Fifty Poems, chiefly on Wedded Happiness.

Fifty Poems, chiefly on Wedded Happiness.ToCastara,Now possest of her in marriage.This day is ours. The marriage Angell nowSees th' Altar in the odour of our vow,Yeeld a more precious breath, then that which movesThe whispring leaves in thePanchayangroves.View how his temples shine, on which he wearesA wreath of pearle, made of those precious tearesThouwepta Virgin, when crosse winds did blow,Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.But nowCastarasmile, No envious nightDares enterpose it selfe, t'ecclipse the lightOf our cleare joyes. For even the lawes divinePermit our mutuall love[18]so to entwine,That Kings, to ballance true content, shall say:Would they were great as we, we blest as they.[18]loves. 1634.ToCastara,Upon the mutuall love of their Majesties.Did you not see,Castara, when the KingMet his lov'd Queene; what sweetnesse she did bringT' incounter his brave heat; how great a flameFrom their brests meeting, on the sudden came?The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,Could he but heare the language of their eyes,As heresies would from his faith removeThe tenets of his sect, and practise love.The barb'rous nations which supply the earthWith a promiscuous and ignoble birth,Would by his precedent correct their life,Each wisely chuse, and chastely love a wife.[19]Princes example is a law. Then weIf loyall subjects, must true lovers be.[19]Princes examples are a law. Then we. 1634.ToZephirus.Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breathCastaraand my selfe I here bequeathTo the calme wind. For heaven such joyes affordTo her and me, that there can be no third.And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:Her eyes supply your office with more brightAnd constant lustre. Angels guardians, likeThe nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strikeOrhoistup saile; Nor shall our vessell moveBy Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love.The courtesie of this more prosperous galeShall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saileTo some blest Port, where ship hath never laneAt anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophaneHath ever trod; Where nature doth dispenceHer infant wealth, a beautious innocence.Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride,(The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abideOn that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're,Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there.Thence age and death are exil'd, all offenceAnd feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence.A silence there so melancholly sweet,That none but whispring Turtles ever meet.Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe,To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two.And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne;Castara, wee'le obey and rule alone.For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare,Would be depraved, should but a third be there.ToCastarain a Trance.Forsake me not so soone.Castarastay,And as I breake the prison of my clay,Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death.Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play.Goe happy twins of love; The courteous SeaShall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep,Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe.Every ungentle rocke shall melt away,The Syrens sing to please, not to betray.Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quireContend, which shall afford the brighter fire.While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even,Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.ToDeath,Castarabeing sicke.Hence prophane grim man, nor dareTo approach so neere my faire.Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,Where the living loath to be,Heaven hath design'd to thee.But it needs 'mongst us thou'lt rage,Let thy fury feed on age.Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs,May supply thy sacrifice.Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,A flamed dart shot from her eye,Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,Whence th' art forc't to hover nigh her.If Love so mistooke his aime,Gently welcome in the flame:They who loath'd thee, when they seeWhere thou harbor'st, will love thee.Onely I, such is my fate,Must thee as a rivall hate,Court her gently, learne to prove,Nimble in the thefts of love.Gaze on th' errors of her haire:Touch her lip; but oh beware,Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.ToCastara,Inviting her to sleepe.Sleepe myCastara, silence doth inviteThy eyes to close up day; though envious nightGrieves Fate should her the sight of them debarre,For she is exil'd, while they open are.Rest in thy peace secure. With drowsie charmes,Kinde sleepe bewitcheth thee into her armes;And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,Is like a theefe stole under thy bright eyes.Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quiltWrought by the Persian hand, thy dreames from guiltExempted, heaven with sweete repose doth crowneEach vertue, softer then the Swans fam'd downe.As exorcists wild spirits mildly lay,May sleepe thy fever calmely chase away.UponCastara'srecoverie.She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death,Thy mercie in permitting vitall breathBacke toCastara, hath enlarg'd us all,Whome griefe had martyr'd in her funerall.While others in the ocean of their teares,Had sinking, wounded the beholders eares,With exclamations: I without a grone,Had suddenly congeal'd into a stone:There stood a statue, till the generall doome;Had ruin'd time and memory with her tombe.While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,Each Lover might this Epitaph have read."Her earth lyes here below; her soul's above,This wonder speakes her vertue, and my love."To a Friend,Inviting him to a meeting upon promise.May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wineWhich makes the zeale ofAmsterdamdivine;If you make breach of promise. I have nowSo rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bowT' adore myGenius. Of this wine shouldPrynneDrinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginneA health toShakespearesghost, But you may bringSome excuse forth, and answer me, the KingTo-daywill give you audience, or that onAffaires of state, you and some serious DonAre to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sinSo farre, as to leave word y'ar not within.The least of these, will make me only thinkeHim subtle, who can in his closet drinkeDrunke even alone, and thus made wise createAs dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state,Projecting for such baits, as shall draw oreToHolland, all the herrings from our shore.But y'are too full of candour: and I knowWill sooner stones atSals'burgcasements throw,Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, allThe rich impropriations, then let pallSo pure Canary, and breake such an oath:Since charity is sinn'd against in both.Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale,Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and vealeSay grace in Latine; while I saintly singA Penitential verse in oyle and Ling.Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight,Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right!This I am sure: My sacke will disingageAll humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,ThatHypocreneshall henceforth Poets lacke,Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke.Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend,How goodCastarais, how deare my friend.ToCastara,Where true happinesse abides.Castarawhisper in somedeadmans eare,This subtillquære; and hee'le point out where,By answers negative, true joyes abide.Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tideOf greatnesse, they can no firme basis have,Upon the trepidation of a wave.Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth,Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' graceLove they to wanton of a brighter face,For th'are above Times battery; and the lightOf beauty, ages cloud will soone be night.If among these Content, he thus doth prove,Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love?ToCastara.Forsake with me the earth, my faire,And travell nimbly through the aire,Till we have reacht th' admiring skies;Then lend sight to those heavenly eyesWhich blind themselves, make creatures see.And taking view of all, when weShall finde a pure and glorious spheare;Wee'le fix like starres for ever there.Nor will we still each other view,Wee'le gaze on lesser starres then you;See how by their weake influence they,The strongest of mens actions sway.In an inferiour orbe below,Wee'le seeCalistoloosely throwHer haire abroad: as she did weare,The self-same beauty in a Beare,As when she a cold Virgin stood,And yet inflam'dJoveslustfull blood.Then looke onLede, whose faire beamesBy their reflection guild those streames,Where first unhappy she beganTo play the wanton with a Swan.If each of these loose beauties areTransform'd to a more beauteous starreBy the adult'rous lust ofJove;Why should not we, by purer love?ToCastara,Upon the death of a Lady.Castaraweepe not, though her tombe appeareSometime thy griefe to answer with a teare:The marble will but wanton with thy woe.Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flowTo lose our selves in the insatiate Maine,Whence Rivers may, she[20]ne're returne againe.Nor grieve this Christall streame so soone did fallInto the Ocean; since she perfum'd allThe banks she past, so that each neighbour fieldDid sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld.Which now adorne her Hearse. The violet thereOn her pale cheeke doth the sad livery weare,Which heavens compassion gave her; And since sheCause cloath'd in purple can no mourner be,As incense to the tombe she gives her breath,And fading, on her Lady waits in death.Such office the Ægyptian handmaids didGreatCleopatra, when she dying chidThe Asps slow venome, trembling she should beBy Fate rob'd even of that blacke victory.The flowers instruct our sorrowes. Come then allYe beauties, to true beauties funerall,And with her, to increase deaths pompe, decay.Since the supporting fabricke of your clayIs faine, how can ye stand? How can the nightShew stars, when Fate puts out the dayes great light?But 'mong the faire, if there live any yet,She's but the fairerDigbiescounterfeit.Come you who speake your titles. Reade in thisPale booke, how vaine a boast your greatnesse is.What's honour but a hatchment? what is hereOfPercyleft, andStanly, names most deareTo vertue? but a crescent turn'd to th' wane,An Eagle groaning o're an infant slaine?Or what availes her, that she once was led,A glorious bride to valiantDigbiesbed,Since death hath them divorc'd? If then aliveThere are, who these sad obsequies surviveAnd vaunt a proud descent, they onely beLoud heralds to set forth her pedigree.Come all who glory in your wealth, and viewThe embleme of your frailty. How untrue(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,Her Fate hath taught[21]: who, when what ever rareThe either Indies boast, lay richly spreadFor her to weare, lay on her pillow dead.Come likewise myCastaraand behold,What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,Bestow'd on her in death. She past awaySo sweetely from the world, as if her clayLaid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeareTo let on her blest ashes fall a teare.But if th'art too much woman, softly weepe.Lest griefe disturbe the silence of her sleepe.[20]we. 1634.[21]Her Fate hath taught you: who, when what ever rare. 1634, 1635.ToCastara,Being to take a journey.What's death more than departure; the dead goLike travelling exiles, compell'd to knowThose regions they heard mention of: Tis th'artOf sorrowes, sayes, who dye doe but depart.Then weepe thy funerall teares: which heaven t'adorneThe beauteous tresses of the weeping morne,Will rob me of: and thus my tombe shall beAs naked, as it had no obsequie.Know in these lines, sad musicke to thy eare,My sadCastara, you the sermon hereWhich I preach o're my hearse: And dead, I tellMy owne lives story, ring but my owne knell.But when I shall returne, know 'tis thy breathIn sighes divided, rescues me from death.ToCastara,Weeping.Castara!O you are too prodigallOth' treasure of your teares; which thus let fallMake no returne: well plac'd calme peace might bringTo the loud wars, each free a captiv'd King.So the unskilfull Indian those bright jems,Which might adde majestie to Diadems,'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would storeThe thanklesse Sea, to make our Empire poore.When heaven darts thunder at the wombe of Time,Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,Or else despairing to roote out abuse,Would ruine vitious earth; be then profuse.Light, chas'd rude chaos from the world before,Thy teares, by hindring it's returne, worke more.ToCastara,Upon a sigh.I Heard a sigh, and something in my eareDid whisper, what my soule before did feare.That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie SpringEnricht with odours, wanton on the wingOf th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade,If he the treasure of this breath convey'd;'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breathOf Swans is like, propheticke in their death:And th' odour, for as it the nard expires,Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires.The winds of Paradice send such a gale,To make the Lovers vessels calmely saileTo his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires,Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.To the Right Honourable the LadyF.Madam.You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame;In which as incense to your sacred nameBurnes a religious zeale. May we be lostTo one another, and our fire be frost;When we omit to pay the tribute dueTo worth and vertue, and in them to you:Who are the soule of women. Others beBut beauteous parts oth' female body; sheWho boasts how many nimbleCupidsskipThrough her bright face, is but an eye or lip:The other who in her soft brests can showWarme Violets growing in a banke of snow,And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:Nor is she but a hand, who holds withinThe chrystall violl of her wealthy palme,The precious sweating of the Easterne balme.And all these if you them together take,And joyne with art, will but one body make,To which the soule each vitall motion gives;You are infus'd into it, and it lives.But should you up to your blest mansion flie,How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?You are all mind.Castarawhen she lookes,On you th' Epitome of all, that bookesOr e're tradition taught; who gives such praiseUnto your sex, that now even customes sayesHe hath a female soule, who ere hath writVolumes which learning comprehend, and wit.Castaracries to me; Search out and findThe Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,And trace her steps to honour; I aspireEnough to worth, while I her worth admire.ToCastara,Against opinion.Why should we build,Castara, in the aireOf fraile opinion? Why admire as faire,What the weake faith of man gives us for right?The jugling world cheats but the weaker sight.What is in greatnesse happy? As free mirth,As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earthWe joy, who on the ground our mansion finde,As they, who saile like witches in the windOf Court applause. What can their powerfull spellOver inchanted man, more than compellHim into various formes? Nor serves their charmeThemselves to good, but to worke others harme.Tyrant Opinion but depose. And weWill absolute ith' happiest Empire be.ToCastara,Upon beautie.Castara, see that dust, the sportive windSo wantons with. 'Tis happ'ly all you'le findeLeft of some beauty: and how still it flies,To trouble, as it did in life, our eyes.O empty boast of flesh? Though our heires gildThe farre fetch Phrigian marble, which shall buildA burthen to our ashes, yet will deathBetray them to the sport of every breath.Dost thou, poor relique of our frailty, stillSwell up with glory? Or is it thy skill,To mocke weake man, whom every wind of praiseInto the aire, doth 'bove his center raise.If so, mocke on, And tell him that his lustTo beauty's, madnesse. For it courts but dust.ToCastara,Melancholly.Were but that sigh a penitentiall breathThat thou art mine: It would blow with it death,T' inclose me in my marble: Where I'de beSlave to the tyrant wormes, to set thee free.What should we envy? Though with larger saileSome dance upon the Ocean: yet more fraileAnd faithlesse is that wave, than where we glide,Blest in the safety of a private tide.We still have land in ken. And 'cause our boatDares not affront the weather, wee'le ne're floatFarre from the shore. To daring them each cloudIs big with thunder, every wind speakes loud.And though wild rockes about the shore appeareYet vertue will finde roome to anchor there.A Dialogue betweeneAraphillandCastara.Araph.Castara, you too fondly courtThe silken peace with which we cover'd are,Unquiet time may for his sport,Up from its iron den rowse sleepy warre.Cast.Then in the language of the drum,I will instruct my yet affrighted eare,All women shall in me be dumbe;If I but with myAraphillbe there?Araph.If Fate like an unfaithfull gale,Which having vow'd to th' ship a faire event,Oth' sudden rends her hopefull saile;Blow ruine; willCastarathen repent?Cast.Love shall in that tempestuous showreHer brightest blossome like the blacke-thorne show:Weake friendship prospers by the powreOf fortunes Sunne. I'le in her winter grow.Araph.If on my skin the noysome skarI should oth'leprosie, or canker weare;Or if the sulph'rous breath of warreShould blast my youth; Should I not be thy feare?Cast.In flesh may sicknesse horror move,But heavenly zeale will be by it refin'd,For then wee'd like two Angels love,Without a sense; imbrace[22]each others mind.Araph.Were it not impious to repine;'Gainst rigid Fate I should direct my breath.That two must be, whom heaven did joyneIn such a happy one, disjoyn'd by death.Cast.That's no divource. Then shall we seeThe rites in life, were types o'th marriage state,Our soules on earth contracted be;But they in heaven their nuptials consumate.[22]Without a sense; and clip each others mind. 1634, 1635.[23]To the Right HonourableHenryLordM.My Lord.My thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earthSo farre predominate in me, that mirthLookes not as lovely as when our delightFirst fashion'd wings to adde a nimbler flightTo lazie time; who would, to have survai'dOur varied pleasures, there have ever staid.And they were harmelesse. For obedienceIf frailty yeelds to the wild lawes of sence;We shall but with a sugred venome meete;No pleasure, if not innocent as sweet.And that's your choyce: who adde the title goodTo that of noble. For although the bloodOfMarshall,Stanley, and 'La Poledoth flowWith happyBrandon'sin your veines; you oweYour vertue not to them. Man builds aloneOth' ground of honour: For desert's our owne.Be that your ayme. I'le withCastarasitIth' shade, from heat of businesse. While my witIs neither big with an ambitious ayme,To build tall Pyramids Ith' court of fame,For after ages, or to win conceitOth' present, and grow in opinion great.Rich in our selves, we envy not the East,Her rockes of Diamonds, or her gold the West.Arabiamay be happy in the deathOf her revivingPhœnix; In the breathOf cooleFavonius, famous be the groveOfTempe; while we in each others love.For that let us be fam'd. And when of allThat Nature made us two, the funerallLeaves but a little dust; (which then as wed,Even after death, shall sleepe still in one bed.)The Bride and Bridegroome on the solemne day,Shall with warm zeale approach our Urne, to payTheir vowes, that heaven should blesse so farre their rites,To shew them the faire paths to our delights.[23]To the Right Honourable, my very good LordHenryLordM.To a Tombe.Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dostClip the lascivious beauty without lust;What horror at thy sight shootes through each sence;How powerfull is thy silent eloquence,Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,That their swolne pompe is but an empty cloud,Slave to each wind. The faire, those flowers they haveFresh in their cheeke, are strewd upon a grave.Thou tell'st the rich, their Idoll is but earth.The vainely pleas'd, that Syren-like their mirthBetrayes to mischiefe, and that onely heDares welcome death, whose aimes at vertue be.Which yet more zeale doth toCastaramove.What checks me, when the tombe perswades to love?ToCastara,Upon thought of Age and Death.The breath of time shall blast the flowry Spring,Which so perfumes thy cheeke, and with it bringSo darke a mist, as shall eclipse the lightOf thy faire eyes, in an eternall night.Some melancholly chamber of the earth,[24](For that like Time devoures whom it gave breath)Thy beauties shall entombe, while all who ereLov'd nobly, offer up their sorrowes there.But I whose griefe no formall limits bound,Beholding the darke caverne of that ground,Will there immure my selfe. And thus I shallThy mourner be, and my owne funerall.Else by the weeping magicke of my verse,Thou hadst reviv'd, to triumph o're thy hearse.[24](For she like Time devoures whom she gave breath)[25]To the Right Honourable, the LordP.My Lord.The reverend man by magicke of his prayerHath charm'd so, that I and your daughter areContracted into one. The holy lightsSmil'd with a cheerfull lustre on our rites,And every thing presag'd full happinesseTo mutuall love; if you'le the omen blesse.Nor grieve, my Lord, 'tis perfected. BeforeAfflicted Seas sought refuge on the shoreFrom the angryNorth-wind. Ere th'astonisht SpringHeard in the ayre the feather'd people sing,Ere time had motion, or the Sunne obtain'dHis province o're the day, this was ordain'd.Nor thinke in her I courted wealth or blood,Or more uncertaine hopes: for had I stoodOn th' highest ground of fortune, the world knowneNo greatnesse but what waited on my throne;And she had onely had that face and mind,I, with my selfe, had th'earth to her resign'd.In vertue there's an Empire. And so sweeteThe rule is when it doth with beauty meete,As fellow Consull; that of heaven theyNor earth partake; who would her disobey.This captiv'd me. And ere I question'd whyI ought to loveCastara, through my eye,This soft obedience stole into my heart.Then found I love might lend to th'quick-ey'd artOf Reason yet a purer sight: For heThough blind, taught her these Indies first to see,In whose possession I at length am blest,And with my selfe at quiet, here I rest,As all things to my powre subdu'd, To meTher's nought beyond this. The whole world is she.[25]To the Right Honorable, my very good Lord, the LordP. 1634, 1635.His Muse speakes to him.Thy vowes are heard, and thyCastara'snameIs writ as faire ith' Register of Fame,As th' ancient beauties which translated areBy Poets up to heaven; each there a starre.And though ImperiallTiberboast aloneOvids Corinna, and toArnis knowneButPetrarchs Laura; while our famous ThamesDoth murmurSydneyes Stellato her streamesYet hast thouSeverneleft, and she can bringAs many quires of Swans, as they to singThy glorious love: Which living shall by theeThe onely Sov'raigne of those waters be.Dead in loves firmament, no starre shall shineSo nobly faire, so purely chaste as thine.To Vaine hope.Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale,Swell with thy wanton breath the gaudy saileOf glorious fooles. Thou guid'st them who thee courtTo rocks, to quick-sands, or some faithlesse port.Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,I might ith' Cabbin passe the raging Seas,Would like a franticke shipboy wildly haste,To climbe the giddy top of th'unsafe mast?Ambition never to her hopes did faineA greatnesse, but I really obtaineIn myCastara. Wer't not fondnesse thenT' embrace[26]the shadowes of true blisse? And whenMy Paradise all flowers and fruits both breed:To rob a barren garden for a weed?[26]clip. 1634, 1635.

ToCastara,Now possest of her in marriage.This day is ours. The marriage Angell nowSees th' Altar in the odour of our vow,Yeeld a more precious breath, then that which movesThe whispring leaves in thePanchayangroves.View how his temples shine, on which he wearesA wreath of pearle, made of those precious tearesThouwepta Virgin, when crosse winds did blow,Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.But nowCastarasmile, No envious nightDares enterpose it selfe, t'ecclipse the lightOf our cleare joyes. For even the lawes divinePermit our mutuall love[18]so to entwine,That Kings, to ballance true content, shall say:Would they were great as we, we blest as they.[18]loves. 1634.

This day is ours. The marriage Angell nowSees th' Altar in the odour of our vow,Yeeld a more precious breath, then that which movesThe whispring leaves in thePanchayangroves.View how his temples shine, on which he wearesA wreath of pearle, made of those precious tearesThouwepta Virgin, when crosse winds did blow,Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.But nowCastarasmile, No envious nightDares enterpose it selfe, t'ecclipse the lightOf our cleare joyes. For even the lawes divinePermit our mutuall love[18]so to entwine,That Kings, to ballance true content, shall say:Would they were great as we, we blest as they.

This day is ours. The marriage Angell now

Sees th' Altar in the odour of our vow,

Yeeld a more precious breath, then that which moves

The whispring leaves in thePanchayangroves.

View how his temples shine, on which he weares

A wreath of pearle, made of those precious teares

Thouwepta Virgin, when crosse winds did blow,

Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.

But nowCastarasmile, No envious night

Dares enterpose it selfe, t'ecclipse the light

Of our cleare joyes. For even the lawes divine

Permit our mutuall love[18]so to entwine,

That Kings, to ballance true content, shall say:

Would they were great as we, we blest as they.

[18]loves. 1634.

ToCastara,Upon the mutuall love of their Majesties.Did you not see,Castara, when the KingMet his lov'd Queene; what sweetnesse she did bringT' incounter his brave heat; how great a flameFrom their brests meeting, on the sudden came?The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,Could he but heare the language of their eyes,As heresies would from his faith removeThe tenets of his sect, and practise love.The barb'rous nations which supply the earthWith a promiscuous and ignoble birth,Would by his precedent correct their life,Each wisely chuse, and chastely love a wife.[19]Princes example is a law. Then weIf loyall subjects, must true lovers be.[19]Princes examples are a law. Then we. 1634.

Did you not see,Castara, when the KingMet his lov'd Queene; what sweetnesse she did bringT' incounter his brave heat; how great a flameFrom their brests meeting, on the sudden came?The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,Could he but heare the language of their eyes,As heresies would from his faith removeThe tenets of his sect, and practise love.The barb'rous nations which supply the earthWith a promiscuous and ignoble birth,Would by his precedent correct their life,Each wisely chuse, and chastely love a wife.[19]Princes example is a law. Then weIf loyall subjects, must true lovers be.

Did you not see,Castara, when the King

Met his lov'd Queene; what sweetnesse she did bring

T' incounter his brave heat; how great a flame

From their brests meeting, on the sudden came?

The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,

Could he but heare the language of their eyes,

As heresies would from his faith remove

The tenets of his sect, and practise love.

The barb'rous nations which supply the earth

With a promiscuous and ignoble birth,

Would by his precedent correct their life,

Each wisely chuse, and chastely love a wife.

[19]Princes example is a law. Then we

If loyall subjects, must true lovers be.

[19]Princes examples are a law. Then we. 1634.

ToZephirus.Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breathCastaraand my selfe I here bequeathTo the calme wind. For heaven such joyes affordTo her and me, that there can be no third.And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:Her eyes supply your office with more brightAnd constant lustre. Angels guardians, likeThe nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strikeOrhoistup saile; Nor shall our vessell moveBy Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love.The courtesie of this more prosperous galeShall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saileTo some blest Port, where ship hath never laneAt anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophaneHath ever trod; Where nature doth dispenceHer infant wealth, a beautious innocence.Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride,(The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abideOn that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're,Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there.Thence age and death are exil'd, all offenceAnd feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence.A silence there so melancholly sweet,That none but whispring Turtles ever meet.Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe,To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two.And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne;Castara, wee'le obey and rule alone.For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare,Would be depraved, should but a third be there.

Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breathCastaraand my selfe I here bequeathTo the calme wind. For heaven such joyes affordTo her and me, that there can be no third.And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:Her eyes supply your office with more brightAnd constant lustre. Angels guardians, likeThe nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strikeOrhoistup saile; Nor shall our vessell moveBy Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love.The courtesie of this more prosperous galeShall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saileTo some blest Port, where ship hath never laneAt anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophaneHath ever trod; Where nature doth dispenceHer infant wealth, a beautious innocence.Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride,(The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abideOn that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're,Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there.Thence age and death are exil'd, all offenceAnd feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence.A silence there so melancholly sweet,That none but whispring Turtles ever meet.Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe,To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two.And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne;Castara, wee'le obey and rule alone.For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare,Would be depraved, should but a third be there.

Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breath

Castaraand my selfe I here bequeath

To the calme wind. For heaven such joyes afford

To her and me, that there can be no third.

And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:

Her eyes supply your office with more bright

And constant lustre. Angels guardians, like

The nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strike

Orhoistup saile; Nor shall our vessell move

By Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love.

The courtesie of this more prosperous gale

Shall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saile

To some blest Port, where ship hath never lane

At anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophane

Hath ever trod; Where nature doth dispence

Her infant wealth, a beautious innocence.

Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride,

(The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abide

On that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're,

Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there.

Thence age and death are exil'd, all offence

And feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence.

A silence there so melancholly sweet,

That none but whispring Turtles ever meet.

Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe,

To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two.

And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne;

Castara, wee'le obey and rule alone.

For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare,

Would be depraved, should but a third be there.

ToCastarain a Trance.Forsake me not so soone.Castarastay,And as I breake the prison of my clay,Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death.Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play.Goe happy twins of love; The courteous SeaShall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep,Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe.Every ungentle rocke shall melt away,The Syrens sing to please, not to betray.Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quireContend, which shall afford the brighter fire.While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even,Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.

Forsake me not so soone.Castarastay,And as I breake the prison of my clay,Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death.Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play.Goe happy twins of love; The courteous SeaShall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep,Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe.Every ungentle rocke shall melt away,The Syrens sing to please, not to betray.Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quireContend, which shall afford the brighter fire.While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even,Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.

Forsake me not so soone.Castarastay,

And as I breake the prison of my clay,

Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,

And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death.

Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play.

Goe happy twins of love; The courteous Sea

Shall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep,

Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe.

Every ungentle rocke shall melt away,

The Syrens sing to please, not to betray.

Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quire

Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire.

While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even,

Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.

ToDeath,Castarabeing sicke.Hence prophane grim man, nor dareTo approach so neere my faire.Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,Where the living loath to be,Heaven hath design'd to thee.But it needs 'mongst us thou'lt rage,Let thy fury feed on age.Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs,May supply thy sacrifice.Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,A flamed dart shot from her eye,Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,Whence th' art forc't to hover nigh her.If Love so mistooke his aime,Gently welcome in the flame:They who loath'd thee, when they seeWhere thou harbor'st, will love thee.Onely I, such is my fate,Must thee as a rivall hate,Court her gently, learne to prove,Nimble in the thefts of love.Gaze on th' errors of her haire:Touch her lip; but oh beware,Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.

Hence prophane grim man, nor dareTo approach so neere my faire.Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,Where the living loath to be,Heaven hath design'd to thee.But it needs 'mongst us thou'lt rage,Let thy fury feed on age.Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs,May supply thy sacrifice.Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,A flamed dart shot from her eye,Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,Whence th' art forc't to hover nigh her.If Love so mistooke his aime,Gently welcome in the flame:They who loath'd thee, when they seeWhere thou harbor'st, will love thee.Onely I, such is my fate,Must thee as a rivall hate,Court her gently, learne to prove,Nimble in the thefts of love.Gaze on th' errors of her haire:Touch her lip; but oh beware,Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.

Hence prophane grim man, nor dare

To approach so neere my faire.

Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,

Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,

Where the living loath to be,

Heaven hath design'd to thee.

But it needs 'mongst us thou'lt rage,

Let thy fury feed on age.

Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs,

May supply thy sacrifice.

Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,

A flamed dart shot from her eye,

Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,

Whence th' art forc't to hover nigh her.

If Love so mistooke his aime,

Gently welcome in the flame:

They who loath'd thee, when they see

Where thou harbor'st, will love thee.

Onely I, such is my fate,

Must thee as a rivall hate,

Court her gently, learne to prove,

Nimble in the thefts of love.

Gaze on th' errors of her haire:

Touch her lip; but oh beware,

Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,

Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.

ToCastara,Inviting her to sleepe.Sleepe myCastara, silence doth inviteThy eyes to close up day; though envious nightGrieves Fate should her the sight of them debarre,For she is exil'd, while they open are.Rest in thy peace secure. With drowsie charmes,Kinde sleepe bewitcheth thee into her armes;And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,Is like a theefe stole under thy bright eyes.Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quiltWrought by the Persian hand, thy dreames from guiltExempted, heaven with sweete repose doth crowneEach vertue, softer then the Swans fam'd downe.As exorcists wild spirits mildly lay,May sleepe thy fever calmely chase away.

Sleepe myCastara, silence doth inviteThy eyes to close up day; though envious nightGrieves Fate should her the sight of them debarre,For she is exil'd, while they open are.Rest in thy peace secure. With drowsie charmes,Kinde sleepe bewitcheth thee into her armes;And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,Is like a theefe stole under thy bright eyes.Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quiltWrought by the Persian hand, thy dreames from guiltExempted, heaven with sweete repose doth crowneEach vertue, softer then the Swans fam'd downe.As exorcists wild spirits mildly lay,May sleepe thy fever calmely chase away.

Sleepe myCastara, silence doth invite

Thy eyes to close up day; though envious night

Grieves Fate should her the sight of them debarre,

For she is exil'd, while they open are.

Rest in thy peace secure. With drowsie charmes,

Kinde sleepe bewitcheth thee into her armes;

And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,

Is like a theefe stole under thy bright eyes.

Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quilt

Wrought by the Persian hand, thy dreames from guilt

Exempted, heaven with sweete repose doth crowne

Each vertue, softer then the Swans fam'd downe.

As exorcists wild spirits mildly lay,

May sleepe thy fever calmely chase away.

UponCastara'srecoverie.She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death,Thy mercie in permitting vitall breathBacke toCastara, hath enlarg'd us all,Whome griefe had martyr'd in her funerall.While others in the ocean of their teares,Had sinking, wounded the beholders eares,With exclamations: I without a grone,Had suddenly congeal'd into a stone:There stood a statue, till the generall doome;Had ruin'd time and memory with her tombe.While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,Each Lover might this Epitaph have read."Her earth lyes here below; her soul's above,This wonder speakes her vertue, and my love."

She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death,Thy mercie in permitting vitall breathBacke toCastara, hath enlarg'd us all,Whome griefe had martyr'd in her funerall.While others in the ocean of their teares,Had sinking, wounded the beholders eares,With exclamations: I without a grone,Had suddenly congeal'd into a stone:There stood a statue, till the generall doome;Had ruin'd time and memory with her tombe.While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,Each Lover might this Epitaph have read."Her earth lyes here below; her soul's above,This wonder speakes her vertue, and my love."

She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death,

Thy mercie in permitting vitall breath

Backe toCastara, hath enlarg'd us all,

Whome griefe had martyr'd in her funerall.

While others in the ocean of their teares,

Had sinking, wounded the beholders eares,

With exclamations: I without a grone,

Had suddenly congeal'd into a stone:

There stood a statue, till the generall doome;

Had ruin'd time and memory with her tombe.

While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,

Each Lover might this Epitaph have read.

"Her earth lyes here below; her soul's above,

This wonder speakes her vertue, and my love."

To a Friend,Inviting him to a meeting upon promise.May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wineWhich makes the zeale ofAmsterdamdivine;If you make breach of promise. I have nowSo rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bowT' adore myGenius. Of this wine shouldPrynneDrinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginneA health toShakespearesghost, But you may bringSome excuse forth, and answer me, the KingTo-daywill give you audience, or that onAffaires of state, you and some serious DonAre to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sinSo farre, as to leave word y'ar not within.The least of these, will make me only thinkeHim subtle, who can in his closet drinkeDrunke even alone, and thus made wise createAs dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state,Projecting for such baits, as shall draw oreToHolland, all the herrings from our shore.But y'are too full of candour: and I knowWill sooner stones atSals'burgcasements throw,Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, allThe rich impropriations, then let pallSo pure Canary, and breake such an oath:Since charity is sinn'd against in both.Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale,Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and vealeSay grace in Latine; while I saintly singA Penitential verse in oyle and Ling.Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight,Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right!This I am sure: My sacke will disingageAll humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,ThatHypocreneshall henceforth Poets lacke,Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke.Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend,How goodCastarais, how deare my friend.

May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wineWhich makes the zeale ofAmsterdamdivine;If you make breach of promise. I have nowSo rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bowT' adore myGenius. Of this wine shouldPrynneDrinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginneA health toShakespearesghost, But you may bringSome excuse forth, and answer me, the KingTo-daywill give you audience, or that onAffaires of state, you and some serious DonAre to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sinSo farre, as to leave word y'ar not within.The least of these, will make me only thinkeHim subtle, who can in his closet drinkeDrunke even alone, and thus made wise createAs dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state,Projecting for such baits, as shall draw oreToHolland, all the herrings from our shore.But y'are too full of candour: and I knowWill sooner stones atSals'burgcasements throw,Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, allThe rich impropriations, then let pallSo pure Canary, and breake such an oath:Since charity is sinn'd against in both.Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale,Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and vealeSay grace in Latine; while I saintly singA Penitential verse in oyle and Ling.Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight,Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right!This I am sure: My sacke will disingageAll humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,ThatHypocreneshall henceforth Poets lacke,Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke.Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend,How goodCastarais, how deare my friend.

May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wine

Which makes the zeale ofAmsterdamdivine;

If you make breach of promise. I have now

So rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bow

T' adore myGenius. Of this wine shouldPrynne

Drinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginne

A health toShakespearesghost, But you may bring

Some excuse forth, and answer me, the King

To-daywill give you audience, or that on

Affaires of state, you and some serious Don

Are to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sin

So farre, as to leave word y'ar not within.

The least of these, will make me only thinke

Him subtle, who can in his closet drinke

Drunke even alone, and thus made wise create

As dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state,

Projecting for such baits, as shall draw ore

ToHolland, all the herrings from our shore.

But y'are too full of candour: and I know

Will sooner stones atSals'burgcasements throw,

Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, all

The rich impropriations, then let pall

So pure Canary, and breake such an oath:

Since charity is sinn'd against in both.

Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale,

Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and veale

Say grace in Latine; while I saintly sing

A Penitential verse in oyle and Ling.

Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight,

Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right!

This I am sure: My sacke will disingage

All humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,

ThatHypocreneshall henceforth Poets lacke,

Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke.

Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend,

How goodCastarais, how deare my friend.

ToCastara,Where true happinesse abides.Castarawhisper in somedeadmans eare,This subtillquære; and hee'le point out where,By answers negative, true joyes abide.Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tideOf greatnesse, they can no firme basis have,Upon the trepidation of a wave.Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth,Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' graceLove they to wanton of a brighter face,For th'are above Times battery; and the lightOf beauty, ages cloud will soone be night.If among these Content, he thus doth prove,Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love?

Castarawhisper in somedeadmans eare,This subtillquære; and hee'le point out where,By answers negative, true joyes abide.Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tideOf greatnesse, they can no firme basis have,Upon the trepidation of a wave.Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth,Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' graceLove they to wanton of a brighter face,For th'are above Times battery; and the lightOf beauty, ages cloud will soone be night.If among these Content, he thus doth prove,Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love?

Castarawhisper in somedeadmans eare,

This subtillquære; and hee'le point out where,

By answers negative, true joyes abide.

Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tide

Of greatnesse, they can no firme basis have,

Upon the trepidation of a wave.

Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth,

Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,

To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' grace

Love they to wanton of a brighter face,

For th'are above Times battery; and the light

Of beauty, ages cloud will soone be night.

If among these Content, he thus doth prove,

Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love?

ToCastara.Forsake with me the earth, my faire,And travell nimbly through the aire,Till we have reacht th' admiring skies;Then lend sight to those heavenly eyesWhich blind themselves, make creatures see.And taking view of all, when weShall finde a pure and glorious spheare;Wee'le fix like starres for ever there.Nor will we still each other view,Wee'le gaze on lesser starres then you;See how by their weake influence they,The strongest of mens actions sway.In an inferiour orbe below,Wee'le seeCalistoloosely throwHer haire abroad: as she did weare,The self-same beauty in a Beare,As when she a cold Virgin stood,And yet inflam'dJoveslustfull blood.Then looke onLede, whose faire beamesBy their reflection guild those streames,Where first unhappy she beganTo play the wanton with a Swan.If each of these loose beauties areTransform'd to a more beauteous starreBy the adult'rous lust ofJove;Why should not we, by purer love?

Forsake with me the earth, my faire,And travell nimbly through the aire,Till we have reacht th' admiring skies;Then lend sight to those heavenly eyesWhich blind themselves, make creatures see.And taking view of all, when weShall finde a pure and glorious spheare;Wee'le fix like starres for ever there.Nor will we still each other view,Wee'le gaze on lesser starres then you;See how by their weake influence they,The strongest of mens actions sway.In an inferiour orbe below,Wee'le seeCalistoloosely throwHer haire abroad: as she did weare,The self-same beauty in a Beare,As when she a cold Virgin stood,And yet inflam'dJoveslustfull blood.Then looke onLede, whose faire beamesBy their reflection guild those streames,Where first unhappy she beganTo play the wanton with a Swan.If each of these loose beauties areTransform'd to a more beauteous starreBy the adult'rous lust ofJove;Why should not we, by purer love?

Forsake with me the earth, my faire,

And travell nimbly through the aire,

Till we have reacht th' admiring skies;

Then lend sight to those heavenly eyes

Which blind themselves, make creatures see.

And taking view of all, when we

Shall finde a pure and glorious spheare;

Wee'le fix like starres for ever there.

Nor will we still each other view,

Wee'le gaze on lesser starres then you;

See how by their weake influence they,

The strongest of mens actions sway.

In an inferiour orbe below,

Wee'le seeCalistoloosely throw

Her haire abroad: as she did weare,

The self-same beauty in a Beare,

As when she a cold Virgin stood,

And yet inflam'dJoveslustfull blood.

Then looke onLede, whose faire beames

By their reflection guild those streames,

Where first unhappy she began

To play the wanton with a Swan.

If each of these loose beauties are

Transform'd to a more beauteous starre

By the adult'rous lust ofJove;

Why should not we, by purer love?

ToCastara,Upon the death of a Lady.Castaraweepe not, though her tombe appeareSometime thy griefe to answer with a teare:The marble will but wanton with thy woe.Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flowTo lose our selves in the insatiate Maine,Whence Rivers may, she[20]ne're returne againe.Nor grieve this Christall streame so soone did fallInto the Ocean; since she perfum'd allThe banks she past, so that each neighbour fieldDid sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld.Which now adorne her Hearse. The violet thereOn her pale cheeke doth the sad livery weare,Which heavens compassion gave her; And since sheCause cloath'd in purple can no mourner be,As incense to the tombe she gives her breath,And fading, on her Lady waits in death.Such office the Ægyptian handmaids didGreatCleopatra, when she dying chidThe Asps slow venome, trembling she should beBy Fate rob'd even of that blacke victory.The flowers instruct our sorrowes. Come then allYe beauties, to true beauties funerall,And with her, to increase deaths pompe, decay.Since the supporting fabricke of your clayIs faine, how can ye stand? How can the nightShew stars, when Fate puts out the dayes great light?But 'mong the faire, if there live any yet,She's but the fairerDigbiescounterfeit.Come you who speake your titles. Reade in thisPale booke, how vaine a boast your greatnesse is.What's honour but a hatchment? what is hereOfPercyleft, andStanly, names most deareTo vertue? but a crescent turn'd to th' wane,An Eagle groaning o're an infant slaine?Or what availes her, that she once was led,A glorious bride to valiantDigbiesbed,Since death hath them divorc'd? If then aliveThere are, who these sad obsequies surviveAnd vaunt a proud descent, they onely beLoud heralds to set forth her pedigree.Come all who glory in your wealth, and viewThe embleme of your frailty. How untrue(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,Her Fate hath taught[21]: who, when what ever rareThe either Indies boast, lay richly spreadFor her to weare, lay on her pillow dead.Come likewise myCastaraand behold,What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,Bestow'd on her in death. She past awaySo sweetely from the world, as if her clayLaid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeareTo let on her blest ashes fall a teare.But if th'art too much woman, softly weepe.Lest griefe disturbe the silence of her sleepe.[20]we. 1634.[21]Her Fate hath taught you: who, when what ever rare. 1634, 1635.

Castaraweepe not, though her tombe appeareSometime thy griefe to answer with a teare:The marble will but wanton with thy woe.Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flowTo lose our selves in the insatiate Maine,Whence Rivers may, she[20]ne're returne againe.Nor grieve this Christall streame so soone did fallInto the Ocean; since she perfum'd allThe banks she past, so that each neighbour fieldDid sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld.Which now adorne her Hearse. The violet thereOn her pale cheeke doth the sad livery weare,Which heavens compassion gave her; And since sheCause cloath'd in purple can no mourner be,As incense to the tombe she gives her breath,And fading, on her Lady waits in death.Such office the Ægyptian handmaids didGreatCleopatra, when she dying chidThe Asps slow venome, trembling she should beBy Fate rob'd even of that blacke victory.The flowers instruct our sorrowes. Come then allYe beauties, to true beauties funerall,And with her, to increase deaths pompe, decay.Since the supporting fabricke of your clayIs faine, how can ye stand? How can the nightShew stars, when Fate puts out the dayes great light?But 'mong the faire, if there live any yet,She's but the fairerDigbiescounterfeit.Come you who speake your titles. Reade in thisPale booke, how vaine a boast your greatnesse is.What's honour but a hatchment? what is hereOfPercyleft, andStanly, names most deareTo vertue? but a crescent turn'd to th' wane,An Eagle groaning o're an infant slaine?Or what availes her, that she once was led,A glorious bride to valiantDigbiesbed,Since death hath them divorc'd? If then aliveThere are, who these sad obsequies surviveAnd vaunt a proud descent, they onely beLoud heralds to set forth her pedigree.Come all who glory in your wealth, and viewThe embleme of your frailty. How untrue(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,Her Fate hath taught[21]: who, when what ever rareThe either Indies boast, lay richly spreadFor her to weare, lay on her pillow dead.Come likewise myCastaraand behold,What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,Bestow'd on her in death. She past awaySo sweetely from the world, as if her clayLaid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeareTo let on her blest ashes fall a teare.But if th'art too much woman, softly weepe.Lest griefe disturbe the silence of her sleepe.

Castaraweepe not, though her tombe appeare

Sometime thy griefe to answer with a teare:

The marble will but wanton with thy woe.

Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flow

To lose our selves in the insatiate Maine,

Whence Rivers may, she[20]ne're returne againe.

Nor grieve this Christall streame so soone did fall

Into the Ocean; since she perfum'd all

The banks she past, so that each neighbour field

Did sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld.

Which now adorne her Hearse. The violet there

On her pale cheeke doth the sad livery weare,

Which heavens compassion gave her; And since she

Cause cloath'd in purple can no mourner be,

As incense to the tombe she gives her breath,

And fading, on her Lady waits in death.

Such office the Ægyptian handmaids did

GreatCleopatra, when she dying chid

The Asps slow venome, trembling she should be

By Fate rob'd even of that blacke victory.

The flowers instruct our sorrowes. Come then all

Ye beauties, to true beauties funerall,

And with her, to increase deaths pompe, decay.

Since the supporting fabricke of your clay

Is faine, how can ye stand? How can the night

Shew stars, when Fate puts out the dayes great light?

But 'mong the faire, if there live any yet,

She's but the fairerDigbiescounterfeit.

Come you who speake your titles. Reade in this

Pale booke, how vaine a boast your greatnesse is.

What's honour but a hatchment? what is here

OfPercyleft, andStanly, names most deare

To vertue? but a crescent turn'd to th' wane,

An Eagle groaning o're an infant slaine?

Or what availes her, that she once was led,

A glorious bride to valiantDigbiesbed,

Since death hath them divorc'd? If then alive

There are, who these sad obsequies survive

And vaunt a proud descent, they onely be

Loud heralds to set forth her pedigree.

Come all who glory in your wealth, and view

The embleme of your frailty. How untrue

(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,

Her Fate hath taught[21]: who, when what ever rare

The either Indies boast, lay richly spread

For her to weare, lay on her pillow dead.

Come likewise myCastaraand behold,

What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,

Bestow'd on her in death. She past away

So sweetely from the world, as if her clay

Laid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeare

To let on her blest ashes fall a teare.

But if th'art too much woman, softly weepe.

Lest griefe disturbe the silence of her sleepe.

[20]we. 1634.[21]Her Fate hath taught you: who, when what ever rare. 1634, 1635.

[20]we. 1634.

[21]Her Fate hath taught you: who, when what ever rare. 1634, 1635.

ToCastara,Being to take a journey.What's death more than departure; the dead goLike travelling exiles, compell'd to knowThose regions they heard mention of: Tis th'artOf sorrowes, sayes, who dye doe but depart.Then weepe thy funerall teares: which heaven t'adorneThe beauteous tresses of the weeping morne,Will rob me of: and thus my tombe shall beAs naked, as it had no obsequie.Know in these lines, sad musicke to thy eare,My sadCastara, you the sermon hereWhich I preach o're my hearse: And dead, I tellMy owne lives story, ring but my owne knell.But when I shall returne, know 'tis thy breathIn sighes divided, rescues me from death.

What's death more than departure; the dead goLike travelling exiles, compell'd to knowThose regions they heard mention of: Tis th'artOf sorrowes, sayes, who dye doe but depart.Then weepe thy funerall teares: which heaven t'adorneThe beauteous tresses of the weeping morne,Will rob me of: and thus my tombe shall beAs naked, as it had no obsequie.Know in these lines, sad musicke to thy eare,My sadCastara, you the sermon hereWhich I preach o're my hearse: And dead, I tellMy owne lives story, ring but my owne knell.But when I shall returne, know 'tis thy breathIn sighes divided, rescues me from death.

What's death more than departure; the dead go

Like travelling exiles, compell'd to know

Those regions they heard mention of: Tis th'art

Of sorrowes, sayes, who dye doe but depart.

Then weepe thy funerall teares: which heaven t'adorne

The beauteous tresses of the weeping morne,

Will rob me of: and thus my tombe shall be

As naked, as it had no obsequie.

Know in these lines, sad musicke to thy eare,

My sadCastara, you the sermon here

Which I preach o're my hearse: And dead, I tell

My owne lives story, ring but my owne knell.

But when I shall returne, know 'tis thy breath

In sighes divided, rescues me from death.

ToCastara,Weeping.Castara!O you are too prodigallOth' treasure of your teares; which thus let fallMake no returne: well plac'd calme peace might bringTo the loud wars, each free a captiv'd King.So the unskilfull Indian those bright jems,Which might adde majestie to Diadems,'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would storeThe thanklesse Sea, to make our Empire poore.When heaven darts thunder at the wombe of Time,Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,Or else despairing to roote out abuse,Would ruine vitious earth; be then profuse.Light, chas'd rude chaos from the world before,Thy teares, by hindring it's returne, worke more.

Castara!O you are too prodigallOth' treasure of your teares; which thus let fallMake no returne: well plac'd calme peace might bringTo the loud wars, each free a captiv'd King.So the unskilfull Indian those bright jems,Which might adde majestie to Diadems,'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would storeThe thanklesse Sea, to make our Empire poore.When heaven darts thunder at the wombe of Time,Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,Or else despairing to roote out abuse,Would ruine vitious earth; be then profuse.Light, chas'd rude chaos from the world before,Thy teares, by hindring it's returne, worke more.

Castara!O you are too prodigall

Oth' treasure of your teares; which thus let fall

Make no returne: well plac'd calme peace might bring

To the loud wars, each free a captiv'd King.

So the unskilfull Indian those bright jems,

Which might adde majestie to Diadems,

'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would store

The thanklesse Sea, to make our Empire poore.

When heaven darts thunder at the wombe of Time,

Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,

Or else despairing to roote out abuse,

Would ruine vitious earth; be then profuse.

Light, chas'd rude chaos from the world before,

Thy teares, by hindring it's returne, worke more.

ToCastara,Upon a sigh.I Heard a sigh, and something in my eareDid whisper, what my soule before did feare.That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie SpringEnricht with odours, wanton on the wingOf th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade,If he the treasure of this breath convey'd;'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breathOf Swans is like, propheticke in their death:And th' odour, for as it the nard expires,Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires.The winds of Paradice send such a gale,To make the Lovers vessels calmely saileTo his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires,Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.

I Heard a sigh, and something in my eareDid whisper, what my soule before did feare.That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie SpringEnricht with odours, wanton on the wingOf th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade,If he the treasure of this breath convey'd;'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breathOf Swans is like, propheticke in their death:And th' odour, for as it the nard expires,Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires.The winds of Paradice send such a gale,To make the Lovers vessels calmely saileTo his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires,Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.

I Heard a sigh, and something in my eare

Did whisper, what my soule before did feare.

That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie Spring

Enricht with odours, wanton on the wing

Of th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade,

If he the treasure of this breath convey'd;

'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breath

Of Swans is like, propheticke in their death:

And th' odour, for as it the nard expires,

Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires.

The winds of Paradice send such a gale,

To make the Lovers vessels calmely saile

To his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires,

Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.

To the Right Honourable the LadyF.Madam.You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame;In which as incense to your sacred nameBurnes a religious zeale. May we be lostTo one another, and our fire be frost;When we omit to pay the tribute dueTo worth and vertue, and in them to you:Who are the soule of women. Others beBut beauteous parts oth' female body; sheWho boasts how many nimbleCupidsskipThrough her bright face, is but an eye or lip:The other who in her soft brests can showWarme Violets growing in a banke of snow,And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:Nor is she but a hand, who holds withinThe chrystall violl of her wealthy palme,The precious sweating of the Easterne balme.And all these if you them together take,And joyne with art, will but one body make,To which the soule each vitall motion gives;You are infus'd into it, and it lives.But should you up to your blest mansion flie,How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?You are all mind.Castarawhen she lookes,On you th' Epitome of all, that bookesOr e're tradition taught; who gives such praiseUnto your sex, that now even customes sayesHe hath a female soule, who ere hath writVolumes which learning comprehend, and wit.Castaracries to me; Search out and findThe Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,And trace her steps to honour; I aspireEnough to worth, while I her worth admire.

Madam.

You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame;In which as incense to your sacred nameBurnes a religious zeale. May we be lostTo one another, and our fire be frost;When we omit to pay the tribute dueTo worth and vertue, and in them to you:Who are the soule of women. Others beBut beauteous parts oth' female body; sheWho boasts how many nimbleCupidsskipThrough her bright face, is but an eye or lip:The other who in her soft brests can showWarme Violets growing in a banke of snow,And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:Nor is she but a hand, who holds withinThe chrystall violl of her wealthy palme,The precious sweating of the Easterne balme.And all these if you them together take,And joyne with art, will but one body make,To which the soule each vitall motion gives;You are infus'd into it, and it lives.But should you up to your blest mansion flie,How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?You are all mind.Castarawhen she lookes,On you th' Epitome of all, that bookesOr e're tradition taught; who gives such praiseUnto your sex, that now even customes sayesHe hath a female soule, who ere hath writVolumes which learning comprehend, and wit.Castaracries to me; Search out and findThe Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,And trace her steps to honour; I aspireEnough to worth, while I her worth admire.

You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame;

In which as incense to your sacred name

Burnes a religious zeale. May we be lost

To one another, and our fire be frost;

When we omit to pay the tribute due

To worth and vertue, and in them to you:

Who are the soule of women. Others be

But beauteous parts oth' female body; she

Who boasts how many nimbleCupidsskip

Through her bright face, is but an eye or lip:

The other who in her soft brests can show

Warme Violets growing in a banke of snow,

And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:

Nor is she but a hand, who holds within

The chrystall violl of her wealthy palme,

The precious sweating of the Easterne balme.

And all these if you them together take,

And joyne with art, will but one body make,

To which the soule each vitall motion gives;

You are infus'd into it, and it lives.

But should you up to your blest mansion flie,

How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?

You are all mind.Castarawhen she lookes,

On you th' Epitome of all, that bookes

Or e're tradition taught; who gives such praise

Unto your sex, that now even customes sayes

He hath a female soule, who ere hath writ

Volumes which learning comprehend, and wit.

Castaracries to me; Search out and find

The Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,

And trace her steps to honour; I aspire

Enough to worth, while I her worth admire.

ToCastara,Against opinion.Why should we build,Castara, in the aireOf fraile opinion? Why admire as faire,What the weake faith of man gives us for right?The jugling world cheats but the weaker sight.What is in greatnesse happy? As free mirth,As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earthWe joy, who on the ground our mansion finde,As they, who saile like witches in the windOf Court applause. What can their powerfull spellOver inchanted man, more than compellHim into various formes? Nor serves their charmeThemselves to good, but to worke others harme.Tyrant Opinion but depose. And weWill absolute ith' happiest Empire be.

Why should we build,Castara, in the aireOf fraile opinion? Why admire as faire,What the weake faith of man gives us for right?The jugling world cheats but the weaker sight.What is in greatnesse happy? As free mirth,As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earthWe joy, who on the ground our mansion finde,As they, who saile like witches in the windOf Court applause. What can their powerfull spellOver inchanted man, more than compellHim into various formes? Nor serves their charmeThemselves to good, but to worke others harme.Tyrant Opinion but depose. And weWill absolute ith' happiest Empire be.

Why should we build,Castara, in the aire

Of fraile opinion? Why admire as faire,

What the weake faith of man gives us for right?

The jugling world cheats but the weaker sight.

What is in greatnesse happy? As free mirth,

As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earth

We joy, who on the ground our mansion finde,

As they, who saile like witches in the wind

Of Court applause. What can their powerfull spell

Over inchanted man, more than compell

Him into various formes? Nor serves their charme

Themselves to good, but to worke others harme.

Tyrant Opinion but depose. And we

Will absolute ith' happiest Empire be.

ToCastara,Upon beautie.Castara, see that dust, the sportive windSo wantons with. 'Tis happ'ly all you'le findeLeft of some beauty: and how still it flies,To trouble, as it did in life, our eyes.O empty boast of flesh? Though our heires gildThe farre fetch Phrigian marble, which shall buildA burthen to our ashes, yet will deathBetray them to the sport of every breath.Dost thou, poor relique of our frailty, stillSwell up with glory? Or is it thy skill,To mocke weake man, whom every wind of praiseInto the aire, doth 'bove his center raise.If so, mocke on, And tell him that his lustTo beauty's, madnesse. For it courts but dust.

Castara, see that dust, the sportive windSo wantons with. 'Tis happ'ly all you'le findeLeft of some beauty: and how still it flies,To trouble, as it did in life, our eyes.O empty boast of flesh? Though our heires gildThe farre fetch Phrigian marble, which shall buildA burthen to our ashes, yet will deathBetray them to the sport of every breath.Dost thou, poor relique of our frailty, stillSwell up with glory? Or is it thy skill,To mocke weake man, whom every wind of praiseInto the aire, doth 'bove his center raise.If so, mocke on, And tell him that his lustTo beauty's, madnesse. For it courts but dust.

Castara, see that dust, the sportive wind

So wantons with. 'Tis happ'ly all you'le finde

Left of some beauty: and how still it flies,

To trouble, as it did in life, our eyes.

O empty boast of flesh? Though our heires gild

The farre fetch Phrigian marble, which shall build

A burthen to our ashes, yet will death

Betray them to the sport of every breath.

Dost thou, poor relique of our frailty, still

Swell up with glory? Or is it thy skill,

To mocke weake man, whom every wind of praise

Into the aire, doth 'bove his center raise.

If so, mocke on, And tell him that his lust

To beauty's, madnesse. For it courts but dust.

ToCastara,Melancholly.Were but that sigh a penitentiall breathThat thou art mine: It would blow with it death,T' inclose me in my marble: Where I'de beSlave to the tyrant wormes, to set thee free.What should we envy? Though with larger saileSome dance upon the Ocean: yet more fraileAnd faithlesse is that wave, than where we glide,Blest in the safety of a private tide.We still have land in ken. And 'cause our boatDares not affront the weather, wee'le ne're floatFarre from the shore. To daring them each cloudIs big with thunder, every wind speakes loud.And though wild rockes about the shore appeareYet vertue will finde roome to anchor there.

Were but that sigh a penitentiall breathThat thou art mine: It would blow with it death,T' inclose me in my marble: Where I'de beSlave to the tyrant wormes, to set thee free.What should we envy? Though with larger saileSome dance upon the Ocean: yet more fraileAnd faithlesse is that wave, than where we glide,Blest in the safety of a private tide.We still have land in ken. And 'cause our boatDares not affront the weather, wee'le ne're floatFarre from the shore. To daring them each cloudIs big with thunder, every wind speakes loud.And though wild rockes about the shore appeareYet vertue will finde roome to anchor there.

Were but that sigh a penitentiall breath

That thou art mine: It would blow with it death,

T' inclose me in my marble: Where I'de be

Slave to the tyrant wormes, to set thee free.

What should we envy? Though with larger saile

Some dance upon the Ocean: yet more fraile

And faithlesse is that wave, than where we glide,

Blest in the safety of a private tide.

We still have land in ken. And 'cause our boat

Dares not affront the weather, wee'le ne're float

Farre from the shore. To daring them each cloud

Is big with thunder, every wind speakes loud.

And though wild rockes about the shore appeare

Yet vertue will finde roome to anchor there.

A Dialogue betweeneAraphillandCastara.Araph.Castara, you too fondly courtThe silken peace with which we cover'd are,Unquiet time may for his sport,Up from its iron den rowse sleepy warre.Cast.Then in the language of the drum,I will instruct my yet affrighted eare,All women shall in me be dumbe;If I but with myAraphillbe there?Araph.If Fate like an unfaithfull gale,Which having vow'd to th' ship a faire event,Oth' sudden rends her hopefull saile;Blow ruine; willCastarathen repent?Cast.Love shall in that tempestuous showreHer brightest blossome like the blacke-thorne show:Weake friendship prospers by the powreOf fortunes Sunne. I'le in her winter grow.Araph.If on my skin the noysome skarI should oth'leprosie, or canker weare;Or if the sulph'rous breath of warreShould blast my youth; Should I not be thy feare?Cast.In flesh may sicknesse horror move,But heavenly zeale will be by it refin'd,For then wee'd like two Angels love,Without a sense; imbrace[22]each others mind.Araph.Were it not impious to repine;'Gainst rigid Fate I should direct my breath.That two must be, whom heaven did joyneIn such a happy one, disjoyn'd by death.Cast.That's no divource. Then shall we seeThe rites in life, were types o'th marriage state,Our soules on earth contracted be;But they in heaven their nuptials consumate.[22]Without a sense; and clip each others mind. 1634, 1635.

Castara, you too fondly court

The silken peace with which we cover'd are,

Unquiet time may for his sport,

Up from its iron den rowse sleepy warre.

Then in the language of the drum,

I will instruct my yet affrighted eare,

All women shall in me be dumbe;

If I but with myAraphillbe there?

If Fate like an unfaithfull gale,

Which having vow'd to th' ship a faire event,

Oth' sudden rends her hopefull saile;

Blow ruine; willCastarathen repent?

Love shall in that tempestuous showre

Her brightest blossome like the blacke-thorne show:

Weake friendship prospers by the powre

Of fortunes Sunne. I'le in her winter grow.

If on my skin the noysome skar

I should oth'leprosie, or canker weare;

Or if the sulph'rous breath of warre

Should blast my youth; Should I not be thy feare?

In flesh may sicknesse horror move,

But heavenly zeale will be by it refin'd,

For then wee'd like two Angels love,

Without a sense; imbrace[22]each others mind.

Were it not impious to repine;

'Gainst rigid Fate I should direct my breath.

That two must be, whom heaven did joyne

In such a happy one, disjoyn'd by death.

That's no divource. Then shall we see

The rites in life, were types o'th marriage state,

Our soules on earth contracted be;

But they in heaven their nuptials consumate.

[22]Without a sense; and clip each others mind. 1634, 1635.

[23]To the Right HonourableHenryLordM.My Lord.My thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earthSo farre predominate in me, that mirthLookes not as lovely as when our delightFirst fashion'd wings to adde a nimbler flightTo lazie time; who would, to have survai'dOur varied pleasures, there have ever staid.And they were harmelesse. For obedienceIf frailty yeelds to the wild lawes of sence;We shall but with a sugred venome meete;No pleasure, if not innocent as sweet.And that's your choyce: who adde the title goodTo that of noble. For although the bloodOfMarshall,Stanley, and 'La Poledoth flowWith happyBrandon'sin your veines; you oweYour vertue not to them. Man builds aloneOth' ground of honour: For desert's our owne.Be that your ayme. I'le withCastarasitIth' shade, from heat of businesse. While my witIs neither big with an ambitious ayme,To build tall Pyramids Ith' court of fame,For after ages, or to win conceitOth' present, and grow in opinion great.Rich in our selves, we envy not the East,Her rockes of Diamonds, or her gold the West.Arabiamay be happy in the deathOf her revivingPhœnix; In the breathOf cooleFavonius, famous be the groveOfTempe; while we in each others love.For that let us be fam'd. And when of allThat Nature made us two, the funerallLeaves but a little dust; (which then as wed,Even after death, shall sleepe still in one bed.)The Bride and Bridegroome on the solemne day,Shall with warm zeale approach our Urne, to payTheir vowes, that heaven should blesse so farre their rites,To shew them the faire paths to our delights.[23]To the Right Honourable, my very good LordHenryLordM.

My Lord.

My thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earthSo farre predominate in me, that mirthLookes not as lovely as when our delightFirst fashion'd wings to adde a nimbler flightTo lazie time; who would, to have survai'dOur varied pleasures, there have ever staid.And they were harmelesse. For obedienceIf frailty yeelds to the wild lawes of sence;We shall but with a sugred venome meete;No pleasure, if not innocent as sweet.And that's your choyce: who adde the title goodTo that of noble. For although the bloodOfMarshall,Stanley, and 'La Poledoth flowWith happyBrandon'sin your veines; you oweYour vertue not to them. Man builds aloneOth' ground of honour: For desert's our owne.Be that your ayme. I'le withCastarasitIth' shade, from heat of businesse. While my witIs neither big with an ambitious ayme,To build tall Pyramids Ith' court of fame,For after ages, or to win conceitOth' present, and grow in opinion great.Rich in our selves, we envy not the East,Her rockes of Diamonds, or her gold the West.Arabiamay be happy in the deathOf her revivingPhœnix; In the breathOf cooleFavonius, famous be the groveOfTempe; while we in each others love.For that let us be fam'd. And when of allThat Nature made us two, the funerallLeaves but a little dust; (which then as wed,Even after death, shall sleepe still in one bed.)The Bride and Bridegroome on the solemne day,Shall with warm zeale approach our Urne, to payTheir vowes, that heaven should blesse so farre their rites,To shew them the faire paths to our delights.

My thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earth

So farre predominate in me, that mirth

Lookes not as lovely as when our delight

First fashion'd wings to adde a nimbler flight

To lazie time; who would, to have survai'd

Our varied pleasures, there have ever staid.

And they were harmelesse. For obedience

If frailty yeelds to the wild lawes of sence;

We shall but with a sugred venome meete;

No pleasure, if not innocent as sweet.

And that's your choyce: who adde the title good

To that of noble. For although the blood

OfMarshall,Stanley, and 'La Poledoth flow

With happyBrandon'sin your veines; you owe

Your vertue not to them. Man builds alone

Oth' ground of honour: For desert's our owne.

Be that your ayme. I'le withCastarasit

Ith' shade, from heat of businesse. While my wit

Is neither big with an ambitious ayme,

To build tall Pyramids Ith' court of fame,

For after ages, or to win conceit

Oth' present, and grow in opinion great.

Rich in our selves, we envy not the East,

Her rockes of Diamonds, or her gold the West.

Arabiamay be happy in the death

Of her revivingPhœnix; In the breath

Of cooleFavonius, famous be the grove

OfTempe; while we in each others love.

For that let us be fam'd. And when of all

That Nature made us two, the funerall

Leaves but a little dust; (which then as wed,

Even after death, shall sleepe still in one bed.)

The Bride and Bridegroome on the solemne day,

Shall with warm zeale approach our Urne, to pay

Their vowes, that heaven should blesse so farre their rites,

To shew them the faire paths to our delights.

[23]To the Right Honourable, my very good LordHenryLordM.

To a Tombe.Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dostClip the lascivious beauty without lust;What horror at thy sight shootes through each sence;How powerfull is thy silent eloquence,Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,That their swolne pompe is but an empty cloud,Slave to each wind. The faire, those flowers they haveFresh in their cheeke, are strewd upon a grave.Thou tell'st the rich, their Idoll is but earth.The vainely pleas'd, that Syren-like their mirthBetrayes to mischiefe, and that onely heDares welcome death, whose aimes at vertue be.Which yet more zeale doth toCastaramove.What checks me, when the tombe perswades to love?

Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dostClip the lascivious beauty without lust;What horror at thy sight shootes through each sence;How powerfull is thy silent eloquence,Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,That their swolne pompe is but an empty cloud,Slave to each wind. The faire, those flowers they haveFresh in their cheeke, are strewd upon a grave.Thou tell'st the rich, their Idoll is but earth.The vainely pleas'd, that Syren-like their mirthBetrayes to mischiefe, and that onely heDares welcome death, whose aimes at vertue be.Which yet more zeale doth toCastaramove.What checks me, when the tombe perswades to love?

Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dost

Clip the lascivious beauty without lust;

What horror at thy sight shootes through each sence;

How powerfull is thy silent eloquence,

Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,

That their swolne pompe is but an empty cloud,

Slave to each wind. The faire, those flowers they have

Fresh in their cheeke, are strewd upon a grave.

Thou tell'st the rich, their Idoll is but earth.

The vainely pleas'd, that Syren-like their mirth

Betrayes to mischiefe, and that onely he

Dares welcome death, whose aimes at vertue be.

Which yet more zeale doth toCastaramove.

What checks me, when the tombe perswades to love?

ToCastara,Upon thought of Age and Death.The breath of time shall blast the flowry Spring,Which so perfumes thy cheeke, and with it bringSo darke a mist, as shall eclipse the lightOf thy faire eyes, in an eternall night.Some melancholly chamber of the earth,[24](For that like Time devoures whom it gave breath)Thy beauties shall entombe, while all who ereLov'd nobly, offer up their sorrowes there.But I whose griefe no formall limits bound,Beholding the darke caverne of that ground,Will there immure my selfe. And thus I shallThy mourner be, and my owne funerall.Else by the weeping magicke of my verse,Thou hadst reviv'd, to triumph o're thy hearse.[24](For she like Time devoures whom she gave breath)

The breath of time shall blast the flowry Spring,Which so perfumes thy cheeke, and with it bringSo darke a mist, as shall eclipse the lightOf thy faire eyes, in an eternall night.Some melancholly chamber of the earth,[24](For that like Time devoures whom it gave breath)Thy beauties shall entombe, while all who ereLov'd nobly, offer up their sorrowes there.But I whose griefe no formall limits bound,Beholding the darke caverne of that ground,Will there immure my selfe. And thus I shallThy mourner be, and my owne funerall.Else by the weeping magicke of my verse,Thou hadst reviv'd, to triumph o're thy hearse.

The breath of time shall blast the flowry Spring,

Which so perfumes thy cheeke, and with it bring

So darke a mist, as shall eclipse the light

Of thy faire eyes, in an eternall night.

Some melancholly chamber of the earth,

[24](For that like Time devoures whom it gave breath)

Thy beauties shall entombe, while all who ere

Lov'd nobly, offer up their sorrowes there.

But I whose griefe no formall limits bound,

Beholding the darke caverne of that ground,

Will there immure my selfe. And thus I shall

Thy mourner be, and my owne funerall.

Else by the weeping magicke of my verse,

Thou hadst reviv'd, to triumph o're thy hearse.

[24](For she like Time devoures whom she gave breath)

[25]To the Right Honourable, the LordP.My Lord.The reverend man by magicke of his prayerHath charm'd so, that I and your daughter areContracted into one. The holy lightsSmil'd with a cheerfull lustre on our rites,And every thing presag'd full happinesseTo mutuall love; if you'le the omen blesse.Nor grieve, my Lord, 'tis perfected. BeforeAfflicted Seas sought refuge on the shoreFrom the angryNorth-wind. Ere th'astonisht SpringHeard in the ayre the feather'd people sing,Ere time had motion, or the Sunne obtain'dHis province o're the day, this was ordain'd.Nor thinke in her I courted wealth or blood,Or more uncertaine hopes: for had I stoodOn th' highest ground of fortune, the world knowneNo greatnesse but what waited on my throne;And she had onely had that face and mind,I, with my selfe, had th'earth to her resign'd.In vertue there's an Empire. And so sweeteThe rule is when it doth with beauty meete,As fellow Consull; that of heaven theyNor earth partake; who would her disobey.This captiv'd me. And ere I question'd whyI ought to loveCastara, through my eye,This soft obedience stole into my heart.Then found I love might lend to th'quick-ey'd artOf Reason yet a purer sight: For heThough blind, taught her these Indies first to see,In whose possession I at length am blest,And with my selfe at quiet, here I rest,As all things to my powre subdu'd, To meTher's nought beyond this. The whole world is she.[25]To the Right Honorable, my very good Lord, the LordP. 1634, 1635.

My Lord.

The reverend man by magicke of his prayerHath charm'd so, that I and your daughter areContracted into one. The holy lightsSmil'd with a cheerfull lustre on our rites,And every thing presag'd full happinesseTo mutuall love; if you'le the omen blesse.Nor grieve, my Lord, 'tis perfected. BeforeAfflicted Seas sought refuge on the shoreFrom the angryNorth-wind. Ere th'astonisht SpringHeard in the ayre the feather'd people sing,Ere time had motion, or the Sunne obtain'dHis province o're the day, this was ordain'd.Nor thinke in her I courted wealth or blood,Or more uncertaine hopes: for had I stoodOn th' highest ground of fortune, the world knowneNo greatnesse but what waited on my throne;And she had onely had that face and mind,I, with my selfe, had th'earth to her resign'd.In vertue there's an Empire. And so sweeteThe rule is when it doth with beauty meete,As fellow Consull; that of heaven theyNor earth partake; who would her disobey.This captiv'd me. And ere I question'd whyI ought to loveCastara, through my eye,This soft obedience stole into my heart.Then found I love might lend to th'quick-ey'd artOf Reason yet a purer sight: For heThough blind, taught her these Indies first to see,In whose possession I at length am blest,And with my selfe at quiet, here I rest,As all things to my powre subdu'd, To meTher's nought beyond this. The whole world is she.

The reverend man by magicke of his prayer

Hath charm'd so, that I and your daughter are

Contracted into one. The holy lights

Smil'd with a cheerfull lustre on our rites,

And every thing presag'd full happinesse

To mutuall love; if you'le the omen blesse.

Nor grieve, my Lord, 'tis perfected. Before

Afflicted Seas sought refuge on the shore

From the angryNorth-wind. Ere th'astonisht Spring

Heard in the ayre the feather'd people sing,

Ere time had motion, or the Sunne obtain'd

His province o're the day, this was ordain'd.

Nor thinke in her I courted wealth or blood,

Or more uncertaine hopes: for had I stood

On th' highest ground of fortune, the world knowne

No greatnesse but what waited on my throne;

And she had onely had that face and mind,

I, with my selfe, had th'earth to her resign'd.

In vertue there's an Empire. And so sweete

The rule is when it doth with beauty meete,

As fellow Consull; that of heaven they

Nor earth partake; who would her disobey.

This captiv'd me. And ere I question'd why

I ought to loveCastara, through my eye,

This soft obedience stole into my heart.

Then found I love might lend to th'quick-ey'd art

Of Reason yet a purer sight: For he

Though blind, taught her these Indies first to see,

In whose possession I at length am blest,

And with my selfe at quiet, here I rest,

As all things to my powre subdu'd, To me

Ther's nought beyond this. The whole world is she.

[25]To the Right Honorable, my very good Lord, the LordP. 1634, 1635.

His Muse speakes to him.Thy vowes are heard, and thyCastara'snameIs writ as faire ith' Register of Fame,As th' ancient beauties which translated areBy Poets up to heaven; each there a starre.And though ImperiallTiberboast aloneOvids Corinna, and toArnis knowneButPetrarchs Laura; while our famous ThamesDoth murmurSydneyes Stellato her streamesYet hast thouSeverneleft, and she can bringAs many quires of Swans, as they to singThy glorious love: Which living shall by theeThe onely Sov'raigne of those waters be.Dead in loves firmament, no starre shall shineSo nobly faire, so purely chaste as thine.

Thy vowes are heard, and thyCastara'snameIs writ as faire ith' Register of Fame,As th' ancient beauties which translated areBy Poets up to heaven; each there a starre.And though ImperiallTiberboast aloneOvids Corinna, and toArnis knowneButPetrarchs Laura; while our famous ThamesDoth murmurSydneyes Stellato her streamesYet hast thouSeverneleft, and she can bringAs many quires of Swans, as they to singThy glorious love: Which living shall by theeThe onely Sov'raigne of those waters be.Dead in loves firmament, no starre shall shineSo nobly faire, so purely chaste as thine.

Thy vowes are heard, and thyCastara'sname

Is writ as faire ith' Register of Fame,

As th' ancient beauties which translated are

By Poets up to heaven; each there a starre.

And though ImperiallTiberboast alone

Ovids Corinna, and toArnis knowne

ButPetrarchs Laura; while our famous Thames

Doth murmurSydneyes Stellato her streames

Yet hast thouSeverneleft, and she can bring

As many quires of Swans, as they to sing

Thy glorious love: Which living shall by thee

The onely Sov'raigne of those waters be.

Dead in loves firmament, no starre shall shine

So nobly faire, so purely chaste as thine.

To Vaine hope.Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale,Swell with thy wanton breath the gaudy saileOf glorious fooles. Thou guid'st them who thee courtTo rocks, to quick-sands, or some faithlesse port.Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,I might ith' Cabbin passe the raging Seas,Would like a franticke shipboy wildly haste,To climbe the giddy top of th'unsafe mast?Ambition never to her hopes did faineA greatnesse, but I really obtaineIn myCastara. Wer't not fondnesse thenT' embrace[26]the shadowes of true blisse? And whenMy Paradise all flowers and fruits both breed:To rob a barren garden for a weed?[26]clip. 1634, 1635.

Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale,Swell with thy wanton breath the gaudy saileOf glorious fooles. Thou guid'st them who thee courtTo rocks, to quick-sands, or some faithlesse port.Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,I might ith' Cabbin passe the raging Seas,Would like a franticke shipboy wildly haste,To climbe the giddy top of th'unsafe mast?Ambition never to her hopes did faineA greatnesse, but I really obtaineIn myCastara. Wer't not fondnesse thenT' embrace[26]the shadowes of true blisse? And whenMy Paradise all flowers and fruits both breed:To rob a barren garden for a weed?

Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale,

Swell with thy wanton breath the gaudy saile

Of glorious fooles. Thou guid'st them who thee court

To rocks, to quick-sands, or some faithlesse port.

Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,

I might ith' Cabbin passe the raging Seas,

Would like a franticke shipboy wildly haste,

To climbe the giddy top of th'unsafe mast?

Ambition never to her hopes did faine

A greatnesse, but I really obtaine

In myCastara. Wer't not fondnesse then

T' embrace[26]the shadowes of true blisse? And when

My Paradise all flowers and fruits both breed:

To rob a barren garden for a weed?

[26]clip. 1634, 1635.

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