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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,
And looking with thy best inquirie, tell,
In all thy age of journals thou hast tooke,
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.
Porce from the phenix then no raritie
Of sex, to rob the creature; but from man,
The king of creatures; take his paritie
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:
All is a story of the king and queene!
And what of dignitie and honour may
Be duly done to those
Whom they have chose,
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
In all the prov'd assayes,
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.
That farre-all-seeing eye
Could soone espie
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
Doth einulation stirre ;
To th' dull, a spur
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,
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 ;
Doth most bumbly show it,
To your majestie, your poët:
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
Of a free poetique pension,
A large hundred markes annuitie,
To be given me in gratuitie
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,
All the envie of the rimes,
And the ratling pit-pat-noyse,
Or the lesse-poëtique boyes;
When their pot-guns ayme to hit,
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 your grace, for goodnesse sake,
Those your father's markes, your pounds;
Let their spite (which now abounds)
Then goe on, and doe its worst;
This would all their envie burst:
You'ld reade a snake in his next song.
(The holy perfumes of a marriage bed)
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,
THE LORD TREASURER OF ENGLAND,
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.
I would, if price or prayer could them get,
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.
But you, I know, my lord; and know you can
Discerne betweene a statue and a man;
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;
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,
In truth of colours, both are best.
New years expect new gifts: sister, your barpe,
Lute, lyre, theorbo, all are call'd to day.
To show the rites, and t' usher forth the way
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,
'Tis he, 'tis he, in singing he,
He is the author of our peace.
"Tis he 'tis he, &c.
SUNG TO KING CHARLES, 1635.
And offeryour just service on these plaides ;
ON THE CHRISTNING HIS SECOND SONXE LAMES.
Faire friend, 'tis true, your beauties move
TO MY LORD THE KING,
Too great for your neglect.
That thou art lov'd of God, this work is done,
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;
Would they would understand it! princes are
Great aides to empire, as they are great care
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,
As in renewing thy good grandsire's fame;
Me thought Great Brittaine in her sea before
Sate safe enough, but now secured more.
At land she triumphs in the triple shade,
Her rose and lilly, intertwind, have made.
Oceuno secura meo, securior umbris.
To love you more then l;
ON THE LADY ANNE PAWLET, MARCHIONESS OF WIXTON.
What gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hayles me so solemnly to yonder yewgh?
And beckning wooes me from the fatall tree
To pluck a garland, for her selfe, or me?
I doe obey you, beautie! for in death
Stiffe! starke! my joynts 'gainst one another kuock!
Whose daughter? ba! great Satage of the Rock!
He's good, as great. I am almost a stone!
And e're I can ask more of her she's gone!
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.
THE SONG OF HER DESCENT.
HER FAIRE OFFICES.
Her sweetnesse, softnesse, her faire courtesie,
THE FAIRE FAME,
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
CONSISTING OF THESE TEN PIECES.
THE DEDICATION OF HER CRADLE.
THE PICTURE OF HER BODY.
HER BEING CHOSEN A MUSE.
HER ΑΠΟΘΕΩΣΙΣ, OR RELATION TO THE SAINTS And, in her last act, taught the standers-by,
HER INSCRIPTION, OR CROWNE.
Vivam amare voluptas, defunctum Religio. STAT.
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.
With her, in shade
Of death and darknesse; and deprive
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
Thereof to Time.
That all posteritie, as we,
Who read what the Crepundia be,
May something by that twilight see
'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
Of light expense;
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
Surprise their sense:
Yet, here are no such trifes brought,
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;
Of ord’riog all.