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She sings Castara then. O she more bright, Should she to the cold northerne climates goe, Than is the starry senate of the night;

Force thy affrighted lillies there to grow, Who in their motion did like straglers erre, Thy roses in those gelid fields t'appeare, Cause they deriv'd no influence from her,

She absent, I have all their winter here. Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sunne hath Or if to th' torrid zone her way she bend, beene

Her the coole breathing of Paronius lend.
Clad like a neighb'ring shepheard often seene Thither command the birds to bring their gaires,
To hunt those dales, in hope than Daphne's, there That zone is temp'rate, I have all his fires.
To see a brighter face. Th' astrologer [show Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should
In th' interim dyed, whose proud art could not Lose by it all the treasures of the yeere. [here
Whence that ecclipse did on the sudden grow.
A wanton satyre eager in the chase
Of some faire nimph, beheld Castara's face,
And left bis loose pursuite; who while he ey'd,

Vnchastely, such a beauty, glorified
With such a vertue, by Heaven's great commands,

Turn'd marble, and there yet a statue stands. With your caline precepts goe, and lay a storme
As poet thus. But as a Christian now,

In some brest flegmaticke which would conforme And by my zeale to you (my lord) I vow,

Her life to your cold lawes: in vaine y'engage
She doth a flame so pure and sacred move ; Your selfe on me, I will obey my rage.
In me impiety 'twere not to love.

Shee's gone, and I am lost. Some unknowne grove
l'le finde, where by the miracle of Love
I'le turne t'a fountaine, and divide the yeere,

By numbring every moment with a teare,

Where if Castara (to avoyd the beames (streames.
O'th' neigh’bring Sun) shall wandring meete my
And tasting hope ber thirst alaid shall be,

Shee'le feele a sudden flame, and burne like me: Thankes Cupid, but the coach of Venus moves

And thus distracted cry.“ Tell me thou cleere, Por me too slow, drawne but by lazie doves.

But treach'rous fount, what lover's coffin'd bere?” 1, lest my journey a delay should finde, Will leape into the chariot of the wind. Swift as the flight of lightning through the ayre, Hee'le hurry me till I approach the faire, But unkinde Seymors. Thus he will proclaime, What tribute winds owe to Castara's name.

ANSWERE TO CASTARA'S QUESTION. Viewing this prodigie, astonisht they,

'Tis I, Castara, who when thou wert gone, Who first accesse deny'd me, will obey,

Did freeze into this melancholly stone, With feare what love commands: yet censure me

To weepe the minutes of thy absence. Where As guilty of the blackest sorcery,

Can grecfe have freer scope to mourne than here? But after to my wishes milder prove :

The larke here practiseth a sweeter straine,
When they know this the miracle of love.

Aurora's early blush to entertaine,
And having too deepe tasted of these streames,
He loves, and amorously courts her beames.

The courteous turtle with a wandring zeale,

Saw how to stone I did ny selfe congeale, (move,
And murm'ring askt what power this change did

The language of my waters whispered, Love.
How fancie mockes me? By th' effect I prove,

And thus transform'd Ple stand, till I sball see 'Twas anı'rong folly, wings ascrib'd to Love,

That heart so ston'd and frozen, thaw'd in thee. And ore th' obedient elements command. Hee's lame as he is blinde, for here I stand Fixt as the Earth. Throw then this idoll downe Yee lovers who first made it; which can frowne

Or smile but as you plcase. But l'me untame

In rage. Castara call thou on his name,
And though hee'le not beare up my vowes to thee, Then e're in the large volume writ by Time,

PRONOUNCE me guilty of a blacker crime,
Hee'le triumph to bring downe my saint to me.

The sad historian reades, if not iny art
Dissembles love, to veile an am'rous heart,
For when the zealous anger of my friend

Checkes my unusuall sadnesse: i pretend

To study vertue, which indeede I doe,

He must court verture who aspires to you.

Or that some friend is dead, and then a teare, Farre mistresse of the Earth, with garlands crown'd A sigh or groane steales from me: for I feare Rise, by a lover's charme, from the partcht ground, Lest death with love hath strooke my heart, and alt And shew thy flowry wealth: that she, where ere These sorrowes usher but its funerall. (mourner be, Her starres shall guide her, meete thy beauties Which should revive, should there you a there.

And force a nuptialt in an obsequie.


A martyr in your fames: O let your love

Be great and firme as his: Then nought shall move

Your setled faiths, that both may grow together: MY HONOURED KINSMAN MR. G. T'.

Or if by Fate divided, both may wither. THRICE hath the pale-fac'd empresse of the night, Harke! 'twas a groane. Ah how sad absence rends Lent in her chaste increase her borrowed light, His troubled thoughts! See, he from Marlow sends To guide the vowing marriner: since mute His eyes to Seymors. Then chides th' envious trees, Talbot th'ast beene, too slotbfull to salute

And unkinde distance. Yet his fancie sees Thy exil'd servant. Labour not t'excuse

And courts your beauty, joyes as he had cleav'd This dull neglect: love never wants a Muse. Close to you, and then weepes because deceiv'd. When thunder summons from eternall sleepe Be constant as y'are faire. For I fore-see Thi imprison'd ghosts and spreads o'th' frighted A glorious triumph waits o'th' victorie A veile of darknesse; penitent to be [deepe Your love will purchase, showing us to prize I may forget, yet still remember thee,

A true content. There onely Love hath eyes."
Next to my faire, onder whose eye-lids more,
In nimble measures beauty, wit, and love.
Nor thinke Castara (though the sex be fraile,
And ever like uncertaine vessels saile

On th' ocean of their passions; while each wind,
Triumphs to see their more uncertaine mind,)

Can be induc't to alter. Every starre
May in its motion grow irregular;

Blest temple, haile, where the chast altar stands,

Which Nature built, but the exacter hands
The Sunne forget to yeeld his welcome fame

Of vertuie polisht. Though sad Pate deny
To th' teeming Earth, yet she remaine the same.
And in my armes (if poets may divine)

My propbane feete accesse, my vowes shall Aye. I once that world of beauty shall intwine.

May those musitjans, which divide the ayre

With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare, And on her lips print volumes of my love, Without a froward checke, and sweetely move

For this glad place, and all their accepts frame,

To teach the eccho my Castara's name.
I'th' labyrinth of delight. If not, l'le draw
Her picture on my heart, and gently thaw

The beautious troopes of Graces led by Love
With warmth of zeale, untill I Heaven entreat,

In chaste attempts, possesse the neighb’ring grove, To give true life to th’ ayery counterfeito

Where may the spring dwell still. May every tree
Turne to a laurell, and propheticke be,

Which shall in its first oracle divine,
That courteous Fate decrees Castara mine.



Scori'd in thy watry vrne Narcissus lye,

Thou shalt not force more tribute from my eye
T'increase thy streames: or make me weep a

BRIGIT dew which dost the field adorne
To adde fresh beauty to thee, now a flowre.

As th’ Earth to welcome in the morne, But should relenting Heaven restore thee sence,

Would hang a jewell on each corne. To see such wisedome temper innocence,

Did not the pittious night, whose eares In faire Castara's loves how shee discreet,

Have oft beene conscious of my fearts,
Makes causion with a noble freedome meete,

Distil you from her eyes as teares?
At the same moment; thou’ld'st confesse fond boy,
Fooles onely thinke them vertuous, who are coy.

Or that Castara for your zeale,
And wonder not that I, who have no choyce When she her beauties shall reveale,
Of speech, have praysing her so free a voyce: Might you to dyamonds congeale?
Heaven her severest sentence doth repeale,
When to Castara I would speake my zeale.

If not your pity, yet how pre
Your case I praise, 'gainst sbe appeare,
To make the wealthy Indies here.

But see she comes. Bright lampe o'th' skie,

Put out thy light: the world shall spie

A fairer Sunne in either eye.
RANISHT from you, I charg’d the nimble winde,

And liquid pearle, hang heavje now

On every grasse that it may bow
My unseene messenger, to speake my minde,

In veneration of her brów.
In am'rous whisperò to you. But my Muse
Lest the unruly spirit should abuse

Yet if the wind should curious be.
The trust repos d'in him, sayd it was due And were I here should question thee,
To her alone, to sing my loves to you. (eye Hee's full of whispers, speake not me.
Heare her then speake." Bright lady, from whose But if the busie tell-tale day,
Shot lightning to his heart, who joyes to dye

Our happy enterview betray;

Lest thou coufesse too, melt away. • George Talbot


STAY under the kinde shadow of this tree

The North's unruly spirit lay
Castara and protect thy selfe and me [kings

In the disorder'd seas :
From the Sunne's rayes. Which show the grace of Make the rude winter calme as May,
A dangerous warmth with too much favour brings.

And give a lover ease.
How happy in this shade the humble vine

NIGHT. Doth 'bout some taller tree her selfe intwine,

Yet why should feare with her pale charmes, And so growes fruitfull; teaching us her fate

Bewitch thee so to griefe ?
Doth beare more sweetes, though cedars beare
Behold Adonis in yand' purple flowre, (more state;

Since it prevents n'insaing harmes,
Twas Venus' love: Tbat dew, the briny showre,

Nor yeelds the past reliefe. His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive:

ARAPHIL. Now he repents and gladly would revive, (charmes, And yet such horrour I sustaine By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull

As the sad vessell, when
To play the modest wanton in your armes,

Rough tempest have incenst the maine,
Her harbour now in ken.


No conquest weares a glorious wreath,

Let tempests 'gainst the shipwracke breathe,

'Thou shalt thy harbour gaiye. Dare not too farre Castara, for the shade This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd

ARAPHIL. A prey to wolves to the wilde powers o'th' wood,

Truth's Delphos doth not still foretel, Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood,

Though Sol th' inspirer be. If carelesse of thy selfe of me take care,

How then should Night as blind as Hell, For like a ship where all the fortunes are

Ensuing truths fore-see?
Of an advent'rous merchant; I must be,

If thou should'st perish, banquerout in thee.
My feares have mockt me. Tygers when they shall The Sunne yeelds man no constant fame
Behold so bright a face, will humbly fall

One light those priests inspires.
In adoration of thee. Fierce they are

While I though blacke am still the same.
To the deform’d, obsequious to the faire.

And have ten thousand fires.
Yet venter not; 'tis nobler farre to sway
The heart of man, than beasts, who man obey.

But those, sayes my propheticke feare,

As funerall torches burne,

While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,

To attend me to my vrne.
Vowes are vaine. No suppliant breath
Stayes the speed of swift-heeld Death,

'Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights Life with her is gone and I

In Hymen's church shall sbine, Learne but a new way to dye.

When he by th' mystery of his rites,
See the flowers condale, and all

Shall make Castara thine.
Wither in my sunerall.
The bright lilly, as if day,
Parted with her fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose

All their beauty. That the rose
A sad part in sorrow beares,

Witnesse all those dewy teares,

Your judgment's cleere, not wrinckled with the Which as pearle, of dyamond like,

time, Swell upon her blushing chet ke.

On th' humble fate; which censures it a crime; All things mourne, but ob behold

To be by vertue ruin'd. For I koow How the withered marigold

Y are not so various as to ebbe and for Closeth up now she is gone,

l'th' streame of Fortune, whom each faithlesse winde Judging her the setting Sunne.

Distracts, and they who made ber, fram'd her

Possession makes us poore.

Should we obtaine

All those bright jems, for which i'th' wealthy maine,

The tann'd slave dives; or in one boundlesse chest BETWEENE NIGHT AND ARAPHIL.

Imprison all the treasures of the West,

We still should want. Our better part's immence, NIGIIT

Not like th' inferiour, Jimited by sence. LET silence close thy troubled eyes,

Rich with a little, mutuall love can lift Thy feare in Letbe steepe:

Vs to a greatnesse, whither chance nor thrift The starres, bright cent'nels of the skies, Watch to secure thy sleepe.

Elenor Powis, Castara's mother,



E're rais'd her servants. For though all were spent, | And dart its thunder at him, hee'le remaine
That can create an Europe in content.

Vomov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine
Thus (madam) when Castara lends an eare In welcomming th' approach of death, than vice
Soft to my hope, I love's philosopher,

Ere found in her fictitious paradise. Winne on her faith. For when I wondring stand Time mock3 our youth, and (while we number past At th' intermingled beauty of her hand,

Delights, and raise our appitite to taste (Higher I dare not gaze) io this bright veine Ensuing) brings us to unfatter'd age. I not ascribe the blood of Charlemaine

Where we are left to satisfie the rage Deriv'd by you to her. Or say there are

Of threatning death: pompe, beauty, wealth and In that and th'other Marmion, Rosse, and Parr Our friendships, shrinking from the funerall. (all Fitzhugh, Saint Quintin, and the rest of them The thought of this begets that brave disdaine That adde such lustre to great Pembroke's stem. With which thou view'st the world and makes those My love is envious. Would Castara were

Treasures of fancy, serious fooles so court, (vaine The daughter of some mountaine cottager

And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport. Who with his toile worne out, could dying leave What should we covet here? Why interpose Her no more dowre, than what she did receive A cloud twixt us and Heaven? kind Nature chose From bounteous Nature. Her would I then lead Man's soule th' exchecquer where she'd hoord her To th' temple, rich in her owne wealth; her head

Crown'd with her haire's faire treasure; diamonds in And lodge all her rich secrets; but by th’ stealth
Her brighter eyes; soft ermines in her skin; Of our own vanity, w'are left so poore,
Each Indie in each cheeke. Then all who vaunt, The creature meerely sensuall knowes more.
That Fortune, them t'enrich, madle others want, The learn'd halcyon by her wisedome finds
Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth, A gentle season, when the seas and winds
And tric if that, could parallel this wealth. Are silenc't by a calme, and then brings forth

The happy miracle of her rare birth,
Leaving with wonder all our arts possest,

That view the architecture of her nest.

Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestowe

Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow DEPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT. By age to dotage: while the sensitive What should we feare Castara? The cole aire,

Part of the world in it's first strength doth live. That's falne in love, and wantons in thy haire,

Folly? what dost thou in thy power containe Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale

Deserves our study? Merchants plough the maine A nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale

And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more,

By avarice in the possession poore.
The pleasure I possesse. The wind conspires
To our blest interview, and in our fires

And yet that idoll wealth we all admit
Bathe like a salamander, and doth sip,

Into the soule's great temple, busie wit > Like Bacchus from the grape, life from thy lip.

Invents new orgies, fancy frames new rites Nor thinke of night's approach. The world's great Are watcht to win its favour: while the beast

To show it's superstition, anxious nights
Though breaking Nature's law, will us supply [eye Content with Nature's courtesie doth rest.
With his still flaming lampe: and to obey
Our cha-te desires, fix here perpetuall day.

Let man then boast no more a soule, since he But should be set, what rebell-night dares rise,

Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee
To be subdu'd i'th' vict'ry of the eyes?

(Whom fortune hath exempted from the heard
Of vulgar men, whom vertue hath prefer'd
Farre higher than thy birth) I must commend,
Rich in the purchase of so sweete a friend.

And though my fate conducts me to the shade

Of humble quiet, my ambition payde More welcome my Castara, than was light

With safe content, while a pure virgin fame To the disordered chaos. O what bright

Doth raise me trophies in Castara's name. Aod nimble chariot brought thee through the aire? No thought of glory swelling me above While the amazed stars to see so faire

The hope of being famed for rertuous love. And pure a beauty from the Earth arise,

Yet wish 1 thee, guided by the better starres Chang'd all their glorious bodies into eyes.

To purchase unsafe honour in the warres O let my zealous lip print on thy hand

Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race, The story of my love, which there shall stand

And merits, well may challenge th' highest place. A bright inscription to be read by none,

Yet know, what busie path so ere you tread But who as I love thee, and love but one.

To greatnesse, you must slepe among the dead. Why vanish you away? Or is my sense Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence Of erring Nature? And would Heaven this had Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad.



HARKE! how the traytor wind doth court TO THE HONOURABLE MR. Wu. E.

The saylors to the maine ;

To make their avarice his sport?
Hee who is good is happy. Let the loude a tempest checks the fond disdaine
Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloud They beare a safe though humble port.

Wee'le sit, my love, upon the shore,

Yet still they mutiny. If this man please And while proud billowes rise

His silly patron with hyperboles, To warre against the skie, speake ore

Or most mysterious non-sence, give his braine Our love's so sacred misteries.

But the strapado in some wanton straine; And charme the sea to th calme it had before. Hee'le sweare the state lookes not on men of parts, Where's now my pride t extend my fame

And, if but mention'd, slight all other arts.

Vaine ostentation! Let us set so just
Where ever statues are?
And purchase glory to my name

A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust In the smooth court or rugged warre?

The poet's sentence, and not still aver

Each art is to it selfe a flatterer. My love hath layd the devill, I am tame.

I write to you sir on this theame, because I'de rather like the violet grow

Your soule is cleare, and you observe the lawes, Vnmarkt i'th' shaded vale,

Of poesie so justly, that I choose Than on the hill those terrors know

Yours onely the example to my Muse. Are breath'd forth by an angry gale,

And till my browner haire be mixt with gray, There is more pompe above, more sweete below. Without a blush, lle tread the sportive way,

My Muse directs; a poet youth may be,
Love, thou divine philosopher

But age doth dote without philosophie.
(While covetous landlords rent,
And courtiers dignity preferre)
Instructs us to a sweete content,
Greatnesse it selfe doth in it selfe interre.

Castara what is there above
The treasures we possesse?

We two are all and one, wee move

You who are earth, and cannot rise. Like starres in th' orbe of happinesse.

Above your sence,
All blessings are epitomiz'd in love.

Boasting the envyed wealth which lyes
Bright in your mistris' lips or eyes,
Betray a pittyed eloquence.

That wbich doth joyne our soules, so light

And quicke doth move,

That like the eagle in his flight,

It doth transcend all humane sight,

Lost in the element of love.
It shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write
Beheld no wit at court. If I delight

You poets reach not this, who sing
So farre my sullen genius, as to raise

The praise of dust
It pleasure; I have money, wine, and bayes But kneaded, when by theft you bring
Enough to crowne me poet. Let those wits, The rose and lilly from the spring
Who teach their Muse the art of parasits

Tadorne the wrinckled face of lust.
To win on easie greatnesse; or the yongue

When we speake love, nor art, nor wit
Spruce lawyer who's all impudence and tongue,
Sweat to divulge their fames: thereby the one

We glosse upon:

Our soules engender, and beget
Gets fees; the other hyre, l'em best unknowne:

Ideas, which you counterfeit
Sweet silence I embrace thee, and thee Pate
Which didst my birth so wisely moderate;

In your dull progagation.
That I by want am neither vilified,

While time seven ages shall disperse, Nor yet by riches flatter'd into pride.

Wee'le talke of love, Resolve me friend (for it must folly be

And when our tongues hold no commerse,
Or else revenge 'gainst niggard destinie,

Our thoughts shall mutually converse.
That makes some poets raile) Why are their rimes And yet the blood no rebell prove.
So steept in gall? Why so obrayde the times?
As if no sin call'd downe Heav'n's vengeance more

And though we be of severall kind
Than cause the world leaves some few writers

Fit for offence: poore?

Yet are we so by love refin'd, Tis true, that Chapman's reverend ashes must

From impnre drosse we are all mind.
Lye rudely mingled with the vulgar dust,

Death could not more have conquer'd sence.
Cause carefull heyers the wealthy onely have; How suddenly those fames expire
To build a glorious trouble o're the grave.

Which scorch our clay?
Yet doe I despaire, some ore may be

Prometheus-like when we steale fire So seriously devont to poesie

From Heaven 'tis endlesse and intire,
As to translate his reliques, and finde roome

It may know age, but not decay.
In the warme church, to build him up a tombe.
Since Spencer hath a stone; and Drayton's browes
Stand petrefied i'th' wall, with laurell bowes
Yet girt about; and nigh wise Henrie's herse,

Old Chaucer got a marble for his verse.
So courteous is Death; Death poets brings Why döst thou looke so pale, decripit man?
So high a pompe, to lodge them with their kings: / Why doe thy cheeks curle like the ocean,

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