But if you on these Virginals will play,
They both will cast their instruments away,
And deeming it the musique of the Spheares,
Admire your musique as the swains do theirs.
27. On a Tennis-court haunter.
The world's a court, we are the bals, wherein
We bandied are by every stroke of sin,
Then onely this can I commend in thee,
Thou actest well our frail mortalitie.
Thou do'st complaine poets have no reward
And now adayes they are in no regard:
Verses are nothing worth, yet he that buyes
Ought that is thine, at a three-farthings price,
Will think it too too dear, and justly may
Think verses are in price, since th' other day,
Yea who ere buies 'em at a farthings rate,
At the same price can never sell 'em at.
Hyperbole of worth, should wit suggest
My will with Epithites, and I invest
That shrine but with deserved paraphrase,
Adulatory poetry would praise,
And so but staine your worth: your vertues (or
Else none at all) shall be my orator.
I saw faire Flora take the aire,
When Phœbus shin'd and it was faire;
The heavens to allay the heat,
Sent drops of raine, which gently beat,
The sun retires, asham'd to see
That he was barr'd from kissing thee.
Then Boreas took such high disdaine,
That soon he dri'd those drops again :
Ah cunning plot and most divine!
Thus to mix his breath with thine.
Canst thou beleeve, that this the body was
Of one that lov'd.
And in his Mistrisse playing like a fly.
Turn'd to cinders by her eye:
Yes and in death as life, have it exprest
That lovers ashes take no rest,
32. On the picture of Cupid in a jewell worn by his Mrs. on her brest.
Little Cupid enter in and heat
Her heart, her brest is not thy seat;
Her brests are fitted to entice.
Lovers, but her heart's of ice,
Thaw Cupid, that it hence forth grow
Tender still by answering no.
33. How to choose a wife.
Good sir, if you will shew the best of your skill
To picke a vertuous creature,
Then picke such a wife, as you love a life,
Of a comely grace and feature ;
The noblest part let it be her heart,
Without deceit or cunning,
With a nimble wit, and all things fit,
With a tongue that's never running,
The haire of her head, it must not be red,
But faire and brown as a berry;
Her fore-head high, with a christall eye,
Her lips as red as a cherry.
Claudianus de Sphæra Archimedis.
When Fove within a little glasse survay'd,
The heavens he smil'd, and to the Gods thus say'd,
Can strength of mortall wit proceed thus far?
Loe in a fraile orbe, my works mated are,
Hither the Syracusians art translates,
Heavens form, the course of things and humane fates Th' including spirit serving the star-deck'd signes, The living work inconstant motion windes.
Th' adult'rate zodiaque runs a naturall yeere,
And Cynthias forg'd horns monethly new light bear,
Viewing her own world, now bold industry
Triumphs and rules with humane power the sky.
In Calia's face a question did arise,
Which were more beautifull her lips or eyes;
We say the eyes, send forth those pointed darts,
Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts,
From us reply the lips proceed those blisses,
Which lovers reap by kind words and sweet kisses
Then wept the eyes, and from their eyes did pow'r
Of liquid Orientall pearle a shower,
Whereat the lips mov'd with delight and pleasure
Through a sweet smile unlock'd their Ivory treasure,
And bad love judge, whether did ad more grace,
Weeping or smiling pearls to Calia's face.
36. A plain Sutor to his love.
Faire I love thee, yet I cannot sue,
And shew my love as masking courtiers doe,
Yet by the smocke of Venus for thy good,
I'le freely spend my thrice concocted blood.
37. A Gentleman to his love.
Tell her I love, and if she aske how well;
Tell her my tongue told thee no tongue can tell.
38. Her answer.
Say not you love, unlesse you doe,
For lying will not honour you.
39. His answer.
Maddam I love, and love to doe,
And will not lye unlesse with you.
On a Musitian and his Scholler.
A man of late did his fair daughter bring
To a Musitian for to learne to sing,
He fell in love with her, and her beguil❜d,
With flattering words, and she was got with child.
Her Father hearing this was griev'd and said,
That he with her but a base-part had play'd,
For wch he swore that he would make him smart
For teaching of his daughter such a part:
But the musitian said, he did no wrong,
He had but taught her how to sing prick-song.
Shall I tell you how the rose at first grew red,
And whence the lilly whitenes borrowed,
You blusht, & straight the rose with red was dight,
The lilly kist your hand, and so was white,
Before such time, each rose had but a stain,
And lillies nought but palenes did contayne,
You haue the native colour, these the dy,
And onely flowrish in your livery.
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