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Which courts the flame, and in the same doth die!

That hath a light delight,

Poor fool! contented only with a sight;


WRETCH'D Niobe I am;

Let wretches read my case,

Not such who with a tear ne'er wet their face.
Seven daughters of me came,

And sons as many, which one fatal day,

Orb'd mother! took away.

Thus reft by Heavens unjust,

Grief turn'd me stone, stone too doth me entomb;

Which if thou dost mistrust,

Of this hard rock but ope the flinty womb,

And here thou shalt find marble, and no dust.


ONCE did I weep and groan,
Drink tears, draw loathed breath,
And all for love of one

Who did affect my death:

But now, thanks to disdain!

I live reliev'd of pain.

For sighs I singing go,

I burn not as before-no, no, no, no!


When this doth sport, and swell with dearest food, Ip all but ice thou be,

And, if he die, he knight-like dies in blood.


POOR flea! then thou didst die;

Yet by so fair a hand,

That thus to die was destine to command:
Thou didst die, yet didst try

A lover's last delight,

To vault on virgin plains, her kiss and bite:
Thou diedst, yet hast thy tomb

Between those paps, O dear and stately room;
Flea happier far, more blest,

Than phenix burning in his spicy nest.

How dost thou thus me burn?

Or how at fire which thou dost raise in me,
Sith ice, thyself in streams dost thou not turn?
But rather, plaintful case!

Of ice art marble made, to my disgrace.

O miracle of love, not heard till now!

Cold ice doth burn, and hard by fire doth grow.


TIME makes great states decay,
Time doth May's pomp disgrace,

Time draws deep furrows in the fairest face,
Time wisdom, force, renown, doth take away;

Time doth consume the years,

Time changes works in Heaven's eternal spheres ;
Yet this fierce tyrant, which doth all devour,
To lessen love in me shall have no pow'r.


SEE, Chloris, how the clouds

Tilt in the azure lists;

And now with Stygian mists

Each horned hill his giant forehead shrouds. Jove thund'reth in the air;

The air, grown great with rain

Now seems to bring Deucalion's days again: I see thee quake: come, let us home repair; Come, hide thee in mine arms,

If not for love, yet to shun greater harms,


THAT which so much the doating world doth prize,
Fond ladies' only care, and sole delight,
Soon-fading beauty, which of hues doth rise,
Is but an abject let of Nature's might;
Most woful wretch, whom shining hair and eyes
Lead to Love's dungeon, traitor'd by a sight,
Most woful! for he might with greater ease
Hell's portals enter and pale Death appease.

As in delicious meads beneath the flow'rs,
And the most wholesome herbs that May can show,
In crystal curls the speckled serpent low'rs;
As in the apple, which most fair doth grow,
The rotten worm is clos'd, which it devours;
As in gilt cups, with Gnossian wine which flow,
Oft poison pompously doth hide its sours;
So lewdness, falsehood, mischief them advance,
Clad with the pleasant rays of beauty's glance.

Good thence is chas'd where beauty doth appear;
Mild lowliness, with pity, from it fly;
Where beauty reigns, as in their proper sphere,
Ingratitude, disdain, pride, all descry;

The flow'r and fruit, which virtue's tree should bear,
With her bad shadow beauty maketh die:
Beauty a monster is, a monster hurl'd

From angry Heaven, to scourge this lower world.

As fruits which are unripe, and sour of taste,
To be confect'd more fit than sweet we prove;
For sweet, in spite of care, themselves will waste,
When they long kept the appetite do move:
So, in the sweetness of his nectar, Love
The foul confects, and seasons of his feast:
Sour is far better, which we sweet may make,
Than sweet, which sweeter sweetness will not take.

Foul may my lady be; and may her nose,
A Tenerif, give umbrage to her chin;
May her gay mouth, which she no time may close,
So wide be, that the Moon may turn therein:
May eyes and teeth be made conform to those ;
Eyes set by chance and white, teeth black and thin:
May all that seen is, and is hid from sight,
Like unto these rare parts be framed right.

I shall not fear thus, though she stray alone,
That others her pursue, entice, admire;
And, though she sometime counterfeit a groan,
I shall not think her heart feels uncouth fire;
I shall not style her ruthless to my moan,
Nor proud, disdainful, wayward to desire:
Her thoughts with mine will hold an equal line,
I shall be hers, and she shall all be mine.

GEM of the mountains, glory of our plains!
Rare miracle of nature, and of love!
Sweet Atlas, who all beauty's Heavens sustains,
No, beauty's Heaven, where all her wonders move;
The Sun, from east to west who all doth see,

On this low globe sees nothing like to thee.
One phenix only liv'd ere thou wast born,
And Earth but did one queen of love admire,
Three Graces only did the world adorn,
But thrice three Muses sung to Phoebus' lyre;
Two phenixes be now, love's queens are two,
Four Graces, Muses ten, all made by you.
For those perfections which the bounteous Heaven
To divers worlds in divers times assign'd,
With thousands more, to thee at once were given,
Thy body fair, more fair they made the mind:
And, that thy like no age should more behold,
When thou wast fram'd, they after break the monid.
Sweet are the blushes on thy face which shine,
Sweet are the flames which sparkle from thine eyes,
Sweet are his torments who for thee doth pine,
Most sweet his death for thee who sweetly dies;
For, if he die, he dies not by annoy,

But too much sweetness and abundant joy.
What are my slender lays to show thy worth!
How can base words a thing so high make known?
So wooden globes bright stars to us set forth,
So in a crystal is Sun's beauty shown:
More of thy praises if my Muse should write,
More love and pity must the same indite.

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Dear life! sith thou must go,

Take all my joy and comfort hence with thee; And leave with me thy woe,

Which, until I thee see,

Nor time, nor place, nor change shall take from me.



"AND wilt thou then, Alexis mine, depart,
And leave these flow'ry meads and crystal streams,
These hills as green as great with gold and gems,
Which court thee with rich treasure in each part:
Shall nothing hold thee? not my loyal heart,
That bursts to lose the comforts of thy beams?
Nor yet this pipe, which wildest satyrs tames?
Nor lambkins wailing, nor old Dorus' smart?
O ruthless shepherd! forests strange among
What canst thou else but fearful dangers find?
But, ah! not thou, but honour, doth me wrong;
O cruel honour! tyrant of the mind."
This said sad Erycine, and all the flowers
Impearled as she went with eyes' salt showers.



WITH opening shells in seas, on heavenly dew
A shining oyster lusciously doth feed;
And then the birth of that etherial seed
Shows, when conceiv'd, if skies look dark or blue:
So do my thoughts, celestial twins! of yon,
At whose aspect they first begin and breed,
When they came forth to light, demonstrate true
If ye then smil'd, or low'r'd in mourning weed.
Pearls then are orient fram'd, and fair in form,
If Heavens in their conceptions do look clear;
But if they thunder or do threat a storm,
They sadly dark and cloudy do appear:
Right so my thoughts, and so my notes do change;
Sweet, if ye smile, and hoarse, if ye look strange.


"THE angry winds not aye

Do cuff the roaring deep;

And, though Heavens often weep,

Yet do they smile for joy when comes dismay;
Frosts do not ever kill the pleasant flow'rs;
And love hath sweets when gone are all the sours."
This said a shepherd, closing in his arms
His dear, who blush'd to feel love's new alarms.


THE greatest gift that from their lofty thrones
The all-governing pow'rs to man can give,
Is, that he never breathe; or, breathing once,
A suckling end his days, and leave to live;
For then he neither knows the woe nor joy
Of life, nor fears the Stygian lake's annoy.

TO HIS AMOROUS THOUGHT. SWEET wanton thought, who art of beauty born, And who on beauty feed'st, and sweet desire, Like taper fly, still circling, and still turn About that flame, that all so much admire, That heavenly fair which doth out-blush the morn, Those ivory hands, those threads of golden wire, Thou still surroundest, yet dar'st not aspire ; Sure thou dost well that place not to come near, Nor see the majesty of that fair court; For if thou saw'st what wonders there resort, The pure intelligence that moves that sphere, Like souls ascending to those joys above, Back never wouldst thou turn, nor thence remove. What can we hope for more; what more enjoy? Since fairest things thus soonest have their end, And as on bodies shadows do attend, Soon all our bliss is follow'd with annoy: Yet she's not dead, she lives where she did love; Her memory on Earth, her soul above.



AH! if ye ask, my friends, why this salt show'r
My blubber'd eyes upon this paper pour?
Gone is my sparrow! he whom I did train,
And turn'd so toward, by a cat is slain:
No more with trembling wings shall he attend
His watchful mistress. Would my life could end!
No more shall I him hear chirp pretty lays;
Have I not cause to loath my tedious days?
A Dedalus he was to catch a fly;

Nor wrath nor rancour men in him could spy.
To touch or wrong his tail if any dar'd,
He pinch'd their fingers, and against them warr'd:
Then might that crest be seen shake up and down,
Which fixed was unto his little crown;

Like Hector's, Troy's strong bulwark, when in ire
He raged to set the Grecian fleet on fire.
But ah, alas! a cat this prey espies,
Then with a leap did thus our joys surprise.
Undoubtedly this bird was kill'd by treason,
Or otherwise had of that fiend had reason.
Thus was Achilles by weak Paris slain,
And stout Camilla fell by Aruns vain;

So that false horse, which Pallas rais'd 'gainst Troy,
King Priam and that city did destroy.
Thou, now whose heart is big with this frail glory,
Shalt not live long to tell thy honour's story.
If any knowledge resteth after death

In ghosts of birds, when they have left to breathe,
My darling's ghost shall know in lower place
The vengeance falling on the cattish race.
For never cat nor catling I shall find,
But mew shall they in Pluto's palace blind.
Ye, who with gaudy wings, and bodies light,
Do dint the air, turn hitherwards your flight;
To my sad tears comply these notes of yours,
Unto his idol bring an harv'st of flow'rs;
Let him accept from us, as most divine
Sabæan incense, milk, food, sweetest wine;
And on a stone let us these words engrave:
"Pilgrim the body of a sparrow brave

In a fierce glutt'nous cat's womb clos'd remains,
Whose ghost now graceth the Elysian plains."


I'll not die martyr for a mortal thing; 'Tis 'nough to be confessor for a king. PORTRAIT OF THE COUNTESS OF PERTH. Will this you give contentment, honest men? I've written rebels-pox upon the pen !


WHEN with brave art the curious painter drew
This heavenly shape, the hand why made he bear,
With golden veins, that flow'r of purple hue,
Which follows on the planet of the year?
Was it to show how in our hemisphere

Like him she shines? nay, that effects more true
Of pow'r and wonder do in her appear,
While he but flow'rs, and she doth minds subdue?
Or would he else to virtue's glorious light

Her constant course make known? or is 't that he
Doth parallel her bliss with Clitra's plight?
Right so; and thus he reading in her eye
Some lover's end, to grace what he did grave,
For cypress tree this mourning flow'r he gave.


Ir light be not beguil'd,
And eyes right play their part,

This flow'r is not of art, but fairest Nature's child;
And though, when Titan's from our world exil'd,
She doth not look, her leaves, his loss to moan,
To wonder Earth finds now more suns than one.



THE Scottish kirk the English church do name;
The English church the Scots a kirk do call;
Kirk and not church, church and not kirk, O shame!
Your kappa turn in chi, or perish all.
Assemblies meet, post bishops to the court:
If these two nations fight, 'tis strangers' sport.


AGAINST the king, sir, now why would you fight?
Forsooth, because he dubb'd me not a knight.
And ye, my lords, why arm ye 'gainst king Charles?
Because of lords he would not make us earls.
Earls, why do ye lead forth these warlike bands?
Because we will not quit the church's lands.
Most holy churchmen, what is your intent?
The king our stipends largely did augment.
Commons to tumult thus why are you driven?
Priests us persuade it is the way to Heaven.
Are these just cause of war; good people, grant?
Ho! Plunder! thou ne'er swore our covenant.

Give me a thousand covenants; I'll subscrive
Them all, and more, if more ye can contrive
Of rage and malice; and let every one
Black treason bear, not bare rebellion.

I'll not be mock'd, hiss'd, plunder'd, banish'd hence,
For more years standing for a **** prince.
His castles are all taken, and his crown,
His sword, and sceptre, ensigns of renown,
With that lieutenant Fame did so extol;
And captives carried to the capital.

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GREAT lies they tell, preach our church cannot err;
Less lies, who say the king's not head of her;
Great lies, who cry we may shed other's blood,
Less lies, who swear dumb bishops are not good;
Great lies they vent, say we for God do fight,
Less lies, who guess the king does nothing right;
Great lies and less lies all our aims descry;
To pulpits some, to camp the rest apply.




THRICE, royal sir, here I do you beseech,
Who art a lion, to hear a lion's speech.
A miracle; for, since the days of Æsop,
No lion till these times his voice dar'd raise up
To such a majesty: then, king of men,
The king of beasts speaks to thee from his den;
Who, though he now enclosed be in plaster,
When he was free, was Lithgow's wise schoolmaster.


A COUNTRY maid Amazon-like did ride,
To sit more sure, with leg on either side:
Her mother who her spied, said that ere long
She should just penance suffer for that wrong;
For when time should on her more years bestow,
That horse's hair between her thighs would grow.
Scarce winter twice was come, as was her told,
When she found all to frizzle there with gold;
Which first made her afraid, then turn'd her sick,
And forc'd her keep her bed almost a week.
At last her mother calls, who scarce for laughter
Could hear the pleasant story of her daughter;
But, that this phrenzy should no more her vex,
She swore thus bearded were their weaker sex;
Which when denied, "Think not," said she, "Iscorn;
Behold the place, poor fool, where thou wast born."
The girl that seeing cried, now void of pain,
"Ah! mother, you have ridden on the mane !"


GOD's judgments seldom use to cease, unless The sins which them procur'd men do confess. Our cries are Baal's priests, our fasting vain; Our pray'rs not heard, nor answer'd us again: Till perjury, wrong, rebellion, be confest, Think not on peace, nor to be freed of pest.


THE king gives yearly to his senate gold; Who can deny but justice then is sold?


HERE Rixus lies, a novice in the laws,

Who 'plains he came to Hell without a cause.


WOULD You know these royal knaves,
Of freemen would turn us slaves;
Who our union do defame

With rebellion's wicked name?
Read these verses, and ye 'll spring 'em
Then on gibbets straight cause hing 'em.
They complain of sin and folly;
In these times so passing holy,
They their substance will not give,
Libertines that we may live.

Hold those subjects too, too wanton,
Under an old king dare canton.

Neglect they do our circ'lar tables,
Scorn our acts and laws as fables;
Of our battles talk but meekly,
With four sermons pleas'd are weekly ;
Swear king Charles is neither papist,
Arminian, Lutheran, or atheist.

But that in his chamber-pray'rs,
Which are pour'd 'midst sighs and tears,
Threat'ning us with blood and death;
To avert God's fearful wrath,
Persuade they would the multitude,
This king too holy is and good.
They avouch we'll weep and groan
When hundred kings we serve for one;
That each shire but blood affords,
To serve th' ambition of young lords;
Whose debts ere now had been redoubled,
If the state had not been troubled.

Slow they are our oath to swear,
Slower for it arms to bear:
They do concord love, and peace,
Would our enemies embrace,
Turn men proselytes by the word,
Not by musket, pike, and sword.
They swear that for religion's sake
We may not massacre, burn, sack:
That the beginning of these pleas,
Sprang from the ill-sped A B Cs,
For servants that it is not well
Against their masters to rebel.

That that devotion is but slight,

Doth force men first to swear, then fight.
That our confession is indeed

Not the apostolic creed;

Which of negations we contrive,
Which Turk and Jew may both subscrive.

That monies should men's daughters marry,
They on frantic war miscarry.
Whilst dear the soldiers they pay,
At last who will snatch all away.
And, as times turn worse and worse,
Catechise us by the purse.

That debts are paid with bold stern looks;
That merchants pray on their 'compt books;
That Justice dumb and sullen frowns,
To see in croslets hang'd her gowns;
That preachers' ordinary theme

Is 'gainst monarchy to declaim.

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