Or so did shine

In all her bloome and flower;

To welcome home a paire, and deck the nuptial

bower?

It is the kindly season of the time,

[kind.

To doe their offices in nature's chime,

And celebrate (perfection at the worth)
Mariage, the end of life,

That holy strife,
And the allowed warre:

Through which not only we, but all our species are.

Harke, how the bells upon the waters play

Their sister-tunes from Thames his either side, As they had learn'd new changes for the day, And all did ring th' approches of the bride, The lady Frances, drest

Stay, thou wilt see what rites the virgins doe!
The choisest virgin-troup of all the land!
Porting the ensignes of united two,

Both crownes and kingdomes in their either hand;
Whose majesties appeare,

To make more cleare This feast, then can the day Although that thou, O Sun, at our entreaty stay!

See, how with roses and with lillies shine,

(Lillies and roses, flowers of either sexe) The bright bride's paths,embelish'd more then thine With light of love, this paire doth intertexe! Stay, see the virgins sow

(Where she shall goe)

The emblemes of their way.

O, now thou smil'st, faire Sun, and shin'st as thou wouldst stay!

And wonder'd at the bounties of this day: All is a story of the king and queene! And what of dignitie and honour may Be duly done to those Whom they have chose, And set the marke upon, To give a greater name and title to their owne! Weston, their treasure, as their treasurer,

That mine of wisdome, and of counsells deep, Great say-master of state, who cannot erre, But doth his carract, and just standard keepe In all the prov'd assayes,

[crowne.

And legall wayes Of tryals, to worke downe Men's loves unto the lawes, and lawes to love the

And this well mov'd the judgement of the king
To pay with honours, to his noble sonne
To day, the father's service; who could bring
Him up, to doe the same himselfe had done.
That farre-all-seeing eye
Could soone espie

What kind of waking man
He had so highly set; and in what Barbican.

Stand there; for when a noble nature's rais'd,

It brings friends joy, foes griefe, posteritie fame; In him the times, no lesse then prince, are prais❜d, And by his rise, in active men, his name Doth emulation stirre;

To th' dull, a spur

It is: to th' envious meant

A meere upbraiding griefe, and tort'ring punishment.

O happy bands? and thou more happy place,
Which to this use wer't built and consecrate!
o have thy God to blesse, thy king to grace,
And this their chosen bishop celebrate;
And knit the nuptiall knot,

Which time shall not,
Or canker'd jealousie,

With all corroding arts, be able to untie !

The chappell empties, and thou may'st be gone Now, Sun, and post away the rest of day: These two, now holy church hath made them one, Doe long to make themselves so, another way; There is a feast behind,

To them of kind,

Which their glad parents taught

One to the other, long ere these to light were brought.

Haste, haste, officious Sun, and send them night
Some houres before it should, that these may know
All that their fathers and their mothers might
Of nuptiall sweets, at such a season, owe,
To propagate their names,

And keepe their fames
Alive, which else would die;

For fame keepes vertue up, and it's posteritie.
Th' ignoble never liv'd, they were a-while

Like swine, or other cattell here on Earth:
Their names are not recorded on the file

Of life, that fall so; Christians know their birth
Alone, and such a race,

We pray may grace,
Your fruitfull spreading vine,

But dare not aske our wish in language fescennine:

Yet, as we may, we will, with chast desires,
(The holy perfumes of a marriage bed)
Be kept alive those sweet and sacred fires
Of love between you and your lovely-head:
That when you both are old,

You find no cold

There; but, renewed, say,

(After the last child borne) this is our wedding day. Till you behold a race to fill your hall,

A Richard, and a Hierome, by their names
Upon a Thomas, or a Francis call;

A Kate, a Frank, to honour their grand-dames,
And 'tweene their grandsire's thighes,
Like pretty spies,

Peepe forth a gemme; to see

How each one playes his part,of the large pedigree.
And never may they want one of the stem,
To be a watchfull servant for this state;
But like an arme of eminence 'mongst them,
Extend a reaching vertue early and late:
Whilst the maine tree still found
Upright and sound,

By this sun's noonested's made

So great; his body now alone projects the shade.
They both are slipt to bed; shut fast the doore,
And let him freely gather loves first-fruits,
He's master of the office; yet no more
Exacts then she is pleas'd to pay: no suits,
Strifes, murmures, or delay,
Will last till day;

Night, and the sheetes will show
The longing couple all that elder lovers know.

THE HUMBLE PETITION OF POORE BEN.
TO TH' BEST Of monarchs, MASTERS, MEN,
KING CHARLES;

Doth most humbly show it,

To your majestie, your poët:

THAT whereas your royall father,
James the blessed, pleas'd the rather,
Of his speciall grace to letters,
To make all the Muses debters
To his bountie; by extension
Of a free poetique pension,
A large hundred markes annuitie,
To be given me in gratuitie
For done service and to come:

And that this so accepted summe,
Or dispenc'd in bookes, or bread,
(For with both the Muse was fed)
Hath drawne on me, from the times,
All the envie of the rimes,
And the ratling pit-pat-noyse,
Or the lesse-poëtique boyes;
When their pot-guns ayme to hit,
With their pellets of small wit,
Parts of me (they judg'd) decay'd,
But we last out, still unlay'd.

Please your majestie to make
Of your grace, for goodnesse sake,

Those your father's markes, your pounds;
Let their spite (which now abounds)
Then goe on, and doe its worst;

This would all their envie burst:
And so warme the poet's tongue,
You'ld reade a snake in his next song.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,

THE LORD TREASURER OF ENGLAND,

AN EPIGRAM.

Ir to my mind, great lord, I had a state,
I would present you now with curious plate
Of Noremberg, or Turkie; hang your roomes
Not with the Arras, but the Persian loomes.
I would, if price or prayer could them get,
Send in, what or Romano, Tintaret,
Titian, or Raphael, Michael Angelo
Have left in fame to equall, or out-goe
The old Greek-hands in picture, or in stone.
This I would doe, could I know Weston, one
Catch'd with these arts, wherein the judge is wise
As farre as sense, and onely by the eyes.
But you, I know, my lord; and know you can
Discerne betweene a statue and a man;
Can doe the things that statues doe deserve,
And act the businesse which they paint or carve.
What you have studied are the arts of life;
To compose men and manners; stint the strife
Of murmuring subjects; make the nations know
What worlds of blessings to good kings they owe:
And mightiest monarchs feele what large increase
Of sweets, and safeties, they possesse by peace.
These I looke up at, with a reverent eye,
And strike religion in the standers-by;

Which, though I cannot, as an architect
In glorious piles or pyramids erect
Unto your honour; I can tune in song
Aloud, and (happ'ly) it may last as long.

AN EPIGRAM

TO MY MUSE, THE LADY DIGBY, ON HER HUSBAND, SIR
KENELME DIGBY.

THO', happy Muse, thou know my Digby well;
Yet read him in these lines: he doth excell
In honour, courtesie, and all the parts
Court can call hers, or man could call his arts.
He's prudent, valiant, just, and temperate;

In him all vertue is beheld in state:

And he is built like some imperiall roome
For that to dwell in, and be still at home.
His breast is a brave palace, a broad street,
Where all heroique ample thoughts doe meet;
Where nature' such a large survey hath ta'en,
As other soules to his dwelt in a lane:
Witnesse his action done at Scanderone;
Upon my birth-day, the eleventh of June;
When the apostle Barnabee the bright
Unto our yeare doth give the longest light,
In signe the subject, and the song will live
Which I have vow'd posteritie to give.
Goe, Muse, in, and salute him. Say he be
Busie, or frowne at first; when he sees thee
He will cleare up his forehead; thinke thou bring'st
Good omen to him, in the note thou sing'st:
For he doth love my verses, and will looke
Upon them, (next to Spenser's noble booke)
And praise them too. O! what a fame 't will be!
What reputation to my lines and me!

When he shall read them at the treasurer's bord!
The knowing Weston, and that learned lord
Allowes them! Then what copies shall be had,
What transcripts begg'd! how cry'd up, and how glad
Wilt thou be, Muse, when this shall them befall
Being sent to one, they will be read of all.

2. She, to the crowne, hath brought in-
1. We know no other power then his,
Pan only our great shep'ard is,

Chor. Our great, our good. Where one's so drest
In truth of colours, both are best.

Haste, haste you thither, all you gentler swaines,

That have a flock, or herd,upon these plaines; This is the great preserver of our bounds, To whom you owe all duties of your grounds; Your milkes, your fells, your fleeces and first [rammes.

lambes,

Your teeming ewes, as well as mounting
Whose praises let's report unto the woods,
That they may take it eccho'd by the floods,
'Tis he, 'tis he, in singing he,
And hunting, Pan, exceedeth thee.
He gives all plentie, and increase,
He is the author of our peace.

Where e're he goes upon the ground,
The better grasse and flowers are found.
To sweeter pastures lead he can,
Then ever Pales could or Pan;
He drives diseases from our folds,

The theefe from spoyle his presence holds.
Pan knowes no other power then his,
This only the great shep'ard is.

'Tis he 'tis he, &c.

THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY. ROUSE up thy selfe, my gentle Muse, Though now our greene conceits be gray,

And yet once more do not refuse

To take thy Phrygian harp, and play
In honour of this cheerefull day :

Long may they both contend to prove,
That best of crownes is such a love.

Make first a song of joy and love,
Which chastly flames in royall eyes,
Then tune it to the spheares above,
When the benignest stars doe rise,
And sweet conjunctions grace the skies.
Long may, &c.

To this jet all good hearts resound,
Whilst diadems invest his head;
Long may he live, whose life doth bound
More then his lawes, and better led
By high example then by dread.
Long may, &c.

Long may he round about him see

His roses, and his lillies blowne: Long may his only deare and he Joy in ideas of their owne, And kingdomes' hopes so timely sowne. Long may they both contend to prove, That best of crownes is such a love.

TO MY LORD THE KING,

ON THE CHRISTNING HIS SECOND SONNE LAMES.

THAT thou art lov'd of God, this work is done,
Great king, thy having of a second sonne:
And by thy blessing, may thy people see
How much they are belov'd of God, in thee;
Would they would understand it! princes are
Great aides to empire, as they are great care
To pious parents, who would have their blood
Should take first seisin of the publique good,
As hath thy James, cleans'd from originall drosse,
This day, by baptisme, and his Saviour's crosse.
Grow up, sweet babe, as blessed in thy name,
As in renewing thy good grandsire's fame;
Me thought Great Brittaine in her sea before
Sate safe enough, but now secured more.
At land she triumphs in the triple shade,
Her rose and lilly, intertwind, have made.

Oceano secura meo, securior umbris.

AN ELEGIE

ON THE LADY ANNE PAWLET, MARCHIONESS OF WINTON.

WHAT gentle ghost, besprent with April dew,
Hayles me so solemnly to yonder yewgh?
And beckning wooes me from the fatall tree
To pluck a garland, for her selfe, or me?

I doe obey you, beautie! for in death
You seeme a faire one! O that you had breath,
To give your shade a name! stay, stay, I feele
A horrour in me! all my blood is steele!
Stiffe! starke! my joynts 'gainst one another knock!
Whose daughter? ha! great Savage of the Rock!
He's good, as great. I am almost a stone!
And e're I can ask more of her she's gone!
Alas, I am all marble! write the rest

Thou wouldst have written, Fame, upon my brest:
It is a large faire table, and a true,

And the disposure will be something new,
When I, who would the poet have become,
At least may beare th' inscription to her tombe.
She was the lady Jane, and marchiouisse
Of Winchester; the heralds can tell this.
Earle Rivers' grand-child-serve not formes, good,
Fame,

Sound thou her vertues, give her soule a name.
Had I a thousand mouthes, as many tongues,
And voyce to raise them from my brazen lungs,
I durst not aime at that: the dotes were such
Thereof no notion can expresse how much
Their carract was! I, or my trump must breake,
But rather I, should I of that part speake!
It is too neere of kin to Heaven, the soule,
To be describ'd. Fame's fingers are too foule
To touch these mysteries! we may admire
The blaze and splendour, but not handle fire
What she did here, by great example, well,
Tinlive posteritie, her fame may tell!
And, calling truth to witnesse, make that good
From the inherent graces in her blood!
Else, who doth praise a person by a new,
But a fain'd way, doth rob it of the true..

Her sweetnesse, softnesse, her faire courtesie,
Her wary guardes, her wise simplicitie,
Were like a ring of vertues, 'bout her set,
And pietie the center where all met.

A reverend state she had, an awfull eye,

A dazling, yet inviting, majestie:

What nature, fortune, institution, fact.

Could summe to a perfection, was her act!

How did she leave the world? with what contempt?

Just as she in it liv'd! and so exempt

From all affection! when they urg'd the cure
Of her disease, how did her soule assure
Her suffrings, as the body had beene away!
And to the torturers (her doctors) say,
Stick on your cupping-glasses, feare not, put
Your hottest causticks to, burne, lance, or cut:
'Tis but a body which you can torment,
And I, into the world, all soule was sent !
Then comforted her lord, and blest her sonne,
Chear'd her faire sisters in her race to runne,
With gladnesse temper'd her sad parents' teares,
Made her friends' joyes, to get above their feares,
And, in her last act, taught the standers-by,
With admiration and applause to die!
Let angels sing her glories, who did call
Her spirit home to her originall!

Who saw the way was made it! and were sent
To carry, and conduct the complement
"Twixt death and life! where her mortalitie
Became her birth-day to eternitie!
And now, through circumfused light, she lookes
Ou nature's secrets there, as her owne bookes:
Speakes Heaven's language! and discourseth free
To every order, ev'ry hierarchie !

Beholds her Maker! and in him, doth see
What the beginnings of all beauties be;
And all beatitudes, that thence doe flow:

Which they that have the crowne are sure to know!

Goe now, her happy parents, and be sad,
If you not understand what child you had.
If you dare grudge at Heaven and repent
T'have paid againe a blessing was but lent,
And trusted so, as it deposited lay
At pleasure, to be call'd for every day!
If you can envie your owne daughter's blisse,
And wish her state lesse happie then it is!
If you can cast about your either eye,
And see all dead here, or about to dye !
The starres, that are the jewels of the night,
And day, deceasing! with the prince of light,
The Sunne! great kings! and mightiest kingdomes

fall!

Whole nations! nay mankind! the world, with all
That ever had beginuing there, to 'ave end!
With what injustice should one soule pretend
T'escape this common knowne necessitie,
When we were all borne, we began to die;
And, but for that contention and brave strife
The Christian hath t' enjoy the future life,
He were the wretched'st of the race of men:
But as he soares at that, he bruiseth then
The serpent's head: gets above death and sinne
And, sure of Heaven, rides triumphing in.