And bind thy selfe, thy fellow-seruant's thrall: Loue one too much, thou art a slaue to all. Consider when thou follow'st seeming good, And drown'st thy selfe too deepe in flesh and blood, Thou, making sute to dwell with woes and feares, Art sworne their souldier in the vale of teares: The bread of sorrow shall be thy repast, Expect not Eden in a thorny waste,
And since he takes the throne of Loue exil'd, In all our letters he shall Loue be stil'd : But if true Loue vouchsafe againe his sight, No word of mine shall preiudice his right: So kings by caution with their rebels treate, As with free states, when they are growne too great.
If common drunkards onely can expresse
Where grow no faire trees, no smooth riuers swell, To life the sad effects of their excesse:
Here onely losses and afflictions dwell. These thou bewayl'st with a repining voyce,
Yet knew'st before that mortal was thy choyse. Admirers of false pleasures must sustaine The waight and sharpenesse of insuing paine.
AGAINST ABUSED LOUE.
SHALL I stand still, and see the world on fire, While wanton writers ioyne in one desire, To blow the coales of loue, and make them burne, Till they consume, or to the chaos turne This beauteous frame, by them so foully rent, That wise men feare, lest they those flames preuent, Which for the latest day th' Almightic keepes In orbes of fire, or in the hellish deepes? Best wits, while they, possest with fury, thinke They taste the Muses' sober well, and drinke Of Phoebus' goblet, (now a starry signe) Mistake the cup, and write in heat of wine. Then let my cold hand here some water cast, And drown their warmth with drops of sweeter
Mine angry lines shall whip the purblind page, And some will reade them in a chaster age; But since true loue is most diuine, I know, How can I fight with louc, and call it so. Is it not loue? It was not now: (O strange!) Time and ill custome, workers of all change, Haue made it loue: men oft impose not names By Adam's rule, but what their passion frames. And since our childhood taught vs to approue Our fathers' words, we yeeld and call it loue. Examples of past times our deeds should sway; But we must speake the language of to day: Vse hath no bounds; it may prophane once more The name of God, which first an idoll bore. How many titles, fit for meaner groomes, Are knighted now, and marshal'd in high roomes! And many, which once good and great were thought,
Posterity to vice and basenesse brought, As it hath this of loue, and we must bow, As states vsurping tyrants' raignes allow, And after ages reckon by their yecres: Such force possession, though iniurious, beares: Or as a wrongfull title, or foule crime, Made lawfull by a statute for the time, With reu'rend estimation blindes our cies, And is call'd just, in spight of all the wise. Then, heau'nly Loue, this loathed name forsake, And some of thy more glorious titles take : Sunne of the soule, cleare beauty, liuing fire, Celestial light, which dost pure hearts inspire, While Lust, thy bastard brother, shal be knowne By Loue's wrong'd name, that louers may him
So oft with hereticks such tearmes we vse, As they can brooke, not such as we would chuse:
How can I write of Lone, who neuer felt His dreadfull arrow, nor did euer melt My heart away before a female flame, Like waxen statues, which the witches frame? I must confesse, if I knew one that had Bene poyson'd with this deadly draught, and mad, And afterward in Bedlem well reclayı'd To perfect sence, and in his wits not maym'd: I would the feruour of my Muse restraine, And let this subiect for his taske remaine: But aged wand'rers sooner will declare Their Eleusinian rites, than louers dare Renounce the Deuil's pompe, and Christians die: So much preuailes a painted idol's eye. Then since of them, like lewes, we can conuert Scarce oré in many yeeres, their just desert, By selfe confession, neuer can appeare ; But on presumptions wee proceed, and there The judge's innocence most credit winnes: True men trie theeues, and saints describe foule sinnes.
This monster Loue by day, and Lust by night, Is full of burning fire, but voyde of light, Left here on Earth to keepe poore mortals out Of errour, who of hell-fire else would doubt. Such is that wandring nightly flame, which leades Th' vuwary passenger, vntill he treades His last step on the steepe and craggy walles Of some high mountaine, whence he headlong falles:
A vapour first extracted from the stewes, (Which with new fewell still the lampe renewes) And with a pandar's sulph'rous breath inflam'd, Became a meteor, for destruction fram'd, Like some prodigious comet which foretells Disasters to the realme on which it dwells. And now hath this false light preuail'd so farre, That most obserue, it is a fixed starre, Yea as their load-starre, by whose beames impure They guide their ships, in courses not secure, Bewitcht and daz'led with the glaring sight Of this proud fiend, attir'd in angels' light, Who still delights his darksome smoke to turne To rayes, which seeme t'enlighten, not to burne: He leades them to the tree, and they beleeue The fruit is sweete, so he deluded Eue. But when they once haue tasted of the feasts, They quench that sparke, which seuers men from
And feele effects of our first parents' fall, Depriu'd of reason, and to sence made thrall. Thus is the miserable louer bound With fancies, and in fond affection drown'd. In him no faculty of man is seene, But when he sighs a sonnet to his queene: This makes him more than man, a poet fit For such false poets, as make passion wit. Who lookes within an emptie caske, may see, Where once a soule was, and againe may be, Which by this difference from a corse is knowne: One is in pow'r to haue life, both haue none:
For louers' slipp'ry soules (as they confesse, Without extending racke, or straining presse) By transmigration to their mistresse flow: Pithagoras instructs his schollers so,
Who did for penance lustfull minds cor.fine To leade a second life in goates and swine. Then lone is death, and driues the soule to dwell In this betraying harbour, which like Hell Gioes nener backe her bootie, and containes A thousand firebrands, whips, and restlesse paines:
And, which is worse, so bitter are those wheeles, That many hells at once the louer feeles, And hath his heart dissected into parts, That it may meete with other double harts.
This lone stands neuer sure, it wants a ground, It makes no ordred course, it finds no bound, It aymes at nothing, it no comfort tastes, But while the pleasure and the passion lasts. Yet there are flames, which two hearts one can make;
Not for th' affections, but the obiect's sake. That burning glasse, where beames disperst incline Vnto a point, and shoot forth in a line: This noble lone hath axeltree and poles Wherein it moues, ami gets eternall goales: These reuolutions, like the heau’nly spheres, Make all the periods equall as the yeeres: And when this time of motion finisht is,
It ends with that great yeere of endlesse blisse.
A DESCRIPTION OF LOUE.
Love is a region full of fires, And burning with extreme desires, An obiect scekes, of which possest, The wheeles are fixt, the motions rest, The flames in ashes lie opprest: This meteor, striuing high to rise, (The fewell spent) falles downe and dies. Bluth sweeter and more pure delights Are drawne from faire alluring sights, When rauisht minds attempt to praise Commanding eyes, like heau'nly rayes; Whose force the gentle heart obayes: Than where the end of this pretence Descends to base inferiour sense. "Why then should loners" (most will say) Expect so much th' enioying day?" Lone is like youth, he thirsts for age, He scornes to be his mother's page: But when proceeding times asswage The former heate, he will complaine, And wish those pleasant houres againe.
We know that Hope and Loue are twinnes; Hope gone, fruition now beginnes: But what is this? Vnconstant, fraile, In nothing sure, but sure to faile: Which, if we lose it, we bewaile; And when we hane it, still we beare The worst of passions, daily feare. When Loue thus in his center ends, Desire and Hope, his inward friends, Are shaken off: while Doubt and Griefe, The weakest giuers of reliefe, Stand in his councell as the chiefe:
A SHEPHERDESSE, who long had kept her flocks On stony Charnwood's dry and barren rocks, In heate of summer to the vales declin'd, To seeke fresh pasture for her lambes halfe pin'd. She (while her charge was feeding) spent the houres To gaze on sliding brookes and smiling flowres. Thus hauing largely stray'd, she lifts her sight, And viewes a palace full of glorious light. She finds the entrance open, and as bold As countrey maids, that would the court behold, She makes an offer, yet againe she stayes, And dares not dally with those sunny rayes. Here lay a nymph, of beauty most diuine, Whose happy presence caus'd the house to shine, Who much conuerst with mortals, and could know No honour truly high, that scornes the low: For she had oft been present, though vnseene, Among the shepherds' daughters ou the greene, Where eu'ry homebred swaine desires to proue His oaten pipe and feet before his loue, And crownes the eu'ning, when the daics are long, With some piaine dance, or with a rurall song. Nor were the women nice to hold this sport, And please their louers in a modest sort. There that sweet nymph had seene this countrey
For singing crown'd, whence grew a world of fame Among the sheepecotes, which in her reioyce, And know no better pleasure than her voyce. The glitt'ring ladies, gather'd in a ring, Intreate the silly shepherdesse to sing: She blusht and sung, while they with words of praise,
Contend her songs aboue their worth to raise. Thus being chear'd with many courteous signes, She takes her leaue, for now the Sunne declines, And hauing driuen home her flocks againe, She meets her loue, a simple shepherd swaine; Yet in the plaines he had a poet's name: For he could roundelayes and carols frame, Which, when his mistresse sung along the downes, Was thought celestiall musick by the clownes. Of him she begs, that he would raise his mind To paint this lady, whom she found so kind : "You oft," saith she, "haue in our homely bow'rs Discours'd of demi-gods and greater pow'rs: For you with Hesiode sleeping learnt to know The race dinine from Heau'n to Earth below." My dear," said he, "the nymph whom thou
Most happy is of all that liue betweene This globe and Cynthia, and in high estate, Of wealth and beauty hath an equall mate, Whose lone hath drawne vncessant teares in floods, From nymphs, that haunt the waters and the
Oft Iris to the ground hath bent her bow To steale a kisse, and then away to goe: Yet all in vaine, he no affection knowes But to this goddesse, whom at first he chose: Him she enioyes in mutuall bonds of loue: Two hearts are taught in one small point to moue. Her father, high in honour and descent, Commands the Syluans on the northside Trent. He at this time, for pleasure and retreate, Comes downe from Beluoir, his ascending seate, To which great Pan had lately honour done: For there he lay, so did his hopefull sonne. But when this lord by his accesse desires To grace our dales, he to a house retires, Whose walles are water'd with our siluer brookes, And makes the shepherds proud to view his lookes. There in that blessed house you also saw His lady, whose admired vertues draw All hearts to loue her, and all tongues inuite To praise that ayre where she vouchsafes her light. And for thy further ioy thine eyes were blest, To see another lady, in whose brest True wisdome hath with bounty equall place, As modesty with beauty in her face. She found me singing Florae's natiue dowres, And made me sing before the heau'nly pow'rs: For which great fauour, till my voice be done, I sing of her, and her thrice-noble sonne."
First, England, crown'd with roses of the spritig, An off'ring, like to Abel's gift, will bring: And vowes that she for thee alone will keepe Her fattest lambes, and fleeces of her sheepe. Next, Scotland triumphs, that she bore and bred This ile's delight, and, wearing on her head A wreath of lillies gather'd in the field, Presents the min'rals which her mountaines yeeld. Last, Ireland, like Terpsichore attir'd With neuer-fading lawrell, and inspir'd By true Apollo's heat, a Pæan sings, And kindles zealous flames with siluer strings. This day a sacrifice of praise requires, Our brests are altars, and our ioyes are fires. That sacred head, so soft, so strangely blest From bloody plots, was now (O feare!) deprest Beneath the water, and those sunlike beames Were threat'ned to be quencht in narrow streames. Ah! who dare thinke, or can endure to heare, Of those sad dangers, which then seem'd so neare? What Pan would haue preseru'd our flocks' increase From wolues? What Hermes could with words of
ANNIUERSARY DAY OF HIS MAIESTIE'S REIGNE OUER ENGLAND, MARCH THE 24.
WRITTEN AT THE BEGINNING OF HIS TWENTIETA
THE world to morrow celebrates with mirth The joyfull peace betweene the Heau'n and Earth: To day let Britaine praise that rising light, Whose titles her diuided parts vnite. The time since safety triumph'd ouer feare, Is now extended to the twenti'th yeere. Thou happy yeere, with perfect number blest, O slide as smooth and gentle as the rest : That when the Sunne, dispersing from his head The clouds of winter on his beauty spred, Shall see his equinoctiall point againe, And melt his dusky maske to fruitfull raine, He may be loth our climate to forsake, And thence a patterne of such glory take, That he would leaue the zodiake, and desire To dwell foreuer with our northerne fire.
JOR THE DELIUERANCE OF OUR SOUERAIGNE, KING JAMES, FRAOM A DANGEROUS ACCIDENT, JANUARY 8.
O GRACIOUS Maker! on whose smiles or frownes Depends the fate of scepters and of crownes: Whose hand not onely holds the hearts of kings, But all their steps are shadow'd with thy wings, To thee immortall thanks three sisters giue, For sauing him, by whose deare life they liue.
TO HIS LATE MAIESTY,
CONCERNING THE TRUE FORME OF ENGLISH POETRY.
GREAT king, the sou'raigne ruler of this land, By whose graue care our hopes securely stand: Since you, descending from that spacious reach, Vouchsafe to be our master, and to teach Your English poets to direct their lines, To mixe their colours, and expresse their signes : Forgiue my boldnesse, that I here present The life of Muses yeelding true content
In ponder'd numbers, which with ease I try'd, When your iudicious rules haue been my guide.
He makes sweet musick, who in serious lines, Light dancing tunes, and heauy prose declines : When verses like a milky torrent flow, They equall temper in the poet show. He paints true formes, who with a modest heart Giues lustre to his worke, yet couers art. Vneuen swelling is no way to fame, But solid ioyning of the perfect frame : So that no curious finger there can find
The former chinkes, or nailes that fastly bind. Yet most would haue the knots of stitches seene, And holes, where men may thrust their hands be- On halting feet the ragged poem goes [tween. With accents, neither fitting verse nor prose: The stile mine eare with more contentment fills In lawyers' pleadings, or phisicians' bills. For though in termes of art their skill they close, And ioy in darksome words as well as those: They yet haue perfect sense more pure and cleare Than enuious Muses, which sad garlands weare Of dusky clouds, their strange conceits to hide From humane eyes and (lest they should be spi'd By some sharpe Oedipus) the English tongue For this their poore ambition suffers wrong.
In eu'ry language now in Europe spoke By nations which the Roman empire broke, The rellish of the Muse consists in rime, One verse must meete another like a chime. Our Saxon shortnesse hath peculiar grace In choise of words, fit for the ending place, Which leaue impression in the mind as well As closing sounds, of some delightfull bell: These must not be with disproportion lame, Nor should an eccho still repeate the same. In many changes these may be exprest: But those that joyne most simply run the best: Their forme surpassing farre the fetter'd staues, Vaine care, and needlesse repetition saues. These outward ashes keepe those inward fires, Whose beate the Greeke and Roman works inspires: Pure phrase, fit epithets, a sober care Of metaphors, descriptions cleare, yet rare, Similitudes contracted, smooth and round, Not vext by learning, but with nature crown'd. Strong figures drawne from deepe inuentions springs, Consisting lesse in words, aud more in things: A language not affecting ancient times, Nor Latine shreds, by which the pedant climes: A noble subiect which the mind may lift To easie vse of that peculiar gift, Which poets in their raptures hold most deare, When actions by the liuely sound appeare. Give me such helpes, I neuer will despaire, But that our heads which sucke the freezing aire, As well as botter braines, may verse adorne, And be their wonder, as we were their scorne.
Those trickling drops, whence mighty riuers flow. Disclose your hidden store: let eu'ry spring To this our sea of griefe some tribute bring: And when ye once haue wept your fountaines dry, The Heau'a with showres will send a new supply. But if these cloudy treasures prooue too scant, Our teares shall helpe, when other moystures want. This ile, nay Europe, nay the world, bewailes Our losse, with such a streame as neuer failes. Abundant floods from eu'ry letter rise, [dies. When we pronounce great James, our soueraigne, And while I write these words, I trembling stand, A sodden darknesse hath possest the land. I cannot now expresse my selfe by signes: All eyes are blinded, none can reade my lines; Till Charles ascending, driues away the night, And in his splendour giues my verses light. Thus by the beames of his succeeding flame, I shall describe his father's boundless fame. The Grecian emp rours gloried to be borne, And nurst in purple, by their parents worne. See here a king, whose birth together twines The Britan, English, Norman, Scottish lines: How like a princely throne his cradle stands; White diadems become his swathing bands. His glory now makes all the Earth his tombe, But enuious fiends would in his mother's wombe Interre his rising greatnesse, and contend Against the babe, whom heau'nly troopes defend,
And giue such vigour in his childhood's state, That he can strangle snakes, which swell with hate. This conquest his vndaunted brest declares In seas of danger, in a world of cares: Yet neither cares oppresse his constant mind, Nor dangers drowne his life for age design'd. The Muses leaue their sweet Castalian springs In forme of bees, extending silken wings With gentle sounds, to keepe this infant still, While they his mouth with pleasing bony fill. Hence those large streames of eloquence proceed, Which in the hearers strange amazement breed; When laying by his scepters and his swords, He melts their hearts with his melliduous words. So Hercules in ancient pictures fain'd, Could draw whole nations to his tongue enchain'd. He first considers, in his tender age, How God hath rays'd him on this earthly stage, To act a part, expos'd to eu'ry eye: With Salomon he therefore striues to flie To him that gaue this greatnesse, and demands The precious gift of wisdome from his hands: While God, delighted with this iust request, Not onely him with wondrous prudence blest, But promis'd higher glories, new encrease Of kingdomes, circled with a ring of peace. He, thus instructed by diuine commands, Extends this peacefull line to other lands. When warres are threaten'd by shril trumpets' sounds,
His oliue stancheth bloud, and binds vp wounds. The Christian world this good from him deriues, That thousands had vntimely spent their liues, If not preseru'd by lustre of his crowne, Which calm'd the stormes, and layd the billows down,
And dimm'd the glory of that Roman wreath By souldiers gain'd for sauing men from death. This Denmarke felt, and Swethland, when their strife
Ascended to such height, that losse of life Was counted nothing for the dayly sight Of dying men made death no more than night. Behold, two potent princes deepe engag'd In seu❜rall int'rests, mutually enrag'd By former conflicts: yet they downe will lay Their swords, when his aduice directs the way. The northerne climates from dissention barr'd, Receive new joyes by his discreete award. When Momus could, among the godlike-kings, Infect with poyson those immortall springs Which flow with nectar; and such gall would cast, As spoyles the sweetnesse of ambrosiae's taste; This mighty lord, as ruler of the quire, With peacefull counsels quencht the rising fire. The Austrian arch-duke, and Batauian state, By his endeuours, change their long-bred hate For twelue years' truce: this rest to him they owe, As Belgian shepherds and poore ploughmen know. The Muscouites, opprest with neighbours, flie To safe protection of his watchfull eye. And Germany his ready succours tries, When sad contentions in the empire rise. His mild instinct all Christians thus discerne : But Christ's malignant foes shall find him sterne. What care, what charge, he suffers to preuent, Lest infidels their number should augment. His ships restraine the pirates' bloody workes; And Poland gaines his ayde against the Turkes. His pow'rfull edicts, stretcht beyond the Line, Among the Indians seu'rall bounds designe;
By which his subiects may exalt his throne, And strangers keepe themselues within their owne. This ile was made the Sunne's ecliptick way; For here our Phœbus still vouchsaf'd to stay: And from this blessed place of his retreat, In diff'rent zones distinguisht cold and heate, Sent light or darknesse, and by his commands Appointed limits to the seas and lands. Who would imagine that a prince, employ'd In such affaires, could euer haue enioy'd Those houres, which, drawne from pleasure and from rest,
To purchase precious knowledge were addrest? And yet in learning he was knowne t' exceed Most, whom our houses of the Muses breed. Ye English sisters, nurses of the arts, Vnpartiall iudges of his better parts; Raise vp your wings, and to the world declare His solid judgment, his inuention rare, His ready elocution, which ye found
In deepest matters that your schooles propound. It is sufficient for my creeping verse, His care of English language to rehearse. He leades the lawlesse poets of our times, To smoother cadence, to exacter rimes: He knew it was the proper worke of kings, To keepe proportion, eu'n in smallest things. He with no higher titles can be styl'd, When seruants name him lib'rall, subiects, mild. Of Antonine's faire time, the Romans tell, No bubbles of ambition then could swell To forraine warres; nor ease bred ciuill strife: Nor any of the senate lost his life. Our king preserues, for two and twenty yeeres, This realme froto inward and from outward feares. All English peeres escape the deadly stroke, Though some with crimes his anger durst prouoke. He was seuere in wrongs, which others felt; But in his owne, his heart would quickly melt. For then (like God, from whom his glories flow) He makes his mercy swift, his iustice slow. He neuer would our gen'rall joy forget, When on his sacred brow the crowne was set; And therefore striues to make his kingdome great, By fixing here his heir's perpetuall seate: Which eu'ry firme and loyall heart desires, May last as long as Heau'n hath starry fires. Continued blisse from him this land receiues, When leauing vs, to vs his sonne he leaues, Our hope, our ioy, our treasure: Charles our king,
Whose entrance in my next attempt I sing.
A PANEGYRICK AT THE CORONATION OF OUR
And could his beames lay open peoples' harts, As well as he can view their outward parts; He here should find a triumph, such as he Hath neuer seene, perhaps shall neuer see. Shine forth, great Charles, accept our loyall [swords, Throw from your pleasing eies those conqu'ring That when vpon your name our voyces call, The birds may feele our thund'ring noise, and fall: Soft ayre, rebounding in a circled ring, Shall to the gates of Heau'n our wishes bring: For vowes, which with so strong affection flie From many lips, will doubtlesse pierce the skie: And God (who knowes the secrets of our minds, When in our brests he these two vertues finds, Sincerity and Concord, ioin'd in pray'r For him, whom Nature made vndoubted heyre Of three faire kingdoms) will his angels send With blessings from his throne this pompe t' attend. Faire citty, England's gemme, the queene of trade, By sad infection lately desart made,
SQUERAIGNE LORD, KING CHARLES. AURORA, come: why should thine 'enuious stay Deferre thé ioyes of this expected day? Will not thy master let his horses runne, Because he feares to meete another Sunne? Or hath our northerne starre so dimm'd thine eyes, Thou knowst not where (at east or west) to rise? Make haste; for if thou shalt denie thy light, His glitt'ring crowne will driue away the night. Debarre not curious Phoebus, who desires To guild all glorious obiects with his fires.
Cast off thy mourning robes, forget thy teares, Thy cleare and healthfull Iupiter appeares : Pale Death, who had thy silent streets possest, And some foule dampe or angry planet prest To worke his age, now from th' Almightie's will Receiues command to hold his iauelin still. But since my Muse pretends to tune a song Fit for this day, and fit t' inspire this throng; Whence shall I kindle such immortall fires? From joyes or hopes, from prayses or desires? To prayse him, would require an endlesse wheele ; Yet nothing told but what we see and feele. A thousand tongues for him all gifts intreate, In which felicity may claime her seate: Large honour, happy conquest, boundlesse wealth, Long life, sweete children, vnafflicted health: But, chiefely, we esteeme that precious thing, (Of which already we behold the spring) Directing wisdome; and we now presage How high that vertue will ascend in age. In him, our certaine confidence vnites All former worthy princes' spreading lights; And addes his glorious father to the summe: From ancient times no greater name can come. Our hopefull king thus to his subiects shines, And reades in faithfull hearts these zealous lines: "This is our countrie's father, this is hee In whome we liue, and could not liue so free, Were we not vnder him; his watchfull care Preuents our dangers: how shall we declare Our thankfull minds, but by the humble gift Of firme obedience, which to him we lift? As he is God's true image choicely wrought, And for our ioy to these dominions brought : So must we imitate celestiall bands, Which grudge not to performe diuine commands. His brest, transparent like a liquid flood, Discouers his aduice for publike good : But if we judge it by deceiuing fame, Like Semele, we thinke loue's piercing flame No more than common fire in ashes nurst, Till formelesse fancies in their errours burst. Shall we discusse his counsels? We are blest Who know our blisse, and in his iudgement rest.”
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