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Tell me how curst an egging, what a sting
Of lust do their unwildly daunces bring?
The simple wretches say they meane no harme,
They doe not, surely; but their actions warme
Our purer blouds the more: for Satan thus
Tempts us the more, that are more righteous.
Oft hath a brother most sincerely gon,
Stifled in prayer and contemplation,
When lighting on the place where such repaire,

He viewes the nimphes, and is quite out in 's prayer.
Oft hath a sister, grownded in the truth,
Seeing the jolly carriage of the youth,
Bin tempted to the way that's broad and bad;
And (wert not for our private pleasures) had
Renoune't her little ruffe, and goggle eye,
And quitt her selfe of the fraternity.
What is the mirth, what is the melody,
That sets them in this Gentiles' vanity?
When in our sinagogue we rayle at sinne,
And tell men of the faults which they are in,
With hand and voice so following our theames,
That we put out the side-men from their dreames.
Sounds not the pulpett, which we then be-labour,
Better, and holyer, than doth the tabour?
Yet such is unregenerate man's folly,

He loves the wicked noyse, and hates the holy.
Routes and wilde pleasures doe invite temptation,
And this is dangerous for our damnation;

We must not move our selves, but, if w' are mov'd,
Man is but man; and therefore those that lov'd
Still to seeme good, would evermore dispence
With their own faults, so they gave no offence.
If the times sweete entising, and the blood
That now begins to boyle, have thought it good.
To challenge liberty and recreation,
Let it be done in holy contemplation:
Brothers and sisters in the feilds may walke,
Beginning of the holy worde to talke,
Of David, and Uriah's lovely wife,

Of Thamer, and her lustfull brother's strife;
Then, underneath the hedge that woos them next,
They may sitt downe, and there act out the text.
Nor do we want, how ere we live austeere,
In winter sabbath-nights our lusty cheere;
And though the pastor's grace, which oft doth hold
Halfe an howre long, make the provision cold,
We can be merry; thinking 't nere the worse
To mend the matter at the second course.
Chapters are read, and hymnes are sweetly sung,
Joyntly commanded by the nose and tongue;
Then on the worde we diversly dilate,
Wrangling indeed for heat of zeale, not hate:
When at the length an unappeased doubt
Fiercely comes in, and then the light goes out;
Darkness thus workes our peace, and we containe
Our fyery spiritts till we see againe.

Till then, no voice is heard, no tongue doth goe,
Except a tender sister shreike, or so.

Such should be our delights, grave and demure,
Not so abominable, not so impure,
As those thou seek'st to hinder, but I feare
Satan will be too strong; his kingdome's here:
Few are the righteous now, nor do I know
How we shall ere this idoll overthrow;
Sice our sincerest patron is deceas't,
The number of the righteous is decreast.
But we do hope these times will on, and breed
A faction mighty for us; for indeede

We labour all, and every sister joynes

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Noɛ; not a quatch, sad poets; doubt you,
There is not greife enough without you?
Or that it will asswage ill newes,

To say, Shee 's dead, that was your Muse?
Joine not with Death to make these times
More grevious than most grievous rimes.
And if 't be possible, deare eyes,
The famous universityes,

If both your eyes be matches, sleepe;
Or, if you will be loyall, weepe:
For-beare the press, there's none will looke
Before the mart for a new booke.

Why should you tell the world what witts
Grow at New-parkes, or Campus-pitts?
Or what conceipts youth stumble on,
Taking the ayre towards Trumpington?
Nor you, grave tutours, who doe temper
Your long and short with que and semper;
O doe not, when your owne are done,
Make for my ladie's eldest sonne
Verses, which he will turn to prose,
When he shall read what you compose!
Nor, for an epithite that failes,
Bite off your unpoëticke nailes.
Unjust! why should you in these vaines,
Punish your fingers for your braines?

Know henceforth, that griefe's vitall part
Consists in nature, not in art:
And verses that are studied
Mourne for themselves, not for the dead.
Heark, the queene's epitaph shall be
Noe other then her pedigree:

For lines in bloud cutt out are stronger
Then lines in marble, and last longer:
And such a verse shall never fade,
That is begotten, and not made.

"Her father, brother, husband,...kinges;
Royall relations! from her springes
A prince and princesse; and from those
Fair certaintyes, and rich hope growes."
Here's poetry shall be secure
While Britaine, Denmarke, Rheine endure:
Enough on Earth; what purchase higher,
Save Heaven, to perfect her desire?
And as a straying starr intic't
And governd those wise-men to Christ,
Ev'n soe a herauld-starr this yeare
Did beckon on her to appeare:

A starr which did not to our nation

Portend her death, but her translation:
For when such harbingers are seene,

To have regenerate babes spring from our loynes: God crownes a saint, not kills a queene.

AN ELEGIE

UPON THE DEATH OF HIS OWNE FATHER.

VINCENT Corbet, farther knowne
By Poynter's name, then by his owne,
Here lyes ingaged till the day

Of raising bones, and quickning clay.
Nor wonder, reader, that he hath
Two surnames in his epitaph;
For this one did comprehend

All that two familyes could lend :
And if to know more arts then any
Could multiply one into many,
Here a colony lyes, then,
Both of qualityes and men.
Yeares he liv'd well nigh fourscore;
But count his vertues, he liv'd more;
And number him by doeing good,
He liv'd their age beyond the flood.
Should we undertake his story,

Truth would seeme fain'd, and plainesse glory:
Besides, this tablet were too small,
Add to the pillars and the wall.
Yet of this volume much is found,
Written in many a fertill ground;
Where the printer thee affords
Earth for paper, trees for words.
He was Nature's factour here,
And legier lay for every sheire;
To supply the ingenious wants

Of some spring-fruits, and forraigne plants.
Simple he was, and wise withall;
His purse nor base nor prodigall;
Poorer in substance than in friends;
Future and publicke were his endes;
His conscience, like his dyett, such
As neither tooke nor left two much:

Soe that made lawes were uselesse growne
To him, he needed but his owne.
Did he his neighbours bid, like those
That feast them onely to enclose?

Or with their roast meate racke their rents,
And cozen them with their consents?
Noe; the free meetings at his boord
Did but one litterall sence afforde;
Noe close or aker understood,
But only love and neighbourhood.
His alms were such as Paul defines,
Not causes to be said, but signes;

Which alms, by faith, hope, love, laid down,
Laid up what now he wears...a crown.
Besides his fame, his goods, his life,
He left a griev'd sonne, and a wife;
Straunge sorrow, not to be beleiv'd,
Whenas the sonne and heire is greiv'd.
Reade then, and mourne what ere thou art
That doost hope to have a part
In honest epitaphs; least, being dead,
Thy life be written, and not read.

AN ELEGIE

UPON THE DEATH OF LADY HADDINGTON, WIFE OF JOHN RAMSAY, VISCOUNT HADDINGTON, WHO DYED OF THE SMALL POX.

DEARE losse, to tell the world I greive were true, But that were to lament my selfe, not you;

That were to cry out helpe for my affaires,
For which nor publick thought, nor private cares:
No, when thy fate I publish amongst men,

I should have power to write with the state's pen:
I should in naming thee force publicke teares,
And bid their eyes pay ransome for their eares.
First, thy whole life was a short feast of witt,
And Death th' attendant which did wait on it:
To both mankind doth owe devotion ample,
To that their first, to this their last example.
And though 't were praise enough (with them whose
And vertue's nothing but an ample name) [fame
That thou wert highly borne,(which no man doubtes)
And so mightst swath base deedes in noble cloutes;
Yet thou thy selfe in titles didst not shroud,
And being noble, wast nor foole, nor proud;
And when thy youth was ripe, when now the suite
Of all the longing court was for thy fruit,
How wisely didst thou choose! Foure blessed eyes,
The kings and thine, bad taught thee to be wise.
Did not the best of men thee virgin give
Into his handes, by which himselfe did live?
Nor didst thou two yeares after talke of force,
Or, lady-like, make suit for a divorce:
Who, when their own wild lust is falsely spent,
Cry out, "My lord, my lord is impotent."
Nor hast thou in his nuptiall armes enjoy'd
Barren imbraces, but wert girl'd and boy'd:
Twice-pretty-ones, thrice worthier were their youth,
Might she but bring them up, that brought them

forth:

She would have taught them by a thousand strains,
(Her bloud runns in their manners, not their veines)
That glory is a lye; state a grave sport;
And country sicknesse above health at court.
Oh what a want of her loose gallants have,
Since she hath chang'd her window for a grave;
From whence she us'd to dart out witt so fast,
And stick them in their coaches as they past!
Who now shall make well-colour'd vice looke pale?
Or a curl'd meteor with her eyes exhale,
And talke him into nothing? who shall dare
Tell barren braines they dwell in fertill haire?
Who now shall keepe ould countesses in awe,
And, by tart similyes, repentance draw [such
From those, whom preachers had given ore? Even
Whom esermons could not reach, her arrowes touch.
Hereafter, fooles shall prosper with applause,
And wise men smile and no man aske the cause:
He of fourescore, three night capps, and two haires,
Shall marry her of twenty, and get heyres
Which shall be thought his owne; and none shall say
But tis a wondrous blessing, and he may.
Now (which is more then pitty) many a knight,
Which can doe more then quarrell, less then fight,
Shall choose his weapons, ground; draw seconds
thither,

Put up his sword, and not be laught at neyther.
Oh thou deform'd unwoeman-like disease, [pease,
That plowst up flesh and bloud, and there sow'st
And leav'st such printes on beauty, that dost come
As clouted shon do on a floore of lome;
Thou that of faces hony-combes dost make,
And of two breasts two cullenders, forsake
Thy deadly trade; thou now art rich, give ore,
And let our curses call thee forth no more.
Or, if thou needs will magnify thy power,
Goe, where thou art invoked every houre,
Amongst the gamsters, where they name thee thicke
At the last maine, or the last pocky nicke.

Get thee a lodging neare thy clyent, dice,
There thou shalt practice on more than one vice.
There's wherewithall to entertaine the pox, [box.
There's more than reason, there 's rime for 't, the
Thou who hast such superfluous store of game,
Why struckst thou one whose ruine is thy shame ?
D, thou hast murdred where thou shouldst have kist;
And, where thy shaft was needfull, there it mist.
Thou shouldst have chosen out some homely face,
Where thy ill-favour'd kindnesse might adde grace,
That men might say, "How beauteous once was she!"
Or, "What a peece, ere she was seaz'd by thee!"
Thou shouldst have wrought on some such ladyes
mould

That ne're did love her lord, nor ever could
Untill she were deform'd, thy tyranny
Were then within the rules of charity.
But upon one whose beauty was above

All sort of art, whose love was more than love,
On her to fix thy ugly counterfett,
Was to erect a pyramide of jett,

And put out fire to digg a turfe from Hell,
And place it where a gentle soule should dwell :
A soule which in the body would not stay,
When twas noe more a body, nor good clay,
But a huge ulcer. O thou heav'nly race,
Thou soule that shunn'st th' infection of thy case,
Thy house, thy prison, pure soule, spotless, faire,
Rest where no heat, no cold, no compounds are!
Rest in that country, and injoy that ease,
Which thy frayle flesh deny'de, and her disease!

ON

CHRIST-CHURCH PLAY

AT WOODSTOCK.

IF we, at Woodstock, have not pleased those,
Whose clamorous judgments lye in urging noes,
And, for the want of whifflers, have destroy'd
Th' applause, which we with vizards hadd enjoy'd,
We are not sorry; for such witts as these
Libell our windowes oft'ner than our playes;
Or, if their patience be moov'd, whose lipps
Deserve the knowledge of the proctorships,
Or judge by houses, as their howses goe,
Not caring if their cause be good or noe;
Nor by desert or fortune can be drawne
To credit us, for feare they loose their pawne;
We are not greatly sorry; but if any,
Free from the yoake of the ingaged many,
That dare speake truth even when their head stands
Or when the senior's spoone is in the pye;
Nor to commend the worthy will forbeare,
Though he of Cambridge, or of Christ-church were,
And not of his owne colledge; and will shame
To wrong the person for his howse, or name;
If any such be griev'd, then downe proud spirit;
If not, know, number never conquer'd merit.

A LETTER

[by,

TO THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, BEING WITH THE PRINCE

IN SPAINE.

I've read of ilands floating and remov'd In Ovid's time, but never heard it prov'd

Till now that fable, by the prince and you,
By your transporting England, is made true.
We are not where we were; the dog-starr raignes
No cooler in our climate, than in Spaine's;
The selfe same breath, same ayre, same heate, same
burning,

Is here, as there; will be, till your returning:
Come, e're the card be alter'd, lest perhaps
Your stay may make an errour in our mapps;
Lest England should be found, when you shall passe,
A thousand miles more southward than it was.
Oh that you were, my lord, oh that you were
Now in Blackfryers, in a disguis'd haire';
That you were Smith againe, two houres to be
In Paul's next sunday, at full sea at three;
There you should heare the legend of each day,
The perills of your inne, and of your way;
Your enterprises, accidents, untill
You did arrive at court, and reach Madrill.
There your should heare how the state-grandees
flout you,

With their twice-double diligence about you;
How our environ'd prince walkes with a guard
Of Spanish spies, and his owne servants barr'd;
How not a chaplaine of his owne may stay
When he would heare a sermon preach'd, or pray.
You would be hungry, having din'd, to heare
The price of victuailes, and the scarcity, there;
As if the prince had ventur❜d there his life
To make a famine, not to fetch a wife.
Your eggs (which might be addle too) are deare
As English capons; capons as sheepe, here;
No grass neither for cattle; for they say
It is not cut and made, grasse there grows hay:
That 't is soe seething hott in Spaine, they sweare
They never heard of a raw oyster there:
Your cold meat comes in reaking, and your wine
Is all burnt sack, the fire was in the vine;
Item, your pullets are distinguish't there
Into four quarters, as we carve the yeare,
And are a weeke a wasting: Munday noone
Tuesday a legg, and soe forth; Sunday more,
A wing; at supper something with a spoone;

The liver and a gizard betweene foure:
And for your mutton, in the best houshoulder
'Tis felony to cheapen a whole shoulder.
Lord! how our stomacks come to us againe,
When we conceive what snatching is in Spaine !
I, whilst I write, and doe the newes repeate,
Am forc't to call for breakfast in, and eate:
And doe you wonder at the dearth the while?
The flouds that make it run in th' middle ile,
Poets of Paul's, those of duke Humfry's messe,
That feede on nought but graves and emptinesse.
But heark you, noble sir, in one crosse weeke
My lord hath lost a thowsand pound at gleeke;
And though they doe allow but little meate,
They are content your losses should be great.
False, on my deanery! falser than your fare is;
Or than your difference with Cond' de Olivares,
Which was reported strongly for one tyde,
But, after six houres floating, ebb'd and dyde.
If God would not this great designe should be
Perfect and round without some knavery,
Nor that our prince should end this enterprize,
But for so many miles, so many lies:

1 The prince and Buckingham on their journey wore false beards and assumed the names of Jack and Tom Smith. G.

If for a good event the Heav'ns doe please
Men's tongues should become rougher than the seas,
And that th' expence of paper shall be such,
First written, then translated out of Dutch :
Corantoes, diets, packets, newes, more newes,
Which soe much innocent whitenesse doth abuse;
If first the Belgicke pismire must be seene,
Before the Spanish ladie be our queene;
With such successe, and such an end at last,
All's wellcome, pleasant, grateful, that is past.
And such an end we pray that you should see,
A type of that which mother Zebedee

Wisht for her sonnes in Heav'n; the prince and you
At either hand of James, (you need not sue)
He on the right, you on the left, the king
Safe in the mids't, you both invironing.
Then shall I tell my lord, his word and band
Are forfeit, till I kisse the princes hand;
Then shall I tell the duke, your royall friend
Gave all the other honours, this you earn'd;
This you have wrought for; this you hammer'd out
Like a strong smith, good workman and a stout.
In this I have a part, in this I see
Some new addition smiling upon me:
Who, in an humble distance, claime a share
In all your greatnesse, what soe ere you are.

TO

THE NEW-BORNE PRINCE,

AFTERWARDS CHARLES II.

UPON THE APPARITION of a Starr, AND THE FOLLOWING

ECCLYPSE.

WAS Heav'ne afray'd to be out-done on Earth,
When thou wert borne, great prince, that it brought
Another light to helpe the aged Sunn, [forth
Lest by thy luster he might be out-shone?
Or were th' obsequious starres so joy'd to view
Thee, that they thought their countlesse eyes too few
For such an object; and would needes create
A better influence to attend thy state?

Or would the Fates thereby shew to the Earth
A Cæsar's birth, as once a Cæsar's death?
And was 't that newes that made pale Cynthia run
In so great hast to intercept the Sunn;
And, enviously, so she might gaine thy sight,
Would darken him from whom she had her light?
Mysterious prodigies yet sure they be,
Prognosticks of a rare prosperity:

For, can thy life promise lesse good to men,
Whose birth was th' envy, and the care of Heav'ne!

ON

THE EARL OF DORSET'S DEATH.

(RICHARD, THE THird earl of dorset.)

LET no prophane, ignoble foot tread here,
This hallowed piece of earth, Dorset lyes there:
A small poore relique of a noble spirit,
Free as the air, and ample as his merit:
A soul refin'd, no proud forgetting lord,
But mindful of mean names, and of his word:
Who lov❜d men for his honour, not his ends,
And had the noblest way of getting friends
By loving first, and yet who knew the court,
But understood it better by report
Than practice: he nothing took from thence
But the king's favour for his recompence.
Who, for religion or his countrey's good,
Neither his honour valued, nor his blood.
Rich in the world's opinion, and men's praise,
And full in all we could desire, but days.
He that is warn'd of this, and shall forbear
To vent a sigh for him, or shed a tear,
May he live long scorn'd, and unpitied fall,
And want a mourner at his funeral!!

2 This refers to a popular tract published in 1622, under that title, in favour of the Low Countries, and for the purpose of prejudicing the people of England against the marriage which Villers was negotiating when this poem was addressed to him. The negotiation was not only disgraceful, but unsuccessful:

αισχρον γαρ ήμιν και προς αισχυνη κακον. G.

1 Mr. Gilchrist observes that Corbet's claim to

ON THE

BIRTH OF YOUNG PRINCE CHARLES.

WHEN private men gett sonnes they get a spoone'
Without ecclypse, or any starr at noone:
When kings gett sonnes, they get withall supplyes
And succours, farr beyond all subsedyes.
Wellcome, God's loane! thou tribute to the state,
Thou mony newly coyn'd, thou fleete of plate!
Thrice happy childe! whome God thy father sent
To make him rich without a parliament !

ΤΟ

HIS SON, VINCENT CORDET,

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1630, BEING THEN
THREE YEARS OLD.

WHAT I shall leave thee none can tell,
But all shall say I wish thee well ;

I wish thee, Vin, before all wealth,
Both bodily and ghostly health:
Nor too much wealth, nor wit, come to thee,
So much of either may undo thee.
I wish thee learning, not for show,
Enough for to instruct, and know;
Not such as gentlemen require,
To prate at table, or at fire.

I wish thee all thy mother's graces,
Thy father's fortunes, and his places.
I wish thee friends, and one at court,
Not to build on, but support;

Alluding to the practice of the sponsors at this poem is somewhat doubtful as it occurs in christenings giving spoons to the child as a bap bishop King's poems. C. tismal present. G.

To keep thee, not in doing many
Oppressions, but from suffering any.
I wish thee peace in all thy wayes,
Nor lazy nor contentious days;
And when thy soul and body part,
As innocent as now thou art.

AN EPITAPH

ON

DR. DONNE, DEAN OF PAULS,

BORN IN 1573; DIED MARCH 31, 1631.

HE that would write an epitaph for thee,
And do it well, must first begin to be
Such as thou wert; for none can truly know
Thy worth, thy life, but he that hath liv'd so.
He must have wit to spare, and to hurl down
Enough to keep the gallants of the town;
He must have learning plenty, both the laws
Civil and common, to judge any cause;
Divinity great store, above the rest,
Not of the last edition, but the best.
He must have language, travel, all the arts,
Judgment to use, or else he wants thy parts:
He must have friends the highest, able to do,
Such as Mecænas and Augustus too.
He must have such a sickness, such a death,
Or else his vain descriptions come beneath.
Who then shall write an epitaph for thee,
He must be dead first; let 't alone for me.

CERTAIN FEW WOORDES

SPOKEN

CONCERNING ONE BENET CORBETT AFTER HER

DECEASE.

SHE DIED OCTOBER THE 2D, ANNO 1634.

(FROM MSS. HARL NO. 464.)

HERE, or not many feet from hence,
The virtue lies call'd Patience.
Sickness and Death did do her honour
By loosing paine and feare upon her.
'Tis true they forst her to a grave,
That's all the triumph that they have--
A silly one-Retreat o'er night
Proves conquest in the morning-fight:
She will rise up against them both-
All sleep, believe it, is not sloth.

And, thou that read'st her elegie,
Take something of her historie:
She had one husband and one sonne;
Ask who they were, and then have doone.

ITER BOREALE. ·

FOURE clerkes of Oxford, docters two, and two
That would be docters, having lesse to do
With Augustine than with Galen in vacation,
Chang'd studyes, and turn'd bookes to recreation:
VOL. V.

And on the tenth of August, northward bent
A journey, not so soon conceiv'd as spent.
The first halfe day they rode, they light upon
A noble cleargy host, Kitt Middleton';
Who, numb'ring out good dishes with good tales,
The major part o' th'cheere weigh'd downe the scales:
And though the countenance makes the feast, (say
bookes)

Wee nere found better welcome with worse lookes.
Here wee pay'd thankes and parted; and at night
Had entertainement, all in one man's right',
At Flore, a village; where our tenant shee,
Sharp as a winter's morning, feirce yet free,
With a leane visage, like a carved face
On a court cupboard, offer'd up
the place.
Shee pleas'd us well; but, yet, her husband better;
A harty fellow, and a good bone-setter3.
Now, whether it were providence or lucke,
Whether the keeper's or the stealer's bucke,
There wee had ven'son; such as Virgill slew
When he would feast Æneas and bis crew.
Here wee consum'd a day; and the third morne
To Daintry with a land-wind were wee borne.
It was the market and the lecture-day,
For lecturers sell sermons, as the lay
Doe sheep and oxeu; have their seasons just
For both their marketts: there wee dranke downe
dust.

In th' interim comes a most officious drudge,
His face and gowne drawne out with the same budge;
His pendent pouch, which was both large and wide,
Lookt like a letters-patent by his side:

He was as awfull, as he had bin sent
From Moses with th' elev'nth commandement;
And one of us he sought; a sonne of Flore
He must bid stand, and challendge for an hower.
The doctors both were quitted of that feare,
The one was hoarce, the other was not there;
Wherefore him of the two he seazed, best
Able to answere him of all the rest:
Because hee neede but ruminate that ore
Which he had chew'd the Sabbath-day before.
And though he were resolv'd to doe him right,
For Mr. Bayley's sake, and Mr. Wright,
Yet he dissembled that the mace did erre;

That he nor deacon was, nor minister.
No! quoth the serjeant; sure then, by relation,
You have a licence, sir, or toleration:

And if you have no orders 'tis the better,
So you have Dod's Præcepts, or Cleaver's Letter.
Thus looking on his mace, and urging still
Twas Mr. Wright's and Mr. Bayley's will
That hee should mount; at last he condiscended
To stopp the gapp; and so the treaty ended.
The sermon pleas'd, and, when we were to dine,
Wee all had preacher's wages, thankes and wine.
Our next day's stage was Lutterworth, a towne
Not willing to be noted or sett downe

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