Volume 1 — LETTERS TO SEVERALL PERSONAGES.

Thou which art I, ('tis nothing to be soe) Thou which art still thy selfe, by these shalt know Part of our passage; And, a hand, or eye By Hilliard drawne, is worth an history, 5By a worse painter made; and (without pride) When by thy judgment they are dignifi'd, My lines are such: 'Tis the preheminence Of friendship onely to'impute excellence. England to whom we'owe, what we be, and have, 10Sad that her sonnes did seeke a forraine grave (For, Fates, or Fortunes drifts none can soothsay, Honour and misery have one face and way.) From out her pregnant intrailes sigh'd a winde Which at th'ayres middle marble roome did finde 15Such strong resistance, that it selfe it threw Downeward againe; and so when it did view How in the port, our fleet deare time did leese, Withering like prisoners, which lye but for fees, Mildly it kist our sailes, and, fresh and sweet, 20As to a stomack sterv'd, whose insides meete, Meate comes, it came; and swole our sailes, when wee So joyd, as Sara'her swelling joy'd to see. But 'twas but so kinde, as our countrimen, Which bring friends one dayes way, and leave them then. 25Then like two mighty Kings, which dwelling farre Asunder, meet against a third to warre, The South and West winds joyn'd, and, as they blew, Waves like a rowling trench before them threw. Sooner then you read this line, did the gale, 30Like shot, not fear'd till felt, our sailes assaile; And what at first was call'd a gust, the same Hath now a stormes, anon a tempests name. Ionas, I pitty thee, and curse those men, Who when the storm rag'd most, did wake thee then; 35Sleepe is paines easiest salue, and doth fullfill All offices of death, except to kill. But when I wakt, I saw, that I saw not; I, and the Sunne, which should teach mee'had forgot East, West, Day, Night, and I could onely say, 40If'the world had lasted, now it had beene day. Thousands our noyses were, yet wee'mongst all Could none by his right name, but thunder call: Lightning was all our light, and it rain'd more Then if the Sunne had drunke the sea before. 45Some coffin'd in their cabbins lye,'equally Griev'd that they are not dead, and yet must dye; And as sin-burd'ned soules from graves will creepe, At the last day, some forth their cabbins peepe: And tremblingly'aske what newes, and doe heare so, 50Like jealous husbands, what they would not know. Some sitting on the hatches, would seeme there, With hideous gazing to feare away feare. Then note they the ships sicknesses, the Mast Shak'd with this ague, and the Hold and Wast 55With a salt dropsie clog'd, and all our tacklings Snapping, like too-high-stretched treble strings. And from our totterd sailes, ragges drop downe so, As from one hang'd in chaines, a yeare agoe. Even our Ordinance plac'd for our defence, 60Strive to breake loose, and scape away from thence. Pumping hath tir'd our men, and what's the gaine? Seas into seas throwne, we suck in againe; Hearing hath deaf'd our saylers; and if they Knew how to heare, there's none knowes what to say. 65Compar'd to these stormes, death is but a qualme, Hell somewhat lightsome, and the'Bermuda calme. Darknesse, lights elder brother, his birth-right Claims o'r this world, and to heaven hath chas'd light. All things are one, and that one none can be, 70Since all formes, uniforme deformity Doth cover, so that wee, except God say Another Fiat, shall have no more day. So violent, yet long these furies bee, That though thine absence sterve me,'I wish not thee.

O UR storme is past, and that storms tyrannous rage, A stupid calme, but nothing it, doth swage. The fable is inverted, and farre more A blocke afflicts, now, then a storke before. 5Stormes chafe, and soone weare out themselves, or us; In calmes, Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. As steady'as I can wish, that my thoughts were, Smooth as thy mistresse glasse, or what shines there, The sea is now. And, as the Iles which wee 10Seeke, when wee can move, our ships rooted bee. As water did in stormes, now pitch runs out: As lead, when a fir'd Church becomes one spout. And all our beauty, and our trimme, decayes, Like courts removing, or like ended playes. 15The fighting place now seamens ragges supply; And all the tackling is a frippery. No use of lanthornes; and in one place lay Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. Earths hollownesses, which the worlds lungs are, 20Have no more winde then the upper valt of aire. We can nor lost friends, nor sought foes recover, But meteorlike, save that wee move not, hover. Onely the Calenture together drawes Deare friends, which meet dead in great fishes jawes: 25And on the hatches as on Altars lyes Each one, his owne Priest, and owne Sacrifice. Who live, that miracle do multiply Where walkers in hot Ovens, doe not dye. If in despite of these, wee swimme, that hath 30No more refreshing, then our brimstone Bath, But from the sea, into the ship we turne, Like parboyl'd wretches, on the coales to burne. Like Bajazet encag'd, the shepheards scoffe, Or like slacke sinew'd Sampson, his haire off, 35Languish our ships. Now, as a Miriade Of Ants, durst th'Emperours lov'd snake invade, The crawling Gallies, Sea-goales, finny chips, Might brave our Pinnaces, now bed-ridde ships. Whether a rotten state, and hope of gaine, 40Or to disuse mee from the queasie paine Of being belov'd, and loving, or the thirst Of honour, or faire death, out pusht mee first, I lose my end: for here as well as I A desperate may live, and a coward die. 45Stagge, dogge, and all which from, or towards flies, Is paid with life, or pray, or doing dyes. Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay A scourge,'gainst which wee all forget to pray, He that at sea prayes for more winde, as well 50Under the poles may begge cold, heat in hell. What are wee then? How little more alas Is man now, then before he was? he was Nothing; for us, wee are for nothing fit; Chance, or our selves still disproportion it. 55Wee have no power, no will, no sense; I lye, I should not then thus feele this miserie.

SIR, more then kisses, letters mingle Soules; For, thus friends absent speake. This ease controules The tediousnesse of my life: But for these I could ideate nothing, which could please, 5But I should wither in one day, and passe To'a bottle'of Hay, that am a locke of Grasse. Life is a voyage, and in our lifes wayes Countries, Courts, Towns are Rockes, or Remoraes; They breake or stop all ships, yet our state's such, 10That though then pitch they staine worse, wee must touch. If in the furnace of the even line, Or under th'adverse icy poles thou pine, Thou know'st two temperate Regions girded in, Dwell there: But Oh, what refuge canst thou winne 15Parch'd in the Court, and in the country frozen? Shall cities, built of both extremes, be chosen? Can dung and garlike be'a perfume? or can A Scorpion and Torpedo cure a man? Cities are worst of all three; of all three 20(O knottie riddle) each is worst equally. Cities are Sepulchers; they who dwell there Are carcases, as if no such there were. And Courts are Theaters, where some men play Princes, some slaves, all to one end, and of one clay. 25The Country is a desert, where no good, Gain'd (as habits, not borne,) is understood. There men become beasts, and prone to more evils; In cities blockes, and in a lewd court, devills. As in the first Chaos confusedly 30Each elements qualities were in the'other three; So pride, lust, covetize, being feverall To these three places, yet all are in all, And mingled thus, their issue incestuous. Falshood is denizon'd. Virtue is barbarous. 35Let no man say there, Virtues flintie wall Shall locke vice in mee, I'll do none, but know all. Men are spunges, which to poure out, receive, Who know false play, rather then lose, deceive. For in best understandings, sinne beganne, 40Angels sinn'd first, then Devills, and then man. Onely perchance beast sinne not; wretched wee Are beasts in all, but white integritie. I thinke if men, which in these places live Durst looke for themselves, and themselves retrive, 45They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing than Utopian youth, growne old Italian. Be thou thine owne home, and in thy selfe dwell; Inne any where, continuance maketh hell. And seeing the snaile, which every where doth rome, 50Carrying his owne house still, still is at home, Follow (for he is easie pac'd) this snaile, Bee thine owne Palace, or the world's thy gaile. And in the worlds sea, do not like corke sleepe Upon the waters face; nor in the deepe 55Sinke like a lead without a line: but as Fishes glide, leaving no print where they passe, Nor making sound; so closely thy course goe, let men dispute, whether thou breathe, or no. Onely'in this one thing, be no Galenist: To make 60Courts hot ambitions wholesome, do not take A dramme of Countries dulnesse; do not adde Correctives, but as chymiques, purge the bad. But, Sir, I advise not you, I rather doe Say o'er those lessons, which I learn'd of you: 65Whom, free from German schismes, and lightness Of France, and faire Italies faithlesnesse, Having from these suck'd all they had of worth, And brought home that faith, which you carried forth, I throughly love. But if my selfe, I'have wonne 70To know my rules, I have, and you have Donne:

The Country is a desert, where no good, Gain'd, as habits, not borne, is understood.

The Country is a desert, where the good, Gain'd inhabits not, borne, is not understood.

The Country is a desert, where noe good Gain'd doth inhabit, nor born's understood.

WHO makes the Past, a patterne for next yeare, Turnes no new leafe, but still the same things reads, Seene things, he sees againe, heard things doth heare, And makes his life, but like a paire of beads. 5A Palace, when'tis that, which it should be, Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decayes: But hee which dwels there, is not so; for hee Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise; So had your body'her morning, hath her noone, 10And shall not better; her next change is night: But her faire larger guest, to'whom Sun and Moone Are sparkes, and short liv'd, claimes another right. The noble Soule by age growes lustier, Her appetite, and her digestion mend, 15Wee must not sterve, nor hope to pamper her With womens milke, and pappe unto the end. Provide you manlyer dyet; you have seene All libraries, which are Schools, Camps, and Courts; But aske your Garners if you have not beene 20In harvests, too indulgent to your sports. Would you redeeme it? then your selfe transplant A while from hence. Perchance outlandish ground Beares no more wit, then ours, but yet more scant Are those diversions there, which here abound. 25To be a stranger hath that benefit, Wee can beginnings, but not habits choke. Goe; whither? Hence; you get, if you forget; New faults, till they prescribe in us, are smoake. Our soule, whose country'is heaven, and God her father, 30Into this world, corruptions sinke, is sent, Yet, so much in her travaile she doth gather, That she returnes home, wiser then she went; It payes you well, if it teach you to spare, And make you,'ashm'd, to make your hawks praise, yours, 35Which when herselfe she lessens in the aire, You then first say, that high enough she toures. However, keepe the lively tast you hold Of God, love him as now, but feare him more, And in your afternoones thinke what you told 40And promis'd him, at morning prayer before. Let falshood like a discord anger you, Else be not froward. But why doe I touch Things, of which none is in your practise new, And Tables, or fruit-trenchers teach as much; 45But thus I make you keepe your promise Sir, Riding I had you, though you still staid there, And in these thoughts, although you never stirre, You came with mee to Micham, and are here.

LIKE one who'in her third widdowhood doth professe Her selfe a Nunne, tyed to retirednesse, So'affects my muse now, a chast fallownesse; Since shee to few, yet to too many'hath showne 5How love-song weeds, and Satyrique thornes are growne Where seeds of better Arts, were early sown. Though to use, and love Poëtrie, to mee, Betroth'd to no'one Art, be no'adulterie; Omissions of good, ill, as ill deeds bee. 10For though to us it seeme,'and be light and thinne, Yet in those faithfull scales, where God throwes in Mens workes, vanity weighs as much as sinne. If our Soules have stain'd their first white, yet wee May cloth them with faith, and deare honestie, 15Which God imputes, as native puritie. There is no Vertue, but Religion: Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names, which none Want, which want not Vice-covering discretion. Seeke wee then our selves in our selves; for as 20Men force the Sunne with much more force to passe, By gathering his beames with a christall glasse; So wee, If wee into our selves will turne, Blowing our sparkes of vertue, may outburne The straw, which doth about our hearts sojourne. 25You know, Physitians, when they would infuse Into any'oyle, the Soules of Simples, use Places, where they may lie still warme, to chuse. So workes retirednesse in us; To rome Giddily, and be every where, but at home, 30Such freedome doth a banishment become. Wee are but farmers of our selves, yet may, If we can stocke our selves, and thrive, uplay Much, much deare treasure for the great rent day. Manure thy selfe then, to thy selfe be'approv'd, 35And with vaine outward things be no more mov'd, But to know, that I love thee'and would be lov'd.

HERE'S no more newes, then vertue,'I may as well Tell you Cales, or S^t Michaels tale for newes, as tell That vice doth here habitually dwell. Yet, as to'get stomachs, we walke up and downe, 5And toyle to sweeten rest, so, may God frowne, If, but to loth both, I haunt Court, or Towne. For here no one is from the'extremitie Of vice, by any other reason free, But that the next to'him, still, is worse then hee. 10In this worlds warfare, they whom rugged Fate, (Gods Commissary,) doth so throughly hate, As in'the Courts Squadron to marshall their state: If they stand arm'd with seely honesty, With wishing prayers, and neat integritie, 15Like Indians'gainst Spanish hosts they bee. Suspitious boldnesse to this place belongs, And to'have as many eares as all have tongues; Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs. Beleeve mee Sir, in my youths giddiest dayes, 20When to be like the Court, was a playes praise, Playes were not so like Courts, as Courts'are like playes. Then let us at these mimicke antiques jeast, Whose deepest projects, and egregious gests Are but dull Moralls of a game at Chests. 25But now'tis incongruity to smile, Therefore I end; and bid farewell a while, At Court; though From Court, were the better stile.

are egregeous guests, And but dull Morals at a game of Chests.

WENT you to conquer? and have so much lost Yourself, that what in you was best and most, Respective friendship, should so quickly dye? In publique gaine my share'is not such that I 5Would lose your love for Ireland: better cheap I pardon death (who though he do not reap Yet gleanes hee many of our frends away) Then that your waking mind should bee a prey To lethargies. Lett shott, and boggs, and skeines 10With bodies deale, as fate bids and restreynes; Ere sicknesses attack, yong death is best, Who payes before his death doth scape arrest. Lett not your soule (at first with graces fill'd, And since, and thorough crooked lymbecks, still'd 15In many schools and courts, which quicken it,) It self unto the Irish negligence submit. I aske not labored letters which should weare Long papers out: nor letters which should feare Dishonest carriage: or a seers art: 20Nor such as from the brayne come, but the hart.

Madame, REASON is our Soules left hand, Faith her right, By these wee reach divinity, that's you; Their loves, who have the blessings of your light, Grew from their reason, mine from faire faith grew. 5But as, although a squint lefthandednesse Be'ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand, So would I, not to encrease, but to expresse My faith, as I beleeve, so understand. Therefore I study you first in your Saints, 10Those friends, whom your election glorifies, Then in your deeds, accesses, and restraints, And what you reade, and what your selfe devize. But soone, the reasons why you'are lov'd by all, Grow infinite, and so passe reasons reach, 15Then backe againe to'implicite faith I fall, And rest on what the Catholique voice doth teach; That you are good: and not one Heretique Denies it: if he did, yet you are so. For, rockes, which high top'd and deep rooted sticke, 20Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow. In every thing there naturally growes A Balsamum to keepe it fresh, and new, If'twere not injur'd by extrinsique blowes; Your birth and beauty are this Balme in you. 25But you of learning and religion, And vertue,'and such ingredients, have made A methridate, whose operation Keepes off, or cures what can be done or said. Yet, this is not your physicke, but your food, 30A dyet fit for you; for you are here The first good Angell, since the worlds frame stood, That ever did in womans shape appeare. Since you are then Gods masterpeece, and so His Factor for our loves; do as you doe, 35Make your returne home gracious; and bestow This life on that; so make one life of two. For so God helpe mee,'I would not misse you there For all the good which you can do me here.

Madame, YOU have refin'd mee, and to worthyest things (Vertue, Art, Beauty, Fortune,) now I see Rarenesse, or use, not nature value brings; And such, as they are circumstanc'd, they bee. 5Two ills can ne're perplexe us, sinne to'excuse; But of two good things, we may leave and chuse. Therefore at Court, which is not vertues clime, (Where a transcendent height, (as, lownesse mee) Makes her not be, or not show) all my rime 10Your vertues challenge, which there rarest bee; For, as darke texts need notes: there some must bee To usher vertue, and say, This is shee. So in the country'is beauty; to this place You are the season (Madame) you the day, 15'Tis but a grave of spices, till your face Exhale them, and a thick close bud display. Widow'd and reclus'd else, her sweets she'enshrines; As China, when the Sunne at Brasill dines. Out from your chariot, morning breaks at night, 20And falsifies both computations so; Since a new world doth rise here from your light, We your new creatures, by new recknings goe. This showes that you from nature lothly stray, That suffer not an artificiall day. 25In this you'have made the Court the Antipodes, And will'd your Delegate, the vulgar Sunne, To doe profane autumnall offices, Whilst here to you, wee sacrificers runne; And whether Priests, or Organs, you wee'obey, 30We sound your influence, and your Dictates say. Yet to that Deity which dwels in you, Your vertuous Soule, I now not sacrifice; These are Petitions and not Hymnes; they sue But that I may survay the edifice. 35In all Religions as much care hath bin Of Temples frames, and beauty,'as Rites within. As all which goe to Rome, doe not thereby Esteeme religions, and hold fast the best, But serve discourse, and curiosity, 40With that which doth religion but invest, And shunne th'entangling laborinths of Schooles, And make it wit, to thinke the wiser fooles: So in this pilgrimage I would behold You as you'are vertues temple, not as shee, 45What walls of tender christall her enfold, What eyes, hands, bosome, her pure Altars bee; And after this survay, oppose to all Bablers of Chappels, you th'Escuriall. Yet not as consecrate, but merely'as faire, 50On these I cast a lay and country eye. Of past and future stories, which are rare, I finde you all record, and prophecie. Purge but the booke of Fate, that it admit No sad nor guilty legends, you are it. 55If good and lovely were not one, of both You were the transcript, and originall, The Elements, the Parent, and the Growth, And every peece of you, is both their All: So'intire are all your deeds, and you, that you 60Must do the same thinge still; you cannot two. But these (as nice thinne Schoole divinity Serves heresie to furder or represse) Tast of Poëtique rage, or flattery, And need not, where all hearts one truth professe; Oft from new proofes, and new phrase, new doubts grow, 66As strange attire aliens the men wee know. Leaving then busie praise, and all appeale To higher Courts, senses decree is true, The Mine, the Magazine, the Commonweale, 70The story of beauty,'in Twicknam is, and you. Who hath seene one, would both; As, who had bin In Paradise, would seeke the Cherubin.

MAN is a lumpe, where all beasts kneaded bee, Wisdome makes him an Arke where all agree; The foole, in whom these beasts do live at jarre, Is sport to others, and a Theater; 5Nor scapes hee so, but is himselfe their prey, All which was man in him, is eate away, And now his beasts on one another feed, Yet couple'in anger, and new monsters breed. How happy'is hee, which hath due place assign'd 10To'his beasts, and disaforested his minde! Empail'd himselfe to keepe them out, not in; Can sow, and dares trust corne, where they have bin; Can use his horse, goate, wolfe, and every beast, And is not Asse himselfe to all the rest. 15Else, man not onely is the heard of swine, But he's those devills too, which did incline Them to a headlong rage, and made them worse: For man can adde weight to heavens heaviest curse. As Soules (they say) by our first touch, take in 20The poysonous tincture of Originall sinne, So, to the punishments which God doth fling, Our apprehension contributes the sting. To us, as to his chickins, he doth cast Hemlocke, and wee as men, his hemlocke taste; 25We do infuse to what he meant for meat, Corrosivenesse, or intense cold or heat. For, God no such specifique poyson hath As kills we know not how; his fiercest wrath Hath no antipathy, but may be good 30At lest for physicke, if not for our food. Thus man, that might be'his pleasure, is his rod, And is his devill, that might be his God. Since then our businesse is, to rectifie Nature, to what she was, wee'are led awry 35By them, who man to us in little show; Greater then due, no forme we can bestow On him; for Man into himselfe can draw All; All his faith can swallow,'or reason chaw. All that is fill'd, and all that which doth fill, 40All the round world, to man is but a pill, In all it workes not, but it is in all Poysonous, or purgative, or cordiall, For, knowledge kindles Calentures in some, And is to others icy Opium. 45As brave as true, is that profession than Which you doe use to make; that you know man. This makes it credible; you have dwelt upon All worthy bookes, and now are such an one. Actions are authors, and of those in you 50Your friends finde every day a mart of new.

T 'HAVE written then, when you writ, seem'd to mee Worst of spirituall vices, Simony, And not t'have written then, seemes little lesse Then worst of civill vices, thanklessenesse. 5In this, my debt I seem'd loath to confesse, In that, I seem'd to shunne beholdingnesse. But 'tis not soe; nothings, as I am, may Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay. Such borrow in their payments, and owe more 10By having leave to write so, then before. Yet since rich mines in barren grounds are showne, May not I yeeld (not gold) but coale or stone? Temples were not demolish'd, though prophane: Here Peter Ioves, there Paul hath Dian's Fane. 15So whether my hymnes you admit or chuse, In me you'have hallowed a Pagan Muse, And denizend a stranger, who mistaught By blamers of the times they mard, hath sought Vertues in corners, which now bravely doe 20Shine in the worlds best part, or all It; You. I have beene told, that vertue in Courtiers hearts Suffers an Ostracisme, and departs. Profit, ease, fitnesse, plenty, bid it goe, But whither, only knowing you, I know; 25Your (or you) vertue two vast uses serves, It ransomes one sex, and one Court preserves. There's nothing but your worth, which being true, Is knowne to any other, not to you: And you can never know it; To admit 30No knowledge of your worth, is some of it. But since to you, your praises discords bee, Stoop, others ills to meditate with mee. Oh! to confesse wee know not what we should, Is halfe excuse; wee know not what we would: 35Lightnesse depresseth us, emptinesse fills, We sweat and faint, yet still goe downe the hills. As new Philosophy arrests the Sunne, And bids the passive earth about it runne, So wee have dull'd our minde, it hath no ends; 40Onely the bodie's busie, and pretends; As dead low earth ecclipses and controules The quick high Moone: so doth the body, Soules. In none but us, are such mixt engines found, As hands of double office: For, the ground 45We till with them; and them to heav'n wee raise; Who prayer-lesse labours, or, without this, prayes, Doth but one halfe, that's none; He which said, Plough And looke not back, to looke up doth allow. Good seed degenerates, and oft obeyes 50The soyles disease, and into cockle strayes; Let the minds thoughts be but transplanted so, Into the body,'and bastardly they grow. What hate could hurt our bodies like our love? Wee (but no forraine tyrants could) remove 55These not ingrav'd, but inborne dignities, Caskets of soules; Temples, and Palaces: For, bodies shall from death redeemed bee, Soules but preserv'd, not naturally free. As men to'our prisons, new soules to us are sent, 60Which learne vice there, and come in innocent. First seeds of every creature are in us, What ere the world hath bad, or pretious, Mans body can produce, hence hath it beene That stones, wormes, frogges, and snakes in man are seene: 65But who ere saw, though nature can worke soe, That pearle, or gold, or corne in man did grow? We'have added to the world Virginia,'and sent Two new starres lately to the firmament; Why grudge wee us (not heaven) the dignity 70T'increase with ours, those faire soules company. But I must end this letter, though it doe Stand on two truths, neither is true to you, Vertue hath some perversenesse; For she will Neither beleeve her good, nor others ill. 75Even in you, vertues best paradise, Vertue hath some, but wise degrees of vice. Too many vertues, or too much of one Begets in you unjust suspition; And ignorance of vice, makes vertue lesse, 80Quenching compassion of our wrechednesse. But these are riddles; Some aspersion Of vice becomes well some complexion. Statesmen purge vice with vice, and may corrode The bad with bad, a spider with a toad: 85For so, ill thralls not them, but they tame ill And make her do much good against her will, But in your Commonwealth, or world in you, Vice hath no office, or good worke to doe. Take then no vitious purge, but be content 90With cordiall vertue, your knowne nourishment.

THIS twilight of two yeares, not past nor next, Some embleme is of mee, or I of this, Who Meteor-like, of stuffe and forme perplext, Whose what, and where, in disputation is, 5If I should call mee any thing, should misse. I summe the yeares, and mee, and finde mee not Debtor to th'old, nor Creditor to th'new, That cannot say, My thankes I have forgot, Nor trust I this with hopes, and yet scarce true 10This bravery is, since these times shew'd mee you. In recompence I would show future times What you were, and teach them to'urge towards such. Verse embalmes vertue;'and Tombs, or Thrones of rimes, Preserve fraile transitory fame, as much 15As spice doth bodies from corrupt aires touch. Mine are short-liv'd; the tincture of your name Creates in them, but dissipates as fast, New spirits: for, strong agents with the same Force that doth warme and cherish, us doe wast; 20Kept hot with strong extracts, no bodies last: So, my verse built of your just praise, might want Reason and likelihood, the firmest Base, And made of miracle, now faith is scant, Will vanish soone, and so possesse no place, 25And you, and it, too much grace might disgrace. When all (as truth commands assent) confesse All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I, One corne of one low anthills dust, and lesse, Should name, know, or expresse a thing so high, 30And not an inch, measure infinity. I cannot tell them, nor my selfe, nor you, But leave, lest truth b'endanger'd by my praise, And turne to God, who knowes I thinke this true, And useth oft, when such a heart mis-sayes, 35To make it good, for, such a praiser prayes. Hee will best teach you, how you should lay out His stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood; He will perplex security with doubt, And cleare those doubts; hide from you,'and shew you good, 40And so increase your appetite and food; Hee will teach you, that good and bad have not One latitude in cloysters, and in Court; Indifferent there the greatest space hath got; Some pitty'is not good there, some vaine disport, 45On this side sinne, with that place may comport. Yet he, as hee bounds seas, will fixe your houres, Which pleasure, and delight may not ingresse, And though what none else lost, be truliest yours, Hee will make you, what you did not, possesse, 50By using others, not vice, but weakenesse. He will make you speake truths, and credibly, And make you doubt, that others doe not so: Hee will provide you keyes, and locks, to spie, And scape spies, to good ends, and hee will show 55What you may not acknowledge, what not know. For your owne conscience, he gives innocence, But for your fame, a discreet warinesse, And though to scape, then to revenge offence Be better, he showes both, and to represse 60Ioy, when your state swells, sadnesse when'tis lesse. From need of teares he will defend your soule, Or make a rebaptizing of one teare; Hee cannot, (that's, he will not) dis-inroule Your name; and when with active joy we heare 65This private Ghospell, then'tis our New Yeare.

Madame, MAN to Gods image; Eve, to mans was made, Nor finde wee that God breath'd a soule in her, Canons will not Church functions you invade, Nor lawes to civill office you preferre. 5Who vagrant transitory Comets sees, Wonders, because they'are rare; But a new starre Whose motion with the firmament agrees, Is miracle; for, there no new things are; In woman so perchance milde innocence 10A seldome comet is, but active good A miracle, which reason scapes, and sense; For, Art and Nature this in them withstood. As such a starre, the Magi led to view The manger-cradled infant, God below: 15By vertues beames by fame deriv'd from you, May apt soules, and the worst may, vertue know. If the worlds age, and death be argued well By the Sunnes fall, which now towards earth doth bend, Then we might feare that vertue, since she fell 20So low as woman, should be neare her end. But she's not stoop'd, but rais'd; exil'd by men She fled to heaven, that's heavenly things, that's you; She was in all men, thinly scatter'd then, But now amass'd, contracted in a few. 25She guilded us: But you are gold, and Shee; Us she inform'd, but transubstantiates you; Soft dispositions which ductile bee, Elixarlike, she makes not cleane, but new. Though you a wifes and mothers name retaine, 30'Tis not as woman, for all are not soe, But vertue having made you vertue,'is faine T'adhere in these names, her and you to show, Else, being alike pure, wee should neither see; As, water being into ayre rarify'd, 35Neither appeare, till in one cloud they bee, So, for our sakes you do low names abide; Taught by great constellations, which being fram'd, Of the most starres, take low names, Crab and Bull, When single planets by the Gods are nam'd, 40You covet not great names, of great things full. So you, as woman, one doth comprehend, And in the vaile of kindred others see; To some ye are reveal'd, as in a friend, And as a vertuous Prince farre off, to mee. 45To whom, because from you all vertues flow, And 'tis not none, to dare contemplate you, I, which doe so, as your true subject owe Some tribute for that, so these lines are due. If you can thinke these flatteries, they are, 50For then your judgement is below my praise, If they were so, oft, flatteries worke as farre, As Counsels, and as farre th'endeavour raise. So my ill reaching you might there grow good, But I remaine a poyson'd fountaine still; 55But not your beauty, vertue, knowledge, blood Are more above all flattery, then my will. And if I flatter any,'tis not you But my owne judgement, who did long agoe Pronounce, that all these praises should be true, 60And vertue should your beauty,'and birth outgrow. Now that my prophesies are all fulfill'd, Rather then God should not be honour'd too, And all these gifts confess'd, which hee instill'd, Your selfe were bound to say that which I doe. 65So I, but your Recorder am in this, Or mouth, or Speaker of the universe, A ministeriall Notary, for'tis Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse; I was your Prophet in your yonger dayes, 70And now your Chaplaine, God in you to praise.

but you are gold; and she, Informed us, but transubstantiates you,

A LL haile sweet Poët, more full of more strong fire, Then hath or shall enkindle any spirit, I lov'd what nature gave thee, but this merit Of wit and Art I love not but admire; 5Who have before or shall write after thee, Their workes, though toughly laboured, will bee Like infancie or age to mans firme stay, Or earely and late twilights to mid-day. Men say, and truly, that they better be 10Which be envyed then pittied: therefore I, Because I wish thee best, doe thee envie: O wouldst thou, by like reason, pitty mee! But care not for mee: I, that ever was In Natures, and in Fortunes gifts, alas, 15(Before thy grace got in the Muses Schoole A monster and a begger,) am now a foole. Oh how I grieve, that late borne modesty Hath got such root in easie waxen hearts, That men may not themselves, their owne good parts 20Extoll, without suspect of surquedrie, For, but thy selfe, no subject can be found Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound Thy worth but thine: how good it were to see A Poëm in thy praise, and writ by thee. 25Now if this song be too'harsh for rime, yet, as The Painters bad god made a good devill, 'Twill be good prose, although the verse be evill, If thou forget the rime as thou dost passe. Then write, that I may follow, and so bee 30Thy debter, thy'eccho, thy foyle, thy zanee. I shall be thought, if mine like thine I shape, All the worlds Lyon, though I be thy Ape.

In Natures, and in Fortunes gifts, alas, (Before ... and a begger,)

In Natures, and in fortunes gifts, (alas, Before thy grace got in the Muses Schoole) A monster and a begger,

In Natures, and in fortunes gifts, alas, (But for thy grace got in the Muses Schoole) A Monster and a beggar,

In fortunes, nor (or S96) in natures gifts alas, But by thy grace, &c.

HAST thee harsh verse, as fast as thy lame measure Will give thee leave, to him, my pain and pleasure. I have given thee, and yet thou art too weake, Feete, and a reasoning soule and tongue to speake. 5Plead for me, and so by thine and my labour I am thy Creator, thou my Saviour. Tell him, all questions, which men have defended Both of the place and paines of hell, are ended; And 'tis decreed our hell is but privation 10Of him, at least in this earths habitation: And 'tis where I am, where in every street Infections follow, overtake, and meete: Live I or die, by you my love is sent, And you'are my pawnes, or else my Testament.

PREGNANT again with th'old twins Hope, and Feare, Oft have I askt for thee, both how and where Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were; As in our streets sly beggers narrowly 5Watch motions of the givers hand and eye, And evermore conceive some hope thereby. And now thy Almes is given, thy letter'is read, The body risen againe, the which was dead, And thy poore starveling bountifully fed. 10After this banquet my Soule doth say grace, And praise thee for'it, and zealously imbrace Thy love; though I thinke thy love in this case To be as gluttons, which say 'midst their meat, They love that best of which they most do eat.

A T once, from hence, my lines and I depart, I to my soft still walks, they to my Heart; I to the Nurse, they to the child of Art; Yet as a firme house, though the Carpenter 5Perish, doth stand: As an Embassadour Lyes safe, how e'r his king be in danger: So, though I languish, prest with Melancholy, My verse, the strict Map of my misery, Shall live to see that, for whose want I dye. 10Therefore I envie them, and doe repent, That from unhappy mee, things happy'are sent; Yet as a Picture, or bare Sacrament, Accept these lines, and if in them there be Merit of love, bestow that love on mee.

ZEALOUSLY my Muse doth salute all thee, Enquiring of that mistique trinitee Whereof thou,'and all to whom heavens do infuse Like fyer, are made; thy body, mind, and Muse. 5Dost thou recover sicknes, or prevent? Or is thy Mind travail'd with discontent? Or art thou parted from the world and mee, In a good skorn of the worlds vanitee? Or is thy devout Muse retyr'd to sing 10Vpon her tender Elegiaque string? Our Minds part not, joyne then thy Muse with myne, For myne is barren thus devorc'd from thyne.

MVSE not that by thy mind thy body is led: For by thy mind, my mind's distempered. So thy Care lives long, for I bearing part It eates not only thyne, but my swolne hart. 5And when it gives us intermission We take new harts for it to feede upon. But as a Lay Mans Genius doth controule Body and mind; the Muse beeing the Soules Soule Of Poets, that methinks should ease our anguish, 10Although our bodyes wither and minds languish. Wright then, that my griefes which thine got may bee Cured by thy charming soveraigne melodee.

THY friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchaine, Urg'd by this unexcusable occasion, Thee and the Saint of his affection Leaving behinde, doth of both wants complaine; 5And let the love I beare to both sustaine No blott nor maime by this division, Strong is this love which ties our hearts in one, And strong that love pursu'd with amorous paine; But though besides thy selfe I leave behind 10Heavens liberall, and earths thrice-fairer Sunne, Going to where sterne winter aye doth wonne, Yet, loves hot fires, which martyr my sad minde, Doe send forth scalding sighes, which have the Art To melt all Ice, but that which walls her heart.

EVEN as lame things thirst their perfection, so The slimy rimes bred in our vale below, Bearing with them much of my love and hart, Fly unto that Parnassus, where thou art. 5There thou oreseest London: Here I have beene, By staying in London, too much overseene. Now pleasures dearth our City doth posses, Our Theaters are fill'd with emptines; As lancke and thin is every street and way 10As a woman deliver'd yesterday. Nothing whereat to laugh my spleen espyes But bearbaitings or Law exercise. Therefore I'le leave it, and in the Country strive Pleasure, now fled from London, to retrive. 15Do thou so too: and fill not like a Bee Thy thighs with hony, but as plenteously As Russian Marchants, thy selfes whole vessell load, And then at Winter retaile it here abroad. Blesse us with Suffolks sweets; and as it is 20Thy garden, make thy hive and warehouse this.

I F, as mine is, thy life a slumber be, Seeme, when thou read'st these lines, to dreame of me, Never did Morpheus nor his brother weare Shapes soe like those Shapes, whom they would appeare, 5As this my letter is like me, for it Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, minde and wit; It is my deed of gift of mee to thee, It is my Will, my selfe the Legacie. So thy retyrings I love, yea envie, 10Bred in thee by a wise melancholy, That I rejoyce, that unto where thou art, Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart, As kindly'as any enamored Patient His Picture to his absent Love hath sent. 15All newes I thinke sooner reach thee then mee; Havens are Heavens, and Ships wing'd Angels be, The which both Gospell, and sterne threatnings bring; Guyanaes harvest is nip'd in the spring, I feare; And with us (me thinkes) Fate deales so 20As with the Jewes guide God did; he did show Him the rich land, but bar'd his entry in: Oh, slownes is our punishment and sinne. Perchance, these Spanish businesse being done, Which as the Earth betweene the Moone and Sun 25Eclipse the light which Guyana would give, Our discontinued hopes we shall retrive: But if (as all th'All must) hopes smoake away, Is not Almightie Vertue'an India? If men be worlds, there is in every one 30Some thing to answere in some proportion All the worlds riches: And in good men, this, Vertue, our formes forme and our soules soule, is.

K INDLY I envy thy songs perfection Built of all th'elements as our bodyes are: That Litle of earth that is in it, is a faire Delicious garden where all sweetes are sowne. 5In it is cherishing fyer which dryes in mee Griefe which did drowne me: and halfe quench'd by it Are satirique fyres which urg'd me to have writt In skorne of all: for now I admyre thee. And as Ayre doth fullfill the hollownes 10Of rotten walls; so it myne emptines, Where tost and mov'd it did beget this sound Which as a lame Eccho of thyne doth rebound. Oh, I was dead; but since thy song new Life did give, I recreated, even by thy creature, live.

O THOU which to search out the secret parts Of the India, or rather Paradise Of knowledge, hast with courage and advise Lately launch'd into the vast Sea of Arts, 5Disdaine not in thy constant travailing To doe as other Voyagers, and make Some turnes into lesse Creekes, and wisely take Fresh water at the Heliconian spring; I sing not, Siren like, to tempt; for I 10Am harsh; nor as those Scismatiques with you, Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew; But seeing in you bright sparkes of Poetry, I, though I brought no fuell, had desire With these Articulate blasts to blow the fire.

OF that short Roll of friends writ in my heart Which with thy name begins, since their depart, Whether in the English Provinces they be, Or drinke of Po, Sequan, or Danubie, 5There's none that sometimes greets us not, and yet Your Trent is Lethe; that past, us you forget. You doe not duties of Societies, If from the'embrace of a lov'd wife you rise, View your fat Beasts, stretch'd Barnes, and labour'd fields, 10Eate, play, ryde, take all joyes which all day yeelds, And then againe to your embracements goe: Some houres on us your frends, and some bestow Upon your Muse, else both wee shall repent, I that my love, she that her guifts on you are spent.

I S not thy sacred hunger of science Yet satisfy'd? Is not thy braines rich hive Fulfil'd with hony which thou dost derive From the Arts spirits and their Quintessence? 5Then weane thy selfe at last, and thee withdraw From Cambridge thy old nurse, and, as the rest, Here toughly chew, and sturdily digest Th'immense vast volumes of our common law; And begin soone, lest my griefe grieve thee too, 10Which is, that that which I should have begun In my youthes morning, now late must be done; And I as Giddy Travellers must doe, Which stray or sleepe all day, and having lost Light and strength, darke and tir'd must then ride post. 15If thou unto thy Muse be marryed, Embrace her ever, ever multiply, Be far from me that strange Adulterie To tempt thee and procure her widowhed. My Muse, (for I had one,) because I'am cold, 20Divorc'd her selfe: the cause being in me, That I can take no new in Bigamye, Not my will only but power doth withhold. Hence comes it, that these Rymes which never had Mother, want matter, and they only have 25A little forme, the which their Father gave; They are prophane, imperfect, oh, too bad To be counted Children of Poetry Except confirm'd and Bishoped by thee.

BLEST are your North parts, for all this long time My Sun is with you, cold and darke'is our Clime: Heavens Sun, which staid so long from us this yeare, Staid in your North (I thinke) for she was there, 5And hether by kinde nature drawne from thence, Here rages, chafes, and threatens pestilence; Yet I, as long as shee from hence doth staie, Thinke this no South, no Sommer, nor no day. With thee my kinde and unkinde heart is run, 10There sacrifice it to that beauteous Sun: And since thou art in Paradise and need'st crave No joyes addition, helpe thy friend to save. So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts, As suddenly as Lard, fat thy leane beasts; 15So may thy woods oft poll'd, yet ever weare A greene, and when thee list, a golden haire; So may all thy sheepe bring forth Twins; and so In chace and race may thy horse all out goe; So may thy love and courage ne'r be cold; 20Thy Sonne ne'r Ward; Thy lov'd wife ne'r seem old; But maist thou wish great things, and them attaine, As thou telst her, and none but her, my paine.

AFTER those reverend papers, whose soule is Our good and great Kings lov'd hand and fear'd name, By which to you he derives much of his, And (how he may) makes you almost the same, 5A Taper of his Torch, a copie writ From his Originall, and a faire beame Of the same warme, and dazeling Sun, though it Must in another Sphere his vertue streame: After those learned papers which your hand 10Hath stor'd with notes of use and pleasure too, From which rich treasury you may command Fit matter whether you will write or doe: After those loving papers, where friends tend With glad griefe, to your Sea-ward steps, farewel, 15Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend To heaven in troupes at'a good mans passing bell: Admit this honest paper, and allow It such an audience as your selfe would aske; What you must say at Venice this meanes now, 20And hath for nature, what you have for taske: To sweare much love, not to be chang'd before Honour alone will to your fortune fit; Nor shall I then honour your forture, more Then I have done your honour wanting it. 25But'tis an easier load (though both oppresse) To want, then governe greatnesse, for wee are In that, our owne and onely business, In this, wee must for others vices care; 'Tis therefore well your spirits now are plac'd 30In their last Furnace, in activity; Which fits them (Schooles and Courts and Warres o'rpast) To touch and test in any best degree. For mee, (if there be such a thing as I) Fortune (if there be such a thing as thee) 35Spies that I beare so well her tyranny, That she thinks nothing else so fit for mee; But though she part us, to heare my oft prayers For your increase, God is as neere mee here; And to send you what I shall begge, his staires 40In length and ease are alike every where.

MAD paper stay, and grudge not here to burne With all those sonnes whom my braine did create, At lest lye hid with mee, till thou returne To rags againe, which is thy native state. 5What though thou have enough unworthinesse To come unto great place as others doe, That's much; emboldens, pulls, thrusts I confesse, But'tis not all; Thou should'st be wicked too. And, that thou canst not learne, or not of mee; 10Yet thou wilt goe? Goe, since thou goest to her Who lacks but faults to be a Prince, for shee, Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares preferre. But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye Which equally claimes love and reverence, 15Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die; And, having little now, have then no sense. Yet when her warme redeeming hand, which is A miracle; and made such to worke more, Doth touch thee (saples leafe) thou grow'st by this 20Her creature; glorify'd more then before. Then as a mother which delights to heare Her early child mis-speake halfe uttered words, Or, because majesty doth never feare Ill or bold speech, she Audience affords. 25And then, cold speechlesse wretch, thou diest againe, And wisely; what discourse is left for thee? For, speech of ill, and her, thou must abstaine, And is there any good which is not shee? Yet maist thou praise her servants, though not her, 30And wit, and vertue,'and honour her attend, And since they'are but her cloathes, thou shalt not erre, If thou her shape and beauty'and grace commend. Who knowes thy destiny? when thou hast done, Perchance her Cabinet may harbour thee, 35Whither all noble ambitious wits doe runne, A nest almost as full of Good as shee. When thou art there, if any, whom wee know, Were sav'd before, and did that heaven partake, When she revolves his papers, marke what show 40Of favour, she alone, to them doth make. Marke, if to get them, she o'r skip the rest, Marke, if shee read them twice, or kisse the name; Marke, if she doe the same that they protest, Marke, if she marke whether her woman came. 45Marke, if slight things be'objected, and o'r blowne, Marke, if her oathes against him be not still Reserv'd, and that shee grieves she's not her owne, And chides the doctrine that denies Freewill. I bid thee not doe this to be my spie; 50Nor to make my selfe her familiar; But so much I doe love her choyce, that I Would faine love him that shall be lov'd of her.

HONOUR is so sublime perfection, And so refinde; that when God was alone And creaturelesse at first, himselfe had none; But as of the elements, these which wee tread, 5Produce all things with which wee'are joy'd or fed, And, those are barren both above our head: So from low persons doth all honour flow; Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show, And but direct our honour, not bestow. 10For when from herbs the pure part must be wonne From grosse, by Stilling, this is better done By despis'd dung, then by the fire or Sunne. Care not then, Madame,'how low your praysers lye; In labourers balads oft more piety 15God findes, then in Te Deums melodie. And, ordinance rais'd on Towers, so many mile Send not their voice, nor last so long a while As fires from th'earths low vaults in Sicil Isle. Should I say I liv'd darker then were true, 20Your radiation can all clouds subdue; But one,'tis best light to contemplate you. You, for whose body God made better clay, Or tooke Soules stuffe such as shall late decay, Or such as needs small change at the last day. 25This, as an Amber drop enwraps a Bee, Covering discovers your quicke Soule; that we May in your through-shine front your hearts thoughts see. You teach (though wee learne not) a thing unknowne To our late times, the use of specular stone, 30Through which all things within without were shown. Of such were Temples; so and of such you are; Beeing and seeming is your equall care, And vertues whole summe is but know and dare. But as our Soules of growth and Soules of sense 35Have birthright of our reasons Soule, yet hence They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence: Natures first lesson, so, discretion, Must not grudge zeale a place, nor yet keepe none, Not banish it selfe, nor religion. 40Discretion is a wisemans Soule, and so Religion is a Christians, and you know How these are one; her yea, is not her no. Nor may we hope to sodder still and knit These two, and dare to breake them; nor must wit 45Be colleague to religion, but be it. In those poor types of God (round circles) so Religions tipes the peeclesse centers flow, And are in all the lines which all wayes goe. If either ever wrought in you alone 50Or principally, then religion Wrought your ends, and your wayes discretion. Goe thither stil, goe the same way you went, Who so would change, do covet or repent; Neither can reach you, great and innocent.

They fly not from that, nor seeke presidence: Natures first lesson, so, discretion, &c.

They fly not from that, nor seek precedence, Natures first lesson; so discretion &c.

'twas Religion, Yet you neglected not Discretion.

THOUGH I be dead, and buried, yet I have (Living in you,) Court enough in my grave, As oft as there I thinke my selfe to bee, So many resurrections waken mee. 5That thankfullnesse your favours have begot In mee, embalmes mee, that I doe not rot. This season as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring, Must both to growth and to confession bring My thoughts dispos'd unto your influence; so, 10These verses bud, so these confessions grow. First I confesse I have to others lent Your flock, and over prodigally spent Your treasure, for since I had never knowne Vertue or beautie, but as they are growne 15In you, I should not thinke or say they shine, (So as I have) in any other Mine. Next I confesse this my confession, For, 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon Your praise to you, where half rights seeme too much, 20And make your minds sincere complexion blush. Next I confesse my'impenitence, for I Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby Remote low Spirits, which shall ne'r read you, May in lesse lessons finde enough to doe, 25By studying copies, not Originals, Desunt cætera.

Madame, HERE where by All All Saints invoked are, 'Twere too much schisme to be singular, And 'gainst a practise generall to warre. Yet turning to Saincts, should my'humility 5To other Sainct then you directed bee, That were to make my schisme, heresie. Nor would I be a Convertite so cold, As not to tell it; If this be too bold, Pardons are in this market cheaply sold. 10Where, because Faith is in too low degree, I thought it some Apostleship in mee To speake things which by faith alone I see. That is, of you, who are a firmament Of virtues, where no one is growne, or spent, 15They'are your materials, not your ornament. Others whom wee call vertuous, are not so In their whole substance, but, their vertues grow But in their humours, and at seasons show. For when through tastlesse flat humilitie 20In dow bak'd men some harmelessenes we see, 'Tis but his flegme that's Vertuous, and not Hee: Soe is the Blood sometimes; who ever ran To danger unimportun'd, he was than No better then a sanguine Vertuous man. 25So cloysterall men, who, in pretence of feare All contributions to this life forbeare, Have Vertue in Melancholy, and only there. Spirituall Cholerique Crytiques, which in all Religions find faults, and forgive no fall, 30Have, through this zeale, Vertue but in their Gall. We'are thus but parcel guilt; to Gold we'are growne When Vertue is our Soules complexion; Who knowes his Vertues name or place, hath none. Vertue'is but aguish, when 'tis severall, 35By occasion wak'd, and circumstantiall. True vertue is Soule, Alwaies in all deeds All. This Vertue thinking to give dignitie To your soule, found there no infirmitie, For, your soule was as good Vertue, as shee; 40Shee therefore wrought upon that part of you Which is scarce lesse then soule, as she could do, And so hath made your beauty, Vertue too. Hence comes it, that your Beauty wounds not hearts, As Others, with prophane and sensuall Darts, 45But as an influence, vertuous thoughts imparts. But if such friends by the honor of your sight Grow capable of this so great a light, As to partake your vertues, and their might, What must I thinke that influence must doe, 50Where it findes sympathie and matter too, Vertue, and beauty of the same stuffe, as you? Which is, your noble worthie sister, shee Of whom, if what in this my Extasie And revelation of you both I see, 55I should write here, as in short Galleries The Master at the end large glasses ties, So to present the roome twice to our eyes, So I should give this letter length, and say That which I said of you; there is no way 60From either, but by the other, not to stray. May therefore this be enough to testifie My true devotion, free from flattery; He that beleeves himselfe, doth never lie.

FAIRE, great, and good, since seeing you, wee see What Heaven can doe, and what any Earth can be: Since now your beauty shines, now when the Sunne Growne stale, is to so low a value runne, 5That his disshevel'd beames and scattered fires Serve but for Ladies Periwigs and Tyres In lovers Sonnets: you come to repaire Gods booke of creatures, teaching what is faire. Since now, when all is withered, shrunke, and dri'd, 10All Vertues ebb'd out to a dead low tyde, All the worlds frame being crumbled into sand, Where every man thinks by himselfe to stand, Integritie, friendship, and confidence, (Ciments of greatnes) being vapor'd hence, 15And narrow man being fill'd with little shares, Court, Citie, Church, are all shops of small-wares, All having blowne to sparkes their noble fire, And drawne their sound gold-ingot into wyre; All trying by a love of littlenesse 20To make abridgments, and to draw to lesse, Even that nothing, which at first we were; Since in these times, your greatnesse doth appeare, And that we learne by it, that man to get Towards him that's infinite, must first be great. 25Since in an age so ill, as none is fit So much as to accuse, much lesse mend it, (For who can judge, or witnesse of those times Where all alike are guiltie of the crimes?) Where he that would be good, is thought by all 30A monster, or at best fantasticall; Since now you durst be good, and that I doe Discerne, by daring to contemplate you, That there may be degrees of faire, great, good, Through your light, largenesse, vertue understood: 35If in this sacrifice of mine, be showne Any small sparke of these, call it your owne. And if things like these, have been said by mee Of others; call not that Idolatrie. For had God made man first, and man had seene 40The third daies fruits, and flowers, and various greene, He might have said the best that he could say Of those faire creatures, which were made that day; And when next day he had admir'd the birth Of Sun, Moone, Stars, fairer then late-prais'd earth, 45Hee might have said the best that he could say, And not be chid for praising yesterday; So though some things are not together true, As, that another is worthiest, and, that you: Yet, to say so, doth not condemne a man, 50If when he spoke them, they were both true than. How faire a proofe of this, in our soule growes? Wee first have soules of growth, and sense, and those, When our last soule, our soule immortall came, Were swallowed into it, and have no name. 55Nor doth he injure those soules, which doth cast The power and praise of both them, on the last; No more doe I wrong any; I adore The same things now, which I ador'd before, The subject chang'd, and measure; the same thing 60In a low constable, and in the King I reverence; His power to work on mee: So did I humbly reverence each degree Of faire, great, good; but more, now I am come From having found their walkes, to find their home. 65And as I owe my first soules thankes, that they For my last soule did fit and mould my clay, So am I debtor unto them, whose worth, Enabled me to profit, and take forth This new great lesson, thus to study you; 70Which none, not reading others, first, could doe. Nor lacke I light to read this booke, though I In a darke Cave, yea in a Grave doe lie; For as your fellow Angells, so you doe Illustrate them who come to study you. 75The first whom we in Histories doe finde To have profest all Arts, was one borne blinde: He lackt those eyes beasts have as well as wee, Not those, by which Angels are seene and see; So, though I'am borne without those eyes to live, 80Which fortune, who hath none her selfe, doth give, Which are, fit meanes to see bright courts and you, Yet may I see you thus, as now I doe; I shall by that, all goodnesse have discern'd, And though I burne my librarie, be learn'd.

YOU that are she and you, that's double shee, In her dead face, halfe of your selfe shall see; Shee was the other part, for so they doe Which build them friendships, become one of two; 5So two, that but themselves no third can fit, Which were to be so, when they were not yet; Twinnes, though their birth Cusco, and Musco take, As divers starres one Constellation make; Pair'd like two eyes, have equall motion, so 10Both but one meanes to see, one way to goe. Had you dy'd first, a carcasse shee had beene; And wee your rich Tombe in her face had seene; She like the Soule is gone, and you here stay, Not a live friend; but th'other halfe of clay. 15And since you act that part, As men say, here Lies such a Prince, when but one part is there, And do all honour and devotion due Unto the whole, so wee all reverence you; For, such a friendship who would not adore 20In you, who are all what both were before, Not all, as if some perished by this, But so, as all in you contracted is. As of this all, though many parts decay, The pure which elemented them shall stay; 25And though diffus'd, and spread in infinite, Shall recollect, and in one All unite: So madame, as her Soule to heaven is fled, Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed; Her vertues do, as to their proper spheare, 30Returne to dwell with you, of whom they were: As perfect motions are all circular, So they to you, their sea, whence lesse streames are. Shee was all spices, you all metalls; so In you two wee did both rich Indies know. 35And as no fire, nor rust can spend or waste One dramme of gold, but what was first shall last, Though it bee forc'd in water, earth, salt, aire, Expans'd in infinite, none will impaire; So, to your selfe you may additions take, 40But nothing can you lesse, or changed make. Seeke not in seeking new, to seeme to doubt, That you can match her, or not be without; But let some faithfull booke in her roome be, Yet but of Iudith no such booke as shee.