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STAY under the kinde shadow of this tree
Castara, and protect thy selfe and me
From the Sunne's rayes. Which show the grace of
A dangerous warmth with too much favour brings.
How happy in this shade the humble vine
Doth 'bout some taller tree her selfe intwine,
And so growes fruitful: teaching us her fate
Doth beare more sweetes, though cedars beare more
Behold Adonis in yand' purple flowre,
T' was Venus' love: That dew, the briny showre,
His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive:
Now he repents and gladly would revive,

[state;

By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull charmes, To play the modest wanton in your armes.

TO CASTARA,

VENTRING TO WALKE TOO FARRE IN THE NEIGHBOUR-
ING WOOD.

DARE not too farre, Castara, for the shade
This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd
A prey to wolves: to the wilde powers o' th' wood,
Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood.

If carelesse of thy selfe of me take care;
For like a ship where all the fortunes are
Of an advent'rous merchant; I must be,
If thou should'st perish, banquerout in thee.

My feares have mockt me. Tygers when they shall
Behold so bright a face, will humbly fall
In adoration of thee. Fierce they are
To the deform'd, obsequious to the faire.

Yet venter not; 'tis nobler farre to sway
The heart of man, than beasts, who man obey.

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Violets hang their heads, and lose All their beauty. That the rose A sad part in sorrow beares, Witnesse all those dewy teares, Which as pearle, or dyamond like, Swell upon her blushing cheeke. All things mourne, but oh behold How the withered marigold Closeth up now she is gone, Iudging her the setting Sunne.

A DIALOGUE,

BETWEEN NIGHT AND ARAPHIL.

NIGHT.

LET silence close thy troubled eyes,
Thy feare in Lethe steepe:

The starres, bright cent'nels of the skies,
Watch to secure thy sleepe.

ARAPHIL.

The North's unruly spirit lay

In the disorder'd seas:

Made the rude winter calme as May, And gave a lover ease.

NIGHT.

Yet why should feare with her pale charmes,
Bewitch thee so to griefe ?

Since it prevents n' insuing harmes,
Nor yeelds the past reliefe.

ARAPHIL.

And yet such horrour I sustaine

As the sad vessell, when Rough tempest have incenst the maine, Her harbour now in ken.

NIGHT.

No conquest weares a glorious wreath,
Which dangers not obtaine:

Let tempests 'gainst the shipwracke breathe,
Thou shalt thy harbour gaine.

ARAPHIL.

Truth's Delphos doth not still foretel,
Though Sol th' inspirer be;
How then should Night as blind as Hell,
Ensuing truths fore-see?

NIGHT.

The Sunne yeelds man no constant flame;
One light those priests inspires.
While I though blacke am still the same,
And have ten thousand fires.

ARAPHIL.

But those, sayes my propheticke feare,
As funerall torches burne,

While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,
T'attend me to my vrne.

NIGHT.

Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights In Hymen's church shall shine, When he by th' mystery of his rites, Shall make Castara thine.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,

THE LADY, E. P.'

CASTARA.

YOUR judgment's cleere, not wrinckled with the time,
On th' humble fate; which censures it a crime;
To be by vertue ruin'd. For I know

Y' are not so various as to ebbe and flow
I' th' streame of Fortune, whom each faithlesse winde
Distracts, and they who made her, fram'd her blinde.
Possession makes us poore. Should we obtaine
All those bright jems, for which i' th' wealthy maine,
The tann'd slave dives; or in one boundlesse chest
Imprison all the treasures of the West,
We still should want. Our better part's immence,
Not like th' inferiour, limited by sence.
Rich with a little, mutuall love can lift
Vs to a greatnesse, whither chance nor thrift

E're rais'd her servants. For though all were spent,
That can create an Europe in content.
Thus (madam) when Castara lends an eare
Soft to my hope, I, love's philosopher,
Winne on her faith. For when I wondring stand
At th' intermingled beauty of her hand,
(Higher I dare not gaze) to this bright veine
I not ascribe the blood of Charlemaine
Deriv'd by you to her. Or say there are
In that and th' other Marmion, Rosse, and Parr
Fitzhugh, Saint Quintin,' and the rest of them
That adde such lustre to great Pembroke's stem.
My love is envious. Would Castara were
The daughter of some mountaine cottager
Who, with his toile worne out, could dying leave
Her no more dowre, than what she did receive
From bounteous Nature. Her would I then lead
To th' temple, rich in her owne wealth; her head
Crown'd with her haire's faire treasure; diamonds in
Her brighter eyes; soft ermines in her skin;
Each Indie in her cheeke.
That Fortune, them t' enrich, made others want,
Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth,
And trie if that could parallel this wealth.

Then all who vaunt,

TO CASTARA,

DEPARTING UPON THE APPROACH OF NIGHT.

The cole aire,

WHAT should we feare Castara?
That's falne in love, and wantons in thy haire,
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale
A nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale
The wind conspires
The pleasuse I possesse.
To our blest interview, and in our fires
Bathes like a salamander, and doth sip,
Like Bacchus from the grape, life from thy lip.
Nor thinke of night's approach. The world's great
Though breaking Nature's law, will us supply [eye
With his still flaming lampe; and to obey
Our chaste desires, fix here perpetuall day.

But should he set, what rebell night dares rise,
To be subdu'd i' th' vict'ry of the eyes?

AN APPARITION.

MORE welcome my Castara, than was light
O what bright
To the disordered chaos.
And nimble chariot brought thee through the aire ?
While the amazed stars to see so faire

5 Elenor Powis, Castara's mother.

And pure a beauty from the Earth arise,
Chang'd all their glorious bodies into eyes.
O let my zealous lip print on thy hand
The story of my love, which there shall stand
A bright inscription to be read by none,
But who as I love thee, and love but one.
Why vanish you away? Or is my sense
And would Heaven this had
Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence
Of erring Nature?
Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad.

TO THE HONOURABLE MR. WM. E.
HEE who is good is happy. Let the loude
Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloud
And dart its thunder at him, hee'le remaine
Vnmov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine
In welcomming th' approach of death, than vice
Ere found in her fictitious paradise.

Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past
Delights, and raise our appetite to taste
Ensuing) brings us to unflatter'd age.
Where we are left to satisfie the rage

Of threatning death: pompe, beauty, wealth and all
Our friendships, shrinking from the funerall.
The thought of this begets that brave disdaine
With which thou view'st the world and makes those
Treasures of fancy, serious fooles so court, [vaine
And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport.
What should we covet here? Why interpose
A cloud twixt us and Heaven? kind Nature chose
Man's soule th' exchecquer where she'd hoord her

wealth,

And lodge all her rich secrets; but by th' stealth
Of our own vanity, w'are left so poore,
The creature meerely sensuall knowes more.
The learn'd halcyon by her wisedome finds
A gentle season, when the seas and winds
Are silenc't by a calme, and then brings forth
The happy miracle of her rare birth,
Leaving with wonder all our arts possest,
That view the architecture of her nest.
Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestowe
Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow
By age to dotage: while the sensitive

Part of the world in it's first strength doth live.
Folly? what dost thou in thy power containe
Deserves our study? Merchants plough the maine
And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more,
By avarice in the possession poore.
And yet that idoll wealth we all admit
Into the soule's great temple, busie wit
Invents new orgies, fancy frames new rites
To show it's superstition, anxious nights
Are watcht to win its favour: while the beast
Content with Nature's courtesie doth rest.
Let man then boast no more a soule, since Le
But thee
Hath lost that great prerogative.
(Whom fortune hath exempted from the heard
Of vulgar men, whom vertue hath prefer'd
Farre higher than thy birth) I must commend,
Rich in the purchase of so sweete a friend.
And though my fate conducts me to the shade
Of humble quiet, my ambition payde
With safe content, while a pure virgin fame
Doth raise me trophies in Castara's name.
No thought of glory swelling me above
The hope of being famed for vertuous love.

Yet wish I thee, guided by the better starres
To purchase unsafe honour in the warres
Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race,
And merits, well may challenge th' highest place.
Yet know, what busie path so ere you tread
To greatnesse, you must sleepe among the dead.

TO CASTARA,

THE VANITY OF AVARICE.

HARKE! how the traytor wind doth court
The saylors to the maine;
To make their avarice his sport?
A tempest checks the fond disdaine;
They beare a safe though humble port.

Wee'le sit, my love, upon the shore,
And while proud billowes rise
To warre against the skie, speake ore
Our love's so sacred misteries;

And charme the sea to th' calme it had before.

Where's now my pride t' extend my fame
Where ever statues are?

And purchase glory to my name
In the smooth court or rugged warre?
My love hath layd the devill, I am tame.

I'de rather like the violet grow

Vnmarkt i' th' shaded vale,

Than on the hill those terrors know
Are breath'd forth by an angry gale;

There is more pompe above, more sweete below

Love, thou divine philosopher

(While covetous landlords rent, And courtiers dignity preferre) Instructs us to a sweete content,

Greatnesse it selfe doth in it selfe interre.

Castara, what is there above

The treasures we possesse ?

We two are all and one, wee move Like starres in th' orbe of happinesse. All blessings are epitomiz'd in love.

TO

MY HONOURED FRIEND AND KINSMAN,

R. ST. ESQUIRE.

Ir shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write
Be held no wit at court. If I delight

So farre my sullen genius, as to raise
It pleasure; I have money, wine, and bayes
Enough to crowne me poet. Let those wits,
Who teach their Muse the art of parasits
To win on easie greatnesse; or the yongue
Spruce lawyer who's all impudence and tongue,
Sweat to divulge their fames: thereby the one
Gets fees; the other hyre, l'em best unknowne;
Sweet silence I embrace thee, and thee Fate
Which didst my birth so wisely moderate;
That I by want am neither vilified,
Nor yet by riches flattered into pride.

Resolve me friend (for it must folly be

Or else revenge 'gainst niggard destinie,
That makes some poets raile); Why are their rimes
So steept in gall? Why so obrayde the times?
As if no sin call'd downe Heav'n's vengeance more
Than cause the world leaves some few writers poore?
'Tis true, that Chapman's reverend ashes must
Lye rudely mingled with the vulgar dust,
Cause carefull heyers the wealthy onely have;
To build a glorious trouble o're the grave.
Yet doe I not despaire, some one may be

So seriously devout to poesie

As to translate his reliques, and finde roome
In the warme church, to build him up a tombe,
Since Spencer hath a stone; and Drayton's browes
Stand petrefied i' th' wall, with laurell bowes
Yet girt about; and nigh wise Henrie's herse,
Old Chaucer got a marble for his verse.

So courteous is Death; Death poets brings
So high a pompe, to lodge them with their kings:
Yet still they mutiny. If this man please
His silly patron with hyperboles,

Or most mysterious non-sence, give his braine
But the strapado in some wanton straine;
Hee'le sweare the state lookes not on men of parts,
And, if but mention'd, slight all other arts.
Vaine ostentation! Let us set so just

A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust
The poet's sentence, and not still aver
Each art is to it selfe a flatterer.

I write to you sir on this theame, because
Your soule is cleare, and you observe the lawes
Of poesie so justly, that I choose

Yours onely the example to my Muse.
And till my browner haire be mixt with gray,
Without a blush, Ile tread the sportive way,
My Muse directs; a poet youth may be,
But age doth dote without philosophie.

TO THE WORLD.

THE PERFECTION OF LOVE.

You who are earth, and cannot rise
Above your sence,

Boasting the envyed wealth which lyes
Bright in your mistris' lips or eyes,

Betray a pittyed eloquence.

That which doth joyne our soules, so light

And quicke doth move,

That like the eagle in his flight,

It doth transcend all humane sight,
Lost in the element of love.

You poets reach not this, who sing

The praise of dust

But kneaded, when by theft you bring
The rose and lilly from the spring
T' adorne the wrinckled face of lust.

When we speake love, nor art, nor wit
We glosse upon :

Our soules engender, and beget
Ideas, which you counterfeit
In your dull propagation.

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WHY dost thou looke so pale, decrepit man?
Why doe thy cheeks curle like the ocean,
Into such furrowes? Why dost thou appeare
So shaking like an ague to the yeare?
The Sunne is gone. But yet Castara stayes,
And will adde stature to thy pigmy dayes,
Warme moysture to thy veynes: her smile can bring
Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the spring.
Hence with thy palsie then, and on thy head
Weare flowrie chaplets as a bridegroome led
To th' holy fane. Banish thy aged ruth,
That virgins may admire and court thy youth;

And the approaching Sunne when she shall finde
A spring without him, fall, since uselesse, blinde.

UPON

A VISIT TO CASTARA IN THE NIGHT.

'Twas night; when Phoebe guided by thy rayes,
Chaste as my zeale, with incence of her praise,
I humbly crept to my Castara's shrine.
But oh my fond mistake! for there did shine
A noone or beauty with such lustre crown'd,
As show'd 'mong th' impious onely night is found.
It was her eyes which like two diamonds shin'd,
Like which could th' Indian
Brightest i' th' dark.
But one among his rocks, he would out vie
In brightnesse all the diamonds of the skie.
But when her lips did ope, the phoenix' nest
Breath'd forth her odours; where might love once
Hee'd loath his heauenly serfets: if we dare [feast,
Affirme, Iove hath a Heaven without my faire.

TO CASTARA.

OF THE CHASTITY OF HIS LOVE.

[find,

WHY would you blush Castara, when the name
Of Love you heare? who never felt his flame,
I' th' shade of melancholly night doth stray,
A blind Cymmerian banish't from the day.

Let's chastly love Castara, and not soyle
This virgin lampe, by powring in the oyle
Of impure thoughts. O let us sympathize,
And onely talke i' th' language of our eyes,
But beware
Like two starres in conjunction.

Lest th' angels who of love compacted are,
Viewing how chastly burnes thy zealous fire,
Should snatch thee hence, to joyne thee to their quire.
Yet take thy flight: on Earth for surely we

So joyn'd, in Heaven cannot divided be.

THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA.

LIKE the violet which alone
Prospers in some happy shade
My Castara lives unknowne,
To no looser eye betray'd,

;

For shee's to her selfe untrue,
Who delights i' th' publicke view.

Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enricht with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.

Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest being good.

Cautious she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant;
Not speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent.

Of herself survey she takes,

But 'tweene men no difference makes.

She obeyes with speedy will
Here grave parents' wise commands.
And so innocent, that ill,
She nor acts, nor understands.

Women's feet runne still astray,
If once to ill they know the way.

She sailes by that rocke, the court,
Where oft honour splits her mast:
And retir'dnesse thinks the port,
Where her fame may anchor cast.
Vertue safely cannot sit,
Where vice is enthron'd for wit.

She holds that daye's pleasure best,
Where sinne waits not on delight;
Without maske, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winter's night.

O're that darknesse whence is thrust,
Prayer and sleepe oft governs lust.

She her throne makes reason climbe,
While wild passions captive lie;
And each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to Heaven flie :
All her vowes religious be,
And her love she vowes to me.

CASTARA.

THE SECOND PART.

Vatumque lascivos triumphos Calcat amor, pede conjugali.

errors, her credulitie thinkes no more frailtie, than makes him descend to the title of man. In a word, shee so lives that shee may die, and leave no cloude upon her memory, but have her character nobly mentioned: while the bad wife is flattered into infamy, and buyes pleasure at too deare a rate, if shee onely payes for it repentance.

A WIFE

Is the sweetest part in the harmony of our being. To the love of which, as the charmes of Nature inchant us, so the law of Grace by speciall priviledge invites us. Without her, man, if piety not restraine him, is the creator of sinne; or, if an innated cold render him not onely the businesse of the present age, the murderer of posterity. She is so religious that every day crownes her a martyr, and her zeale neither rebellious nor uncivill. Shee is so true a friend, her husband may to her communicate even his ambitions; and if successe crowne not expectation, remaine neverthelesse uncontemn'd. Shee is colleague with him in the empire of prosperity; and a safe retyring place when adversity exiles him from the world. Shee is so chaste, she never understood the language lust speakes in; nor with a smile applaudes it although there appeare wit in the metaphore. Shee is faire onely to winne on his affections, nor would she be mistris of the most eloquent beauty; if there were danger, that might perswade the passionate auditory, to the least irregular thought. Shee is noble by a long descent, but her memory is so evill a herald, shee never boasts the story of her ancestors. Shee so is moderately rich, that the defect of portion doth neither bring penury to his estate, nor the superfluity licence her to riot. Shee is liberall, yet owes not ruine to vanity; but knowes charity to be the soule of goodnesse, and vertue without reward often prone to bee her owne detroyer. Shee is much at home, and when she visits 'tis for mutuall commerce, not for intelligence. Shee can goe to court, and returne no passionate doater on bravery; and when shee hath seene the gay things muster up themselves there, shee considers them as cobwebs the spider vanity hath spunne. Shee is so generall in her acquaintanee, that shee is familiar with all whom fame speakes vertuous; but thinkes there can bee no friendship but with one; and therefore hath neither shee friend nor private servant. Shee so squares her passion to her husband's fortunes, that in the countrey shee lives without a froward melancholly, in the towne without a fantastique pride. She is so temperate, she never read the moderne pollicie of glorious surfeits: since she finds nature is no epicure, if art provoke her not by curiositie. Shee is inquisitive onely of new wayes to please him, and her wit sayles by no other compasse than that of his direction. Shee lookes upon him as conjurers upon the circle, beyond which there is nothing but Death and Hell; and in him shee beleeves Paradice circumscrib'd. His vertues are her wonder and imitation; and his

TO CASTARA,

NOW POSSEST OF HER IN MARRIAGE.

THIS day is ours.

The marriage angell now Sees th' altar in the odour of our vow, [moves Yeeld a more precious breath than that which The whispring leaves in the Panchayan groves. View how his temples shine, on which he weares A wreath of pearle, made of those precious teares Thou wepst a virgin, when crosse winds did blow, Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow. But now Castara smile, no envious night Dares enterpose it self, t' eclipse the light Of our cleare joyes. For even the laws divine Permit our mutuall love so to entwine, That kings, to ballance true content, shall say, "Would they were great as we, we blest as they."

TO CASTARA,

UPON THE MUTUALL LOVE OF THEIR MAJESTIES.

DID you not see, Castara, when the king
Met his lov'd queene; what sweetnesse she did bring
T incounter his brave heat; how great a flame
From their brests meeting, on the sudden came?
The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,
Could he but heare the language of their eyes,
As heresies would from his faith remove
The tenets of his sect, and practise love.
The barb'rous nations which supply the Earth
With a promiscuous and ignoble birth,
Would by this precedent correct their life,
Each wisely choose, and chastely love a wife.
Princes' example is a law. Then we,
If loyall subjects, must true lovers be.

TO ZEPHIRUS.

WHOSE whispers, soft as those which lovers breathe,
Castara and my selfe, I here bequeath,

To the calme wind. For Heaven such joyes afford
To her and me, that there can be no third.
And you, kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:
Her eyes supply your office with more bright
And constant lustre. Angels guardians, like
The nimbler ship boyes, shall be joy'd to strike
Or hoish up saile: nor shall our vessell move
By card or compasse, but a heavenly love.
The couresie of this most prosperous gale
Shall swell our canvas, and wee'le swiftly saile
To some blest port, where ship hath never lane
At anchor, whose chaste soile no foot prophane
Hath ever trod; where Nature doth dispence
Her infant wealth, a beautious innocence.

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