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VERSA EST IN LUCTUM CYTHARA MEA.

10B.

LOVE! I no orgies sing

Whereby thy mercies to invoke:

Nor from the East rich perfumes bring

To cloude thy altars with the precious smoake.

Nor while I did frequent
Those fanes by lovers rais'd to thee,
Did I loose heathenish rites invent,
To force a blush from injur'd chastitie.

Religious was the charme

I used affection to intice:

And thought none burnt more bright or warme, Yet chaste as winter was the sacrifice.

But now I thee bequeath

To the soft silken youths at court:
Who may their witty passions breath,

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To raise their mistresse' smile, or make her sport.

They'le smooth thee into rime,

Such as shall catch the wanton eare:
And win opinion with the time,

To make thein a high sayle of honour beare.

And may a powerfull smile

Cherish their flatteries of wit!
While I my life of fame beguile,
And under my owne vine uncourted sit.

For I have seen the pine
Famed for its travels ore the sea:
Broken with stormes and age decline,
And in some creeke unpittied rot away.

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I have seene cædars fall, And in their roome a mushrome grow: I have seene comets, threatning all, Vanish themselves: I have scene princes so.

Vaine triviall dust! weake man!

Where is that vertue of thy breath,
That others save or ruine can,

The glorious troubles of the court. For though
The vale lyes open to each overflow,

And in the humble shade we gather ill
And aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner kill
O'th' naked heights of mountaines, whereon we
May have more prospect, not securitie.

For when, with losse of breath, we have orecome
Some steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roome
On the so envi'd hill, how doe our hearts
Pant with the labour, and how many arts
More subtle must we practise, to defend
Our pride from sliding, than we did t' ascend?'
How doth successe delude the mysteries
And all th' involv'd designements of the wise?
How doth that power, our pollitickes call chance,
Racke them till they confesse the ignorance
Of humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortified
So strong with reason that it doth deride
All adverse force, o'th' sudden findes its head
Intangled in a spider's slender thread.
Coelestiall Providence! how thou dost mocke
The boast of earthly wisdome! On some rocke
When man hath a structure, with such art
It doth disdaine to tremble at the dart
Of thunder, or to shrinke, oppos'd by all
The angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,
Ev'n in a calme so gentle, that no ayre
Breaths loud enough to stirre a virgin's haire!
But misery of judgement! Though past time
Instruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,
And show us how we may secure our state
From pittied ruine, by another's fate;
Yet we, contemning all such sad advice,
Pursue to build, though on a precipice.

But you (my lord) prevented by foresight
To engage your selfe to such an unsafe beight,
And in your selfe both great and rich enough,
Refused t' expose your vessell to the rough
Vncertaine sea of businesse: whence even they
Who make the best returne, are forc'd to say:
"The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine

When thou thy selfe art cal'd t' account by Death? Weighs light, if ballanc'd with the feare or paine."

When I consider thee

The scorne of Time, and sport of Fate,

How can I turne to jollitie

My ill-strung harpe, and court the delicate?

How can I but disdaine

The emptie fallacies of mirth;

And in my midnight thoughts retaine,

How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth.

Fond youth! too long I play'd

The wanton with a false delight:
Which when I toucht, I found a shade,
That onely wrought on th' errour of my sight.

Then since pride doth betray
The soule to flatter'd ignorance :
I from the world, will steale away,
And by humility my thoughts advance.

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Affirme my scheme doth not presage
Any abridgement of my dayes:
And the physitian gravely sayes,

I may enjoy a reverent length of age.

But they are jugglers, and by slight
Of art the sight

Of faith delude: and in their schoole
They onely practise how to make

A mistery of each mistake,

And teach strange words credulity to foole.

For thou who first didst motion give,

Whereby things live,

And time hath being! to conceale
Future events didst thinke it fit
To checks th' ambition of our wit,

And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.

Therefore, so I prepar'd still be,
My God, for thee:

O'th' sudden on my spirits may
Some killing apoplexie seize,
Or let me by a dull disease,

Or weakened by a feeble age, decay.

And so I in thy favour dye,

No memorie

For me a well-wrought tombe prepare,
For if my soule be 'mong the blest,
Though my poore ashes want a chest,
I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.

NON NOBIS DOMINE.

DAVID.

No marble statue, nor high
Aspiring pyramid, be rais'd
To lose its head within the skie!
What claime have I to memory?
God, be thou onely prais'd!
Thou in a moment canst defeate
The mighty conquests of the proude,
And blast the laurels of the great.
Thou canst make brightest glorie set
O'th' sudden in a cloude.

How can the feeble workes of art
Hold out 'gainst the assault of stormes ?
Or how can brasse to him impart
Sence of surviving fame, whose heart.
Is now resolv'd to wormes?
Blinde folly of triumphing pride!
Eternitie why buildst thou here?
Dost thou not see the highest tide
Its humbled streame in th' ocean hide,
And nere the same appeare?

That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,
As sent abroad by th' angry sea
To levell vastest buildings low,
And all our trophes overthrow,

Ebbes like a theefe away.
And thou, who to preserve thy name,
Leav'st statues in some conquer'd land!
How will posterity scorne fame,
When th' idoll shall receive a maime,
And loose a foot or hand?

How wilt thou hate thy warres, when be,
Who onely for his hire did raise
Thy counterfet in stone, with thee
Shall stand competitor, and be

Perhapes thought worthier praise?
No laurell wreath about my brow!
To thee, my God, all praise, whose law
The conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!
For both dissolve to ayre, if thou
'Thy influence but withdraw.

BOLUM MIHI SUPEREST SEPULCHRUM.

WELCOME, thou safe retreate!

Where th' injured man may fortifie 'Gainst the invasions of the great:

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Where the leane slave, who th' ore doth plye, Soft as his admirall may lye.

Great statist! 'tis your doome,

Though your designes swell high and wide,
To be contracted in a tombe!
And all your happie cares provide
But for your heire authorized pride.

Nor shall your shade delight
I'th' pompe of your proud obsequies :
And should the present flatterie write
A glorious epitaph, the wise

Will say, "The poet's wit here lyes."

How reconcil'd to fate

Will grow the aged villager,

When he shall see your funerall state!
Since death will him as warme inter
As you in your gay sepulchre.

The great decree of God
Makes every path of mortals lead
To this darke common period.
For what by wayes so ere we tread,"
We end our journey 'mong the dead.

Even I, while humble zeale
Makes fancie a sad truth indite,
Insensible a way doe steale:

And when I'me lost in death's cold night,
Who will remember, now I write ?

ET FUGIT VELUT UMBRA.

IOB.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD KINTyre,
MY LORD,

THAT shadow your faire body made
So full of sport, it still the mimick playde,
Ev'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterday
So huge in stature, night hath stolne away.
And this is th' emblem of our life to please
And flatter which, we sayle ore broken seas,
Vnfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dare
All the sicke humours of a forraine ayre.
And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trie
To unlocke Hell, should gold there hoarded lie.
But when we have built up an ædifice
Toutwrastle time, we have but built on ice:
For firme however all our structures be,
Polisht with smoothest Indian ivory,

Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heire
Will scarce retaine in memory, that we were.
Tracke thro' the ayre the footsteps of the wind,
And search the print of ships sail'd by; then finde
Where all the glories of those monarchs be
Who bore such sway in the world's infancie.
Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can
Fame

Give an account, that ere they had a name.
How can he, then, who doth the world controle,
And strikes a terrour now in either pole,
Th' insulting Turke secure himself, that he
Shall not be lost to dull posterity?

And though the superstition of those times,
Which deified kings to warrant their owne crimes,
Translated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,
Who every region of the skie survay,

In their cœlestiall travaile, that bright coast
Could nere discover, which containes his ghost.
And after death to make that awe survive
Which subjects owe their princes yet alive,
Though they build pallaces of brasse and jet,
And keepe them living in a counterfet,
The curious looker on soone passes by,
And findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.
Neither, when once the soule is gone, doth all
The solemne triumph of the funerall
Adde to her glory, or her paine release:
Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peace,
For which we'toild, from us abstracted be,
And onely serve to swell the history.

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These are sad thoughts (my lord) and such as The easie soule made tender with delight, Who thinkes that he hath forfitted that houre Which addes not to his pleasure or his powre. But by the friendship which your lordship daignes Your servant, I have found your judgement raignes Above all passion in you: and that sence Could never yet demolish that strong fence Which vertue guards you with: by which you are Triumphant in the best, the inward warre.

NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.

WHEN I Survay the bright

Celestiall spheare:

So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appeare:

My soule her wings doth spread,
And heaven-ward flies,

The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shootes forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light

Into so small a character,

Remov'd far from our humane sight:

But if we stedfast looke

We shall discerne

In it, as in some holy booke,

DAVID.

How man may heavenly knowledge learne,

It tells the conqueror,

That farre stretcht powre.
Which his proud dangers traffique for,
Is but the triumph of an houre.

That from the farthest North,

Some nation may

Yet undiscovered issue forth,
And ore his new got conquest sway.

Some nation yet shut in

With hils of ice

May be let out to scourge his sinne,
Till they shall equall him in vice.

And then they likewise shall
Their ruine have;

For as your selves your empires fall,
And every kingdome hath a grave.

Thus those cœlestiall fires,

Though seeming mute,

The fallacie of our desires
And all the pride of life confute.

For they have watcht since first
The world had birth:
And found sinne in it selfe accurst,
And nothing permanent on Earth.

ET ALTA A LONGE COGNOSCIT.

DAVID.

To the cold humble hermitage
(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,
Or youth enfeebled by long prayer,
And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.
But from the lofty gilded roofe,

Stain'd with some pagan fiction, keepes aloofe.
Nor the gay landlord daignes to know,
Whose buildings are like monsters but for show.
Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe,
Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?
Which by examples tells the high

Rich structures they must as their owners, dys:
And while they stand, their tennants are
Detraction, Flatt'ry, Wantonnesse, and Care,
Pride, Envie, Arrogance, and Doubt,
Surfet, and Ease still tortured by the gout.
O rather may I patient dwell

In th' injuries of an ill cover'd cell!

'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile, The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile. Where the swift measures of the day Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray :

And some starre's solitary light

Be the sole taper to the tedious night.

The neighboring fountaine (not accurst

Like wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:

And the wilde fruites of Nature give

Dyet enough, to let me feele I live.

You wantons! who impoverish scas,

And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!
A greedy tyrant you obey,

Who varies still its tribute with the day.
What interest doth all the vaine
Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine?

Since it obscure the spirit must,

And bow the flesh to sleepe, disease or lust.
While who, forgetting rest and fare,
Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,

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DAVID.

My soule! when thou and I
Shall on our frighted death-bed lie,
Each moment watching when pale Death
Shall snatch away our latest breath,
And 'tweene two long joyn'd lovers force
An endlesse sad divorce:

How wilt thou then, that art
My rationall and nobler part,
Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try
To draw from weake philosophie

Some strength: and flatter thy poore state, 'Cause 'tis the common fate?

How will thy spirits pant

And tremble when they feele the want
Of th' usuall organs, and that all
The vitall powers begin to fall?

When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,
Yet whether, who can know?
How fond and idle then
Will seeme the misteries of men?
How like some dull ill-acted part
The subtlest of proud humane art?
How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,
When thus we ebbe away?
But how shall I (that is,
My fainting earth) looke pale at this?
Disjointed on the racke of paine.
How shall I murmur, how complaine,
And craving all the ayde of skill,

Finde none, but what must kill ?
Which way so ere my griefe
Doth throw my sight to court releefe,
I shall but meete despaire; for all
Will prophesie my funerall:
The very silence of the roome
Will represent a tombe.

And while my children's teares,

My wive's vaine hopes, but certaine feares, And councells of divines advance

Death in each dolefull circumstance:

I shall even a sad mourner be
At my owne obsequie.

For by examples I

Must know that others' sorrowes dye Soone as our selves, and none survive To keepe our memories alive.

Even our fals tombes, as loath to say We once had life, decay.

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Which your cœlestiall flight denyed:
Who by your glorious troopes supply
The winged hierarchie,
So broken in the angells' pride!

O you! whom your Creator's sight
Inebriates with delight!

Sing forth the triumphs of his name,
All you enamor'd soules! agree
In a loud symphonie :
To give expressions to your flame !
To him, his owne great workes rélate,
Who daign'd to elevate

You 'bove the frailtie of your birth :
Where you stand safe from that rude warre,
With which we troubled are
By the rebellion of our earth.
While a corrupted ayre beneath
Here in this world we breath,
Each houre some passion us assailes :
Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,
Or that it may seeme good,
It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.
Then envie circles us with hate,

And layes a siege so streight,
No heavenly succour enters in:
But if revenge admittance finde,
For ever hath the mind
Made forfeit of itselfe to sinne.
Assaulted thus, how dare we raise

Our mindes to thinke his praise,
Who is æternall and immens?
How dare we force our feeble wit

To speake him infinite,

So farre above the search of sence?

O you! who are immaculate

His name may celebrate
In your soules' bright expansion.
You whom your vertues did unite

To his perpetuall light,

That even with him you now shine one.
While we who t' earth contract our hearts,
And only strdie arts

To shorten the sad length of time:
In place of joyes bring humble feares:
For hymnes, repentant teares,

And a new sigh for every crime.

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Each small tempest shakes the proud;
Whose large branches vainely sprout
'Bove the measure of the roote.

But let stormes speake nere so loud,
And th' astonisht day benight;
Yet the just shines in a light
Faire as noone without a cloud.

DEUS DEUS MEUS.

WHERE is that foole philosophie,

DAVID.

That bedlam reason, and that beast dull sence;
Great God! when I consider thee,
Omnipotent, æternall, and imens?

Vnmov'd thou didst behold the pride
Of th' angels, when they to defection fell!
And without passion didst provide

To punish treason, rackes and death in hell.
Thy word created this great all,

l'th' lower part whereof we wage such warres:
The upper bright and sphæricall

By purer bodies tenanted, the starres.

And though sixe dayes it thee did please
To build this frame, the seventh for rest t' assigne;
Yet was it not thy paine or ease,

But to teach man the quantities of time.
This world so mighty and so faire,

So 'bove the reach of all dimension :
If to thee God we should compare,
Is not the slender'st atome to the Sun.
What then am I poore nothing man!
That elevate my voyce and speake of thee!
Since no imagination can

Distinguish part of thy immensitie ?

What an who dare call thee God!
And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?
To whom dust is the period,

Who am not sure to farme this very houre?
For how know I the latest sand

In my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?
And while I thus astonisht stand

I but prepare for my owne funeral?

Death doth with man no order keepe: It reckons not by the expence of yeares.

But makes the queene and beggar weepe,
And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.
He who the victory doth gaine

Falls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,
And is by too good fortune slaine.
The lover in his amorous courtship dyes.

The states-man suddenly expires

While he for others ruine doth prepare:

And the gay lady while sh' admires

Her pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.
No state of man is fortified

'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:

But who th' Almighty feare, deride

Pale Death, and meet with triumph in the tombe

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