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Those other two; which must be judg'd, or crown'd: | Unto the scent, a spicerie, or balme;
This as it guilty is, or guiltlesse found,
Must come to take a sentence, by the sense
Of that great evidence, the conscience!
Who will be there against that day prepar'd,
T'accuse, or quit all parties to be heard!
O day of joy, and suretie to the just!
Who in that feast of resurrection trust!
That great eternall holy-day of rest
To body and soule! where Love is all the guest!
And the whole banquet is full sight of God!
Of joy the circle, and sole period!

All other gladnesse, with the thought is barr'd;
Hope, hath her end! and Faith hath her reward!
This being thus: why should my tongue or pen
Presume to interpell that fulnesse, when
Nothing can more adorne it then the seat
That she is in, or make it more compleat?
Better be dumbe then superstitious!
Who violates the god-head, is most vitious
Against the nature he would worship. He
Will honour'd be in all simplicitie !

Have all his actions wondred at, and view'd
With silence, and amazement! not with rude,
Dull, and prophane, weake and imperfect eyes,
Have busie search made in his mysteries! [guest,
He knowes what worke h' hath done, to call this
Out of her noble body, to this feast:
And give her place, according to her blood
Amongst her peeres, those princes of all good!
Saints, martyrs, prophets, with those hierarchies,
Angels, arch-angels, principalities,
The dominations, vertues, and the powers,
The thrones, the cherube, and seraphick bowers,
That, planted round, there sing before the Lamb,
A new song to his praise, and great I AM:
And she doth know, out of the shade of death,
What 't is t' enjoy an everlasting breath!
To have her captiv'd spirit freed from flesh,
And on her innocence a garment fresh
And white, as that, put on and in her hand
With boughs of palme, a crowned victrice stand!
And will you, worthy sonne, sir, knowing this,
Put black, and mourning on? and say you misse
A wife, a friend, a lady, or a love;
Whom her Redeemer, honour'd hath above
Her fellowes, with the oyle of gladnesse, bright
In Heav'n's empire, and with a robe of light?
Thither, you hope to come; and there to find
That pure, that pretious, and exalted mind
You once enjoy'd: a short space severs ye
Compar'd unto that long eternitie,

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And to the touch, a flower, like soft as palme.
He will all glory, all perfection be,
God, in the union, and the Trinitie!

That holy, great, and glorious mysterie,
Will there revealed be in majestie!
By light, and comfort of spirituall grace;
The vision of our Saviour, face to face
In his humanitie! to heare him preach
The price of our redemption, and to teach
Through his inherent righteousnesse, in death,
The safetie of our soules, and forfeit breath!
What fulnesse of beatitude is here?
What love with mercy mixed doth appeare?
To style us friends, who were by nature, foes?
Adopt us heires, by grace, who were of those
Had lost our selves? and prodigally spent
Our native portions, and possessed rent;
Yet have all debts forgiven us, and advance
B' imputed right to an inheritance
In his eternall kingdome, where we sit
Equall with angels, and co-heires of it.
Nor dare we under blasphemy conceive
He that shall be our supreme judge, should leave
Himselfe so un-inform'd of his elect,
Who knowes the heart of all, and can dissect
The smallest fibre of our flesh; he can
Find all our atomes from a point t' a span!
Our closest creekes, and corners, and can trace
Each line, as it were graphick, in the face.
And best he knew her noble character,

For 'twas himselfe who form'd, and gave it her.
And to that forme lent two such veines of blood
As nature could not more increase the flood
Of title in her! all nobilitie

(But pride, that schisme of incivilitie)
She had, and it became her she was fit
T' have knowne no envy, but by suffring it!
She had a mind as calme as she was faire;
Not tost or troubled with light lady-ayre,
But kept an even gaite; as some straight tree
Mov'd by the wind, so comely moved she.
And by the awfull manage of her eye
She swaid all bus'nesse in the familie!
To one she said, doe this, he did it; so
To another, move; he went; to a third, go,
He run; and all did strive with diligence
Tobey, and serve her sweet commandements.
She was in one a many parts of life;
A tender mother, a discreeter wife,

A solemne mistress, and so good a friend,
So charitable, to religious end,

In all her petite actions, so devote,

As her whole life was now become one note

Of pietie, and private holinesse.

She spent more time in teares her selfe to dresse
For her devotions, and those sad essayes
Of sorrow, then all pompe of gaudy daies:
And came forth ever cheered with the rod
Of divine comfort, when sh' had talk'd with God.
Her broken sighes did never misse whole sense :
Nor can the bruised heart want eloquence:
For, prayer is the incense most perfumes
The holy altars, when it least presumes.
And her's were all humilitie! they beat
The doore of grace, and found the mercy-seat.
In frequent speaking by the pious psalmes
Her solemne houres she spent, or giving almes,
Or doing other deeds of charitie,

To cloath the naked, feed the hungry. She

Would sit in an infirmery, whole dayes
Poring, as on a map, to find the wayes
To that eternall rest, where now sh' hath place
By sure election, and predestin'd grace;
She saw her Saviour, by an earlie light,
Incarnate in the manger, shining bright
On all the world! she saw him on the crosse
Suffring, and dying to redeeme our losse !
She saw him rise, triumphing over death,
To justifie, and quicken us in breath!
She saw him too in glory to ascend
For his designed worke the perfect end
Of raising, judging, and rewarding all
The kind of man, on whom his doome should fall!
All this by faith she saw, and fram'd a plea,
In manner of a daily apostrophe,

To him should be her judge, true God, true man,
Jesus, the onely gotten Christ! who can
As being redeemer, and repairer too
(Of lapsed nature) best know what to doe,
In that great act of judgement: which the father
Hath given wholly to the sonne (the rather
As being the sonne of man) to show his power,
His wisdome, and his justice, in that houre,
The last of houres, and shutter up of all;
Where first his power will appeare, by call
Of all are dead to life! his wisdome show
In the discerning of each conscience so!
And most his justice, in the fitting parts,
And giving dues to all mankind's deserts!
In this sweet extasie, she was rapt hence.
Who reades will pardon my intelligence,
That thus have ventur'd these true straines upon;
To publish her a saint. My Muse is gone.

In pietatis memoriam

quam prestas

JONSON'S POEMS.

Venetia tua illustrissim.

Marit. dign. Digbeie

Hanc AПо@EZIN, tibi, tuisque, sacro.

The Tenth, being her Inscription, or Crowne, is lost.

THE

PRAISES OF A COUNTRIE LIFE.
From Horace's BEATUS ILLE, QUI PROCUL NEGOTIIS.
HAPPIE is he, that from all businesse cleere,
As the old race of mankind were,

With his owne oxen tills his sire's left lands,
And is not in the usurer's bands:

Nor souldier like started with rough alarmes,
Nor dreads the sea's inraged harmes :

But flees the barre and courts, with the proud bords,

With which, Priapus, he may thanke thy hands,
And, Sylvane, thine that keptst his lands!
Then now beneath some ancient oke he may
Now in the rooted grasse him lay,

Whilst from the higher bankes doe slide the floods;
The soft birds quarrell in the woods,

The fountaines murmure as the streames doe creepe,
And all invite to easie sleepe.

Then when the thundring Jove, his snow and showres
Are gathering by the wintry houres;

Or hence, or thence, he drives with many a hound
Wild bores into his toyles pitch'd round:

For th' eating thrush, or pit-falls sets:
Or straines on his small forke his subtill nets

And snares the fearfull hare, and new-come crane,
And 'counts them sweet rewards so ta'en.
Who (amongst these delights) would not forget
Love's cares so evill, and so great?

But if, to boot with these, a chaste wife meet
For houshold aid, and children sweet;
Such as the Sabines, or a sun-burnt-blowse,
Some lustie quick Apulian's spouse,

To deck the hallow'd harth with old wood fir'd
Against the husband comes home tir'd;
That penning the glad flock in hurdles by
Their swelling udders doth draw dry:
And from the sweet tub wine of this yeare takes,
And unbought viands ready makes:

Not Lucrine oysters I could then more prize,
Nor turbot, nor bright golden eyes:

If with bright floods, the winter troubled much,
Into our seas send any such:

Th' Ionian god-wit, nor the ginny-hen
Could not goe downe my belly then

More sweet then olives, that new gather'd be
From fattest branches of the tree;

Or the herb sorrell, that loves meadows still,
Or mallowes loosing bodyes ill :

Or at the feast of bounds, the lambe then slaine,
Or kid forc't from the wolfe againe.

Among these cates how glad the sight doth come
Of the fed flocks approaching home!
To view the weary oxen draw, with bare
And fainting necks, the turned share!

The wealthy household swarme of bondmen met,
And 'bout the steeming chimney set!

These thoughts when usurer Alphius, now about
To turne more farmer, had spoke out
'Gainst th' ides, his moneys he gets in with paine,
At th' calends, puts all out againe.

FROM HORACE,

ODE THE FIRST, THE FOURTH BOOKE.

And waiting chambers of great lords.

The poplar tall, he then doth marrying twine
With the growne issue of the vine;

And with his hooke lops off the fruitlesse race,
And sets more happy in the place:

Or in the bending vale beholds a-farre
The lowing herds there grazing are:

Or the prest honey in pure pots doth keepe
Of earth, and sheares the tender sheepe:

Or when that autumne through the fields lifts round More timely hie thee to the house,

His head, with mellow apples crown'd,
How plucking peares, his owne hand grafted had,
And purple-matching grapes, he's glad!

TO VENUS.

VENUS, againe thou mov'st a warre

Long intermitted pray thee, pray thee spare :
I am not such as in the reigne

Of the good Cynara I was; refraine,
Sower mother of sweet loves, forbeare
To bend a man now at his fiftieth yeare
Too stubborne for commands, so slack:

Goe where youth's soft entreaties call thee back.

With thy bright swans of Paulus Maximus:
There jest, and feast, make him thine host,
If a fit livor thou dost seeke to toast:

For he's both noble, lovely, young,
And for the troubled clyent fyls his tongue,
Child of a hundred arts, and farre

Will he display the ensines of thy warre.
And when he smiling finds his grace
With thee 'bove all his rivals' gifts take place,
He will thee a marble statue make,
Beneath a sweet-wood roofe, neere Alba Lake:
There shall thy dainty nostrill take
In many a gumme, and for thy soft eare's sake
Shall verse be set to harpe and lute,
And Phrygian hau'boy, not without the flute.
There twice a day in sacred laies,
The youths and tender maids shall sing thy praise;
And in the Salian manner meet

Thrice 'bout thy altar with their ivory feet.
Me now, nor wench, nor wanton boy,
Delights, nor credulous hope of mutuall joy,
Nor care I now healths to propound;

Or with fresh flowers to girt my temple round.
But, why, oh why, my Ligurine,
Flow my thin teares, downe these pale cheeks of mine?
Or why, my well-grac'd words among,

With an uncomely silence failes my tongue?
Hard-hearted, I dreame every night

I hold thee fast! but fled hence, with the light,
Whether in Mars his field thou be,
Or Tyber's winding streames, I follow thee.

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MY LORD,

WHILE you cannot change your merit, I dare not change your title: it was that made it, and not I. Under which name I here offer to your lordship the ripest of my studies, my Epigrammes; which, though they carry danger in the sound, do not therefore seeke your shelter: for, when I made them, I had nothing in my conscience, to expressing of which I did need a cypher. But, if I be falne into those times, wherein, for the likenesse of vice, and facts, every one thinks another's ill deeds objected to him; and that in their ignorant and guilty mouths, the common voyce is (for their security)" Beware the poet," confessing therein so much love to their diseases as they would rather make a party for them, than be either rid, or told of them; I must expect, at your lordship's hand, the protection of truth, and liberty, while you are constant to your own goodnesse. In thanks whereof I returne you the honor of leading forth so many good, and great names (as my verses mention on the better part) to their remembrance with posterity, Amongst whom, if I have praysed, unfortunately, any one that doth not deserve; or, if all answer not, in all numbers, the pictures I have made of them: I hope it will be forgiven me, that they are no ill pieces, though they be not like the persons. But I foresee a neerer fate to my book, than this: that the vices therein will be owned before the vertues (though, there, I have avoided all particulars, as I have done names) and some will be so ready to discredit me, as they will have the impudence to belye themselves. For, if I meant them not, it is so. Nor can I hope otherwise. For why should they remit any thing of their riot, their pride, their selfe-love, and other K k

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III.

II.

TO MY BOOK.

IT will be look'd for, Book, when some but see
Thy title, Epigrammes, and nam'd of me,
Thou should'st be bold, licentious, full of gall,,
Wormewood, and sulphure, sharp, and tooth'd with-
Become a petulant thing, hurle inke, and wit [all,
As mad-men stones: not caring whom they hit.
Deceive their malice, who could wish it so.
And by thy wiser temper let men know
Thou art not covetous of least selfe-fame,
Made from the hazard of another's shame.
Much lesse, with lewd, prophane, and beastly phrase,
To catch the world's loose laughter, or vaine gaze.
He that departs with his own honesty
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearely buy.

TO MY BOOK-SELLER.

THOU, that mak'st gaine thy end, and wisely well,
Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell,
Use mine so too: I give thee leave. But crave,
For the luck's sake, it thus much favour have,
To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought;
Not offer'd, as it made sute to be bought;
Nor have my title-leafe on posts, or walls,
Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls
For termers, or some clerck-like serving-man,
Who scarce can spell th' hard names: whose knight
lesse can.

If, without these vile arts, it will not sell,
Send it to Bucklers-bury, there 't will well.

IV.

TO KING JAMES.

How, best of kings, dost thou a scepter beare!
How, best of poets, dost thou laurell weare!
But two things rare, the Fates had in their store,
And gave thee both, to show they could no more.

| For such a poet, while thy daies were greene,
Thou wert, as chiefe of them are said t' have been.
And such a prince thou art we daily see,
As chiefe of those still promise they will be.
Whom should my Muse then flye to, but the best
Of kings for grace; of poets for my test?

V.

ON THE UNION.

WHEN was there contract better driven by Fate?
Or celebrated with more truth of state?
The world the temple was, the priest a king,
The spoused paire two realmes, the sea the ring,

VI.

TO ALCHYMISTS.

If all you boast of your great art be true; Sure, willing poverty lives most in you.

VII.

ON THE NEW HOT-HOUSE.

WHERE lately harbourd many a famous whore,
A purging bill, now fix'd upon the doore,
Tels you it is a hot-house: so it ma',
And still be a whore-house. Th' are synonyms.

VIII.

ON A ROBBERY.

RIDWAY rob'd Duncote of three hundred pound,

Ridway was tane, arraign'd, condemn'd to dye; But, for this money was a courtier found, [crye;

Beg'd Ridwaye's pardon: Duncote, now, doth Rob'd both of money, and the law's reliefe; The courtier is become the greater thiefe.

IX.

TO ALL, TO WHOM I WRITE,

MAY none, whose scatter'd names honour my book,
For strict degrees, of rank, or title look:
"T is 'gainst the manners of an epigram:
And, I a poet here, no herald am.

X.

TO MY LORD IGNORANT.

THOU Call'st me poet, as a terme of shame : But I have my revenge made, in thy name.

XI.

ON SOMETHING THAT WALKES SOME-WHERE. Ar court I met it, in clothes brave enough, To be a courtier; and looks grave enough, To seeme a statesman: as I neere It made me a great face, I ask'd the name. "A lord," it cried, " buried in flesh, and blood, And such from whom let no man hope least good, For I will do none: and as little ill,

came,

For I will dare none." Good lord, walk dead still.

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XII.

ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT.

SHIFT, here, in towne, not meanest among squires,
That haunt Pickt-hatch, Mersh-Lambeth, and
White-fryers,

Keeps himselfe, with halfe a man, and defrayes
The charge of that state with this charme, God payes.
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrayes
Himselfe his whole revenue is, god payes.
The quarter day is come; the hostesse sayes,
She must have money: he returnes, God payes.
The taylor brings a suite home; he it 'ssayes,
Looks o're the bill, likes it: and says, God payes.
He steales to ordinaries; there he playes
At dice his borrow'd money: which, God payes.
Then takes up fresh commodities, for dayes;
Signes to new bonds, forfeits: and cries, God payes.
That lost, he keeps his chamber, reades essayes,
Takes physick, teares the papers: still God payes.
Or else by water goes, and so to playes;
Calls for his stoole, adornes the stage: God payes.
To every cause he meets, this voice he brayes:
His only answer is to all, God payes.
Not his poore cocatrice but he betrayes
Thus and for his letchery, scores, God payes,
But see! th' old baud hath servd him in his trim,
Lent him a pocky whore. She hath paid him.

XIII.

TO DOCTOR EMPIRICK.

WHEN men a dangerous disease did scape,
Of old, they gave a cock to Esculape;
Let me give two: that doubly am got free,
From my disease's danger, and from thee.

XIV.

TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.

CAMDEN, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know.
(How nothing's that?) to whom my countrey owes
The great renowne, and name wherewith she goes.
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antique springs!
What weight, and what authority in thy speech!
Man scarse can make that doubt, but thou canst
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty, [teach.
Which conquers all, be once ore-come by thee.
Many of thine this better could, than I,
But for their powers, accept my piety.

XV.

ON COURT-WORME.

In silke

ALL men are wormes: but this no man.
'T was brought to court first wrapt, and white as
Where, afterwards, it grew a butter-flye: [milke;
Which was a cater-piller. So 't will dye.

XVI

TO BRAINE-HARDY.

HARDY, thy braine is valiant, 't is confest;
Thou more, that with it every day dar'st jest
Thy selfe into fresh braules: when, call'd upon,
Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off, of one.
So, in short time, th' art in arrerage growne
Some hundred quarrels, yet dost thou fight none;
Nor need'st thou: for those few, by oath releast,
Make good what thou dar'st do in all the rest.
Keep thy selfe there, and think thy valure right;
He that dares damne himselfe, dares more than fight.

XVII.

TO THE LEARNED CRITICK.

May others feare, flye, and traduce thy name,
As guilty men do magistrates: glad I,
That wish my poemes a legitimate fame,

Charge them, for crown, to thy sole censure hye.
And but a spring of bayes given by thee,
Shall out-live garlands stolne from the chast tree.

XVIII.

TO MY MEERE ENGLISH CENSURER.

To thee, my way in epigrammes seemes new,
When both it is the old way, and the true.
Thou saist, that cannot be: for thou hast seene
Davis, and Weever, and the best have beene,
And mine come nothing like. I hope so. Yet,
As theirs did with thee, mine might credit get:
If thou 'ldst but use thy faith, as thou didst then,
When thou wert wont t' admire, not censure men.
Pr'y thee beleeve still, and not judge so fast,
Thy faith is all the knowledge that thou hast.

XIX.

ON SIR COD THE PERFUMED.

THAT Cod can get no widdow, yet a knight,
I sente the cause: he wooes with an ill sprite.

XX.

TO THE SAME SIR COD.

TH' expence in odours is a most vaine sin,
Except thou couldst, sir Cod, weare them within.

XXI.

ON REFORMED GAM'STER.

LORD, how is Gam'ster chang'd! his haire close cut!
His neck fenc'd round with ruffe! his eyes halfe shut!
His clothes two fashions off, and poore! his sword
Forbidd' his side! and nothing, but the word
Quick in his lips! who hath this wonder wrought?
The late tane bastinado. So I thought.
What severall ways men to their calling have!
The bodie's stripes, I see, the soule may save.

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