Such as not seeke to get the start

In state, by power, parts, or bribes, Ambition's bawdes: but move the tribes By vertue, modestie, desert. Such as to justice will adhere,

What ever great one it offend :

And from the' embraced truth not bend For envie, hatred, gifts, or feare.

That by their deeds will make it knowne,
Whose dignitie they doe sustaine;
And life, state, glory, all they gaine,
Count the republique's not their owne.
Such the old Bruti, Decii were,

The Cipi, Curtii, who did give

Themselves for Rome: and would not live

As men, good only for a yeare.

Such were the great Camilli too;

The Fabii, Scipios; that still thought No worke, at price enough, was brought, That for their countrey they could doe. And to her honour did so knit,

1

As all their acts were understood The sinewes of the publick good: And they themselves one soule with it.

These men were truely magistrates;

These neither practis'd force nor formes: Nor did they leave the helme in stormes! And such they are make happie states.

What age is this, where honest men,
Plac'd at the helme,

A sea of some foule mouth or pen
Shall over-whelme?

And call their diligence deceipt ;

Their vertue, vice;

Their watchfulnesse but lying in wait; And blood the price.

Then, coyne them, twixt your lips so sweet,

And let not cockles closer meet;

Nor may your murmuring Loves

Be drown'd by Cypris' doves:
Let ivy not so bind

As when your armes are twin'd:
That you may both, e're day,
Rise perfect every way.

And Juno, whose great powers protect
The marriage bed, with good effect
The labour of this night
Blesse thou, for future light:

And, thou, thy happy charge,

Glad Genius, enlarge;

That they may both, e're day,
Rise perfect every way.

And Venus, thou, with timely seed

(Which may their after comforts breed)
Informe the gentle wombe;
Nor, let prove a tombe:

But, e're ten moones be wasted,
The birth, by Cynthia hasted.
So may they both, e're day,
Rise perfect every way.

And, when the babe to light is shown,
Let it be like each parent known;

Much of the father's face,
More of the mother's grace;
And either grandsire's spirit,

And fame let it inherit.

That men may blesse th' embraces,
That joy ned to such races.

Cease, youths and virgins, you have done;
Shut fast the doore: and, as they soone
To their perfection hast,
So may their ardours last.
So either's strength out-live
All losse that age can give:

And, though full yeares be told,
Their formes grow slowly old.

LOVE, A LITTLE BOY.

FROM THE

MASQUE ON LORD HADDINGTON'S MARRIAGE,

FIRST GRACE.

BEAUTIES, have ye seen this toy, Called Love, a little boy,

Almost naked, wanton, blind,
Cruell now; and then as kind?

If he be amongst ye, say;
He is Venus' run-away.

SECOND GRACE.

She, that will but now discover
Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall, to night, receive a kisse,
How, or where her selfe would wish:
But, who brings him to his mother,
Shall have that kisse, and another.

THIRD GRACE.

H' hath of markes about him plenty:
You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,

And his breath a flame entire,
That being shot, like lightning, in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.

FIRST GRACE.

At his sight, the Sun hath turned,
Neptune in the waters, burned;
Hell bath felt a greater heat:
Jove himselfe forsook his seat:
From the center, to the skie,
Are his trophæes reared hie.

SECOND GRACE.

Wings he hath, which though yee clip,
He will leape from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part;
And, if chance his arrow misses,
He will shoot himselfe, in kisses.

THIRD GRACE.

He doth beare a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that out-brave
Dian's shafts: where, if he have

Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.

FIRST GRACE.

Still the fairest are his fuell.
When his dayes are to be cruell,
Lovers' hearts are all his food;

And his bathes their warmest blood:
Nought but wounds his hand doth season;
And he hates none like to Reason.

SECOND GRACE.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldome with his heart do meet.
All his practice is deceit;

Every gift it is a bait ;

Not a kisse, but poyson beares;
And most treason in his teares.

THIRD GRACE.

Idle minutes are his raigne;
Then, the straggler makes his gaine,
By presenting maids with toyes,
And would have ye think 'hem joyes:
'Tis the ambition of the elfe,
To 'have all childish, as himselfe.

FIRST GRACE.

If by these ye please to know him, Beauties, be not nice, but show him.

SECOND GRACE.

Though ye had a will, to hide him, Now, we hope, ye'le not abide him.

THIRD GRACE.

Since ye heare his falser play; And that he is Venus' run-away.

Wake too: for they 'I tell nothing of your nights: But, that in Hymen's warre

You perfect are.

And such perfection, wee

Doe pray, should bee.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth thou wished starre

That, ere the rosie-fingerd morne

Behold nine moones, there may be borne

A babe, t' uphold the fame

Of Radcliffe's blood, and Ramsey's name:
That may, in his great seed,

Weare the long honours of his father's deed.
Such fruits of Hymen's warre
Most perfect are;

And all perfection, wee

Wish, you should see.

Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished starre.

WITCHES' CHARMS.

FROM THE MASQUE OF QUEENS.

SISTERS, stay, we want our dame;
Call upon her by her name,

And the charme we use to say;
That she quickly anoynt, and come away.

FIRST CHARME.

Dame, dame, the watch is set:
Quickly come, we all are met.
From the lakes, and from the fens,

From the rocks, and from the dens,
From the woods, and from the caves,
From the church-yards, from the graves,
From the dungeon, from the tree
That they die on, here are wee.

Comes she not yet?
Strike another heate.

SECOND CHARME.

The weather is faire, the wind is good,
Up, dame, o' your horse of wood:
Or else, tuck up your gray frock,

And sadle your goate, or your greene cock,
And make his bridle a bottome of thrid,
To rowle up how many miles you have rid.
Quickly come away;
For we all stay..

Nor yet? nay, then,
We'll try her agen.

THIRD CHARME.

The owle is abroad, the bat, and the toad,
And so is the cat-a-mountaine,

The ant, and the mole sit both in a hole,
And frog peeps out o' the fountaine ;
The dogs, they do bay, and the timbrels play,
The spindle is now a-turning;

The Moone it is red, and the starres are fled,
But all the sky is a-burning:

The ditch is made, and our nayles the spade,
With pictures full, of waxe, and of wooll;
Their lives I stick, with needles quick;

There lacks but the blood, to make up the flood,

Quickly, dame, then, bring your part in,
Spurre, spurre, upon little Martin,
Merrily, merrily, make him saile,

A worme in his mouth, and a thorne in 's taile,
Fire above, and fire below,

With a whip i' your hand, to make him go.

O, now she's come!

Let all be dumbe.

DAME, HAGS.

Well done, my Hags. And, come we fraught with

spight,

To overthrow the glory of this night?

Holds our great purpose? HAG. Yes. DAM. But want's there none

Of our just number? HAG. Call us one, by one, And then our Dame shall see. DAM. First, then,

advance

My drowsie servant, stupide Ignorance,
Known by thy scaly vesture; and bring on
Thy fearefull sister, wild Suspition,

Whose eyes do never sleep; let her knit hands
With quick Credulity, that next her stands,
Who hath but one eare, and that always ope;
Two-faced Falsehood follow in the rope;
And lead on Murmure, with the cheeks deep hung;
She Malice, whetting of her forked tongue;
And Malice, Impudence, whose forehead's lost;
Let Impudence lead Slander on, to boast
Her oblique look; and to her subtle side,
Thou, black-mouth'd Execration, stand apply'd;
Draw to thee Bitternesse, whose pores sweat gal;
She flame-ey'd Rage; Rage, Mischiefe. HAG. Here
we are all.

DAM. Joyne now our hearts, we faithfull opposites
To Fame and Glory. Let not these bright nights
Of honour blaze, thus to offend our eyes;
Shew our selves truely envious, and let rise
Our wonted rages: do what may beseeme
Such names and natures; Vertue else will deeme
Our powers decreas'd, and think us banish'd Earth,
No lesse than Heaven. All her antique birth,
As Justice, Faith, she will restore; and, bold
Upon our sloth, retrive her age of gold.
We must not let our native manners, thus,
Corrupt with ease. Ill lives not, but in us,
I hate to see these fruits of a soft peace,
And curse the piety gives it such increase.
Let us disturbe it then, and blast the light;
Mixe Hell with Heaven, and make Nature fight
Within her selfe; loose the whole henge of things:
And cause the ends run back, into their springs.
HAG. What our Dame bids us do,

We are ready for. DAM. Then fall too.

But first relate me, what you have sought,
Where you have been, and what you have brought.

HAGGES.

1. I have been, all day, looking after
A raven, feeding upon a quarter;
And, soon as she turn'd her beack to the south,
I snatch'd this morsell out of her mouth.

2. I have beene gathering wolves' haires,
The mad dogs' foa.ne, and the adders' eares;
The spurgings of a dead-man's eyes,
And all since the evening starre did rise.

3. I, last night, lay all alone

O' the ground, to heare the mandrake grone;
And pluckt him up, though he grew full low;
And, as I had done, the cocke did crow.

4. And I ha' beene choosing out this scull,
From charnell houses, that were full;
From private grots, and publicke pits,
And frighted a sexten out of his wits.

5. Under a cradle I did creepe,

By day; and, when the child was asleepe, At night, I suck'd the breath; and rose, And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose.

6. I had a dagger: what did I with that? Kill'd an infant, to have his fat. A piper it got, at a church-ale,

I bade him, againe blow wind i' the taile.

7. A murderer, yonder, was hung in chaines, The Sun and the wind had shrunk his veines; I bit off a sinew, I clipp'd his haire.

I brought off his rags, that danc'd i' the ayre.

8. The scritch-owles' egs, and the feathers black,
The blood of the frog, and the bone in his back,
I have been getting; and made of his skin
A purset, to keep sir Cranion in.

9. And I ha' been plucking (plants among)
Hemlock, henbane, adder's-tongue,
Night-shade, moone-wort, libbard's-bane;
And twise, by the dogs, was like to be tane.

10. I, from the jaws of a gardiner's bitch,
Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch;
Yet went I back to the house againe,
Kill'd the black cat, and here's the braine.

11. I went to the toad breeds under the wall,

I charm'd him out, and he came at my call;

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owle before,

I tore the bat's wing; what would you have more?

DAME.

Yes, I have brought (to helpe our vows)
Horned poppy, cypresse boughs,
The fig-tree wild, that grows on tombes,
And juice, that from the larch-tree comes,
The basilick's blood, and the viper's skin:
And, now, our orgies let's begin.

[Here, the Dame put her selfe in the midst of them, and began her following invocation; wherein she tooke occasion, to boast all the power attributed to witches by the ancients; of which, every poet (or the most) doe give some: Homer to Circe, in the Odyss.; Theocritus to Simatha, in Pharmaceu tria; Virgil to Alphesibæus, in his. Ovid to Dipsas, in Amor. to Medea and Circe, in Metamorph. Tibullus to Saga; Horace to Camidia, Sagana, Veia, Folia; Seneca to Medea, and the nurse, in Herc. Etc. Petr. Arbiter to his Sage, in Frag. and Claudian to Megæra, lib. 1. in Rfinum; who takes the habit of a witch, as these do, and supplies that historicall part in the poem, beside her morall person of a Fury; confirming the same drift, in ours.]