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Vaine honour is a play of divers parts,
(As if the painters with new art would strive, Where fained words and gestures please our hearts; Por feare of bugs, to keepe poore men aliue) The flatter'd audience are the actor's friends;
who from thy mother's wombe bath been But lose that title when the fable ends.
Thy friend and strict companion, though voseene,
To leade thee in the right appointed way,
Which blessings giue in Heau'n, or Earth, or both
OF TRUE LIBERTI.
He that from dust of worldly tumults dies,
No garden walles this precious flower imbrace :
That dang'rous state which ye disdaine to feele :
Ye sit like pris'ners barr’d with doores and chaines,
Few can to things aboue their thoughts apply.
But who is he that cannot cast his looke
On earth, and read the beauty of that booke ?
A swelling riuer, more contentment bring
Thus still the poore man hath the better part.
INORDINATE LOUE OF CREATURES.
Au! who would loue a creature? who would place
His heart, his treasure, in a thing so base?
which time consuming, like a moth destroyes, paine)
And stealing Death will rob him of his joyes.
Why lift we not our minds aboue this dust?
Haue we not yet perceiu'd that God is just,
To be our scourges, when we wanton proue?
Go, carelesse man, in vaine delights proceed, heart:
Thy fansies and thine outward senses feede,
And bind thy selfe, thy fellow-seruant's thrall : And since he takes the throne of Louo exil'd,
great. Expect not Eden in a thorny waste,
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.
How can I write of Loue, who ncuer felt These thou bewaylist with a repining voyce, His dreadfull arrow, nor did euer melt Yet knew'st before that mortal was thy choyse. My heart away before a female flame, Admirers of false pleasures must sustaine
Like waxen statues, which the pitches frame ? The waight and sharpenesse of insuing paine. I must confesse, if I knew one that had
Bene poyson'd with this deadly draught, and mad,
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 : Sual. I stand still, and see the world on fire, But aged wand'rers sooner will declare While wanton writers joyne in one desire,
Their Eleusinian rites, than louers dare To blow the coales of loue, and make them burne, Renounce the Deuil's poinpe, and Christians die : Till they consume, or to the chaos turne
So much preuailes a painted idol's eye. This beauteous frame, by them so foully rent, Then since of them, like lewes, we can conuert That wise men feare, lest they those flames preuent, Scarce one in many yeeres, their iust desert, Which for the latest day th' Almightie keepes By selfe confession, neuer can appeare ; In orbes of fire, or in the hellish deepes?
But on presumptions wee proceed, and there Best wits, while they," possest with fury, thinke The iudge's innocence most credit winnes : They taste the Muses' sober well, and drinke True men trie theeues, and saints describe foule Of Phæbus' goblet, (now a starry signe)
sinnes. Mistake the cup, and write in heat of wine. This monster Loue hy day, and Lust by night, Then let my cold hand here some water cast, Is full of burning fire, but voyde of light, And drown their warmth with drops of sweeter Left here on Earth to keepe poore mortals out taste.
Of errour, who of hell-fire else would doubt. Mine angry lines shall whip the purblind page, Such is that wandring nightly flame, which lcades And some will reade them in a chaster age; Th' vnwary passenger, vntill he treades But since true love is most diuine, I know, His last step on the steepe and craggy walles How can I fight with loue, and call it so.
Of some high mountaine, whence he hcadlong Is it not loue? It was not now : (O strange!)
falles : Time and ill custome, workers of all change, A vapour first extracted from the stewes, Haue made it loue: men oft impose not names (Which with new fewell still the lampe renewes) By Adam's rule, but what their passion frames. And with a pandar's sulph'rous breath inflam'd, And since our childhood taught vs to approue Became a meteor, for destruction fram'd, Our fathers' words, we yeeld and call it loue. Like some prodigious comet which foretells Examples of past times our deeds should sway; Disasters to the realme on which it dwells. But we must speake the language of to day : And now hath this false light preuail'd so farre, Vse hath no bounds; it may prophane once more | That most obserue, it is a fixed starre, The name of God, wbich first an idoll bore. Yea as their load-starre, by whose beames impure How many titles, fit for meaner groomes,
They guide their ships, in courses not secure, Are knighted now, and marshal'd in high roomes ! Bewitcht and daz'led with the glaring sight and many, which once good and great were Of this proud fiend, attir'd in angels' liglit, thought,
Who still delights his darksome smoke to turno Posterity to vice and basenesse brought,
To rayes, which seeme t' enlighten, not to burne : As it hath this ef loue, and we must bow,
He leades them to the tree, and they beleeue As states vsurping tyrants' raignes allow,
The fruit is sweete, so he deluded Eue. And after ages reckon by their yeeres :
But when they once haue tasted of the feasts, Such force possession, though iniurious, beares: They quench that sparke, which seucrs men froin Or as a wrongfull title, or foule crime,
beasts, Made lawfull by a statute for the time,
And feele effects of our first parents' fall, With reu'rend estimation blindes our eies,
Depriu'd of reason, and to sence made thrall. And is call'd iust, in spight of all the wise. Thus is the miserable louer bound Then, hcau’nly Loue, this loathed name forsake, With fancies, and in fond affection drown'd. And some of thy more glorious titles take :
In him no faculty of man is seene, Sunne of the soule, cleare beauty, liuing fire, But when he sigbs a sopnet to his queene : Celestial light, which dost pure hearts inspire, This makes himn more than man, a poet fit While Lust, thy bastard brother, shal be knowne Por such false poets, as make passion wit. By Loue's wrong'd name, that louers may him Who lookes within an emptie caske, may see,
Where once a soule was, and againe may be, So oft with hereticks such tearmes we vse,
Which by this difference from a corse is knowne: As they can brooke, not such as we would chuse: One is in pow'r to haue life, both haue none:
for louers' slipp'ry soules (as they confesse,
And now he to his period brought,
Fron Loue becomes some other thought.
These lines I write not to remoue
Vnited soules from serious loue :
The best attempts by inortals made,
Reflect on things which quickly fade;
Yet neuer will I men perswade
To leave affections, where may shine
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 (wbile her charge was feeding) spent the hours make;
To gaze on sliding brookes and smiling lowres. Not for th’ affections, but the obiect's sake.
Thus hauing largely stray'd, she litts 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,
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
Where eu’ry homebred swaine desires to proue
His oaten pipe and feet before his love,
And crownes the eu’ning, when the daies are long,
With some plaine 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
dame (The fewell spent) falles downe and dies.
For singing crown'd, whence grew a world of fame
Among the sheepecotes, which in her reioyce, Much sweeter and more pure delights
And know no better pleasure than her voyce.
The glittring ladies, gather'd in a ring,
Intreate the silly shepherdesse to sing :
She blusht and sung, while they with words of
praise, Than where the end of this pretence
Contend her songs aboue their worth to raise. Descends to base inferiour sense.
Thus being chear'd with many courteous signer, "Why then should louers" (most will say)
She takes her leaue, for now the Sunne declines,
And having driuen home her flocks againe,
She meets her loue, a simple shepherd swaine;
Yet in the plaines lie had a poet's name:
For he could roundelayes and carols frame,
Which, when bis mistresse sung along the downes,
Was thought celestiall musick by the clownes.
Of him she begs, that he would raise bis mind We know that Hope and Loue are twinnes; To paint this lady, whom she found so kind : Hope gone, fruition now beginnes :
“ You oft,” saith she, “ haue in our homely bow'r* But what is this? Vnconstant, fraile,
Discours'd of demi-gods and greater pow'rs :
For you with Ilesiode sleeping learnt to know
The race Jiuine frorn Heau'n to Earth below.”
“My dear,” said he, “the nyinph whoin thor The worst of passions, daily feare.
hast seene, When Loue thus in his center ends,
Most happy is of all that line betweene
This globe and Cynthia, and in high estate,
Of wealth and beauty hath an equall mate,
Whose loue hath drawne vncessant teares in noods,
From nyinphs, that haunt the waters and the Stand in his councell as the cbiefe :
Oft Iris to the ground baih bent her bow
First, England, crown'd with roses of the spring, To steale a kisse, and then away to goe:
An off'ring, like to Abel's gift, will bring : Yet all in vaine, he no affection knowcs
And rowes that sbe for thee alone will keepe
Next, Scotland triumphs, that she bore and bred
A wreath of lillies gather'd in the field,
Last, Ireland, like Terpsichore attir'd
This day a sacrifice of praise requires,
Our brests are altars, and our ioyes are fires. Whose walles are water'd with our siluer brookes, That sacred head, so soft, so strangely blest And makes the shepherds proud to view his lookes. | From bloody plots, was now (O feare!) deprest There in that blessed house you also saw
Beneath the water, and those sunlike beames
Were threat'ned to be quencht in narrow streames.
From wolues. What Hermes could with words of
peace As modesty with beauty in her face.
Cause whetted swords to fall from angry hands,
Hast rays'd him by thine all-cominanding arme,
TO HIS LATE MAIESTY,
ANNIVERSARY DAY OF IUS MAIESTIE'S
MARCH THE 24.
CONCERNING THE TRUE FORME OF ENGLISH POETRY
WRITTEN AT THE BEGINNING OF HIS TWENTIETI
The world to morrow celebrates with mirth
Great king, the sou’raigne ruler of this land,
He makes sweet musick, who in scrious lines,
In eu’ry language now in Europe spoke
And give such vigour in his childhood's state,
This conquest his vnilaunted brest declares
Yet neither cares oppresse his constant mind,
Nor dangers drowne bis life for age desigu'l.
In forme of bees, extending silken wings
With gentle sounds, to keepe this infant still,
While they his mouth with pleasing hony till.
Hence those large streames of eloquence proceed,
He melts their hearts with his mellifluous words.
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:
While God, delighted with this just request,
But promis'd higher glories, new enorease
Of kingdounes, circled with a ring of peace.
He, thus instructed by dinine commands,
Extends this peacefull line to other lands.
When warres are threaten’d by shril trumpetso
sounds, As well as botter braines, may verse adorne,
His oliue stancheth bloud, and binds vp wounds.
The Christian world this good from him deriues,
And dimm'd the glory of that Roman wreath SOUERAIGNE LORD, KING JAMES. By souldiers gain'd for sauing men from death.
This Denmarke felt, and Swetbland, when their strife
Was counted nothing: for the dayly sight
Infect with poyson those immortall springs
With peacefull counsels quencht the rising fire.
All eyes are blinded, none can reade my lines; By his endcuours, change their long-bred hate
The Grecian emp rours gloried to be borne, And Germany his ready succours tries,
His pow'rfull edicts, stretcht beyond the Line,
TO THE GLORIOUS MEMORY OF OUR LATE