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Beholding one in three, and three in one,

A Trinitie, to shine in unitie;
The gladdest light, darke man can thinke upon;
O grant it me!

I sing the birth was born to night,

The Author both of life and light; Father, and Sonne, and Holy Ghost, you three

The angels so did sound it, All coeternall in your majestie,

And like the ravish'd sheep'erds said,
Distinct in persons, yet in unitie

Who saw the light, and were afraid,
One God to see.

Yet search'd, and true they found it.

The Sonne of God, th' Eternall King, My Maker, Saviour, and my sanctifier.

That did us all salvation bring, To heare, to meditate, sweeten my desire,

And freed the soule from danger; With grace, with love, with cherishing intire, Hee whom the whole world could not take, O, then how blest;

The Word, which Heaven and Earth did make,

Was now laid in a manger. Among thy saints elected to abide,

The Father's wisedome will'd it so, And with thy angels placed side by side,

The Sonne's obedience knew no no, But in thy presence, truly glorified

Both wills were in one stature;
Shall I there rest?

And as that wisedome bad decreed,
The Word was now made flesh indeed,

And tooke on him our nature.
What comfort by him doe wee winne?
Who made himselfe the price of sinne,

To make us heires of glory?
HYMNE TO GOD THE FATHER. To see this babe all innocence ;

A martyr borne in our defence;

Can man forget this storie?
Heare mee, O God !

A broken heart

Is my best part:
Use still thy rod,

That I may prove
Therein, thy love.




If thou hadst not

Beene sterne to mee,

But left me free,
I had forgot

My selfe and thee.

For, sin's so sweet.

As minds ill bent

Rarely repent,
Untill they meet

Their punishment.

Who more can crave

Then thou hast done?
That gav'st a sonne,
To free a slave:

First made of nought;
Withall since bought.

Let it not your wonder move,
Lesse your laughter, that I love.
Though I now write fiftie yeares,
I have had, and have my peeres ;
Poets, though devine, are men:
Some have lov'd as old agen.
And it is not alwayes face,
Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace ;
Or the feature, or the youth:
But the language, and the truth,
With the ardour, and the passion,
Gives the lover weight and fashion.
If you then wi!l read the storie,
First, prepare you to be sorie,
That you never knew till now,
Either whom to love, or how:
But be glad, as soone with me,
When you know, that this is she,
Of whose beautie it was sung,
She shall make the old man young,
Keepe the middle age at stay,
And let nothing high decay,
Till she be the reason why,
All the world for love may die.

Sinne, Death, and Hell,

His glorious name

Quite overcame,
Yet I rebell,

And slight the same.

But i'le come in,

Before my losse

Me farther tosse,
As sure to win

Under his crosse.

I BEHELD her on a day
When her looke out-fourisht May:
And her dressing did out-brave
All the pride the fields then have:

Farre I was from being stupid,

That they still were to run by her side,' (ride. For I ran and callid on Cupid;

Through swords, through seas, whether she would “ Love, if thou wilt ever see Marke of glorie, come with me;

Doe but looke on her eyes, they doe light Where's thy quiver ? bend thy bow :

All that Love's world compriseth! Here's a shaft, thou art too slow !

Doe but looke on her haire, it is bright ' And (withall) I did untie

As Love's starre when it riseth ! Every cloud about his eye;

Doe but marke, her forhead's smoother But he had not gain'd his sight

Then words that sooth her! Sooner, then he lost his might,

And from her arched browes, such a grace Or his courage; for away

Sheds it selfe through the face, Strait hee ran, and durst not stay,

As alone there triumphs to the life Letting bow and arrow fall;

All the gaine, all the good, of the elements' strife. Nor for any threat, or call, Conld be brought once back to looke,

Have you seene but a bright lillie grow, I, foole-hardie, there up tooke

Before rude bands have touch'd it ? Both the arrow he had quit,

Ha' you mark'd but the fall o' the snow And the bow, which thought to hit

Before the soyle hath smutch'd it? This my object. But she threw

Ha' you felt the wooll of bever?

Or swan's downe ever?
Such a lightning (as I drew)
At my face, that tooke my sight,

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier ?
And my motion from me quite;

Or the nard in the fire ? So that there I stood a stone,

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
Mock'd of all: and call'd of one

O so white ! O so soft! O so sweet is she !
(Which with griefe and wrath I heard)
Cupid's statue with a beard,'
Or else one that plaid his ape,

In a Hercules his shape.

NOBLEST Charis, you that are
Both my fortune and my starre !

And doe governe more my blood,

Then the various Moone the flood !
AFTER many scornes like these,

Heare, what late discourse of you, Which the prouder beauties please,

Love and I have had; and true. She content was to restore

'Mongst my Muses finding me, Eyes and limbes; to hurt me more :

Where he chanc't your name to see And would, on conditions, be

Set, and to this softer straine ; Reconcil'd to love and me:

“ Sure," said he, “ if I have braine, First, that I must kneeling yeeld

This here sung can be no other, Both the bow and shaft I held

By description, but my mother! Unto her; which Love might take

So hath Homer prais'd her haire; At her hand, with oath, to make

So Anacreon drawne the ayre Mee the scope of his next draught,

Of her face, and made to rise, Aymed with that selfe-same shaft.

Just about her sparkling eyes, He no sooner beard the law,

Both her browes, bent like my bow. But the arrow home did draw,

By her lookes I doe her know, And (to gaine her by his art)

Which you call my shafts. And see! Left it sticking in my heart :

Such my mother's blushes be, Which when she beheld to bleed,

As the bath your verse discloses She repented of the deed,

In her cheekes, of milke and roses ; And would faine have chang'd the fate,

Such as oft I wanton in. But the pittie comes too late.

And, above her even chin, Looser-like, now, all my wreake

Have you plac'd the banke of kisses, Is, that I have leave to speake,

Where you say, men gather blisses, And in either prose, or song,

Rip'ned with a breath more sweet, To revenge me with my tongue,

Then when flowers and west-winds meet. Which how dexterously I doe,

Nay, her white and polish'd neck,
Heare and make example too.

With the lace that doth it deck,
Is my mother's! hearts of slaine
Lovers, made into a chaine!

And betweene each rising breast

Lyes the valley, cald my nest,
See the chariot at hand here of Love,

Where I sit and proyne my wings Wherein my lady rideth!

After flight; and put new stings Each that drawes is a swan, or a dove,

To my shafts ! Her very name, And well the carre Love guideth.

With my mother's is the same.”. As she goes, all hearts do duty

“ I confesse all," I replide, Unto her beauty ;

“And the glasse hangs by her side, And, enamour'd, doe wish so they might

And the girdle 'bout ber waste,
But enjoy such a sight,

All is Venus : save unchaste.

But, alas! thou seest the least

I will but mend the last, and tell
Of her good, who is the best

Where, how, it would have relisb'd well;
Of her sex; but could'st thou, Love,

Joyne lip to lip, and try :
Call to minde the formes, that strove

Each suck other's breath,
For the apple, and those three

And whilst our tongues perplexed lie,
Make in one, the same were shee.

Let who will thinke us dead, or wish our death.
For this beauty yet doth bide
Something more then thou hast spi'd.
Outward grace weake love beguiles :
Shee is Venus when she smiles,

But shee's Juno when she walkes,

CHARIs one day in discourse
And Minerva when she talkes."

Had of Love, and of his force,
Lightly promis’d, she would tell

What a man she could love well :

And that promise set on fire

All that heard her with desire.
CHARIS, guesse, and doe not miss,

With the rest, I long expected
Since I drew a morning kisse

When the worke would be effected :
From your lips, and suck'd an ayre

But we find that cold delay
Thence, as sweet as you are faire.

And excuse spun every day,
What my Muse and I have done:

As, untill she tell her one,
Whether we have lost or wonne,

We all feare she loveth none.
If by us the oddes were laid,

Therefore, Charis, you must do't,
That the bride (allow'd a maid)

For I will so urge you to't,
Look'd not halfe so fresh and faire,

You shall neither eat, nor sleepe,
With th' advantage of her haire,

No, por forth your window peepe,
And her jewels, to the view

With your emissarie eye,
Of th' assembly, as did you !

To fetch in the formes goe by :
Or, that did you sit, or walke,

And pronounce, which band or lace
You were more the eye and talke

Better fits him then his face;
Of the court, to day, then all

Nay, I will not let you sit
Else that glister'd in White-hall;

'Fore your idoll glasse a whit, -
So, as those that had your sight,

To say over every purle
Wisht the bride were chang'd to night,

There; or to reforme a curle;
And did thinke such rites were due

Or with secretarie Sis
To no other grace but you !

To consult, if fucus this
Or, if you did move to night

Be as good as was the last :
In the daunces, with what spight

All your sweet of life is past,
Of your peeres you were beheld,

Make account unlesse you can,
That at every motion sweld

(And that quickly) speake your man.
So to see a lady tread,
As might all the Graces leade,
And was worthy (being so seene)
To be envi'd of the queene.

Or, if you would yet have stay'd,

Whether any would up-braid
To himselfe his losse of time;

Op your trouble, Ben, to ease me,
Or have charg'd his sight of crime,

I will tell what man would please me.
To have left all sight for you:

I would have him, if I could,
Guesse of these, which is the true;

Noble; or of greater blood :
And, if such a verse as this

Titles, I confesse, doe take me,
May not claime another kisse.

And a woman God did make me.
French to boote, at least in fashion,
And his manners of that nation.

Young I'd have him too, and faire,

Yet a man; with crisped haire,

Cast in thousand snares and rings,
For Love's sake, kisse me once againe,

For Love's fingers, and his wings :
I long, and should not beg in vaine,

Chestnut colour, or more slack
Here's none to spie or see ;

Gold, upon a ground of black.
Why doe you doubt, or stay?

Venus and Minerva's eyes,
I'le taste as lightly as the bee,

For he must looke wanton-wise.
That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.

Eye-brows bent like Cupid's bow,

Front, an ample field of snow;
Once more, and (faith) I will be gone.

Even nose, and cheeke (withal)
Can he that loves aske lesse then one?

Smooth as is the billiard ball :
Nay, you may erre in this,

Chin, as woolly as the peach;
And all your bountie wrong:

And his lip should kissing teach,
This could be call'd but halfc a kisse.

Till he cherish'd too much beard,
What w'are but once to doe, we should doe long. And make Love or me afeard.


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He would have a hand as soft As the downe, and show it oft ;

What need of mee? doe you but sing, Skin as smooth as any rush,

Sleepe and the grave will wake, And so thin to see a blush

No tunes are sweet, nor words have sting, Rising through it e're it came;

But what those lips doe make.
All his blood should be a flame
Quickly fir'd, as in beginners
In love's schoole, and yet no sinners.
'Twere too long to speake of all;

They say the angells marke each deed, What we harmonie doe call

And exercise below, In a body should be there.

And out of inward pleasure feed
Well he should his clothes too weare,

On what they viewing know.
Yet no taylor help to make him,
Drest, you still for man shonld take him;
And not thinke h' had eat a stake,

O sing not you then, lest the best
Or were set up in a brake.

Of angels should be driven
Valiant he should be as fire,

To fall againe, at such a feast,
Showing danger more then ire.

Mistaking Earth for Heaven.
Bounteous as the clouds to earth ;
And as honest as his birth,
All his actions to be such,

Nay, rather both our soules bee strayn'd As to doe nothing too much.

To meet their high desire ; Nor o’re-praise, nor yet condemne;

So they in state of grace retain'd,
Nor out-valew, nor contemne;

May wish us of their quire.
Nor doe wrongs, nor wrongs receave;
Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave;
And from basenesse to be free,
As he durst love truth and me.
Such a man, with every part,

I could give my very heart;
But of one if short he came,

Oh, doe not wanton with those eyes,

Lest I be sick with seeing; I can rest me where I am.

Nor cast them downe, but let them rise,

Lest shame destroy their being. X. ANOTHER LADYE'S EXCEPTION, PRESENT AT O, be not angry with those fires, THE HEARING.

Por then their threats will kill me; For his mind, I doe not care,

Nor looke too kinde on my desires, That's a toy, that I could spare :

For then my hopes will spill me. Let his title be but great,

O, do not steepe them in thy teares, His clothes rich, and band sit neat,

For so will sorrow slay me; Himselfe young, and face be good,

Nor spread them as distract with feares, All I wish is understood :

Mine owne enough betray me. What you please, you parts may call, 'Tis one good part I'd lie withall.

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Cone, with our voyces let us warre,

And challenge all the spheares,
Till each of us be made a starre,
And all the world turne eares.

At such a call, what beast or fowle

Of reason emptie is !
What tree or stone doth want a soule ?

What man but must lose his?

Nor doe we doubt, but that we can,

If wee would search with care and paine,
Find some one good, in some one man ;

So, going thorow all your straine,
Wee shall at last, of parcells make
One good enough for a song's sake.
And as a cunning painter takes,

In any curious peece you see,
More pleasure while the thing he makes

Then when 'tis made; why so will wee.
And having pleas'd our art, wee'll try
To make a-new, and hang that by.

Mixe then your notes, that we may prove

To stay the running floods;
To make the mountaine quarries move ;

And call the walking woods.


I'le tell no more, and yet I love;

And he loves me; yet, no,

One un-becomming thought doth move

From either heart, I know ;

But so exempt from blame,

As it would be to each a fame,

If love, or feare, would let me tell his name. Hang up those dull and envious fooles

That talke abroad of woman's change, We were not bred to sit on stooles,

Our proper vertue is to range: Take that away, you take our lives,

THE HOURE-GLASSE. We are no women then, but wives.

Doe but consider this small dust, Such as in valour would excell

Here running in the glasse, Doe change, though man, and often fight,

By atomes mor'd; Which we in love must doe as well,

Could you beleeve, that this If ever we will love aright.

The body was The frequent varying of the deed,

Of one that lovd? Is that which doth perfection breed.

And in his mistress flame, playing like a flse,

Turn'd to cinders by her eye? Nor is't inconstancie to change

Yes; and in death, as life, unblest, For what is better, or to make

To have't expresst, (By searching) what before was strange,

Even ashes of lovers find no rest.
Familiar, for the use's sake ;
The good, from bad, is not descride,
But as 'tis often vext and tri'd.

And this profession of a store
In love, doth not alone help forth

I now thinke, love is rather deafe then blind, Our pleasure ; but preserves us more

For else it could not be, From being forsaken, then doth worth:

That she, For were the worthjest woman curst

Whom I adore so much, should so slight me, To love one man, hee'd leave her first.

And cast my love behind :
I'm sure my language to her was as sweet,

And every close did meet

In sentence, of as subtile feet,

As hath the youngest hee,

That sits in shadow of Apollo's tree. I love, and he loves me againe,

Oh, but my conscious feares, Yet dare I not tell who;

That flie my thoughts betweene, For if the nymphs should know my swainc,

Tell me that she hath seene
I feare they'd love himn too:

My hundreds of gray haires,
Yet if it be not knowne,

Told seven and fortie yeares,
The pleasure is as good as none,

Read so much waste, as she cannot imbrace For that's a narrow joy is but our owne.

My mountaine belly, and my rockie face,

And all these through her eyes, have stopt her eares. I'le tell, that if they be not glad,

They yet may envie me:
But then if I grow jealous madde,
And of them pittied be,
It were a plague 'bove scorse,

And yet it cannot be forborne,
Unlesse my heart would as my thought be torne. WRETCHED and foolish jealousie,

How camst thou thus to enter me?
He is, if they can find him, faire,

I n're was of thy kind; And fresh and fragrant too,

Nor have I yet the narrow mind As summer's sky, or purged ayre,

To vent that poore desire, And lookes as lillies

That others should not warme them at my fire. That are this morning blowne,

I wish the Sun should shine, Yet, yet I doubt he is not knowne,

On all men's fruit, and flowers, as well as mine. And feare much more, that more of him be showne.

But under the disguise of love But he hath eyes so round and bright,

Thou sai'st thou onely cam'st to prove As make away my doubt,

What my affections were, Where Love may all his torches light,

Think'st thou that love is help'd by feare? Though Hate had put them out;

Goe, get thee quickly forth,
But then t'encrease my feares,

Love's sicknesse, and his noted want of worth, What nymph so e're his voyce but heares

Seeke doubting men to please, Will be my rivall, though she have but eares. I ne're will owe my health to a disease.

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