[Page] CLARAPHIL AND CLARINDA: IN A FORREST OF FANCIES.
By THO: JORDAN, Gent.
Sat mihi sunt pauci Lectores; est satis unus;
Si me nemo legat, sat mihi nullus erit.
Owen, Epigram.
London, Printed by R. Wood.
To the Worthily Honoured Mr. GEO: STRIPLING
SIR,
IF the Name of Stranger (a word in its genuine sence never despicable) do not deface the formality of this present Oblation, and put the to the expence of such an Apologie, as shall render me ruder then that Act which may be the object of my Accusation. I hope these imperfect mixtures of Fancy, may gain a liberty to approach the presence of your leisure, and attend the truce of your neore serious retirements. I dare not manifest the multiplicity of motives that have induced me to this uncustomary confidence, lest the representation of your own clear deservings, cause me to be accused for flattery (a practice, [Page] which to me, is equally detestable with Rebellion, and Sacriledge:) Sir, you will, in this weak Volume, finde such a little Wilderness of vain Varieties, that you will think the Author was onely studious, to contrive an orderly Confusion. If any thing in it may be the object of your Approbation, I have an absolute accomplishment of all my Expectations; how ever, I shall cherish my self with hopes to enjoy the benefit of your pardon, and have licence to subscribe my Ambition, in the honour of being
SIR, Your much devoted Servant:
THO: JORDAN.
CLARAPHIL AND CLARINDA.
TO CLARINDA: On Her Perfection.
I Will not
Saint my fair
Clarinda, SHE
More glorious is in her
humanity;
Nor (in the heat of Fancy) pluck a Star
To rob the needy World, and place her these,
These are the subtle Raptures of the Times,
With which the wanton Poets make their
Rhymes,
[Page] Rise high as doth their Bloud, 'till some proud She,
Pamper'd with such new-cook'd
Divinity,
Surfets; believing (in a pride of Soul)
These fictions true, and Sins without controul;
Do Angels boast
habitual purity?
No 'tis in
them impeccability,
And therefore not praise-worthy, they've, nor will,
Nor power to
think, much less to
practice Ill:
With thee 'tis otherwise, for thou mayst sin
Beyond hope of Repentance, and therein
Appears the odds, for maugre
Flesh and
Bloud,
Devil, Temptation, Beauty, thou art
Good.
To Clarinda (his Love) upon Refusal of a Kiss.
WHat not a Kiss?
Clarinda, this is strange,
What is the slender motive of this Change?
Nay, Ile not strive with you, 'tis no content
To me to take a Kiss by Ravishment:
Didst ever think I joyn'd my Lips to thine,
But when I thought thy Bliss as large as mine?
How strangely Curtesies mis-construed be;
That's thought Offence, which I meant Charity▪
Not long time since, if I did once neglect
This kinde of Kissing-duty, I was check'd,
And not enforced onely to restore it,
But (as a fault) to pay a Million for it:
And let me never be recorded where
The little God unsolds his Register,
[Page] But I did pay this amorous Duty down
As much for your Delight, as for my own:
And must your self-conceit make you so rude,
To pay my Merit with Ingratitude?
Forgetfull
Vanity, can you deride
The Man whose Folly gave you cause of Pride?
Was it not I who (when ye did despair
To have the last fruits of an undone Heir)
Saluted ye with love? though since indeed,
Ye are well-furnish'd
Suitors ride full speed:
Who yet cannot conceive Merit in you,
But trust my Judgement, love ye' cause I do:
Before I brought ye choice, you had not any;
I was that One Fool that hath made your Many:
Had not I been, your
Maiden-head would be
Fifteen years hence, of some
Antiquity;
Perhaps lead Apes (Virginities perdition,
According to the Country superstition)
I did not onely love you, but did strive
To make you worthy of me, did contrive
To mend Heav'ns work, changing that Eye, that Lip,
Controuling Nature's courser Workmanship:
I did applaud you 'bove a Deity
And make you Sacred, with my Heresie:
But now I see Fate will not be withstood:
Nature, nor I, nor both, can make you
Good:
I stole a Constellation for you
Eye:
Pollish'd you
Brow with
Indian Ivory:
Feign'd from your Lips,
Nectar to Flow and Ebb;
Made your
hair softer than
Arachne's VVebb;
Brought the red
Morning from the early
East,
To deck your
Cheek; your
Lips (that wanted
bloud)
Had liquid
Coral from the furious
floud,
To make them
ruddy; I perfum'd your
breath
More
sweet than is the
Phoenix at her Death.
I sent you
Summer spices from
Sabea,
Arabian Aromats, Balm from
Iudea;
Such
Odors for your
Breath, I did invent,
Till they became a
gluttony of
Scent:
Your
Voice, so full of
Concord, some might be
Brought to beleeve, 'twas
Heaven's Hierarchie.
Nor onely gave these to your
Outward Feature,
Within I made ye a more
glorious Creature;
I did conceit you
Innocent to be,
As
Angels in their
immortality;
Chast as the Virgin
Infant, newly hurl'd
From the warm
Womb, to weep in th' treach'rous
Or the
first Man, ere Misery made suit
(World;
He should know
Eve, the
Serpent, and the
Fruit:
I thought
Thee as
constant (without variation)
As rising
Titan to his
declination.
And the great
cause of thy
Ambition, is▪
Thy Vanity made thee Beleeve all this:
But (by the
Magick of that
Poesie
That brought them to thee) from
thee they shall
And never
see thee more, thy
Glass shall be
(flie,
The onely
Mirror of
Deformity;
This recompence I will return thy
Ill,
Thou shalt have leave to
say, I love thee still,
[Page] That thou mai'st keep thy
Loves, who (if they know
How thou quitt'st me) will quickly leave thee to,
Whil'st I with humbled
Knees, in devout
Prayer,
Purge out the
sin that made me
feign thee
fair.
A Wish for a Widow, in the Character of a good Husband.
IF a white
Wish, wing'd with a
Zeal, more bright
Than
Prayers, proceeding from an
Anchorite,
When he bedews with tears the sacred
shrine,
May prove propitious, pray accept of
mine:
If't be decreed,
Himen shall once more
light
His holy
Tapers for your
Bridal Night,
May he be such a
Consort, as excels
The vast extent of largest Paralels;
May the renown'd
Endowments of his
Mind,
Be the
epitome of all
Mankind:
May the
Effigies of his
Beauties, be
Th' Exact
Idea of a
Deity;
Let him in such high
seas of
Learning swim,
That all the
Sciences may
study Him.
Next, I would him
Valiant, and further
From
Tyranny, than
Mercy is from
Murther;
And his own
Actions such a Vollume be,
As shall exceed all Rules of
Heraldry:
May he be one, whose most auspicious
stars
Designs
him to compose these
Civil wars;
For you are Mistresse of such
merit, that
None but one destin'd to erect a State,
[Page] Is worthy of you; But if he should prove
Short of all this, May he supply't with Love,
And Court you with such a divine respect
As (at last day) the
Saints shall the
Elect:
So loyall to your Bed, that he may deem
No Woman but your self was made for him,
So shall you nere be jealous, but expell
That plague which turns a Marriage to a Hell:
May you live free from Sorrows, nay, from Fears,
Growing no lesse in Graces, than in years:
But if a widow'd life you think more bliss,
May that prove full as happy to you as this.
An Epithalamium on the much honoured Pair T. S. Esquire, and Mrs. D. E.
SO at the first the
Soul and
Body met,
VVhen the Creator did in Councel set
To make a Little world command the Great.
Nor are your Flames less Innocent than they
Befor the Grand Impostor did betray
Their fatal Freedoms to the Worlds decay.
Therefore let all that Heaven can dispense
To royal Mankinde in the Soul and Sense,
Possess ye with Seraphick influence.
May all the promis'd Blessings on each Nation
From
Genesis, to
Iohn's high
Revelation,
Contribute to your Cordial Coronation.
[Page] May both your Brows be circled with such Beams
Of Glory, as appear'd in
Iacob's Dreams,
Or the
Dove darted upon
Iordan's Streams.
May Lovers light their Torches at your Flame,
And may the power of
Stanley's single Name
Prove the sublimest Epithet of Fame.
May your hearts fix above the force of Fate,
May neither Princes frown, nor Peoples hate,
Your fair Affections dis-unanimate.
May ye have all ye can desire, And when
Your wishes have out-vied the thoughts of Men,
Some Power direct you how to wish agen.
An Acrostich on two Pairs of Inseparable Friends married in one Day.
| Jove | Joyn these | Pairs, and | May each Blessed Bride, |
| Obtain | A Guard of | Angels for | A Guide: |
| Heaven, | Nature, | Vertue, | Reason (in cōmuniō) |
| Nobilitate, | Enrich, and | Love | Your Union: |
| Grace, | Faith, and | Knowledge, | Bind ye; may ye be, |
| Each | Others Bliss; | No Evil | Injure ye: |
| Let nothing | Re-divide; | Eternal | Rest, |
| Love, | Dwell, and | Last, in each | Diviner Brest. |
An Epithalamium in a double Acrostich, written on the noble Names, and sacred Nuptials, of the worthily honoured Edward Marrow Esquire, and the truly virtuous Mrs Anne Grantham.
E minent Palr, what ever
Sidney saw, I
In ARGALUS and his PARTHENI
A
D lineate your Excellence, how then
Shall I depict ye, with so poor a Pe
N
W hat Power shall I implore?
Apollo's gone
For whom my Muse lies drench'd in
Helico N
A rts are malignant, Poems, out of Date,
The Lay-man calls Learning a Reprobat -
E
R eason is banish'd, and what ere did spring
From those fair
Banks where
Peace was flourishin G
D ivinest Pair, whose bright Perfections are
More luminary than the morning Sta
R
M ay all the Pleasures
Phebus ever saw
In
Europe, Asia, or
Americ A
A ttend your Genial Joyes; What Nature can
Contribute to the Excellence of Ma
N
R edouble your felicity, May Night
And Day, contend, w
ch shal yield most
deligh T
R iches, and Honor, Virtue (the best Wealth)
Beauty, with all the circumstance of Healt
H
O bey your wish, and he that will not pray
As I have done, is
Love's Anathem A
W ar never fright ye, wheresoere ye come,
May bright
Apollo's Harp drown
Mars his Dru
M
An Aerostical Eulogie, written on the worthy name of Mr. William Legassick, second sonne to Mr. Henry Legassick, of little Hempstead in the County of Devon.
W ith a heart free from Flatteries fair crimes,
L et me salute you in these rural Rhymes;
I must confess the favours you have done,
E xceed my best Congratulation.
L ove (whose bright Laws you never disobay)
G uides you to do more then a Verse can pay:
L earning and those accommodations which
A mplifie Nature, and make Spirits rich,
I mprove their fertile Faculties, and do
S hine forth the brighter, 'cause they dwel in you:
A great Apostle 'twas, that said,
if I
S peak Angels language without Charity,
M y words are but as tinkling Cimbals.
You
I mitate him, have Love and Learning too:
C HRIST guard your Family, and may your Name
K eep up, till all the world flye in a flame.
Sic Vaticinatur:
T. J.
A double Acrostick, composed on the Names of Mr. Francis Jordan of Ensham in the County of Oxon, and Th. Jordan the Authour.
F Aith, Hope, and Charity, Wealth, Worth, and Wit,
Wait on their Names for whom this Poem's wri
T;
R eligion, Reason, Temperance, and Truth,
The peace of Conscience, and the joys of Yout
H,
A ttend upon their Actions; may they know,
No change, that bears the name or badge of w
O;
N o ill approach their Natures, may the jem
Of mutual friendship ever dwell with the
M;
C ontent be their beatitude, and may
Their loves encrease, and meet no Remor
A;
I oy crown their days, and may no sad distress,
At any time expel their happines
S;
S aints be their Guardians, let nothing be
Obnoxious to their lawful amit
J;
J ehovah joyn their spirits, may they grow,
Brighter then Lillies on the Banks of P
O;
O mnipotence defend them from that Star,
Whose influence brings Famine, Plague, or Wa
R.
R ebellion and those bloudy crimes that stand,
Upon the red Accompt of this black Lan
D,
D epart from their designes as large a way,
As 'tis from Europe to Americ
A.
A ll happiness that ever hath been known,
From
Adam's death to Christ's Ascenscio
N,
N obilitate their souls; enrich their lives,
And grant them handsom Graves, or chaster Wives.
A Cross Acrostich, on two crosst Lovers.
Though cross'd in our Affection, still the flames,
Of
Honour, shall secure our Noble
Names▪
Nor shal
Our Fate divorce our Faith,
Or cause,
The least
Mislike of Love's
Diviner Laws.
Crosses somtimes
Are Cures,
Now let us prove,
That no strength
Shall
Abate the Power of Love.
Honor, Wit, Beauty,
Riches, Wisemen call,
Frail Fortune's
Badges,
In true Love lies all.
Therfore to him we
Yeild; our
Vows shall be
Payd,
Read, and written in
E
ternity:
That
All may know, when men grant no
Redress▪
Much Love can sweeten the unhappines
S.
Another kinde of Acrostich.
S weet
S oul of
goodness in whose Saintlike breif
V irtue
V ows dwelling to make Beauty blest:
S ure
S ighing
Citherea fits, your Eyes
A re
A ltars, whereon she might sacrifice;
N ow
N one will of the Paphean Order be,
N ature's
N ew work transcends a Deity;
A rabia's A romaticks Court your scent,
B right
B eauty makes your Gazers Eloquent;
L et
L ittle
Cupid his lost Eyes obtain,
V ailed,
V iewing you, would strike him blind again,
N ay,
N ever think I flatter, if you be
T hus
T o none else, by
Love you are to me.
A New-years Gift in the ordinary Acrostich to his Friend Mr. John Curling.
J f I were one of those that lately sold
C onscience and Country for a Gripe of Gold,
O r had I now a power to surprize
U npittied
England with a worse Excise
H appily I might lend ye from my store
R esplendent Jewels, or the
Indian Oar,
N ow I can send ye nought but empty Dishes,
L ove, larded ore with Language & good wishes.
I ehovah grant that upon Sea and Land,
N othing prove profitless you take in hand:
G o forth and prosper, May your Labours end
E rect more wealth then wit, or Time can spend
May all the Good you can attempt, prevail,
Fate finde you fraught, & fair Winds fill your Sail.
On the hononored Services of the most worthy Col. Rokeby, under the Command of Monsieur Gashion the French General against the Spanish Forces. Anno 1646, & 1647
SIr, since in Ages past, Verses have been
The Balm to Valour, and preserved green,
The Acts of antique Heroes, such as made
The Reader ravish'd with the Royall Trade
[Page] Of righteous War, upon the Crest of those
Whom Fate and Dis-affection made their Foes,
I hope my maimed Muse (late troden down
By the red fury of
Rhamnusa's frown)
May re-erect her drooping head, and be
A Tomb to Royal
Rokeby's Memory,
Whose Acts do want a
Homer to reherse,
Being fitter for a Volume, than a Verse:
Witness the wise Entrenchment that was made
Before
Coutrey, Where the ingenious Spade
Furrow'd the fiery Field, and did engage
The slow-pac'd fury of
Spain's subtlest Rage;
VVhich soon approach'd in a relieving Power,
Flesh'd with four Thousand Men, whose fatal hour
Rokeby commanded, whose Magnetique Sword
Drew bloud at any distance, and whose VVord
Gave life to all the Cavalry, in brief,
He forced their Retreat, and kill'd their Chief;
This is not all, nor must his faithfull Fame
Content it self with such a single Flame,
Mardyke looks big, a Fort that did impart
The Labyrinths of Mathematique Art,
VVhose well-man'd Bastions might Defiance give
To all the VVorld, and (unsupported) live
Upon their thrifty Store, 'till
Rokeby's Men
Made a fierce On-set, and into their Den
Shot so much fire, that all within it, say,
The
French Compounded with the
Latter Day;
Next
Dunkirk, (which so many years hath been
The Trap of
Flanders) strait was taken in
[Page] By
Rokeby's bold Assistance, whose fair Fate
Attempted nought too early, or too late:
Labassay (next to this) the
French oblige
With the hot Complement of a close Siege:
Lans being then re-taken, there was slain
(Spain,
A Man whose worth out-weigh'd the Crown of
Royall
Gashion, whose Name the Army wou'd
Rather than Tears, enbalm with
Spanish bloud:
Which shall not cease to run 'till all are made
The Subject of a Charnell-house and Spade;
Untill which time, my due Devotion sues,
That (He who now is Subject of my Muse)
The noble
Rokeby, may (undaunted) stand;
The fixed glory of his Native Land,
Till honor'd Age conclude his Life, and then
I wish his Worth may meet some better Pen.
The Anti-platonick by I. C. with an Answer by T. I.
FOr shame thou Everlasting Woer,
Still saying Grace, and nere fall to her:
Love that's in Contemplation plac'd,
Is
Venus drawn but to the
Waste,
Unless his heat confess his Gender,
And the Parley cause Surrender:
They are
Salamanders of a cold Desire
That live un-scorch'd amidst the wildest Fire.
[Page] What though she be a Dame of Stone,
The Image of
Pigmalion,
As hard, and un-relenting She
As the new-crusted
Niobe;
Or (what doth more of Statue carry)
A Nun of the
Platonick Quarrey:
Love melts the rigor, which the Rocks have bred▪
A
Flint will break upon a
Feather-bed.
Then leave ye pretty Female Elves,
To candy and preserve your selves,
VVomen commence by
Cupid's Dart,
As the King's Hunting dubbs a Hart:
No more ye Sectaries of the Game
No more of your Calcining Flame:
Lov's Votaries enthrall each others Soul,
Till both of them do live upon
Parol.
Virtue's no more in VVomen kinde
Then the Green-sickness of the Minde,
Philosophy, they're new Delight:
A kinde of Charcoal Appetite:
There is no Sophistry prevails
VVhen
Love a loving heart assails:
But the disputing Petty-coat will warp,
As skilfull Fencers use to check at Sharp:
The Souldier, that man of Iron,
VVhom Ribs of Horror all inviron,
In whose Embraces y' are in Chains,
Let a Magnetique Girl appear,
And he turns
Cupid's Curaseer;
Love storms his Breast, and takes the Fortress in
For all the bristled Turn-pikes of his Chin.
Since Love's Artillery (their Cheeks)
The Breast-work which the firmest seeks;
Come, let us in affecton Riot,
They 're sickly Pleasures, keep their Diet;
Give me a Lover bold and free,
Not impeach'd with formality;
Lik an Embassadour that beds a Queen,
VVith the nice Caution of a Sword between.
I. C.
The Answer.
LEave thy salt lascivious Lover,
Is't no more but
Come and
Cover,
Love that is by Lust mislead,
Is
Hellen drawn upon her head:
And the luxurious Garb is stranger
Than the Horse-tail tied to th' Manger:
That scorching
Salamander kills his
Sire,
VVho will confound his alimental Fire.
Although she be no Dame of Snow,
VVhich with every Smile will flow;
[Page] Or be transform'd (by brackish bloud)
From a Figure, to a Floud:
Her Love will last, when (after loathing)
Thy Marchpane Mistress melts to nothing:
Love is a
Gem in the Celestial Crown,
A
Diamond is never broke with
Down.
Then cease to frisk it so like Elves,
And make
French Monkeys of your selves;
VVhy should Cowardice prevail?
Valiant Men do nere
turn tail:
Love is no
Faction, the direct
And true Religion, is no
Sect:
Luxurious Lovers do (like Rebells) frame
A
War against their
King in his
own Name.
Virtue is a Virgins VVealth,
The Magazine of mental Health;
And (since
Philosophy should be
The Hand-maid to
Divinity)
Her sacred Sylogisms shall
Maintain,
Lust is
Apocriphal:
The
party-colour'd Cod-piece then shall be
Struck dumb, with
Farthing all Philosophy.
Your
pineer-finger'd Souldier which
Doth deal
in heat of bloud, and
itch:
May, when the Dog-days do increase,
Court
Venus in her
Verdigrese;
[Page] Or finde some
Tyndar-hearted Saint,
Where he may wallow in her Paint:
For such a piece of potent Pleasure can
(It's
ten to one) charge both your
Horse and
Man.
Since
Lust is nothing but the foul
And fierce Consumption of the Soul,
Let our embracing Spirits prove
The
Ioys of
incorporeal Love;
Let
Wantons in their
wilde Desires
Call us
Cupid's Crucifiers:
We will the Wonders of our
Love reherse,
When
Fire shall vitnifie the
Universe.
A Blessing to my Creditors.
THe
Debtor to the
Creditor did fall,
Crying,
Be patient, and
Ile pay you all;
With such humility come I to you,
Believing Men, and, with his Words, I sue,
That you'll have
Patience, 'tis a Virtue which
Will not Impoverish, but make ye Rich
In Heaven's high esteem, And from that Store
Who ever hath his Wealth, cannot be poor:
You know the Scripture doth these words afford
Who gives the Poor lends Money
to the Lord;
Then whatsoere is scor'd for their Expence,
Your
Interest, shall be treble
Recompence:
Is not this well now? Who would not give all
To have his
Use exceed his
Principal?
[Page] And yet there shall not on your
Conscience lie
The burthen of extorting
Usury:
If
Giving get such
Gain, be not afraid,
For what ye
lend, shall surely be
repaid;
I, but you'll ask me when? why there's th' offence
Y'are guilty of, ye must have
patience.
Ye tell me, when I say, I cannot
pay;
You'll take an
Order with me, VVhat, I pray?
You will
imprison me, where I shall lie
As much indebted to your
Charitie;
This is the way to have God's
Curse to sink ye;
But is't the way to have your
Money, think ye?
VVill it not make your very Souls to quake,
VVhen I shall ask ye
Bread for the Lord's sake?
An hundred hungry Christians likewise lie,
And you must make me keep um
Company:
Have
Patience pray, if ye do chance to die
Before y'are paid, Ile write your
Elegie,
And such a serious one, void of all
Flashes,
That shall revive ye; when your
Tomb's turn'd
Ashes;
Ile make your
Names to Men sweeter than
Spices.
VVho else would curse ye for your
young beirs vices
But what's all this to
Money? 'twill not pierce
Your greedy Mindes, you'll not be paid in
Verse,
Nor yet in
Prose, I see; you hold it sweeter,
To have your
Debt in
Money than in
Meeter:
VVhy, ye shall ha't: Nay, do not thank me, prey,
Not yet I mean; you know there is a
Day
Shall pay for all; and then kinde curteous Men,
In every
Hundred Ile allow ye
Ten:
[Page] Why now, your Looks plead pitty, ye shall see
The
blessings I have kept in store for ye,
Blessings that shall prevail beyond your
Purses,
And free ye from
Tom Randolphs witty Curses,
May all your
Wives turn
honest, and your
Mothers,
And waste your
wealth no more on
younger Bro
I wish a
blessing upon all your Seed,
(thers:
May all your Children learn to
write and
reade,
And
cast Account well, which, in vulgar sence,
Is to dispose your
Pounds, Shillings, and
Pence.
May they to
Riot never be inclin'd,
Or to the
female Gender give their Minde,
But if it happen so, they needs must turn
Their Mindes to carefull Marriage, or else burn,
Let them in Heavens name wed, and never cease
To be laborious for the Worlds increase;
And (though you nere were any) I wish then
Their
Children may be
Sons of
Gentlemen,
Have all their Carriage lie in the
French Roade,
To wear their
Gloaths Gentile, and
Al le mode,
These and such other
Blessings, sure will stay ye,
'Las these may come to pass yet ere
I pay ye.
The Eccho's Oracle, an Eclogue betwixt Melancholicus and Aulicus.
Mel.
REport relates that in this Forrest lies
(Hid in mysterious Concavities)
A famous
Eccho, she they say that is
Recorded in the
Metamorphosis.
[Page] Aul.
'Tis said, she is Oraculous, and can
(By a most queint Reflexion) give a Man
Such
Answer to his
Question that affords
Another
Sense extracted from his
Words.
Mel.
Prethee let's try: what shall we ask?
Aul.
No matter
What, ask her any thing.
Mel.
Why then have at her;
Ile whisper first—Mysterious Mother, thou
That mock'st the bleating
Lamb, and lowing
Cow,
Or any sound that doth thy Cavern pass,
Hearken—
Aul.
Unto the braying of an
Ass.
Mel.
Prethee be silent.
Aul.
Prethee speak in season;
Ask her who shall be King.
Mel.
No, no, that's Treason,
She dares not answer.
Aul.
Why? She need not fear,
For an whole Army cannot wound the Air.
Mel.
What
Heir?
Aul.
Air of this Forrest.
Mel.
Yes they may
Cleave it with fire.
Aul.
She'll be as fierce as they,
Besides she is so able to retort,
Do what they can, she'll give the last Report.
Mel.
She's very old, Ile ask her if she know
Acts that were done a thousand years ago:
[Page] Tell me
(Great Eccho) where (with such high fury)
Did
Christ receive his
Injury?
Eccho.
In Iury.
Mel.
A perfect
Oracle; She that so well
(VVith direct Readiness) things past can tell,
Knows something yet to come, I am on fire,
'Till I hear more of this: Now do you try her.
Aul.
Come
Eccho, say, what's a more monstrous Evil,
Then we have read in
Mandevil?
Eccho.
Man-Devil.
Aul.
VVhat are those men that
Faction so inspires
To be our Churches
Edifiers?
Eccho.
Fiers.
Aul.
What did they think of our Comunion-table
VVhen they were so
un-affable?
Eccho.
A Fable.
Mel.
Thou knew'st the Jews ith' days of great
Herodias,
Will
Scotchmen be
Commodious?
Eccho.
Becom odious.
But if our Persons in their power fall,
VVill they prove
Rational?
Ecch.
Prove rash on all.
Aul.
How can they be our
Commonwealths deflourers?
They were our Peace-
Endeavourers.
Eccho.
Devourers.
Mel.
Peace is pure sweetness, though we care not for her,
VVhat is their due that do abhor her?
Eccho.
Horror.
Aul.
Come come, I'le ask no more, for she affords,
Nothing but by advantage of our
Words;
[Page] Let us depart, 'tis likely we can finde,
Little to do, that wanton with the VVinde:
No, prethee stay, I have two questions more
To ask, and I have done.
Aul.
Prethee give o're.
Mel.
A
Lady loves me,
Eccho, shall I chuse her,
To be my
Mistress, or
refuse her?
Eccho.
Use her.
Mel.
I call her
Dear, and she stiles me her
Hony,
VVhat can be greater
Harmony?
Eccho.
Her mony.
Mel.
VVhil'st that is lasting, I will ne'r forsake her,
If thou wilt have me
undertake her.
Eccho.
Take her.
Aul.
This is meer
humour (and indeed) no more
Then what is daily practiz'd, for before
Some do propound, those
thoughts that do disease um,
They angle for such
Answers as may
please um:
And do commit unto the
Hearers trust,
The charge of
pleasing, not of being
just:
So a weak
Prince, and
Parasites accord,
He asks is't
well? They answer,
Well my Lord.
A Bill of Love.
BE't known to all men, by these Presents, I
Franck Wild-love, late of
Infidelity;
Ith' County of
Inconstant, Gentleman:
Acknowledge (with the greatest zeal I can)
Maria Eair-chast Virgin, late of
True,
Ith' County of
Credulity, the
Summ
Of my
Affections, and to tender um
Upon her first
Demand, to which, I
binde
My
Body, Heart, Life, Soul, in this most kinde
And amorous
Obligation, such a Debt
No
Heirs, nor yet
Executors are set
To see discharg'd, but onely He that owes
Must pay, or the fair
Creditor must lose;
Dated the one and twentieth year oth' Reign
Of
Cupid, King of Hearts, (our Sovereign)
Witness the
Cherubims, and
Common-weal
Of
Angels, here I fix my
Hand and
Seal.
Fr. Wildlove.
A Farewell to his worthy Friend, Mr John Curling upon his Voyage to the Indies.
IF I were more enamor'd with thy
sight
Than with thy
safety, I should much invite
Thy stay in
England, and dissuade thee from
Those motives which divert thy feet from home,
But since I see the sullen Wars increase,
And sad Destruction mortifie our Peace,
I do applaud thy
Providence, and pray
That thy Negotiations Night and Day
May prove propitious, thou I hope, wilt
finde,
Though amongst
Heathen, Spirits more inclin'd.
[Page] Unto Humanity, then some that here
Usurp the name of
Christians, May the cleer
Beams of divine Protection ever dwell
In all the Good you can attempt,
Farewell.
The Pursuit betwixt Claraphil and Clarinda.
Clarinda
AY me, flie me not,
Good faith, I do mean no harm;
I am out of breath,
Support me from death,
With thy all-curing Arm:
Alas, I faint,
My tyring Limbs do tremble,
Then prove
My Constant Love,
No true heart can dissemble.
Once more turn thy face,
Encourage my failing Feet,
That now are grown faint
With Brambles restraint?
For every Bush I meet
Doth throw me down;
And ere I can recover,
Thy flight
Out-goes my sight,
What Sorrow hath a Lover.
The Reply of Claraphil to another Air.
Claraphil.
THough I wish fair
Venus guide all,
Those bright
flames we sacrifice,
And confess no other
Idol
Than the
Altar of thine
Eyes:
Though I know thy Glories can
Provoke a
P
[...]oselyte from
Pray'r,
And the
Destiny of
Man
Doth lie tangl'd in thy
hair:
Though thy Mental
Merit may
Mollifie immortal
Ire,
Mitigate the
Latter Day,
And reverse the Rage of
Fire.
Look up to your
Saphir VVindow,
VVhere the
Destinies appear,
Thou on that shalt finde
Clarinde
My red
Ruine written there,
That no
Virgin can be true,
If my
favor she implore,
But will wander for a new,
And invite a
Million more;
Though thy sacred
Soul may be
Fix'd, yet thou in me wilt finde
Something (though unknown to me)
VVill make thee
wilder than the
Winde.
Chorus by Both, with a through Bass.
THen let thy bended Knees the
Gods implore
That thou mayst
love me no more:
And we with
Incense will their
Altars warm,
Till they have losed the
Charm,
Panchean Spices, and
Arabian Gums,
Shall sweat, in whole
Hecatombs,
Our Optick faculties shall nere be drie,
VVe thus will do till we
die.
A Kiss, by Mr. T. S.
A
Kiss I begg'd, and she did joyn
Her
Lips to mine,
Then (as afraid) snatch'd back her
Treasure,
And mock'd my
Pleasure;
Agen, my
Chariessa, for in this
Thou onely gav'st
Desire, and not a
Kiss
The Answer.
A
Kiss you had, the
fair One gave
What you did crave,
But (wisely) limited her
Treasure
For further
Pleasure,
Extract no more of
Honey from those
Hives,
For fear you
surfet on
Preparatives.
The Senses.
CLarinda, in thy face,
Is all that ever was,
Pertaining unto Beauty, Youth, and Grace,
I prethee let me
Gaze?
No Angel in a Sphere,
Doth sing so sweet and cleer,
His heavenly
Hallelujah to Heavens ear;
I prethee let me
Hear?
Thy breathing doth excel,
The Ayr where Roses dwel,
All pestilential peril 'twill expel;
I prethee let me
Smell?
Upon thy Lip is plac'd,
Prevention for a Fast,
'Tis so Divine a Julip, I shall last,
For ever, if I
Tast.
Although thy heart is steel,
Each Limb, from Head to Heel,
Is soft as Down, that fals from
Arachne's Wheel;
I prethee let me
Feel?
Give Ear unto my moan,
Let me no longer groan,
[Page] Surprize me with thy
Senses one by one,
Or I shall lose my own.
Solitude.
POor Swain, thou must repair,
Where neither Ear nor Eye,
Thy sad Laments can over-hear, or spye;
Into some silent Ayr.
That kindly entertains,
Thy sighes, and with no Eccho mocks thy pains:
Since thy
Clarinda scornfully professes,
She cannot chuse but laugh at thy distresses.
Blest be thou
Solitude,
That to thy Cypress Grove,
Invites the Melancholy soul of Love;
No murmur shall intrude,
No flattr'ing Winde invade,
To spoyl the happy quiet of thy shade:
Here will I sit, and
Venus Son importune,
To torture her, that laughs at my misfortune.
Kinde
Cupid bend thy Bow,
And with thy keenest shaft,
Transfix her brest, that glories in her craft;
Shoot home, that there may flow,
From her obdurate heart,
A Stream to drench the feathers of thy Dart:
That when (like me) her flame she cannot smother,
We both may love, and laugh, at one another.
Eliz.
WOrthy
Shepherd, cast thy
Eyes,
Here thy scorn'd
Eliza lies,
And without thy
Love she
dies:
I prethee then draw near me.
Alex.
Oh! no, fly away, I never more will hear thee.
Faithless
Shepherdess, I flie,
'Cause I fear to cast an Eye
In thy
Love doth
Ruine lie,
I may no more mistake thee,
Eliz.
Ay me! I'm undone, My Shepherd will for sake me,
What though I have
gone astray,
Wilt thou work my
Lifes decay,
Prethee do not turn away,
But once more come and chear me,
Alex.
Oh! no, fly away, thou never shalt come near me.
Didst thou onely go
astray,
When thou wrought'st my
Love's decay,
And my
Life thou wouldst
betray,
What Answer canst thou make me?
El.
Ay me! I'm undone, my Shepherd will forsake me.
I will help to
fold thy
Sheep,
And my self in
Garlands keep,
No
Danger shall come near thee.
Alex.
Oh! no, fly away, I never more will hear thee.
Thou shalt nere come nigh my
Sheep,
Least thy
Magick work so deep,
That they
devour me in my
Sleep,
When none are near to wake me.
El.
Ay me! I'm undone, My Shepherd will forsake me.
Dost remember how by slight,
Thou mad'st me thy
Quarrell fight?
In hope to have me
kill'd out-right,
By
Sheep-hooks in a
Duell.
El.
Sweet Shepherd now forget, or thou wilt be too cruel.
This is onely thy pretence,
That I may be
banish'd hence,
Prethee
pardon one
offence,
I never more will grieve thee.
Al.
Dear Danger
get thee gone, I never will believe thee.
El.
I will rob the choisest
Bowers,
To make
Coronets of
Flowers,
Merrily we'll spend the
howers,
And thou shalt be my
Shepherd.
A.
Sweet Syren get thee hence, thou'rt spotted as a Leopard
If thou dost but touch a
Bowre,
Guilt will all the place
deflowre,
[Page] Thy very smelling doth devour,
And I shall ne'r be merry;
Eliz.
Deer Shepheard take my life, my soul is sick
(and weary.
The Adulteress.
WHo would have thought
Luxuria, when
Thy choise made me the best of Men,
Thou could'st contrive my life's decay,
And wound that heart which once did pay,
A price for thine? What Souls have they,
That do with tears betray?
Thou didst petition me with
Prayers,
With
blubber'd Eyes, and
torn Hairs,
That both our Hearts might joyn in one:
Thou wert so full of melting mone,
For fear thy life should be o'rethrown,
I did destroy my own.
Yet she that then did so profess,
Faith, Truth, and Love, knows nothing less;
But all her Bloud with poyson flows,
For in the Bride-bed where the Rose,
And Violets did their sweets disclose,
Henbane, and Hemlock grows.
Such Woes are only known in Hell,
My Love had never paralel;
And how I
hate, no tongue can tell.
[Page] That were the World from women free,
As 'twas at first, my soul should flee
Her
salt societie.
I would embrace a Body first,
By
Brothels twenty Winters Nurst;
And all the plagues compleatly, curs'd
Whose mortifying breath at ten
Miles distance might destroy strong men,
Ere we would meet agen.
Add to my Life ten thousand years,
With
health, and
treasure, free from
fears;
I would not have them to be Hers:
Nay should afflicting Furies frame
A fire, and force me to my shame,
I'de wallow in the flame,
The Comparison.
Fond
Love that blinded Boy,
So many keeps in Bands,
Is like the Cold, and Christiall Ice,
In wanton Childrens hands;
Which though it hurt their tender joynts,
It so delights their Eie,
Although they seem to let it fall,
They hold it fast and cry.
The Rebell.
LOve? No; I am not such a Foe,
To my
Peace, Prethee cease,
Say no more,
Though her
Eyes
Are the Skies
Where
Love flies
And Inveagles
All the
Eagles
That in her Airy soar,
I dare not flie, in her Skie,
'Tis too
high;
Once her
frown
Threw me down
So
low,
That I swore, Never more
In a
Sun-beam to soar,
Love and I, will each other never know.
He brings such
Woes with him
Nought can exceed um;
Souls do in
sorrow swim,
And
Tears do
feed um;
That every
sense is dim
To
Peace and
Freedom.
Eye me, Try me,
Can you deny me?
[Page] Thus he beguiles the
Wise,
But if you
To his
Bow do bow
Your Soul becomes a
Sacrifice
Fires, Mires,
Brooks, and
Briers,
Kinder are than
he,
Then shake him off,
VVith
scorn and
scoff,
Sing, and
drink Sack with me,
The Departure.
BY all thy
Glories willingly I go,
Yet could have wish'd thee
Constant in thy
Love,
But since thou needs must prove
Uncertain, as is thy
Beauty,
Or as the
Glass, that shews it thee,
My
Hopes thus soon to overthrow,
Shews thee more sickle, but my
flames by this
Are easter quench'd than his,
VVhom
flattering smiles betray,
'Tis tyrannous
delay
Breeds all this harm,
And makes that
Fire consume, that should but
warm.
Till
Time destroys the Blossoms of thy
Youth,
Thou art our
Idol, worship'd at that Rate,
But who can tell thy
Fate?
[Page] Or say that when thy
Beauties gone,
Thy
Lovers Torch will still burn on?
I could have serv'd thee with such
truth
Devoutest
Pilgrims to their
Saints do ow,
Departed long ago;
And at thy ebbing Tide
Have us'd thee as a
Bride,
Who's onely true
Cause you are
fair, he loves
himself, not
you.
T. C.
The Ladies Answer.
BY all the
Perjuries thy
Lips did wear,
Thy
formal Favours never aim'd at
Good,
But what might move the
Bloud,
To wanton in its own self-love;
Which
Virtue bids me to reprove,
Though to
reform be to
for swear,
Yet in the
holy State of
Love we may
Not
swear our
Souls away:
For at the
Latter Day
We
Damn if we
betray
And they that prove
False in their Faith, un-crown
the King of Love.
Ere
Time have blemish'd this poor bloom of mine
Your wilde
Idolatry will worship more
Then
Laplenders adore:
[Page] You cannot with your
words win me,
To think that where no
Saint you see
You ean adore an
empty Shrine:
No,
dear Dissembler, the best
Love doth tend,
To a
self-serving End,
The greatest
Power that is
We do
obey for
Bliss,
He that will be
False to
himself, can nere be
true to
me.
The Fugitive.
FLy, Fly,
Some way, where neither
Ear nor
Ey
Can ever
see or
hear thee;
But those
Furies that
Daily triumph at
The
Tyranny of
Truth,
For I
By fainting
Famin vow to
die,
Ere such a
Sed come near me,
In whose
bosom lies
All
Hell can devise
To ruine
Age and
Youth;
From thy
Lust flows a Floud,
That destroyes
All my Joyes
In the Bud,
Thou a
Civil War dost move,
Gainst the
Royalty of
Love,
Treason lodgeth in thy
Bloud:
[Page] She that hath bid
Adieu
And refus'd
VVhat she chus'd
For a
New,
Let her
Lover look to be
In the same
Extremity,
Faith, she never can be true.
Then welcome
Freedome, Farewell
Fears,
I have for
Crowns exchang'd my
Cares,
My
Soul shall soar above the
Spheres,
And
sing whilest he the
burthen bears.
VVho would not
pardon such a
Thief,
That slily
steals away his
Grief,
Then he that
quarrels for
relief,
Resolves to be a
Fool in
Chief.
The Humorist. A Medley conteining ten Ayres.
REnounce this
Humor and attend
The fair
advisings of a
Friend;
Thou never wilt have sober
Brains:
Whilest
Love lies lurking in thy
V
[...]
These
folded Arms, and
broken Lutes,
Are Symptomes of
forsaken suites:
Thou sure hast seen some
Lady, who
As thou wouldst have her, will not do.
[Page] Why then be Mute
And cease thy Suit.
Apply thy self to me,
I'le teach thee who
To
win and
woo
Yet keep thy
Liberty.
Ay me!
Will never get her thee
Nor a
sigh, nor a
shrug, nor a
tear,
If she be
fair and
free,
She must see that in thee,
Or thou never shalt come near
The thing that thy
Minde
And
Desires have dessign'd;
Some will
lie down with
Language and
Ayrs,
Some in
Wine
Will resign,
Or if prais'd,
VVill be rais'd,
With a
Puritan fall to your
Prayers.
But if a
Lady Great
You would encounter,
Whose
Fame and
Family are seated high;
'Tis
Honor doth the Feat,
With that ye Mount her,
For onely
Eagles do at
Eagles flie;
If you can reach her in the
royal Road,
With
Panegyrick and
Seraphick Ode
Ye do it
Alle mode;
[Page] But, if the waiting Creature must procure,
Tempt her with
Treasure, and ye have her sure,
Avostre Serviteur.
If you meet
With one whose
Wit
All
Beauty else disdains,
That will suppose
A Fountain flows
Of
Violets in her
Veins,
Tell her, the
Glory of her
Face
May make
Scithians sue for
Grace,
And
Treason turn to
Truth,
The lustre of her
Eyes excell
Those bright Spheres where
Angels dwell
With ever-yielding
Youth.
But when y'are wanting One
To be
ranting on,
Pity 'tis you should be barr'd in,
For you may repair
Unto
Lady-Fair,
Go your ways in
Grays-Inn Garden,
There the
Graces are,
And good
Faces are
Which the grim
God of
War
Never plunder'd,
Have but
care enough,
You'll finde
Ware enouh,
And you may spare enough
For five hunder'd.
[Page]
That will love half an hour,
If ye bring
Treasure,
Or else they bar the Door
Against your
Pleasure,
Yet much I fear, they have met with their Matches,
Since Musqueteers of late
plunder'd their
Patches.
Besides enacted now they see,
The downfall of
Adultery;
And 'tis a
Paradox they vow,
For to be
fair and
faithfull to:
They say the
Sword destroys the
Gown,
Their
Love and
Liberties go down,
Then they
frown.
But
bid defiance you that can,
Unto the
Farthingall and
Fan,
For no
Commodity we see,
But hath its
Dis-commodity;
Then ho!
Toth'
Tavern let's go,
And drink down Disasters,
For
Madamazella is meat for your
Masters,
Be then
Free-men,
And let the
Women,
Sue for an
Act of Grace;
Or not deal
With those will
tell
Of
Crime, or
Person, Time and
Place;
[Page] If I can but
Well allure thee to't
We'll endeavour such a brace of
Lives
So
fair and
high
We'll skorn to lie
With
Wenches or with
Wives:
I mean but those
Whom the
Fates dispose
In a very noble
Nuptial flame;
All other
Fires
Are wilde
Desires,
And
crucisie the
Fame.
The Invitation.
OH my dear
Cloris,
Shew where the Store is,
Of all those
Sweets which man prone to adore is,
Love makes me slavish,
Oh! let me lavish
Those
Ioyes that would make an
Anchorite ravish,
Sweet, do not lose um,
For in thy bosom
Are all Delights
Of
Lovers Nights,
Time will destroy them;
Shall I enjoy them,
Let me enshrine
Thy soul with mine.
[Page] Ile build thee
Bowers,
And tinsill
Towers,
To let in
twi-light, and keep out the
Showers;
No
Hag shall haunt thee,
Nor
Danger daunt thee,
Such sacred Circles Ile set to inchant thee:
Here
Health and
Treasure
With pliant
Pleasure,
Shall ever spread
Their flowry Bed;
Then leave beguiling,
And grant in
smiling,
The
thing that I
Must
do or
die.
A Song, sung by Mr. Bushel's Miners in Devonshire, written in 1645.
LAdies of Love and Leisure,
Where is your
Greatness gone?
What sudden high displeasure
Hath forc'd ye from your own?
Whilest we live here obscurely
In
Cottages unknown,
No
Cares or
fears
We ever think upon.
Our VVals are highest
Mountains
For we live in a
Coomb;
Our
dwelling is our
Tomb,
Nor look to be exalted
Before the
Day of Doom;
Where
Scibes, for
Bribes,
Shall nere deny us
Room.
We hear a dreadfull
Summons,
Up in the high Country,
Our gracious
King and
Commons
They say cannot agree;
This
Harvest is for
Cedars,
And no such
Shrubs as we,
Yet still we will
Pray for a
Unity.
The
Day we spend in
working,
And chanting harmless
Songs,
No
Malice here lies lurking,
Our thoughts are free from
Wrongs;
And those that
Civil Wars do love,
We wish they had no
Tongues,
No
Drums, no
Guns,
Or what to
War belongs.
We wound the
Earths hard
bowels,
Where
hidden Treasure grows,
With
Twibell, Sledge, and
Trowells,
Pick-ax, and Iron
Crows,
We search for sinfull
Silver,
Which all
Dissention sows,
Men do so ill dispose.
We eat the
Bread of
Labor,
And what
Endeavour brings,
Sorrow is no next-Neighbour.
Our
Eyes they are no
Springs;
Unless we shed a
tear or two,
When as we pity
Kings,
The Fates of
States
To us are
Hebrew things.
A Ramble by Mr. A. B.
STay, shut the Gate,
Tother
Quart, Faith it is not so late
As your thinking,
Those
Stars which we see
In the Hemisphere, be
But the
Studs in our Cheeks by good Drinking,
The
Sun's gone to
tipple all night in the Sea, Boyes,
To morrow he'l
blush, that he's paler than we, Boys,
Drink
Wine, give him
Water, 'tis Sack makes us. The
(Boyes.
Fill up the
Glass,
To the next merry
Lad let it pass,
Come away with't,
Then set
foot to foot,
And but give your Minde to't,
'Tis heretical
Six,, that doth slay VVit,
Gives freedom to speak what our
Fansie disposes,
Beneath whose protection now
Under the Rose is.
Drink off your Bowls,
'Twill enrich both your
Heads and your
Souls,
With
Canary,
A
Carbuncled face
Saves a tedious Race;
For the
Indies about us we carry;
No
Helicon like to the Juice of
Wine is,
For
Phebus had never had
Wit, or divine is,
Had his face not been
Bow-dyed as thine is and mine
(is.
This must go
round,
Off w'your
Hats till the Pavement be crown'd,
With our
Beavers,
A Red-coated
Face
Frights a
Serjeant and his
Mace,
And the
Constable trembles to shivers;
In State march our Faces like some of the
Quorum,
When the
Whores do
fall down, & the
Vulgars adore uni
And our
Noses like
Link-bayes run
shining before uni.
The Answer.
HOld,
Quaff no more,
But restore
If ye can) what y'have lost by your
Drinking,
With their
Cities and
Towns,
Whilest a
King and his
Progenie's sinking;
The
Studs in your
Cheeks have
obscured his
Star Boys,
Your
Drink and
Miscarriages in the late
War, Boys,
Hath brouht his
Prerogative so to the
Bar-Boys.
Throw down the
Glass,
He's an
Ass
That extracts all his worth from
Canary,
That
Valour will
shrink
Which is onely good in
Drink,
'Twas the
Cup made the
Camp to miscarry;
You thought (in the World) there was no Power could tame ye,
Ye
tippl'd and
whor'd till the
Foe overcame ye,
Cuds Nigs and
Nere-far-Sir, hath vanquish'd
God
(Damme.
Fly from the
Coast,
Or you are lost,
And the
Water will run where the
Drink went;
From hence ye must slink,
If you
swear and have no
Chink,
'Tis the
Curse of a royall
Delinquent,
You love to see
Beer-bowls turn'd over the
thumb well,
You like
three fair Gamesters, four Dice, & a
Drum wel,
But y'had as live see the
Devil as
F. or
C.
Drink not the
Round,
You'll be drown'd
In the source of your
Sack and your
Sonnets,
[Page] Try once more your
Fate,
For the
Kirk against the
State,
And go bartar your
Beavers for
Bonnets,
You see how you are
charm'd by your
female Enchanters,
And therefore Pack hence to
Virginia for
Planters,
For an
Act and two
Red-Coats can rout all the
Ran-
(ters.
The Prisoners.
IN a
Dungeon deep we lie,
Cramp'd with Cold
Captivity,
VVhere the Bed-less bottom owns
Nothing to relieve our
Bones,
Yet such is the sacred scope of the Soul
That we never shrink
At the
stink,
VVhen cold water we drink,
'Cause
Conscience crowns the
Bowl.
Fetter'd in this filth we lie,
For we know not
what, nor
why,
But we ghess (if understood)
'Twill appear for being
Good;
That
Law doth strangely on
Conscience entrench.
VVhere known
true men are
Planted (far
From the
Iudge) at the
Bar,
And
Felony fills the
Bench.
By the
Pride of impious
Powers,
This unhappy
Case is ours:
Fort a
fault that knows no
Name,
If it be
Reason that signes our
Restraint▪
'Tis then to be
Good
(Understood)
A
Disease of the
Bloud,
The
Devil is turn'd a
Saint.
On Clarinda her Answering I and No.
WHat
Crosses are in
Love; when ere I come
VVhere fair
Clarinda sanctifies the Rome,
(VVith my re-iterated
Love-suit) she
VVith
I and
No, so
tempts and
tortures me,
That I have lost my Patience; If I cry,
Fair Lady shall I leave you? She says,
I;
Agen, she answers me, VVhen I would know,
If I shall
wait on her ith' Evening,
No;
With these two Words (unpleasingly mis-plac'd)
She gives my fair Affection such Distaste,
I know not what to ask; then do I thunder
Against the
God of Love, and (raging) wonder
That such a
form where all
Perfestion grows,
Should so afflict me with her
I's and
No's.
An Elegie on a Good Man.
YOu that did
love with
filial fear
The
Soul that
shines in yonder
Sphere,
VVhose
shadow is
informed here,
Put on your
Sack-cloth and appear.
Let all therefore avoid the Room,
But those that can, when as they come,
VVith
Tears, and
Ashes, build a
Tomb.
For here the
Cause of all your
Cares,
Lies floating in the
Churches tears,
VVho did expire, as it appears,
Not for His
Faults but Others Fears.
You that are
Valiant; Great, and
Wise,
Attend his sacred
Obsequies,
For on this
holy Herse there lies,
A Theme for
Tears in unborn
Eyes.
Although he was not
understood,
Yet from his
Spirit, and his
Bloud,
Did flow a fair and fertile
Floud,
Of all that men call
Great and
Good.
Religion was his daily Guest,
VVithin the
Treasure of his
Brest,
VVas more than
Language ere Exprest,
Angels can onely tell the rest.
FINIS.