There with my Thomalin I fafe would fing,
And frame fweet ditties to thy fweeter ftring;
There would we laugh at fpite, and fortune's thun-
dering.

No flattery, hate, or envy, lodgeth there;
There no fufpicion wall'd in proved steel,
Yet fearful of the arms herself doth wear:
Pride is not there; no tyrant there we feel;
No clamorous laws fhall deaf thy mufic ear;
They know no change, nor wanton fortune's
wheel:

Thoufand fresh fports grow in thofe dainty places;
Light fawns and nymphs dance in the woody
fpaces,
[Graces.

And little Love himself plays with the naked

But feeing fate my happy with refuses,
Let me alone enjoy my low eftate.
Of all the gifts that fair Parnaffus ufes,

Only fcorn'd poverty and fortune's hate
Common I find to me, and to the muses;

But with the mufes welcome poorest fate.
Safe in nty humble cottage will I reft;
And lifting up from my untainted breaft
A quiet fpirit to heaven, fecurely live and bleft.

To thee I here bequeath the courtly joys,
Seeing to court my Thomalin is bent:
Take from thy Thirfil thefe his idle toys;
Here I will end my loofer merriment :

And when thou fing't them to the wanton boys,
Among the courtly laffes blandifhment,
Think of thy Thirfil's love that never spends;
And foftly fay, his love ftill better mends:
Ah! too unlike the love of court, or courtly
friends!

Go, little pipe; for ever I must leave thee,
My little, little pipe, but sweetest ever :
Go, go, for I have vow'd to fee thee never:
Never, ah never must I more receive thee:
But he in better love will ftill perfever;
Go, little pipe, for I must have a new.
Farewell, ye Norfolk maids, and Ida crew;
Thirfil will play no more; for ever now adieu !

TO THOMALIN.

TROMALIN, fince Thirfil nothing has to leave thee,

And leave thee muft; pardon me (gentle friend :)
If nothing but my love I only give thee;
Yet fee how great this nothing is, I fend-

For though this love of thine I fweetest prove,
Nothing's more fweet than is this fweetest love.

The foldier nothing like his prey efteems;
Nothing tofs'd failors equal with the shore :
Nothing before his health the fick man deem;
The pilgrim hugs his country; nothing more:
The mifer hoarding up his golden wares,
This nothing with his ecious wealth compares.

VOL. IV.

His meat, his house, his grave, were not his own,
Yet all is his from all eternity:

Let me be like my head, whom I adore ;
Be thou great, wealthy, I still bafe and poor.

CONTEMNENTI.

CONTINUAL burning, yet no fire or fuel,
Chill icy frofts in midst of summer's frying,
A hell moft pleafing, and a heav'n most cruel,
A death ftill living, and a life ftill dying,

And whatfoever pains poor hearts can prove,
I feel, and utter, in one word, I Love.

Two fires, of love and grief, each upon either,
And both upon one poor heart ever feeding:
Chill cold defpair, moft cold, yet cooling neither,
In midt of fires his icy frofts is breeding:

So fires and frofts, to make a perfect hell,
Meet in one breaft, in one house friendly dwell.

Tir'd in this toilfome way (my deep affection)
I ever forward run, and never ease me:
I dare not swerve, her eye is my direction:
A heavy grief, and weighty love opprefs me. [me;
Defire and hope, two fpurs, that forth compell'd
But awful fear, a bridle, still withheld me.

Whither, ah, whither then wilt thou betake thee,
Defpised wretch, of friends, of all forlorn, [thee?
Since hope, and love, and life, and death forfake
Poor foul, thy own tormenter, others fcorn!
Whither, poor foul, ah, whither wilt thou turn?
What inn, what hoft (fcorn'd wretch) wilt thou
now choose thee?
[fufe thee.

The common hoft, and inn, death, grave, re

To thee, great Love, to thee I proftrate fall,
That right'st in love the heart in false love swerved:
On thee, true Love, on thee I weeping call;
I, who am fcorn'd, where with all truth I ferved,
On thee, fo wrong'd, where thou hast so deserved:
Difdain'd, where moft I lov'd, to thee I plain me,
Who truly loveft thofe, who (fools) difdain thee.

WHO fows the fand? or ploughs the easy fhore?
Or ftrives in nets to prifon in the wind?
Yet I, (fond I) more fond, and fenfeless more,
Thought in fure love a woman's thoughts to bind
Fund, too fond thoughts, that thought in love
to tie

One more inconftant than inconftancy!

Look as it is with fome true April day, Whofe various weather ftores the world with flowers;

The fun his glorious beams doth fair difplay, Then rains, and fhines again, and straight it lowrs, And twenty changes in one hour doth prove; So, and more changing is a woman's love.

Or as the hairs which deck their wanton heads,
Which loofely fly, and play with every wind,
And with each blaft turn round their golden threads;
Such as their hair, fuch is their loofer mind:

The difference this, their hair is often bound;
But never bonds a woman might embound.

Falfe is their flattering colour, falfe and fading;
Falfe is their flattering tongue; falfe every part,
Their hair is forg'd, their filver foreheads fhading;
Falfe are their eyes, but falfeft is their heart:

Then this in confequence must needs enfue;
All must be falfe, when every part's untrue.

Fond then my thoughts, which thought a thing fo vain!

Fond hopes, that anchor on so falfe a ground! Fond love, to love what could not love again! Fond heart, thus fir'd with love, in hope thas drown'd!

Fond thoughts, fond heart, fond hope; but fond eft I,

To grafp the wind, and love incor.ftancy!

A Refly upon the Fair M. S.

A DAINTY maid, that draws her double name
From bitter fweetnefs, (with fweet bitterness)
Did late my skill and faulty verses blame,
And to her loving friend did plain confels,
That I my former credit foul did fhame,
And might no more a poet's name profess:
The cause that with my verfe fhe was offended
For womens levity I difcommended.

Too rue you faid, that poet I was never,
And I confefs it (fair) if that content ye,
That when I play'd the poet lefs than ever;
Not, for of fuch a verfe I now repent me,
(Poets to feign, and make fine lies endeavour)
But I the truth, truth (ah!) too certain fent ye :
Then that I am no poet I deny not;

For when their lightness I condemn, I lie not.

But if my verfe had lied against my mind,
And praifed that which truth cannot approve,
And falfely faid, they were as fair as kind,
As true es fweet, their faith could never move,
But fure is link'd where conftant love they find,
That with sweet braving they vie truth and love;
If thus I write, it cannot be deny'd
But I a poet were, so foul I lied.

But give me leave to write as I have found:
Like ruddy apples at their outfides bright,
Whofe fkin is fair, the core or heart unfound;
Whofe cherry-cheek the eye doth much delight,
But inward rottennefs the tafte doth wound:
Ah were the tafte fo good as is the fight,

To pluck fuch apples (loft with self fame price)
Would back restore us part of paradise.

But truth hath said it, (truth who dare deny ?)
Men feldom are, more feldom women fure:
But if (fair fweet) thy truth and conftancy
To better faith thy thoughts and mind procure,
If thy firm truth could give firm truth the lie,
If thy first love will first and last endure; [thee,
Thou more than woman art, if time fo proves
And he more than a man, that loved loves thee.

An Apology for the Premises to the Lady Culpepper.
WHO with a bridle ftrives to curb the waves?
Or in a cyprefs cheft locks flaming fires?
So when love anger'd in thy bofom raves,
And grief with love a double flame infpires,
By filence thou may'st add, but never lefs it:
The way is by expreffing to reprefs it.

Who then will blame affection not respected,
To vent in grief the grief that so torments him?
Paffion will fpeak in paffion, if neglected:
Love that fo foon will chide, as foon repents him;
And therefore boyifh love's too like a boy,
With a toy pleas'd, displeased with a toy.

Have you not feen, when you have chid or fought,
That lively picture of your lovely beauty,
Your pretty child, at firft to lowr or pout,
But foon again reclaim'd to love and duty;
Forgets the rod, and all her anger ends,
Plays on your lap, or on your neck depends:

Too like that pretty child is childish love,
That when in anger he is wrong'd, or beat,
Will rave and chide, and every paffion prove,
Bat foon to fmiles and fawns turns all his heat,

And prays, and fwears he never more will do it ; Such one is love: alas, that women know it!

But if fo juft excufe will not content ye,
But ftill you blame the words of angry love,
Here I recant, and of those words repent me:
In fign hereof I offer now to prove,

That changing womens love is constant ever,
And men, though ever firm, are constant never.

For men that to one fair their paffion's bind,
Muft ever change, as do thofe changing fairs;
So as the alters, alters still their mind,
And with their fading loves their love impairs:
Therefore, ftill moving, as the fair they loved,
Moft do they move, by being most unmoved.
But women, when their lovers change their graces,
What first in them they lov'd, love now in others,
Affecting still the fame in divers places;
So never change their love,but change their lovers:
Therefore their mind is firm and conftant prov'd,
Seeing they ever love what first they lov'd.

Their love tied to fome virtue, cannot stray,
Shifting the outside oft, the infide never :
But men (when now their loves diffolv'd to clay
Indeed are nothing) ftill in love persever:

How then can fuch fond men be conftant made, That nothing love, or but (a nothing) shade? What fool commends a ftone for never moving? Or blames the fpeedy heav'ns for ever ranging? Ceafe then, fond men, to blaze your conftant loving;

Love's fiery, winged, light, and therefore changing: Fond man, that thinks fuch fire and air to fetter All change; men for the worle, women for better.

Once his wife's quick fate lamenting
Orpheus fat, his hair all renting,
While the speedy woods came running,
And rivers flood to hear his cunning;
And the lion with the hart
Join'd fide to fide to hear his art:
Hares ran with the dogs along,
Not from dogs, but to his fong.
But when all his verses turning
Only fann'd his poor heart's burning,
And his grief came but the fafter,
(His verfe all eafing, but his master)
Of the higher powers complaining,
Down he went to hell difdaining:
There his filver luteftrings hitting,
And his potent verfes fitting,
All the fweets that e'er he took
From his facred mother's brook,
What his double forrow gives him,

And love, that doubly double grieves him,
There he fpends to move deaf hell,
Charming devils with his ípell,
And with sweetest afking leave
Does the lords of ghofts deceive.
The dog, whofe never quiet yell
Affrights fad fouls in night that dwell,
Fricks up now his thrice two ears;
To howl, or bark, or whine he fears:
Struck with dumb wonder at thofe fongs,
He wish'd more ears, and fewer tongues.
Charon amaz'd his oar foreflows,
While the boat the fculler rows.
Tantal might have eaten now
The fruit as ftill as is the bough;
But he (fool!) no hunger fearing,
Starv'd his tafte, to feed his hearing.
Ixion, though his wheel stood still,
Still was rapt with mufic's fkill.

At length the judge of fouls with pity
Yields, as conquer'd with his ditty;
Let's give back his fpoufe's hearse,
Purchas'd with fo pleafing verse:
Yet this law fhall bind our gift,
He turn not, till ha's Tartar left.
Who to laws can lovers draw?
Love in love is only law:
Now almost he left the night,
When he first tnrn'd back his fight;
And at once, while her he ey'd,
His love he faw, and loft, and dy’d.
So, who strives out of the night
To bring his foul to joy in light,
Yet again turns back his eye
To view left hell's deformity;
Though he feems enlighten'd more,
Yet is blacker than afore.

Upon my Brother Mr. G. F. bis Book intituled
Chri's Victory and Triumph.

FOND lads, that fpend fo faft your posting time,
(Too pofting time, that spends your time as faft)
To chant light toys, or frame fome wanton rhyme,
Where idle boys may glut their lustful tafte;
Or else with praise to clothe some fleshly flime
With virgin rofes, and fair lilies chafte :

it;

While itching bloods, and youthful cares adore [abhor it. But wifer men, and once yourselves will moft

But thou, (moft near, most dear) in this of thine
Haft prov'd the mufes not to Venus bound;
Such as thy matter, fuch thy mufe, divine:
Or thou fuch grace with mercy's felf hast found,
That the herself deigns in thy leaves to shine;
Or ftol'n from heav'n, thou brought'ft this verse
to ground,

Which frights the numbed foul with fearful thunder,

And foon with honeyed dews thaws it 'twixt joy and wonder.

Then do not thou malicious tongues esteem ; (The glass, through which an envious eye doth

gaze,

Can easily make a mole-hill mountain seem) His praife difpraifes; his difpraifes praise; Enough, if best men best thy labours deem, And to the highest pitch thy merit raise ; While all the mufes to thy fong decree Victorious triumph, triumphant victory.