STAY Under the kinde shadow of this tree Castara and protect thy selfe and me [kings From the Sunne's rayes. Which show the grace of A dangerous warmth with too much favour brings. How happy in this shade the humble vine Doth 'bout some taller tree her selfe intwine, And so growes fruitfull; teaching us her fate Doth beare more sweetes, though cedars beare Behold Adonis in yand' purple flowre, [more state; T" was Venus' love: That dew, the briny showre, His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive: Now he repents and gladly would revive, [charmes, By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull To play the modest wanton in your armes,
VENTRING TO WALKE TOO FARRE IN THE NEIGHBOUR- ING WOOD.
DARE not too farre Castara, for the shade This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd A prey to wolves to the wilde powers o'th' wood, Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood, If carelesse of thy selfe of me take care, For like a ship where all the fortunes are Of an advent'rous merchant; I must be,
If thou should'st perish, banquerout in thee. My feares have mockt me. Tygers when they shall Behold so bright a face, will humbly fall In adoration of thee. Fierce they are To the deform'd, obsequious to the faire.
Yet venter not; 'tis nobler farre to sway The heart of man, than beasts, who man obey.
VPON CASTARA'S DEPARTURE. VowEs are vaine. No suppliant breath Stayes the speed of swift-heel'd Death, Life with her is gone and I Learne but a new way to dye. See the flowers condole, and all Wither in my funerall.
The bright lilly, as if day,
Parted with her fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose All their beauty. That the rose A sad part in sorrow beares, Witnesse all those dewy teares, Which as pearle, or dyamond like, Swell upon her blushing chet ke. All things mourne, but oh behold How the withered marigold Closeth up now she is gone, Judging her the setting Sunne.
A DIALOGUE,
BETWEENE NIGHT AND ARAPHIL. NIGHT.
LET silence close thy troubled eyes, Thy feare in Lethe steepe:
The starres, bright cent'nels of the skies, Watch to secure thy sleepe.
E're rais'd her servants. For though all were spent, That can create an Europe in content. Thus (madam) when Castara lends an eare Soft to my hope, I love's philosopher,
Winne on her faith. For when I wondring stand At th' intermingled beauty of her hand, (Higher I dare not gaze) to this bright veine I not ascribe the blood of Charlemaine Deriv'd by you to her. Or say there are In that and th' other Marmion, Rosse, and Parr Fitzhugh, Saint Quintin, and the rest of them That adde such lustre to great Pembroke's stem. My love is envious. Would Castara were The daughter of some mountaine cottager Who with his toile worne out, could dying leave Her no more dowre, than what she did receive From bounteous Nature. Her would I then lead To th' temple, rich in her owne wealth; her head Crown'd with her haire's faire treasure; diamonds in Her brighter eyes; soft ermines in her skin;
Each Indie in each cheeke. Then all who vaunt, That Fortune, them t' enrich, made others want, Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth, And tric if that, could parallel this wealth.
DEPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT.
WHAT Should we feare Castara? The cole aire, That's falne in love, and wantons in thy haire, Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale A nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale The pleasure I possesse. The wind conspires To our blest interview, and in our fires Bathe like a salamander, and doth sip, Like Bacchus from the grape, life from thy lip. Nor thinke of night's approach. The world's great Though breaking Nature's law, will us supply [eye With his still flaming lampe: and to obey Our cha-te desires, fix here perpetuall day.
But should be set, what rebell night dares rise, To be subdu'd i'th' vict'ry of the eyes?
MORE welcome my Castara, than was light To the disordered chaos. O what bright And nimble chariot brought thee through the aire? While the amazed stars to see so faire And pure a beauty from the Earth arise, Chang'd all their glorious bodics into eyes. O let my zealous lip print on thy hand The story of my love, which there shall stand A bright inscription to be read by none, But who as I love thee, and love but one. Why vanish you away? Or is my sense Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence Of erring Nature? And would Heaven this had Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad.
TO THE HONOURABLE MR. WM. E. He who is good is happy. Let the loude Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloud
Wee'le sit, my love, upon the shore, And while proud billowes rise To warre against the skie, speake ore Our love's so sacred misteries.
And charme the sea to th' calme it had before.
Where's now my pride t' extend my fame Where ever statues are?
And purchase glory to my name In the smooth court or rugged warre? My love hath layd the devill, I am tame.
I'de rather like the violet grow
Vnmarkt i'th' shaded vale,
Than on the hill those terrors know Are breath'd forth by an angry gale,
There is more pompe above, more sweete below.
Love, thou divine philosopher
(While covetous landlords rent, And courtiers dignity preferre) Instructs us to a sweete content,
Greatnesse it selfe doth in it selfe interre.
Castara what is there above
The treasures we possesse?
We two are all and one, wee move Like starres in th' orbe of happinesse. All blessings are epitomiz'd in love.
MY HONOURED FRIEND AND KINSMAN, R. ST. ESQUIRE.
Ir shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write Beheld no wit at court. If I delight So farre my sullen genius, as to raise It pleasure; I have money, wine, and bayes Enough to crowne me poet. Let those wits, Who teach their Muse the art of parasits To win on easie greatnesse; or the yongue Spruce lawyer who's all impudence and tongue, Sweat to divulge their fames: thereby the one Gets fees; the other hyre, l'em best unknowne: Sweet silence I embrace thee, and thee Fate Which didst my birth so wisely moderate; That I by want am neither vilified, Nor yet by riches flatter'd into pride. Resolve me friend (for it must folly be Or else revenge 'gainst niggard destinie,
That makes some poets raile) Why are their rimes So steept in gall? Why so obrayde the times? As if no sin call'd downe Heav'n's vengeance more Than cause the world leaves some few writers poore?
Tis true, that Chapman's reverend ashes must Lye rudely mingled with the vulgar dust, Cause carefull heyers the wealthy onely have; To build a glorious trouble o're the grave. Yet doe I despaire, some one may be So seriously devout to poesie
As to translate his reliques, and finde roome In the warme church, to build him up a tombe. Since Spencer hath a stone; and Drayton's browes Stand petrefied i'th' wall, with laurell bowes Yet girt about; and nigh wise Henrie's herse, Old Chaucer got a marble for his verse. So courteous is Death; Death poets brings So high a pompe, to lodge them with their kings:
Yet still they mutiny. If this man please His silly patron with hyperboles,
Or most mysterious non-sence, give his braine But the strapado in some wanton straine; Hee'le sweare the state lookes not on men of parts, And, if but mention'd, slight all other arts. Vaine ostentation! Let us set so just
A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust The poet's sentence, and not still aver Each art is to it selfe a flatterer.
I write to you sir on this theame, because Your soule is cleare, and you observe the lawes, Of poesie so justly, that I choose Yours onely the example to my Muse. And till my browner haire be mixt with gray, Without a blush, Ile tread the sportive way, My Muse directs; a poet youth may be, But age doth dote without philosophie.
Into such furrowes? Why dost thou appeare So shaking like an ague to the yeare? The Sunne is gone. But yet Castara stayes, And will adde stature to thy pigmy dayes, [bring Warme moysture to thy veynes: her smile can Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the spring. Hence with thy palsie then, and on thy head Weare flow rie chaplets as a bridegroome led To th' holy fane. Bauish thy aged ruth, That virgins may admire and court thy youth. And the approaching Sunne when she shall finde A spring without him, fall, since uselesse, blinde.
A VISIT TO CASTARA IN THE NIGHT.
"TWAS night when Phoebe guided by thy rayes, Chaste as my zeale, with inceuce of her praise, I humbly crept to my Castara's shrine. But oh my fond mistake! for there did shine A noone of beauty, with such lustre crown'd, As showd 'mong th' impious onely night is found. It was her eyes which like two diamonds shin'd, Brightest i'th' dark. Like which could th' Indian But one among his rocks, he would out vie [find, In brightnesse all the diamonds of the skie. But when her lips did ope, the phoenix' nest Breath'd forth her odours; where might love once Hee'd loath his heauenly serfets: if we dare. [feast, Affirme, love hath a Heaven without my faire.
Cautious she knew never yet What a wanton courtship meant; Not speaks loud to boast her wit, | In her silence eloquent.
Of her self survey she takes,
But 'tweene men no difference makes. She obeyes with speedy will Her grave parents' wise commands. And so innocent, that ill, She nor acts, nor understands. Women's feet runne still astray, If once to ill they know the way. She sailes by that rocke, the court, Where oft honour splits her mast: And retir'dnesse thinks the port, Where her fame may anchor cast. Vertue safely cannot sit,
Where vice is enthron'd for wit. She holds that daye's pleasure best, Where sinne waits not on delight, Without maske, or ball, or feast, Sweetly spends a winter's night.
O're that darknesse, whence is thrust, Prayer and sleepe oft governs lust. She her throne makes reason climbe, While wild passions captive lie. And each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to Heaven flie:
All her vowes religious be, And her love she vowes to me.
OF THE CHASTITY OF HIS LOVE.
WHY would you blush Castara, when the name Of Love you heare? who never felt his flame, I'th' shade of melancholly night doth stray, A blind Cymmerian banisht from the day. Let's chastly love Castara, and not soyle This virgin lampe, by powring in the oyle Of impure thoughts. O let us sympathize, And onely talke i'th' language of our eyes, Like two starres in conjunction. But beware Lest th' angels who of love compacted are, Viewing how chastly burnes thy zealous fire, Should snatch thee hence, to joyne thee to their Yet take thy flight: on Earth for surely we [quire. So joyn'd, in Heaven cannot divided be.
THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA.
LIKE the violet which alone Prospers in some happy shade: My Castara lives unknowne, To no looser eye betray'd,
For shee's to her selfe untrue, Who delights i'th' publicke view. Such is her beauty, as no arts Have enricht with borrowed grace. Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood, She is noblest being good.
Vatumque lascivos triumphos Calcat amor, pede conjugali.
Is the sweetest part in the harmony of our being. To the love of which, as the charmes of Nature inchant us, so the law of Grace by speciall privi- ledge invites us. Without her, man if piety not restraine him; is the creator of sinne; or, if an innated cold render him not onely the businesse of the present age; the murderer of posterity. She is so religious that every day crownes her a martyr, and her zeale neither rebellious nor uncivill. Shee is so true a friend, her husband may to her communicate even his ambitions, and if successe crowne not expecta- tion, remaine neverthelesse uncontemn'd. Shee is colleague with him in the empire of prosperity; and a safe retyring place when adversity exiles him from the world. Shee is so chaste, she never understood the language lust speakes in; nor with a smile applaudes it, although there appeare wit in the metaphore. Shee is faire onely to winne on his affections, nor would she be mistris of the most eloquent beauty; if there were danger, that might perswade the passi-.
onate auditory, to the least irregular thought. | Shee is noble by a long descent, but her memory is so evill a herald, shee never boasts the story of her ancestors. Shee is so moderately rich, that the defect of portion doth neither bring penury to his estate, nor the superfluity licence her to riot. Shee is liberall, and yet owes not ruine to vanity, but knowes charity to be the soule of goodnesse, and vertue without reward often prone to bee her owne destroyer. Shee is much at home, and when shee visits 'tis for mutuall commerce, not for intelligence. Shee can goe to court, and returne no passionate doater on bravery; and when shee hath seene the gay things muster up themselves there, shee considers them as cobwebs the spider vanity hath spunne. Shee is so generall in her acquaintance, that shee is familiar with all whom fame speakes vertuous; but thinkes there can bee no friendship but with one; and therefore hath neither shee friend nor private servant. Shee so squares her passion to her husband's fortunes, that in the countrey shee lives without a froward melancholly, in the towne without a fantastique pride. She is so temperate, she never read the moderne pollicie of glorious surfeits: since she finds nature is co epicure if art provoke her not by curiositie. Shee is inquisitive onely of new wayes to please him, and her wit sayles by no other compasse than that of his direction. Shee lookes upon him as conjurers upon the circle, beyond which there is nothing but Death and Hell; and in him shee beleeves Paradice circumscrib'd. His vertues are her wonder and imitation; and his errors, her credulitie thinkes no more frailtie, than makes him descend to the title of man. In a word, shee so lives that shee may dye, and leave no cloude upon her memory, but have her character nobly mentioned: while the bad wife is flattered into infamy, and buyes pleasure at too deare a rate, if shee onely payes for it repentance.
NOW POSSEST OF HER IN MARRIAGE.
This day is ours. The marriage angell now Ses th' altar in the odour of our vow, Yeeld a more precious breath, than that which The whispring leaves in the Panchayon groves. View how his temples shine, on which he weares A wreath of pearle, made of those precious teares Thou wepst a virgin, when crosse winds did blow, Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow. But now Castara smile, no envious night Dares enterpose it selfe, t' eclipse the light Of our cleare joyes. For even the laws divine Permit our mutual love so to entwine,
That kings, to ballance true content, shall say; "Would they were great as we, we blest as they."
UPON THE MUTUALL LOVE OF THEIR MAJESTIES.
Did you not see, Castara, when the king [bring Met his lov'd queene; what sweetnesse she did
T' incounter his brave heat; how great a flame From their brests meeting, on the sudden came? The Stoike, who all easie passion flies, Could he but heare the language of their eyes, As heresies would from his faith remove The tenets of his sect, and practise love. The barb'rous nations which supply the Earth With a promiscuous and ignoble birth, Would by this precedent correct their life, Each wisely choose, and chastely love a wife. Princes' example is a law. Then we, If loyall subjects, must true lovers be.
WHOSE whispers, soft as those which lovers breath, Castara and my selfe, I here bequeath, To the calme wind. For Heaven such joyes afford To her and me, that there can be no third. And you, kinde starres, be thriftier of your light: Her eyes supply your office with more bright And constant lustre. Angels guardians, like The nimbler ship boyes, shall be joy'd to strike Or hoish up saile: nor shall our vessell move By card or compasse, but a heavenly love. The couresie of this more prosperous gale Shall swell our canvas, and wee'le swiftly saile To some blest port, where ship hath never lane At anchor, whose chaste soile no foot prophane Hath ever trod; where Nature doth dispence Her infant wealth, a beautious innocence. Pompe, (even a burthen to it self) nor pride, (The magistrate of sinnes) did e're abide On that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're Built, for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there. Thence age and death are exil'd, all offence And fear expell'd, all noyse and faction thence. A silence there so melancholly sweet, That none but whispring turtles ever meet: Thus Paradise did our first parents wooe To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two. And o're this second wee'le usurpe the throwie; Castara wee'le obey, and rule alone. For the rich vertue of this soyle, I feare, Would be deprav'd, should but a third be there.
TO CASTARA IN A TRANCE. FORSAKE me not so soone. Castara, stay, And as I breake the prison of my clay, Ile fill the canvas with m' expiring breath, And with thee saile o're the vast maine of Death. Some cherubin thus, as we passe, shall play: "Goe, happy twins of love! the courteous sea Shall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe. Every ungentle rocke shall melt away, The Syrens sing to please, not to betray. Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quire Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire."
While Love, the pilot, steeres his course so even, Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.
TO DEATH,
CASTARA BEING SICKE.
HENCE, prophane grim man! nor dare To approach so neere my faire.
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