,
    And at his pleasure Ferry to and fro.
    The very best part of whose soule, and bloud,
    Compared with theirs, is viler then your mud.               

RHYME a a *

    But wherefore paper, doe I idely spend,
    On those deafe waters to so little end,
    And vp to starry heauen doe I not looke,
    In which, as in an euerlasting booke,
    Our ends are written; O let times rehearse
    Their fatall losse, in their sad Aniuerse.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Madame, to shew the smoothnesse of my vaine,
    Neither that I would haue you entertaine
    The time in reading me, which you would spend
    In faire discourse with some knowne honest friend,
    I write not to you. Nay, and which is more,
    My powerfull verses striue not to restore,
    What time and sicknesse haue in you impair'd,
    To other ends my Elegie is squar'd.

RHYME a a *

      Your beauty, sweetnesse, and your gracefull parts
    That haue drawne many eyes, wonne many hearts,             
    Of me get little, I am so much man,
    That let them doe their vtmost that they can,
    I will resist their forces: and they be
    Though great to others, yet not so to me.
    The first time I beheld you, I then sawe
    That (in it selfe) which had the power to drawe
    My stayd affection, and thought to allowe
    You some deale of my heart; but you have now
    Got farre into it, and you haue the skill
    (For ought I see) to winne vpon me still.                  

RHYME a a *

      When I doe thinke how brauely you haue borne
    Your many crosses, as in Fortunes scorne,
    And how neglectfull you have seem'd to be,
    Of that which hath seem'd terrible to me,
    I thought you stupid, nor that you had felt
    Those griefes which (often) I haue scene to melt
    Another woman into sighes and teares,
    A thing but seldome in your sexe and yeares,

RHYME a a *

    But when in you I haue perceiu'd agen,
    (Noted by me, more then by other men)                             
    How feeling and how sensible you are
    Of your friends sorrowes, and with how much care
    You seeke to cure them, then my selfe I blame,
    That I your patience should so much misname,
    Which to my vnderstanding maketh knowne
    Who feeles anothers griefe, can feele their owne.
    When straight me thinkes, I heare your patience say,
    Are you the man that studied _Seneca_:
    _Plinies_ most learned letters; and must I
    Read you a Lecture in Philosophie,                          

RHYME a a *

    T'auoid the afflictions that haue vs'd to reach you;
    I'le learne you more, Sir, then your bookes can teach you.
      Of all your sex, yet neuer did I knowe,
    Any that yet so actually could showe
    Such rules for patience, such an easie way,
    That who so sees it, shall be forc'd to say,
    Loe what before seem'd hard to be discern'd,
    Is of this Lady, in an instant learn'd.
    It is heauens will that you should wronged be
    By the malicious, that the world might see                  
    Your Doue-like meekenesse; for had the base scumme,
    The spawne of Fiends, beene in your slander dumbe,

RHYME a a *

    Your vertue then had perish'd, neuer priz'd,
    For that the same you had not exercised;
    And you had lost the Crowne you haue, and glory,
    Nor had you beene the subiect of my Story.
    Whilst they feele Hell, being damned in their hate,
    Their thoughts like Deuils them excruciate,
    Which by your noble suffrings doe torment
    Them with new paines, and giues you this content            
    To see your soule an Innocent, hath suffred,
    And vp to heauen before your eyes be offred:
    Your like we in a burning Glasse may see,
    When the Sunnes rayes therein contracted be
    Bent on some obiect, which is purely white,
    We finde that colour doth dispierce the light,

RHYME a a *

    And stands vntainted: but if it hath got
    Some little sully; or the least small spot,
    Then it soon fiers it; so you still remaine
    Free, because in you they can finde no staine.              
      God doth not loue them least, on whom he layes
    The great'st afflictions; but that he will praise
    Himselfe most in them, and will make them fit,
    Near'st to himselfe who is the Lambe to sit:
    For by that touch, like perfect gold he tries them,
    Who are not his, vntill the world denies them.

RHYME a a *

    And your example may work such effect,
    That it may be the beginning of a Sect
    Of patient women; and that many a day
    All Husbands may for you their Founder pray.                
      Nor is to me your Innocence the lesse,
    In that I see you striue not to suppresse
    Their barbarous malice; but your noble heart
    Prepar'd to act so difficult a part,
    With vnremoued constancie is still
    The same it was, that of your proper ill,

RHYME a a *

    The effect proceeds from your owne selfe the cause,
    Like some iust Prince, who to establish lawes,
    Suffers the breach at his best lou'd to strike,
    To learne the vulgar to endure the like.                    
    You are a Martir thus, nor can you be
    Lesse to the world so valued by me:
    If as you haue begun, you still perseuer
    Be euer good, that I may loue you euer.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Must I needes write, who's hee that can refuse,
    He wants a minde, for her that hath no Muse,
    The thought of her doth heau'nly rage inspire,
    Next powerfull, to those clouen tongues of fire.
      Since I knew ought time neuer did allowe
    Me stuffe fit for an Elegie, till now;
    When _France_ and _England's_ HENRIES dy'd, my quill,
    Why, I know not, but it that time lay still.
    'Tis more then greatnesse that my spirit must raise,
    To obserue custome I vse not to praise;                    
    Nor the least thought of mine yet ere depended,
    On any one from whom she was descended;
    That for their fauour I this way should wooe,
    As some poor wretched things (perhaps) may doe;

RHYME a a *

    I gaine the end, whereat I onely ayme,
    If by my freedome, I may giue her fame.
      Walking then forth being newly vp from bed,
    O Sir (quoth one) the Lady CLIFTON'S dead.
    When, but that reason my sterne rage withstood,
    My hand had sure beene guilty of his blood.                
    If shee be so, must thy rude tongue confesse it
    (Quoth I) and com'st so coldly to expresse it.
    Thou shouldst haue giuen a shreeke, to make me feare thee;
    That might haue slaine what euer had beene neere thee.
    Thou shouldst haue com'n like Time with thy scalpe bare,
    And in thy hands thou shouldst haue brought thy haire,

RHYME a a *

    Casting vpon me such a dreadfull looke,
    As seene a spirit, or th'adst beene thunder-strooke,
    And gazing on me so a little space,
    Thou shouldst haue shot thine eye balls in my face,               
    Then falling at my feet, thou shouldst haue said,
    O she is gone, and Nature with her dead.
      With this ill newes amaz'd by chance I past,
    By that neere Groue, whereas both first and last,
    I saw her, not three moneths before shee di'd.
    When (though full Summer gan to vaile her pride,
    And that I sawe men leade home ripened Corne,
    Besides aduis'd me well,) I durst haue sworne

RHYME a a *

    The lingring yeare, the Autumne had adiourn'd,
    And the fresh Spring had beene againe return'd,             
    Her delicacie, louelinesse, and grace,
    With such a Summer brauery deckt the place:
    But now alas, it lookt forlorne and dead;
    And where she stood, the fading leaues were shed,
    Presenting onely sorrowe to my sight,
    O God (thought I) this is her Embleme right.
    And sure I thinke it cannot but be thought,
    That I to her by prouidence was brought.
    For that the Fates fore-dooming, shee should die,
    Shewed me this wondrous Master peece, that I                
    Should sing her Funerall, that the world should know it,
    That heauen did thinke her worthy of a Poet;

RHYME a a *

    My hand is fatall, nor doth fortune doubt,
    For what it writes, not fire shall ere race out.
    A thousand silken Puppets should haue died,
    And in their fulsome Coffins putrified,
    Ere in my lines, you of their names should heare
    To tell the world that such there euer were,
    Whose memory shall from the earth decay,
    Before those Rags be worne they gaue away:                  
    Had I her god-like features neuer seene,
    Poore slight Report had tolde me she had beene
    A hansome Lady, comely, very well,
    And so might I haue died an Infidell,

RHYME a a *

    As many doe which neuer did her see,
    Or cannot credit, what she was, by mee.
      Nature, her selfe, that before Art prefers
    To goe beyond all our Cosmographers,
    By Charts and Maps exactly that haue showne,
    All of this earth that euer can be knowne,                  
    For that she would beyond them all descrie
    What Art could not by any mortall eye;
    A Map of heauen in her rare features drue,
    And that she did so liuely and so true,
    That any soule but seeing it might sweare
    That all was perfect heauenly that was there.

RHYME a a *

    If euer any Painter were so blest,
    To drawe that face, which so much heau'n exprest,
    If in his best of skill he did her right,
    I wish it neuer may come in my sight,                       
    I greatly doubt my faith (weake man) lest I
    Should to that face commit Idolatry.
      Death might haue tyth'd her sex, but for this one,
    Nay, haue ta'n halfe to haue let her alone;
    Such as their wrinkled temples to supply,
    Cyment them vp with sluttish _Mercury_,

RHYME a a *

    Such as vndrest were able to affright,
    A valiant man approching him by night;
    Death might haue taken such, her end deferd,
    Vntill the time she had beene climaterd;                    
    When she would haue bin at threescore yeares and three,
    Such as our best at three and twenty be,
    With enuie then, he might haue ouerthrowne her,
    When age nor time had power to ceaze vpon her.
      But when the vnpittying Fates her end decreed,
    They to the same did instantly proceed,
    For well they knew (if she had languish'd so)
    As those which hence by naturall causes goe,

RHYME a a *

    So many prayers, and teares for her had spoken,
    As certainly their Iron lawes had broken,                 
    And had wak'd heau'n, who clearely would haue show'd
    That change of Kingdomes to her death it ow'd;
    And that the world still of her end might thinke,
    It would haue let some Neighbouring mountaine sinke.
    Or the vast Sea it in on vs to cast,
    As _Seuerne_ did about some fiue yeares past:
    Or some sterne Comet his curld top to reare,
    Whose length should measure halfe our Hemisphere.

RHYME a a *

    Holding this height, to say some will not sticke,
    That now I raue, and am growne lunatique:                 
    You of what sexe so ere you be, you lye,
    'Tis thou thy selfe is lunatique, not I.
    I charge you in her name that now is gone,
    That may coniure you, if you be not stone,
    That you no harsh, nor shallow rimes decline,
    Vpon that day wherein you shall read mine.

RHYME a a *

    Such as indeed are falsely termed verse,
    And will but sit like mothes vpon her herse;
    Nor that no child, nor chambermaide, nor page,
    Disturbe the Rome, the whilst my sacred rage,         
    In reading is; but whilst you heare it read,
    Suppose, before you, that you see her dead,
    The walls about you hung with mournfull blacke,
    And nothing of her funerall to lacke,
    And when this period giues you leaue to pause,
    Cast vp your eyes, and sigh for my applause.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

    I many a time haue greatly marueil'd, why
  Men say, their friends depart when as they die,
  How well that word, a dying, doth expresse,
  I did not know (I freely must confesse,)
  Till her departure: for whose missed sight,
  I am enforc'd this Elegy to write:
  But since resistlesse fate will haue it so,
  That she from hence must to _Iberia_ goe,
  And my weak wishes can her not detaine,
  I will of heauen in policy complaine,            
  That it so long her trauell should adiourne,
  Hoping thereby to hasten her returne.

RHYME a a *

  Can those of _Norway_ for their wage procure,
By their blacke spells a winde that shall endure
Till from aboard the wished land men see,
And fetch the harbour, where they long to be,
Can they by charmes doe this and cannot I
Who am the Priest of _Phoebus_, and so hie,
Sit in his fauour, winne the Poets god,
To send swift _Hermes_ with his snaky rod,       
To _Æolus_ Caue, commanding him with care,
His prosperous winds, that he for her prepare,
And from that howre, wherein shee takes the seas,
Nature bring on the quiet _Halcion_ dayes,
And in that hower that bird begin her nest,
Nay at that very instant, that long rest

RHYME a a *

May seize on _Neptune_, who may still repose,
And let that bird nere till that hower disclose,
Wherein she landeth, and for all that space
Be not a wrinkle seene on _Thetis_ face,                
Onely so much breath with a gentle gale,
As by the easy swelling of her saile,
May at *_Sebastians_ safely set her downe
Where, with her goodnes she may blesse the towne.
  If heauen in iustice would haue plagu'd by thee
Some Pirate, and grimme _Neptune_ thou should'st be
His Executioner, or what is his worse,
The gripple Merchant, borne to be the curse

RHYME a a *

Of this braue Iland; let them for her sake,
Who to thy safeguard doth her selfe betake,       
Escape vndrown'd, vnwrackt, nay rather let
Them be at ease in some safe harbour set,
Where with much profit they may vent their wealth
That they haue got by villany and stealth,
Rather great _Neptune_, then when thou dost raue,
Thou once shouldst wet her saile but with a waue.
  Or if some proling Rouer shall but dare,
To seize the ship wherein she is to fare,
Let the fell fishes of the Maine appeare,
And tell those Sea-thiefes, that once such they were 0

RHYME a a *

As they are now, till they assaid to rape
Grape-crowned _Bacchus_ in a striplings shape,
That came aboard them, and would faine haue saild,
To vine-spread *_Naxus_ but that him they faild,
Which he perceiuing, them so monstrous made,
And warnd them how they passengers inuade.
  Ye South and Westerne winds now cease to blow
Autumne is come, there be no flowers to grow,
Yea from that place respire, to which she goes,
And to her sailes should show your selfe but foes,

RHYME a a *

But _Boreas_ and yee Esterne windes arise,
To send her soon to _Spaine_, but be precise,
That in your aide you seeme not still so sterne,
As we a summer should no more discerne,
For till that here againe, I may her see,
It will be winter all the yeare with mee.
  Ye swanne-begotten lonely brother-stars,
So oft auspicious to poore Mariners,
Ye twin-bred lights of louely _Leda's_ brood,
_Ioues_ egge-borne issue smile vpon the flood,    
And in your mild'st aspect doe ye appeare
To be her warrant from all future feare.

RHYME a a *

And if thou ship that bear'st her, doe proue good,
May neuer time by wormes, consume thy wood
Nor rust thy iron, may thy tacklings last,
Till they for reliques be in temples plac't;
Maist thou be ranged with that mighty Arke,
Wherein iust _Noah_ did all the world imbarque,
With that which after _Troyes_ so famous wracke,
From ten yeares trauell brought _Vlisses_ backe,  
That Argo which to _Colchos_ went from _Greece_,
And in her botome brought the goulden fleece

RHYME a a *

Vnder braue _Iason_; or that same of _Drake_,
Wherein he did his famous voyage make
About the world; or _Candishes_ that went
As far as his, about the Continent.
  And yee milde winds that now I doe implore,
Not once to raise the least sand on the shore,
Nor once on forfait of your selues respire:
When once the time is come of her retire,         
If then it please you, but to doe your due,
What for these windes I did, Ile doe for you;

RHYME a a *

Ile wooe you then, and if that not suffice,
My pen shall prooue you to haue dietyes,
Ile sing your loues in verses that shall flow,
And tell the storyes of your weale and woe,
Ile prooue what profit to the earth you bring,
And how t'is you that welcome in the spring;
Ile raise vp altars to you, as to show,
The time shall be kept holy, when you blow.     
O blessed winds! your will that it may be,
To send health to her, and her home to me.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      My dearely loued friend how oft haue we,
    In winter evenings (meaning to be free,)
    To some well-chosen place vs'd to retire;
    And there with moderate meate, and wine, and fire,
    Haue past the howres contentedly with chat,
    Now talk of this, and then discours'd of that,
    Spoke our owne verses 'twixt our selves, if not
    Other mens lines, which we by chance had got,
    Or some Stage pieces famous long before,
    Of which your happy memory had store;                      
    And I remember you much pleased were,
    Of those who liued long agoe to heare,

RHYME a a *

    As well as of those, of these latter times,
    Who have inricht our language with their rimes,
    And in succession, how still vp they grew,
    Which is the subiect, that I now pursue;
    For from my cradle, (you must know that) I,
    Was still inclin'd to noble Poesie,
    And when that once _Pueriles_ I had read,
    And newly had my _Cato_ construed,                         
    In my small selfe I greatly marueil'd then,
    Amonst all other, what strange kinde of men
    These Poets were; And pleased with the name,
    To my milde Tutor merrily I came,

RHYME a a *

    (For I was then a proper goodly page,
    Much like a Pigmy, scarse ten yeares of age)
    Clasping my slender armes about his thigh.
    O my deare master! cannot you (quoth I)
    Make me a Poet, doe it if you can,
    And you shall see, Ile quickly bee a man,                         
    Who me thus answered smiling, boy quoth he,
    If you'le not play the wag, but I may see
    You ply your learning, I will shortly read
    Some Poets to you; _Phoebus_ be my speed,
    Too't hard went I, when shortly he began,
    And first read to me honest _Mantuan_,

RHYME a a *

    Then _Virgils Eglogues_, being entred thus,
    Me thought I straight had mounted _Pegasus_,
    And in his full Careere could make him stop,
    And bound vpon _Parnassus'_ by-clift top.                   
    I scornd your ballet then though it were done
    And had for Finis, _William Elderton_.
    But soft, in sporting with this childish iest,
    I from my subiect haue too long digrest,

RHYME a a *

    Then to the matter that we tooke in hand,
    _Ioue_ and _Apollo_ for the _Muses_ stand.
      Then noble _Chaucer_, in those former times,
    The first inrich'd our _English_ with his rimes,
    And was the first of ours, that euer brake,
    Into the _Muses_ treasure, and first spake                  
    In weighty numbers, deluing in the Mine
    Of perfect knowledge, which he could refine,
    And coyne for currant, and as much as then
    The _English_ language could expresse to men,
    He made it doe; and by his wondrous skill,
    Gaue vs much light from his abundant quill.

RHYME a a *

      And honest _Gower_, who in respect of him,
    Had only sipt at _Aganippas_ brimme,
    And though in yeares this last was him before,
    Yet fell he far short of the others store.                  
      When after those, foure ages very neare,
    They with the _Muses_ which conuersed, were
    That Princely _Surrey_, early in the time
    Of the Eight _Henry_, who was then the prime
    Of _Englands_ noble youth; with him there came
    _Wyat_; with reuerence whom we still doe name

RHYME a a *

    Amongst our Poets, _Brian_ had a share
    With the two former, which accompted are
    That times best makers, and the authors were
    Of those small poems, which the title beare,                
    Of songs and sonnets, wherein oft they hit
    On many dainty passages of wit.
      _Gascoine_ and _Churchyard_ after them againe
    In the beginning of _Eliza's_ raine,
    Accoumpted were great Meterers many a day,
    But not inspired with braue fier, had they
    Liu'd but a little longer, they had seene,
    Their works before them to have buried beene.
      Graue morrall _Spencer_ after these came on
    Then whom I am perswaded there was none                     

RHYME a a *

    Since the blind _Bard_ his _Iliads_ vp did make,
    Fitter a taske like that to vndertake,
    To set downe boldly, brauely to inuent,
    In all high knowledge, surely excellent.
      The noble _Sidney_ with this last arose,
    That _Heroe_ for numbers, and for Prose.
    That throughly pac'd our language as to show,
    The plenteous _English_ hand in hand might goe
    With _Greek_ or _Latine_, and did first reduce
    Our tongue from _Lillies_ writing then in vse;              
    Talking of Stones, Stars, Plants, of fishes, Flyes,
    Playing with words, and idle Similies,

RHYME a a *

    As th' _English_, Apes and very Zanies be,
    Of euery thing, that they doe heare and see,
    So imitating his ridiculous tricks,
    They spake and writ, all like meere lunatiques.
      Then _Warner_ though his lines were not so trim'd,
    Nor yet his Poem so exactly lim'd
    And neatly ioynted, but the Criticke may
    Easily reprooue him, yet thus let me say;                 
    For my old friend, some passages there be
    In him, which I protest haue taken me,
    With almost wonder, so fine, cleere, and new
    As yet they haue bin equalled by few.

RHYME a a *

      Neat _Marlow_ bathed in the _Thespian_ springs
    Had in him those braue translunary things,
    That the first Poets had, his raptures were,
    All ayre, and fire, which made his verses cleere,
    For that fine madnes still he did retaine,
    Which rightly should possesse a Poets braine.             
      And surely _Nashe_, though he a Proser were
    A branch of Lawrell yet deserues to beare,
    Sharply _Satirick_ was he, and that way
    He went, since that his being, to this day

RHYME a a *

    Few haue attempted, and I surely thinke
    Those wordes shall hardly be set downe with inke;
    Shall scorch and blast, so as his could, where he,
    Would inflict vengeance, and be it said of thee,
    _Shakespeare_, thou hadst as smooth a Comicke vaine,
    Fitting the socke, and in thy naturall braine,        
    As strong conception, and as Cleere a rage,
    As any one that trafiqu'd with the stage.
      Amongst these _Samuel Daniel_, whom if I
    May spake of, but to sensure doe denie,

RHYME a a *

    Onely haue heard some wisemen him rehearse,
    To be too much _Historian_ in verse;
    His rimes were smooth, his meeters well did close
    But yet his maner better fitted prose:
    Next these, learn'd _Johnson_, in this List I bring,
    Who had drunke deepe of the _Pierian_ spring,               
    Whose knowledge did him worthily prefer,
    And long was Lord here of the Theater,
    Who in opinion made our learn'st to sticke,
    Whether in Poems rightly dramatique,

RHYME a a *

    Strong _Seneca_ or _Plautus_, he or they,
    Should beare the Buskin, or the Socke away.
    Others againe here liued in my dayes,
    That haue of vs deserued no lesse praise
    For their translations, then the daintiest wit
    That on _Parnassus_ thinks, he highst doth sit,        
    And for a chaire may mongst the Muses call,
    As the most curious maker of them all;
    As reuerent _Chapman_, who hath brought to vs,
    _Musæus_, _Homer_ and _Hesiodus_
    Out of the Greeke; and by his skill hath reard
    Them to that height, and to our tongue endear'd,
    That were those Poets at this day aliue,
    To see their bookes thus with vs to suruiue,

RHYME a a *

    They would think, hauing neglected them so long,
    They had bin written in the _English_ tongue.          
      And _Siluester_ who from the _French_ more weake,
    Made _Bartas_ of his sixe dayes labour speake
    In naturall _English_, who, had he there stayd,
    He had done well, and neuer had bewraid
    His owne inuention, to haue bin so poore
    Who still wrote lesse, in striuing to write more.
      Then dainty _Sands_ that hath to _English_ done,
    Smooth sliding _Ouid_, and hath made him run
    With so much sweetnesse and vnusuall grace,
    As though the neatnesse of the _English_ pace,         

RHYME a a *

    Should tell the Ietting _Lattine_ that it came
    But slowly after, as though stiff and lame.
      So _Scotland_ sent vs hither, for our owne
    That man, whose name I euer would haue knowne,
    To stand by mine, that most ingenious knight,
    My _Alexander_, to whom in his right,
    I want extreamely, yet in speaking thus
    I doe but shew the loue, that was twixt vs,
    And not his numbers which were braue and hie,
    So like his mind, was his clear Poesie,                
    And my deare _Drummond_ to whom much I owe
    For his much loue, and proud I was to know,
    His poesie, for which two worthy men,
    I _Menstry_ still shall loue, and _Hauthorne-den_.

RHYME a a *

    Then the two _Beamounts_ and my _Browne_ arose,
    My deare companions whom I freely chose
    My bosome friends; and in their seuerall wayes,
    Rightly borne Poets, and in these last dayes,
    Men of much note, and no lesse nobler parts,
    Such as haue freely tould to me their hearts,          
    As I have mine to them; but if you shall
    Say in your knowledge, that these be not all
    Haue writ in numbers, be inform'd that I
    Only my selfe, to these few men doe tye,
    Whose works oft printed, set on euery post,
    To publique censure subiect haue bin most;

RHYME a a *

    For such whose poems, be they nere so rare,
    In priuate chambers, that incloistered are,
    And by transcription daintyly must goe;
    As though the world vnworthy were to know,             
    Their rich composures, let those men that keepe
    These wonderous reliques in their iudgement deepe;
    And cry them vp so, let such Peeces bee
    Spoke of by those that shall come after me,

RHYME a a *

    I passe not for them: nor doe meane to run,
    In quest of these, that them applause haue wonne,
    Vpon our Stages in these latter dayes,
    That are so many, let them haue their bayes
    That doe deserue it; let those wits that haunt
    Those publique circuits, let them freely chaunt           
    Their fine Composures, and their praise pursue
    And so my deare friend, for this time adue.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Could there be words found to expresse my losse,
    There were some hope, that this my heauy crosse
    Might be sustained, and that wretched I
    Might once finde comfort: but to haue him die
    Past all degrees that was so deare to me;
    As but comparing him with others, hee
    Was such a thing, as if some Power should say
    I'le take Man on me, to shew men the way
    What a friend should be. But words come so short
    Of him, that when I thus would him report,                 
    I am vndone, and hauing nought to say,
    Mad at my selfe, I throwe my penne away,

RHYME a a *

    And beate my breast, that there should be a woe
    So high, that words cannot attaine thereto.
    T'is strange that I from my abundant breast,
    Who others sorrowes haue so well exprest:
    Yet I by this in little time am growne
    So poore, that I want to expresse mine owne.
    I thinke the Fates perceiuing me to beare
    My worldly crosses without wit or feare:                   

RHYME a a *

    Nay, with what scorne I euer haue derided,
    Those plagues that for me they haue oft prouided,
    Drew them to counsaile; nay, conspired rather,
    And in this businesse laid their heads together
    To finde some one plague, that might me subuert,
    And at an instant breake my stubborne heart;
    They did indeede, and onely to this end
    They tooke from me this more then man, or friend.
      Hard-hearted Fates, your worst thus haue you done,
    Then let vs see what lastly you haue wonne                        

RHYME a a *

    By this your rigour, in a course so strict,
    Why see, I beare all that you can inflict:
    And hee from heauen your poore reuenge to view;
    Laments my losse of him, but laughes at you,
    Whilst I against you execrations breath;
    Thus are you scorn'd aboue, and curst beneath.
      Me thinks that man (vnhappy though he be)
    Is now thrice happy in respect of me,
    Who hath no friend; for that in hauing none
    He is not stirr'd as I am, to bemone                        

RHYME a a *

   My miserable losse, who but in vaine,
    May euer looke to find the like againe.
    This more then mine own selfe; that who had seene
    His care of me where euer I had beene,
    And had not knowne his actiue spirit before,
    Vpon some braue thing working euermore:
    He would haue sworne that to no other end
    He had been borne: but onely for my friend.
    I had been happy if nice Nature had
    (Since now my lucke falls out to be so bad)                 
    Made me vnperfect, either of so soft
    And yeelding temper, that lamenting oft,

RHYME a a *

    I into teares my mournefull selfe might melt;
    Or else so dull, my losse not to haue felt.
    I haue by my too deare experience bought,
    That fooles and mad men, whom I euer thought
    The most vnhappy, are in deede not so:
    And therefore I lesse pittie can bestowe
    (Since that my sence, my sorrowe so can sound)
    On those in Bedlam that are bound,                          
    And scarce feele scourging; and when as I meete
    A foole by Children followed in the Streete,
    Thinke I (poor wretch) thou from my griefe art free,
    Nor couldst thou feele it, should it light on thee;
    But that I am a _Christian_, and am taught
    By him who with his precious bloud me bought,

RHYME a a *

    Meekly like him my crosses to endure,
    Else would they please me well, that for their cure,
    When as they feele their conscience doth them brand,
    Vpon themselues dare lay a violent hand;                    
    Not suffering Fortune with her murdering knife,
    Stand like a Surgeon working on the life,
    Deserting this part, that ioynt off to cut,
    Shewing that Artire, ripping then that gut,
    Whilst the dull beastly World with her squint eye,
    Is to behold the strange Anatomie.

RHYME a a *

      I am persuaded that those which we read
    To be man-haters, were not so indeed,
    The Athenian _Timon_, and beside him more
    Of which the _Latines_, as the _Greekes_ haue store;        
    Nor not did they all humane manners hate,
    Nor yet maligne mans dignity and state.
    But finding our fraile life how euery day,
    It like a bubble vanisheth away:
    For this condition did mankinde detest,
    Farre more incertaine then that of the beast.

RHYME a a *

      Sure heauen doth hate this world and deadly too,
    Else as it hath done it would neuer doe,
    For if it did not, it would ne're permit
    A man of so much vertue, knowledge, wit,                    
    Of naturall goodnesse, supernaturall grace,
    Whose courses when considerately I trace
    Into their ends, and diligently looke,
    They serue me for Oeconomike booke.
    By which this rough world I not onely stemme,
    In goodnesse but grow learn'd by reading them.
      O pardon me, it my much sorrow is,
    Which makes me vse this long Parenthesis;
    Had heauen this world not hated as I say,
    In height of life it had not, tane away                   

RHYME a a *

    A spirit so braue, so actiue, and so free,
    That such a one who would not wish to bee,
    Rather then weare a Crowne, by Armes though got,
    So fast a friend, so true a Patriot.
    In things concerning both the worlds so wise,
    Besides so liberall of his faculties,
    That where he would his industrie bestowe,
    He would haue done, e're one could think to doe.
    No more talke of the working of the Starres,
    For plenty, scarcenesse, or for peace, or Warres:         
    They are impostures, therefore get you hence
    With all your Planets, and their influence.

RHYME a a *

    No more doe I care into them to looke,
    Then in some idle Chiromantick booke,
    Shewing the line of life, and _Venus_ mount,
    Nor yet no more would I of them account,
    Then what that tells me, since what that so ere
    Might promise man long life: of care and feare,
    By nature freed, a conscience cleare, and quiet,
    His health, his constitution, and his diet;           
    Counting a hundred, fourscore at the least,
    Propt vp by prayers, yet more to be encreast,

RHYME a a *

    All these should faile, and in his fiftieth yeare
    He should expire, henceforth let none be deare,
    To me at all, lest for my haplesse sake,
    Before their time heauen from the world them take,
    And leaue me wretched to lament their ends
    As I doe his, who was a thousand friends.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

    Canst thou depart and be forgotten so,
    STANHOPE thou canst not, no deare STANHOPE, no:
    But in despight of death the world shall see,
    That Muse which so much graced was by thee
    Can black Obliuion vtterly out-braue,
    And set thee vp aboue thy silent Graue.
    I meruail'd much the _Derbian_ Nimphes were dumbe,
    Or of those Muses, what should be become,
    That of all those, the mountaines there among,
    Not one this while thy _Epicedium_sung;                    
    But so it is, when they of thee were reft,
    They all those hills, and all those Riuers left,

RHYME a a *

    And sullen growne, their former seates remoue,
    Both from cleare _Darwin_, and from siluer _Doue_,
    And for thy losse, they greeued are so sore,
    That they haue vow'd they will come there no more;
    But leaue thy losse to me, that I should rue thee,
    Vnhappy man, and yet I neuer knew thee:
    Me thou didst loue vnseene, so did I thee,
    It was our spirits that lou'd then and not wee;            
    Therefore without profanenesse I may call
    The loue betwixt vs, loue spirituall:

RHYME a a *

    But that which thou affectedst was so true,
    As that thereby thee perfectly I knew;
    And now that spirit, which thou so lou'dst, still mine,
    Shall offer this a Sacrifice to thine,
    And reare this Trophe, which for thee shall last,
    When this most beastly Iron age is past;
    I am perswaded, whilst we two haue slept,
    Our soules haue met, and to each other wept,                      
    That destenie so strongly should forbid,
    Our bodies to conuerse as oft they did:
    For certainly refined spirits doe know,
    As doe the Angels, and doe here belowe
    Take the fruition of that endlesse blisse,
    As those aboue doe, and what each one is.
    They see diuinely, and as those there doe,
    They know each others wills, so soules can too.
      About that dismall time, thy spirit hence flew,
    Mine much was troubled, but why, I not knew,                

RHYME a a *

    In dull and sleepy sounds, it often left me,
    As of it selfe it ment to haue bereft me,
    I asked it what the cause was, of such woe,
    Or what it might be, that might vexe it so,
    But it was deafe, nor my demand would here,
    But when that ill newes came, to touch mine eare,
    I straightwayes found this watchfull sperit of mine,
    Troubled had bin to take it leaue of thine,
    For when fate found, what nature late had done,
    How much from heauen, she for the earth had won             
    By thy deare birth; said, that it could not be
    In so yong yeares, what it perceiu'd in thee,
    But nature sure, had fram'd thee long before;
    And as Rich Misers of their mighty store,

RHYME a a *

    Keepe the most precious longst, so from times past,
    She onely had reserued thee till the last;
    So did thy wisedome, not thy youth behold,
    And tooke thee hence, in thinking thou wast old.
    Thy shape and beauty often haue to me
    Bin highly praysed, which I thought might be,               
    Truely reported, for a spirit so braue,
    Which heauen to thee so bountifully gaue;
    Nature could not in recompence againe,
    In some rich lodging but to entertaine.
    Let not the world report then, that the Peake,
    Is but a rude place only vast and bleake;

RHYME a a *

    And nothing hath to boast of but her Lead,
    When she can say that happily she bred
    Thee, and when she shall of her wonders tell
    Wherein she doth all other Tracts excell,                   
    Let her account thee greatst, and still to time
    Of all the rest, accord thee for the prime.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      My noble friend, you challenge me to write
    To you in verse, and often you recite,
    My promise to you, and to send you newes;
    As 'tis a thing I very seldome vse,
    And I must write of State, if to _Madrid_,
    A thing our Proclamations here forbid,
    And that word State such Latitude doth beare,
    As it may make me very well to feare
    To write, nay speake at all, these let you know
    Your power on me, yet not that I will showe                

RHYME a a *

    The loue I beare you, in that lofty height,
    So cleere expression, or such words of weight,
    As into _Spanish_ if they were translated,
    Might make the Poets of that Realme amated;
    Yet these my least were, but that you extort
    These numbers from me, when I should report
    In home-spunne prose, in good plaine honest words
    The newes our wofull _England_ vs affords.
      The Muses here sit sad, and mute the while
    A sort of swine vnseasonably defile                        
    Those sacred springs, which from the by-clift hill
    Dropt their pure _Nectar_ into euery quill;

RHYME a a *

    In this with State, I hope I doe not deale,
    This onely tends the Muses common-weale.
      What canst thou hope, or looke for from his pen,
    Who liues with beasts, though in the shapes of men,
    And what a poore few are we honest still,
    And dare to be so, when all the world is ill.
      I finde this age of our markt with this Fate,
    That honest men are still precipitate                             
    Vnder base villaines, which till th' earth can vent
    This her last brood, and wholly hath them spent,
    Shall be so, then in reuolution shall
    Vertue againe arise by vices fall;

RHYME a a *

    But that shall I not see, neither will I
    Maintaine this, as one doth a Prophesie,
    That our King _Iames_ to _Rome_ shall surely goe,
    And from his chaire the _Pope_ shall ouerthrow.
    But O this world is so giuen vp to hell,
    That as the old Giants, which did once rebell,              
    Against the Gods, so this now-liuing race
    Dare sin, yet stand, and Ieere heauen in the face.
      But soft my Muse, and make a little stay,
    Surely thou art not rightly in thy way,
    To my good _Ieffrayes_ was not I about
    To write, and see, I suddainely am out,

RHYME a a *

    This is pure _Satire_, that thou speak'st, and I
    Was first in hand to write an Elegie.
    To tell my countreys shame I not delight.
    But doe bemoane 't I am no _Democrite_:                     
    O God, though Vertue mightily doe grieue
    For all this world, yet will I not beleeue
    But that shees faire and louely, and that she
    So to the period of the world shall be;
    Else had she beene forsaken (sure) of all,
    For that so many sundry mischiefes fall
    Vpon her dayly, and so many take
    Armes vp against her, as it well might make

RHYME a a *

    Her to forsake her nature, and behind,
    To leaue no step for future time to find,                   
    As she had neuer beene, for he that now
    Can doe her most disgrace, him they alow
    The times chiefe Champion, and he is the man,
    The prize, and Palme that absolutely wanne,
    For where Kings Clossets her free seat hath bin
    She neere the Lodge, not suffered is to Inne,
    For ignorance against her stands in state,
    Like some great porter at a Pallace gate;
    So dull and barbarous lately are we growne,
    And there are some this slauery that haue sowne,            

RHYME a a *

    That for mans knowledge it enough doth make,
    If he can learne, to read an Almanacke;
    By whom that trash of _Amadis de Gaule_,
    Is held an author most authenticall,
    And things we haue like Noblemen that be
    In little time, which I haue hope to see
    Vpon their foot-clothes, as the streets they ride
    To haue their hornebookes at their girdles ti'd.
    But all their superfluity of spite
    On vertues hand-maid Poesy doth light,                      
    And to extirpe her all their plots they lay,
    But to her ruine they shall misse the way,
    For his alone the Monuments of wit,
    Aboue the rage of Tyrants that doe sit,

RHYME a a *

    And from their strength, not one himselfe can saue,
    But they shall tryumph o'r his hated graue.
      In my conceipt, friend, thou didst neuer see
    A righter Madman then thou hast of me,
    For now as _Elegiack_ I bewaile
    These poor base times; then suddainely I raile              
    And am _Satirick_, not that I inforce
    My selfe to be so, but euen as remorse,
    Or hate, in the proud fulnesse of their hight
    Master my fancy, iust so doe I write.

RHYME a a *

      But gentle friend as soone shall I behold
    That stone of which so many haue vs tould,
    (Yet neuer any to this day could make)
    The great _Elixar_ or to vndertake
    The _Rose-crosse_ knowledge which is much like that
    A Tarrying-iron for fooles to labour at,                  
    As euer after I may hope to see,
    (A plague vpon this beastly world for me,)

RHYME a a *

    Wit so respected as it was of yore;
    And if hereafter any it restore,
    It must be those that yet for many a yeare,
    Shall be vnborne that must inhabit here,
    And such in vertue as shall be asham'd
    Almost to heare their ignorant Grandsires nam'd,
    With whom so many noble spirits then liu'd,
    That were by them of all reward depriu'd.                 
      My noble friend, I would I might haue quit
    This age of these, and that I might haue writ,

RHYME a a *

    Before all other, how much the braue pen,
    Had here bin honoured of the _English_ men;
    Goodnesse and knowledge, held by them in prise,
    How hatefull to them Ignorance and vice;
    But it falls out the contrary is true,
    And so my _Ieffreyes_ for this time adue.

TITLE

RHYME a a *

      Accursed Death, what neede was there at all
    Of thee, or who to councell thee did call;
    The subiect whereupon these lines I spend
    For thee was most vnfit, her timelesse end
    Too soone thou wroughtst, too neere her thou didst stand;
    Thou shouldst haue lent thy leane and meager hand
    To those who oft the help thereof beseech,
    And can be cured by no other Leech.
      In this wide world how many thousands be,
    That hauing past fourescore, doe call for thee.            
    The wretched debtor in the Iayle that lies,
    Yet cannot this his Creditor suffice

RHYME a a *

    Doth woe thee oft with many a sigh and teare,
    Yet thou art coy, and him thou wilt not heare.
    The Captiue slaue that tuggeth at the Oares,
    And vnderneath the Bulls tough sinewes rores,
    Begs at thy hand, in lieu of all his paines,
    That thou wouldst but release him of his chaines;
    Yet thou a niggard listenest not thereto,
    With one short gaspe which thou mightst easily do,         
    But thou couldst come to her ere there was neede,
    And euen at once destroy both flower and seede.

RHYME a a *

      But cruell Death if thou so barbarous be,
    To those so goodly, and so young as shee;
    That in their teeming thou wilt shew thy spight;
    Either from marriage thou wilt Maides affright,
    Or in their wedlock, Widowes liues to chuse
    Their Husbands bed, and vtterly refuse,
    Fearing conception; so shalt thou thereby
    Extirpate mankinde by thy cruelty.                                
      If after direfull Tragedy thou thirst,
    Extinguish _Himens_ Torches at the first;
    Build Funerall pyles, and the sad pauement strewe,
    With mournfull Cypresse, and the pale-leau'd Yewe.

RHYME a a *

    Away with Roses, Myrtle, and with Bayes;
    Ensignes of mirth, and iollity, as these;
    Neuer at Nuptials vsed be againe,
    But from the Church the new Bride entertaine
    With weeping _Nenias_, euer and among,
    As at departings be sad _Requiems_ song.                    
      _Lucina_ by th' olde Poets that wert sayd,
    Women in Childe-birth euermore to ayde,
    Because thine Altars, long haue layne neglected:
    Nor as they should, thy holy fiers reflected
    Vpon thy Temples, therefore thou doest flye,
    And wilt not helpe them in necessitie.
      Thinking vpon thee, I doe often muse,
    Whether for thy deare sake I should accuse

RHYME a a *

    Nature or Fortune, Fortune then I blame,
    And doe impute it as her greatest shame,                    
    To hast thy timelesse end, and soone agen
    I vexe at Nature, nay I curse her then,
    That at the time of need she was no stronger,
    That we by her might haue enioy'd thee longer.
      But whilst of these I with my selfe debate,
    I call to minde how flinty-hearted Fate
    Seaseth the olde, the young, the faire, the foule,
    No thing on earth can Destinie controule:
    But yet that Fate which hath of life bereft thee,
    Still to eternall memory hath left thee,                    
    Which thou enioy'st by the deserued breath,
    That many a great one hath not after death.

