Whatever man possesses, God hath lent, To reckon, how, and where, and when he spent: But seeing God himself descended down Let me be like my head, whom I adore: CONTEMNENTI CONTINUAL burning, yet no fire or fuel, And whatsoever pains poor hearts can prove, Two fires, of love and grief, each upon either, So fires and frosts, to make a perfect hell, Tir'd in this toilsome way (my deep affection) A VOW. [ed; By hope and fear, by grief and joy opprest, The common host, and inn, death, grave, re To thee, great Love, to thee I prostrate fall, Disdain'd, where most I lov'd, to thee I plain me, Who truly lovest those, who (fools) disdain thee.. Thou never-erring way, in thee direct me; [me: Thou hated Love, with thy firm love respect me; Thou death of death, oh, in thy death engrave Thou freest servant, from this yoke unslave me: Glorious salvation, for thy glory save me. So neither love, nor hate, scorn, death, shall [thee. But with thy love, great Love, I still shall love move me; ON WOMEN'S LIGHTNESS. WHO SOWs the sand? or ploughs the easy shore? to tie One more inconstant than inconstancy! Look as it is with some true April day, [flowers; The difference this, their hair is often bound; But never bonds a woman might embound." False is their flattering colour, false and fading; False is their flattering tongue; false every part, Their hair is forg'd, their silver foreheads shading; False are their eyes, but falsest is their heart: Then this in consequence must needs ensue; All must be false, when every part's untrue. Fond then my thoughts, which thought a thing so vain ! Fond hopes, that anchor on so false a ground! Fond love, to love what could not love again! Fond heart, thus fir'd with love, in hope thus drown'd: [est I, Fond thoughts, fond heart, fond hope; but fondTo grasp the wind, and love inconstancy! A REPLY UPON THE FAIR M. S. A DAINTY maid, that draws her double name The cause that with my verse she was offended, Then that I am no poet I deny not; For when their lightness I condemn, I lie not. But give me leave to write as I have found: To pluck such apples (lost with self same price) But truth hath said it, (truth who dare deny !) [thee, Thou more than woman art, if time so proves And he more than a man, that loved loves thee. AN APOLOGY FOR THE PREMISES TO THE LADY By silence thou may'st add, but never less it: Who then will blame affection not respected, Have you not seen, when you have chid or sought, But if so just excuse will not content ye, That changing women's love is constant ever, And with their fading loves their love impairs: Therefore, still moving, as the fair they loved Most do they move, by being most unmoved. But women, when their lovers change their graces, What first in them they lov'd, love now in others, Affecting still the same in divers places; . So never change their love, but change their lovers: Therefore their mind is firm and constant prov'd, Seeing they ever love what first they lov'd. Their love tied to some virtue, cannot stray, Shifting the outside oft, the inside never: But men (when now their loves dissolv'd to clay Indeed are nothing) still in love persever: How then can such fond men be constant made, That nothing love, or but (a nothing) shade? What fool commends a stone for never moving? Or blames the speedy heav'ns for ever ranging? Cease then, foud men, to blaze your constant loving; Love's fiery, winged, light, and therefore changing: Fond man, that thinks such fire and air to fetter! All change; men for the worse, women for better. TO MY ONLY CHOSEN VALENTINE AND WIFE. ANAGRAM. } Maystress Elizabeth Vincent Could never see what most my mind affected; A TRANSLATION OF BOETHIUS, THE THIRD BOOK AND LAST VERSE. HAPPY man, whose perfect sight There he spends to move deaf Hell, Charming devils with his spell, And with sweetest asking leave Does the lords of ghosts deceive. The dog, whose never quiet yell Affrights sad souls in night that dwell, Pricks up now his thrice two ears; To howl, or bark, or whine he fears: Struck with dumb wonder at those songs, He wish'd more ears, and fewer tongues. Charon amaz'd his oar foreslows, While the boat the sculler rows. Tantal might have eaten now The fruit as still as is the bough; But he (fool!) no hunger fearing, Starr'd his taste, to feed his hearing. Ixion, though his wheel stood still, Still was rapt with music's skill. At length the judge of souls with pity Yields, as conquer'd with his ditty; Let's give back his spouse's hearse, Purchas'd with so pleasing verse: Yet this law shall bind our gift, He turn not, till h'as Tartar left. Who to laws can lovers draw? Love in love is only law: Now almost he left the night, When he first turn'd back his sight; And at once, while her he ey'd, His love he saw, and lost, and dy'd. So, who strives out of the night To bring his soul to joy in light, Yet again turns back his eye To view left Hell's deformity; Though he seems enlighten'd more, Yet is blacker than afore. When with time's shadows this false glory wanes, You die again; but this your glory gains. UPON MY BROTHER MR. G. F. HIS BOOK INTITULED FOND lads, that spend so fast your posting time, While itching bloods, and youthful cares adore it; [abhor it. But wiser men, and once yourselves will most But thou, (most near, most dear) in this of thine Hast prov'd the Muses not to Venus bound; Such as thy matter, such thy Muse, divine: Or thou such grace with Mercy's self bast found, That she herself deigns in thy leaves to shine; Or stol'n from Heav'n, thou brought'st this verse to ground, [thunder, Which frights the numbed soul with fearful And soon with honeyed dews thaws it 'twixt joy and wonder. Then do not thou malicious tongues esteem; (The glass, through which an envious eye doth A TRANSLATION OF BOETHIUS, BOOK SECond, verse SEVENTH. [tion, WHO only honour secks with prone affection, Why then should high-grown minds so much rejoice To draw their stubborn necks from man's subjection: [voice For though loud fame stretch high her prattling To blaze abroad their virtue's great perfection; Though goodly titles of their house adorn them With ancient heraldry, yet death doth scorn them: The high and base lie in the self same grave; No difference there between a king and slave. Where now are true Fabricius' bones remaining: Who knows where Brutus, or rough Cato lives! Only a weak report, their names sustaining, In records old a slender knowledge gives: Yet when we read the deeds of men inhumed, Can we by that know them long since consumed? Now therefore lie you buried and forgotten; Nor can report frustrate encroaching death: Or if you think when you are dead and rotten, You live again by fame, and vulgar breath: VOL VI. UPON THE BISHOP OF EXON, DR. HALL, HIS MEDITATIONS. Most wretched soul, that here carousing pleasure, Hath all his Heav'n on Earth; and ne'er distressed Enjoys these fond delights without all measure, And freely living thus, is thus deceased! Ah, greatest curse, so to be ever blessed! For where to live is Heav'n, 'tis Hell to die. Ah, wretch! that here begins Hell's misery! Most blessed soul, that, lifted up with wings Of faith and love, leaves this base habitation, And scorning sluggish Earth, to Heav'n up springs; On Earth, yet still in Heav'n by meditation; With the soul's eye foreseeing th' heavenly station: Then 'gins his life, when he's of life bereaven. Ah, blessed soul! that here begins his Heaven! UPON THE CONTEMPLATIONS OF THE BISHOP OF EXCESTER, M Dull then that heavy soul, which ever bent thee; Thou it direct'st, and must it now direct thee? Perfect your years, and with your years, his graces; Where thousand joys, and pleasures ever new, THESE ASCLEPIADS OF MR. H. S. TRANSLATED AND Ne verbum mihi sit mortua litera, Et Christus misero sola redemptio. UNLETTER'D Word, which never ear could hear; Since thou in bread art stampt, in print art read, Let not my dead life's merit, my dead heart Wise folly in me set, fond wisdom rise, So I with praise shall sing thy life, death's story, CERTAIN OF THE ROYAL PROPHET'S PSALMS PSALM XLII. Which agrees with the tune of Like the hermit Look as an hart with sweat and blood imbrued, When, O my God! when shall I come in place Why droop'st, my soul? why faint'st thou in my Wait still with praise; his presence is thy rest. [tears. I'll say," My God, why slight'st thou my distress, My cruel foes both thee and me upbraid; said; "Where is thy God? where is thy boasted Lord ?" Why droop'st, my soul? why faint'st thou in my breast? Wait still with praise; his presence is thy rest. PSALM XLIII. Which may be sung as the Widow, or Mock Widow, O LORD! before the morning My wakeful eyes Look for thy rise, And wait to let in thy joyful ray. Lank hunger here peoples the desert cells, How longs my flesh for that bread without leaven! How thirsts my soul for that wine of Heaven! Such (oh!) to taste thy ravishing grace! Thy love, thy light, thy face's How far surmount they life's winter day! When night all eyes hath quenched, And thoughts lie drenched In silence and rest; Thy ways recal, And look on thy light in darkness best. My foes from deeps descending, Are headlong fell; There shall they lie, there howl, and roar: There let deserv'd torments their spirits tear; Feel they worst ills, and worse yet fear: But with his spouse thine anointed in pleasure Shall reign, and joy past time or measure: There new delights, new pleasures, still spring: Haste there, oh! haste, my soul, to dance and sing. PSALM CXXVII. To the tune of that psalm. Ir God build not the house, and lay If he be not their bars and wall, In vain is watch-tower, men, and all. Though then thon wak'st when others rest, Though rising thou prevent'st the Sun; Though with lean Care thou daily feast, Thy labour's lost, and thou undone : But God his child will feed and keep, Though th' hast a wife fit, young, and fair, Yet canst thou not command an heir; He gives the seed, the bud, the bloom; And look, as arrows, by strong arm And though his foes deep hatred bear, PSALM CXXXVII. To be sung as, See the building. WHERE Perah's flowers Perfume proud Babel's bowers, And paint her wall; Our feasts and songs we laid aside, (By Perah's billows) We hung our harps, and mirth and joy defy'd, That Sion's ruins should build foul Babel's pride. Our conqu'rors vaunting With bitter scoffs and taunting, Thus proudly jest: "Take down your harps, and string them, Recal your songs, and sing them, For Sion's feast." Were our harps well tun'd in every string, Throats drown'd, and soaken With tears and sighs, how can we praise and sing In all my mourning, If I forget; Forget thy running, My hand, and all thy cunning, To th' harp to set. Let thy mouth, my tongue, be still thy grave; For Sion weeping: Oh! let mine eyes in tears thy office have; Proud Edom's raging, Their hate with blood assuaging, In Sion's walls destroying, Remember, Lord; Forget not, Lord, their spiteful cry, "Fire and deface it, Destroy and rase it; Oh, let the name of Sión ever die !" So shall thy towers, And all thy princely bowers, Proud Babel, fall: Him ever blessed, Who th' oppressor hath oppressed, Shall all men call: Thrice blest, that turns thy mirth to groans; Thy towers, and dashes Thy brats 'gainst rocks, to wash thy bloody stones With thine own blood, and pave thee with thy bones. PSALM & BLESSED, who walk'st not in the worldling's way; Blessed, who with foul sinners wilt not stand: Blessed, who with proud mockers dar'st not stay ; Nor sit thee down amongst that scornful band. Thrice blessed man, who in that heavenly light Walk'st, stand'st, and sitt'st, rejoicing day and night. |