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O do not think it strange: times were not come, Why should not he, since of more pure a frame,
But, wretch! what wish I? to the winds I send When on this northern region thou shouldst lend These plaints and pray’rs: Destinies cannot levd Thy cheerful presence, and, charg'd with renown, Thee more of time, nor Heavens consent will thus Set on thy brows the Caledonian crown.
Thou leave their starry world to dwell with us; Thy virtues now thy just desire shall grace, Yet shall they not thee keep amidst their spheres Stern chance shall change, and to desert give place. Without these lamentations and tears. Let this be known to all the Fates admit
Thou wast all virtue, courtesy, and worth ; To their grave counsel, and to every wit
And, as Sun's light is in the Moon set forth, That courts Heaven's inside: this let Sybils know, World's supreme excellence in thee did shine: And those mad Corybants who dance and glow Nor, though eclipsed now, shalt thou decline, On Dindimus' high tops with frantic fire :
But in our memories live, while dolphins streams Let this be knowu to all Apollo's choir,
Shall haunt, while eaglets stare on Titan's beams, And people: let it not be hd from you,
Whilst swans upon their crystal tombs shall sing, What mountains noise, and foods proclaim as true. Whilst violets with purple paint the spring. Wherever fame abroad his praise sball ring, A gentler shepherd flocks did never feed All shall observe, and serve this blessed king. On Albion's bills, nur sing to oaten reed.
While what she found in thee my Muse would blaze, The end of king Charles's entertainment | Grief doth distract ber, and cut short thy praise. at Edinburgh, 1633.
How oft have we, environ'd by the throng
Some Chloris' name grav’n in each virgin tree;
And, finding favours fading, the next day
What we had carv'd we did deface away. ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. Woful remembrance! Nor time por place
Of thy abodement shadows any trace; In sweetest prime and blooming of his age, But there to mc thou shin'st: late glad desires, Dear Alcon, ravish'd from this mortal stage, And ye once roses, how are ye turn'd briars! The shepherds mourn'd, as they him lov'd before. Contentments passed, and of pleasures chief, Among the rout, him Idmon did deplore;
Now are ye frightful horrours, bells of grief! Idmon, who, whether Sun in east did rise,
When from thy native soil love had thee driven, Or dive in west, pour'd torrents from his eyes (Thy safe return prefigurating) a Hearen Of liquid crystal; under hawthorn shade,
Of Aattering hopes did in my fancy move;
The populous city holds bim, amongst barms
With thee, sweet youth! the glories of our fields of foreign shepherds, fawns, and fairy courts. Vanish away, and what contentments yields. No pleasure like the fields, an happy state The lakes their silver look, the woods their shades, The swains enjoy, secure from what they hate : The springs their crystal want, their verdure meads, Free of proud cares they innocently spend The years their early seasons, cheerful days; The day, nor do black thoughts their ease offend; Hills gloomy stand, now desolate of rays:
Wise Nature's darlings, they live in the world Their amorous whispers zephyrs not us bring, Perplexing not themselves how it is hurl'd. Nor do air's choristers salute the spring;
These hillocks Phæbus loves, Ceres these plains, The freezing winds our gardens do deflow'r. These shades the Sylvans ; and here Pales strains Ah Destinies, and you whom skies embow'r, Milk in the pails; the maids which baunt the springs To his fair spoils bis spright again yet give, Dauce on these pastures; here Amintas sings: And, like another phenix, make him live! (stems, Hesperian gardens, Tempe's shades, are here, The herbs, though cut, sprout fragrant froin their Or what the eastern Inde and west hold dear. And make with crimson blush our anadems : Come then, dear youth! the wood-nymphs thing The Sun, when in the west he doth decline,
thee boughs Heaven's brightest tapers at his funerals shine ; With rose and lily to impa le thy brows." His face, when wash'd in the Atlantic seas, Thus ignorant I'mus'd, not conscious yet Revives, and cheers the welkin with new rays: Of what by Death was done, and ruthless Fate:
Amidst these trances Fame thy loss doth sound, Phil. Learn I pray this, like to thee,
Por I 'm split on beauty's shelf.
All good hath left this age, all tracks of shame:
Mercy is banished, and pity dead; To famous Alcon. Here, as days, months, years
Justice, from whence it came, to Hear’n is filed; Do circling glide, I sacrifice will tears;
Religion, maim'd, is thought an idle name. Here spend my remnant time, exil'd from mirth,
Faith to distrust and malice hath giv'n place;
Envy, with poison'd teeth, hath friendship torn;
Renowned knowledge is a despis'd scorn;
There is no life, save under servile bands; To aggravate your moans a cause more sad:
To make desert a vassal to their crimes, And to their sorrows hither bring your mands,
Ambition with avarice joins bands : Charged with sweetest flow'rs, and with pure hands; O ever shameful, O most shameless times! Pair nymphs, the blushing hyacinth and rose
Save that Sun's light we see, of good here tell,
This Earth we court so much were very Hell.
Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus more?
Is this the justice which on Earth we find ?
Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
And they who thee, poor idol virtue! love,
Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind.
Or why should pride bumility make thrall,
And injuries the innocent oppress?
Heav'ns! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time
When good may have, as well as bad, their prime.
Who do in good delight,
That sov'reign justice ever doth reward ;
And though sometime it smite,
Yet it doth them regard :
For ev'n amidst their grief
They find a strong relief,
And death itself can work them no despite.
And do in it grow old,
In midst of mirth are charg'd with sin's annoy,
Which is in conscience scrollid;
And when their life's frail thread is cut by time,
They punishment find equal to each crime.
And I shall not ask again;
Look how in May the rose,
At sulphur's azure fumes,
In a short space her crimson blush doth lose,
And, all amaz'd, a pallid white assumes.
So time our best consumes,
Makes youth and beauty pass, Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
And what was pride turns horrour in our glass.
Now Daphnis' arms did grow
la slender branches; and her braided bair,
Which like gold waves did flow, Fond Progne, chattering wretch,
In leafy twigs was stretched in the air; That is Medea! there
The grace of either foot
Transform'd was to a root;.
He who did cause her ill
Sore wailing stood, and from his blubber'd eyne What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,
Did show'rs of tears upon the ripd distil,
Which, water'd thus, did bud and turn more green.
THE BEAR OF LOVE.
In woods and desert bounds
A beast abroad doth roam;
So loving sweetness and the honey-comb, Where gazing in a glass
It doth despise the arms of bees and wounds:
I, by like pleasure led,
Whilst therewith I am fed,
And how those eyes afflict and wound my heart.
THE BOAR'S HEAD.
FIVE SONNETS FOR GALATEA.
Amidst a pleasant green
STREPHON, in vain thou bring'st thy rhymes and soars, The head of a wild boar hung on a tree:
Deck'd with grave Pindar's old and witber'd dow'rs; And, driven by Zephyrs' breath,
In vain thou count'st the fair Europa's wrongs, Did fall, and wound the lovely youth beneath ;
And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs. On whom yet scarce appears
Thou hast slept never under myrtle's shed; So much of blood as Venus' eyes shed tears.
Or, if that passion hath thy soul oppressid, But, ever as she wept, her anthem was,
It is but for some Grecian mistress dead, “ Change, cruel change, alas!
Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy breast;
Thou who with fables dost set forth thy lore,
O no! thou learn'st thy love in lovers' books
No more with candid words infect mine ears;
When sound you sleep, no more say that you lasFrom irksome light keep thy chamber and bed ;
guish; And, in Moon's liv'ry clad,
No more in sweet despite say you spend tears. So may'st thou scorn the choristers of day
Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see, When plaining thou dost stay
How those that are hair-brain'd boast of Apollo, Near to the sacred window of my dear,
And bold give out the Muses do them follos,
Though in love's library, yet no lovers be.
Their names doth soar on our fame's overthrow;
TO THAUMANTIA, SINGING.
Is it not too, too much
Thou late didst to me prove
A basilisk of love,
And didst my wits bewitch?
Unless, to cause more harm,
Made syren too thou with thy voice me charm?
Ah! though thou so my reason didst controul, . Nam'd cruelty, ye seem not half too wise ; Yea, ye yourselves it deem most worthy praise,
That to thy looks I could not prove a mole;
Yet do me not that wrong,
UPON A GLASS.
Where love his wealth doth show,
But take this glass, and thy fair hair behold.
If wbiteness thou wouldst see more white than snow,
Wouldst thou in winter see a crimson rose,
Whose thorns do hurt each heart?
Wouldst thou see planets which all good impart,
But take this glass, and gaze upon thine eyne.
No-planets, rose, snow, gold, cannot compare
OF A BEE.
Come with some foe to fight,
O champion strange as stout !
Who hast by nature found
O do not kill that bee
That thus hath wounded thee!
Sweet, it was no despite,
He deemed them a rose.
What wouldst thou further crave?
He wanting wit, and blinded with delight,
Would fain have kiss'd, but mad with joy did bite,
OF A KISS.
Ah! of that cruel bee
I found that both they hurt and sweeten'd me:
This by the sting they have,
Couldst thou at once both please and wound mybeart? yol y.
OF THE SAME.
IDMON TO VENUS. IF, Acidalia's
queen, Thou quench in me thy torch, And with the same Thaumantia's heart shalt scorch, Each year a myrtle tree Here I do vow to consecrate to thee: And when the meads grow green, I will of sweetest flowers Weave thousand garlands to adorn thy bow'rs.
Come, let us live, and love,
A LOVER'S DAY AND NIGHT.
A LOVER'S PLAINT. In midst of silent night, When men, birds, beasts, do rest, With love and fear possest, To Heav'n, and Flore, I count my heavy plight. Again, with roseate wings When morn peeps forth, and Philomela sings, Then, void of all relief, Do I renew my grief; Day follows night, night day, whilst still I prove That Heaven is deaf, Flore careless of my love.
Bright meteor of day,
HIS FIREBRAND. LEAVE, page, that slender torch, And in this gloomy night Let only shine the light Of Love's hot brandon, which my heart doth scorch: A sigh, or blast of wind, My tears, or drops of rain, May that at once make blind; Whilst this like Ætna burning shall remain.
THE STATUE OF ADONIS.
When Venus, 'longst that plain,
DAPHNIS' VOW. W
HEN Sun doth bring the day From the Hesperian sea, Or Moon her coach doth roll Above the northern pole, When serpents cannot biss, And lovers shall not kiss, Then may it be, but in no time till then, That Daphnis can forget his Orienne.
CLORUS 70 A GROVE. Old oak, and you thick grove, I ever shall you love, With these sweet-smelling briers : For briers, oak, grove, ye crowned my desires, When underneath your shade I left my woe, and Flore ber maidenhead.
STATUE OF VENUS SLEEPING. Break not my sweet repose, Thon, whom free will, or chance, brings to this place, Let lids these comets close, O do not seek to see their shining grace: For when mine eyes thou seest, they thine will blind, And thou shalt part, but leave thy heart behind.
ANTHEA'S GIFT. This virgin lock of hair To Idmon Anthea gives, Idmon, for whom she lives, Though oft she mix bis hopes with cold despair: This now; but, absent if he constant prove, With gift more dear she vows to meet his love.
Tuy Muse not-able, full, il-lustred rhymes Make thee the poetaster of our times.