UPON ONE LILLIE, WHO MARRYED WITH A MAID

CALLED ROSE.

WHAT times of sweetnesse this faire day fore-shows,

When as the Lilly marries with the Rose !
What next is lookt for, but we all sho'd see
To spring from these a sweet posterity?

AN EPITAPH UPON A CHILD.

VIRGINS promis'd when I dy'd,
That they wo'd each primrose-tide,
Duly morne and ev'ning come,
And with flowers dresse my tomb.
Having promis'd, pay your debts,
Maids, and here strew violets.

SCOBBLE, for whoredome whips his wife; and cryes, He'll slit her nose: but blubbering, she replyes, Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin, One slit's enough to let adultry in.

THE HOURE-GLASSE.

THAT Houre-glasse, which there you see,
With water fill'd, sirs, credit me,

The humour was, as I have read,

But lovers tears inchristalled;

Which, as they drop by drop doe passe

From th' upper to the under-glasse,

Do in a trickling manner tell,

(By many a watrie syllable)

That lovers tears in life-time shed,

Do restless run when they are dead.

HIS FAREWELL TO SACK.

FAREWELL, thou thing time-past so knowne, so deare To me, as blood to life and spirit: Neare,

Nay, thou more neare then kindred, friend, man, wife,

Male to the female, soule to body: Life

To quick action, or the warme soft side

Of the resigning, yet resisting bride.

The kisse of virgins; first-fruits of the bed;

Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maiden-head; These, and a thousand sweets, co'd never be

So neare or deare as thou was once to me.

O, thou the drink of Gods and Angels! wine

That scatter'st spirit and lust; whose purest shine, More radiant then the summers sun-beams shows,

Each way illustrious, brave; and like to those

Comets we see by night, whose shagg'd portents
Fore-tell the comming of some dire events;
Or some full flame, which with a pride aspires,
Throwing about his wild and active fires.
'Tis thou, above nectar, O divinest soule!
Eternall in thy self, that canst controule
That which subverts whole nature, grief and care,
Vexation of the mind, and damn'd despaire.
'Tis thou alone, who, with thy mistick fan,
Work'st more then wisdome, art, or nature can,
To rouze the sacred madnesse, and awake
The frost-bound blood and spirits, and to make
Them frantick with thy raptures, flashing through
The soule like lightning, and as active too;
'Tis not Apollo can, or those thrice three
Castalian sisters sing, if wanting thee.
Horace, Anacreon, both had lost their fame,
Had'st thou not fill'd them with thy fire and flame,
Phæbean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring,
Of which sweet swans must drink before they sing
Their true-pac'd numbers, and their holy-layes,
Which makes them worthy cedar and the bayes.
But why? why longer doe I gaze upon
Thee with the eye of admiration?
Since I must leave thee, and enforc'd must say,
To all thy witching beauties, Goe, away.
But if thy whimpring looks doe ask me why?
Then know that Nature bids thee goe, not I.
'Tis her erroneous self has made a braine
Uncapable of such a soveraigne,

As is thy powerfull selfe. Prethee, not smile,

Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile

My vowes denounc'd in zeale, which thus much show

thee,

That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee. Let others drink thee freely, and desire

Thee and their lips espous'd, while I admire

And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my Muse
Faile of thy former helps, and onely use
Her inadult'rate strength; what's done by me
Hereafter, shall smell of the lamp, not thee.

GLASCO had none, but now some teeth has got,
Which though they furre, will neither ake or rot.
Six teeth he has, whereof twice two are known
Made of a haft, that was a mutton-bone;
Which not for use, but meerly for the sight,

He weares all day, and drawes those teeth at night.

UPON MRS ELIZ. WHEEler, undeR THE NAME OF

AMARILLIS.

SWEET Amarillis, by a spring's

Soft and soule-melting murmurings,
Slept; and thus sleeping, thither flew
A Robin-red brest; who at view,

Not seeing her at all to stir,

Brought leaves and mosse to cover her:

But while he, perking, there did prie
About the arch of either eye,

The lid began to let out day,

At which poore Robin flew away;
And seeing her not dead, but all disleav'd,
He chirpt for joy, to see himself disceav❜d.

THE CUSTARD.

FOR second course, last night, a Custard came
To th' board so hot, as none co'd touch the same:
Furze, three or foure times with his cheeks did blow
Upon the Custard, and thus cooled so,

It seem'd by this time to admit the touch;

But none co'd eat it, 'cause it stunk so much.

TO MYRRHA, HARD-HEARTED.

FOLD now thine armes, and hang the head
Like to a lillie withered:

Next, look thou like a sickly moone,

Or like Jocasta in a swoone.

Then weep, and sigh, and softly goe,
Like to a widdow drown'd in woe;

Or like a virgin full of ruth,

For the lost sweet-heart of her youth;
And all because, faire maid, thou art

Insensible of all my smart ;

And of those evill dayes that be

Now posting on to punish thee.