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HE WAS CAR.
AS CAR then Crashawe; or WAS Crashawe CAR, Since both within one name combined are? Yes, Car's Crashawe, he Car; t'is love alone Which melts two harts, of both composing one. So Crashawe's still the same: so much desired By strongest witts; so honor'd so admired CAR WAS but HE that enter'd as afriend
With whom he shar'd his thoughtes, and did commend (While yet he liv'd) this worke; they lov'd each other: Sweete Crashawe was his friend; he Crashawes brother. So Car hath Title then; t'was his intent
That what his riches pen'd, poore Car should print.
Nor feares he checke praysing that happie one
Who was belov'd by all; dispraysed by none.
To witt, being pleas'd with all things, he pleas'd all.
Nor would he give, nor take offence; befall
What might; he would possesse himselfe and live
As deade (devoyde of interest) t'all might give
Desease t'his well composed mynd; forestal'd
With heavenly riches: which had wholy call'd
His thoughtes from earth, to live above in'th aire
A very bird of paradice. No care
Had he of earthly trashe. What might suffice
To fitt his soule to heavenly exercise.
Sufficed him and may we guesse his hart
By what his lipps brings forth, his onely part
Is God and godly thoughtes. Leaves doubt to none
But that to whom one God is all; all's one.
What he might eate or weare he tooke no thought.
His needfull foode he rather found then sought.
He seekes no downes, no sheetes, his bed's still made
If he can find, a chaire or stoole, he's layd,
When day peepes in, he quitts his restlesse rest.
And still, poore soule, before he's up he's dres't.
Thus dying did he live, yet lived to dye
In th-virgines lappe, to whom he did applye
His virgine thoughtes and words, and thence was styld
By foes, the chaplaine of the virgine myld
While yet he lived without: His modestie
Imparted this to some, and they to me.
Live happie then, deare soule; injoy the rest
Eternally by paynes thou purchacedest,
While Car must live in care, who was thy friend
Nor cares he how he live, so in the end,
He may injoy his dearest Lord and thee;
And sitt and singe more skilfull songs eternally.
Upon the pictures in the following Poemes which the Authour first made with his owne hand, admirably well, as may be seene in his Manuscript dedicated to the right Honorable Lady the L. Denbigh.
wixt pen and pensill rose a holy strife
Which might draw vertue better to the life.
Best witts gave votes to that: but painters swore
They never saw peeces so sweete before
As thes: fruites of pure nature; where no art
Did lead the untaught pensill, nor had part
The hand growne bold, with witt will needes contest.
Doth it prevayle? ah wo: say each is best.
This to the eare speakes wonders; that will trye
To speake the same, yet lowder, to the eye.
Both their aymes are holy, both conspire
To wound, to burne the hart with heavenly fire.
This then's the Doome, to doe both parties right:
This, to the eare speakes best; that, to the sight.
'Tis not the work of force but skill
To find the way into man's will.
'Tis love alone can hearts unlock.
Who knowes the WORD, he needs not knock.
Noblest & best of Ladyes, the Countesse of Denbigh.
Perswading her to Resolution in Religion, & to render her selfe without further delay into the Communion of the Catholick Church.
Hat heav'n-intreated HEART is This? Stands trembling at the gate of blisse; Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it, and enter.
Whose DEFINITION is à doubt
Twixt life & death, twixt in & out.
Say, lingring fair! why comes the birth
Of your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences (o you strong
In weaknes!) why you choose so long
In labor of your selfe to ly,
Nor daring quite to live nor dy?
Ah linger not, lov'd soul! à slow
And late consent was a long no,
Who grants at last, long time tryd
And did his best to have deny'd,
What magick bolts, what mystick Barres
Maintain the will in these strange warres!