Or'e beauty's face seeming to hide
More sweetly showes the blushing bride.
A soul, whose intellectuall beames
No mists doe mask, no lazy steames.
A happy soul, that all the way,
To HEAVN rides in a summer's day.
Wouldst' see a man, whose well-warm'd bloo
Bathes him in a genuine flood!

A man, whose tuned humors be

A seat of rarest harmony?

Wouldst' see blith lookes, fresh cheekes begui Age? wouldst see december smile?

Wouldst' see nests of new roses grow

In a bed [o]f re[v]erend snow?
Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering
Winter's selfe into a S[P]RING.

In summe, wouldst see a man that can
Live to be old, and still a man?

Whose latest & most leaden houres

Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowres
And when life's sweet fable ends,

Soul & body part like freinds;
No quarrells, murmurs, no delay;
A KISSE, a SIGH, and so away.

This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?
Hark hither; and thy self be HE.

НОРЕ.

Ope whose weak beeing ruin'd is
Alike if it succeed or if it misse!
Whom ill or good does equally confound
And both the hornes of fate's dilemma wound.
Vain shadow; that dost vanish quite
Both at full noon & perfect night!

The starres have not a possibility

Of blessing Thee.

If thinges then from their end we happy call,
'Tis hope is the most hopelesse thing of all.
Hope, thou bold Taster of delight!

Who in stead of doing so, devourst it quite.
Thou bringst us an estate, yet leav'st us poor
By clogging it with legacyes before.

The joyes which we intire should wed
Come deflour'd-virgins to our bed.

Good fortunes without gain imported be

Such mighty custom's paid to Thee.

For joy like wine kep't close, does better tast;
If it take air before his spirits wast.

Hope fortun's cheating lottery

Where for one prize, an hundred blankes there be.
Fond archer, hope. Who tak'st thine aime so farr
That still or short or wide thine arrowes are;

Thinne empty cloud which th-ey deceives
With shapes that our own fancy gives.

A cloud which gilt & painted now appeares
But must drop presently in teares
When thy false beames o're reason's light prevail,
By IGNES FATUI for north starres we sail.
Brother of fear more gayly clad.

The merryer fool oth two, yet quite as mad.
Sire of repen[t]ance, child of fond desire

That blow'st the chymick & the lover's fire.

Still leading them insensibly'on
With the strong witchcraft of Anon.
By thee the one does changing nature through
Her endlesse labyrinth's pursue,
while she goes

And th'other chases woman;

More

wayes

& turnes then hunted nature knowes.

M. COWLEY.

D'

M. CRASHAWS

ANSWER

FOR HOPE.

Ear hope! earth's dowry, & heavn's debt!
The entity of those that are not yet.
Subtlest, but surest beeing! Thou by whom
Our nothing has a definition!

Substantial shade! whose sweet allay
Blends both the noones of night & day.

Fates cannot find out a capacity

Of hurting thee.

From Thee their lean dilemma, with blunt horn,
Shrinkes, as the sick moon from the wholsome morn.
Rich hope! love's legacy, under lock
Of faith! still spending, & still growing stock!
Our crown-land lyes above yet each meal brings
A seemly portion for the sonnes of kings.
Nor will the virgin joyes we wed
Come lesse unbroken to our bed,

Because that from the bridall c[h]eek of blisse
Thou steal'st us down a distant kisse.

Hope's chast stealth harmes no more joye's maidenhead
Then spousal rites prejudge the marriage bed.

Fair hope! our earlyer heav'n by thee

Young time is taster to eternity.

Thy generous wine with age growes strong, not sowre.
Nor does it kill thy fruit, to smell thy flowre.

Thy golden, growing, head never hangs down
Till in the lappe of loves full noone

It falls; and dyes! o no, it melts away

As does the dawn into the day.

As lumpes of sugar loose themselves; and twine
Their supple essence with the soul of wine.

Fortune? alas, above the world's low warres Hope walks; & kickes the curld heads of conspiring Her keel cutts not the waves where These winds st Fortune's whole lottery is one blank to her.

Sweet hope! kind cheat! fair fallacy by thee We are not WHERE nor What we be, But WHAT & WHERE we would be. Thus art the Our absent PRESENCE, and our future Now. Faith's sister! nurse of fair desire! Fear's anti[dot]e! a wise & well-stay'd fire! Temper twixt chill despair, & torrid joy! Queen Regent in yonge love's minority!

Though the vext chymick vainly chases
His fugitive gold through all her faces;
Though love's more feirce, more fruitlesse, fires assa
One face more fugitive then all they;

True hope's a glorious hunter & her chase,
The GOD of nature in the feilds of grace.

VIVE JESU.