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[Page] [Page] A SATYRE, Written to the KINGS most Excellent Maiestie, BY GEORGE WITHER, When hee was Prisoner in the Marshallsey, for his first BOOKE.

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LONDON: Printed by T.S. for Iohn Budge, dwelling in Pauls-Church-yard, at the signe of the Greene Dragon, 1622.

The Satyre to the meere Courtiers.

SIrs; I doe know your mindes; You looke for fees,
For more respect then needes, for caps and knees.
But be content, I haue not for you now;
Nor will I haue at all to doe with you.
For, though I seeme opprest, and you suppose
I must be faine to crouch to Vertues foes;
Yet know, your fauours I doe sleight them more
In this distresse, then ere I did before.
[Page] Here to my Liege a message I must tell;
If you will let me passe, you shall doe well;
If you denie admittance, why then know,
I meane to haue it where you will or no,
Your formall wisedome which hath neuer beene
In ought but in some fond inuention seene,
And you that thinke men borne to no intent,
But to be train'd in Apish complement;
Doth now (perhaps) suppose mee indiscreet,
And such vnused messages vnmeet.
But what of that? Shall I goe sute my matter
Vnto your wits, that haue but wit to flatter?
Shall I, of your opinions so much prize
To lose my will that you may thinke me wise,
Who neuer yet to any liking had,
Vnlesse he were a Knaue, a Foole, or mad?
You Mushroms know, so much I weigh your powers,
I neither value you, nor what is yours.
Nay, though my crosses had me quite out-worne,
Spirit enough I'de finde your spight to scorne:
Of which resolu'd, to further my aduenture,
Vnto my King, without your leaues I enter.

To the Honest Courtiers.

BVt You, whose onely worth doth colour giue.
To Them, that they doe worthy seeme to liue,
Kinde Gentlemen, your ayde I craue, to bring
A Satyre to the presence of his King:
A show of rudenesse doth my fore-head arme,
Yet you may trust him; he intends no harme.
He that hath sent him, loyall is, and true,
And one, whose loue (I know) is much to you:
But now, he lyes bound to a narrow scope;
Almost beyond the Cape of all good Hope.
Long hath he sought to free himselfe, but failes:
And therefore seeing nothing else preuailes,
[Page] Me, to acquaint his Soueraigne, here he sends,
As one despairing of all other friends.
I doe presume that you will fauour shew him,
Now that a Messenger from thence you know him.
For many thousands that his face ne're knew,
Blame his Accusers, and his Fortune rue:
And by the helpe which your good word may doe,
He hopes for pitty from his Soueraigne to.
Then in his presence with your fauours grace him,
And there's no Vice so great, shall dare out-face him.

To the Kings most Excellent MAIESTIE. A SATYRE.
Quid tu, si pereo?

WHat once the Poet said, I may auow,
'Tis a hard thing not to write Satyrs, now,
Since, what we speake (abuse raigns so in all)
Spight of our hearts, will be Satyricall.
Let it not therefore now be deemed strange,
My vnsmooth'd lines their rudenesse do not change;
Nor be distastefull to my gracious King,
That in the Cage, my old harsh notes I sing:
And rudely, make a Satyre here vnfold,
What others would in neater tearmes haue told.
And why? my friends and meanes in Court are scant,
Knowledge of curious phrase, and forme I want.
I cannot bear't to runne my selfe in debt,
To hire the Groome, to bid the Page entreat,
Some fauourd Follower to vouchsafe his word
To get me a cold comfort from his Lord.
I cannot sooth, (though it my life might saue,)
Each Fauourite, nor crouch to eu'ry Knaue.
I cannot brooke delayes as some men do,
With scoffes, and scornes, and tak't in kindnesse to.
For ere I'de binde my selfe for some slight grace,
To one that hath no more worth then his place.
[Page] Or, by a base meane free my selfe from trouble,
I rather would endure my penance double:
Cause to be forc'd to what my mind disdaines,
Is worse to me then tortures, rackes, and chaines.
And therefore vnto thee I onely flye,
To whom there needs no meane but Honesty.
To thee, that lou'st nor Parasite or Minion,
Should ere I speake possesse thee with opinion.
To thee, that do'st what thou wilt vndertake,
For loue of Iustice, not the persons sake.
To thee, that know'st how vaine all faire shewes be,
That flow not from the hearts sinceritie;
And canst, though shadowed in the simplest vaile,
Discerne both Loue and Truth, and where they faile.
To thee doe I appeale; in whom Heau'n knowes,
I next to God my confidence repose.
For, can it be thy Grace should euer shine,
And not enlighten such a Cause as mine?
Can my hopes (fixt in thee great King) be dead;
Or thou those Satyrs hate thy Forrests bred?
Where shall my second hopes be founded then,
If euer I haue heart to hope agen?
Can I suppose a fauour may be got
In any place, when thy Court yeelds it not?
Or that I may obtaine it in the land,
When I shall be deni'd it at thy hand?
And if I might, could I delighted be,
To tak't of others, when I mist of thee?
[Page] Or if I were, could I haue comfort by it,
When I should thinke my Soueraigne did deny it?
No; were I sure, I to thy hate were borne,
To seeke for others fauours, I would scorne.
For, if the beft-worth-loues I could not gaine,
To labour for the rest I would disdaine.
But why should I thy fauour here distrust,
That haue a cause so knowne, and knowne so iust?
Which not alone my inward comfort doubles,
But all suppose me wrong'd that heare my troubles.
Nay, though my fault were Reall, I beleeue
Thou art so Royall, that thou wouldst forgiue.
For, well I know, thy sacred Maiesty
Hath euer beene admir'd for Clemency,
And at thy gentlenesse the world hath wondred,
For making Sun-shine, where thou mightst haue thun­dred.
Yea, thou in mercy, life to them didst giue
That could not be content to see thee liue.
And can I thinke that thou wilt make me, then,
The most vnhappy of all other men?
Or let thy loyall Subiect, against reason,
Be punisht more for Loue, then some for Treason?
No, thou didst neuer yet thy glory staine
With an iniustice to the meanest Swaine.
'Tis not thy will I'me wrong'd, nor dost thou know,
If I haue suffred iniuries or no.
For if I haue not heard falfe Rumours flie,
Th'ast grac'st me with the stile of Honesty,
[Page] And if it were so (as some thinke it was)
I cannot see how it should come to passe
That thou, from whose free tongue proceedeth nought
Which is not correspondent with thy thought.
Those thoughts to, being fram'd in Reasons mould,
Should speake that once, which should not euer hold.
But passing it as an vncertainety,
I humbly beggethee, by that Maiesty,
Whose sacred Glory strikes a louing-feare
Into the hearts of all, to whom 'tis deare:
To deigne me so much fauour, without merit,
As read this plaint of a distempered spirit:
And thinke, vnlesse I saw some hideous storme,
Too great to be endur'd by such a worme,
I had not thus presum'd vnto a King,
With Aesops Fly, to seeke an Eagles wing:
Know I am he, that entred once the list,
Gainst all the world to play the Satyrist:
T was I, that made my measures rough and rude,
Dance arm'd with whips amidst the multitude,
And vnappalled with my charmed Scrowles,
Teaz'd angry Monsters in their lurking holes.
I'ue plaid with Waspes and Hornets without feares,
Till mad they grew, and swarm'd about my eares.
I'ue done it, and me thinkes tis such braue sport,
I may be stung, but nere be sorry for't.
For, all my griefe is, that I was so sparing,
And had no more in't, worth the name of daring.
[Page] He that will taxe these times must be more bitter,
Tart lines of Vinegar and Gall are fitter.
My fingers and my spirits were benum'd,
My inck ran forth too smooth, twas two much gum'd;
I'de haue my Pen so paint it, where it traces,
Each accent, should draw blood into their faces.
And make them, when their Villanies are blazed,
Shudder and startle, as men halfe amazed,
For feare my Verse should make so loud a din,
Heauen hearing might raine vengeance on their sin.
Oh now, for such a straine! would Art could teach it.
Though halfe my spirits I consum'd to reach it.
I de learne my Muse so braue a course to flie,
Men should admire the power of Poosie.
And those that dar'd her greatnesse to resist,
Quake euen at naming of a Satyrist.
But when his scourging numbers flow'd with wonder,
Should cry, God blesse vs, as they did at thunder.
Alas! my lines came from me too-too dully,
They did not fill a Satyrs mouth vp fully.
Hot blood, and youth, enrag'd with passions store,
Taught me to reach a straine nere touch'd before.
But it was coldly done, I throughly [...] not:
And somewhat there is yet to doe, I did not.
More soundly could my scourge haue yerked many,
Which I omitted not for feare of any.
For want of action, discontentments rage,
Base dis-respect of Vertue (in this age)
[Page] With other things which were to Goodnesse wrong,
Made me so fearelesse in my carelesse Song:
That, had not reason within compasse won me,
I had told Truth enough to haue vndone me.
(Nay, haue already, if that her Diuine
And vnseene power, can doe no more then mine.)
For though fore-seeing warinesse was good,
I fram'd my stile vnto a milder mood;
And clogging her high-towring wings with mire,
Made her halfe earth, that was before all fire.
Though (as you saw) in a disguised shew
I brought my Satyres to the open view:
Hoping (their out-sides, being mis-esteem'd)
They might haue passed, but for what they seem'd:
Yet some whose Comments iumpe not with my minde,
In that low phrase, a higher reach would finde,
And out of their deepe iudgements seeme to know,
What 'tis vncertaine if I meant or no:
Ayming thereby, out of some priuate hate,
To worke my shame, or ouer-throw my state.
For, amongst many wrongs my foe doth doe me,
And diuers imputations laide vnto me,
(Deceiued in his ayme) he doth mis-conster
That which I haue enstil'd a Man-like Monster,
To meane some priuate person in the State,
Whose worth I sought to wrong out of my hate;
Vpbraiding me, I from my word doe start,
Either for want of better Ground, or Heart.
[Page] Cause from his expectation I did vary
In the denying of his Commentary,
Whereas tis knowne I meant Abuse the while,
Not thinking any one could be so vile
To merit all those Epithites of shame,
How euer many doe deserue much blame.
But say, (I grant) that I had an intent
To haue it so (as he interprets) meant,
And let my gracious Liege suppose there were
One whom the State may haue iust cause to feare;
Or thinke there were a man (and great in Court)
That had more faults then I could well report;
Suppose I knew him, and had gone about
By some particular markes to paint him out,
That he best knowing his owne faults, might see,
He was the Man I would should noted be:
Imagine now such doings in this Age,
And that this man so pointed at, should rage,
Call me in question, and by his much threatning,
By long imprisonment, and ill-intreating
Vrge a Confession, wert not a mad part
For me to tell him, what lay in my heart?
Doe not I know a great mans Power and Might;
In spight of Innocence, can smother Right,
Colour his Villanies, to get esteeme,
And make the honest man the Villaine seeme?
And that the truth I told should in conclusion,
For want of Power and Friends be my confusion?
[Page] I know it, and the world doth know tis true,
Yet, I protest, if such a man I knew,
That might my Country preiudice, or Thee,
Were he the greatest or the proudest Hee
That breathes this day: (if so it might be found,
That any good to either might redound.)
So far Ile be (though Fate against me run)
From starting off from that I haue begun,
I vn-appalled dare in such a case
Rip vp his foulest Crimes before his face,
Though for my labour I were sure to drop
Into the mouth of Ruine without hope.
But such strange farre-fetcht meanings they haue sought,
As I was neuer priuie to in thought;
And that vnto particulars would tie
Which I intended vniuersally.
Whereat some with displeasure ouer-gone,
(Those I scarce dream'd of, saw, or thought vpon)
Maugre those caueats on my Satyrs brow,
Their honest and iust passage disallow.
And on their heads so many censures rake,
That spight of me, themselues they'le guilty make.
Nor is't enough, to swage their discontent,
To say I am (or to be) innocent.
For as, when once the Lyon made decree,
No horned beast should nigh his presence be,
That, on whose fore-head onely did appeare
A bunch of flesh, or but some tuft of haire,
[Page] Was euen as farre in danger as the rest,
If he but said, it was a horned beast:
So, there be now, who thinke in that their power
Is of much force, or greater farre then our;
It is enough to proue a guilt in me,
Because (mistaking) they so think't to be.
Yet 'tis my comfort, they are not so high,
But they must stoope to Thee and Equitie.
And this I know, though prickt; they storme agen,
The world doth deeme them ne're the better men.
To stirre in filth, makes not the stench the lesse,
Nor doth Truth feare the frowne of Mightinesse.
Because those numbers she doth daigne to grace,
Men may suppresse a while, but ne're deface.
I wonder, and 'tis wondred at by many,
My harmelesse lines should breed distaste in any:
And so, that (whereas most good men approue
My labour to be worthy thankes, and loue)
I as a Villaine, and my Countries foe,
Should be imprison'd, and so strictly to,
That not alone my liberty is barr'd.
But the resort of friends (which is more hard.)
And whilst each wanton, or loose Rimers Pen,
With oyly words, sleekes o're the sinnes of men,
Vayling his wits to euery Puppets becke,
Which ere I'le doe, I'le ioy to breake my necke.
(I say) while such as they in euery place
Can finde protection, patronage and grace;
[Page] If any looke on me, 'tis but a skaunce
Or if I get a fauour, 'tis by chance.
I must protect my selfe: poore Truth and I
Can haue scarce one speake for our honesty.
Then whereas they can gold and gifts attaine,
Malitious Hate, and Enuy is my gaine,
And not alone haue here my Freedome lost,
Whereby my best hope's likely to be crost:
But haue beene put to more charge in one day.
Then all my Patrons bounties yet will pay.
What I haue done, was not for thirst of gaine,
Or out of hope preferments to attaine.
Since to contemne them, would more profit me,
Then all the glories in the world that be:
Yet they are helpes to Vertue, vs'd aright,
And when they wanting be, she wants her might.
For Eagles mindes ne're fit a Rauens feather,
To dare, and to be able, sute together.
But what is't I haue done so worthy blame,
That some so eagerly pursue my fame?
Vouchsafe to view't with thine owne eyes, and trie
(Saue want of Art) what fault thou canst espie.
I haue not sought to scandalize the State,
Nor sowne sedition, nor made publike bate:
I haue not aym'd at any good mans fame,
Nor taxt (directly) any one by name.
I am not he that am growne discontent
With the Religion; or the Gouernement.
[Page] I meant no Ceremonies to protect,
Nor doe I fauour any new-sprung Sect;
But to my Satyres gaue this onely warrant,
To apprehend and punish Vice apparant.
Who aiming in particular at none,
In generall vpbraided euery one:
That each (vnshamed of himselfe) might view
That in himselfe, which no man dares to shew.
And hath this Age bred vp neat Vice so tenderly,
She cannot brooke it to be touch'd so slenderly?
Will she not bide my gentle Satyres bites?
Harme take her then, what makes she in their sights?
If with impatience she my Whip-cord feele,
How had she raged at my lash of Steele?
But am I call'd in question for her cause?
Is't Vice that these afflictions on me drawes?
And need I now thus to Apologize,
Onely because I scourged Villanies?
Must I be faine to giue a reason why,
And how I dare allow of Honesty?
Whilst that each fleering Parasite is bold
Thy Royall brow vndaunted to hehold:
And euery Temporizer strikes a string,
That's Musicke for the hearing of a King?
Shall not he reach out to obtaine as much,
Who dares more for thee then a hundred such?
Heauen grant her patience, my Muse takes't so badly,
I feare shee'le lose her wits, for she raues madly.
[Page] Yet let not my dread Soueraigne too much blame her,
Whose awfull presence, now hath made her tamer.
For if there be no Fly but hath her spleene,
Nor a poore Pismire, but will wreake her teene;
How shall I then, that haue both spleene and gall,
Being vniustly dealt with, beare with all?
I yet with patience take what I haue borne,
And all the worlds ensuing hate can scorne:
But 't were in me as much stupiditie,
Not to haue feeling of an iniurie,
As it were weakenesse not to brooke it well:
What others therefore thinke I cannot tell;
But he that's lesse then mad, is more then Man,
Who sees when he hath done the best he can,
To keepe within the bounds of Innocence:
Sought to discharge his due to God and Prince.
That he, whilst Villanies vnreproued goe,
Scoffing, to see him ouer-taken so,
Should haue his good endeauours misconceiu'd,
Be of his dearest liberty bereau'd;
And which is worse, without reason why,
Be frown'd on by Authorities grim eye.
By that great Power my soule so much doth feare,
She scornes the stearn'st frownes of a mortall Peere,
But that I Vertue loue, for her owne sake,
It were enough to make me vndertake
To speake as much in praise of Vice agen.
And practise some to plague these shames of men.
[Page] I meane those my Accusers, who mistaking
My aymes, doe frame conceits of their owne making.
But if I list, I need not buy so deere
The iust reuenge might be inflicted here.
Now could I measures frame in this iust fury,
Should sooner finde some guilty then a Iury:
The words, like swords (temper'd with Art) should pierce
And hang, and draw, and quarter them in verse.
Or I could racke them on the wings of Fame,
(And he's halfe hang'd (they say) hath an ill name)
Yea, l'de goe neere to make those guilty Elues,
Lycambes-like, be glad to hang themselues:
And though this Age will not abide to heare
The faults reprou'd, that Custome hath made deare;
Yet, if I pleased, I could write their crimes,
And pile them vp in wals for after-times:
For they'le be glad (perhaps) that shall ensue,
To see some story of their Fathers true.
Or should I smother'd be in darknesse still,
I might not vse the freedome of a quill:
'T would raise vp brauer spirits then mine owne,
To make my cause, and this their guilt more knowne.
Who by that subiect should get Loue and Fame,
Vnto my foes disgrace, and endlesse shame:
Those I doe meane, whose Comments haue mis-us'd me:
And to those Peeres I honour, haue accus'd me:
Making against my Innocence their batteries,
And wronging them by their base flatteries:
[Page] But of reuenge I am not yet so faine,
To put my selfe vnto that needlesse paine:
Because I know a greater Power there is,
That noteth smaller iniuries then this;
And being still as iust as it is strong,
Apportions due reuenge for euery wrong.
But why (some say) should his too fancy Rimes
Thus taxe the wise and great ones of our times?
It suites not with his yeeres to be so bold,
Nor fits it vs by him to be controld.
I must confesse ('tis very true indeed)
Such should not of my censure stand in need.
But blame me not, I saw good Vertue poore,
Desert, among the most, thrust out of doore,
Honestie hated, Curtesie banished,
Rich men excessiue, poore men famished:
Coldnesse in Zeale, in Lawes partialitie,
Friendship but Complement, and vaine Formalitie,
Art I perceiue contem'd, while most aduance
(To offices of worth) Rich Ignorance:
And those that should our Lights and Teachers be
Liue (if not worse) as wantonly as we.
Yea, I saw Nature from her course runne backe,
Disorders grow, Good Orders goe to wracke.
So to encrease what all the rest beganne,
I to this current of confusion ranne.
And seeing Age, left off the place of guiding,
Thus plaid the fancy wagge, and fell to chiding.
Wherein, how euer some (perhaps) may deeme,
I am not so much faulty as I seeme:
For when the Elders wrong'd Susanna's honer,
And none withstood the Shame they laid vpon her;
A Childe rose vp to stand in her defence,
And spight of wrong confirm'd her Innocence:
To shew, those must not, that good vndertake,
Straine curt'sie, who shall do' [...], for manners sake.
Nor doe I know, whether to me God gaue
A boldnesse more then many others haue,
That I might shew the world what shamefull blot
Vertue by her lasciurous Elders got.
Nor is't a wonder, as some doe suppose,
My Youth so much corruption can disclose;
Since euery day the Sunne doth light mine eyes,
I am informed of new villanies:
But it is rather to be wondred how
I either can, or dare be honest now.
And though againe there be some others rage
That I should dare (so much aboue mine age)
Thus censure each degree, both young and old,
I see not wherein I am ouer-bold.
For if I haue beene plaine with Vice, I care not,
There's nought that I know good, and can, and dare not.
Onely this one thing doth my minde deterre,
Euen a feare (through ignorance) to erre.
But oh knew I, what thou would'st well approue,
Or might the small'st respect within thee moue;
[Page] So in the sight of God it might be good,
And with the quiet of my conscience stood:
(As well I know thy true integrity
Would command nothing against Piety:)
There's nought so dangerous, or full of feare,
That for my Soueraignes sake I would not dare.
Which good beliefe, would it did not possesse thee;
Prouided some iust triall might reblesse me:
Yea, though a while I did endure the gall
Of thy displeasure in this loathsome thrall.
For notwithstanding in this place I lye
By the command of that Authoritie,
Of which I haue so much respectiue care.
That in mine owne (and iust) defence I feare
To vse the free speech that I doe intend,
Lest Ignorance, or Rashnesse should offend.
Yet is my meaning and my thought as free
From wilfull wronging of thy Lawes or Thee,
As he [...]o whom thy Place and Persons dearest,
Or to himselfe that finds his conscience cle aest.
If there be wrong, 'tis not my making it,
All the offence is some's mistaking it.
And is there any Iustice borne of late,
Makes those faults mine, which others perpetrate?
What man could euer any Age yet finde,
That spent his spirits in this thankelesse kinde,
Shewing his meaning, to such words could tye it,
That none could either wrong, or mis-apply it.
Nay, your owne Lawes, which (as you doe intend)
In plain'st and most effectuall words are penn'd,
Cannot be fram'd so well to your intent,
But some there be will erre from what you meant.
And yet (alas) I must be ty'de vnto
What neuer any man before could doe?
Must all I speake, or write, so well be done
That none may pick more meanings thence then one?
Then all the world (I hope) will leaue dis-vnion,
And euery man become of one opinion.
But since some may, what care soe're we take,
Diuers constructions of our Writings make,
The honest Readers euer will conceaue
The best intention's, and all others leaue:
Chiefly in that, where I fore-hand protest
My meaning euer was the honestest,
And if I say so, what is he may know
So much as to affirme it was not so?
Sit other men so neare my thoughts to show it,
Or is my heart so open that all know it?
Sure if it were, they would no such things see,
As those whereof some haue accused mee.
But I care lesse how it be vnderstood,
Because the heauens know my intent was good.
And if it be so, that my too-free Rimes
Doe much displease the world, and these bad times;
'Tis not my fault, for had I been imploy'd
In something else, all this had now been voyd.
[Page] Or if the world would but haue granted me
Wealth, or Affaires, whereon to busie me,
I now vnheard of, peraduenture than,
Had been as mute as some rich Clergie-man.
But they are much deceiu'd that thinke my minde
Will ere be still, while it can doing find;
Or that vnto the world so much it leanes,
As to be curtold for default of meanes.
No, though most be, all Spirits are not earth,
Nor suting with the fortunes of their birth,
My body's subiect vnto many Powers:
But my soule's as free, as is the Emperours:
And though to curbe her in, I oft assay,
She'le breake int' action spite of durt and clay.
And is't not better then to take this course,
Then fall to study mischiefes and doe worse?
I say she must haue action, and she shall:
For if she will, how can I doe withall?
And let those that o're-busie thinke me, know,
He made me, that knew, why he made me so.
And though there's some that say my thoughts doe flie
A pitch beyond my states sufficiency;
My humble minde, I giue my Sauiour thanke
Aspires nought yet, aboue my fortunes ranke.
But say it did, wil't not befit a man
To raise his thoughts as neere Heau'n as he can?
Must the free spirit ty'd and curbed be
According to the bodies pouerty?
[Page] Or can it euer be so subiect to
Base Change, to rise, and fall, as fortunes doe?
Men borne to noble meanes, and vulgar mindes
Enioy their wealth; and there's no Law that bindes
Such to abate their substance, though their Pates
Want Braines, and they worth, to possesse such states.
So God to some, doth onely great mindes giue,
And little other meanes, whereon to liue.
What law or conscience then shall make them smother
Their Spirit, which is their life, more then other
To bate their substance? since if 'twere confest,
That a braue minde could euer be supprest,
Were't reason any should himselfe depriue
Of what the whole world hath not power to giue?
For wealth is comon, and fooles get it to,
When to giue spirit's more then Kings can do.
I speake not this, because I thinke there be
More then the ordinarest gifts in me;
But against those, who thinke I doe presume
On more then doth befit me to assume:
Or would haue all, whom Fortune barres from store,
Make themselues wretched, as she makes them poore.
And' cause in other things she is vnkind,
Smother the matchlesse blessings of their minde:
Whereas (although her fauours doe forsake them)
Their minds are richer then the world can make them.
Why should a good attempt disgraced seeme,
Because the person is of meane esteeme?
[Page] Vertue's a chaste Queene, and yet doth not scorne
To be embrac'd by him that's meanest borne,
Shee is the prop, that Maiesties support,
Yet one whom Slaues as well as Kings may court.
She loueth all that beare affection to her,
And yeelds to any that hath heart to wooe her.
So Vice, how high so e're she be in place,
Is that which Groomes may spit at in disgrace:
She is a strumpet, and may be abhorr'd,
Yea, spurn'd at in the bosome of a Lord.
Yet had I spoke her faire, I had beene free,
As many others of her Louers be.
If her escapes I had not chanc'd to tell,
I might haue beene a villaine, and done well:
Gotten some speciall fauour, and not sate
As now I doe, shut vp within a grate.
Or if I could haue hap't on some loose straine,
That might haue pleas'd the wanton Readers vaine:
Or but claw'd Pride, I now had been vnblam'd,
(Or else at least there's some would not haue sham'd
To plead my cause:) but see my fatall curse,
Sure I was either mad, or somewhat worse:
For I saw Vices followers brauely kept,
In Silkes they walkt, on beds of Downe they slept,
Richly they fed on dainties euermore,
They had their pleasure, they had all things store,
(Whil'st Vertue begg'd) yea, fauours had so many,
I knew they brook't not to be touch'd of any:
[Page] Yet could not I, like other men, be wise,
Nor learne (for all this) how to temporize;
But must (with too much honesty made blind)
Vpbraid this loued darling of mankind:
Whereas I might haue better thriu'd by fayning:
Or if I could not chuse, but be complaining,
More safe I might haue rail'd on Vertue sure,
Because her louers and her friends are fewer.
I might haue brought some other things to passe,
Made Fidlers Songs, or Ballads, like an Asse,
Or any thing almost indeed but this.
Yet since 'tis thus, l'me glad 'tis so amisse;
Because if I am guilty of a crime,
'Tis that, wherein the best of euery time,
Hath beene found faulty (if they faulty be)
That doe reproue Abuse and villany.
For what I'me taxt, I can examples show,
In such old Authors as this State allow:
And I would faine once learne a reason why
They can haue kinder vsage here then I?
I muse men doe not now in question call
Seneca, Horace, Persius, Inuenall,
And such as they? Or why did not that Age
In which they liued, put them in a Cage?
If I should say, that men were iuster then,
I should neere hand be made vnsay't agen:
And therefore sure I thinke I were as good
Leaue it to others to be vnderstood.
[Page] Yet I as well may speake, as deeme amisse,
For such this Ages curious cunning is,
I scarcely dare to let mine heart thinke ought,
For there be some will seeme to know my thought,
Who may out-face me that I thinke awry,
When there's no witnesse, but my Conscience by:
And then I likely am as ill to speed,
As if I spake, or did amisse indeed.
Yet lest those who (perhaps) may malice this,
Interpret also these few lines amisse,
Let them that after thee, shall reade or heare,
From a rash censure of my thoughts forbeare.
Let them not mold the sense that this containes
According to the forming of their braines,
Or thinke I dare, or can, here taxe those Peeres,
Whose Worths, their Honours, to my soule endeares,
(Those by whose loued-fear'd Authority)
I am restrained of my liberty:
For lest there yet may be a man so ill,
To haunt my lines with his blacke Coment still,
(In hope my lucke againe may be so good,
To haue my words once rightly vnderstood)
This I protest, that I doe not condemne
Ought as vniust, that hath been done by them;
For though my honest heart not guilty be
Of the least thought, that may disparage me;
Yet when such men as I, shall haue such foes,
Accuse me of such crimes, to such as those,
[Page] Till I had meanes my Innocence to show,
Their Iustice could haue done no lesse then so.
Nor haue I such a proud conceited wit,
Or selfe-opinion of my knowledge yet,
To thinke it may not be that I haue run
Vpon some Errors in what I haue done,
Worthy this punishment which I endure;
(I say I cannot so my selfe assure)
For 'tis no wonder if their Wisedomes can
Discouer Imperfections in a man
So weake as I, (more then himselfe doth see)
Since my sight dull with insufficiencie,
In men more graue, and wiser farre then I,
Innumerable Errors doth espye,
Which they with all their knowledge I'le be bold,
Cannot (or will not) in themselues behold.
But ere I will my selfe accuse my Song,
Or keepe a Tongue shall doe my Heart that wrong,
To say I willingly in what I penn'd,
Did ought that might a Goodmans sight offend;
Or with my knowledge did insert one word,
That might disparage a true Honour'd Lord;
Let it be in my mouth a helpelesse sore,
And neuer speake to be beleeued more.
Yet man irresolute is, vnconstant, weake,
And doth his purpose oft through frallty breake,
Lest therefore I by force hereafter may
Be brought from this minde, and these words vnsay,
[Page] Here to the World I doe proclaime before,
If e're my resolution be so poore,
T'is not the Right, but Might that makes me doe it;
Yea, nought but fearefull baseuesse brings me to it;
Which if I still hate, as I now detest,
Neuer can come to harbor in my brest.
Thus my fault then (if they a fault imply)
Is not alone an ill vnwillingly,
But also, might I know it, I entend,
Not onely to acknowledge, but amend:
Hoping that thou wilt not be so seuere,
To punish me aboue all other here.
But for m'intents sake, and my loue to Truth,
Impute my Errors to the heate of Youth,
Or rather Ignorance; then to my Will,
Which sure I am was good, what e're be ill,
And like to him now, in whose place thou art,
What e're the residue be, accept the Heart.
But I grow tedious, and my loue abusd,
Disturbs my thoughts, and makes my lines confus'd,
Yet pardon me, and daigne a gracious eye
On this my rude, vnfil'd Apologie.
Let not the bluntnesse of my phrase offend,
Weight but the matter, and not how 'tis penn'd,
By these abrupt lines in my iust defence,
Iudge what I might say for my innocence.
And thinke, I more could speake, that here I spare,
Because my power suites not to what I dare.
[Page] My vnaffected stile retaines (you see)
Her old Frize-Cloake of young Rusticitiê:
If others will vse neater tearmes, they may,
Ruder I am, yet loue as well as they:
And (though if I would smooth't I cannot doo't)
My humbel heart I bend beneath thy foot:
While here my Muse her discontent doth sing
To thee her great Apollo, and my King:
Emploring thee by that high sacred Name,
By Iustice, by those Powers that I could name:
By whatsoe're may moue, entreate I thee,
To be what thou art vnto all, to mee;
I feare it not, yet giue me leaue to pray,
I may haue foes, whose power doth beare such sway;
If they but say I'me guilty of offence,
'Twere vaine for me to pleade my innocence.
But as the Name of God thou bear'st, I trust
Thou imitat'st him to, in being iust:
That when the right of Truth thou comm'st to scan,
Thoul't not respect the person of the man:
For if thou doe, then is my hope vndone;
The head-long-way to ruine I must runne.
For whil'st that they haue all the helpes which may
Procure their pleasure with my soone decay:
How is it like that I my peace can win me,
When all the ayde I haue, comes from within me?
Therefore (good King) that makst thy bounty shine
Sometime on those whose worths are small as mine;
[Page] Oh saue me now from Enuies dangerous shelfe,
Or make me able, and I'le saue my selfe.
Let not the want of that make me a scorne,
To which there are more Fooles then Wise-men borne.
Let me not for my Meannesse be dispis'd,
Nor others greatnesse make their words more priz'd,
For whatsoe're my outward Fate appeares,
My Soule's as good, my Heart as great as theirs.
My loue vnto my Country and to thee,
As much as his that more would seeme to be.
And would this Age allow but meanes to show it,
Those that misdoubt it, should ere long time know it.
Pitty my youth then, and let me not lie
Wasting my time in fruitlesse miserie.
Though I am meane, I may be borne vnto
That seruice, which another cannot doe.
In vaine the little Mouse the Lyon spar'd not,
She did him pleasure, when a greater dar'd not.
If ought that I haue done, doe thee displease,
Thy misconceiued wrath I will appease,
Or sacrifice my heart; but why should I
Suffer for God knowes whom, I know not why?
If that my words through some mistake offends,
Let them conceiue them right and make amends.
Or were I guilty of offence indeed,
One fault (they say) doth but one pardon need:
Yet one I had, and now I want one more;
For once I stood accus'd for this before.
[Page] As I remember I so long agon,
Sung Thame, and Rhynes Epithalamion:
When SHE that from thy Royall selfe deriues
Those gracious vertues that best Title giues:
She that makes Rhine proud of her excellence,
And me oft minde her reuerence;
Daign'd in her great good-nature to encline
Her gentle care to such a cause as mine;
And which is more, vouchsaf'd her word, to cleare
Me from all dangers (if there any were,)
So that I doe not now intreate, or sue
For any great boone, or request that's new:
But onely this (though absent from the Land)
Her former fauour still in force might stand:
And that her word (who present was so deere)
Might be as powerfull, as when she was here.
Which if I finde, and with thy fauour may
Haue leaue to shake my loathed bands away,
(As I doe hope I shall) and be set free
From all the troubles, this hath brought on me,
Ple make her Name giue life vnto a Song,
Whose neuer-dying note shall last as long
As there is either Riuer, Groue or Spring,
Or Downe for Sheepe, or Shepheards Lad to sing.
Yea, I will teach my Muse to touch a straine,
That was ne're reach't to yet by any Swaine.
For though that many deeme my yeeres vnripe,
Yet I haue learn'd to tune an Oaten Pipe,
[Page] Whereon I'le try what musicke I can make me,
(Vntill Bellona with her Trumpe awake me.)
And since the world will not haue Vice thus showne,
By blazing Vertue I will make it knowne.
Then if the Court will not my lines approue
I'le goe vnto some Mountaine, or thicke Groue:
There to my fellow Shepheards will I sing,
Tuning my Reede vnto some dancing Spring,
In such a note, that none should dare to trouble it,
Till the Hils answere, and the Woods redouble it.
And peraduenture I may then goe neare
To speake of something thoul't be pleas'd to heare:
And that which those who now my tunes abhorre,
Shall reade, and like, and daigne to loue me for:
But the meane while, oh passe not this suite by,
Let thy free hand signe me my liberty:
And if my loue may moue thee more to do,
Good King consider this my trouble to.
Others haue found thy fauour in distresse,
Whose loue to thee and thine I thinke was lesse.
And I might fitter for thy seruice liue
On what would not be much for thee to giue.
And yet I aske it not for that I feare
The outward meanes of life should faile me here:
For though I want to compasse those good ends
Iaime at for my Countrie and my Friends,
In this poore state I can as well content me,
As if that I had Wealth and Honours lent me,
[Page] Nor for my owne sake doe I seeke to shunne
This thraldome, wherein now I seeme vndone:
For though I prize my Freedome more then Gold,
And vse the meanes to free my selfe from hold,
Yet with a minde (I hope) vnchang'd and free,
Here can I liue, and play with miserie:
Yea, in despight of want and slauerie,
Laugh at the world in all her brauerie.
Here haue I learn'd to make my greatest Wrongs
Matter of Mirth, and subiects but for Songs:
Here can I smile to see my selfe neglected,
And how the meane mans suite is dis-respected;
Whil'st those that are more rich, and better friended,
Can haue twice greater faults thrice sooner ended.
All this, yea more, I see and suffer to,
Yet liue content midst discontents I do.
Which whil'st I can, it is all one to me,
Whether in Prison or abroad it be.
For should I still lye here distrest and poore,
It shall not make me breathe a sigh the more;
Since to my selfe it is indifferent,
Where the small remnant of my daies be spent,
But for Thy sake, my Countries, and my Friends,
For whom, more then my selfe, God this life lends,
I would not, could I helpe it, be a scorne,
But (if I might) liue free, as I was borne:
Or rather for my Mistris vertues sake,
Faire Vertue, of whom most account I make,
[Page] If I can chuse, I will not be debas'd
In this last action, lest She be disgrac'd:
For 'twas the loue of her that brought me to,
What Spleene nor Enuie could not make me do.
And if her seruants be no more regarded;
If enemies of Vice be thus rewarded,
And I should also Vertues wrongs conceale,
And if none liu'd to whom she dar'd appeale:
Will they that doe not yet her worth approue,
Be euer drawne to entertaine her loue,
When they shall see him plagu'd as an Offender,
Who for the loue he beares her, doth commend her?
This may to others more offensiue be,
Then preiudiciall any way to me:
For who will his endeauours euer bend
To follow her, whom there is none will friend?
Some I doe hope there be that nothing may
From loue of Truth and Honesty dismay.
But who will (that shall see my euill Fortune)
The remedy of Times Abuse importune?
Who will againe, when they haue smother'd me,
Dare to oppose the face of Villany?
Whereas he must be faine to vndertake
A Combat with a second Lernean Snake;
Whose euer-growing heads when as he crops,
Not onely two springs, for each one he lops,
But also he shall see in midst of dangers,
Those he thought friends turne foes, at least-wise stranger:
More I could speake, but sure if this doe faile me,
I neuer shall doe ought that will auaile me;
Nor care to speake againe, vnlesse it be
To him that knowes how heart and tongue agree;
No, nor to liue, when none dares vndertake
To speake one word for honest Vertues sake.
But let his will be done, that best knowes what
Will be my future good, and what will not.
Hap well or ill, my spotlesse meaning's faire,
And for thee, this shall euer be my prayer,
That thou maist here enioy a long-blest Raigne,
And dying, be in Heauen re-crown'd againe.
SO now, if thou hast daign'd my Lines to heare,
There's nothing can befall me that I feare:
For if thou hast compassion on my trouble,
The Ioy I shall receiue will be made double;
And if I fall, it may some Glory be,
That none but IOVE himselfe did ruine me.
Your Maiesties most loyall Subiect, and yet Prisoner in the Marshalsey, GEORGE WITHER.
…

[Page] [Page] Epithalamia: OR NVPTIALL POEMS VPON THE MOST BLESSED AND HAPPY MARRIAGE betweene the High and Mighty Prince Frederick the fifth, Count Palatine of the Rhine, Duke of Bauier, &c. AND THE MOST VERTVOVS, Gracious, and thrice Excellent Princesse, Elizabeth, Sole Daughter to our dread Soueraigne, Iames, by the grace of God King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. Celebrated at White-Hall the fourteenth of February. 1612.

Written by George Wither.

LONDON, Printed by T. S. for Iohn Budge, dwelling in Pauls-Church-yard, at the signe of the Greene Dragon, 1622.

TO THE ALL-VER­TVOVS AND THRICE EXCELLENT PRINCESSE Elizabeth, sole daughter to our dread Soueraigne, Iames by the grace of God, King of Great Britaine, France and Ireland, &c. AND WIFE TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE, FREDERICK the fifth, Count Palatine of the Rheine, Duke of Bauier, &c. Elector, and Arch-s [...]w er to the sacred Roman Empire, during the vacancy Vicar of the same, and Knight of the most hono­rable Order of the Garter.

George Wither wisheth all the Health; Ioyes, Honours, and Felicities of this World, in this life, and the perfections of eternity in the World to come.

To the Christian Rea­ders.

REaders; for that in my booke of Sa­tyricall Essayes, I haue been dee­med ouer Cynicall; to shew, that I am not wholly inclined to that Vaine: But indeede especially, out of the loue which in duty I owe to those incomparable Princes, I haue in honour of their Royall So­lemnities, published these short Epithala­miaes. By which you may perceiue (how e­uer the world thinke of me) I am not of such a Churlish Constitution, but I can afford Ver­tue her deserued honour; and haue as well an [Page] affable looke to encourage Honesty; as a sterne frowne to cast on Villanie: If the Times would suffer me, I could be as pleasing as others; and perhaps ere long I will make you amends for my former rigor; Meane while I commit this vnto your censures; and bid you farewell.

G. W.

Epithalamion.

BRight Northerne Starre, and great Mineruaes peere,
Sweete Lady of this Day: Great Britaines deere.
Loe thy poore Vassall, that was erst so rude,
With his most Rusticke Satyrs to intrude,
Once more like a poore Siluan now drawes neare;
And in thy sacred Presence dares appeare.
Oh let not that sweete Bowe thy Brow be bent,
To scarre him with a Shaft of discontent:
One looke with Anger, nay thy gentlest Frowne,
Is twice enough to cast a Greater downe.
My Will is euer, neuer to offend,
These that are good; and what I here intend,
Your Worth compels me to. For lately greeu'd,
More then can be exprest, or well beleeu'd;
Minding for euer to abandon sport,
And liue exilde from places of resort;
Carelesse of all, I yeelding to securitie,
Thought to shut vp my Muse in darke obscuritie:
[Page] And in content, the better to repose,
A lonely Groue vpon a Mountaine chose.
East from Caer Winn, mid-way twixt Arle and Dis,
True Springs, where Britains true Arcadia is.
But ere I entred my entended course,
Great Aeolus began to offer force.
[...]ere re­ [...]ers and [...]ibes the Winter, [...] was so [...]ing [...]
The boisterous King was growne so mad with rage,
That all the Earth, was but his furies stage.
Fire, Ayre, Earth, Sea, were intermixt in one:
Yet Fire, through Water, Earth and Ayre shone.
The Sea, as if she ment to whelme them vnder,
Beat on the Cliffes, and rag'd more loud then thunder:
And whil'st the vales she with salt waues did fill,
The Aire showr'd flouds, that drencht our highest hill;
And the proud trees, that would no dutie know;
Lay ouer-turned, twenties in a Row.
Yea, euery Man for feare, fell to Deuotion;
Lest the whole Ile should haue bin drencht in th'Ocean.
Which I perceiuing, coniur'd vp my Muse,
The Spirit, whose good helpe I sometime vse:
And though I ment to breake her rest no more,
I was then faine her aide for to implore.
And by her helpe indeed, I came to know,
Why, both the Ayre and Seas were troubled so.
For hauing vrg'd her, that she would vnfold
What cause she knew: Thus much at last she told.
Of late (quoth she) there is by powers Diuine;
A match concluded, twixt Great Thame and Rhine.
[Page] Two famous Riuers, equall both to Nile:
The one, the pride of Europes greatest Ile.
Th'other disdaining to be closely pent;
Washes a great part of the Continent.
Yet with abundance, doth the Wants supply,
Of the still-thirsting Sea, that's neuer dry.
And now, these, being not alone endear'd,
To mightie Neptune, and his watrie Heard:
But also to the great and dreadfull Ioue,
With all his sacred Companies aboue,
Both haue assented by their Loues inuiting:
To grace (with their owne presence) this Vniting.
Ioue call'd a Summons to the Worlds great wonder,
'Twas that we heard of late, which we thought thunder.
The reason of the [...] Winter.
A thousand Legions he intends to send them,
Of Cherubins and Angels to attend them:
And those strong Windes, that did such blustring keepe,
Were but the Tritons, sounding in the Deepe;
To warne each Riuer, petty Streame and Spring,
Their aide vnto their Soueraigne to bring.
The Floods and Showres that came so plenteous downe,
And lay entrencht in euery Field and Towne,
Were but retainers to the Nobler sort,
That owe their Homage at the Watrie Court:
Or else the Streames not pleas'd with their owne store,
To grace the Thames, their Mistris, borrowed more.
Exacting from their neighbouring Dales and Hills,
But by consent all (nought against their wills.)
[Page] Yet now, since in this stirre are brought to ground
Many faire buildings, many hundreds drown'd,
And daily found of broken Ships great store,
That lie dismembred vpon euery shore:
With diuers other mischiefes knowne to all,
This is the cause that those great harmes befall.
Whilst other, things in readinesse, did make,
Hells hatefull Hags from out their prisons brake:
[...] cause of all [...] dangers as [...] during [...] distempera­ [...] of the ayre.
And spighting at this hopefull match, began
To wreake their wrath on Ayre, Earth, Sea, and Man.
Some hauing shapes of Romish shauelings got,
Spew'd out their venome; and began to plot
Which way to thwart it: others made their way
With much diffraction thorough Land and Sea
Extreamely raging. But Almightie Ioue
Perceiues their Hate and Enuie from aboue:
He'le checke their furie, and in yrons chain'd,
Their libertie abus'd, shall be restrain'd:
Hee'le shut them vp, from comming to molest
The Meriments of Hymens holy feast.
Where shall be knit that sacred Gordian knot,
Which in no age to come shall be forgot.
Which Policie nor Force shall nere vntie,
But must continue to eternitie:
Which for the whole Worlds good was fore-decree'd,
With Hope expected long; now come indeed.
And of whose future glory, worth, and merit
Much I could speake with a prophetike spirit.
[Page] Thus by my Muses deare assistance, finding
The cause of this disturbance, with more minding
[...]y Countries welfare, then my owne content,
He noteth the most [...] alteration of [...] weather a [...] before these Nuptials.
[...]nd longing to behold this Tales euent:
My lonely life I suddenly forsooke,
[...]nd to the Court againe my lourney tooke.
Meane-while I saw the furious Windes were laid;
The risings of the swelling Waters staid.
The Winter gan to change in euery thing.
And seem'd to borrow mildnesse of the Spring.
The Violet and Primrose fresh did grow;
And as in Aprill, trim'd both Cops and rowe.
The Citie, that I left in mourning clad,
[...]rouping, as if it would haue still beene sad.
[...] found deckt vp in roabes so neat and trimme,
[...]aire Iris would haue look't but stale and dimme
[...] her best colours, had she there appear'd,
The Sorrowes of the Court I found well cleer'd,
Their wofull habits quite cast off, and ty'rd
[...] such a glorious fashion: I admir'd.
The [...] preparation [...] this [...] the state wh [...] of [...]is here [...]gorically [...]
All her chiefe Peeres and choisest beauties to,
[...] greater pompe, then Mortals vse to doe,
Wait as attendants. Iuno's come to see;
[...]ecause she heares that this solemnitie
[...]xceeds faire Hippodamia's (where the strife
Twixt her, Minerua, and lame Vulcans wife
[...]id first arise,) and with her leades along
[...] noble, stately, and a mighty throng.
[Page] Venus, (attended with her rarest features,
Sweet louely-smiling, and heart-mouing creatures,
The very fairest Iewels of her treasure,
Able to moue the senceles stones to pleasure.)
Of all her sweetest Saints, hath robd their shrines;
And brings them for the Courtiers Valentines.
Nor doth Dame Pallas, from these triumphs lurke;
Her noblest wits, she freely sets on worke.
Of late she summond them vnto this place,
To doe your maskes and Reuels better grace.
Here
Meaning the [...], and [...] of [...] on [...] water, which [...] most [...].
Mars himselfe to, clad in Armour bright,
Hath showne his furie in a bloudlesse fight;
And both on land and water, sternely drest,
Acted his bloudy Stratagems in iest:
Which (to the people, frighted by their error,)
With seeming wounds and death did ad more terror,
Besides, to giue the greater cause of wonder,
Ioue did vouchsafe a ratling peale of thunder:
Comets and Meteors by the starres exhald.
[...] workes [...].
Were from the Middle-Region lately cald;
And to a place appointed made repaire,
To show their fierie Friscols in the aire,
People innumerable doe resort,
As if all Europe here would keepe one Court:
Yea, Hymen in his Safferon-coloured weed,
To celebrate his rites is full agreed.
All this I see: which seeing, makes me borrow
Some of their mirth a while, and lay downe sorrow.
[Page] And yet not this: but rather the delight
My heart doth taken in the much hoped sight
Of these thy glories, long already due;
And this sweet comfort, that my eyes doe view
Thy happy Bridegroome, Prince Count Palatine,
Now thy best friend and truest Valentine.
Vpon whose brow, my minde doth reade the storie
Of mightie fame, and a true future glorie.
Me thinkes I doe foresee already, how
Princes and Monarchs at his stirrop how:
I see him shine in steele; the bloudy fields
Already won, and how his proud foe yeelds.
God hath ordaind him happinesse great store:
And yet in nothing is he happy more,
Then in thy loue (faire Princesse:) For (vnlesse Heauen, like to Man, be prone to ficklenesse)
Thy Fortunes must be greater in effect,
Then time makes show of, or men can expect.
Yet, notwithstanding all those goods of fate,
Thy Minde shall euer be aboue thy state:
For ouer and beside thy proper merit,
Our last Eliza grants her Noble spirit
To be re-doubled on thee; and your names
Being both one, shall giue you both one fames.
Oh blessed thou! and they to whom thou giu'st
The leaue for to be attendants where thou liu'st:
And haplesse we, that must of force let goe,
The matchlesse treasure we esteeme of so.
[Page] But yet we trust 'tis for our good and thine;
Or else thou shouldst not change thy Thame for Rhyne.
We hope that this will the vniting proue
Of Countries and of Nations by your loue:
And that from out your blessed loynes, shall come
Another terror to the Whore of Rome:
And such a stout Achilles, as shall make
Her tottering Walls and weake foundation shake:
For Thetis-like, thy fortunes doe require,
Thy Issue should be greater then his fire.
But (Gracious Princesse) now since thus it fares,
And God so well for you and vs prepares:
Since he hath daign'd such honours for to doe you,
And showne himselfe so fauourable to you:
Since he hath chang'd your sorrowes, and your sadnes,
Into such great and vnexpected gladnesse:
Oh now remember you to be at leasure,
Sometime to thinke on him amidst your pleasure:
Let not these glories of the world deceaue you,
Nor her vaine fauours of yourselfe bereaue you.
Consider yet for all this Iollitie,
Y'are mortall, and must feele mortalitie:
And that God can in midst of all your Ioyes,
Quite dash this pompe, and fill you with annoyes.
Triumphes are fit for Princes; yet we finde
They ought not wholly to take vp the minde,
Nor yet to be let passe; as things in vaine:
For out of all things, wit will knowledge gaine.
[Page] Musique may teach of difference in degree,
The best tun'd Common-Weales will framed bee:
And that he moues, and liues with greatest grace,
That vnto Time and Measure ties his pace.
Then let these things be
He de­clares what vs [...] is to be made of these showes and tri­umphes, and wha [...] meditations the minde may be occupied about, when [...] behold them.
Emblemes, to present
Your minde with a more lasting true content.
When you behold the infinite resort,
The glory and the splendor of the Court;
What wondrous fauours God doth here bequeath you,
How many hundred thousands are beneath you;
And view with admiration your great blisse,
Then with your selfe you may imagine this.
'Tis but a blast, or transitory shade,
Which in the turning of a hand may fade.
Honours, which you your selfe did neuer winne,
And might (had God been pleas'd) anothers binne.
And thinke, if shadowes haue such maiestie,
What are the glories of eternitie;
Then by this image of a fight on Sea,
Wherein you heard the thundring Canons plea;
And saw flames breaking from their murthering throts,
Which in true skirmish, fling resistlesse shots;
Your wisedome may (and will no doubt) begin,
To cast what perill a poore Souldiers in:
You will conceaue his miseries and cares,
How many dangers, deaths, and wounds he shares:
Then though the most pass't ouer, and neglect them,
That Rethoricke will moue you to respect them.
[Page] And if hereafter, you should hap to see
Such Mimick Apes (that Courts disgraces be:)
I meane such Chamber-combatants; who neuer
Weare other Helmet, then a Hat of Beuer:
Or nere board Pinnace but in silken saile;
And in the steed of boysterous shirts of maile,
Goe arm'd in Cambrick: If that such a Kite
(I say) should scorne an Eagle in your sight;
Your wisedome iudge (by this experience) can,
Which hath most worth, Hermaphrodite, or Man.
The nights strange
Fire­workes.
prospects, made to feed the eies,
With Artfull fiers, mounted in the skies:
Graced with horred claps of sulphury thunders;
May make you minde th' Almighties greater wonders.
Nor is there any thing, but you may thence
Reape inward gaine; as well as please the Sense.
But pardon me (oh fairest) that am bold,
My heart thus freely, plainely, to vnfold.
What though I know, you knew all this before:
My loue this showes, and that is something more.
Doe not my honest seruice here disdaine,
I am a faithfull, though an humble Swaine.
I'me none of those that haue the meanes or place,
With showes of cost to doe your Nuptials grace:
But onely master of mine owne desire,
Am hither come with others to admire.
I am not of those Heliconian wits;
Whose pleasing straines the Courts knowne humour fits.
[Page] But a poore rurall Shepheard, that for need,
Can make sheepe Musique on an Oaten reed:
Yet for my loue (Ile this be bold to boast)
It is as much to you, as his that's most.
Which, since I no way else can now explaine,
If you'l in midst of all these glories daigne,
To lend your eares vnto my Muse so long,
She shall declare it in a Wedding song.

Epithalamion.

The Marriage being on S. Valen­tines day, the Au­thor showes it by begin­ning with the salu­tation of a suppo­sed Va­lentine.
VAlentine, good morrow to thee,
Loue and seruice both I owe thee:
And would waite vpon thy pleasure;
But I cannot be at leasure:
For, I owe this day as debter,
To (a thousand times) thy better.
Hymen now will haue effected
What hath been so long expected:
Thame thy Mistris, now vnwedded;
Soone, must with a Prince be bedded.
If thou'lt see her Virgin euer,
Come, and doe it now, or neuer.
Where art thou, oh faire Aurora?
Call in Ver and Lady Flora:
And you daughters of the Morning,
In your near'st, and fear'st adorning:
Cleare your fore-heads, and be sprightfull,
That this day may seeme delightfull.
All you Nimphs that vse the Mountaines,
Or delight in groues and fountaines;
Shepheardesses, you that dally,
Either vpon Hill or Valley:
And you daughters of the Bower,
That acknowledge Vestaes power.
Oh you sleepe too long; awake yee,
See how Time doth ouertake yee.
Harke, the Larke is vp and singeth,
And the house with ecchoes ringeth.
Pretious howers, why neglect yee,
Whil'st affaires thus expect yee?
Come away vpon my blessing,
The Bride-chamber lies to dressing:
Strow the wayes with leaues of Roses,
Some make garlands, some make poses:
'Tis a fauour, and't may ioy you,
That your Mistris vvill employ you.
Where's
[...]
Sabrina, with her daughters,
That doe sport about her waters:
Those that with their lockes of Amber,
Haunt the fruitfull hills of
Wales,
Camber:
We must haue to fill the number.
All the Nimphs of Trent and Humber.
Fie, your haste is scarce sufficing,
For the Bride's awake and rising.
Enter beauties, and attend her;
All your helpes and seruice lend her:
With your quaintst and new'st deuises,
Trim your Lady, faire Thamisis.
See; shee's ready: with Ioyes greet her,
Lads, goe bid the Bride-groome meet her:
But from rash approach aduise him,
Lest a too much Ioy surprize him,
None I ere knew yet, that dared,
View an Angell vnprepared.
Now vnto the Church she hies her;
Enuie bursts, if she espies her:
In her gestures as she paces,
Are vnited all the Graces:
Which who sees and hath his senses,
Loues in spight of all defences.
O most true maiestick creature!
Nobles did you note her feature?
Felt you not an inward motion,
Tempting Loue to yeeld deuotion;
And as you were euen desiring,
Something check you for aspiring?
That's her Vertue which still tameth
Loose desires, and bad thoughts blameth:
For whil'st others were vnruly,
She obseru'd Diana truly:
And hath by that meanes obtained
Gifts of her that none haue gained.
Yon's the Bride-groome, d'yee not spie him?
See how all the Ladies eye him.
Venus his perfection findeth,
And no more Adonis mindeth.
Much of him my heart diuineth:
On whose brow all Vertue shineth.
Two such Creatures Nature would not
Let one place long keepe: she should not:
One shee'l haue (she cares not whether,)
But our Loues can spare her neither.
Therefore ere we'le so be spighted,
They in one shall be vnited.
Natures selfe is well contented,
By that meanes to be preuented.
And behold they are retired,
So conioyn'd, as we desired:
Hand in hand, not onely fixed,
But their hearts, are intermixed.
Happy they and we that see it,
For the good of Europe be it.
And heare Heauen my deuotion,
Make this Rhyne and Thame an Ocean:
That it may with might and wonder,
Whelme the pride of
Tyber [...] the Ri­ [...]er which [...] Rome.
Tyber vnder.
Now yon
White­ [...]all.
Hall their persons shroudeth,
Whither all this people croudeth:
There they feasted are with plenty,
Sweet Ambrosia is no deinty.
Groomes quaffe Nectar; for theres meeter,
Yea, more costly wines and sweeter.
Young men all, for ioy goe ring yee,
And your merriest Carols sing yee.
Here's of Damzels many choices,
Let them tune their sweetest voyces.
Fet the Muses to, to cheare them;
They can rauish all that heare them.
Ladies, 'tis their Highnesse pleasures,
To behold you foot the Measures:
Louely gestures addeth graces,
To your bright and Angell faces.
Giue your actiue mindes the bridle:
Nothing worse then to be idle.
Worthies, your affaires forbeare yee,
For the State a while may spare yee:
Time was, that you loued sporting,
Haue you quite forgot your Courting?
Ioy the heart of Cares beguileth:
Once a yeere Apollo smileth.
Semel in an­no ri­det Apol.
Follow Shepheards, how I pray you,
Can your flocks at this time stay you?
Let vs also hie vs thither,
Let's lay all our wits together,
And some Pastorall inuent them,
That may show the loue we ment them.
I my selfe though meanest stated,
And in Court now almost hated,
Will knit vp my
Abuses stript and whipt. He no­teth the mildnesse of the winter which, excep­ting that the be­ginning was very windy, was as tempe­rate as the spring,
Scourge, and venter
In the midst of them to enter;
For I know, there's no disdaining,
Where I looke for entertaining.
See, me thinkes the very season,
As if capable of Reason,
Hath laine by her natiue rigor,
The faire Sun-beames haue more vigor.
They are Aeols most endeared:
For the Ayre's still'd and cleared.
Fawnes, and Lambs and Kidds doe play,
In the honour of this day:
The shrill Black-Bird, and the Thrush
Hops about in euery bush:
And among the tender twigs,
Chaunt their sweet harmonious ijgs.
Moft men [...] of o­pinion, [...]hat this [...]ay euery [...]ird doth [...]huse her [...]ate for [...] yeer.
Yea, and mou'd by this example,
They doe make each Groue a temple:
Where their time the best way vsing,
They their Summer loues are chusing.
And vnlesse some Churle do wrong them,
There's not an od bird among them.
Yet I heard as I was walking,
Groues and hills by Ecchoes talking:
Reeds vnto the small brooks whistling,
Whil'st they danc't with pretty rushling.
Then for vs to sleepe 'twere pitty;
Since dumb creatures are so witty.
But oh Titan, thou dost dally,
Hie thee to thy Westerne Valley:
Let this night one hower borrow:
She shall pay't againe to morrow:
And if thou'st that fauor do them,
Send thy sister Phabe to them.
But shee's come her selfe vnasked,
And brings
By these he means the two Masques, one of them be­ing pre­sented by the Lords, the other by the Gen­try.
Gods and Heroes masked.
None yet saw, or heard in storie,
Such immortall, mortall glorie.
View not, without preparation;
Lest you faint in admiration.
Say my Lords, and speake truth barely,
Mou'd they not exceeding rarely?
Did they not such praises merit,
As if flesh had all beene spirit?
True indeed, yet I must tell them,
There was One did farre excell them.
But (alas) this is ill dealing,
Night vnawares away is stealing:
Their delay the poore bed wrongeth,
That for Bride with Bride-groome longeth:
And aboue all other places,
Must be blest with their embraces.
Reuellers, then now forbeare yee,
And vnto your rests prepare yee:
Let's a while your absence borrow,
Sleep to night, and dance to morrow.
We could well allow your Courting:
But 'twill hinder better sporting.
They are gone, and Night all lonely,
Leaues the Bride with Bridegroome onely.
Muse now tell; (for thou hast power
To flie thorough wall or tower:)
What contentments their hearts cheareth;
And how louely she appeareth.
And yet doe not; tell it no man,
Rare conceits may so grow common:
Doe not to the Vulgar show them,
('Tis enough that thou dost know them.)
Their ill hearts are but the Center,
Where all misconceiuings enter.
But thou Luna that dost lightly,
Haunt our downes and forrests nightly:
Thou that fauourst generation,
And art helpe to procreation:
See their issue thou so cherish,
I may liue to see it flourish.
And you Planets, in whose power
Doth consist these liues of our;
You that teach vs Diuinations.
Helpe with all your Constellations,
How to frame in Her, a creature,
Blest in Fortune, Wit, and Feature.
Lastly, oh you Angels ward them,
Set your sacred Spels to gard them;
Chase away such feares or terrors,
As not being, seeme through errors:
Yea, let not a dreames molesting,
Make them start when they are resting.
But THOV chiefly, most adored,
That shouldst onely be implored:
Thou to whom my meaning tendeth,
Whether er'e in show it bendeth:
Let them rest to night from sorrow,
And awake with ioy to morrow.
Oh, to my request be heedfull,
Grant them that, and all things needfull.
Let not these my straines of Folly,
Make true prayer be vnholy:
But if I haue here offended:
Helpe, forgiue, and Ice it mended.
Daigne me this. And if my Muses
Hastie issue; she peruses;
Make it vnto her seeme gratefull,
Though to all the World else hatefull.
But how er'e, yet Soule perseuer
Thus to wish her good for euer.
THus ends the Day, together with my Song;
Oh may the Ioyes there of continue long!
Let Heauens iust, all-seeing, sacred power,
Fauour this happy marriage day of your;
And blesse you in your chast embraces so,
We Britains may behold before you goe
The hopefull Issue we shall count so deare,
And whom (vnborne) his foes already feare.
Yea, I desire, that all your sorrowes may
Neuer be more, then they haue been to day.
Which hoping; for acceptance now I sue,
And humbly bid your Grace and Court adue.
I saw the sight I came for; which I know
Was more then all, the world beside could show.
But if amongst Apolloes Layes, you can
Be pleas'd to lend a gentle eare to Pan;
Or thinke your Country Shepheard loues as deare,
As if he were a Courtier, or a Peere:
Then I, that else must to my Cell of paine,
Will ioyfull turne vnto my flocke againe:
And there vnto my fellow shepheards tell,
Why you are lou'd; wherein you doe excell.
And when we driue our flocks a field to graze them,
So chaunt your praises, that it shall amaze them.
And thinke that Fate hath new recald from death
Their still-lamented, sweete Elizabeth.
For though they see the Court but now and then,
They know desert as well as Greater men:
[Page] And honord Fame in them doth liue or die,
As well as in the mouth of Maiestie.
But taking granted what I here intreat;
At heauen for you my deuotions beat:
And though I feare, fate will not suffer me
To doe you seruice, where your Fortunes be:
How ere my skill hath yet despised seem'd,
(And my vnripened wit been misesteem'd:)
When all this costly Showe away shall flit,
And not one liue that doth remember it;
If Enuies trouble let not to perseuer;
I'le find a meanes to make it knowne for euer.

CERTAINE E­PIGRAMS CON­CERNING MAR­RIAGE.

Epigram 1.

TIs said; in Marriage aboue all the rest
The children of a King finde comforts least,
Because without respect of Loue or Hate
They must, and oft be, ruled by the State:
But if contented Loue, Religions care,
Equalitie in State, and yeares declare
A happie Match (as I suppose no lesse)
Then rare and great's Elizaes Happinesse.

Epigram. 2.

GOd was the first that Marriage did ordaine,
By making One, Two; and Two, One againe,

Epigram. 3.

SOuldier; of thee I aske, for thou canst best,
Hauing knowne sorrow, iudge of Ioy and Rest:
What greater blisse, then after all thy harmes,
To haue a wife that's faire, and lawfull thine;
And lying prison'd 'twixt her Iuory armes,
There tell what thou hast scapt by powers diuine?
How many round thee thou hast murthered seene;
How oft thy soule hath beene neere hand expiring,
How many times thy flesh hath wounded been:
Whil'st she thy fortune, and thy worth admiring,
With ioy of health, and pitty of thy paine;
Doth weepe and kisse, and kisse and weepe againe.

Epigram. 4.

FAire Helen hauing stain'd her husbands bed,
And mortall hatred 'twixt two Kingdomes bred;
Had still remaining in her so much good,
That Heroes for her lost their dearest blood:
[Page] Then if with all that ill, such worth may last,
Oh what is she worth, that's as faire, and chast!

Epigram. 5.

OLd Orpheus know a good wiues worth so well,
That when his dy'd, he followed her to hell,
And for her losse, at the Elizean Groue,
He did not onely Ghosts to pitty moue,
But the sad Poet breath'd his sighes so deepe;
'Tis said, the Diuels could not chuse but weepe.

Epigram. 6.

LOng did I wonder, and I wonder much,
Romes Church should from her Clergie take that due:
Thought I, why should she that contentment grutch?
What, doth she all with continence indue?
No: But why then are they debar'd that state?
Is she become a foe vnto her owne?
Doth she the members of her body hate?
Or is it for some other cause vnshowne?
Oh yes: they find a womans lips so dainty:
They tye themselues from one, cause they'l haue twenty.

Epigram. 7.

VVOmen, as some men say▪ vnconstant be;
'Tis like enough, and so no doubt are men:
Nay, if their scapes we could so plainely see,
I feare that scarce there will be one for ten.
Men haue but their owne lusts that tempt to ill:
Women haue lusts, and mens allurements to:
Alas, if their strengths cannot curbe their will;
What should poore women that are weaker do?
Oh they had need be chast and looke about them,
That striue 'gainst lust within, and knaues without them.
FINIS.
THE SHEPHEARDS HVNTI …

THE SHEPHEARDS HVNTING: Being certaine Eglogues written during the time of the Authors Imprisonment in the Marshalsey.

By George Wither, Gentleman.

[figure]

LONDON, Printed by T. S. for Iohn Budge, dwelling in Pauls-Church-yard, at the signe of the Greene Dragon, 1622.

To those Honoured, Noble, and right Vertuous Friends, my Visi­tants in the Marshalsey: And to all other my vnknowne Fauourers, who either priuately, or publikely wished me well in my imprisonment.

NOble Friends; you whose vertues made me first in loue with Ver­tue; and whose worths made mee be thought worthy of your loues: I haue now at last (you see) by Gods assistance, and your encouragement, run through the Pur­gatorie of imprisonment; and by the worthy [Page] fauour of a iust Prince, stand free againe, with­out the least touch of deiected basenesse. Seeing therefore I was growne beyond my Hope so fortunate (after acknowledgement of my Crea­tors loue, together with the vnequall'd Clemen­cie of so gracious a Soueraigne) I was troubled to thinke, by what meanes I might expresse my thankefulnes to so many well-deseruing friends: No way I found to my desire, neither yet ability to performe when I found it. But at length con­sidering with my selfe what you were (that is) such, who fauour honesty for no second reason, but because you your selues are good; and ayme at no other reward, but the witnesse of a sound conscience that you doe well, I found, that thank­fulnesse would proue the acceptablest present to sute with your dispositions; and that I imagi­ned could be no way better expressed, then in manifesting your courtesies, and giuing consent to your reasonable demaunds. For the first, I [Page] confesse (with thankes to the disposer of all things, and a true gratefull heart towards you) so many were the vnexpected Visitations, and vnhoped kindnesses receyued, both from some among you of my Acquaintance, and many o­ther vnknowne Well-willers of my Cause, that I was perswaded to entertaine a much better conceit of the Times, then I lately conceyued, and assured my selfe, that Vertue had far more followers then I supposed.

Somewhat it disturbed me to behold our ages Fauourites, whilst they frowned on my honest enterprises, to take vnto their protections the e­gregiousts fopperies: yet much more was my con­tentment, in that I was respected by so many of You, amongst whō there are some, who can and may as much dis-esteeme these, as they neglect me: nor could I feare their Malice or Contempt, whilst I enioyed your fauours, who (howsoeuer you are vnder-valued by Fooles for a time) [Page] shall leaue vnto your posterity so noble a memory, that your names shall be reuerenced by Kings, when many of these who now flourish with a shew of vsurped Greatnesse, shall eyther weare out of being, or dispoyled of all their patched re­putation, grow contemptible in the eyes of their beloued Mistris the World. Your Loue it is that (enabling me with patience to endure what is already past) hath made me also carefull bet­ter to prepare my selfe for all future misaduen­tures, by bringing to my consideration, what the passion of my iust discontentments had almost quite banished from my remembrance.

Further, to declare my thankefulnesse, in ma­king apparant my willing minde to be comman­ded in any seruices of loue, which you shal thinke fit (though I want abilitie to performe great matters) yet I haue according to some of your re­quests, been contented to giue way to the printing of these Eglogues; which though it to many [Page] seeme a sleight matter, yet being well considered of, may proue a strong argument of my readinesse to giue you content in a greater matter: for they being (as you well know) begotten with little care, and preserued with lesse respect, gaue suffi­cient euidence, that I meant (rather then any way to deceiue your trust) to giue the world occa­sion of calling my discretion in question, as I now assure my selfe this will: and the sooner, because such expectations (I perceiue) there are (of I know not what Inuentions) as would have been frustrated, though I had employed the vtmost and very best of my endeauours.

Notwithstanding for your sakes, I haue heere aduentured once againe to make tryall of the Worlds censures: and what hath receyued beeing from your Loues, I here re-dedicated to your Worths, which if your noble dispositions will like well of; or if you will but reasonably respect what your selues drew mee vnto, I shall [Page] be nothing displeased at others cauils, but rest­ing my selfe contented with your good opinions, scorne all the rabble of vncharitable detra­ctors: For none, I know, will maligne it, except those, who eyther particularly malice my per­son, or professe themselues enemies to my former Bookes; who (sauing those that were incensed on others speeches) as diuers of you (according to your protestations) haue obserued, are eyther open enemies of our Church; men notoriously guilty of some particular Abuses therein taxt, such malicious Critickes who haue the repute of being iudicious, by detracting from others; or at best, such Guls, as neuer approue any thing good, or learned, but eyther that which their shallow apprehensions can apply to the soothing of their owne opinions, or what (indeed rather) they vnderstand not.

Trust me, how ill soeuer it hath been rewar­ded, my loue to my Country is inuiolate: my [Page] thankefulnesse to you vnfained, my endeauour to doe euery man good; all my ayme, content with honestie: and this my paines (if it may be so tearmed) more to auoid idlenesse, then for af­fectation of praise: and if notwithstanding all this, I must yet not onely rest my selfe content that my innocencie hath escaped with strict im­prisonment (to the impayring of my state, and hinderance of my fortunes) but also be constray­ned to see my guiltlesse lines, suffer the despight of ill tongues: yet for my further encourage­ment, let mee intreate the continuance of your first respect, wherein I shall find that comfort as will be sufficient to make mee set light, and so much contemne all the malice of my aduersa­ries, that readie to burst with the venome of their owne hearts, they shall see

My Minde enamoured on faire Vertues light,
Transcends the limits of their bleared sight,
And plac'd aboue their Enuy doth contemne,
Nay, sit and laugh at, their disdaine, and them.

[Page] But Noble Friends, I make question neyther of yours, nor any honest mans respect, and there­fore will no further vrge it, nor trouble your pa­tience: onely this Ile say, that you may not think me too well conceited of my selfe; though the Time were to blame, in ill requiting my honest endeauours, which in the eyes of the World de­serued better; yet some what I am assured there was in me worthy that punishment, which when God shall giue me grace to see and amend, I doubt not but to finde that regard as will be fitting for so much merit as my endeauors may iustly chal­lenge. Meane while, the better to hold my selfe in esteeme with you, and amend the worlds opinion of Vertue, I will study to amend my selfe, that I may be yet more worthy to be called

Your Friend, GEO: WITHER.

The Shepheards Hunting.

The first Eglogue.

THE ARGVMENT.
Willy leaues his Flocke a while,
To lament his Friends exile;
Where, though prison'd, he doth finde,
Hee's still free that's free in Minde:
And that there is no defence
Halfe so firme as Innocence.
PHILARETE. WILLIE.
Philarete.
WIlly, thou now full iolly tun'st thy Reedes,
Making the Nymphs enamor'd on thy straine,
And whilst thy harmles flock vnscarred feeds,
Hast the contentment, of hils, groues, & plains:
[Page] Trust me, I ioy thou and thy Muse so speedes
In such an Age, where so much mischiefe raignes:
And to my Care it some redresse will be,
Fortune hath so much grace to smile on thee.
Willy.
To smile on me? I nere yet knew her smile,
Vnlesse 'twere when she purpos'd to deceiue me;
Many a Traine, and many a painted Wile
She casts, in hope of Freedome to bereaue me:
Yet now, because she sees I scorne her guile
To fawne on sooles, she for my Muse doth leaue me.
And here of late, her wonted Spite doth tend,
To worke me Care, by frowning on my friend.
Philarete.
Why then I see her Copper-coyne's no starling,
'Twill not be currant still, for all the guilding)
A Knaue, or Foole, must euer be her Darling,
For they haue minds to all occasions yeelding:
If we get any thing by all our parling.
It seemes an Apple, but it proues a Weilding:
But let that passe: sweet Shepheard tell me this,
For what beloued Friend thy sorrow is.
Willy.
Art thou, Philarete, in durance heere,
And dost thou aske me for what Friend I grieue?
Can I suppose thy loue to me is deere,
Or this thy ioy for my content belieue?
[Page] When thou think'st thy cares touch not me as neere:
Or that I pinne thy Sorrowes at my sleeue?
I haue in thee reposed so much trust,
I neuer thought, to find thee so vniust.
Philarete.
WIL, why Willy? Prethee doe not aske me why?
Doth it diminish any of thy care,
That I in freedome maken melody;
And think'st I cannot as well somewhat spare
From my delight, to mone thy misery?
'Tis time our Loues should these suspects forbeare:
Thou art that friend, which thou vnnam'd shold'st know,
And not haue drawne my loue in question so.
Philarete.
Forgiue me, and I'le pardon thy mistake,
And so let this thy gentle-anger cease,
(I neuer of thy loue will question make)
Whilst that the number of our dayes encrease,
Yet to my selfe I much might seeme to take,
And something neere vnto presumption prease:
To thinke me worthy loue from such a spirit,
But that I know thy kindnesse past my merit.
Besides; me thought thou spak'st now of a friend,
That seem'd more grieuous discontents to beare,
Some things I find that doe in shew offend,
Which to my Patience little trouble are,
[Page] And they ere long I hope will haue an end;
Or though they haue not, much I doe not care:
So this it was, made me that question moue,
And not suspect of honest Willies loue.
Willie.
Alas, thou art exiled from thy Flocke,
And quite beyond the Desarts here confin'd,
Hast nothing to conuerse with but a Rocke:
Or at least Out lawes in their Caues halfe pin'd:
And do'st thou at thy owne mis-fortune mocke,
Making thy selfe to, to thy selfe vnkinde?
When heretofore we talk't we did imbrace:
But now I scarce can come to see thy face.
Philarete.
Yet all that Willy, is not worth thy sorrow,
For I haue Mirth here thou would'st not beleeue,
From deepest cares the highest ioyes I borrow.
If ought chance out this day, may make me grieue
I'le lcarne to mend, or scorne it by to morrow.
This barren place yeelds somewhat to relieue:
For, I haue found sufficient to content me,
And more true blisse then euer freedome lent me.
Willie.
Are Prisons then growne places of delight?
Philarete.
[Page]
'Tis as the conscience of the Prisoner is,
Thevery Grates are able to affright
The guilty Man, that knowes his deedes amisse;
All outward Pleasures are exiled quite,
And it is nothing (of it selfe) but this:
Abhorred loanenesse, darkenesse, sadnesse, paines,
Num'n-cold, sharpe-hunger, schorcning thirst and chaines.
Willie.
And these are nothing?—
Philarete.
—Nothing yet to mee.
Onely my friends restraint is all my paine.
And since I truely find my conscience free
From that my loanenesse to, I reape some gaine.
Willie.
But grant in this no discontentment be▪
It doth thy wished liberty restraine:
And to thy soule I thinke there's nothing nearer,
For I could neuer heare thee prize ought dearer.
Philarete.
True, I did euer set it at a Rate
Too deare for any Mortals worth to buy,
'Tis not our greatest Shepheards whole estate,
Shall purchase from me, my least liberty:
[Page] But I am subiect to the powers of Fate,
And to obey them is no slauery:
They may doe much, but when they haue done all,
Onely my body they may bring in thrall.
And 'tis not that (my Willy) 'tis my mind,
My mind's more precious, freedome I so weigh
A thousand wayes they may my body bind,
In thousand thrals, but ne're my mind betray:
And thence it is that I contentment find,
And beare with Patience this my loade away:
I'me still my selfe, and that I'de rather bee,
Then to be Lord of all these Downes in fee.
Willie.
Nobly resolu'd, and I doe ioy to hear't,
For 'tis the minde of Man indeed that's all.
There's nought so hard but a braue heart will bear't,
The guiltlesse men count great afflictions small,
They'le looke on Death and Torment, yet not fear't,
Because they know 'tis rising so to fall:
Tyrants may boast they to much power are borne,
Yet he hath more that Tyranies can scorne.
Philarete.
[...]is right, but I no Tyranies endure,
[...]or haue I suffered ought worth name of care
Willie.
[Page]
What e're thou'lt call't, thou may'st, but I am sure,
Many more pine that much lesse pained are:
Thy looke me thinkes doth say thy meaning's pure
And by this past I find what thou do'st dare:
But I could neuer yet the reason know,
Why thou art lodged in this house of wo.
Philarete.
Nor I by Pan, nor neuer hope to doe,
But thus it pleases some; and I doe guesse
Partly a cause that moues them thereunto,
Which neither will auaile me to expresse,
Nor thee to heare, and therefore let it goe,
We must not say, they doe so that oppresse:
Yet I shall ne're to sooth them or the times,
Iniure my selfe, by bearing others crimes.
Willie.
Then now thou maist speake freely, there's none heares,
But he, whom I doe hope thou do'st not doubt.
Philarete.
True: but if doores and walles haue gotten eares,
And Closet-whisperings may be spread about:
Doe not blame him that in such causes feares
What in his Passion he may blunder out:
In such a place, and such strict times as these,
Where what we speake is tooke as others please.
[Page] But yet to morrow, if thou come this way,
I'le tell thee all my story to the end,
'Tis long, and now I feare thou canst not stay,
Because thy Flocke must watred be and pend,
And Night begins to muffle vp the day,
Which to informe thee how alone I spend,
I'le onely sing a sorry Prisoners Lay,
I fram'd this Morne, which though it suits no fields,
Is such as fits me, and sad Thraldome yeelds.
Willie.
Well, I will set my Kit another string,
And play vnto it whil'st that thou do'st sing.

Sonnet.

Philarete.
NOw that my body dead aliue,
Bereau'd of comfort, lies in thrall.
Doe thou my soule begin to thriue,
And vnto Hony, turne this Gall:
So shall we both through outward we,
The way to inward comfort know.
As to the Flesh we food do giue;
To keepe in vs this Mortall breath:
So Seules on Meditations liue,
And shunne thereby immortall death:
[Page] Nor art thou euer neerer rest,
Then when thou find'st me most opprest.
First thinke my Soule; If I haue Foes
That take a pleasure in my care,
And to procure these outward woes,
Haue thus entrapt me vnaware:
Thou should'st by much more carefull bee,
Since greater foes lay waite for thee.
Then when Mew'd vp in grates of steele,
Minding those ioyes mine eyes doe misse,
Thou find'st no torment thou do'st feele,
So grieuous as Priuation is:
Muse how the Damn'd in flames that glow,
Pine in the losse of blisse they know.
Thou seest there's giuen so great might
To some that are but clay as I,
Their very anger can affright,
Which, if in any thou espie.
Thus thinke; If Mortals frownes strike feare,
How dreadfull will Gods wrath appeare?
By my late hopes that now are crost,
Consider those that firmer be:
And make the freedome I haue lost,
A meanes that may remember thee:
[Page] Had Christ, not thy Redeemer bin,
What horrid thrall thou had'st been in.
These yron chaines, these bolts of steele,
Which other poore offenders grind,
The wants and cares which they doe feele,
May bring some greater thing to mind:
For by their griefe thou shalt doe well,
To thinke vpon the paines of Hell.
Or, when through me thou seest a Man
Condemn'd vnto a mortall death,
How sad he lookes, how pale, how wan,
Drawing with feare his panting breath:
Thinke, if in that such griefe thou see,
How sad will, Goe yee cursed be.
Againe, when he that fear'd to Dye
(Past hope) doth see his Pardon brought,
Reade but the ioy that's in his eye,
And then conuey it to thy thought:
There thinke, betwixt thy heart and thee,
How sweet will, Come yee blessed, bee.
Thus if thou doe, though closed here,
My bondage I shall deeme the lesse,
I neither shall haue cause to feare,
Nor yet bewaile my sad distresse:
[Page] For whether liue, or pine, or dye,
We shall haue blisse eternally.
Willy.
Trust me I see the Cage doth some Birds good,
And if they doe not suffer too much wrong,
Will teach them sweeter descants then the wood:
Beleeue't, I like the subiect of thy Song,
It shewes thou art in no distempred mood:
But cause to heare the residue I long,
My Sheepe to morrow I will neerer bring,
And spend the day to heare thee talk and sing.
Yet e're we part, Philarete, areed,
Of whom thou learnd'st to make such songs as these,
I neuer yet heard any Shepheards reede
Tune in mishap, a straine that more could please;
Surely, Thou do'st inuoke at this thy neede
Some power, that we neglect in other layes:
For heer's a Name, and words, that but few swaines
Haue mention'd at their meeting on the Plaines.
Philarete.
Indeed 'tis true; and they are sore to blame,
They doe so much neglect it in their Songs,
For, thence proceedeth such a worthy fame,
As is not subiect vnto Enuies wrongs:
That, is the most to be respected name
Of our true Pan, whose worth sits on all tongues:
[Page] And what the ancient Shepheards vse to prayse
In sacred Anthemes, vpon Holy-dayes.
Hee that first taught his Musicke such a straine
Was that sweet Shepheard, who (vntill a King)
Kept Sheepe vpon the hony-milky Plaine,
That is inrich't by Iordans watering;
He in his troubles eas'd the bodies paines,
By measures rais'd to the Soules rauishing:
And his sweet numbers onely most diuine,
Gaue first the being to this Song of mine.
Willy.
Let his good spirit euer with thee dwell,
That I might heare such Musicke euery day.
Philarete.
Thankes, Swaine: but harke, thy Weather rings his Bell.
And Swaines to fold, or homeward driue away.
Willy.
And you goes Cuddy, therefore fare thou well:
I'le make his Sheepe for mee a little stay;
And, if thou thinke it fit, I'le bring him to,
Next morning hither.—
Philarete.
—Prethee, Willy, do.
FINIS.

The Shepheards Hunting.
The second Eglogue.

THE ARGVMENT.
Cuddy here relates, how all
Pitty Philarete's thrall.
Who requested, doth relate
The true cause of his estate;
Which broke off, because 'twas long,
They begin, a three man Song.
WILLY. CVDDY. PHILARETE.
Willy.
LO, Philaret, thy old friend heere, and I,
Are come to visit thee in these thy Bands,
Whil'st both our Flocks in an Inclosure by,
Doe picke the thin grasse from the fallowed lands.
He tels me thy restraint of liberty,
Each one throughout the Country vnderstands:
And there is not a gentle-natur'd Lad
On all these Downes, but for thy sake is sad.
Cuddy.
[Page]
Not thy acquaintance, and thy friends alone,
Pitty thy close restraint, as friends should doe:
But some that haue but seene thee, for thee moane:
Yea, many that did neuer see thee to.
Some deeme thee in a fault, and most in none;
So diuers wayes doe diuers Rumors goe
And at all meetings where our Shepheards bee,
Now the maine Newes that's extant, is of thee.
Philarete.
Why, this is somewhat yet: had I but kept
Sheepe on the Mountaines, till the day of doome,
My name should in obscuritie haue slept
In Brakes, in Briars, shrubbed Furze and Broome.
Into the Worlds wide eare it had not crept,
Nor in so many mens thoughts found a roome:
But what cause of my sufferings doe they know?
Good Cuddy, tell me, how doth rumour goe?
Cuddy.
Faith 'tis vncertaine; some speake this, some that:
Some dare say nought, yet seeme to thinke a cause,
And many a one prating he knowes not what;
Comes out with Prouerbes and old ancient sawes,
As if he thought thee guiltlesse, and yet not:
Then doth he speake halfe Sentences, then pawse:
That what the most would say, we may suppose;
But, what to say, the Rumour is, none knowes.
Philarete.
[Page]
Nor care I greatly; for, it skils not much,
What the vnsteady common-people deemes,
His Conscience doth not alwaies feele least touch,
That blamelesse in the sight of others seemes:
My cause is honest, and because 'tis such,
I hold it so, and not for mens esteemes:
If they speake iustly well of mee, I'me glad;
If falsely euill, it ne're makes me sad.
Willy.
I like that mind: but, Shepheard, you are quite
Beside the matter that I long to heare:
Remember what you promis'd yester-night,
Youl'd put vs off with other talke, I feare;
Thou know'st that honest Cuddies heart's vpright;
And none but he, except my selfe, is neere:
Come therefore, and betwixt vs two relate,
The true occasion of thy present state.
Philarete.
My Friends I will: You know I am a Swaine,
The kept a poore Flocke on a barren Plaine:
Who though it seemes, I could doe nothing lesse,
Can make a Song, and woe a Shepheardesse.
And not alone the fairest where I liue,
Haue heard me sing, and fauours daign'd to giue:
But, though I say't, the noblest Nymph of Thame,
Hath grac'd my Verse, vnto my greater fame.
[Page] Yet, being young, and not much seeking prayse,
I was not noted out for Shepheards layes:
Nor feeding Flocks, as, you know, others be:
For the delight that most possessed me
Was hunting Foxes, Wolues, and Beasts of Prey:
That spoyle our Foulds, and beare our Lambs away.
For this, as also for the loue I beare
Vnto my Country, I laid by all care
Of gaine, or of preferment, with desire
Onely to keepe that state I had entire.
And like a true growne Huntsman sought to speed
My selfe with Hounds of rare and choysest breed,
Whose Names and Natures ere I further goe,
Because you are my friends I'le let you know.
My first esteemed Dogge that I did finde,
Was by descent of olde Acteons kinde;
A Brache, which if I doe not aime amisse,
For all the world is iust like one of his:
She's named Loue, and scarce yet knowes her duty;
Her Damme's my Ladies pretty Beagle, Beauty.
I bred her vp my selfe with wondrous charge,
Vntill she grew to be exceeding large,
And waxt so wanton, that I did abhorre it,
And put her out amongst my neighbours for it.
The next is Lust, a Hound that's kept abroad
Mongst some of mine acquaintance, but a Toad
Is not more loathsome: 'tis a Curre will range
Extreamely, and is euer full of mange:
[Page] And cause it is infectious, she's not wunt
To come among the rest, but when they hunt.
Hate is the third, a Hound both deepe and long:
His Sire is True, or else supposed Wrong.
He'le haue a snap at all that passe him by,
And yet pursues his game most eagerly.
With him goes Enuie coupled, a leane Curre,
And yet she'le hold out, hunt we ne're so farre:
She pineth much, and feedeth little to,
Yet stands and snarleth at the rest that doe.
Then there's Reuenge, a wondrous deep-mouth'd dog,
So fleet, I'me faine to hunt him with a clog,
Yet many times he'le much out-strip his bounds,
And hunts not closely with the other Hounds:
He'le venter on a Lyon in his ire;
Curst Choller was his Damme, and Wrong his Sire.
This Choller, is a Brache, that's very old,
And spends her mouth too-much to haue it hold:
She's very teasty; an vnpleasing Curre.
That bites the very Stones, if they but sturre:
Or when that ought but her displeasure moues,
She'le bite and snap at any one she loues.
But my quicke scented'st Dogge is Iaelousie,
The truest of this breede's in Italie.
The Damme of mine would hardly fill a Gloue,
It was a Ladies little Dogge, cal'd Loue:
The Sire a poore deformed Curre, nam'd Feare;
As shagged and as rough as is a Beare:
[Page] And yet the Whelpe turn'd after neither kinde,
For he is very large, and nere-hand blinde,
Farre off, hee seemeth of a pretty culler,
But doth not proue so, when you view him fuller.
A vile suspitious Beast; whose lookes are bad,
And I doe feare in time he will grow mad.
To him I couple Auarice, still poore;
Yet shee deuoures as much as twenty more:
A thousand Horse shee in her paunch can put,
Yet whine, as if she had an emptie gut;
And hauing gorg'd what might a Land haue found,
Shee'le catch for more, and, hide it in the ground.
Ambition is a Hound as greedy full;
But hee for all the daintiest bits doth cull:
Hee scornes to licke vp Crumbs beneath the Table,
Hee'le fetch't from boards and shelues, if he be able:
Nay, hee can climbe, if neede be; and for that
With him I hunt the Martine, and the Cat:
And yet sometimes in mounting, hee's so quicke,
I see fetches falls, are like to breake his necke.
Feare is wel-mouth'd, but subiect to Distrust;
A Stranger cannot make him take a Crust:
A little thing will soone his courage quaile,
And 'twixt his legges hee euer claps his Taile.
With him, Despaire, now, often coupled goes,
Which by his roring mouth each hunts man knowes.
None hath a better minde vnto the game;
But hee giues off, and alwaies seemeth lame.
[Page] My bloud-hound Cruelty, as swift as wind,
Hunts to the death, and neuer comes behind;
Who, but she's strapt, and musled to, withall,
Would eate her fellowes and the prey and all.
And yet, she cares not much for any food;
Vnlesse it be the purest harmelesse blood.
All these are kept abroad at charge of meny,
They doe not cost me in a yeare a penny.
But there's two couple of a midling size,
That seldome passe the sight of my owne eyes.
Hope, on whose head I'ue laid my life to pawne;
Compassion, that on euery one will fawne.
This would, when 'twas a whelpe, with Rabets play
Or Lambes, and let them goe vnhurt away:
Nay, now she is of growth, shee'le now and then
Catch you a Hare, and let her goe agen.
The two last, Ioy, and Sorrow; make me wonder,
For they can ne're agree, nor bide asunder.
Ioy's euer wanton and no order knowes,
She'le run at Larkes, or stand and barke at Crowes.
Sorrow goes by her, and ne're moues his eye:
Yet both doe serue to helpe make vp the cry:
Then comes behinde all these to beare the base,
Two couple more of a farre larger Race,
Such wide-mouth'd Trollops, that 'twould doe you good,
To heare their loud-loud Ecchoes teare the Wood:
There's Vanity, who by her gaudy Hide,
May farre away from all the rest be spide,
[Page] Though huge, yet quicke, for she's now here, now there;
Nay, looke about you, and she's euery where:
Yet euer with the rest, and still in chace,
Right so, Inconstancie fils euery place;
And yet so strange a fickle natur'd Hound,
Looke for her, and she's no where to be found.
Weakenesse is no faire Dogge vnto the eye,
And yet she hath her proper qualitie.
But there's Presumption, when he heat hath got,
He drownes the Thunder, and the Cannon-shot:
And when at Start, he his full roaring makes,
The Earth doth tremble, and the Heauen shakes:
These were my Dogs, ten couple iust in all,
Whom by the name of Satyres I doe call:
Mad Curs they be, and I can ne're come nigh them,
But I'me in danger to be bitten by them.
Much paines I tooke, and spent dayes not a few,
To make them keept together, and hunt true:
Which yet I doe suppose had neuer bin,
But that I had a Scourge to keepe them in.
Now when that I this Kennell first had got,
Out of mine owne Demeanes I hunted not,
Saue on these Downes, or among yonder Rocks,
After those beasts that spoyl'd our Parish Flockes:
Nor during that time, was I euer wont,
With all my Kennell in one day to hunt:
Nor had done yet, but that this other yeere,
Some Beasts of Prey that haunt the Deserts heere,
[Page] Did not alone for many Nights together
Deuoure, sometime a Lambe, sometime a Weather:
And so disquiet many a poore mans Heard,
But thereof loosing all were much afeard.
Yea, I among the rest, did fare as bad,
Or rather worse; for the best
Hopes.
Ewes I had,
(Whose breed should be my meanes of life and gaine,
Were in one Euening by these Monsters slaine:
Which mischiefe I resolued to repay,
Or else grow desperate and hunt all away.
For in a furie such as you shall see
Hunts-men, in missing of their sport will be)
I vow'd a Monster should not lurke about
In all this Prouince, but I'de finde him out.
And thereupon without respect or care,
How lame, how full, or how vnfit they were,
In hast vnkennell'd all my roaring crew,
Who were as mad, as if my mind they knew;
And e're they trail'd a flight-shot, the fierce Curres,
Had rous'd a Hart, and through Brakes, Bryars, and Furres
Follow'd at gaze so close, that Loue and Feare
Got in together, and had surely, there
Quite ouerthrowne him, but that Hope thrust in
'Twixt both, and sau'd the pinching of his skin.
Whereby he scap't, till coursing ouerth wart,
Despaire came in, and grip't him to the hart.
I hallowed in the resdue to the fall,
And for an entrance, there I flesh't them all:
[Page] Which hauing done, I dip'd my staffe in blood
And onward led my Thunder to the Wood;
Where what they did, I'le tell you out anon,
My keeper calles me, and I must be gon.
Goe, if you please a while, attend your Flocks,
And when the Sunne is ouer yonder Rocks,
Come to this Caue againe, where I will be,
If that my Gardian, so much fauour me.
Yet if you please, let vs three sing a straine,
Before you turne your sheepe into the Plaine.
Willie.
Iam content.—
Cuddy.
—As well content am I.
Philarete.
Then Will begin, and wee'le the rest supply.

Song.

Willie.
SHepheard, would these Gates were ope,
Thou might'st take with vs thy fortunes.
Philarete.
[Page]
No, I'le make this narrow scope,
(Since my Fate doth so importune)
Meanes vnto a wider Hope.
Cuddy.
Would thy Shepheardesse were here,
Who belou'd, loues so dearely?
Philarete.
Not for both your Flocks, Isweare,
And the gaine they yeeld you yeerely,
Would I so much wrong my Deare.
Yet, to me, nor to this Place,
Would she now be long a stranger:
She would hold it in disgrace,
(If she fear'd not more my danger)
Where I am to shew her face.
Willie.
Shepheard, we would wish no harmes,
But something that might content thee.
Philarete.
Wish me then within her armes;
And that wish will ne're repent me,
If your mishes might proue charmes.
Willie.
[Page]
Be thy Prison her embrace,
Be thy ayre her sweetest breathing.
Cuddy.
Be thy prospect her sweet Face,
For each looke a kisse bequeathing,
And appoint thy selfe the place.
Philarete.
Nay pray, hold there, for I should scantly then,
Come meete you here this afternoone agen:
But fare you well since wishes haue no power,
Let vs depart and keepe the pointed houre.

The Shepheards Hunting.
The third Eglogue.

THE ARGVMENT.
Philarete with his three Friends,
Heare his hunting storie ends.
Kinde Alexis with much ruth,
Wailes the banish't Shepheards youth:
But he slighteth Fortunes stings,
And in spight of Thraldom [...] sings.
PHILARETE. CVDDY. ALEXIS. WILLY.
Philarete.
SO, now I see y'are Shepheards of your word,
Thus were you wont to promise, and to doe.
Cuddy.
More then our promise is, we can afford,
We come our selues, and bring another to:
Alexis, whom thou know'st well is no foe:
[Page] Who loues thee much: and I doe know that he
Would faine a hearer of thy Hunting be.
Philarete.
Alexis you are welcome, for you know
You cannot be but welcome where I am;
You euer were a friend of mine in show,
And I haue found you are indeed the same:
Vpon my first restraint you hither came,
And proffered me more tokens of your loue,
Then it were fit my small deserts should proue.
Alexis.
'Tis still your vse to vnderprise your merit;
Be not so coy to take my proffered loue,
'Twill neither vnbeseeme your worth nor spirit.
To offer court'sie doth thy friend behoue:
And which are so, this is a place to proue.
Then once againe I say, if cause there be.
First makea tryall, if thou please, of me.
Philarete.
Thankes good Alexis; sit downe by me heere,
I haue a taske, these Shepheards know, to doe;
A Tale already told this Morne well neere,
With which I very faine would forward goe,
And am as willing thou should'st heare it to:
But thou canst neuer vnderstand this last,
Till I haue also told thee what is past.
Willy.
[Page]
It shall not neede, for I so much presum'd,
I on your mutuall friendships, might be bold,
That I a freedome to my selfe assum'd,
To make him know, what is already told.
If I haue done amisse, then you may scold.
But in my telling I preuised this,
He knew not whose, nor to what end it is.
Philarete.
Well, now he may, for heere my Tale goes on:
My eager Dogges and I to Wood are gon.
Where, beating through the Conuerts, euery Hound
A seuerall Game had in a moment found:
I rated them, but they pursu'd their pray,
And as it fell (by hap) tooke all one way.
Then I began with quicker speed to follow,
And teaz'd them on, with a more chearefull hallow:
That soone we passed many weary miles,
Tracing the subtile game through all their wiles.
These doubl'd, those re-doubled on the scent,
Still keeping in full chase where ere they went.
Vp Hils, downe Cliffes, through Bogs, and ouer Plaines,
Stretching their Musicke to the highest straines.
That when some Thicket hid them from mine eye,
My eare was rauish'd with their melodie.
Nor crost we onely Ditches, Hedges, Furrowes,
But Hamlets, Tithings, Parishes, and Burrowes:
[Page] They followed where so eu'r the game did go,
Through Kitchin, Parlor, Hall, and Chamber to.
And, as they pass'd the City, and the Court,
My Prince look'd out, and daign'd to view my sport.
Which then (although I suffer for it now)
(If some say true) he liking did allow;
And so much (had I had but wit to stay)
I might my selfe (perhaps) haue heard him say.
But I, that time, as much as any daring,
More for my pleasure then my safetie caring;
Seeing fresh game from euery couert rise,
(Crossing by thousands still before their eyes)
Rush'd in, and then following close my Hounds,
Some beasts I found lie dead, some full of wounds,
Among the willows, scarce with strength to moue,
One I found heere, another there, whom Loue
Had grip'd to death: and, in the selfe-same state,
Lay one deuour'd by Enuy, one by Hate;
Lust had bit some, but I soone past beside them,
Their festr'd wounds so stuncke, none could abide them.
Choller hurt diuers, but Reuenge kild more:
Feare frighted all, behinde him and before.
Despaire draue on a huge and mighty heape,
Forcing some downe from Rocks and Hils to leape:
Some into water, some into the fire,
So on themselues he made them wreake his ire.
But I remember, as I pass'd that way,
Where the great King and Prince of Shepheards lay,
[Page] About the wals were hid, some (once more knowne)
That my fell Curre Ambition had o'rethrowne:
Many I heard, pursu'd by Pitty, cry;
And oft I saw my Bloud-Hound, Cruelty,
Eating her passage euen to the hart,
Whither once gotten, she is loath to part.
All pli'd it well, and made so loud a cry,
'Twas heard beyond the Shores of Britany.
Some rated them, some storm'd, some lik'd the game,
Some thought me worthy praise, some worthy blame.
But I, not fearing th'one, mis-steeming t'other,
Both, in shrill hallowes and loud yernings smother.
Yea, the strong mettled, and my long-breath'd crew,
Seeing the game increasing in their view,
Grew the more frolicke, and the courses length
Gaue better breath, and added to their strength.
Which Ioue perceiuing, for Ioue heard their cries
Rumbling amongst the Spheares concauities:
Hee mark'd their course, and courages increase,
Saying, 'twere pitty such a chase should cease.
And therewith swore their mouthes should neuer wast,
But hunt as long's mortality did last.
Soone did they feele the power of his great gift,
And I began to finde their pace more swift:
I follow'd, and I rated, but in vaine
Striu'd to o'retake, or take them vp againe.
They neuer stayed since, nor nights nor dayes,
But to and fro still run a thousand wayest
[Page] Yea, often to this place where now I lie,
They'l wheele about to cheare me with their cry;
And one day in good time will vengeance take
On some offenders, for their Masters sake:
For know, my Friends, my freedome in this sort
For them I lose, and making my selfe sport.
Willy.
Why? was there any harme at all in this?
Philarete.
No, Willy, and I hope yet none there is.
Willy.
How comes it then?—
Philarete.
—Note, and I'le tell thee how?
Thou know'st that Truth and Innocency now,
If plac'd with meannesse, suffers more despight
Then Villainies, accompan'ed with might.
But thus it fell, while that my Hounds pursu'd
Their noysome prey, and euery field lay strew'd
With Monsters, hurt and slaine; vpon a beast,
More subtile, and more noysome then the rest,
My leane-flanckt Bitch, cald Enuy, hapt to light:
And, as her wont is, did so surely bite,
That, though shee left behinde small outward smart,
The wounds were deepe, and rankled to the hart.
This, joyning to some other, that of late,
Were very eagerly pursu'd by Hate,
[Page] (To fit their purpose hauing taken leasure)
Did thus conspire to worke me a displeasure.
For imitation, farresurpassing Apes,
They laide aside their Foxe and Woluish shapes,
And shrowded in the skinnes of harmlesse Sheepe
Into by-wayes, and open paths did creepe;
Where, they (as hardly drawing breath) didly,
Shewing their wounds to euery passer by;
To make them thinke that they were sheepe so foyl'd,
And by my Dogges, in their late hunting, spoyl'd.
Beside, some other that enuy'd my game,
And, for their pastime, kept such Monsters tame:
As, you doe know, there's many for their pleasure
Keepe Foxes, Beares, & Wolues, as some great treasure:
Yea, many get their liuing by them to,
And so did store of these, I speake of, do.
Who, seeing that my Kennell had affrighted,
Or hurt some Vermine wherein they delighted;
And finding their owne power by much to weake,
Their Malice on my Innocence to wreake,
Swolne with the deepest rancour of despight,
Some of our greatest Shepheards Folds by night
They closely entred; and there hauing stain'd
Their hands in villany, of mee they plain'd,
Affirming, (without shame, or honesty,)
I, and my Dogges, had done it purposely.
Whereat they storm'd, and cald mee to a tryall,
Where Innocence preuailes not, nor denyall:
[Page] But for that cause, heere in this place I lie,
Where none so merry as my dogges, and I.
Cuddy.
Beleeue it, heere's a Tale will suten well,
For Shepheards in another Age to tell.
Willy.
And thou shalt be remembred with delight,
By this, hereafter, many a Winters night.
For, of this sport another Age will ring;
Yea, Nymphes that are vnborne thereof shall sing,
And not a Beauty on our Greenes shall play,
That hath not heard of this thy hunting day.
Philarete.
It may be so, for if that gentle Swaine,
Who wonnes by Tauy, on the Westerne plaine,
Would make the Song, such life his Verse can giue,
Then I doe know my Name might euer liue.
Alexis.
But tell me; are our Plaines and Nymphs forgot,
And canst thou frolicke in thy trouble be?
Philarete.
Can I, Alexis, sayst thou? Can I not,
That am resolu'd to scorne more misery?
Alexis.
[Page]
Oh, but that youth's yet greene, and young bloud hot,
And liberty must needs be sweet to thee.
But, now most sweet whil'st euery bushy Vale,
And Groue, and Hill, rings of the Nightingale.
Me thinkes, when thou remembrest those sweet layes
Which thou would'st leade thy Shepheardesse to heare,
Each Euening tyde among the Leauy sprayes,
The thought of that should make thy freedome deare:
For now, whil'st euery Nymph on Holy-dayes
Sports with some iolly Lad, and maketh cheere,
Thine, sighes for thee, and mew'd vp from resort,
Will neither play her selfe, nor see their sport.
Those Shepheards that were many a Morning wont,
Vnto their Boyes to leaue the tender Heard;
And beare thee company when thou didst hunt;
Me thinkes the sport thou hast so gladly shar'd
Among those Swaynes should make thee thinke vpon't,
For't seemes all vaine, now, that was once indear'd.
It cannot be: since I could make relation,
How for lesse cause thou hast beene deepe in passion.
Philarete.
'Tis true: my tender heart was euer yet
Too capable of such conceits as these;
I neuer saw that Obiect, but from it,
The Passions of my Loue I could encrease.
[Page] Those things which moue not other men a whit,
I can, and doe make vse of, if I please:
When I am sad, to sadnesse I apply,
Each Bird, and Tree, and Flowre that I passe by.
So, when I will be merry, I aswell
Something for mirth from euery thing can draw,
From Miserie, from Prisons, nay from Hell:
And as when to my minde, griefe giues a flaw,
Best comforts doe but make my woes more fell:
So when I'me bent to Mirth, from mischiefes paw.
(Though ceas'd vpon me) I would something cull,
That spight of care, should make my ioyes more full.
I feele those wants, Alexis, thou doest name,
Which spight of youths affections I sustaine;
Or else, for what is't I haue gotten Fame,
And am more knowne then many an elder Swaine?
I [...] such desires I had not learn'd to tame,
(Since many pipe much better on this Plaine:)
But tune your Reedes, and I will in a Song,
Expresse my Care, and how I take this Wrong.

Sonnet.

I That ere'st-while the worlds sweet Ayre did draw,
(Grac'd by the fairest euer Mortall saw;)
[Page] Now closely pent, with walles of Ruth-lesse stone.
Consume my Dayes, and Nights and all alone.
When I was wont to sing of Shepheards loues,
My walkes were Fields, and Downes, and Hils, and Groues:
But now (alas) so strict is my hard doome,
Fields, Downes, Hils, Groues, and al's but one pooreroome.
Each Morne, as soone as Day-light did appeare,
With Natures Musicke Birds would charme mine eare:
Which now (instead) of their melodious straines,
Heare, ratling Shackles, Gyues, and Boults, and Chaines.
But, though that all the world's delight forsake me,
I haue a Muse, and she shall Musicke make me:
Whose ayrie Notes, in spight of closest cages,
Shall giue content to me, and after ages.
Nor doe I passe for all this outward ill.
My hearts the same, and undeiected still;
And which is more then some in freedome winne,
I haue truerest, and peace, and ioy within.
And then my Mind, that spight of prison's free,
When ere she pleases any where can be;
Shee's in an houre, in France, Rome, Turky, Spaine,
In Earth, in Hell, in Heauen, and here againe.
Yet there's another comfort in my woe,
My cause is spread, and all the world may know,
My fault's no more, but speaking Truth, and Reason;
No Debt, nor Theft, nor Murther, Rape, or Treason.
Nor shall my foes with all their Might and Power,
Wipe out their shame, nor yet this fame of our:
Which when they finde, they shall my fate enuie,
Till they grow leane, and sicke, and mad, and die.
Then though my Body here in Prison rot,
And my wrong'd Satyres seeme a while forgot:
Yet, when both Fame, and life hath left those men,
My Verse and I'le reuiue, and liue agen.
So thus enclos'd, I beare afflictions load,
But with more true content then some abroad;
For whilst their thoughts, doe feele my Scourges sting,
In bands I'le leape, and dance, and laugh, and sing.
Alexis.
Why now I see thou droup'st not with thy care,
Neither exclaim'st thou on thy hunting day;
But dost with vnchang'd resolution beare,
The heauy burthen of exile away.
All that did truely know thee, did conceaue,
Thy actions with thy spirit still agree'd;
Their good conceit thou doest no whit bereaue,
But shewest that thou art still thy selfe indeed.
[Page] If that thy mind to basenesse now descends,
Thou'lt iniure Vertue, and deceiue thy friends.
Willie.
Alexis, he will iniure Vertue much,
But more his friends, and most of all himselfe,
If on that common barre his minde but touch,
It wrackes his fame vpon disgraces shelfe.
Whereas if thou steere on that happy course,
Which in thy iust aduenture is begun;
No thwarting Tide, nor aduerse blast shall force
Thy Barke without the Channels bounds to run.
Thou art the same thou wert, for ought I see,
When thou didst freely on the Mountaines hunt,
In nothing changed yet, vnlesse it be
More merrily dispos'd then thou wert wont.
Still keepe thee thus, so other shall know,
Vertue can giue content in midst of woe.
And she (though mightines with frownes doth threat)
That, to be Innocent, is to be great.
Thriue and farewell.—
Alexis.
—In this thy trouble flourish.
Cuddy.
While those that wish thee ill, fret, pine, and perish.

The Shepheards Hunting.
The fourth Eglogue.

THE ARGVMENT.
Philaret on Willy calls,
To sing out his Pastorals:
Warrants Fame shall grace his Rimes,
Spight of Enuy and the Times;
And shewes how in care he vses,
To take comfort from his Muses.
PHILARETE. WILLIE.
Philarete.
PRethee, Willy tell me this,
What new accident there is,
That thou (once the blythest Lad)
Art become so wondrous sad?
And so carelesse of thy quill,
As if thou had'st lost thy skill?
Thou wert wont to charme thy flocks,
And among the massy rocks
[Page] Hast so chear'd me with thy Song,
That I haue forgot my wrong.
Something hath thee surely crost,
That thy old wont thou hast lost.
Tell me: Haue I ought mis-said
That hath made thee ill-apaid?
Hath some Churle done thee a spight?
Dost thou misse a Lambe to night?
Frowns thy fairest Shepheards Lasse?
Or how comes this ill to passe?
Is there any discontent
Worse then this my banishment?
Willie.
Why, doth that so euill seeme
That thou nothing worst dost deeme?
Shepheards, there full many be,
That will change Contents with thee.
Those that choose their Walkes at will,
On the Valley or the Hill.
Or those pleasures boast of can,
Groues or Fields may yeeld to man:
Neuer come to know the rest,
Wherewithall thy minde is blest.
Many a one that oft resorts
To make vp the troope at sports.
And in company some while,
Happens to straine forth a smile:
[Page] Feeles more want, and outward smart,
And more inward griefe of hart
Then this place can bring to thee,
While thy mind remaineth free.
Thou bewail'st my want of mirth,
But what find'st thou in this earth,
Wherein ought may be beleeu'd
Worth to make me Ioy'd; or grieu'd?
And yet feele I (naithelesse)
Part of both I must confesse.
Sometime, I of mirth doe borrow,
Otherwhile as much of sorrow;
But, my present state is such,
As, nor Ioy, nor grieue I much.
Philarete.
Why, hath Willy then so long
Thus forborne his wonted Song?
Wherefore doth he now let fall,
His well tuned Pastorall?
And my eares that musike barre,
Which I more long after farre,
Then the liberty I want.
Willy.
That, were very much to grant,
But, doth this hold alway lad,
Those that sing not, must be sad?
[Page] Did'st thou euer that Bird heare
Sing well; that sings all the yeare?
Tom the Piper doth not play
Till he weares his Pipe away:
There's a time to slacke the string,
And a time to leaue to sing.
Philarete.
Yea; but no man now is still,
That can sing, or tune a quill.
Now to chant it, were but reason;
Song and Musicke are in season.
Now in this sweet iolly tide,
Is the earth in all her pride:
The faire Lady of the May
Trim'd vp in her best array;
Hath inuited all the Swaines,
With the Lasses of the Plaines,
To attend vpon her sport
At the places of resort.
Coridon (with his bould Rout)
Hath alredy been about
For the elder Shepheards dole,
And fetch'd in the Summer-Pole:
Whil'st the rest haue built a Bower,
To defend them from a shower;
Seil'd so close, with boughes all greene,
Tytan cannot pry betweene.
[Page] Now the Dayrie-Wenches dreame
Of their Strawberries and Creame:
And each doth her selfe aduance
To be taken in, to dance:
Euery one that knowes to sing,
Fits him for his Carrolling:
So do those that hope for meede,
Either by the Pipe or Reede:
And though I am kept away,
I doe heare (this very day)
Many learned Groomes doe wend,
For the Garlands to contend.
Which a Nimph that hight Desart,
(Long a stranger in this part)
With her own faire hand hath wrought
A rare worke (they say) past thought,
As appeareth by the name,
For she cals them Wreathes of Fame.
She hath set in their due place
Eu'ry flowre that may grace;
And among a thousand moe,
(Whereof some but serue for shew)
She hath woue in Daphnes tree,
That they may not blasted be.
Which with Time she edg'd about,
Least the worke should rauell out.
And that it might wither neuer,
I intermixt it with Liue-euer.
[Page] These are to be shar'd among,
Those that doe excell for song:
Or their passions can rehearse
In the smooth'st and sweetest verse.
Then, for those among the rest,
That can play and pipe the best.
There's a Kidling with the Damme,
A fat Weather, and a Lambe.
And for those that leapen far,
Wrastle, Runne, and throw the Barre,
There's appointed guerdons to.
He, that best, the first can doe,
Shall, for his reward, be paid,
With a Sheep-hooke, faire in-laid
With fine Bone, of a strange Beast
That men bring out of the West.
For the next, a Scrip of red,
Tassel'd with fine coloured Thred,
There's prepared for their meed,
That in running make most speede,
(Or the cunning Measures foote)
Cups of turned Maple-roote:
Whereupon the skilfull man
Hath ingrau'd the Loues of Pan:
And the last hath for his due,
A fine Napkin wrought with blew.
Then, my Willy, why art thou
Carelesse of thy merit now?
[Page] What dost thou heere, with a wight
That is shut vp from delight,
In a solitary den,
As not fit to liue with men?
Goe, my Willy, get thee gone,
Leaue mee in exile alone.
Hye thee to that merry throng,
And amaze them with thy Song.
Thou art young, yet such a Lay
Neuer grac'd the month of May,
As (if they prouoke thy skill)
Thou canst fit vnto thy Quill,
I with wonder heard thee sing,
At our last yeeres Reuelling.
Then I with the rest was free,
When vnknowne I noted thee:
And perceiu'd the ruder Swaines,
Enuy thy farre sweeter straines.
Yea, I saw the Lasses cling
Round about thee in a Ring:
As if each one iealous were,
Any but her selfe should heare.
And I know they yet do long
For the res'due of thy song.
Hast thee then to sing it forth;
Take the benefit of worth.
And Desert will sure bequeath
Fames faire Garland for thy wreath,
Hye thee, Willy, hye away.
Willy.
[Page]
Phila, rather let mee stay,
And be desolate with thee,
Then at those their Reuels bee,
Nought such is my skill I wis,
As indeed thou deem'st it is.
But what ere it be, I must
Be content, and shall I trust.
For a Song I doe not passe,
Mong'st my friends, but what (alas)
Should I haue to doe with them
That my Musicke doe contemne?
Some there are, as well I wot,
That the same yet fauour not:
Yet I cannot well auow,
They my Carrols disalow:
But such malice I haue spid,
'Tis as much as if they did.
Philarete.
Willy, What may those men be,
Are so ill, to malice thee?
Willy.
Some are worthy-well esteem'd,
Some without worth are so deem'd.
Others of so base a spirit,
They haue nor esteeme, nor merit.
Philarete.
[Page]
What's the wrong?—
Willy.
—A slight offence,
Wherewithall I can dispence;
But hereafter for their sake.
To my selfe I'le musicke make.
Philarete.
What, because some Clowne offends,
Wilt thou punish all thy friends?
Willy.
Do not, Phill, mis-vnderstand mee,
Those that loue mee may command mee,
But, thou know'st, I am but yong,
And the Pastorall I sung,
Is by some suppos'd to be,
(By a straine) too high for me:
So they kindly let me gaine,
Not my labour for my paine.
Trust me, I doe wonder why
They should me my owne deny.
Though I'me young, I scorne to flit
On the wings of borrowed wit.
I'le make my owne feathers reare me,
Whither others cannot beare me.
[Page] Yet I'le keepe my skill in store,
Till I'ue seene some Winters more
Pillarete.
But, in earnest, mean'st thou so?
Then thou art not wise, I trow:
Better shall aduise thee Pan,
For thou dost not rightly than:
That's the ready way to blot
All the credit thou hast got.
Rather in thy Ages prime,
Get another start of Time:
And make those that so fond be,
(Spight of their owne dulnesse) see,
That the sacred Muses can
Make a childe in yeeres, a man.
It is knowne what thou canst doe,
For it is not long agoe,
When that Cuddy, Thou, and I,
Each the others skill to try,
At Saint Dunstanes charmed well,
(As some present there can tell)
Sang vpon a sudden Theame,
Sitting by the Crimson streame.
Where, if thou didst well or no,
Yet remaines the Song to show,
Much experience more I'ue had,
Of thy skill (thou happy Lad)
[Page] And would make the world to know it;
But that time will further show it.
Enuy makes their tongues now runne
More then doubt of what is done.
For that needs must be thy owne,
Or to be some others knowne:
But how then wil't suit vnto
What thou shalt hereafter do?
Or I wonder where is hee,
Would with that song part to thee.
Nay, were there so mad a Swaine,
Could such glory sell for gaine;
Phoebus would not haue combin'd,
That gift with so base a minde.
Neuer did the Nine impart
The sweet secrets of their Art,
Vnto any that did scorne,
We should see their fauours worne.
Therefore vnto those that say,
Where they pleas'd to sing a Lay.
They could doo't, and will not tho;
This I speake, for this I know:
None ere drunke the Thespian spring,
And knew how, but he did sing.
For, that once infus'd in man.
Makes him shew't doe what he can.
Nay, those that doe onely sip,
Or, but eu'n their fingers dip
[Page] In that sacred Fount (poore Elues)
Of that brood will shew themselues.
Yea, in hope to get them fame,
They will speake, though to their shame.
Let those then at thee repine,
That by their wits measure thine;
Needs those Songs must be thine owne,
And that one day will be knowne.
That poore imputation to,
I my selfe do vndergoe:
But it will appeare ere long,
That 'twas Enuy sought our wrong.
Who at twice-ten haue sung more,
Then some will doe, at fourescore,
Cheere thee (honest Willy) then,
And begin thy Song agen.
Willy.
Faine I would, but I doe feare
When againe my Lines they heare,
If they yeeld they are my Rimes,
They will faine some other Crimes;
And 'tis no safe ventring-by
Where we see Detraction ly.
For doe what I can, I doubt,
She will picke some quarrell out;
And I oft haue heard defended,
Little said, is soone amended.
Philarete.
[Page]
See'st thou not in clearest dayes,
Oft thicke fogs cloud Heau'ns rayes.
And that vapours which doe breath
From the earths grosse wombe beneath,
Seeme not to vs with black steames,
To pollute the Sunnes bright beames,
And yet vanish into ayre,
Leauing it (vnblemisht) faire?
So (my Willy) shall it bee
With Detractions breath on thee.
It shall neuer rise so hie,
As to staine thy Poesie.
As that Sunne doth oft exhale
Vapours from each rotten Vale;
Poesie so sometime draines,
Grosse conceits from muddy braines;
Mists of Enuy, fogs of spight,
Twixt mens judgements and her light:
But so much her power may do,
That shee can dissolue them to.
If thy Verse doe brauely tower,
As shee makes wing, she gets power:
Yet the higher she doth sore,
Shee's affronted still the more:
Till shee to the high'st hath past,
Then she rests with fame at last,
[Page] Let nought therefore, thee affright:
But make forward in thy flight:
For if I could match thy Rime,
To the very Starres I'de clime.
There begin again, and flye,
Till I reach'd Aeternity.
But (alasse) my Muse is slow:
For thy place shee flags too low:
Yea, the more's her haplesse fate,
Her short wings were clipt of late.
And poore I, her fortune ruing,
Am my selfe put vp a muing.
But if I my Cage can rid,
I'le flye where I neuer did.
And though for her sake I'me crost,
Though my best hopes I haue lost,
And knew she would make my trouble
Ten times more then ten times double:
I should loue and keepe her to,
Spight of all the world could doe.
For though banish't from my flockes,
And confin'd within these rockes,
Here I waste away the light,
And consume the sullen Night,
She doth for my comfort stay,
And keepes many cares away.
Though I misle the flowry Fields,
With those sweets the Spring-tyde yeelds,
[Page] Though I may not see those Groues,
Where the Shepheards chant their Loues,
(And the Lasses more excell,
Then the sweet voyc'd Philomel)
Though of all those pleasures past,
Nothing now remaines at last,
But Remembrance (poore reliefe)
That more makes, then mends my griefe:
Shee's my mindes companion still,
Maugre Enuies euill will.
(Whence she should be driuen to,
Wer't in mortals power to do.)
She doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace;
And the blackest discontents
To be pleasing ornaments.
In my former dayes of blisse,
Her diuine skill taught me this,
That from euery thing I saw,
I could some inuention draw:
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest obiects sight.
By the murmure of a spring,
Or the least boughes rusteling.
By a Dazie whose leaues spred,
Shut when Tytan goes to bed;
[Page] Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in mee,
Then all Natures beauties can,
In some other wiser man.
By her helpe I also now,
Make this churlish place allow
Some things that may sweeten gladnes,
In the very gall of sadnes.
The dull loannesse, the blacke shade,
That these hanging vaults haue made,
The strange Musicke of the waues,
Beating on these hollow Caues,
This blacke Den which Rocks embosse
Ouer-growne with eldest Mosse.
The rude Portals that giue light,
More to Terror then Delight.
This my Chamber of Neglect,
Wall'd about with Disrespect,
From all these and this dull ayre,
A fit obiect for Despaire,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore thou best earthly blisse,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesie; thou sweetest content
That e're Heau'n to mortals lent:
Though they as a trifle leaue thee
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceiue thee,
[Page] Though thou be to them a scorne,
That to nought but earth are borne:
Let my life no longer be
Then I am in loue with thee.
Though our wise ones call thee madnesse
Let me neuer taste of gladnesse.
If I loue not thy mad'st fits,
More then all their greatest wits.
And though some too seeming holy,
Doe account thy raptures folly:
Thou dost teach me to contemne,
What make Knaues and Fooles of them.
Oh high power! that oft doth carry
Men aboue—
Willie.
—Good Philarete tarry,
I doe feare thou wilt be gon,
Quite aboue my reach anon.
The kinde flames of Poesie
Haue now borne thy thoughts so high,
That they vp in Heauen be,
And haue quite forgotten me.
Call thy selfe to minde againe,
Are these Raptures for a Swaine,
That attends on lowly Sheepe,
And with simple Heards doth keepe?
Philarete.
[Page]
Thankes my Willie; I had runne
Till that Time had lodg'd the Sunne,
If thou had'st not made me stay;
But thy pardon here I pray.
Lou'd Apolo's sacred sire
Had rais'd vp my spirits higher
Through the loue of Poesie,
Then indeed they vse to flye.
But as I said, I say still,
If that I had Willi's skill,
Enuie nor Detractions tongue,
Should ere make me leaue my song:
But I'de sing it euery day
Till they pin'd themselues away.
Be thou then aduis'd in this,
Which both iust and sitting is:
Finish what thou hast begun,
Or at least still forward run.
Haile and Thunder ill hee 'l beare
That a blast of winde doth feare:
And if words will thus afray thee,
Prethee how will deeds dismay thee?
Doe not thinke so rathe a Song
Can passe through the vulgar throng,
And escape without a touch,
Or that they can hurt it much:
[Page] Frosts we see doe nip that thing
Which is forward'st in the Spring:
Yet at last for all such lets
Somewhat of the rest it gets.
And l'me sure that so maist thou,
Therefore my kind Willie now.
Since thy folding time drawes on
And I see thou must be gon,
Thee I earnestly beseech
To remember this my speech
And some little counsell take,
For Philarete his sake:
And I more of this will say,
If thou come next Holy-day.
FINIS.

The Shepheards Hunting.
The fifth Eglogue.

THE ARGVMENT.
Philaret Alexis moues,
To embrace the Muses loues;
Bids him neuer carefull seeme,
Of anothers dis-esteeme:
Since to them it may suffice,
They themselues can iustly prize.
PHILARETE. ALEXIS.
Philarete.
ALexis, if thy worth doe not disdaine
The humble friendship of a meaner Swaine,
Or some more needfull businesse of the day,
Vrge thee to be too hasty on thy way;
Come (gentle Shepheard) rest thee here by mee,
Beneath the shadow of this broad leau'd tree:
For though I seeme a stranger, yet mine eye
Obserues in thee the markes of courtesie:
[Page] And if my iudgement erre not, noted to,
More then in those that more would seeme to doe.
Such Vertues thy rare modesty doth hide.
Which by their proper luster I espy'd;
And though long maskt in silence they haue beene,
I haue a Wisedome through that silence seene,
Yea, I haue learned knowledge from thy tongue,
And heard when thou hast in concealement sung.
Which me the bolder and more willing made
Thus to inuite thee to this homely shade.
And though (it may be) thou couldst neuer spie,
Such worth in me, I might be knowne thereby:
In thee I doe; for here my neighbouring Sheepe
Vpon the border of these Downes I keepe:
Where often thou at Pastorals and Playes,
Hast grac'd our Wakes on Summer Holy-dayes:
And many a time with thee at this cold spring
Met I, to heare your learned shepheards sing,
Saw them disporting in the shady Groues,
And in chaste Sonnets wooe their chaster Loues:
When I, endued with the meanest skill,
Mongst others haue been vrg'd to tune my quill.
But, (cause but little cunning I had got)
Perhaps thou saw'st me, though thou knew'st me not.
Alexis.
Yes Philaret, I know thee, and thy name.
Nor is my knowledge grounded all on fame.
[Page] Art thou not he, that but this other yeere,
Seard'st all the Wolues and Foxes in the Sheere?
And in a match at Foot-ball lately tride
(Hauing scarce twenty Satyrs on thy side)
Held'st play: and though assailed kept'st thy stand
Gainst all the best-tride Ruffians in the Land?
Did'st thou not then in dolefull Sonnets mone,
When the beloued of great Pan was gone?
And at the wedding of faire Thame and Rhine,
Sing of their glories to thy Valentine?
I know it, and I must confesse that long
In one thing I did doe thy nature wrong:
For, till I mark'd the ayme thy Satyrs had,
I thought them ouer-bold, and thee halfe mad.
But, since I did more neerely on thee looke,
I soone perceiu'd that I all had mistooke;
I saw that of a Cynicke thou mad'st show,
Where since, I finde, that thou wert nothing so;
And that of many thou much blame had'st got,
When as thy Innocency deseru'd it not.
But that too good opinion thou hast seem'd
To haue of me (not so to be esteem'd,)
Preuailes not ought to stay him who doth feare,
He rather should reproofes then prayses heare.
'Tis true, I found thee plaine and honest to,
Which made mee like, then loue, as now I do;
And, Phila, though a stranger, this to the Ile say,
Where I doe loue, I am not coy to stay.
Philarete.
[Page]
Thankes, gentle Swaine, that dost so soone vnfold
What I to thee as gladly would haue told▪
And thus thy wonted curtesie exprest
In kindly entertaining this request.
Sure, I should iniure much my owne content,
Or wrong thy loue to stand on complement:
Who hast acquaintance in one word begun,
As well as I could in an age haue done.
Or by an ouer-weaning slownesse marre
What thy more wisdome hath brought on so farre.
Then sit thou downe, and Ile my minde declare,
As freely, as if we familiars were:
And if thou wilt but daigne to giue me eare,
Something thou mayst for thy more profit heare.
Alexis.
Philarete, I willingly obey.
Philarete.
Then know, Alexis, from that very day,
When as I saw thee at thy Shepheards Coate,
Where each (I thinke) of other tooke first note;
I meane that Pastor who by Tauies springs,
Chaste Shepheards loues in sweetest numbers sings,
And with his Musicke (to his greater fame)
Hath late made proud the fairest Nymphs of Thame.
[Page] E'ne then (me thought) I did espy in thee
Some vnperceiu'd and hidden worth to bee:
Which, in thy more apparant vertues, shin'd;
And, among many, I (in thought) deuin'd,
By something my conceit had vnderstood,
That thou wert markt one of the Muses brood,
That, made me loue thee: and that Loue I beare
Begat a Pitty, and that Pitty, Care:
Pitty I had to see good parts conceal'd,
Care I had how to haue that good reueal'd,
Since 'tis a fault admitteth no excuse,
To possesse much, and yet put nought in vse.
Hereon I vow'd (if wee two euer met)
The first request that I would striue to get,
Should be but this, that thou would'st shew thy skill,
How thou could'st tune thy Verses to thy quill:
And teach thy Muse in some well-framed Song,
To shew the Art thou hast supprest so long:
Which if my new-acquaintance may obtaine,
I will for euer honour this daies gaine.
Alexis.
Alas! my small experience scarce can tell,
So much as where those Nymphs, the Muses, dwell;
Nor (though my [...]low conceit still trauels on)
Shall I ere reach to drinke of Hellicon.
Or, if I might so fauour'd be to taste
What those sweet streames but ouer-flow in waste,
[Page] And touch Parnassus, where [...] [...]ow'st doth lie,
I feare my skill would hardly flag so hie.
Philarete.
Despaire not Man, the Gods haue prized nought
So deere, that may not be with labour bought:
Nor need thy paine be great, since Fate and Heauen,
That (as a blessing) at thy birth haue giuen.
Alexis.
Why, say they had?—
Philarete.
—Then vse their gifts thou must.
Or be vngratefull, and so be vnjust:
For if it cannot truely be deni'd,
Ingratitude mens benefits doe hide;
Then more vngratefull must he be by ods,
Who doth conceale the bounty of the Gods.
Alexis.
That's true indeed, but Enuy haunteth those
Who seeking Fame, their hidden skill disclose:
Where else they might (obscur'd) from her espying,
Escape the blasts and danger of enuying:
Cryticks will censure our best straines of Wit,
And pur-blind Ignorance misconster it.
[Page] And which is bad, (yet worse then this doth follow)
Most hate the Muses, and contemne Apollo.
Philarete.
So let them: why should wee their hate esteeme?
Is't not enough we of our selues can deeme?
'Tis more to their disgrace that we scorne them,
Then vnto vs that they our Art contemne.
Can we haue better pastime then to see
Their grosse heads may so much deceiued bee,
As to allow those doings best, where wholly
We scoffe them to their face, and flout their folly?
Or to behold blacke Enuy in her prime,
[...]e selfe-consum'd, whilst we vie liues with time:
And, in despight of her, more same attaine,
Then all her malice can wipe out againe?
Alexis.
Yea, but if I appli'd mee to those straines,
Who should driue forth my Flocks vnto the plaines,
Which, whil'st the Muses rest, and leasure craue,
Must watering, folding, and attendance haue?
For if I leaue with wonted care to cherish
Those tender heards, both I and they should perish.
Philarete.
Alexis, now I see thou dost mistake,
There is no meaning thou thy Charge forsake;
[Page] Nor would I wish thee so thy selfe abuse,
As to neglect thy calling for thy Muse.
But, let these two, so each of other borrow,
That they may season mirth, and lessen sorrow.
Thy Flocke will helpe thy charges to defray,
Thy Muse to passe the long and teadious day:
Or whilst thou tun'st sweet measures to thy Reed,
Thy Sheepe, to listen, will more neere thee feed;
The Wolues will shun them, birds aboue thee sing,
And Lamkins dance about thee in a Ring.
Nay, which is more; in this thy low estate,
Thou in contentment shalt with Monarks mate:
For mighty Pan, and Ceres, to vs grants,
Our Fields and Flocks shall helpe our outward wants:
The Muses teach vs Songs to put off cares,
Grac'd with as rare and sweet conceits as theirs:
And we can thinke our Lasses on the Greenes
As faire, or fairer, then the fairest Queenes:
Or, what is more then most of them shall doe,
Wee'le make their iuster fames last longer to,
And haue our Lines by greatest Princes grac'd
When both their name and memori's defac'd.
Therefore, Alexis, though that some disdaine
The heauenly Musicke of the Rurall plaine,
What is't to vs, if they (o'reseene) contemne
The dainties which were nere ordain'd for them?
And though that there be other-some enuy
The prayses due to sacred Poesie,
[Page] Let them disdaine, and fret till they are weary,
Wee in our selues haue that shall make vs merry:
Which, he that wants, and had the power to know it,
Would giue his life that he might die a Poet.
Alexis:
A braue perswasion.—
Philarete.
—Here thou see'st mee pent
Within the jawes of strict imprisonment;
A fore-lorne Shepheard, voyd of all the meanes.
Whereon Mans common hope in danger leanes,
Weake in my selfe, exposed to the Hate
Of those whose Enuies are insatiate:
Shut from my friends, banish'd from all delights;
Nay worse, excluded from the sacred Rites.
Here I doe liue mongst out-lawes markt for death.
As one vnfit to draw the common breath,
Where those who to be good did neuer know,
Are barred from the meanes should make them so▪
I suffer, cause I wish'd my Country well,
And what I more must beare I cannot tell.
I'me sure they giue my Body little scope,
And would allow my Minde as little Hope:
I waste my Meanes, which of it selfe is slender,
Consume my Time (perhaps my fortunes hinder)
[Page] And many Crosses haue, which those that can
Conceiue no wrong that hurts another man,
Will not take note of; though if halfe so much
Should light on them, or their owne person touch,
Some that themselues (I feare) most worthy thinke,
With all their helpes would into basenesse shrinke.
But, spight of Hate, and all that Spight can do,
I can be patient yet, and merry to.
That slender Muse of mine, by which my Name,
Though scarse deseru'd, hath gain'd a little fame,
Hath made mee vnto such a Fortune borne,
That all misfortunes I know how to scorne;
Yea, midst these bands can sleight the Great'st that bee,
As much as their disdaine misteemes of mee.
This Caue, whose very presence some affrights,
I haue oft made to Eccho forth delights,
And hope to turne, if any Iustice be,
Both shame and care on those that wish'd it me.
For while the World rancke villanies affords,
I will not spare to paint them out in words;
Although I still should into troubles runne,
I knew what man could act, ere I begun;
And I'le fulfill what my Muse drawes mee to,
Maugre all Iayles, and Purgatories to.
For whil'st shee sets mee honest task's about,
Vertue, or shee, (I know) will beare mee out:
And if, by Fate, th'abused power of some
Must, in the worlds-eye, leaue mee ouercome,
[Page] They shall find one Fort yet. so fenc'd I trow,
It cannot feare a Mortals ouer-throw.
This Hope, and Trust, that great power did infuse,
That first inspir'd into my brest a Muse,
By whom I doe, and euer will contemne
All those ill haps, my foes despight, and them.
Alexis.
Th'hast so well (yong Philaret) plaid thy part,
I am almost in loue with that sweet Art:
And if some power will but inspire my song,
Alexis will not be obscured long.
Philarete.
Enough kinde Pastor: But oh! yonder see
Two honest Shepheards walking hither, bee
Cuddy and Willy, that so dearely loue,
Who are repairing vnto yonder Groue:
Let's follow them: for neuer brauer Swaines
Made musicke to their flocks vpon these Plaines.
They are more worthy, and can better tell
What rare contents doe with a Poet dwell.
Then whiles our sheepe the short sweet grasse do sheare
And till the long shade of the hils appeare,
Wee'le heare them sing: for though the one be young,
Neuer was any that more sweetly sung.

A Postscript.
To the Reader.

IF you haue read this, and re­ceiued any content, I am glad, (though it bee not so much as I could wish you) if you thinke it idle, why then I see wee are not likely to fall out; for I am iust of your minds; yet weigh it well before you runne too farre in your censures, lest this proue lesse barren of Wit, then you of courtesie. It is very true (I know not by what chance) that I haue of late been so highly beholding to Opinion, that I wonder how I crept so much into her fauour, and if I did thinke it worthie the fearing) I should be afraid that she [Page] hauing so vndeseruedly befriended mee beyond my Hope or expectation, will, vpon as little cause, ere long, againe picke some quarrell against mee; and it may bee, meanes to make vse of this, which I know must needes come farre short of their expectation, who by their earnest desire of it, seem'd to be fore-pos­sest with a farre better conceite, then I can beleeue it prooues worthy of. So much at least I doubted, and therefore loth to deceiue the world (though it of­ten beguile me) I kept it to my selfe, in­deed, not dreaming euer to see it publish­ed: But now, by the ouermuch perswasi­on of some friends, I haue been constrai­ned to expose it to the generall view. Which seeing I haue done, somethings I desire thee to take notice of. First, that I am Hee, who to pleasure my friend, [Page] haue fram'd my selfe a content out of that which would otherwise discon­tent mee. Secondly, that I haue co­ueted more to effect what I thinke true­ly honest in it selfe, then by a see­ming shew of Art, to catch the vaine blastes of vncertaine Opinion. This that I haue here written, was no part of my studie, but onely a recreation in imprisonment: and a trifle, neither in my conceit fitting, nor by me intended to bee made common; yet some, who it should seeme esteemed it worthy more respect then I did, tooke paines to coppy it out, vnknowne to mee, and in my ab­sence got it both Authorized and pre­pared for the Presse; so that if I had not hindred it, last Michaelmas-Tearme had beene troubled with it. I was much blamed by some Friends for withstan­ding [Page] it, to whose request I should more easily haue consented, but that I thought (as indeed I yet doe) I should thereby more disparage my selfe, then content them. For I doubt J shall bee supposed one of those, who out of their arrogant desire of a little preposterous Fame, thrust into the world euery vn­seasoned trifle that drops out of their vnsetled braines; whose basenesse how much I hate, those that know mee can witnesse, for if I were so affected, I might perhaps present the World with as many seuerall Poems, as I haue seene yeeres; and iustly make my selfe ap­peare to bee the Author of some things that others haue shamefully vsurped and made vse of as their owne. But I will be content other men should owne some of those Issues of the Braine, for J [Page] would be loath to confesse all that might in that kinde call me Father. Neither shall any more of them, by my consent, in hast againe trouble the world, vnlesse I know which way to benefit it with lesse preiudice to my owne estate. And there­fore if any of those lesse serious Poems which are already disperst into my friends hands, come amongst you, let not their publication be imputed to me, nor their lightnesse be any disparagement to what hath been since more serious writ­ten, seeing it is but such stuffe as riper iudgements haue in their farre elder yeeres been much more guilty of.

I know an indifferent Crittick may finde many faults, as well in the slight­nesse of this present Subiect, as in the erring from the true nature of an Eg­logue: moreouer, it altogether con­cernes [Page] my self, which diuers may dislike. But neither can bee done on iust cause: The first hath bin answered already: The last might consider that I was there where my owne estate was chiefly to bee looked vnto, and all the comfort I could minister vnto my selfe, little enough.

If any man deeme it worthy his rea­ding I shall bee glad: if hee thinke his paines ill bestow'd, let him blame him­selfe for medling with that concerned him not: I neither commended it to him, neither cared whether he read it or no; because I know those that were desirous of it, will esteeme the same as much as I expect they should.

But it is not vnlikely, some wil thinke I haue in diuers places been more wan­ton (as they take it) then befitting a Sati­rict; yet their seuerity I feare not, because [Page] J am assured all that I euer yet did, was free from Obscaenity: neyther am I so Cynical, but that I thinke a modest ex­pression of such amorous conceits as sute with Reason, will yet very well become my yeeres; in which not to haue feeling of the power of Loue, were as great an argument of much stupidity, as an ouer­sottish affection were of extreame folly. Lastly, if you thinke it hath not well an­swered the Title of the Shepheards Hunting, goe quarrell with the Stati­oner, who bid himselfe God-Father, and imposed the Name according to his owne liking; and if you, or hee, finde any faults, pray mend them.

Valete.

FINIS.
FIDELIA: BY GEORGE W …

FIDELIA: BY GEORGE WITHER. GENT:

[figure]

LONDON, Printed by T. S. for Iohn Budge, dwelling in Pauls-Church-yard, at the signe of the Greene Dragon, 1622.

An Elegiacall Epistle of Fidelia, to her vnconstant Friend.

THE ARGVMENT.

This Elegiacall Epistle, being a fragment of some greater Poeme, discouers the modest affections of a discreet and con­stant Woman, shadowed vnder the name of Fidelia; wherein you may perceiue the height of their Passions, so farre as they seeme to agree with reason, and keepe within such decent bounds as beseemeth their Sex, but further it meddles not. The occa­sion seemes to proceed from some mutability in her friend, whose obiections shee heere presupposing, confuteth, and in the person of him iustly vpbraideth all that are subiect to the like change, or sicklenesse in minde. Among the rest, some more weightie Arguments then are (perhaps) expected in such a subiect, are briefly, and yet somewhat seriously handled.

OFt I haue heard tel, and now for truth I finde,
Once out of sight, and quickly out of minde.
And that it hath been rightly said of old,
Loue that's soon'st hot, is euer soonest cold.
[Page] Or else my teares at this time had not stain'd
The spotlesse paper, nor my lines complain'd.
I had not now, been forced to haue sent
These lines for Nuncio's of my discontent;
Nor thus, exchanged, so vnhappily,
My songs of Mirth, to write an Elegie.
But, now I must; and, since I must doe so,
Let mee but craue, thou wilt not flout my woe:
Nor entertaine my sorrowes with a scoffe,
But, reade (at least) before thou cast them off.
And, though thy heart's too hard to haue compassion,
Oh blame not, if thou pitty not my Passion,
For well thou know'st (alas, that er'e 'twas knowne)
There was a time (although that time be gone)
I, that for this, scarce dare a beggar bee,
Presum'd for more to haue commanded thee.
Yea, the Day was, (but see how things may change)
When thou, and I, haue not been halfe so strange;
But oft embrac'd each other, gently greeting,
With such kinde words, as Turtle, Doue, or Sweeting.
Yea, had thy meaning, and those vowes of thine,
Prou'd but as faithfull, and as true as mine,
It still had been so: for (I doe not faine)
I should rejoyce it might be so againe.
But, sith thy Loue growes cold, and thou vnkinde,
Be not displeas'd I somewhat breath my minde;
I am in hope, my words may proue a mirrour,
Whereon thou looking, may'st behold thine error.
[Page] And yet, the Heauen, and my sad heart doth know,
How griu'd I am, and with what feeling woe
My minde is tortured, to thinke that I
Should be the brand of thy disloyalty:
Or, liue to be the Author of a line
That shall be printed with a fault of thine;
(Since if that thou but slightly touched be,
Deepe wounds of griefe, and shame, it strikes in me:)
And yet I must; ill hap compels me to
What I nere thought to haue had cause to do.
And therefore, seeing that some angry Fate
Imposes on mee, what I so much hate:
Or, since it is so, that the Powers diuine
Mee (miserable) to such cares assigne;
Oh that Loues patron, or some sacred Muse,
Amongst my Passions, would such Art infuse,
My well-fram'd words, and aiery sighs might proue
The happy blasts to re-inflame thy loue.
Or, at least, touch thee with thy fault so neere,
That thou might'st see thou wrong'st, who held thee deere:
Seeing, confesse the same, and so abhorre it,
Abhorring, pitty, and repent thee for it.
But (Deare) I hope that I may call thee so,
(For thou art deare to mee, although a foe)
Tell mee, is't true, that I doe heare of thee,
And, by thy absence, true appeares to bee?
Can such abuse be in the Court of Loue,
False and inconstant now, thou Hee should'st proue?
[Page] He, that so wofull, and so pensiue sate,
Vowing his seruice at my feete of late?
Art thou that quondam louer, whose sad eye
I seldome saw yet, in my presence dry?
And from whose gentle-seeming tongue I know
So many pitty-mouing words could flow?
Was't thou, so soughtst my loue, so seeking that
As if it had been all th'hadst aymed at?
Making me think thy Passion without staine,
And gently quite thee with my loue againe?
With this perswasion I so fairely plac'd it,
Nor Time, nor Enuy, should haue ere defac'd it?
Is't so? haue I done thus much? and art thou
So ouer-cloyed with my fauours now?
Art wearsed since with louing, and estranged
So far? Is thy affection so much changed,
That I of all my hopes must be deceyued,
And all good thoughts of thee be quite bereaued?
Then true I finde, which long before this day
I fear'd my selfe, and heard some wiser say;
That there is nought on earth so sweet, that can
Long relish with the curious taste of Man.
Happy was I; yea, well it was with mee,
Before I came to be bewitch'd by thee.
I ioy'd the sweet'st content that euer Maid
Possessed yet; and truely well-a-paid,
Made to my selfe (alone) as pleasant mirth
As euer any Virgine did on earth.
[Page] The melody I vs'd was free, and such
As that Bird makes, whom neuer hand did touch;
But, vn-allur'd, (with Fowlers whistling) flies
Aboue the reach of humane treacheries.
And (well I doe remember) often then
Could I reade o're the pollicies of men;
Discouer what vncertainties they were;
How they would sigh, looke sad, protest, and sweare;
Nay, faigne to die, when they did neuer proue
The slendrest touch of a right-worthy loue:
But had chil'd hearts, whose dulnesse vnderstood
No more of Passion, then they did of good.
All which I noted well, and in my minde
(A generall humour amongst women-kinde)
This vow I made; (thinking to keepe it than)
That neuer the faire tongue of any man,
Nor his complaint, though neuer so much grieu'd,
Should moue my heart to liking whil'st I liu'd.
But, who can say, what she shall liue to do?
I haue beleeu'd, and let in liking to,
And that so farre, I cannot yet see how
I may so much as hope, to helpe it now;
Which makes mee thinke, what e're we women say,
Another minde will come another day.
And that men may to things vnhop'd for clime,
Who watch but Opportunity and Time.
For 'tis well knowne, we were not made of clay,
Or such course, and ill-temper'd stuffe as they.
[Page] For he that fram'd vs of their flesh, did daigne
When 'twas at best, to new refine't againe.
Which makes vs euer since the kinder Creatures,
Of farre more flexible, and yeelding Natures.
And as wee oft excell in outward parts,
So wee haue nobler and more gentle hearts.
Which, you well knowing, daily doe deuise
How to imprint on them your Cruelties.
But doe I sinde my cause thus bad indeed?
Or else on things imaginary feed?
Am I the lasse that late so truly iolly,
Made my selfe merry oft, at others folly?
Am I the Nymph that Cupids fancies blam'd,
That was so cold, so hard to be inflam'd?
Am I my selfe? or is my selfe that Shee
Who from this Thraldome, or such falshoods free,
Late own'd mine owne heart, and full merry then,
Did fore-warne others to beware of Men?
And could not, hauing taught them what to doe,
Now learne my selfe, to take heede of you to?
Foole that I am, I feare my guerdon's iust,
In that I knew this, and presum'd to trust.
And yet (alas) for ought that I could tell,
One sparke of goodnesse in the world might dwell:
And then, I thought, If such a thing might be,
Why might not that one sparke remaine in thee?
For thy faire out-side, and thy fayrer tongue,
Did promise much, although thy yeares were young.
[Page] And Vertue (wheresoeuer she be now)
Seem'd then, to sit enthron'd vpon thy brow.
Yea, sure it was: but, whether 'twere or no,
Certaine I am, and was perswaded so.
Which made me loth to thinke, that words of fashion,
Could be so fram'd, so ouer-laid with Passion;
Or sighes so feeling, fain'd from any brest.
Nay, say thou hadst been false in all the rest;
Yet from thy eye, my heart such notice tooke,
Me thought, guile could not faine so sad a looke.
But now I'ue try'd, my bought experience knowes,
They oft are worst that make the fairest showes.
And howsoe're men faine an outward grieuing,
'Tis neither worth respecting, nor belieuing:
For, she that doth one to her mercy take,
Warmes in her bosome but a frozen snake:
Which heated with her fauours, gather sence,
And stings her to the heart in recompence.
But tell me why, and for what secret spight
You in poore womens miseries delight?
For so it seemes; else why d'yee labour for
That, which when 'tis obtained, you abhor?
Or to what end doe you endure such paine
To win our loue, and cast it off againe?
Oh that we either your hard hearts could borrow,
Or else your strengths, to helpe vs beare our sorrow:
But we are cause of all this griefe and shame,
And we haue none but our owne selues to blame:
[Page] For still we see your falshood for our learning.
Yet neuer can haue power to tak't for warning;
But (as if borne to be deluded by you)
We know you trustlesse, and yet still we try you.
(Alas) what wrong was in my power to doe thee?
Or what despight haue I er'e done vnto thee?
That thou shouldst chuse Me, aboue all the rest,
To bethy scorne, and thus be made a iest?
Must mens il natures such true villaines proue them,
To make thē wrong those most that most do loue them;
Couldst thou finde none in Countrey, Towne or Court,
But onely Me, to make thy Foole, thy sport?
Thou knowst I haue no wanton courses runne,
Nor seemed easie vnto lewdnesse wonne.
And (though I cannot boast me of much wit,)
Thou saw'st no signe of fondnesse in me yet.
Nor did ill nature euer so ore-sway me,
To flout at any that did woe or pray me,
But grant I had been guilty of abusage,
Of thee I'me sure I ne're deseru'd such vsage.
But thou wert grieued to behold my smilings.
When I was free from loue, and thy beguilings.
Or to what purpose else didst thou bestow
Thy time, and study to delude me so?
Hast thou good parts? and dost thou bend them all
To bring those that ne're hated thee in thrall?
Prethee take heed, although thou yet inioy'st them
They'l be tooke from thee, if thou so imploy'st them.
[Page] For though I wish not the least harme to thee,
I feare, the iust Heauens will reuenged be.
Oh! what of Mee by this time had become,
If my desires with thine had hapt to rome,
Or I, vnwisely, had consented to
What (shamelesse) once thou didst attempt to doe?
I might haue falne, by those immodest trickes,
Had not some power beene stronger then my Sex.
And if I should haue so been drawne to folly,
I saw thee apt enough to be vnholy.
Or if my weakenesse had beene prone to sinne,
I poorely by thy strength had succour'd bin.
You Men make vs belieue you doe but try,
And that's your part, (you say) ours to deny.
Yet I much feare, if we through frailty stray,
There's few of you within your bounds will stay;
But, maugre all your seeming Vertue, be
As ready to forget your selues, as we.
I might haue fear'd thy part of loue not strong,
When thou didst offer me so base a wrong:
And that I after loath'd thee not, did proue
In mee some extraordinary Loue.
For sure had any other but in thought,
Presum'd vnworthily what thou hast sought,
Might it appeare, I should doe thus much for him,
With a scarce reconciled hate abhorre him.
My young experience neuer yet did know
Whether desire might range so farre, or no,
[Page] To make true Louers carelesly request,
What rash enioyning makes them most vnblest,
Or blindly thorow frailty giue consenting
To that, which done brings nothing but repenting.
But in my iudgement it doth rather proue
That they are fir'd with lust, then warm'd with loue.
And if it be for proofe men so proceed,
It shewes a doubt, else what doe tryals neede?
And where is that man liuing euer knew
That false distrust, could be with loue that's true?
Since the meere cause of that vnblam'd effect,
Such an opinion is, that hates suspect.
And yet, thee and thy loue I will excuse,
If thou wilt neither me, nor mine abuse.
For, Ile suppose thy passion made thee proffer
That vnto me, thou to none else wouldst offer,
And so, thinke thou, if I haue thee deni'd,
Whom I more lou'd then all men else beside;
What hope haue they such fauour to obtaine,
That neuer halfe so much respect could gaine?
Such was my loue, that I did value thee
Aboue all things below eternity.
Nothing on Earth vnto my heart was nearer
No Ioy so prized, nor no Iewell dearer.
Nay: I doe feare I did Idolatrize;
For which Heauens wrath inflicts these miseries,
And makes the things which were for blessings lent,
To be renewers of my discontent.
[Page] Where was there any of the Naiades,
The Dryad's, or the Hamadryades?
Which of the Brittish shires can yeeld againe,
A mistresse of the Springs, or Wood, or Plaine?
Whose eye enioy'd more sweet contents then mine,
Till I receiu'd my ouerthrow by thine?
Where's she did more delight in Springs and Rils?
Where's she that walk'd more Groues, or Downs, or Hils?
Or could by such faire artlesse prospect, more
Adde by conceit, to her contentments store
Then I; whilst thou wert true, and with thy Graces
Didst giue a pleasing presence to those places?
But now What is? What was hath ouerthrowne,
My Rose deckt allies, now with Rue are strowne;
And from those flowers that honyed vse to be,
I sucke nought now but iuyce to poyson mee.
For eu'n as she, whose gentle spirit can raise,
To apprehend Loues noble mysteries,
Spying a precious Iewell richly set,
Shine in some corner of her Cabenet,
Taketh delight at first to gaze vpon
The pretty lustre of the sparkling stone,
(And pleas'd in mind, by that doth seeme to see
How vertue shines through base obscurity;)
But prying neerer, seeing it doth proue
Some relique of her deere deceased Loue,
Which to her sad remembrance doth lay ope,
What she most sought, and sees most far from hope:
[Page] Fainting almost beneath her Passions weight,
And quite forgetfull of her first conceit:
Looking vpon't againe, from thence she borrowes
Sad melancholy thoughts to feed her sorrowes.
So I beholding Natures curious bowers,
Seel'd, strow'd, and trim'd vp with leaues, hearbes, and flowers.
Walke pleased on a while, and doe deuize,
How on each obiect I may moralize.
But er'e I pace on many steps, I see
There stands a Hawthorne that was trim'd by thee:
Here thou didst once slip off the virgin sprayes,
To crowne me with a wreath of liuing Bayes.
On such a Banke I see how thou didst lye,
When viewing of a shady Muthery,
The hard mishap thou didst to me discusse
Of louing Thysbe, and young Piramus:
And oh (thinke I) how pleasing was it then,
Or would be yet, might he returne agen.
But if some neighbouring Row doe draw me to
Those Arbors, where the shadowes seeme to wooe
The weary loue-sicke Passenger, to sit
And view the beauties Nature strowes on it;
How faire (thinke I) would this sweet place appeare,
If he I loue, were present with me heere.
Nay, euery seuerall obiect that I see,
Doth seuerally (me thinkes) remember thee.
But the delight I vs'd from thence to gather,
I now exchange for eares, and seeke them rather.
But those whose dull and grosse affections can
Extend but onely to desire a Man,
Cannot the depth of these rare Passions know:
For their imaginations flagge too low.
And cause their base Conceits doe apprehend
Nothing but that whereto the flesh doth tend;
In Loues embraces they neere reach vnto
More of content than the brute Creatures do.
Neither can any iudge of this, but such
Whose brauer mindes for brauer thoughts doe touch.
And hauing spirits of a nobler frame,
Feele the true heate of Loues vnquenched flame.
They may conceiue aright what smarting sting
To their Remembrances the place will bring,
Where they did once enioy, and then doe misse,
What to their soules most deere and precious is.
With mee 'tis so; for those walkes that once seem'd
Pleasing, when I of thee was more esteem'd,
To me appeare most desolate and lonely,
And are the places now of torment onely.
Where I the highest of contents did borrow,
There am I paid it home with deepest sorrow.
Vnto one place, I doe remember well,
We walkt the eu'nings to heare Phylomel:
And that seemes now to want the light it had,
The shadow of the Groue's more dull and sad,
As if it were a place but fit for Fowles,
That screech ill-lucke; as melancholy Owles,
[Page] Or fatall Rauens, that seld' boding good,
[...]ke their blacke Auguries from some darke wood.
Then if from thence I halfe despairing goe,
Another place begins another wo:
For thus vnto my thought it semes to say,
Hither thou saw'st him riding once that way:
Thither to meete him thou didst nimbly hast thee,
You he alighted, and eu'n there embrac'd thee:
Which whilst I sighing wish to doe againe,
Another obiect brings another paine.
For passing by that Greene, which (could it speake)
Would tell it saw vs run at Barly-breake;
There I beheld, what on a thin rin'd tree
Thou hadst engrauen for the loue of me;
When we two, all one in heate of day,
With chaste imbraces draue swift houres away.
Then I remember to (vnto my smart)
How loath we were, when time compel'd to part;
How cunningly thy Passions thou couldst faine,
In taking leaue, and comming backe againe:
So oft, vntill (as seeming to forget
We were departing) downe againe we set?
And freshly in that sweet discourse went on,
Which now I almost faint to thinke vpon.
Viewing againe those other walkes and Groues
That haue beene witnesses of our chaste loues;
When I beheld those Trees whose tender skin
Hath that cut out, which still cuts me within.
[Page] Or come, by chance, vnto that pretty Rill
Where thou wouldst fit, and teach the neighbouring hill
To answere, in an Eccho, vnto those
Rare Problems which thou often didst propose.
When I come there (thinke I) if these could take
That vse of words and speech which we partake,
They might vnfold a thousand pleasures then
Which I shall neuer liue to taste agen.
And thereupon, Remembrance doth so racke
My thoughts, with representing what I lacke,
That in my minde those Clerkes doe argue well,
Which hold Priuation the great'st plague of hell.
For there's no torment gripes mee halfe so bad,
As the Remembrance of those joyes I had.
Oh hast thou quite forgot, when sitting by
The bankes of Thame, beholding how the Fry
Play'd on the siluer-waues? There where I first
Granted to make my Fortune thus accurst;
There where thy too-too earnest suit compeld
My ouer-soone beleeuing heart to yeeld
One fauour first, which then another drew
To get another, till (alas) I rue
That day and houre, thinking I nere should need
(As now) to grieue for doing such a deed.
So freely I my curtesies bestow'd,
That whose I was vnwarily I show'd:
And to my heart such passage made for thee,
Thou canst not to this day remoued be,
[Page] And what breast could resist it, hauing seene
How true thy loue had in appearance beene?
For (I shall ne're forget) when thou hadst there
Laid open euery discontent and care,
Wherewith thou deeply seem'dst to me opprest,
When thou (as much as any could protest)
Had'st vow'd and sworne, and yet perceiu'dst no signe
Of pitty-mouing in this brest of mine:
Well Loue (sald'st thou) since neither sigh nor vow,
Nor any seruice may auaile me now:
Since neither the recitall of my smart,
Nor those strong Passions that assaile my heart;
Nor any thing may moue thee to beliefe
Of these my sufferings, or to grant reliefe:
Since there's no comfort, nor desert, that may
Get mee so much as Hope of what I pray;
Sweet Loue farewell; farewell faire beauties light,
And euery pleasing obiect of the sight:
My poore despayring heart heere biddeth you,
And all Content, for euermore, adue.
Then eu'n as thou seemd'st ready to depart;
Reaching that hand, which after gaue my hart,
(And thinking this sad Farewell did proceed
From a sound breast, but truely mou'd indeed)
I stayed thy departing from mee so,
Whilst I stood mute with sorrow, thou for show.
And the meane while as I beheld thy looke,
My eye th'impression of such Pitty tooke,
[Page] That, with the strength of Passion ouercome,
A deep-fetcht sigh my heart came breathing from:
Whereat thou (euer wisely vsing this
To take aduantage when it offered is)
Renewd'st thy sute to mee, who did afford
Consent, in silence first, and then in word.
So that for yeelding thou maist thanke thy wit,
And yet when euer I remember it,
Trust me, I muse, and often (wondring) thinke,
Thorough what craney, or what secret chinke
That Loue, vnwares so like a slye close Else,
Did to my heart insinuate it selfe.
Gallants I had, before thou cam'st to woo,
Could as much loue, and as well court me to;
And, though they had not learned so the fashion,
Of acting such well counterfeited Passion;
In wit, and person, they did equall thee,
And worthier seem'd, vnlesse thoul't faithfull be.
Yet still vnmou'd, vnconquer'd I remain'd:
No, not one thought of loue was entertain'd:
Nor could they brag of the least fauour to them,
Saue what meere curtesie enioyn'd to doe them.
Hard was my heart: But would't had harder bin,
And then, perhaps, I had not let thee in;
Thou, Tyrant, that art so imperious there,
And onely tak'st delight to Dominere.
But held I out such strong, such oft assailing,
And euer kept the honour of preuailing?
[Page] Was this poore breast from loues allurings free,
Cruell to all, and gentle vnto thee?
Did I vnlocke that strong affections dore,
That neuer could be broken ope before,
Onely to thee? and, at thy intercession,
So freely giue vp all my hearts possession:
That to my selfe I left not one poore veine,
Nor power, nor will, to put thee from't againe?
Did I doe this, (and all on thy bare vow)
And wilt thou thus requite my kindnesse now?
Oh that thou eyther hadst not learn'd to faine,
Or I had power to cast thee off againe!
How is it that thou art become so rude,
And ouer-blinded by Ingratitude?
Swar'st thou so deeply that thou wouldst perseuer.
That I might thus be cast away for euer?
Well, then 'as true, that Louers periuries,
Among some men, are thought no iniuries:
And that she onely hath least cause of griefe,
Who of your words hath smal'st, or no beliefe.
Had I the wooer bin, or fondly won,
This had bin more tho, then thou couldst haue don;
But, neither being so, what Reason is
On thy side, that should make thee offer this?
I know, had I beene false, or my faith fail'd,
Thou wouldst at womens ficklenesse haue rail'd;
And if in mee it had an error bin,
In thee shall the same fault be thought no sin?
[Page] Rather I hold that which is bad in mee,
Will be a greater blemish vnto thee:
Because, by Nature, thou art made more strong,
And therefore abler to endure a wrong.
But 'tis our Fortune, you'le haue all the power,
Onely the Care and Burden must be our.
Nor can you be content a wrong to do,
Vnlesse you say the blame vpon vs to.
Oh that there were some gentle minded Poet
That knew my heart, as well as now I know it;
And would endeare me to his loue so much,
To giue the world (though but) a slender touch
Of that sad Passion which now clogs my heart,
And shew my truth, and thee how false thou art:
That all might know, what is beleeu'd by no man,
There's ficklenesse in men, and faith in woman.
Thou saw'st I first let Pitty in, then liking,
And lastly, that which was thy onely seeking:
And, when I might haue scorn'd that loue of thine,
(As now vngently thou despisest mine,)
Among the inmost Angles of my brest,
To lodge it by my heart I thought it best:
Which thou hast stolne to, like a thankelesse Mate,
And left mee nothing but a blacke selfe hate.
What canst thou say for this, to stand contending?
What colour hast thou left for thy offending?
Thy wit, perhaps, can some excuse deuise,
And faine a colour for those iniuries;
[Page] But well I know, if thou excuse this treason,
It must be by some greater thing then reason.
Are any of those vertues yet defac'd,
On which thy first affection seemed plac'd?
Hath any secret foe my true faith wronged,
To rob the blisse that to my heart belonged?
What then? shall I condemned be vnheard,
Before thou knowest how I may be clear'd?
Thou art acquainted with the times condition,
Know'st it is full of enuy, and suspition,
So that the war'est in thought, word, and action,
Shall oft be iniur'd, by foule-mouth'd datraction:
And therefore thou (me-thinkes) should'st wisely pause
Before thou credit rumors without cause.
But I haue gotten such a confidence
In thy opinion, of my innocence:
It is not that, I know, with-holds thee now,
Sweet, tell mee then; is it some sacred vow?
Hast thou resolued, not to ioyne thy hand
With any one in Hymens holy band?
Thou shouldst haue done it then, when thou wert free,
Before thou hadst bequeath'd thy selfe to mee.
What vow dost deeme more pleasing vnto Heauen,
Then what is by vnfained louers giuen?
If any be, yet sure it frowneth at
Those that are made for contradicting that.
But, if thou wouldst liue chastely all thy life,
That thou maist do, though we be man and wife:
[Page] Or, if thou long'st a Virgin-death to die,
Why (if it be thy pleasure) so doe I.
Make mee but thine, and I'le (contented) be
A Virgin still, yet liue and lie with thee.
Then let not thy inuenting braine assay
To mocke, and still delude mee euery way;
But call to minde, how thou hast deepely sworne
Nor to neglect, nor leaue mee thus forlorne.
And if thou wilt not be to mee as when
Wee first did loue, doe but come see mee then.
Vouchsafe that I may sometime with thee walke,
Or sit and looke on thee, or heare thee talke;
And I that most content once aymed at,
Will thinke there is a world of blisse in that.
Dost thou suppose that my Desires denies
With thy affections well to sympathize?
Or such peruersnesse hast thou found in me,
May make our Natures disagreeing be?
Thou knowst when thou didst wake I could not sleepe;
And if thou wert but sad, that I should weepe.
Yet (euen when the teares my cheeke did staine)
If thou didst smile, why I could smile againe:
I neuer did contrary thee in ought:
Nay, thou canst tell, I oft haue spake thy thought.
Waking; the selfe-same course with thee I runne,
And sleeping, oftentimes our dreames were one.
The Dyall-needle, though it sence doth want,
Still bends to the beloued Adamant;
[Page] Lift the one vp, the other vpward tends;
If this fall downe, that presently descends:
Turne but about the stone, the steele turnes to;
Then straight returnes, if so the other do;
And, if it stay, with trembling keepes one place,
As if it (panting) long'd for an imbrace.
So was't with mee: for, if thou merry wert,
That mirth of thine, mou'd ioy within my heart:
I sighed to, when thou didst sigh or frowne:
When thou wert sicke, thou hast perceiu'd me swoone;
And being sad, haue oft, with forc'd delight,
Striu'd to giue thee content beyond my might.
When thou wouldst talke, then haue I talk'd with thee,
And silent been, when thou wouldst silent be.
If thou abroad didst goe, with ioy I went;
If home thou lou'dst, at home was my content:
Yea, what did to my Nature disagree,
I could make pleasing, cause it pleased thee.
But, if't be either my weake Sex, or youth,
Makes thee misdoubt my vndistained truth,
Know this; as none (till that vnhappy hower,
When I was first madethine,) had euer power
To moue my heart, by vowes, or teares expence;
No more (I sweare) could any Creature since.
No lookes but thine, though aim'd with Passions Art,
Could pierce so deepe to penetrate my hart.
No name but thine, was welcome to my care;
No word did I so soone, so gladly heare:
[Page] Nor euer could my eyes behold or see,
What I was since delighted in, but thee.
And sure thou wouldst beleeue it to be so,
If I could tell, or words might make thee know,
How many a weary night my tumbled bed
Hath knowne me sleepelesse: what salt-teares I'ue shed;
What scalding-sighes, the markes of soules opprest,
Haue hourely breathed from my carefull brest.
Nor wouldst thou deeme those waking sorrowes [...]
If thou mightst see how sleeping I am paind.
For if sometimes I chance to take a slumber,
Vnwelcome dreames my broken rest doth cumber.
Which dreaming makes me start, starting with feares
Wakes; and so by waking I renew my cares:
Vntill my eyes ore-tir'd with watch and weeping,
Drownd in their owne flouds fall againe to sleeping.
Oh! that thou couldst but thinke, when last wee parted,
How much I, grieuing for thy absence, smarted:
My very soule fell sicke, my heart to aking,
As if they had their last Farewels beene taking;
Or feared by some secret Diuination,
This thy reuolt, and causelesse alteration.
Didst thou not feele how loth that hand of mine,
Was to let goe the hold it had of thine?
And with what heauy, what vnwilling looke
I leaue of thee, and then of comfort tooke?
I know thou didst; and though now thus thou doe,
I am deceiu'd, but then it grieu'd thee to.
Then, if I so with Loues fell passion vext
For thy departure onely was perplext,
When I had left to strengthen me some trust;
And hope, that thou wouldst nere haue prou'd vniust:
What was my torture then, and hard endurance,
When of thy falshood I receiu'd assurance.
Alas, my Tongue, a-while, with griefe was dumbe,
And a cold shuddering did my ioynts benumme,
Amazement seiz'd my thought, and so preuailed,
I found me ill, but knew not what I ailed.
Nor can I yet tell, since my suffering then
Was more then could be showne by Poets Pen;
Or well conceiu'd by any other hart
Then that which in such care hath borne a part.
Oh me; how loth was I to haue beleeu'd
That to be true, for which so much I grieu'd?
How gladly would I haue perswaded bin,
There had bin no such matter, no such sin.
I would haue had my heart thinke that (I knew
To be the very truth) not to be true.
Why may not this, thought I, some vision be,
Some sleeping dreame, or waking phantasie,
Begotten by my ouer-blinded folly,
Or else engendred through my Melancholy?
But finding it so reall (thought I) then
Must I be cast from all my hopes agen?
What are become of all those fading blisses,
Which late my hope had, and now so much misses?
[Page] Where is that future fickle happinesse
Which I so long expected to possesse?
And, thought I to; where are his dying Passions,
His honied words, his bitter lamentations?
To what end were his Sonnets, Epigrams,
His pretty Posies, witty Anagrams?
I could not thinke, all that might haue been fain'd,
Nor any faith, I thought so firme, bin stain'd.
Nay, I doe sure and confidently know,
It is not possible it should be so:
If that rare Art and Passion was thine owne,
Which in my presence thou hast often showne.
But, since thy change, my much-presaging heart
Is halfe afraid, thou some impostor wert:
Or that thou didst but (Player-like addrest)
Act that which flow'd from some more gentle brest.
Thy puft inuention, with worse matter swolne,
Those thy conceits from better wits hath stolne:
Or else (I know) it could not be, that thou
Shouldst be so ouer-cold as thou art now;
Since those, who haue that, feelingly, their owne,
Euer possesse more worth conceal'd, then knowne.
And if Loue euer any Mortals touch,
To make a braue impression, 'tis in such,
Who sworne loues Chaplaines, will not violate
That, whereunto themselues they consecrate.
But oh you noble brood, on whom the World
The slighted burthen of neglect hath hurl'd,
[Page] (Because your thoughts for higher obiects borne,
Their groueling humors and affection scorne)
You, whom the Gods, to heare your straines, will follow,
Whilst you doe court the sisters of Apollo.
You, whom there's none that's worthy, can neglect,
Or any that vnworthy is, affect.
Oh let not those that seeke to doe you shame,
Bewitch vs with those songs they cannot frame:
The noblest of our Sexe, and fairest to,
Doe euer loue and honour such as you.
Then wrong vs not so much to giue your Passion
To those that haue it but in imitation:
And in their dull breasts neuer feele the power
Of such deepe thoughts as sweetly moue in your.
As well as you, they vs thereby abuse,
For (many times) when we our Louers chuse,
Where we thinke Nature, that rich Iewell, sets
Which shines in you, we light on counterfets.
But see, see whither discontentment beares me,
And to what vncoth straines my Passion reares me:
Yet pardon me, I here, againe repent,
If I haue erred through that discontent.
Be what thou wilt, be counterfeit or right,
Be constant, serious, or be vaine, or light,
My loue remaines inuiolate the same,
Thou canst be nothing that can quench this flame,
But it will burne as long as thou hast breath
To keepe it kindled (if not after death)
[Page] Nere was there one more true, then I to thee,
And though my faith must now despised be,
Vnpriz'd, vnualued at the lowest rate,
Yet this Ile tell thee, 'tis not all thy state,
Nor all that better-seeming worth of thine,
Can buy thee such another Loue as mine:
Liking it may, but oh there's as much oddes,
Twixt loue and that, as betweene men and Gods.
It is a purchase not procur'd with treasure,
As some fooles thinke, nor to be gaind at pleasure:
For were it so, and any could assure it,
What would not some men part with, to procure it?
But though thou weigh't not, as thou ought'st to do,
Thou knowst I loue; and once didst loue mee to.
Then where's the cause of this dislike in thee?
Suruey thy selfe, I hope there's none in mee.
Yet looke on her from whom thou art estranged?
See, is my person, or my beauty changed?
Once thou didst praise it, prethee view't agen,
And marke ift be not still the same twas then:
No false Vermilion-dye my cheeke distaines,
'Tis the poore bloud disperst through pores and vaines,
Which thou hast oft seen through my fore-head flushing,
To shew no dawby-colour hid my blushing:
Nor neuer shall: Vertue, I hope, will saue mee,
Contented with that beauty Nature gaue mee.
Or, ift seeme lesse, for that griefes-vaile had hid it,
Thou threwst it on mee, 'twas not I that did it,
And canst againe restore, what may repaire
All that's decay'd, and make me far more faire.
Which if thou doe, I'le be more wary than
To keep't for thee vnblemisht, what I can:
And cause at best 'twill want much of perfection,
The rest shall be supply'd with true affection.
But I doe feare, it is some others riches,
Whose more abundance that thy minde bewitches,
That baser obiect, that too generall aime,
Makes thee my lesser Fortune to disclaime.
Fie, canst thou so degenerate in spirit,
As to prefer the meanes before the merit?
(A though I cannot say it is in mee)
Such worth sometimes with pouerty may be
To equalize the match she takes vpon her;
Tho th'other vaunt of Birth, Wealth, Beauty, Honour:
And many a one that did for greatnesse wed,
Would gladly change it for a meaner bed.
Yet are my Fortunes knowne indifferent,
Not basely meane, but such as may content:
And though I yeeld the better to be thine,
I may be bold to say thus much, for mine;
That if thou couldst of them and me esteeme,
Neither thy state, nor birth, would mis-beseeme:
Or if it did; how can I help't (alas)
Thou, not alone, before knew'st what it was.
But I (although not fearing so to speed)
Did also disinable't more than need,
[Page] And yet thou woo'dst, and wooing didst perseuer,
As if thou hadst intended Loue for euer:
Yea, thy account of wealth thou mad'st so small,
Thou had'st not any question of't at all;
But hating much that peasant-like condition,
Did'st seeme displeas'd I held it in suspition.
Whereby I thinke, if nothing else doe thwart vs,
It cannot be the want of that will part vs.
Yea, I doe rather doubt indeed, that this
The needlesse feare of friends displeasure is.
Yes, that's the barre which stops out my delight,
And all my hope and ioy confoundeth quite,
But beares there any in thy heart such sway
To shut mee thence, and wipe thy loue away?
Can there be any friend that hath the power,
To disvnite hearts so conioyn'd as our?
E're I would haue so done by thee; I'de rather
Haue parted with one deerer then my father.
For though the will of our Creator bindes
Each Childe to learne and know his Parents mindes;
Yet sure I am, so iust a Deitie,
Commandeth nothing against Pietie.
Nor doth that band of duty giue them leaue,
To violate their faith, or to deceiue.
And though that Parents haue authority,
To rule their children in minority:
Yet they are neuer granted such power on them,
That will allow to tyrannize vpon them;
[Page] Or vse them vnder their command so ill,
To force them, without reason, to their will.
For who hath read in all the Sacred-writ,
Of any one compeld to marriage (yet?)
What father so vnkinde (thereto requir'd)
Denide his Childe the match that he desir'd,
So that he found the Lawes did not forbid it?
I thinke those gentler ages no men did it.
In those daies therefore for them to haue bin
Contracted without licence had been sin?
Since there was more good Nature among men,
And euery one more truly louing then.
But now (although we stand obliged still
To labour for their liking, and good-will)
There is no duty whereby they may tie vs
From ought which without reason they deny vs:
For I do thinke, it is not onely meant,
Children should aske, but Parents should consent:
And that they erre, their duty as much breaking,
For not consenting, as we not for speaking.
"It is no maruell many matches be
"Concluded now without their priuity;
"Since they, through greedy Auarice misled,
"Their interest in that haue forfeited.
For, some respectlesse of all care, doe marry
Hot youthfull -May, to cold old -Ianuary.
Some, for a greedy end, doe basely tie
The sweetest-faire, to soule-deformitie.
[Page] Forcing a loue from where 'twas placed late,
To re-ingraffe it where it turnes to hate.
It seemes no cause of hindrance in their eyes,
Though manners nor affections sympathize.
And two Religions by their rules of state,
They may in one made body tolerate;
As if they did desire that double stemme,
Should fruitfull beare but Neuters like to them.
Alas, how many numbers of both kindes
By that haue euer discontented mindes:
And liue (though seeming vnto others well)
In the next torments vnto those of hell?
How many, desprate growne by this their sinne,
Haue both vndone themselues and all their kinne?
Many a one, we see, it makes to fall
With the too-late repenting Prodigall.
Thousands (though else by nature gentler giuen,)
To act the horridst murthers oft are driuen.
And (which is worse) there's many a carelesse else,
(Vnlesse Heauen pitty) kils and damnes his selfe.
Oh what hard heart, or what vnpittying eyes,
Could hold from teares to see those Tragedies,
Parents, by their neglect in this, haue hurld
Vpon the Stage of this respectlesse World?
'Tis not one Man, one Family, one Kinne,
No nor one Countrey that hath ruin'd bin
By such their folly, which the cause hath prou'd,
That forraine oft, and ciuill warres were mou'd
[Page] By such beginnings many a City lies
Now in the dust, whose Turrets brau'd the skies:
And diuers Monarchs by such fortunes crost,
Haue seene their Kingdomes fir'd, and spoil'd, and lost▪
Yet all this while, thou seest, I mention not,
The ruine, shame, and chastity hath got;
For 'tis a taske too infinite to tell
How many thousands that would haue done well,
Doe, by the meanes of this, suffer desires
To kindle in their hearts vnlawfull fires:
Nay some, in whose could breast nere flame had bin,
Haue onely for meere vengeance falne to sin.
My selfe haue seene, and my heart bled to see't,
A wit-lesse Clowne enioy a match vnmeet.
She was a Lasse that had a looke to moue
The heart of cold Diogenes to loue:
Her eye was such, whose euery glance did know
To kindle flames vpon the hils of Snow;
And by her powerfull piercings could imprint,
Or sparkle fire into a heart of flint:
And yet (vnlesse I much deceiued be)
In very thought did hate immodestie.
And (had sh'enioyd the man she could haue lou'd)
Might, to this day, haue liued vn-reprou'd:
But, being forc'd, perforce, by seeming▪ friends,
With her consent, she her contentment ends.
In that, compel'd, her-selfe to him shee gaue,
Whose Bed, shee rather could haue with [...] her Graue;
[Page] And since, I heare, what I much feare is true,
That shee hath hidden shame and fame adue.
Such are the causes now that Parents quite
Are put beside much of their ancient right:
Their feare of this, makes children to with-hold
From giuing them those dues which else they would:
And these thou see'st are the too-fruitfull ils,
Which daily spring from their vnbridled wils.
Yet they, forsooth, will haue it vnderstood,
That all their study, is their childrens good.
A seeming -Loue shall couer all they do:
When, if the matter were well look't into,
Their carefull reach is chiefly to fulfill
Their owne foule, greedy, and insatiate will:
Who, quite forgetting they were euer young,
Would haue the Children dote, with them, on dung.
Grant, betwixt two, there be true loue, content,
Birth not mis seeming, wealth sufficient,
Equality in yeares, an honest fame,
In euery-side the person without blame,
And they obedient too: What can you gather
Of Loue, or of affection, in that father,
That but a little to augment his treasure,
(Perhaps, no more but onely for his pleasure,)
Shall force his Childe to one he doth abhor,
From her he loues, and justly seeketh for;
Compelling him (for such mis-fortune grieu'd)
To die with care, that might with ioy haue liu'd?
[Page] This you may say is Loue, and sweare as well,
There's paines in Heauen, and delights in Hell:
Or, that the Diuels fury and austerity
Proceeds out of his care of our posterity.
Would Parents (in this age) haue vs begin
To take by their eyes, our affections in?
Or doe they thinke we beare them in our fist,
That we may still remoue them as wee list?
It is impossible it should be thus,
For we are rul'd by Loue, not Loue by vs:
And so our power so much ner'e reached to,
To know where we shall loue, vntill we doe.
And when it comes, hide it awhile wee may,
But 'tis not in our strengths to driu't away.
Either mine owne eye should my chuser be,
Or I would ner'e weare Hymens Liuery.
For who is he so neare my heart doth rest,
To know what 'tis, that mine approued best?
I haue my selfe beheld those men, whose frame
And outward personages had nought of blame:
They had (what might their good proportion grace)
The much more mouing part, a comely face,
With many of those complements, which we
In common men, of the best breeding see.
They had discourse, and wit enough to carry
Themselues in fashion, at an Ordinary;
Gallants they were, lou'd company and sport,
Wore fauours, and had Mistresses in Court.
[Page] And euery way were such as well might seeme
Worthy of note, respect, and much esteeme;
Yet hath my eye more cause of liking seene,
Where nought perhaps by some hath noted beene:
And I haue there found more content, by farre,
Where some of those perfections wanting are;
Yea so much, that their beauties were a blot
To them (me thought) because he had them not.
There some peculiar thing innated,
That beares an vncontrouled sway in this;
And nothing but itselfe knowes how to fit
The minde with that which best shall suit with it.
Then why should Parents thrust themselues into
What they want warrant for, and power to doe?
How is it they are so forgetfull growne,
Of those conditions, that were once their owne?
Doe they so dote amidst their wits perfection,
To thinke that age and youth hath like affection?
(When they doe see 'mong those of equall yeares,
One hateth what another most endeares.)
Or doe they thinke their wisedomes can inuent
A thing to giue, that's greater than Content?
No, neither shall they wrap vs in such blindnesse,
To make vs thinke the spight they doe, is kindnesse.
For as I would aduise no childe to stray
From the least duty that he ought to pay:
So would I also haue him wisely know,
How much that duty is which he doth owe:
[Page] That knowing what doth vnto both belong,
He may doe them their right, himselfe no wrong.
For if my Parents him I lothe should chuse,
Tis lawfull, yea my duty to refuse:
Else, how shall I leade so vpright a life,
As is enioyned to the Man and Wife?
Since that we see sometime there are repentings,
Eu'n where there are the most, and best contentings.
What, though that by our Parents first we liue?
Is not life misery enough to giue;
Which at their births the children doth vndo,
Vnlesse they adde some other mischiefe to?
Cause they gaue being to this flesh of our,
Must we be therefore slaues vnto their power?
We nere desir'd it, for how could we tell,
Not being, but that not to be was well:
Nor know they whom they profit by it, seeing
Happy were some, if they had had no being.
Indeed, had they produc'd vs without sin,
Had all our duty to haue pleas'd them bin:
Of the next life, could they assure the state,
And both beget vs and regenerate;
There were no reason then we should withstand
To vndergoe their tyrannou'st command:
In hope that either for our hard endurance,
We should, at last, haue comfort in assurance:
Or, if in our endeauours we mis-sped,
At least feele nothing when we should be dead.
But what's the Reason for't that we shall be
Inthral'd so much vnto Mortality?
Our soules on will of any Men to tye
Vnto an euerlasting misery.
So farre, perhaps to, from the good of either,
We ruine them, our selues, and altogether.
Children owe much, I must confesse 'tis true,
And a great debt is to the Parents due:
Yet if they haue not so much power to craue
But in their owne defence the liues they gaue:
How much lesse then, should they become so cruell
As to take from them the high-prized Iewell
Of liberty in choyce, whereon depends
The maine contentment that the heauen here lends?
Worth life, or wealth, nay far more worth then either
Or twenty thousand liues put all together.
Then howsoeuer some, seuerer bent,
May deeme of my opinion, or intent,
With that which followes thus conclude I doe:
(And I haue Reason for't, and Conscience to)
No Parent may his Childes iust sute deny
On his bare will, without a reason why:
Nor he so vs'd, be disobedient thought,
If vnapprou'd, he take the match he sought.
So then if that thy faith vncrazed be,
Thy friends dislike shall be no stop to me:
For, if their will be not of force to doe it,
They shall haue no cause else to driue them to it.
[Page] What is it they against vs can alleage?
Both young we are, and of the fittest age,
If thou dissembledst not, both loue; and both
To admit hinderance in our loues are loth.
'Tis prejudiciall vnto none that liues;
And Gods, and humane Law our warrant giues.
Nor are we much vnequall in degree,
Perhaps our Fortunes somewhat different be.
But say that little meanes, which is, were not,
The want of wealth may not dissolue this knot.
For though some such preposterous courses wend,
Prescribing to themselues no other end,
Marr'age was not ordain'd t'enrich men by,
Vnlesse it were in their posterity.
And he that doth for other causes wed,
Nere knowes the true sweetes of a marriage bed:
Nor shall he by my will, for 'tis vnfit
He should haue blisse that neuer aym'd at it.
Though that bewitching gold the Rabble blindes,
And is the obiect of all Vulgar mindes:
Yet those, me-thinkes, that graced seeme to bee,
With so much good as doth appeare in thee,
Should scorne their better-taught desires to tye
To that, which fooles doe get their honour by.
I can like of the wealth (I must confesse)
Yet more I prize the man, though mony-lesse.
I am not of their humour yet, that can
For Title, or Estate, affect a Man;
[Page] Or of my selfe, one body, deigne to make
With him I lothe, for his possessions sake.
Nor wish I euer to haue that minde bred
In me, that is in those; who, when they wed,
Thinke it enough, they doe attaine the grace
Of some new honour, to fare well, take place,
Weare costly cloathes, in others sights agree,
Or happy in opinion seeme to bee.
I weigh not this: for were I sure before
Of Spencers wealth, or our rich Suttons store;
Had I therewith a man, whom Nature lent,
Person enough to giue the eye content:
If I no outward due, nor right did want,
Which the best Husbands in appearance grant:
Nay, though alone we had no priuate iarres
But merry liu'd from all domesticke cares;
Vnlesse I thought his Nature so incline,
That it might also sympathize with mine,
(And yeeld such correspondence with my mind [...]
Our soules might mutually contentment find,
By adding vnto these which went before,
Some certaine vnexpressed pleasures more,
Such as exceed the streight and curb'd dimensions
Of common mindes, and vulgar apprehensions)
I would not care for such a match, but tarry
In this estate I am, and neuer marry.
Such were the sweets I hop'd to haue possest,
When Fortune should with thee haue made me bles [...]
My heart could hardly thinke of that content,
To apprehend it without rauishment.
[Page] Each word of thine (me-thought) was to my eares
More pleasing then that musicke, which the Spheares
(They say) doe make the gods, when in their chime,
Their motions Diapason with the time,
In my conceit, the opening of thine eye.
Seem'd to giue light to euery obiect by,
And shed a kinde of life vnto my shew,
On euery thing that was within it view.
More ioy I'ue felt to haue thee but in place,
Then many doe in the most close embrace
Of their beloued'st friend, which well doth proue,
Not to thy body onely tends my loue:
But mounting a true height, growes so diuine,
It makes my soule to fall in loue with thine.
And sure now whatsoe're thy body doe,
Thy soule loues mine, and oft they visit too.
For late I dream'd they went I know not whither,
Vnlesse to Heauen, and there play'd together;
And to this day I nere could know or see,
'Twixt them or vs the least Antipathy,
Then what should make thee keepe thy person hence,
Or leaue to loue, or hold it in suspence?
If to offend thee I vnawares was driuen,
Is't such a fault as may not be forgiuen?
Or if by frownes of Fate, I haue beene checkt,
So that I seeme not worth thy first respect,
Shall I be therefore blamed and vpbraided,
With what could not be holpen, or auoyded?
Tis not my fault: yet cause my Fortunes doe,
Wilt thou be so vnkinde to wrong me too?
[Page] Not vnto Thine, but thee I set my heart,
So nought can wipe my loue out while thou art:
Though thou wert poorer both of house and meat,
Then he that knowes not where to sleepe or eat:
Though thou wert sunke into obscurity.
Become an abiect in the worlds proud eye,
Though by peruersenesse of thy Fortune crost,
Thou wert deformed or some limbe had'st lost,
That loue which Admiration first begot,
Pitty would strengthen, that it failed not:
Yea, I should loue thee still, and without blame,
As long as thou couldst keepe thy minde the same;
Which is of Vertues so compact (I take it)
No mortall change shall haue the power to shake it.
This may, and will (I know) seeme strange to those
That cannot the Abyss of loue disclose,
Nor must they thinke, whom but the out-side moues
Euer to apprehend such noble Loues;
Or more coniecture their vnsounded measure,
Then can we mortals of immortall pleasure.
Then let not those dull vnconceiuing braines,
Who shall hereafter come to reade these straines,
Suppose that no loues fire can be so great,
Because it giues not their cold Clime such heate;
Or thinke m'inuention could haue reached here
Vnto such thoughts, vnlesse such loue there were:
For then they shall but shew their knowledge weake,
And iniure me, that feele of what I speake.
But now my lines grow tedious, like my wrong,
And as I thought that, thou think'st this too long.
[Page] Or some may deeme, I thrust my selfe into
More then beseemeth modesty to do.
But of the difference I am not vnwitting,
Betwixt a peeuish coynesse, and things fitting:
Nothing respect I, who pries ore my doing:
For here's no vaine allurements, nor sond wooing,
To traine some wanton stranger to my lure;
But with a thought that's honest, chaste, and pure,
I make my cause vnto thy conscience knowne,
Suing for that which is by right my owne.
In which complaint, if thou doe hap to finde
Any such word, as seemes to be vnkind:
Mistake me not, it but from Passion sprung,
And not from an intent to doe thee wrong.
Or if among these doubts my sad thoughts breed,
Some (peraduenture) may be more then need
They are to let thee know, might we dispute,
Theres no obiections but I could refute;
And spight of Enuy such defences make,
Thou shouldst embrace that loue thou dost forsake.
Then do not (oh forgetfull man) now deeme,
That 'tis ought lesse then I haue made it seeme.
Or that I am vnto this Passion mou'd,
Because I cannot else-where be belou'd:
Or that it is thy state, whose greatnesse knowne,
Makes me become a suter for my owne:
Suppose not so; for know this day there be
Some that wooe hard for what I offer thee:
And I haue euer yet contented bin
With that estate I first was placed in.
[Page] Banish those thoughts, and turne thee to my heart;
Come once againe, and be what once thou wert.
Reuiue me by those wonted ioyes repairing,
That am nigh dead with sorrowes and despairing:
So shall the memory of this annoy,
But adde more sweetnesse to my future ioy;
Yea, make me thinke thou meantst not to deny me,
But onely wert estranged thus, to try me.
And lastly, for that loues sake thou once bar'st me,
By that right hand thou gau'st, that oath thouswar'st me,
By all the Passions, and (if any be)
For her deare sake that makes thee iniure me;
I here coniure thee; no intreat and sue,
That if these lines doe ouer-reach thy view,
Thou wouldst afford me so much fauour for them,
As to accept, or at least not abhorre them.
So though thou wholly cloake not thy disdaine,
I shall haue somewhat the lesse cause to plaine:
Or if thou needs must scoffe at this, or me,
Do't by thy selfe, that none may witnesse be.
Not that I feare 'twill bring me any blame,
Onely I am loth the world should know my shame.
For all that shall this plaint with reason view,
Will iudge me faithfull, and thee most vntrue.
But if Obliuion, that thy loue bereft,
Hath not so much good nature in thee left,
But that thou must, as most of you men doe,
When you haue conquer'd, tyrannize it too:
Know this before, that it is praise to no man
To wrong so fraile a Creature as a woman.
[Page] And to insult or'e one, so much made thine,
Will more be thy disparagement then mine.
But oh (I pray that it portend no harmes)
A chearing heate my chilled senses warmes:
Iust now I flashing feele into my brest,
A sudden comfort, not to be exprest;
Which to my thinking, doth againe begin
To warne my heart, to let some hope come in;
It tels me 'tis impossible that thou
Shouldst liue not to be mine, it whispers how
My former feares and doubts haue, beene in vaine,
And that thou mean'st yet to returne againe.
It saies thy absence from some cause did grow,
Which, or I should not, or I could not know.
It tels me now, that all those proofes, whereby
I seem'd assur'd of thy disloyalty,
May be but treacherous plots of some base foes,
That in thy absence sought our ouerthrowes.
Which if it proue; as yet me thinkes it may,
Oh, what a burden shall I cast away?
What cares shall I say by? and to what height
Towre in my new ascension to delight?
Sure er'e the full of it I come to try,
I shall eu'n surfet in my ioy and die.
But such a losse might well be call'd a thriuing
Since more is got by dying so, then liuing.
Come kill me then, my deare, if thou thinke fit,
With that which neuer killed woman yet:
Or write to me before, so shalt thou giue
Content more moderate that I may liue:
[Page] And when I see my staffe of trust vnbroken,
I will vnspeake againe what is mis-spoken.
What I haue written in dispraise of Men,
I will recant, and praife as much agen;
In recompence Ile adde vnto their Stories,
Encomiasticke lines to ymp their glories.
And for those wrongs my loue to thee hath done,
Both I and it vnto thy Pitty runne:
In whom, if the least guilt thou finde to be,
For euer let thine armes imprison me.
Meane while I'le try if misery will spare
Me so much respite, to take truce with care.
And patiently await the doubtfull doome,
Which I expect from thee should shortly come
Much longing that I one way may be sped,
And not still linger 'twixt aliue and dead.
For I can neither liue yet as I should,
Because I least enioy of that I would;
Nor quiet die, because (indeed) I first
Would see some better daies, or know the worst.
Then hasten Deare, if to my end it be,
It shall be welcome, cause it comes from thee.
If to renew my Comfort ought be sent,
Let me not loose a minute of Content.
The precious Time is short, and will away,
Let vs enioy each other while we may.
Cares thriue, Age creepeth on, Men are but shades,
Ioyes lessen, Youth decaies, and Beauty fades;
New turnes come on, the old returneth neuer,
If we let our goe past, 'tis past for euer.
FINIS.

A Metricall Paraphrase vpon the CREEDE.

SInce it befits, that I account should giue
What way vnto saluation I beleeue;
Of my profession here the summe I gather.
First, I confesse a Faith in God the Father:
In God, who (without Helper or Pertaker)
Was of himselfe the Worlds Almighty Maker,
And first gaue Time his being: who gaue birth
To all the Creatures, both of Heauen and Earth.
Our euerlasting wel-fare doth consist
In his great mercies, and in Iesus Christ:
(The second person of that Three in one)
The Father's equall, and his onely Sonne;
That euer-blessed, and incarnate Word,
Which our Redeemer is, our life, Our Lord.
For when by Sathans guile we were deceiued,
Christ was that meanes of helpe, which was conceiued;
Yea, (when we were in danger to be lost)
Conceiued for Vs, by the Holy Ghost.
And that we might not euer be for-lorne,
For our eternall safety he was Borne;
Borne as a Man (that Man might not miseary)
Euen of the substance of the Virgin Mary,
And loe, a greater mercy, and a wonder;
He that can make All, suffer, suffered vnder
[Page] The Iewish spite (which all the world reuile at)
And Romish tyrannies of Pontius Pilate.
In him doe I beleeue, who was enuied,
Who with extreamest hate was Crucified:
Who being Life it selfe (to make assured
Our soules of safety) was both dead, and buried;
And that no seruile feare in vs might dwell,
To conquere, Hee descended into Hell:
Where no infernall Power had power to lay
Command vpon him; but on the third day
The force of Death and Hell he did constraine,
And so in Triumph, He arose againe.
Yea, the Almighty power aduanc'd his head,
Aswell aboue all things, as from the dead.
Then, that from thence gifts might to men be giuen,
With glory, Hee ascended into Heauen:
Where, that supreame and euerlasting throne,
Which was prepar'd, he climb'd; and sitteth on
That blessed seate, where he shall make abode
To plead for vs, at the right hand of God.
And no where should he be enthroned rather,
Then there: for, he is God, as is the Father.
And therefore, with an equall loue delight I
To praise and serue them both, as one Almighty:
[...]et in their office there's a difference.
And I beleeue, that Iesus Christ, from thence,
Shall in the great and vniuersall doome,
Returne; and that with Angels He shall come,
To question such as at his Empire grudge;
Euen those who haue presumed him to iudge.
[Page] And that blacke day shall be so Catholicke,
As I beleeue not onely that the quicke
To that assise shall all be summoned;
But, he will both adiudge them, and the dead.
Moreouer, in the Godhead I conceiue
Another Person, in whom I beleeue:
For all my hope of blessednesse were lost,
If I beleeu'd not in the holy Ghost.
And though vaine Schismatickes through pride & folly
Contemne her power, I doe beleeue the holy
Chast Spouse of Christ (for whom so many search
By markes vncertaine) the true Cath'like Church.
I doe beleeue (God keepe vs in this vnion,)
That there shall be for euer the Communion
Of Gods Elect: and that he still acquaints
His Children in the fellowship of Saints.
Though damned be Mans naturall condition,
By grace in Christ I looke for the remission
Of all my foule misdeeds; for, there begins
Deaths end, which is the punishment of sinnes.
Moreouer, I the Sadduces infection
Abhorre, and doe beleeue the Resurrection:
Yea, though I turne to dust; yet through God, I
Expect a glorious rising of the body;
And that, exempted from the cares here rise,
I shall enioy perfection and the life
That is not subiect vnto change or wasting;
But euer blessed, and for euerlasting.
This is my Faith, which that it faile not when
It most should steed me, let God say, Amen.

A Metricall Paraphase vpon the Lords Prayer

To whom, that he so much vouchsafe me may,
Thus as a member of his Church, I pray:
LOrd, at thy Mercy-seat, ourselues we gather,
To doe our duties vnto thee, Our Father.
To whom all praise, al honor, should be giuen:
For, thou art that great God which art in heauē.
Thou by thy wisdome rul'st the worlds whole frame,
For euer, therefore, Hallowed be thy Name.
Let neuer more delayes diuide vs from
Thy glories view, but let Thy Kingdome come.
Let thy commands opposed be by none,
But thy good pleasure, and Thy will be done.
And let our promptnesse to obey, be euen
The very same in earth, as 'tis in heauen.
Then, for our selues, O Lord, we also pray,
Thou wouldst be pleased to Giue vs this day,
That food of life wherewith our soules are fed,
Contented raiment, and our daily bread.
With eu'ry needfull thing doe thou relieue vs:
And, of thy mercy, pitty And forgiue vs
All our misdeeds, in him whom thou didst please,
To take in offering for our trespasses.
And for as much, O Lord, as we beleeue,
Thou so wilt pardon vs, as we forgiue;
Let that loue teach vs, wherewith thou acquaints vs,
To pardon all them, that trespasse against vs.
[Page] And though sometime thou findst we haue forgot
This Loue, or thee; yet helpe, And leade vs not
Through Soule or bodies want, to desperation
Nor let abundance driue, into temptation.
See Pro. 30. 8. 9.
Let not the soule of any true Beleeuer,
Fall in the time of tryall: But deliuer
Yea, saue him from the malice of the Diuell;
And both in life and death keepe vs from euill.
Thus pray we Lord: And but of thee, from whom
Can this be had? For thine is the Kingdome.
The world is of thy workes the grauen story,
To thee belongs the power, and the glory.
And this thy happinesse hath ending neuer:
But shall remaine for euer, and for euer.
This we confesse; and will confesse agen,
Till we shall say eternally, Amen.
‘Thou shalt write them vpon the postes of thy house, and vpon thy Gates. Deut. 6. 9.’
FINIS.

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