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Those other two; which must be judg'd, or crown'd: Unto the scent, a spicerie, or balme;
This as it guilty is, or guiltlesse found,

And to the touch, a flower, like soft as palme.
Must come to take a sentence, by the sense He will all glory, all perfection be,
Of that great evidence, the conscience !

God, in the uniou, and the Trinitie ! Who will be there against that day prepar'd, That holy, great, and glorious mysterie, T accuse, or quit all parties to be heard !

Will there revealed be in majestie ! O day of joy, and suretie to the just!

By light, and comfort of spirituall grace; Who in that feast of resurrection trust !

The vision of our Saviour, face to face That great eternall holy-day of rest

In his humanitie! to heare him preach To body and soule! where Love is all the guest! The price of our redemption, and to teach And the whole banquet is full sight of God! Through his inherent righteousnesse, in death, Of joy the circle, and sole period !

The safetie of our soules, and forfeit breath! All other gladnesse, with the thought is barrd; What fulnesse of beatitude is here? Hope, hath her end! and Faith bath her reward ! What love with mercy mixed doth appeare? This being thus: why should my tongue or pen To style us friends, who were by nature, foes? Presume to interpell that fulnesse, when

Adopt us heires, by grace, who were of those Nothing can more adorne it then the seat

Had lost our selves and prodigally spent That she is in, or make it more compleat? Our native portions, and possessed rent; Better be dumbe then superstitious !

Yet have all debts forgiven us, and advance Wbo violates the god-head, is most vitious

B'imputed right to an inheritance Against the nature he would worship. He

In his eternall kingdome, where we sit Will honour'd be in all simplicitie !

Equall with angels, and co-beires of it. Have all his actions wondred at, and view'd Nor dare we under blasphemy conceive With silence, and amazement! not with rude, He that shall be our supreme judge, should leave Dull, and prophane, weake and imperfect eyes, Himselfe so un-inform'd of his elect, Have busie search made in his mysteries! (guest, Who knowes the heart of all, and can dissect He knowes what worke h’ hath done, to call this The smallest fibre of our flesh; he can Out of her noble body, to this feast :

Find all our atomes from a point t'a span! And give her place, according to ber blood Our closest creekes, and corners, and can trace Amongst her peeres, those princes of all good ! Each line, as it were graphick, in the face. Saints, martyrs, prophets, with those hierarchies, And best he knew her noble character, Angels, arch-angels, principalities,

For 'twas himselfe who formn'd, and gave it her. The dominations, vertues, and the powers,

And to that forme lent two such veines of blood The thrones, the cherube, and serapbick bowers, As nature could not more increase the flood That, planted round, there sing before the Lamb, Of title in her! all nobilitie A new song to his praise, and great I AM: (But pride, that schisme of incivilitie) And she doth know, out of the shade of death, She had, and it became her! she was fit What 't is t' enjoy an everlasting breath!

T have knowne no envy, but by suffring it! To have her captiv'd spirit freed from flesh, She had a mind as calme as she was faire; And on her innocence a garment fresh

Not tost or troubled with light lady-ayre, And white, as that, put on : and in her hand But kept an even gaite; as some straight tree With boughs of palme, a crowned victrice stand! Mov'd by the wind, so comely moved she. And will you, worthy sonne, sir, knowing this, And by the awfull manage of her eye Put black, and mourning on ? and say you misse She swaid all bus'nesse in the familie! A wife, a friend, a lady, or a love;

To one she said, doe this, he did it; so Whom her Redeemer, honour'd hath above To another, move; he went; to a third, go, Her fellowes, with the oyle of gladnesse, bright He run; and all did strive with diligence In Heav'n's empire, and with a robe of light? T' obey, and serve her sweet commandements. Thither, you hope to come, and there to find She was in one a many parts of life; That pure, that pretious, and exalted mind A tender mother, a discreeter wife, You once enjoy'd : a short space severs ye

A solemne mistress, and so good a friend, Compar'd unto that long eternitie,

So charitable, to religious end, That shall re-joyne ye. Was sbe, then, so deare, In all her petite actions, so devote, When she departed ? you will meet her there, As her whole life was now become one note Much more desir'd, and dearer then before, Of pietie, and private holinesse. By all the wealth of blessings, and the store She spent more time in teares her selfe to dresse Accumulated on her, by the Lord

For her devotions, and those sad essayes Of lic. and light, the Sonne of God, the Word! Of sorrow, then all pompe of gaudy daies: There all the happy soules that ever were,

And came forth ever cheered with the rod Shall meet with gladnesse in one theatre ;

Of divine comfort, when sh' had talk'd with God. And each shall know there one another's face, Her broken sighes did never misse whole sense : By beatifick vertue of the place.

Nor can the bruised heart want eloquence : There shall the brother with the sister walke, For, prayer is the incense most perfumes And sons and daughters with their parents talke; The holy altars, when it least presumes. But all of God; they still shall have to say, And her's were all humilitie! they beat But make him All in all, their theme, that day : The doore of grace, and found the mercy-seat. That happy day, that never shall see night! In frequent speaking by the pious psalmes Where he will be, all beautie to the sight:

Her solemne boures she spent, or giving almes, Wine or delicious fruits onto the taste;

Or doing other deeds of charitie, A musique in the eares will ever last;

To cloath the naked, feed the hungry. She

Would sit in an infirmery, whole dayes

With which, Priapus, he may thanke thy hands, Poring, as on a map, to find the wayes

And, Sylvane, thine that keptst his lands! To that eternall rest, where now sh' hath place 'Then now beneath some ancient oke he may By sure election, and predestin'd grace;

Now in the rooted grasse him lay, She saw her Saviour, by an earlie light,

Whilst from the higher bankes doe slide the floods; Incarnate in the manger, shining bright

The soft birds quarrell in the woods, On all the world! she saw him on the crosse The fountaines murmure as the streames doe creepe, Suffring, and dying to redeeme our losse !

And all invite to easie sleepe. She saw him rise, triumphing over death,

Then when the thundring Jove, his snow and showres To justifie, and quicken us in breath!

Are gathering by the wintry houres; She saw him too in glory to ascend

Or hence, or thence, he drives with many a hound For his designed worke the perfect end

Wild hores into his toyles pitch'd round: Of raising, judging, and rewarding all

Or straines on his small forke his subtill nets The kind of man, on whom his doome should fall! For th' eating thrush, or pit-falls sets : All this by faith she saw, and fram'd a plea, And snares the fearfull hare, and new-come crane, In manner of a daily apostrophe,

And 'counts them sweet rewards so ta'en. To him should be her judge, true God, true man, Who (amongst these delights) would not forget Jesus, the onely gotten Christ! who can

Love's cares so evill, and so great ? As being redeemer, and repairer too

But if, to boot with these, a chaste wife meet (Of lapsed nature) best know what to doe,

For houshold aid, and children sweet ;
In that great act of judgement: which the father Such as the Sabines, or a sun-burnt-blowse,
Hath given wholly to the sonne (the rather Some lustie quick Apulian's spouse,
As being the sonne of man) to show his power, To deck the hallow'd harth with old wood fir'd
His wisdome, and his justice, in that houre, Against the husband comes home tir'd;
The last of houres, and shutter up of all;

That penning the glad fock in hurdles by
Where first his power will appeare, by call Their swelling udders doth draw dry:
Of all are dead to life! his wisdome show

And from the sweet tub wine of this yeare takes, In the discerning of each conscience so!

Aud unbought viands ready makes : And most his justice, in the fitting parts,

Not Lucrine oysters I could then more prize, And giving dues to all mankind's deserts !

Nor turbot, nor bright golden eyes : In this sweet extasie, she was rapt hence.

If with bright floods, the winter troubled much, Who reades will pardon my intelligence,

Into our seas send any such :
That thus have ventur'd these true straines upon ; Th’lonian god-wit, nor the ginny-hen
To publish her a saint. My Muse is gone. Could not goe downe my belly then

More sweet then olives, that new gather'd be
In pietatis memoriam

From fattest branches of the tree;
quam pr ostas

Or the herb sorrell, that loves meadows still,
Venetiæ tuæ illustrissim,

Or mallowes loosing bodyes ill :
Marit. dign. Digbeie

Or at the feast of bounds, the lambe then slaine,
Hanc AITOOEEIN, libi, tuisque, sacro. Or kid forc't from the wolfe againe.

Among these cates how glad the sight doth come The Tenth, being her Inscription, or Crowne, is lost. Of the fed Aocks approaching home!

To view the weary oxen draw, with bare
And fainting necks, the turned share!
The wealthy household swarme of bondmen met,
And 'bout the steeming chimney set !

These thoughts when usurer Alphius, now about PRAISES OF A COUNTRIE LIFE,

To turne more farmer, had spoke out

| 'Gainst th' ides, his moneys he gets in with paine, FROM HORACE'S BEATUS ILLE, QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS.

At th' calends, puts all out againe.
Happie is be, that from all businesse cleere,
As the old race of mankind were,
With his owne oxen tills his sire's left lands,
And is not in the usurer's bands:

Nor souldier like started with rough alarmes,
Nor dreads the sea's inraged harmes :

But flees the barre and courts, with the proud bords,
And waiting chambers of great lords.
The poplar tall, he then doth marrying twine Venus, againe thou inov'st a warre
With the growne issue of the vine;

Long intermitted pray thee, pray thee spare : And with his hooke lops off the fruitlesse race, I am not such as in the reigne And sets more happy in the place:

Of the good Cynara I was; refraine, Or in the bending vale beholds a-farre

Sower mother of sweet loves, forbeare The lowing herds there grazing are:

To bend a man now at his fiftieth yeare Or the prest boney in pure pots doth keepe Too stubborne for commands, so slack: Of earth, and sheares the tender sheepe:

Goe where youth's soft entreaties call thee back. Or when that autumne through the fields lifts round More timely hie thee to the house, His head, with mellow apples crown'd,

With thy bright swans of Paulus Maximus : How plucking peares, his owne hand grafted had, There jest, and feast, make him thine host, And purple-matching grapes, he's glad!

If a fit livor thou dost seeke to toast :




^ Efigrams - Brit.



For he's both noble, lovely, young,
And for the troubled clyent fyls his tongue,
Child of a hundred arts, and farre

Will be display the ensines of thy warre.
And when he smiling finds his grace

Liser, of all thy friends, thou sweetest care,
With thee 'bove all his rivals' gifts take place, Thou worthy in eternall flower to fare,
He will tbee a marble statue make,

If thou be'st wise, with 'Syrian oyle let shine Beneath a sweet-wood roofe, neere Alba Lake: Thy locks, and rosie garlands crowne thy head; There shall thy dainty nostri!l take

Darke thy cleare glasse with old Falernian wine ; In many a gumme, and for thy soft eare's sake And heat, with softest love, thy softer bed. Shall verse be set to harpe and lute,

He, that but living halfe bis Jayes, dies such,
And Phrygian hau'boy, not without the Aute. Makes bis life longer then 't was given him, much.
There twice a day in sacred laies,
The youths and tender maids shall sing thy praise;
And in the Salian manner meet
Thrice 'bout thy altar with their ivory feet.
Me now, nor wench, nor wanton boy,

Delights, nor credulous hope of mutuall joy,
Nor care I now healths to propound;
Or with fresh flowers to girt my temple round.
But, why, oh why, my Ligurine,

Flow my thin teares,downe these palecheeks of mine?
Or why, my well-grac'd words among,
With an uncomely silence failes my tongue ?

WILLIAM, EARLE OF PEMBROKE, Hard-hearted, I dreame every night I hold thee fast! but fed hence, with the light,

LORD CHAMBERLAINE, &c. Whether in Mars his field thou be,

MY LORD, Or Tyber's winding streames, I follow thee.

While you cannot change your merit, I dare not change your t::le: it was that made it, and not I.

Under which name I here offer to your lordship ODE IX. BOOKE III.

the ripest of my studies, my Epigrammes; which,

though they carry danger in the sound, do not TO LYDIA.

therefore seeke your shelter : for, when I made them, I had nothing in my conscience, to express

ing of which I did need a cypher. But, if I be Whilst, Lydia, I was lov'd of thee,

falne into those times, wherein, for the likenesse And ('bout thy ivory neck) no youth did fling,

of vice, and facts, every one thinks another's ill His armes more acceptable free,

deeds objected to him ; and that in their ignorant I thought me richer then the Persian king. and guilty mouths, the common voyce is (for their LYDIA.

security) “ Beware the poet,” confessing therein Whilst Horace lov'd no mistres more,

so much love to their diseases as they would rather Nor after Cloë did his Lydia sound;

make a party for them, than bc either rid, or In name, I went all names before, The Roman Ilia was not more renown'd.

told of them : I must expect, at your lordship's

hand, the protection of truth, and liberty, while HORACE.

you are constant to your own goodnesse. In 'T is true, l' am Thracian Chloe's, I Who sings so sweet, and with

such cunning plaies, forth so many good, and great names (as my verses

thanks whereof I returne you the honor of leading As, for her, I'l'd not feare to die, So Fate would give her life, and longer daies.

mention on the better part) to their remembrance

with posterity, Amongst whom, if I have praysed, And I am mutually on fire

unfortunately, any one that doth not deserve; or, With gentle Calais Thurine, Ornith's sonne; if all answer not, in all numbers, the pictures I For whom 1 doubly would expire,

have made of them; I hope it will be forgiven So Fate would let the boy a long thred run.

me, that they are no ill pieces, though they be not

like the persons. But I foresee a neerer fate to But, say old love returne should make,

my book, than this : that the vices therein will be And us dis-joyn'd force to her brazen yoke,

owned before the vertues (though, there, I have That I bright Cloë off should shake; And to left Lydia, now the gate stood ope.

avoided all particulars, as I have done names) and

some will be so ready to discredit me, as they will LYDIA. Though he be fairer then a starre;

have the impudence to belye themselves. For, if Thou lighter then the barke of any tree,

I meant them not, it is so. Nor can I hope And then rough Adria, angrier farre;

otherwise. For why should they remit any thing Yet would I wish to love, live, die with thee. of their riot, their pride, their selfe-love, and other VOL. V






inherent graces, to consider truth or vertue ; but, for such a poet, while thy daies were greene, with the trade of the world, lend their long eares

Thou wert, as chiefe of them are said t' have been. against men they love not: and hold their deare | And such a prince thou art we daily see,

As chiefe of those still promise they will be. mountebank, or iester, in farre better condition whom should my Muse then flye to, but the best than all the study, or studiers of humanity ? for Of kings for grace; of poets for my test ? such I would rather know them by their visards, still, than they should publish their faces, at their

V. perill, in my theater, where Calo, if he lived, might enter without scandall.

When was there contract better driven by Pate? Your lordship's

Or celebrated with more truth of state ?
most faithfull honorer,

The world the temple was, the priest a king,
The spoused paire two realmes, the sea the ring,



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Where lately harbourd many a famous whore,
A purging bill, now fix'd upon the doore,

Tels you it is a hot-house: so it ma',
It will be look'd for, Book, when some but see And still be a whore-house. Th’are synonyma.
Thy title, Epigrammes, and nam'd of me,
Thou should'st be bold, licentious, full of gall,
Wormewood, and sulphure, sharp, and tooth'd with-
Becoine a petulant thing, hurle inke, and wit (all,

As mad-men stones: not caring whom they hit.
Deceive their malice, who could wish it so.

RIDway rob'd Duncote of three hundred pound, And by thy wiser temper let men know

Ridway was tane, arraign'd, condemn'd to dye; Thou art not covetous of least selfe-fame,

But, for this money was a courtier found, (crye; Made from the hazard of another's shame.

Beg'd Ridwaye's pardon: Duncote, now, doth
Much lesse, with lewd, prophane, and beastly phrase, Rob'd both of money, and the law's reliefe;
To catch the world's loose laughter, or vaine gaze.

The courtier is become the greater thiefe.
He that departs with his own honesty
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearely buy.



May none, whose scatter'd names honour my book,

For strict degrees, of rank, or title look: Thou, that mak'st gajne thy end, and wisely well,

”T is 'gainst the manners of an epigram : Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell,

And, I a poet here, no herald am.
Use mine so too: I give thee leave. But crave,
For the luck's sake, it thus much favour have,
To lje upon thy stall, till it be sought ;
Not offer'd, as it made sute to be bought ;

Nor have my title-leafe on posts, or walls,
Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls

Thou call'st me poet, as a terme of shame:
For teriners, or some clerck-like serving-man,

But I have my revenge made, in thy name.
Who scarce can spell th' hard names: whose knight
lesse can.

If, without these vile arts, it will not sell,
Send it to Bucklers-bury, there 't will well.


At court I met it, in clothes brave enough,

To be a courtier; and looks grave enough,

To seeme a statesman: as I neere it came,

It made me a great face, I ask'd the name. How, best of kings, dost thou a scepter beare! “A lord,” it cried, “ buried in flesh, and blood, How, best of poets, dost thou laurell weare ! And such from whom let no man hope least good, But two things rare, the Fates had in their store, For I will do none: and as little ill, And gave thee both, to show they could no more. Por I will dare none." Good lord, walk dead still.





Shift, here, in towne, not meanest among squires,

HARDY, thy braine is valiant, 't is confest; That haunt Pickt-hatch, Mersh-Lambeth, and Thou more, that with it every day dar’st jest

Thy selfe into fresh braules: when, call'd upon, White-fryers,

Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off, of one.
Keeps himselfe, with halfe a man, and defrayes
The charge of that state with this charme, God payes. Some hundred quarrels, yet dost thou fight none;

So, in short time, th' art in arrerage growne
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrayes
Himselfe: his whole revenue is, god payes.

Nor need'st thou: for those few, by oath releast, The quarter day is come; the hostesse sayes,

Make good what thou dar'șt do in all the rest. She must have money: he returnes, God payes.

Keep thy selfe there, and thiuk thy valure right; The taylor brings a suite home; he it 'ssayes,

He that dares damne himselfe, dares more than fight. Looks o're the bill, likes it: and says, God payes. He steales to ordinaries; there he playes At dice his borrow'd money: which, God payes.

XVII. Then takes up fresh commodities, for dayes ;

TO THE LEARNED CRITICK. Signes to new bonds, forfeits: and cries, God payes. That lost, he keeps his chamber, reades essayes, May others feare, flye, and traduce thy name, Takes physick, teares the papers: still God payes. As guilty men do magistrates: glad I, Or else by water goes, and so to playes;

That wish my poemes a legitimate fame, Calls for his stoole, adornes the stage: God payes. Charge them, for crown, to thy sole censure hye. To every cause he meets, this voice he brayes : And but a spring of bayes given by thee, His only answer is to all, God payes.

Shall out-live garlands stolne from the chast tree. Not his poore cocatrice but he betrayes Thus: and for his letchery, scores, God payes, Bat see! th' old baud hath servd him in his trim,

XVIU. Lent him a pocky whore. She hath paid him.





When men a dangerous disease did scape,
Of old, they gave a cock to Æsculape;
Let me give two: that doubly am got free,
From my disease's danger, and from thee.

To thee, my way in epigrammes seemes new,
When both it is the old way, and the true.
Thou saist, that cannot be: for thou hast seeno
Davis, and Weever, and the best have beene,
And mine come nothing like. I hope so.
As theirs did with thee, mine might credit get :
If thou 'ldst but use thy faith, as thou didst then,
When thou wert wont t'admire, not censure men.
Priy thee beleeve still, and not judge so fast,
Thy faith is all the knowledge that thou hast.




CAMDEN, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know.

That Cod can get no widdow, yet a knight,
(How nothing's that?) to whom my countrey owes I sente the cause : he wooes with an ill sprite.
The great renowne, and name wherewith she goes.
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.

What name,what skill,what faith hast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antique springs !
What weight, and what authority in thy speech !
Man scarse can make that doubt, but thou canst Tr' expence in odours is a most vaine sin,
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty,

Except thou couldst, sir Cod, weare them within.

(teach. Which conquers all, be once ore.come by thee. Many of thine this better could, than I,

XXI. But for their powers, accept my piety.


LORD, how is Gamster chang'd! his haire close cut XV.

His neck fenc'd round with ruffe! his eyes halfe shut! ON COURT-WORME.

His clothes two fashions off, and poore! his sword

Forbidd' his side ! and nothing, but the word All men are wormes: but this no man. In silke Quick in his lips ! who hath this wonder wrought? 'T was brought to court first wrapt, and white as The late tane bastinado. So I thought. Where, afterwards, it grew a butter-flye: (milke; What severall ways men to their calling have ! Which was a cater-piller. So 't will dye.

The bodie's stripes, I see, the soule may save.

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