The springs glorie Vindicating love by temperance against the tenent, sine cerere & Baccho friget Venus. Moralized in a maske. With other poems, epigrams, elegies, and epithalamiums of the authors Thomas Nabbes.

THE SPRINGS GLORIE.

VINDICATING LOVE by temperance against the tenent, Sine Cerere & Baccho friget Venus.

Moralized in a Maske. With other Poems, Epigrams, Elegies, and Epithalamiums of the Authors THOMAS NABBES.

LONDON, Printed by I.D. for Charles Greene, and are to be sold by Nicolas Fussell at the signe of the white Lyon in Pauls Church-yard. 1638.

Optimae spei Iuveni

Domino BENEDICTO ROBERTS, filio natu minori NICOLAI ROBERTS Armigeri, amoris ergò, & observantiae erga parentes, sequentia poemata humillimè dedicat

Thomas Nabbes.

To his intimate and learned friend Master THOMAS NABBES on his ensuing Poems. LEt those who to the world oft publish forth Their owne deserts, in praysing others worth, Throng for a roome; and pride themselves to be Ranck'd in the front of thy learn'd poesie. It shall suffice mee (who have never yet Studied to humour others, nor have sweat Like some, two houres in plodding jests, which may At the first sight their authour's wits betray) To have a meaner roome: for I nor come To begge the reader mittigate thy doome; Nor with intent to praise thy worke or thee: For that would seeme a plaine Tautologie. Those, whose diviner soules Phoebean flame Hath throughly kindled, such as have a name I'the list of Phoebu's darlings, will admire The eager flames of thy poetique fire. None will dislike ought here, but such dull things Whose soules are out of tune; When Phoebus sings Some bayards will be bold to judge his straine Harsh and unpleasing; yet applaud the vaine— —Confused sound of some hoarse pipers voyce, And say 'tis rare, and makes an excellent noyse. If that it chance some fancy not thy straine Th'are dull and ignorant; the wiser traine Will praise thee for't, and utter still with fame The often mention of thy honour'd name. Let critiques censure, and these lines condemne, Secur'd by thine owne bayes▪ their rage contemne. C.G. Oxon.

To his honoured friend Master THOMAS NABBES. HAd I the massie wealth of Cheops, then I'de raise a Piramid unto thy pen That should for State put downe the empty fame Of Mausoleus tombe, blot out the name The Sunnes Colossus had in that same day When it bestrid the spatious Rhodian bay. Let Momus prate; thou art above him farre: The curre that barkes at, cannot hurt the starre. But why should I presume? for mee to praise Thy winged raptures, rhapsodies and layes Were with darke Lanterne up and downe to runne, And shew th'admiring world the glittring Sunne. Robert Chamberlain • .

THE SPRINGS GLORY; Within an Arch of agreeable workmanship, a Scaene of Winter presents it selfe, the Trees and Earth covered with Snow, and in the middle thereof a prospect of a faire house as the Mansion of Christmasse. Venus and Cupid descend. Venus. WIthout good meat and drinke must Venus freeze? Must I derive my flames and my desire From Ceres and from Bacchus? shall the fire That burnes in hearts, and payes me solemne rites Kindle from fulnesse and gorg • d appetites? It shall not Sonne. Learne of thy Sea-borne mother Never to borrow power from any other. The vertue that's our owne, who dares to claime? Are not both Gods and men by thy sure ayme, When at their bosomes thou direct'st a Dart. Wounded with passion past the cure of art? Did not the god of Medicine himselfe want; (When he was s • ruck by thee) a soveraigne plant To heale his hurt? nor did it rancor by Abundance of choyce cates and luxurie? 'Twas meerely thy effect. Why then should we To Ceres or to Bacchus deity Assigne our rights? Cupid. In part we must; for they Are aiders in our worke, and therefore may Share in the attributes of power. If wine Did not the spirits and the bloud refine, Making them warme and active, I should throw My shafts at rocks of ice, and from my Bow The winged arrows of desire would flie With empty and succeslesse battery. If Ceres bounties flow'd not, where should I Find any flame to light my torches by? Fulnesse and ease assist me more then all The helpes I have besides. Venus. And therefore shall They be preferr'd? Thou art a foolish boy. Their base effects are lust; they love to joy In what is sensuall onely. Our pure heate Borrowes no activenesse from drinke or meate; It moves more in the soule. God Bacchus shall Have his due attributes, and Ceres call The plough, crookt sickle, flayle and many more Her owne admir'd inventions, and the store Shee gathers for mens use. But should the mind Make these her only objects, what a blind And dangerous issue of effects would grow From such a seed! high spirits strive to know More then a common eye sees, and aspire Still upwards like the Piramide of fire, When earth tends to its centre. We must move More then the sense; else 'tis not perfect love. To them Ceres and Bacchus. Here's Ceres and Lyaens. Ceres. Wee are told By Maia's sonne that you intend to scould With me and Bacchus. Venus. I have cause to chide. You'ld rob me of my titles, and beside Make it a gluttons tenent, there can be No love without you. Ceres. And your Deity Hath summond us for this: 'tis very good. I must confesse you made your father wood To ravish faire Europa. Having seene Traynes of Arcadian Virgins on the greene Tread their chaste measures, or with nimble pace Through the Parthenian groves, and thickets chace A well-breath'd Stagge, one of them straight-wayes must Be tempted to her ruine by his lust: And this employment Venus still is thine. Venus. Ceres is madd still for her Proserpine: Whose rape hath made her queene of the Abysse. Who to be so rewarded would not kisse The blacke lips of hells king? and to his bed Bring the short pleasures of a Maydenhead? Repine not at it then. Ceres. I must whilst day Hath any light, or heavens bright eye a ray. It was your sonnes great act to boast of; he That suffers not th • infernals to goe free Of his diseases. Bacchus. Rather Ceres mine: For if the God had never tasted wine, Not all the heate of his infernall fire Could e're have thaw'd him into one desire; Or kindled the least flame in his cold brest Without my vertue. Venus. 'Tis an idle jest. Doth Bacchus thinke he can with heate of wine Light the bright flame of love, that is divine, And burnes not from such causes, but takes fire From th'elementall part of pure desire Unmixt with grossnesse? Thy effects are foule; And motions of the sense, not of the soule. Subscribe then to our power; my sonne and I Must have the attributes. Ceres. Let him lay by His quiver rather. Ceres meanes to be The Queene of Love, and Bacchus deity Include all that is Cupids. Venus. First I'le leave To be immortall, and my selfe bereave Of all that I can claime above the skye, Or under heavens archt roofe, if destiny May give it confirmation. Take a Dart And ayme it at her proud imperious heart To shew in thy revenge what thou canst doe. Cupid. I must not Mother. Wee'le referre it to Another tryall, and if Bacchus can Confirme what he so saucily began To argue, by example, wee'le deny Nothing that's due unto his deity. Bacchus.

Content.

To them Christmasse and Shrovetide Enter. Christmas is personated by an old reverend Gentleman in a furr'd gowne and cappe, &c. And Shrovetide by a fat Cooke with a frying-pan, &c. And see occasion hath comply'd Even with our wish. It cannot be deny'd But these share both our bounties; have free use Of all our gifts: and if you'le not refuse A tryall from them— Venus. Let them speake, whil'st we To their dispose referre the victory. Shrovetide.

I say Christmas you are past date, you are out of the Almanack. Resigne, resigne. Let the Oven give place to the Frying-pan, and Mine't-pies yeild superiority to pancakes and Fritters.

Christmas.

Resigne to thee! I that am the King of good cheere and feasting, though I come but once a yeare to raigne over bak't, boyled, roast, and plum-porridge, will have being in despight of thy lard-ship. Thou art but my fagge-end, and I must still be before thee.

Shrovetide.

But thou wilt never be before-hand. Thou art a prodigall Christmas; and Shrovetide hath seene thee many times in the Poultry.

Christmas.

Dost scorne my liberality, thou rasty bacon, tallow-faced scullion? Though thou be as fat as a Flemming, I'le have Lent choke thee with a red-herring.

Shrovetide.

I'le arme my selfe for that. In three dayes I can victuall my garrison for seven weekes: and it shall goe hard but I will domineere in Lent despite of the thin-chapt surgeon that makes men skillitons.

Christmas.

As how?

Shrovetide.

At any Noblemans house, I can licke my fingers in a privy kitchin. Though I bee out of commons in the hall, there's flesh to be had sometimes in a chamber besides a Landresse. The very three-penny ordinary will keepe me in an upper gallery, and I can be invisible even in the pye-house. Should all faile, the wenches I got with child shall long, and have the Phisitians ticket.

Christmas.

Thou get children!

Shrovetide.

Yes more then Christmas, and better too: for thine are all unthrifts, whores, or murderers. Thy sonne In and in, undid many a Citizen. Thou hast a Daughter called my Ladyes hole, a filthy black slut shee is; and Put is common in every Bawdy house. 'Tis thought Noddy was none of thine owne getting, but an Aldermans, that in exchange cuckolded thee, when thou wast a Courtier. Thou hast one sonne bred up in the Country called Christmas gambolls, that doth nothing but breake mens necks; and many more that would undoe the Common-wealth, were it not for the Groome porter.

Christmas.

Do'st see these sirrah?

Shrovetide.

Ceres and Bacchus: I am their worshipper. Were Stewes tolerated, and Venus the Grand Bawd of them, without good meate and drinke, your young Factors would never be able to breake their Masters or Mistresses, nor your shee-silke-worme in Cheape care a button for her foreman.

Ceres. Venus being overcome, I hope will yeeld, Now shee is vanquisht in the open field, And her weake forces scatter'd: nor can they Gather new head to make a second fray. To them Lent enters. Hee is figur'd in a leane Man, his habit like trouses, and what other anticke devices may be thought proper▪ Venus. Yes: with this champion; and his fresh supply I'le wage new warre, and call backe victory. Shrovetide.

This leaue thin-gut starveling, begot by a Spaniard▪ and nurst at the lower end of Friday-street.

Lent.

Why thou Helluo of hennes and bakon, th •• •• rder houst of collops and egges; thou that makest the kitchin proclaime its employment through the neighbourhood, with the se • t of thy Lard and crumpets, what canst thou boast oft?

Christmas.

Children, children, thou parcht starveling: thou can • t g • t nothing but Anatomies.

Lent.

Children! I get more (I maintaine not their lawfulnesse) then Christmas and Shrovetide. Oh the vertue of Oysters, Lobsters, Sturgeon, Anchoves, & Caveary. Why thou grout-headed bladder, puft with the windinesse of pared apples coffered in batter: for every Brawne or hogge, either Christmas or thy selfe have demolisht; I have a thousand Herrings, despight of the Dutchmens wastfull theft, let them rob the foure Seas never so often. Besides, I couple more then the Parson of Pancrace: I meane City woodcocks, with Suburb-wagtailes.

Christmas.

Thou couple!

Lent.

Who more? Is not S. Valentines day mine? are not Codds mine, thou codds-head, and Maides mine? put them together thou wilt find they are things—

Shrovetide.

Thou art a thing of emptinesse, and Lent was ever a Iack by conversion.

Lent.

Such a Iack as can come aloft, and doe Venus more credit then thy fulnesse. Doe not I share of Aries, Taurus, and Gemini; the Innes I lye at in my progresse. Yet no cuckold can deny but Aries and Taurus should follow Gemini. And it follows, or should, that I having two fathers my selfe, should get most children.

Chri • tmas.

Who were thy fathers prethee?

Lent.

Devotion and Pollicy; and I have begotten Hipocrisie on a holy sister, that despight of all Informers would have flesh, her belly full. Let Christmas and Shrovetide eate and drinke; I'le be for Venus, though I feed upon nothing but herring-cobbs.

Venus. Who's now the conquerour? Will Ceres now Subscribe unto my power? and Bacchus bow To Cupids awefull strength? Ceres. Not till it is Confirm'd by better evidence then his. Lent.

Then mine • Observe.

Here the Scaene suddenly changeth into a Prospect, with trees budded, the earth somewhat greene, and at one side an old Barne, out of which issues a company of beggars, with a Bag-pipe.

See you these good fellowes, that preferre the warme Sunne, before the scrapps which niggardly Christmas and Shrovetide feast them with; and would get a better race under a hedge to people New England, then the Seperatists that possesse it. Whilst they entertaine yee, Ile summon the Spring, and she shall moderate.

The Beggars dance. Exeunt. After the dance, is heard the • hirping of birds; and whilst the following Song is singing, the Scaene againe changeth into a pleasant Arbour, in which the Spring in a greene robe wrought over with flowers presents her selfe.

The Song. See, see a Metamorphosis, The late gray field now verdant is. The Sun with warme beames glads the earth, And to the springing flowers He gives a new and lively birth By th'ayde of gentle showres. The Lambes no longer bleate for cold, Nor cry for succour from the old: But friske and play with confidence Like Emblemes of true innocence. Chorus. The cheerefull birds their voyces straine • The Cuckow's hoarse for want of raine. The Nightingale doth sweetly sing, To welcome in the joyfull Spring.

Spring. Thus breake my gloryes forth that late lay hid Within the icye earth, and were forbid By Winters nipping cold to show their heads Above the snowy covering of their beds. The winds not rugged now, but calme and fayre, Sweepe flowry Gardens, and perfume the ayre. The woods shrill Choristers (whose frozen throtes Late wanted motion,) now have found their notes; Strayning their little organes to sound high, And teach men art from Natures harmony. Come you to welcome me? Ceres. Yes lovely Maid; And to have judgement from you, who most aide In Loves great worke. Spring. Is there a strife betweene The goddesse of desire, and plenties Queene? Will they subscribe, Ile moderate. All.

Content.

Spring. First heare my reasons; then my sentence: bent 'Gainst neithers honours, for I must comply Wi •• •• th as vertu •• . Venus Deity Is powerfull over all; and Ceres gives Each that hath being that by which he 〈◊〉 Yet many times excesse perverts the end Of pure intentions; and extreames extend Their powers to undoe those acts are free In their owne natures from impuritie▪ Love ought to be Platonick, and Divine▪ Such as is onely kindled, and doth shine With beames, that may all darke effects con • roule In the refin'd parts of the glorious soule. Men doe abuse your gifts, when they delight Onely to please their sensuall appetite, And heat the bloud from • ulnesse; whencethere growes No perfect love, but such as onely knowes The coursest difference, and therefore must Presume to owne no other name but lust. In me let Temperance teach you to apply Things to their best ends; and to rectifie All motions that intend effects, beside What may runne cleere and currant with theside Of purest love: in which let all your jarres Be reconcil'd, and finish your sterne wa • res. All.

Thus we embrace in p •• ce.

S •• i • g. And I 〈◊〉 Spring Will lead a moderate measure. Chirpers sing Your choysest ayres; and as our eares they great, Vnto the Musicke we'le apply our feet. The Spring leades them a measure; after which they retire backe to the Scaene.

Epilogue. • That of all the seasons am the least, Though first in time, and usher in the rest, Impart my pleasures freely, • ut desire You'le not abuse them with excesse. My quire Shall sing as every faire one do • h • ecome A chaste Bride, her Epithal a • i • m. Though they are short be plea • 'd with these, to you I yearely will returne and bring you new.

The Spring being received into the Scaene it closeth.

The end.

An Encomium on the le • den Steeple at Worcester, repayred after a long time of neglect in the yeare 1628. by the then Deane, who is now the right Reverend, and right Honourable the Lord Bishop of London, and Lord high Tr •• surer of England. IF e're the Thespian Maidens did inspire A breath of raptures warm'd with sacred fire, Let them assist. And you whose songs have rays'd The • fames above their • oines, and so prays'd Th'Aegyptian Pyramis; The Deli • n Fane; Th'Ephesian Te • ple holy to Diane; With Romes vast wonder; Mansoleus shrines; The Sunnes G •• oss • s; thus to make them shine In their dead a •• res, may you G • nij • Passe all by transmigration into me. But chiefly thou blest The Founder canonized for his sancti • y. Saint, now made divine, Crown'd with rewards of glory sweetly shine On these submissive vowes. Let me invite Thy holy freenesse to accept the • uite Of his devotion, who doth on • ly show His will to pay what thousands ab • er owe. And thou rare fabrick, who dost comprehend Proportionsbeauty in a perfect end Of all her elements, which formed stand On thy octaedra base, let no black hand Blot out thy name; for thou deserv'st the skill Of all that ever climb'd the Muses hill. Since thy Hi •• a's strength for many an age Hath conquer'd stormes, and the 〈◊〉 Of bur • ing 〈…〉 Have taught prev ••• ion to thei • 〈…〉 frien • I'le sing thy fame; and tell the One that begged the Steeple to have sold th • timber and lead; which was opposed by the Citizens. Northerne spye That would have rais'd himselfe by beggery 〈1 line〉 How into rounds he might co • vert thy squares▪ Transgressing thus a Geometrick rule, He prov'd himselfe • true proportion'd fule. When • rom thy altitude I doe survey The distan • risings of th'unequall way That leads beyond perceptio •• warry eye; Th'exalted mountaines joyning to the skie: The confluence of so • any various • eames Doe drowne my seeing 〈◊〉 ga • e • with their 〈◊〉 And stupifie the s •• se. Sometimes •• aine I view the subiect regious▪ wh •• my 〈◊〉 With a 〈◊〉 labours; and 〈◊〉 Beyond all comprehension, till the Si •••• Seemes to decline, and with his g • lden chin To kisse thy bowle, and fire him • elfe therein▪ When freed from this 〈…〉 I descend To contemplate thy wonder • e • ery end Gives new beginning to a second birth Of artfull prodigies to fright the earth: And make thy fo • me seeme a demonstrative Of those Platonick worlds in •• mber five▪ Containing angles inf • nite • n shew As those small puncts, f • om whose concretion grow What else may be divided. Let such dreames (Rays'd from opinions fanci • ) be the theames Of their fanatick founders; whilst to thee I attribute no immortality, As part of what must perish▪ such a trick Would make me seeme • wilfull heretick 'Gainst Natures doctrine and de • ase thy glory By false allusi ••• 〈◊〉 thy st • ry Be drawne from what thou art: a perfect frame To figure out the greatnesse of his name, That did at thy erection justifie By miracles his blessed At the building thereof • workman falling from aloft lay for dead: Whom the Founder passing by revived and made whole by praying over him. Recorded in the window of the Cloister. sanctitie. A pile exalted stands thy bulke within, (Which doth uphold thy superficiall skin) Of consecrated Oakes: Olympian Iove Had none so faire in's Dodonean grove. In these each regularitie doth designe By a transverse, or a perpending line Some principle of Art; which shewes the eye Of understanding what's Geometrie. As thou dost climbe thy forme contracts each side Into a point, which makes a Pyramide: And then a Globe corrects thy high ascent From joyning with the firie element, Fearing your correspondence. There doth sit The watchfull Cock (of care an Embleme fit) To guard thee from surprizals, and to show From what bad coast the envious windes doe blow▪ Who with their batteries have assayl'd thee long; And would enforce thy chastitie (though strong) To a base prostitution; and unite Thee with thy A steeple joyning to it, upon which it seem'd to bee falling. sister steeple by their might In fatall ruines. But thy conquests prove Time hath beene kinder: and (for age may love Faire beauties, raising heates from cold desires) He meanes to claspe thee in his latest fires. Thy The outside being all lead. ponderous outside now weighes downe my skill, Though it susteine it selfe. Some learned will Dispos'd it so for feare the weight might crack The earths strong axletree, or sinewed back. So had our glory with the rest beene lost; And all in new confusion had beene tost: Unlesse thy beauty once againe might move A reconcilement by the power of Love That he might thee enjoy. But why in vaine Doe I dilate what's greater then the straine Of my weake powers; • ince what I so desire To comprehend I onely can admire. Yet I will be thy champion to defend Thy fame against opposers, and contend With Some that writ base libels upon it. those that Satyre thee; that vainly spend Their froth collections for the hated end Of scorne and laughter, and neglect to pay Their talents lent them by the King of day. And though The repayring thereof neglected, till the Deanes comming thither. some lately strove to rust thee more Then times continuance ever did before. Vertue hath sent good spirits from her clime Who will preserve thee to the length of time: Repayre thy breaches, and adorne thy brow, And make thee shine againe to us below. And for these vowes which I have payd thy worth, Oh might I begge, that when my soule goes forth Of this foule earth, to climbe above thy head, And that the rest be reckoned with the dead, Thou wouldst preserve my dust within thy wombe: So should poore Irus have a Celsus tombe.

Vpon the losing of his way in a Forrest parting from his company to goe home, towards the evening. YOu that have ever wander'd in the darke, And thinking to hit home, still mist the marke, Listen, whilst to the world I doe relate A sad disaster, which the will of Fate Dispos'd me to through error. Gently blew The murmuring winds, and where th'earths sweetnesse grew It scatter'd choyce perfumes: which did invite To satisfie our senses appetite My selfe and others. Th'instrument of heate Cloth'd in his glory, from his azure seate Directed cheerefull beames. So forth we went To suck the purer ayre, and Southward bent Our wanton course: when spungie clowds began (As if the Sunne had squeez'd them) to drop raine. This made us to retire: by which we see All things are subject to incertaintie. The golden tressed ruler of the day Had now for his bright beames made open way. Our number then increast, and so together We journied with delight; but knew not whether. A house at length did entertaine us, where We dranke no English Ale, nor German Beere, Nor Welch Metheglin; having stay'd a while A Perry. pleasant juyce was brought, made us beguile Time with more words then matter. Weary now And surfeited with pleasures, hast did blow The sayles of my desires, nor would I stay For any guide to teach me lose my way. Th'inflating liquor having made me blind, I that came in before went out behind. Here Error first began the Tragick jest: I tooke the North for South, the East for West. Darknesse increast; and night the ayde to harmes Hugg'd the worlds fabrick in her Ebon armes. When (oh the fate of darknesse) 'cause 'twas night; Or misled by that Error, or some sprite; Or the conceited mischiefe which men call The king of Fairies Poast; or whether all Had met in counsaile to contrive my harme; Or witcht to't by some other envious charme; I mi • t the path, straying through unknowne places; And alwayes backwards went with forward paces. Oh thou that art my lifes commanding light Th'ascendent in my birth, was it thy might And powerfull influence did direct my will To be the better meanes of a worse ill? And An Astrologer in the company that maintained a nuncius inanimatus to bee effected by the beames of the Moone, and many other ridiculous things. Hermes thou whose understanding eye Sees all the secrets of Phylosophie; Thou cunning Moule that knowst to worke thy way Through thickest mysteries to the cleerest day Of radiant knowledge, was not this dayes fate Writ in thy booke of Moones predestinate For griefe and danger? Yes, thou knew'st 'twas writ; And by prevention couldst have hindred it. But 'twas my error onely: had she shone I should have read it plainly in the Moone: For such thy powerfull art is, it can bind The starres in characters to speake thy mind. Now being thus from loving friends divided Into a desart Forrest was I guided, Where horrour did present a thousand feares, But none of meeting Lyons, Wolves, or Beares. Yet there were divers beasts; and never a one But I would have beene glad to feed upon. Yet my sharpe hunger I was forc't to brooke: Unlesse the divell there was ne're a cooke. And here some thoughts of him made me suppose That every tree I saw had cloven toes. And when I spy'd the glimpses of a hill, I durst have sworne that walkt, and I stood still. A Salamander I did oft expect; A Pigmie or a Sylvan to direct My knowledge to some treasure: but my mind Was vainly bent on what I ne're could find. My friends that now had mist me, scatterdly Were gone abroad with lights to search for me. But all in vaine: their showtes I did mistake For Owles; and thought each light a flaming Drake. So that by shunning of their guidance thus I prov'd my • elfe the ignis fatuus. Meeting a ragged colt, I fear'd the elfe; And then I thought 'twas time to blesse my selfe. But every thing I met with ranne away As if I were a greater sprite then they. Arm'd with a mighty staffe, but patience none, In silent language I began to moane My sad mishap; which could not answer'd be By any there, but with like silencie. But • ow at length it wonne my cruell fate To be a little more compassionate. Hearing a dogge barke I lift up mine eye When through the foggy ayre I could descrye A ragged chimney, and a roofe that had Two trusse of straw upon't: this made me glad. He that this weather-beaten Mansion own'dA Smith • hou • e. Being newly gone to bed, sweet slumbers crown'd His labour with sound rest: the fire was then Newly put out; for had it burning beene, Mixt with the noyse of hammers, who can tell But that I might have taken it for hell. Onely the doores were fast, and Hilax voyce Was a shrill treble, not a hellish noyse Like Cerberus. By this arriv'd, I heard The people snorting: Then I greatly fear'd A sharpe repulse. But using gentle words, With, Friend I am a servant of my Lords, I enter'd; where the rest of night I nested, And m'almost tired spirits warmly rested. And after Chanti • lo • re had summond day I payd some thankes, and homewards hit my way. And sure 'twas left behind; else in this fit 'Twas ten to one but I had lost my wit.

Vpon excellent strong Beere which he dranke at the Towne of Wich in Worcester shire where Salt is made. THou ever youthfull god of wine, Whose burnisht cheekes with rubies shine; And browes with ivye chaplets crown'd, Wee dare thee here to pledge a round. Thy wanton grapes we doe detest▪ Here's richer juyce from barly prest. Let not the Muses vainly tell What vertue's in the horse-hoofe well, That scarce one drop of good blood breeds, But with meere inspiration feeds: Oh let them come and tast this Beere, And water hence-forth they'le forsweare. If that the Paracelsian crew The vertues of this liquor knew, Their endlesse toyles they would give o're, And never use extractions more. 'Tis Medicine; meate for young and old; Elixir; bloud of tortur'd gold. It is sublim'd; it's calcinate; 'Tis rectified; precipitate: It is Androgena Sols wife; It is the Mercury of life. It is the quintescence of Malt; And they that drinke it want no Salt▪ It heales; it hurts; it cures; it kills: Mens heads with proclamations fil • . It makes some dumbe, and others speake; Strong vessels hold, and crack't ones leake. It makes some rich, and others poor • ▪ It makes, and yet marres many a scor • :

On a black speck in forme of a starre under a faire Ladies eye. WHat prodigie is this to fright The well-pleas'd sense from its delight? To see a Starre whose light is turn'd Into sad black, as if it mourn'd: When plac'd in such a heaven, where Nothing but gladnesse can appeare. 'Tis Merope, who yet doth hide Her glory being stellified. And blushing at her mortall choyce When all her sisters doe rejoyce By Gods embrac't, hath left the skie To steale more lustre from this eye. But comming neere that globe of light, By chance the lids close in the sight, And so prevent the theft, whereby Shee is ecclipst eternally. Nor will shee ever more in heaven Be seene to make the number seven. Onely if this fayre one were But fixt a constellation there Whence shee descended, 'twere a grace To be a darke starre on that face Above the other sixe we see Shine on the Monsters crooked knee.

An Elegie on the death of the hopefull Mr. WILLIAM ROBERTS, aged 11. Sonne to the Worshipfull NICHOLAS ROBERTS Esquire. WHat subject hath Death brought for my sad Mu •• To practise art, and sorrow on? to use (Her lightsome layes, & spritefull ayres lay'd by) Some mixture of Cromatick harmonie: 'Tis a sad subject, and requires each tone And cadence to be finisht in a groane. Words such as we from griefe can onely heare, Strayning the heart-strings that restraine them there▪ 'Tis a sad subject now, that living might Have beene an equall object of delight With any one that fancy could devise To please the inward, or the outward eyes. A youth in whose sweet face each grace did dwell, As if there were their Acidalian well: And that they left Boetias cooling streames To warme their naked beauties in his beames. A youth whose colours, symetrie and eye Made up a forme to paint a Cupid by. Yet ('gainst the tenent) Natures livelier part Should still excell the workmanship of art. A youth whose fayre and glorious mind became The Mansion of all vertues that have name. And by his inclination did expresse More age in's youth, then manyes age possesse. But now Deaths ashye hand hath chang'd the hew Of those bright cheekes where Roses lately grew: And triumphs o're his earth, that yet will be In spight of Fate more conquerour then he. Come Libitina then; deck thy sad browes With wreathes of funerall Yough, and Cypresse boughes. Command thy flaming altars to be drest With spice stolne from a dying Phenix nest. Let every teare that falls upon his urne Into a Pearle (and that most orient) turne, 'Till they have rais'd a pile, whose costly frame May make forgotten Mansoleums name. But why should empty wishes thus be spent? His corpes enough enrich his monument. And the long sacred clay is hallowed more By holding of his reliques, then before. You then whom nature, or respects doe tye T'expresse affection by the outward eye Weepe not for's losse so much, since it hath given A shrine more to the earth, a Saint to heaven.

An Epigramme on an old unhandsome, yet lustfull woman; who was discovered to weare drawers of black taffata. THe divel's in't: did ever Witch In mourning cloth her wrinckled breech Vnlesse the Incubus were dead That had her wither'd may denhead? Why that part veil'd? the face left free, That hath no lesse deformitie? A pox on both, the reason's smelt: Shee'd have one seene, the other felt. That neither sense into mislike might grow, Though she be light, she keepes all darke below.

On a faire Lady, whom a meane Gentleman hearing her sing, and play, fell in love with. IM sure in heaven. No mortall eare Did ever such sweet Musicke heare. A voyce as if each ravishing note Were relisht from an Angels throte. Apply'd to cordes are strooke so cleere, As if each finger mov'd a spheare. So full expressing every part. That concord need no other art. Besides, my instruments of sight Are dazzell'd with a glorious light. The Sun's but shaddow to her eye; And day more darke then midnights skye. Yet midst this heaven there is a hell: The spice she breathes I may not smell. Nor dare to quench my longing sipp One drop of Nectar from her lipp. Nor touch her hand; much lesse what's hidden, And by a stricter law forbidden. But might I purge my earth to move In her high orbe so farre above My pitch of flight; or but aspire To rarifie it with her fire, I'de in a perfect heaven be In spight of my mortalitie.

An Epithalamium on the hopefull happy Mariage of Master BVRLACYE, and Mistris ALICE BANKES married in December. 1637. VP grey-ey'd morning, combe thy golden hayre, And with thy blushes staine the freckled ayre. Rouse the forgetfull Sunne from Thetis bed, And bid him shake the tresses on his head; That flames of light may usher in his way, And give beginning to a glorious day. Vpon the God of Unions altars see What piles are kindled of rich spicery. As when the Phenix in her pregnant death Expires her soule with her Panchaian breath. Me thinkes th'art lazie Phebus. If thou please To dwell so long with our Antipodes, Remaine there still: thy radiance wee'le supply With brighter beames shot from the Brides faire eye: That shall create a day where thy light failes In darkest bottomes of Cimmerian vales: And through all seasons their effects dispence Above the power of thy weake influence. December shall translate himselfe to May, And with the Summers sweetes checker her away. And tis his hope her lasting course will bring A change in time for him to lead the Spring. The Northerne ayre that mov'd with waving ice Melted, as if 'twould quench the sacrifice, And clowd the dayes pompe. But from those cold showres Shall grow new issues of most fragrant flowres, Warm'd into life, and taking perfect birth Where her soft steps doe fructifie the earth. As shee doth passe the birds shall streine their thro •• s. And beate the ayre with artificiall notes, Forgetting wildnesse. Yea, sad Philomel Shall cease the story of her fate to tell, And tone delightfull ayres, such as are song To Victorie by a triumphing throng. Now Sir to meet your joyes, your selfe addresse, Cloth'd in the glory of a happinesse, Which beauty, cha • titie, and constant love Make absolute, and is confirm'd above. Take to your soft embraces a pure frame Where all the vertues dwell that have a name. When every sense is fill'd, in them you'le find Endlesse delights to feast th'immortall mind. Being possest of all that chast desire Can warme your active soules to with his fire, Enjoy them without change: to such as you The repetition will present them new. Whilst all mens zealous wishes are to see Those pleasures blest in a posteritie.

On a Mistresse of whose affection hee was doubtfull. WHat though with figures I should raise Above all height my Mistresse praise: Calling her cheeke a blushing rose, The fairest Iune did e're disclose. Her forehead Lillies, and her eyes The luminaries of the skies. That on her lippes Ambrosia growes, And from her kisses Nectar flowes: Too great hyperboles; unlesse Shee loves me, shee is none of these. But if her heart, and her desires Doe answer mine with equall fires, These attributes are then too poore. Shee is all these, and ten times more.

An Elegie on a lovely young child drown'd at London Bridge, in the yeare 1335. WHere's funerall Goddesse? why doth she delay The solemne rites belong to this sad day? Slights she so small a Herse? will she denie The dues belong to every memorie? Come and attend them, whence thou shalt derive A glory great as Fate did ever give Thy last respected Deity: shalt have As much true honour by his little grave, As if it were some great Colossus tombe Swelling a Mountaine from the earths stretcht wombe▪ And thou unruly streame that didst deprive His parents of their chiefest joy alive, What sinne of his made thee the instrument And meanes, of such a seeming punishment? His innocence ne're tempted heaven; his face Might move some wanton God to an embrace. Which makes me thinke thy amorous Geneus might Attempt him from us for his Catamite. If so, you were good waters, and doe winne Eternall songs for hindring such a sinne. But this sufficeth not. Eyes flow amaine, As if they meant to drowne him once againe. Or fearing you asham'd of what y'have done Should into Neptunes boundlesse bosome runne, To hide your selves leaving the channell dry, Their floud of teares should that defect supply. Or else congeal'd to Pearles, a shrine should be To keepe his ashes, and his memory.

A PRESENTATION Intended for the Prince his Highnesse on his Birthday the 29 of May, 1638. annually celebrated. A Curtaine being drawne, an Ale-house is discovered, out of which Time drives certaine ignorant, and yet Great undertaking Almanack-makers. Time. ANd must I still be vext! shall my gray age Be play'd upon, as if I were a Page To your fond Art, not Nature: did not live But by the stipend which you yearely give. Your owne's but fourty shillings, and that price Bindes you to order me by sage advice With Ticho Brach, and Ptolomy, so farre You dare out-doe a learn'd Albumazar. And with Predictions cheat the faith of men, That make your bookes their gods; and from your raigne Or drought foretold inhaunce the price of graine, This is the end of your high practise. 1. Alm. Wee Doe all by just rules of Astrologie. Time. Starre-gazing idiots, you Astrologers! That understand not what the name inferres. You have not enough Grammar to conceive The words true Etymon; and therefore leave Your vaine replies, lest I apply them to Another use. 2. Alm.

What would Time have us doe?

Time. Not fright credulitie with this yeares wonders; Eclipses; tempests; frosts; snowes; stormes and thunders. And you that sad fates sadly doe report In borrowed Latine from the Innes a court; Let not great Princes; Statesmen, and whole Nations Suffer this yeare by your Prognostications: As if you could the fates of all men teach, When your conjecture hath obtain'd the reach Of probabilitie: for which your eares May stand in time as fixt starres on the spheares Of some round pillory. 'Twill teach you how 'Tis judgement to be silent, though you know. 3. Alm.

Why Astraregunt homines.

Time. 'Tis true: Starres governe men; but Time shall governe you; And regulate your studies: or he'le be No longer ruler o're his Pentarchie. You shall not stuffe your annuall bookes with rimes Bought of the Ballad-mongers of the times; In which (and that shewes little Poetrie) He must enveigh 'gainst wine and venerie. Prescribe the fittest time for cutting cornes: And when the Pigges • hould feare the gelders hornes. These are your • abours; and by such as these Each of you shewes hi • selfe Philomates. You likewise thinke 'tis grace your yeares workes are Fixt on the backside of some chalkie barre, Where's your owne score, perhaps for Ale or Beere You will not pay 'till the Platonick yeare. 4 Alm.

Time Satyres me.

Time. Indeed Time cannot lye: You know his Motto: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 . 'Tis well that you can make the country Squire For two pence yearely a Chronologer. Tell him how long 'tis since the world began; And since the Conquest every Monarches raigne. Then with this store enabled hee's complete; Can welcome friends with talke as well as meate. Before poore tenants have their rent to pay The Landlord's skilfull in the quarter day: Knowes every Termes returnes, and when he's ti'de By a Subpaena on his mare to ride To London; where he onely learnes to boast How much his journey, and his law-sutes cost. 2. Alm.

Time knowes that we are schollers.

Time. So you are; And learn'd ones too: whose speculations dare Reach at sublime things, when you cannot spye What snakes of folly at your owne feet lye. 3. Alm.

What would Time have us then?

Time. I'de have you be. Not vaine prescribers of mens destinie; But Registers of actions, such as may Challenge deserv'dly a peculiar day To every owner. You me thinkes should show The executions done by th'English bow, When black Prince Eaward bravely did advance His Ensignes through the very heart of France. I will have all the world observe this day, So glorious by the birth of him, that may Fill volumes with his acts, and challenge more Then all the great Heroes went before. 4. Alm.

Such things as those Historians ought to day.

Time. Be nothing, or be you Historians too. Practise a reformation, or (fond Elves) Chang'd into Satyres you shall lafh your selves. Exit. 1. Alm. Is the gray dotard gone? Wee are then alone: Good fellowes every one Let's call my hostesse Ioane. 2. Alm.

Well said rithmer▪ thy halting verses will hardly support the fat cripple any longer that begs with them. Would wee had some Ale.

3. Alm.

Hang this Time that would alter our profession, which is of equall antiquitie with him. Suppose wee have abilities; must we use them as he please? No: let us inspire our selves with Ale, and compile an everlasting Ephimerides.

1. Alm. Where's the stock-boy? Doe not mock boy: Lest I knock boy Your learn'd block boy▪ 3. Alm.

Hast thou none left of thy sixe yeares before hand? If the Stationers refuse to trust, our bookes shall never more credit the Company with rubricks in the title.

2. Alm.

Wee'le try all the houses in the Zodiac; and if they will not trust, wee'le pull'downe the signes.

3. Alm.

Here is the signe of the Moone, the rendevous of our fraternitie. If the worst comes to the worst, wee'le pawne Time for the reckoning.

4. Alm.

By your favour we may more easily spend him.

Hostesse enters. 3. Alm.

Here comes shee will fill us the comfortable liquor.

2. Alm.

By the dozen?

3. Alm.

By the score boy. Wilt not Hostesse?

Host.

No indeed sir. I'le hazard no more upon your next yeares Almanack. You say there's a man in the Moone drinkes Claret; keepe him company. The woman at the Moone will keepe her Ale for better customers.

3. Alm.

Shall wee have no Ale then?

Hostesse.

Not a cockle-shell full without money before-hand.

3. Alm.

Here's two groats; fetch every man his pot, and before we drinke a health wee'le curse thee.

Host.

The Foxe will fare the better. Exit.

3. Alm.

Maist thou have alwayes pennilesse guests like us, 'till thou pawne thy petticoate to pay the Brewer, and thy glorious shelves shine not so much as with an earthen platter. Instead of Shoelane hangings may the walls of thy house be painted with chalke; and the figures of no more valew then cyphars. Mayst thou weekly be subject to informers, and thy forfeited licence be put to the last use of wast paper.

Host. Host enters with drinke, and exit presently.

Stop your mouth sir.

3. Alm.

Hast thou brought Ale? cry thee mercy. Here's a health to the Prince, whose Birth-day Time would have should be the whole subject of an Almanack.

4. Alm.

Let him give the conceipt to a Poet; it may be worth a day to him.

They drinke, and are transformed into Satyres, bornes growing out of their heads. 3. Alm. Time enters.

Ha! hath Circes given us an inchanted cup; or are our wives turn'd City Witches? These are fine jestes.

Time.

'Tis your owne idle humour makes you beasts.

3. Alm.

Forgive us Time.

Time. Nay dance a Horne-pipe now. That done perhaps I'le crop your well-growne brow. They dance: at the end whereof their hornes fall away. 3. Alm.

Ha! wee are men againe.

Time. Hence: since you sleight all counsaile that is mine, I'le employ others in my great designe. Time drives them forth. A Symphonie of Musicke with chirping of Birds, singing of Nightingales and Cuckoes. The Scaene changing into a pleasant Garden, • ime brings in May, attended by Flora and Vertumnus, who sing the following Song.

The Song. On, gently on; the skye is faire: Arabian winds perfume the ayre, As they the Easterne gardens sweepe, Or Amber floating on the deepe. Such sweets doe here the sense bewitch. The Phenix pile is not so rich. Chorus. Here is a presence, from whose 〈◊〉 An influence awes all destini • s. A Su • ue that can with on • bright •• y Make where it shines 〈…〉 Sing, sweetly sing. The chirpi • g bi ••• Have got new notes, and better words. What Nature wants Ar • doth supply, And makes it perfect harmony. Such • ounds do • here enrich the eares▪ Above the Musick of the Sp ••••• s. Chorus. Here are presented to the tuft Ripe fruits and early, that will last. For such we banish Nect • r hence, Here's perfect May in every sence.

Time. Welcome to Time thou comfort of the earth, T •• t • ith th • warme do we giv'st a lively birth To all her glories, which cold win • er late Wrapt in his clowdes of ice: she desolate Vngarnisht then, wore nothing on her head But snow and barrennesse, nor was her bed Cover'd with greene: then heavens crystall eye Seldome peepe out of his bright canopie. But now thou hast unto the infant Spring Given perfection; and thy blessings bring The ••• mers hopes on. Thou Times Queene shalt be Whilst Flora and Vertum • us waite on thee. Thou own'st a glory yet tran • e • 〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉 Of these, as day light doth th • 〈◊〉 • ime of rest. This day, that makes Time young, in hope to see A thousand revol • tio • 〈◊〉 be 〈◊〉 Dissolv'd, to gaze o • Trophies shall ado ••• The Princes lif • , • nd 〈◊〉 wa • this day home▪ Goe my delig •• 〈◊〉 the 〈◊〉 Of all thy pleasures; to his graciou • • ye Present the 〈…〉 May. I 〈◊〉 that are Worthy his high acceptance • they are farre Inferiour to the things that should set forth The fulnesse of his glory and his worth. The pastimes which belong to me are rude, Fitter for course ones, and the m • ltitude • Yet (so the 〈◊〉 may be pardon'd) they Shall enter to delight him as they •• y. A Morisk Dance. Time. Hee's pleas'd with this Greatness • and goodnesse 〈◊〉 At such proportion in his Pri • cely frame, That every part of hi • , his heart, his eyes, Expresse them in a due equallitye. I have another to present him, then Wee'le yeeld • o change. May. I'le never change whilst mor • Keepe registers of Time. And though it b • Custome, that they doe chiefly welco • e 〈◊〉 At my first entrance, this shall be my day As th'onely one that trownes the pride of May. I'le weare no other flowres upon my head But the Deluce; with Roses, white and red; And the stout Thistle: each of which implies An Embleme full of sacred Mysteries. The Lillie and the Rose are beauties flowres: They deck; the Thistle shall defend his bowers. The white and red Rose thornelesse, signifie A gentle rule: The Lillie, soveraigntie. The Thistle strength and power to quell his foe • That rudely dare attempt to gather those▪ Besides, these severall flowers doe appertaine To Nations subject to his future raigne. And this is all poore May can strame her powers To doe; to make her Garland of his flowers. And cause men yearely on this day to see His name preserv'd unto posteritie. Time hath some rich thing to pre • ent. Time. I have (As Time is powerful) summond from the grave Eight Princes all of Wales, whose histories Shall be instruction, and their memories Present Heroick actions so this mind, That though their fortunes were not alwayes kind, Their vertues he shall strictly imitate, And make those vertues awfull over Fate. Vertumnus you, and Flora you be gone. And if their ayrie formes are quite put on Let them appeare; whilst lovely May and I Listen to th'Birds and Natures harmonie. Another Sympho ••• with 〈…〉 the Scare is varied into a glorio •• • xpr • ssi • n of 〈…〉 in which appeare the eig • t 〈…〉 eight Princes of Wales, distinguisht by the severall 〈◊〉 , and inscriptions on their Shields. Who whilst the following so • g i • singing, approach the Presence salut • the Prince, then place themselves in a figure for the Dance.

The Song. From th'Earth whom • honour long hath slept▪ And • oblest dust (as treasur • h •• e) By hallowing clay hath made it shine More glorious then an Indian mine, These brave Heroick shadowes come To sport in this Elizium. Chorus▪ For theirs and this doe both agree In all but the Eternitie. From th'ayre, or from the Spheares above As they in perfect concord move. Let Musick sound, and such is may Equall his hope that rules the day. Thus doe we welcome you to night Vnto our Mansion of delight. Chorus. For yours and 〈◊〉 doe both agree Inall but the Eternitie. The Dance ended they retire, 〈…〉 speakes the Epilogue.

Time. OLd Time leaves all his blessings that he may Here with this presence; and will every day Confirme possession. Sadly sets the Sunne After his dayes course cheerefully was runne. The Moone lookes pale; the Tapers dimnly burne: The feare of your departure makes them mourne. Sweet rest attend ye all: Good night 'tis late, Many birth-dayes may you thus celebrate.

Time being received into the Scaene it closeth.

The End.