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Is fairer far in May,
It was the plant and flower of light.
may perfect be.
Call, noble Lucius, then for wine,
And let thy looks with gladness shine: Accept this garland, plant it on thy head, And think, nay know, thy Morison's not dead.
He leaped the present age,
Possessed with holy rage
Of which we priests and poets say
Jonson, who sung this of him, ere he went,
Himself, to rest,
To have expressed,
Where it were friendship's schism,
To separate these twi
Lights, the Dioscuri; And keep the one half from his Harry. But fate doth so alternate the design, Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must
And shine as you exalted are;
Two names of friendship, but one star: Of hearts the union, and those not by chance Made, or indenture, or leased out t'advance
The profits for a time.
No pleasures vain did chime,
Orgies of drink, or feigned protests:
This made you first to know the why
You liked, then after, to apply That liking; and approach so one the t'other Till either grew a portion of the other:
Each styled by his end,
The copy of his friend.
And titles, by which all made claims
And such a force the fair example had,
As they that saw The good, and durst not practise it, were glad
That such a law
Was left yet to mankind;
Where they might read and find Friendship, indeed, was written not in words;
And with the heart, not pen,
Of two so early men, Whose lines her rolls were, and recòrds; Who, ere the first down bloomed on the chin, Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in.
TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, THE LORD HIGH
TREASURER OF ENGLAND.
AN EPISTLE MENDICANT.
1631. MY LORD,
Poor wretched states, pressed by extremities,
Disease, the enemy, and his engineers,
peers, Have cast a trench about me, now five years,
And made those strong approaches by false
Redoubts, half-moons, horn-works, and such
The muse not peeps out, one of hundred days;
107 Fausse braies.
But lies blocked up and straightened, nar
rowed in, Fixed to the bed and boards, unlike to win Health, or scarce breath, as she had never been;
Unless some saving honor of the Crown,
TO THE KING, ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
November 19, 1632.
AN EPIGRAM ANNIVERSARY.
This is King Charles his day. Speak it, thou
Tower, Unto the ships, and they, from tier to tier, Discharge it 'bout the island in an hour,
As loud as thunder, and as swift as fire. Let Ireland meet it out at sea, half-way,
Repeating all Great Britain's joy, and more, Adding her own glad accents to this day,
Like Echo playing from the other shore. What drums or trumpets, or great ordnance can,
The poetry of steeples, with the bells, Three kingdoms' mirth, in light and aëry man,
Made lighter with the wine. All noises else, At bonfires, rockets, fireworks, with the shouts
That cry that gladness which their hearts
Had they but grace of thinking, at these routs,
On the often coming of this holy-day: And ever close the burden of the song, Still to have such a Charles, but this Charles
long. The wish is great ; but where the prince is such, What prayers, people, can you think too much!
ON THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND VIRTUOUS
LORD WESTON, LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND.
Upon the day he was made Earl of Portland, February 17, 1632.
TO THE ENVIOU's, 108
Look up, thou seed of envy, and still bring
wake To effect it, feel thou'st made thine own heart
108 From Clarendon's character of Lord Portland, it appears that he was not only very generally dislikel and censured, but that he deserved the enmities he incurred. — B.