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TEE.

SHEE.

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HEE.

SHEE.

He would liave a hand as soft As the downe, and show it oft ;

What need of mee? doe you but sing, Skin as sinooth as any rush,

Sleepe and the grave will wake, And so thin to see a blush

No tunes are sweet, nor words have stiug, Rising through it e're it came;

But what those lips doe make.
All his blood should be a fame
Quickly fir'd, as in beginners
In love's schoole, and yet no sinners.
"T'were too long to speake of all;

They say the angells marke each deed, What we harmonie doe call

And exercise below, In a body should be there.

And out of inward pleasure feed
Well he should his clothes too weare,

On what they viewing know.
Yet no taylor help to make him,
Drest, you still for man should take him ;
“And not thinke h' had eat a stake,

O sing not you then, lest the best
Or were set up in a brake.

Of angels should be driven
Valiant he should be as fire,

To fall againe, at such a feast,
Showing danger more then ire.

Mistaking Earth for Heaven.
Bounteous as the clouds to earth ;
And as honest as his birth,
All his actions to be such,

Nay, rather both our soules bee strayn'd As to doe nothing too much.

To meet their high desire; Nor o’re-praise, nor yet condemne;

So they in state of grace retain'd,
Nor out-valew, nor contemne;

May wish us of their quire.
Nor doe wrongs, nor wrongs receave;
Nor tie knots, por knots unweave;
And from basenesse to be free,
As he durst love truth and me.
Such a man, with every part,

A SONG.
I could give my very heart;

Oh, doe not wanton with those eyes,
But of one if short he came,

Lest I be sick with seeing;
I can rest me where I am.

Nor cast them downe, but let them rise,

Lest shame destroy their being. X. ANOTHER LADYE'S EXCEPTION, PRESENT AT 0, be not angry with those fires, THE HEARING.

For then their threats will kill me; For his mind, I doe not care,

Nor looke too kinde on my desires, That's a toy, that I could spare:

For then my hopes will spill me. Let his title be but great,

0, do not steepe them in thy teares, His clothes rich, and land sit neat,

For so will sorrow slay me; Himselfe young, and face be good,

Nor spread them as distract with feares, All I wish is understood :

Mine owne enough betray me. What you please, you parts may call, 'Tis one good part I'd lie withall.

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A SONG

6

l'le tell no more, and yet I love, ANOTHER.

And he loves me; yet, uo,

Oue un-becomming thought doth move
IN DEFENCE OF THEIR INCONSTANCIE.

From either heart, I know;

But so exempt from blame,

As it would be to each a fame,

If love, or feare, would let me tell his name. Hang up those dull and envious fooles

That talke abroad of woman's change, We were not bred to sit on stooles,

Our proper vertue is to range: Take that away, you take our lives,

THE HOURE-GLASSE. We are no women then, but wives.

Doe but consider this small dust,
Such as in valour would excell

Here running in the glasse,
Doe change, though man, and often fight,

By atomes mov'd;
Which we in love must doe as well,

Could you beleeve, that this
If ever we will love aright.

The body was
The frequent varying of the deed,

Of one that lov'd? Is that which doth perfection breed.

And in his mistress flame, playing like a fiye,

Turn'd to cinders by her eye?
Nor is't inconstancie to change

Yes; and in death, as life, unblest,
For what is better, or to make

To have't expresst, (By searching) what before was strange,

Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
Familiar, for the use's sake ;
The good, from bad, is not descride,
But as 'tis often vext and tri'd.

MY PICTURE LEFT IN SCOTLAND.
And this profession of a store
In love, doth not alone help forth

I now thinke, love is rather deafe then blind, Our pleasure ; but preserves us more

For else it could not be,
From being forsaken, then doth worth:

That she,
For were the worthiest woman curst

Whom I adore so much, should so 'slight me, To love one man, hee'd leave her first.

And cast my love bebind :
I'm sure my language to her was as sweet,

And every close did meet
A NYMPHS PASSION.

In sentence, of as subtile feet,

As bath the youngest hee,

That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree.
I love, and he loves me againe,

Oh, but my conscious feares,
Yet dare I not tell who;

That fie my thoughts betweene,
For if the nymphs should know my swaine,

Tell me that she bath seene
I feare they'd love him too:

My hundreds of gray haires,
Yet if it be not knowne,

Told seven and fortie yeares,
The pleasure is as good as none,

Read so much waste, as she cannot imbrace For that's a narrow joy is but our owne.

My mountaine belly, and my rockie face,

And all these through her eyes, have stopt her eares. I'le tell, that if they be not glad,

They yet may envie me:
But then if I grow jealous madde,
And of them pittied be,
It were a plague 'bove scorne,

AGAINST IEALOUSIE.
And yet it cannot be forborne,
Unlesse my heart would as my thought be torne. WRETCHED and foolish jealousie,

How cainst thou thus to enter me?
He is, if they can find him, faire,

I n're was of thy kind;
And fresh and fragrant too,

Nor have I yet the narrow mind
As summer's sky, or purged ayre,

To vent that poore desire,
And lookes as lillies doe,

That others should not warme them at my fire.
That are this morning blowne,

I wish the Sun should shine,
Yet, yet I doubt he is not knowne,

On all men's fruit, and fowers, as well as mine. And feare much more, that more of himn be showne.

But under the disguise of love
But he hath eyes so round and bright,

Thou sai'st thou onely cam'st to prove
As make away my doubt,

What my affections were,
Where Love may all his torches light,

Think'st thou that love is help'd by feare?
Though Hate had put them out;

Goe, get thee quickly forth,
But then t encrease my feares,

Love's sicknesse, and his poted want of worth,
What nymph so e're his voyce but heares

Seeke doubting men to please, Will be my rivall, though she have but eares. I ne're will owe my health to a disease.

AN

AN

THE DREAME. Or scorne, or pittie on me take,

EPISTLE TO SIR EDWARD SACKVILE, I must the true relation make,

NOW EARLE OF DORGET.
I am undone to night;
Love in a subtile dreame disguis'd,
Hath both my heart and me surpriz’d,

If Sackvile, all that have the power to doe
Whom never yet he durst attempt t' awake ;

Great and good turns, as wel could time them too, Nor will he tell me for whose sake

And knew their how, and where: we should have then He did me the delight,

Lesse list of proud, hard, or ingratefull men. Or spight,

For benefits are ow'd with the same mind But leaves me to inquire,

As they are done, and such returnes they find : Jo all my wild desire

You then, whose will not only, but desire
Of sleepe agajne; who was his aid,

To succour my necessities tooke fire,
And sleepe so guiltie and afraid,

Not at my prayers, but your sense; which laid As since he dares not come within my sight.

The way to meet what others would upbraid;
And in the act did so my blush prevent,
As I did feele it done, as soone as meant:
You cannot doubt, but I who freely know
This good from you, as freely will it owe;
And though my fortune humble me, to take

The smallest courtesies with thankes, I make EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET. Yet choyce from whom I take them; and would

shame I HAVE my pietie too, which could

To have such doe me good, I durst not name: It veat it selfe, but as it would,

They are the noblest benefits, and sinke Would say as much, as both have done

Deepest in man, of which when he doth thinke, Before me here, the friend and sonne;

The memorie delights him more, from whom For I both lost a friend and father,

Then what he hath receiv'd. Gifts siinke from some, Of him whose bones this grave doth gather ;

They are so long a comming, and so hard ; Deare Vincent Corbet, who so long

Where any deed is forc't, the grace is mard. Had wrestled with diseases strong,

Can I owe thankes, for courtesies receiv'd That though they did possess each limbe,

Against his will that does 'hem? tbat hath weay'd Yet he broke them, e're they could him,

Excuses, or delayes? or done 'hem scant, With the just canon of his life,

That they bave more opprest me, then my want?

Or if he did it not to succour me,
A life that knew nor noise, nor strife;
But was by sweetning so his will,

But by meere chance for interest? or to free All order, and disposure, still

Himselfe of farther trouble, or the weight His mind as pure, and neatly kept,

Of pressure, like one taken in a streight? As were his nourceries; and swept

All this corrupts the thankes, lesse hath he woune, So of uncleannesse, or offence,

That puts it in his debt-booke e're 't be done ; That never came ill odour thence:

Or that doth sound a trumpet, and doth call And adde his actions unto these,

His groomes to witnesse; or else lets it fall They were as specious as his trees.

In that proud manner: as a good so gain'd, 'Tis true, he could not reprehend

Must make me sad for what I have obtain'd. [face, His very manners, taught tamend,

No! gifts and thankes should have one cheerefull They were so even, grave, and holy;

So each, that's done, and tane, becomes a brace. No stubbornnesse so stiffe, nor folly

He neither gives, or does, that doth delay To licence ever was so light,

A benefit, or that doth throw't away, As twice to trespasse in his sight,

No more then he doth thanke, that will receive His lookes would so correct it, when

Nought but in corners; and is loath to leave, It chid the vice, yet not the men.

Lest ayre, or print, but flies it: such men would Much from him I professe I wonne,

Run from the conscience of it if they could. And more, and more, I should have done,

As I have seene some infants of the sword But that I understood him scant,

Well knowne, and practiz'd borrowers on their word, Now I conceive him by my want,

Give thankes by stealth, and whispering in the eare, And pray who shall my sorrowes read,

For what they straight would to the world forsweare; That they for me their teares will shed;

And speaking worst of those from whom they went For truly, since he left to be,

But then fist fill'd, to put me off the sent.
I feele, I'm rather dead than be?

Now dam'mee, sir, if you shall not command
My sword ('tis but a poore sword understand)

As farre as any poore sword i’ the land:
Reader, whose life, and name, did e're become

Then turning unto him is next at hand, An epitaph, deserv'd a tombe:

Damns whom he damn'd too, is the veriest gull, Nor wants it bere through penurie, or sloth,

H'as feathers, and will serve a man to pull.
Who makes the one, so't be first makes both.

Are they not worthy to be answer'd so,
That to such natures let their full hands flow,
And seeke not wants to succour: but inquire,

Like money-brokers, after names, and hire
VOL. V.

нь

Their bounties forth to him that last was made, In time 'twill be a beape ; this is not true
Or stands to be'n commission o' the blade? Alone in money, but in mangers too.
Still, still the hunters of false fame apply

Yet we must more then move still, or goe on, Their thoughts and meanes to making loude the cry; we must accomplish; 'tis the last key-stone But one is bitten by the dog he fed,

That makes the arch, the rest that there were put And hurt, seeks cure; the surgeon bids take bread, Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut. And spunge-like with it dry up the blood quite, Then stands it a triumphall marke! then men Then give it to the hound that did him bite: Observe the strength, the height, the wby, and when, Pardon, sayes he, that were a way to see

It was erected; and still walking under All the towne-curs take each their snatch at me. Meet some new matter to looke up and wonder! 0, is it so ? knowes he so much ? and will Such notes are vertuous men! they live as fast Feed those, at whom the table points at still? As they are high; are rooted and will last. I not deny it, but to helpe the need

They need no stilts, vor rise upon their toes, Of any, is a great and generous deed:

As if they would belie their stature, those Yea, of th' ingratefull: and fie forth must tell Are dwarfes of honour, and have neither weight Many a pound and piece will place one well; Nor fashion; if they chance aspire to height, But these men ever want : their very trade "Tis like light caues, that first rise big and brave, Is borrowing; that but stopt, they doe invade Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces; hare All as their prize, turne pyrats here at land, But few and fair divisions : but being got Ha'their Berinudas, and their Streights i'th'Strand; Aloft, grow lesse and streightned, full of knot, Man out of their boates to th’ Temple, and not shift And last, goe out in nothing: you that see Now, but command; make tribute what was gift; Their difference, cannot choose which you will be. And it is paid 'hem with a trembling zeale You know (without my fatt'ring you) too much And superstition, I dare scarce reveale

For me to be your indice. Keep you such, If it were cleare, but being so in cloud

That I may love your person (as I doe) Carryed and wrapt, I only am aloud

Without your gift, though I can rate that too, My wonder! why? the taking a clownes purse, By thanking thus the courtesie to life, Or robbing the poore market-folkes, should nurse Which you will bury, but therein, the strife Such a religious horrour in the brests

May grow so great to be example, when
Of our towne gallantry! or why there rests (As their true rule or lesson) either men,
Such worship due to kicking of a punck!

Donners or donnees, to their practise shall
Or swaggering with the watch, or drawer drunke; Find you to reckon nothing, me owe all.
Or feats of darknesse acted in mid-sun,
And told of with more licence then th' were done!
Sure there is misterie in it, I not know
That men such reverence to such actions show!
And almost deifie the authors ! make
Lowd sacrifice of drinke, for their health-sake;
Reare suppers in their names! and spend whole nights

EPISTLE TO MASTER JOHN SELDEN.
Unto their prajse, in certaine swearing rites:
Cannot á man be reck'ned in the state

I Know to whom I write here, I am sure,
Of valour, but at this idolatrous rate ?

Though I am short, I cannot be obscure:
I thought that fortitude had beene a meane Lesse shall I for the art or dressing care,
"I'wixt feare and rashnesse: not a lust obscene, Truth and the Graces best when naked are.
Or appetite of offending, but a skill

Your booke, my Selden, I have read, and much Or science of a discerning good and ill.

Was trusted, that you thought my judgement such And you, sir, know it well, to whom I write, To aske it: though in most of workes it be That with these mixtures we put out her light; A pennance, where a man may not be free, Her ends are honestie, and publike good!

Rather then office, when it doth or may And where they want, she is not understood. Chance that the friend's affection proves allay No more are these of us, then let them goe, Unto the censure. Yours all need doth ffie I have the lyst of mine owne faults to know, Of this so vitious humanitie, Looke to and cure; he's not a man hath none, Then wbich there is not unto studie a more But like to be that every day miends one,

Pernitious enemie. We see before And feeles it; else he tarries by the beast.

A many of bookes, even good judgements wound Can I discerne how shadowes are decreast, Themselves through favouring what is there not Or growne, by height or low nesse of the sunne? But I on yours farre otherwise shall doe, (found: And can I lesse of substance? when I runne, Not flie the crime, but the suspicion too: Ride, saile, am coach'd, know I how farre I have gone, Though I confesse (as every Muse hath err'd, And my minds motion not? or have I none: And mine not least) I have too oft preferr'd (much, No! he must feele and know, that will advance; Men, past their termes, and prais'd some names tou Men have been great, but never good by chance, But 'twas with purpose to have made them such, Or on the sudden. It were strange that he Since being deceiv'd, I turne a sharper eye Who was this morning such a ove, should be Upon my selfe, and aske to whom and why? Sydney e'er night? or that did goe to bed

And wbat I write ? and vexe it many dayes Coriat, should rise the most sufficient head Before men get a verse, much lesse a praise; Of Christendome? And neither of these know, So that my reader is assur'd, I now Were the rack offer'd them, how they came so; Meane what I speake, and still will keepe that row. "Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad

Stand forth my object, then, you that have beeve Profit; in ought each day some little adde, Ever at home, yet bave all countries seene :

AN

And like a compasse, keeping one foot still It is a call to keepe the spirits alive,
Upon your center, doe your circle fill

That gaspe for action, and would yet revive
of generall knowledge; watch'd men, manners too, Man's buried honour, in his sleepie life:
Heard what times past have said, seene whatours doe: Quickning dead nature, to her noblest strife.
Which grace shall I make love to first? your skill, All other acts of worldlings are but toyle
Or faith in things? or is't your wealth and will In dreames, begun in hope, and end in spoile.
Tinstruct and teach? or your unweary'd paine

Looke on th' ambitious man, and see him nurse, Of gatheriog? bountie in pouring out againe? His unjust hopes, with praises begg'd, or (worse) What fables have you vext! what truth redeem'd! Bought flatteries, the issue of his purse, Antiquities search'd! opinions dis-esteemid ! Till he become both their, and his owne curse! Impostures branded! and authorities urg'd, Looke on the false and cuoning man, that loves Whatblots anderrours, have you wat::h'd and purg'a No person, nor is lov'd; what wayes he proves Records and authors of! how rectified

To gaine upon his belly; and at last Times, manners, customes ! innovations spide ! Crush'd in the snakie brakes, that he had past! Sought out the fountaines, sources, creekes, paths, See, the grave, sower, and supercilious sir And noted the beginnings and decayes! (wayes, In outward face, but inward, light as furre, Where is that nominall marke, or call rite, Or feathers, lay his fortune out to show, Forme, act, or ensigne, that hath scap'd your sight? Till envie wound, or maime it at a blow! How are traditions there examin'd! how

See him that's call'd, and thought the happiest man, Conjectures retriev'd | and a storie now

Honour'd at once, and envild (if it can And then of times (besides the bare conduct Be honour is so mixt) by such as would, Of what it tells us) wéav'd in to instruct.

For all their spight, be like him if they could: I wonder'd at the richnesse, but am lost,

No part or corner man can looke upon, To see the workmanship so 'xceed the cost ! But there are objects bid him to be gone To marke the excellent seas'ning of your stile ! As farre as he can flie, or follow day, And manly elocution, 'not one while

Rather then here so bogg'd in vices stay: With horrour rough, then rioting with wit! The whole world here leaven'd with madnesse swells; But to the subject still the colours fit;

And being a thing blowne out of nought, rebells In sharpnesse of all search, wisdome of choise, Against his Maker; high alone with weeds, Newnesse of sense, antiquitie of voice!

And impious ranknesse of all sects and seeds: I yeeld, I yeeld, the matter of your praise

Not to be checkt, or frighted now with fate, Flowes in upon me, and I cannot raise

But more licentious made, and desperate! A banke against it. Nothing but the round

Our delicacies are growne capitall, Large claspe of nature, such a wit can bound. And even our sports are dangers! what we call Monarch in letters! 'mongst the titles showne Priendship is now mask'd hatred! justice fied, Of others honours, thus, enjoy thy owne.

And shamefastnesse together! all lawes dead I first salute thee so; and gratulate

That kept man living! pleasures only sought! With that thy stile, thy keeping of thy state;

Honour and honestie, as poore things thought In offering this thy worke to no great name, (same, as they are made! pride and stiffe clownage mixt That would, perhaps, bave prais’d, and thank'd the To make up greatnesse! and man's whole good fix'd But nought beyond. He thou hast given it to,

In bravery, in gluttony, or coyne, Thy learned chamber-fellow, knowes to doe

All which he makes the servants of the groine, It true respects. He will not only love,

Thither it flowes: how much did Stallion spend Embrace, and cherish; but he can approve

To have his court-bred-fillie there commend And estimate thy paines; as having wrought

His lace and starch; and fall upon her back In the same mines of knowledge; and thence brought In admiration, stretch'd upon the rack Humanitie enough to be a friend,

Of lust, to his rich suit, and title, lord ? And strength to be a champion, and defend

that's a charme and halfe! she must afford Thy gift 'gainst envie. O how I doe count That all respect; she must lie downe: pay more Among my commings in, and see it mount,

'Tis there civilitie to be a whore; The graine of your two friendships! Hayward and He's one of blood, and fashion! and with these Selden! two names that so mach understand! The bravery makes, she can no honour leese: On whom I could take up, and ne're abuse To do't with cloth, or stuffes,lust's name might merit; The credit, what would furnish a tenth Muse! With velvet, plush, and tissues, it is spirit. But here's no time, nor place, my wealth to te!),

O, these so ignorant monsters ! light, as proud, You both are modest. So am I. Farewell.

Who can behold their manners, and not clowd-
Like upon them lighten? If nature could
Not make a verse; anger or laughter would,
To see 'bem aye discoursing with their glasse,
How they may inake some one that day an asse,
Planting their purles,and curles spread forth like net,

And every dressing for a pitfall set
EPISTLĘ TO A FRIEND,

To catch the flesh in, and to pound a

Be at their visits, see 'hem squamish, sick,
TO PERSWADE HIM TO THE WARRES. Ready to cast, at one, whose band sits ill,

And then leape mad on a neat pickardill;
Wars, friend, from forth thy lethargie: the drum As if a brize were gotten i' their tayle,
Beats brave, and loude in Europe, and bids come And firke, and jerke, and for the coach-man raile,
All that dare rowse: or are not loth to quit

And jealous of each other, yet thinke long Their vitious ease, and be w'rewhelm'd with it. To be abroad chanting some baudie song,

AN

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