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Then thou shalt see to day:

With what full hands, and in how plenteous showers We wooe thee, stay

Have they bedewid the earth, where she doth tread, And see what can be seene,

As if her ayrie steps did spring the flowers, The bountie of a king, and beautie of his queene! And all the ground were garden where she led!

See, at another doore, See, the procession! what a holy day

On the same floore, (Bearing the promise of some better fate)

The bridegroome meets the bride Hath filed, with Caroches, all the way,

With all the pompe of youth, and all our court beside From Greenwich, hither, to Row-hampton gate! When look'd the yeare, at best,

Our court, and all the grandees; now, Sun, looke,
So like a feast?

And looking with thy best inquirie, tell,
Or were affaires in tune,

In all thy age of journals thou hast tooke,
By all the spheares consent, so in the heart of June? Saw'st thou that paire, became these rites so well,

Save the preceding two? What beautie of beauties, and bright youths at

Who, in all they doe, charge

Search, Sun, and thou wilt find [kind.
Of summer's liveries, and gladding greene, They are th' exampled paire, and mirrour of their
Do boast their loves, and brav'ries so at large,
As they came all to see, and to be seene!

Porce from the phenix then no raritie
When look'd the earth so fine,

Of sex, to rob the creature; but from man,
Or so did shine

The king of creatures; take his paritie
In all her bloome and flower;

With angels, Muse, to speake these : nothing can To welcome home a paire, and deck the nuptial

Illustrate these but they bower?

Themselves to day,

Who the whole act expresse; It is the kindly season of the time,

All else we see beside are shadowes and goe lesse. The month of youth which calls all creatures forth It is their grace and favour that makes seene To doe their offices in nature's chime,

And wonder'd at the bounties of this day:
And celebrate (perfection at the worth)

All is a story of the king and queene!
Mariage, the end of life,

And what of dignitie and honour may
That holy strife,

Be duly done to those
And the allowed warre :

Whom they have chose,
Through which not only we, but all our species are. And set the marke upon,

To give a greater name and title to their owne! Harke, how the bells upon the waters play

Their sister-tunes from Thames his either side, Weston, their treasure, as their treasurer, As they had learn'd new changes for the day, That mine of wisdome, and of counsells deep, And all did ring th' approches of the bride, Great say-master of state, who cannot erre, The lady Frances, drest

But doth his carract, and just standard keepe
Above the rest

In all the prov'd assayes,
Of all the maidens faire,

[haire.

And legall wayes In gracefull ornament of garland, gemmes, and Of tryals, to worke downe (crowne.

Men's loves unto the lawes, and lawes 'to love the See, how she paceth forth in virgin-white,

Like what she is, the daughter of a duke, And this well mov'd the judgement of the king And sister: darting forth a dazling light

To pay with honours, to his noble sonne On all that come her simplésse to rebuke! To day, the father's service; who could bring Her tresses trim her back,

Him up, to doe the same bimselfe had done.
As she did lack

That farre-all-seeing eye
Nought of a maiden queene,

Could soone espie
With modestie so crown'd, and adoration seene.

What kind of waking man

He had so highly set; and in what Barbican. Stay, thou wilt see what rites the virgins doe!

The choisest virgin-troup of all the land ! Stand there; for when a noble nature's rais'd, Porting the ensignes of united two,

It brings friends joy, foes griefe, posteritie fame; Both crownes and kingdomes in their either hand; In him the times, no lesse then prince, are prais’d, Whose majesties appeare,

And by his rise, in active men, his name
To make more cleare

Doth einulation stirre ;
This feast, then can the day

To th' dull, a spur
Although that thou, O Sun, at our entreaty stay!

It is: to th' envious meant

Ameere upbraiding griefe, and tort'ring punishment. See, how with roses and with lillies shine,

(Lillies and roses, flowers of either sexe) See, how the chappell opens; where the king The bright bride's paths,embelish'd more then thine And bishop stay, to consummate the rites : With light of love, this paire doth intertexe ! The holy prelate prayes, then takes the ring, Stay, see the virgins sow

Askes first, who gives her(1 Charles)then he plights (Where she shall goe)

One in the other's band,
The emblemes of their way.

Whilst they both stand O, now thou smil'st, faire Sun, and shin'st as thou Hearing their charge, and then [Amen. wouldst stay!

The solemne quire cryes, Joy; and they returne,

happy bands and thou more happy place, Which to this use wer't built and consecrate !

THE HUMBLE PETITION OF POORE BEN. so have thy God to blesse, thy king to grace,

TO TH' BEST OF MONARCHS, MASTURS, MEN, And this their chosen bishop celebrate;

KING CHARLES ;
And knit the nuptiall knot,
Which time shall not,

Doth most bumbly show it,
Or canker'd jealousie,

To your majestie, your poët:
With all corroding arts, be able to untie !

Tha'r whereas your royall father, The cbappell empties, and thou may'st be gone James the blesserl, pleas'd the rather, Now, Sun, and post away the rest of day:

Of his speciall grace to letters, These two, now holy church hath made them one,

To make all the Muses debters
Doe long to make themselves so, another way; To his bountie; by extension
There is a feast behind,

Of a free poetique pension,
To them of kind,

A large hundred markes annuitie,
Which their glad parents taught

To be given me in gratuitie
Oneto the other, long ere these to light were brought. For done service and to come:

And that this so accepted summe, Haste, haste, officious Sun, and send them night

Or dispenc'd in bookes, or bread, Some boures before it should, that these may know

(For with both the Muse was fed) All that their fathers and their mothers might

Hath drawne on me, from the times,
Of nuptiall sweets, at such a season, owe,

All the envie of the rimes,
Tu propagate their names,

And the ratling pit-pat-noyse,
And keepe their fames

Or the lesse-poëtique boyes;
Alive, which else would die;

When their pot-guns ayme to hit,
For fame keepes vertue up, and it's posteritie.

With their pellets of small wit, Th'ignoble never liv'd, they were a-while

Parts of me (they judg'd) decay'd, Like swine, or other cattell here on Earth :

But we last out, still unlay'd. Their names are not recorded on the file

Please your majestie to make
Of life, that fall so; Christians know their birth

Of your grace, for goodnesse sake,
Alone, and such a race,

Those your father's markes, your pounds;
We pray may grace,

Let their spite (which now abounds)
Your fruitfull spreading vine,

Then goe on, and doe its worst;
But dare not aske our wish in language fescennine:

This would all their envie burst:
And so warme the poet's tongue,

You'ld reade a snake in his next song.
Yet, as we may, we will, with chast desires,

(The holy perfumes of a marriage bed)
Be kept alive those sweet and sacred fires
Of love between you and your lovely-head:
That when you both are old,

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,
You find no cold
There; but, renewed, say,

THE LORD TREASURER OF ENGLAND,
(After the last child borne) this is our wedding day.
Till you behold a race to fill your hall,
A Richard, and a Hierome, by their names

Ir to my mind, great lord, I had a state, l'pon a Thomas, or a Francis call;

I would present you now with curious plate A Kate, a Frank, to honour their grand-dames,

Of Noremberg, or Turkie; hang your roomes And 'tweene their grandsire's thighes,

Not with the Arras, but the Persian loomes.
Like pretty spies,

I would, if price or prayer could them get,
Peepe forth a gemme; to see

Send in, what or Romano, Tintaret, How each one playes his part of the large pedigree. Titian, or Raphael, Michael Angelo sind never may they want one of the stem,

Have left in fame to equall, or out-goe To be a watchfull servant for this state;

The old Greek-bands in picture, or in stone. But like an arme of eminence 'mongst them,

This I would doe, could I know Weston, one Extend a reaching vertue early and late:

Catch'd with these arts, wherein the judge is wise

As farre as sense, and onely by the eyes.
Whilst the maine tree still found
Upright and sound,

But you, I know, my lord; and know you can

Discerne betweene a statue and a man;
By this sun's noonested's made

Can doe the things that statues doe deserve, So great; his body now alone projects the shade.

And act the businesse which they paint or carve. They both are slipt to bed; shut fast the doore, What you have studied are the arts of life;

And let him freely gather loves first-fruits, To compose men and manners; stint the strife He's master of the office; yet no more

Of murmuring subjects; make the nations know Exacts then she is pleas'd to pay: no suits, What worlds of blessings to good kings they owe: Strifes, murmures, or delay,

And mightiest monarchs feele what large increase Will last till day;

Of sweets, and safeties, they possesse by peace. Night, and the sheetes will show

These I looke up at, with a revereut eye, The longing couple all that elder lovers know. And strike religion in the standers-by;

AN EPIGRAM.

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KENELME DIGBY.

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Which, though I cannot, as an architect

1. Pan is the great preserver of our bounds. In glorious piles or pyramids erect

2. To him we owe all profits of our groupus. Unto your honour; I can tune in song

3. Our milke, 4. Our fells. 5. Our derces, Aloud, and (bapp’ly) it may last as long.

6. and first lambs.

(rammes 7. Our teeming ewes, S. and lustie-mounting

9. See where he walkes with Mira by his side.

Chor.' Sound, sound his praises loud, and with his, AN EPIGRAM

hers divide. TO MY MUSE, THE LADY DIGBY, ON HER HUSBAND, SIR

Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan,

That drives the hart to seeke unused Tho', happy Muse, thou know my Digby well;

wayes, Yet read him in these lines : he doth excell

Shep. And in the chase, more then Sylvanus can, I In honour, courtesie, and all the parts

Chor. Heare, O you groves, and hills resound Court can call hers, or man could call his arts.

his praise. He's prudent, valiant, just, and temperate; In him all vertue is beheld in state:

Of brightest Mira doe we raise our song, And he is built like some imperiall roomne

Sister of Pan, and glory of the spring: For that to dwell in, and be still at home.

Nym. Who walkes on earth, as May still went along, His breast is a brave palace, a broad street,

Chor. Rivers, and vallies, eccho what we sing. Where all heroique ample thoughts doe meet; Where nature'such a large survey hath ta'en,

Of Pan we sing, the chiefe of leaders, Pan, As other soules to his dwelt in a lane:

That leades our flocks and us, and calls Witnesse his action done at Scanderone;

both forth Upon my birth-day, the eleventh of June;

Shep. To better pastures then great Pales can: When the apostle Barnabee the bright

Chor. Heare, O you groves, and hills resound Unto our yeare doth give the longest light,

his worth. In signe the subject, and the song will live Which I have vow'd posteritie to give.

Of brightest Mira is our song ; the grace Goe, Muse, in, and salute him. Say he be

Nym. Of all that nature yet to life did bring; Busie, or frowne at first; when he sees thee

Chor. And were she lost, could best supply ba He will cleare up his forehead; thinke thou bring'st

place, Good omen to him, in the note thou sing'st :

Rivers and valleys eccho what we sing. For he doth love my verses, and will looke Upon them, (next to Spenser's noble booke)

1. Wheree're they tread th' enamourd And praise them too. O! what a fame 't will be !

ground, What reputation to my lines and me!

The fairest flowers are alwayes found; When he shall read them at the treasurer's bord! 2. As if the beauties of the yeare, The knowing Weston, and that learned lord

Still waited on 'hem where they were. Allowes them! Then what copies shall be had,

1. He is the father of our peace; (crease What transcripts begg'd! how cry'd up,and how glad 2. She, to the crowne, hath brought inWilt tbou be, Muse, when this shall ibem befall

1. We know no other power then his, Being sent to one, they will be read of all.

Pan only our great shep'ard is,
Chor. Our great, our good. Where one's so drest

In truth of colours, both are best.

a

vaara

New years expect new gifts: sister, your barpe,

Lute, lyre, theorbo, all are call'd to day.
Your change of notes, the flat, the meane, the sharpe,

To show the rites, and t' usher forth the way
Of the new yeare, in a new silken warpe.
To fit the softnesse, of our years-gift: when
We sing the best of monarchs, masters, men ;
For, had we here said lesse, we had sung nothing then,

Haste, haste you thither, all you gentler

swaines, That havea dock, or herd, upon these plaines; This is the great preserver of our bounds, To whom you owe all duties of your grounds; Your milkes, your fells, your fleeces and first lambes,

(rammes.
Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting
Whose praises let's report unto the woods,
That they may take it eccho'd by the floods,

'Tis he, 'tis he, in singing he,
And hunting, Pan, exceedeth thee.
He gives all plentie, and increase,

He is the author of our peace.
Where e're he goes upon the ground,
The better grasse and lowers are found.
To sweeter pastures lead be can,
Then ever Pales could or Pan;
He drives diseases from our folds,
The theefe from spoyle his presence holds.
Pan knowes no other power then his,
This only the great shep'ard is.

"Tis he 'tis he, &c.

A

NEW-YEARES-GIFT,

SUNG TO KING CHARLES, 1635.
Rector To day old Janus opens the new yeare,
Chori. And shuts the old. Haste, baste, all loyall
swaines,

[appeare,
That know the times, and seasons when ť

And offeryour just service on these plaides ;
Best kings expect first-fruits of your glad

gaines.

ON THE CHRISTNING HIS SECOND SONXE LAMES.

Faire friend, 'tis true, your beauties move
My heart to a respect;

TO MY LORD THE KING,
Too little to be paid with love,

Too great for your neglect.
I neither love, nor yet am free,
For though the flame I find-

That thou art lov'd of God, this work is done,
Be not intense in the degree,

Great king, thy having of a second sonne : 'Tis of the purest kind.

And by thy blessing, may thy people see

How much they are belov'd of God, in thee;
It little wants of love but paine,

Would they would understand it! princes are
Your beautie takes my sense,

Great aides to empire, as they are great care
And lest you should that price disdaine, To pious parents, who would have their blood
My thoughts, too, feele the influence. Should take first seisin of the publique good,

As hath thy James, cleans'd from originall drosse, 'Tis not a passion's first accesse Readie to multiply,

This day, by baptisme, and his Saviour's crosse.

Grow up, sweet babe, as blessed in thy name,
But like love's calmest state it is

As in renewing thy good grandsire's fame;
Possest with victorie.

Me thought Great Brittaine in her sea before
It is like love to truth reduc'd;

Sate safe enough, but now secured more.
All the false value's gone

At land she triumphs in the triple shade,
Which were created, and induc'd

Her rose and lilly, intertwind, have made.
By fond imagination.

Oceuno secura meo, securior umbris.
'Tis either fancie, or 'tis fate,

To love you more then l;
I love you at your beautie's rate,
Lesse were an injurie.

AN ELEGIE
Like unstamp'd gold, I weigh each grace,
So that you may collect

ON THE LADY ANNE PAWLET, MARCHIONESS OF WIXTON.
Th’intrinsique value of your face,
Safely from my respect.

What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
And this respect would merit love,

Hayles me so solemnly to yonder yewgh?
Were not so faire a sight

And beckning wooes me from the fatall tree
Payment enough; for who dare move

To pluck a garland, for her selfe, or me?
Reward for his delight?

I doe obey you, beautie! for in death
You seeme a faire one! O that you had breath,
To give your shade a name! stay, stay, I feele
A horrour in me! all my blood is steele!

Stiffe! starke! my joynts 'gainst one another kuock!
THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY.

Whose daughter? ba! great Satage of the Rock!

He's good, as great. I am almost a stone!
Rouse up thy selfe, my gentle Muse,

And e're I can ask more of her she's gone!
Though now our greene conceits be gray, Alas, I am all marble! write the rest
And yet once more do not refuse

Thou wouldst have written, Fame, upon my brest: To take thy Phrygian harp, and play

It is a large faire table, and a true, In honour of this cheerefull day :

And the disposure will be something new, Long may they both contend to prove,

When I, who would the poet have become, That best of crownes is such a love.

At least may beare th' inscription to her tombe.

She was the lady Jane, and marchionisse Make first a song of joy and love,

Of Winchester ; the heralds can tell this. Which chastly flames in royall eyes,

Earle Rivers’ grand-child-serve not formes, good, Then tune it to the spheares above,

Fame, When the benigaest stars doe rise,

Sound thou her vertues, give her soule a name. And sweet conjunctions grace the skies.

Had I a thousand mouthes, as many tongues, Long may, &c.

And voyce to raise them from my brazen lungs, To this jet all good hearts resound,

I durst not aime at that: the dotes were such Whilst diadems invest his head;

Thereof no notion can expresse how much

Their carract was! I, or my trump must breake, Long may he live, whose life doth bound

But rather I, should I of that part speake! More then his lawes, and better led

It is too neere of kin to Heaven, the soule, By high example then by dread.

To be describ'd. Fame's fingers are too foule Long may, &c.

To touch these mysteries! we may admire Long may he round about him see

The blaze and splendour, but not handle fire! His roses, and his lillies blowne :

What she did here, by great example, well, Long may his only deare and he

T' inlive posteritie, her fame may tell! Joy in ideas of their owne,

And, calling truth to witnesse, make that good And kingdomes' hopes so timely sowne. From the inherent graces in her blood! Long may they both contend to prove,

Else, who doth praise a person by a new, That best of crownes is such a love.

But a fain'd way, doth rob it of the true.

ON

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THE SONG OF HER DESCENT.

HER MIND.

HER FAIRE OFFICES.
HER HAPPIE MATCH.
HER HOPEFULL ISSUE.

Her sweetnesse, softnesse, her faire courtesie,
Her wary guardes, her wise simplicitie,
Were like a ring of vertues, 'bout her set,

EUPHEME;
And pietie the center where all met.
A reverend state she had, an awfull eye,
A dazling, yet inviting, majestie:

THE FAIRE FAME,
What nature, fortune, institution, fact.
Could summe to a perfection, was her act!

LEFT TO POSTERITIE OF THAT TRULY-NOBLE LADY, THE How did she leave the world? with what con- LADY VENETIA, DIGBY, LATE WIFE OF SIR KENELVE tempt?

DIGBY, KNIGHT: A GENTLEMAN ABSOLUTE IN ALL Just as she in' it liv'd! and so exempt

NUMBERS.
From all affection! when they urg'd the cure
Of her disease, how did her soule assure

CONSISTING OF THESE TEN PIECES.
Her suffrings, as the body had beene away!
And to the torturers (her doctors) say,

THE DEDICATION OF HER CRADLE.
Stick on your cupping-glasses, feare not, put
Your hottest causticks to, burne, lance, or cut:

THE PICTURE OF HER BODY.
'Tis but a body which you can torment,
And I, into the world, all soule was sent !

HER BEING CHOSEN A MUSE.
Then comforted her lord, and blest her sonne,
Chear'd her faire sisters in her race to runne,
With gladnesse temper'd her sad parents' teares,
Made her friends' joyes, to get above their feares,

HER ΑΠΟΘΕΩΣΙΣ, OR RELATION TO THE SAINTS And, in her last act, taught the standers-by,

HER INSCRIPTION, OR CROWNE.
With admiration and applause to die!
Let angels sing her glories, who did call

Vivam amare voluptas, defunctum Religio. STAT.
Her spirit home to her originall!
Who saw the way was made it! and were sent
To carry,

and conduct the complement "Twixt death and life! where her mortalitie

1. THE DEDICATION OF HER CRADLE. Became her birth-day to eternitie !

Faire Fame, who art ordain'd to crowne And now, through circumfused light, she lookes

With ever-greene, and great renowne, Ou nature's secrets there, as her owne bookes:

Their heads that Envy would bold downe.
Speakes Heaven's language! and discourseth free

With her, in shade
To every order, ev'ry hierarchie !
Beholds her Maker! and in him, doth see

Of death and darknesse; and deprive
What the beginnings of all beauties be;

Their names of being kept alive, And all beatitudes, that thence doe flow:

By thee, and Conscience, both who thrive Which they that have the crowne are sure to

By the just trade know ! Goe now, her happy parents, and be sad,

Of goodnesse still : vouchsafe to take If you not understand what child you had.

This cradle, and for goodnesse' sake, If you dare grudge at Heaven and repent

A dedicated ensigne make
T'have paid againe a blessing was but lent,

Thereof to Time.
And trusted so, as it deposited lay
At pleasure, to be call'd for every day!

That all posteritie, as we,
If you can envie your owne daughter's blisse,

Who read what the Crepundia be,
And wish her state lesse happie then it is !
If you can cast about your either eye,

May something by that twilight see
And see all dead here, or about to dye !

'Bove rattling rime. The starres, that are the jewels of the night, And day, deceasing! with the prince of light,

For, though that rattles, timbrels, toyes, "The Suone! great kings! and mightiest kingdomes

Take little infants with their noyse, fall!

As prop'rest gifts, to girles, and boyes
Whole nations! nay mankind! the world, with all

Of light expense;
That ever had beginuing there, to ’ave end !
With what injustice should one soule pretend

Their corrals, whistles, and prime coates, T'escape this common knowne necessitie,

Their painted maskes, their paper boates, When we were all borne, we began to die;

With sayles of silke, as the first notes
And, but for that contention and brave strife

Surprise their sense:
The Christian hath t' enjoy the future life,
He were the wretched'st of the race of men:

Yet, here are no such trifes brought,
But as he soares at that, he bruiseth then

No cobweb calls; no surcoates wrought The serpent's head : gets above death and sinne With gold, or claspes, which might be bought And, sure of Heaven, rides triumphing in.

On every stall.

But here's a song of her descent;
And call to the high parliament
Of Heaven; where seraphim take tent

Of ord’riog all.

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