Sometime thy griefe to answer with a teare:
The marble will but wanton with thy woe.
Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flow
To lose our selves in the insatiate Maine,
Whence Rivers may, she[20] ne're returne againe.
Nor grieve this Christall streame so soone did fall
Into the Ocean; since she perfum'd all
The banks she past, so that each neighbour field
Did sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld.
Which now adorne her Hearse. The violet there
On her pale cheeke doth the sad livery weare,
Which heavens compassion gave her; And since she
Cause cloath'd in purple can no mourner be,
As incense to the tombe she gives her breath,
And fading, on her Lady waits in death.
Such office the Ægyptian handmaids did
Great _Cleopatra_, when she dying chid
The Asps slow venome, trembling she should be
By Fate rob'd even of that blacke victory.
The flowers instruct our sorrowes. Come then all
Ye beauties, to true beauties funerall,
And with her, to increase deaths pompe, decay.
Since the supporting fabricke of your clay
Is faine, how can ye stand? How can the night
Shew stars, when Fate puts out the dayes great light?
But 'mong the faire, if there live any yet,
She's but the fairer _Digbies_ counterfeit.
Come you who speake your titles. Reade in this
Pale booke, how vaine a boast your greatnesse is.
What's honour but a hatchment? what is here
Of _Percy_ left, and _Stanly_, names most deare
To vertue? but a crescent turn'd to th' wane,
An Eagle groaning o're an infant slaine?
Or what availes her, that she once was led,
A glorious bride to valiant _Digbies_ bed,
Since death hath them divorc'd? If then alive
There are, who these sad obsequies survive
And vaunt a proud descent, they onely be
Loud heralds to set forth her pedigree.
Come all who glory in your wealth, and view
The embleme of your frailty. How untrue
(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,
Her Fate hath taught[21]: who, when what ever rare
The either Indies boast, lay richly spread
For her to weare, lay on her pillow dead.
Come likewise my _Castara_ and behold,
What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,
Bestow'd on her in death. She past away
So sweetely from the world, as if her clay
Laid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeare
To let on her blest ashes fall a teare.
But if th'art too much woman, softly weepe.
Lest griefe disturbe the silence of her sleepe.
[20] we. 1634.
[21] Her Fate hath taught you: who, when what ever rare. 1634, 1635.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Being to take a journey_.
What's death more than departure; the dead go
Like travelling exiles, compell'd to know
Those regions they heard mention of: Tis th'art
Of sorrowes, sayes, who dye doe but depart.
Then weepe thy funerall teares: which heaven t'adorne
The beauteous tresses of the weeping morne,
Will rob me of: and thus my tombe shall be
As naked, as it had no obsequie.
Know in these lines, sad musicke to thy eare,
My sad _Castara_, you the sermon here
Which I preach o're my hearse: And dead, I tell
My owne lives story, ring but my owne knell.
But when I shall returne, know 'tis thy breath
In sighes divided, rescues me from death.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Weeping_.
_Castara!_ O you are too prodigall
Oth' treasure of your teares; which thus let fall
Make no returne: well plac'd calme peace might bring
To the loud wars, each free a captiv'd King.
So the unskilfull Indian those bright jems,
Which might adde majestie to Diadems,
'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would store
The thanklesse Sea, to make our Empire poore.
When heaven darts thunder at the wombe of Time,
Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,
Or else despairing to roote out abuse,
Would ruine vitious earth; be then profuse.
Light, chas'd rude chaos from the world before,
Thy teares, by hindring it's returne, worke more.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon a sigh_.
I Heard a sigh, and something in my eare
Did whisper, what my soule before did feare.
That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie Spring
Enricht with odours, wanton on the wing
Of th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade,
If he the treasure of this breath convey'd;
'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breath
Of Swans is like, propheticke in their death:
And th' odour, for as it the nard expires,
Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires.
The winds of Paradice send such a gale,
To make the Lovers vessels calmely saile
To his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires,
Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.
_To the Right Honourable the Lady_ F.
Madam.
You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame;
In which as incense to your sacred name
Burnes a religious zeale. May we be lost
To one another, and our fire be frost;
When we omit to pay the tribute due
To worth and vertue, and in them to you:
Who are the soule of women. Others be
But beauteous parts oth' female body; she
Who boasts how many nimble _Cupids_ skip
Through her bright face, is but an eye or lip:
The other who in her soft brests can show
Warme Violets growing in a banke of snow,
And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin:
Nor is she but a hand, who holds within
The chrystall violl of her wealthy palme,
The precious sweating of the Easterne balme.
And all these if you them together take,
And joyne with art, will but one body make,
To which the soule each vitall motion gives;
You are infus'd into it, and it lives.
But should you up to your blest mansion flie,
How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie?
You are all mind. _Castara_ when she lookes,
On you th' Epitome of all, that bookes
Or e're tradition taught; who gives such praise
Unto your sex, that now even customes sayes
He hath a female soule, who ere hath writ
Volumes which learning comprehend, and wit.
_Castara_ cries to me; Search out and find
The Mines of wisedome in her learned mind,
And trace her steps to honour; I aspire
Enough to worth, while I her worth admire.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Against opinion_.
Why should we build, _Castara_, in the aire
Of fraile opinion? Why admire as faire,
What the weake faith of man gives us for right?
The jugling world cheats but the weaker sight.
What is in greatnesse happy? As free mirth,
As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earth
We joy, who on the ground our mansion finde,
As they, who saile like witches in the wind
Of Court applause. What can their powerfull spell
Over inchanted man, more than compell
Him into various formes? Nor serves their charme
Themselves to good, but to worke others harme.
Tyrant Opinion but depose. And we
Will absolute ith' happiest Empire be.
_To_ CASTARA.
_Upon beautie._
_Castara_, see that dust, the sportive wind
So wantons with. 'Tis happ'ly all you'le finde
Left of some beauty: and how still it flies,
To trouble, as it did in life, our eyes.
O empty boast of flesh? Though our heires gild
The farre fetch Phrigian marble, which shall build
A burthen to our ashes, yet will death
Betray them to the sport of every breath.
Dost thou, poor relique of our frailty, still
Swell up with glory? Or is it thy skill,
To mocke weake man, whom every wind of praise
Into the aire, doth 'bove his center raise.
If so, mocke on, And tell him that his lust
To beauty's, madnesse. For it courts but dust.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Melancholly_.
Were but that sigh a penitentiall breath
That thou art mine: It would blow with it death,
T' inclose me in my marble: Where I'de be
Slave to the tyrant wormes, to set thee free.
What should we envy? Though with larger saile
Some dance upon the Ocean: yet more fraile
And faithlesse is that wave, than where we glide,
Blest in the safety of a private tide.
We still have land in ken. And 'cause our boat
Dares not affront the weather, wee'le ne're float
Farre from the shore. To daring them each cloud
Is big with thunder, every wind speakes loud.
And though wild rockes about the shore appeare
Yet vertue will finde roome to anchor there.
_A Dialogue betweene_
ARAPHILL _and_ CASTARA.
ARAPH. _Castara_, you too fondly court
The silken peace with which we cover'd are,
Unquiet time may for his sport,
Up from its iron den rowse sleepy warre.
CAST. Then in the language of the drum,
I will instruct my yet affrighted eare,
All women shall in me be dumbe;
If I but with my _Araphill_ be there?
ARAPH. If Fate like an unfaithfull gale,
Which having vow'd to th' ship a faire event,
Oth' sudden rends her hopefull saile;
Blow ruine; will _Castara_ then repent?
CAST. Love shall in that tempestuous showre
Her brightest blossome like the blacke-thorne show:
Weake friendship prospers by the powre
Of fortunes Sunne. I'le in her winter grow.
ARAPH. If on my skin the noysome skar
I should oth'leprosie, or canker weare;
Or if the sulph'rous breath of warre
Should blast my youth; Should I not be thy feare?
CAST. In flesh may sicknesse horror move,
But heavenly zeale will be by it refin'd,
For then wee'd like two Angels love,
Without a sense; imbrace[22] each others mind.
ARAPH. Were it not impious to repine;
'Gainst rigid Fate I should direct my breath.
That two must be, whom heaven did joyne
In such a happy one, disjoyn'd by death.
CAST. That's no divource. Then shall we see
The rites in life, were types o'th marriage state,
Our soules on earth contracted be;
But they in heaven their nuptials consumate.
[22] Without a sense; and clip each others mind. 1634, 1635.
[23]_To the Right Honourable_ HENRY _Lord_ M.
My Lord.
My thoughts are not so rugged, nor doth earth
So farre predominate in me, that mirth
Lookes not as lovely as when our delight
First fashion'd wings to adde a nimbler flight
To lazie time; who would, to have survai'd
Our varied pleasures, there have ever staid.
And they were harmelesse. For obedience
If frailty yeelds to the wild lawes of sence;
We shall but with a sugred venome meete;
No pleasure, if not innocent as sweet.
And that's your choyce: who adde the title good
To that of noble. For although the blood
Of _Marshall_, _Stanley_, and '_La Pole_ doth flow
With happy _Brandon's_ in your veines; you owe
Your vertue not to them. Man builds alone
Oth' ground of honour: For desert's our owne.
Be that your ayme. I'le with _Castara_ sit
Ith' shade, from heat of businesse. While my wit
Is neither big with an ambitious ayme,
To build tall Pyramids Ith' court of fame,
For after ages, or to win conceit
Oth' present, and grow in opinion great.
Rich in our selves, we envy not the East,
Her rockes of Diamonds, or her gold the West.
_Arabia_ may be happy in the death
Of her reviving _Phœnix_; In the breath
Of coole _Favonius_, famous be the grove
Of _Tempe_; while we in each others love.
For that let us be fam'd. And when of all
That Nature made us two, the funerall
Leaves but a little dust; (which then as wed,
Even after death, shall sleepe still in one bed.)
The Bride and Bridegroome on the solemne day,
Shall with warm zeale approach our Urne, to pay
Their vowes, that heaven should blesse so farre their rites,
To shew them the faire paths to our delights.
[23] _To the Right Honourable, my very good Lord_ HENRY _Lord_ M.
_To a Tombe._
Tyrant o're tyrants, thou who onely dost
Clip the lascivious beauty without lust;
What horror at thy sight shootes through each sence;
How powerfull is thy silent eloquence,
Which never flatters? Thou instruct'st the proud,
That their swolne pompe is but an empty cloud,
Slave to each wind. The faire, those flowers they have
Fresh in their cheeke, are strewd upon a grave.
Thou tell'st the rich, their Idoll is but earth.
The vainely pleas'd, that Syren-like their mirth
Betrayes to mischiefe, and that onely he
Dares welcome death, whose aimes at vertue be.
Which yet more zeale doth to _Castara_ move.
What checks me, when the tombe perswades to love?
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon thought of Age and Death_.
The breath of time shall blast the flowry Spring,
Which so perfumes thy cheeke, and with it bring
So darke a mist, as shall eclipse the light
Of thy faire eyes, in an eternall night.
Some melancholly chamber of the earth,
[24](For that like Time devoures whom it gave breath)
Thy beauties shall entombe, while all who ere
Lov'd nobly, offer up their sorrowes there.
But I whose griefe no formall limits bound,
Beholding the darke caverne of that ground,
Will there immure my selfe. And thus I shall
Thy mourner be, and my owne funerall.
Else by the weeping magicke of my verse,
Thou hadst reviv'd, to triumph o're thy hearse.
[24] (For she like Time devoures whom she gave breath)
[25]_To the Right Honourable, the Lord_ P.
My Lord.
The reverend man by magicke of his prayer
Hath charm'd so, that I and your daughter are
Contracted into one. The holy lights
Smil'd with a cheerfull lustre on our rites,
And every thing presag'd full happinesse
To mutuall love; if you'le the omen blesse.
Nor grieve, my Lord, 'tis perfected. Before
Afflicted Seas sought refuge on the shore
From the angry North-wind. Ere th'astonisht Spring
Heard in the ayre the feather'd people sing,
Ere time had motion, or the Sunne obtain'd
His province o're the day, this was ordain'd.
Nor thinke in her I courted wealth or blood,
Or more uncertaine hopes: for had I stood
On th' highest ground of fortune, the world knowne
No greatnesse but what waited on my throne;
And she had onely had that face and mind,
I, with my selfe, had th'earth to her resign'd.
In vertue there's an Empire. And so sweete
The rule is when it doth with beauty meete,
As fellow Consull; that of heaven they
Nor earth partake; who would her disobey.
This captiv'd me. And ere I question'd why
I ought to love _Castara_, through my eye,
This soft obedience stole into my heart.
Then found I love might lend to th'quick-ey'd art
Of Reason yet a purer sight: For he
Though blind, taught her these Indies first to see,
In whose possession I at length am blest,
And with my selfe at quiet, here I rest,
As all things to my powre subdu'd, To me
Ther's nought beyond this. The whole world is she.
[25] _To the Right Honorable, my very good Lord, the Lord_ P. 1634,
1635.
_His Muse speakes to him._
Thy vowes are heard, and thy _Castara's_ name
Is writ as faire ith' Register of Fame,
As th' ancient beauties which translated are
By Poets up to heaven; each there a starre.
And though Imperiall _Tiber_ boast alone
_Ovids Corinna_, and to _Arn_ is knowne
But _Petrarchs Laura_; while our famous Thames
Doth murmur _Sydneyes Stella_ to her streames
Yet hast thou _Severne_ left, and she can bring
As many quires of Swans, as they to sing
Thy glorious love: Which living shall by thee
The onely Sov'raigne of those waters be.
Dead in loves firmament, no starre shall shine
So nobly faire, so purely chaste as thine.
_To Vaine hope._
Thou dreame of madmen, ever changing gale,
Swell with thy wanton breath the gaudy saile
Of glorious fooles. Thou guid'st them who thee court
To rocks, to quick-sands, or some faithlesse port.
Were I not mad, who when secure at ease,
I might ith' Cabbin passe the raging Seas,
Would like a franticke shipboy wildly haste,
To climbe the giddy top of th'unsafe mast?
Ambition never to her hopes did faine
A greatnesse, but I really obtaine
In my _Castara_. Wer't not fondnesse then
T' embrace[26] the shadowes of true blisse? And when
My Paradise all flowers and fruits both breed:
To rob a barren garden for a weed?
[26] clip. 1634, 1635.
_To_ CASTARA,
_How happy, though in an obscure fortune_.
Were we by fate throwne downe below our feare;
Could we be poore? Or question Natures care
In our provision? She who doth afford
A feather'd garment fit for every bird,
And onely voyce enough t'expresse delight.
She who apparels Lillies in their white,
As if in that she'de teach mans duller sence,
Wh'are highest, should be so in innocence.
She who in damaske doth attire the Rose,
(And man t'himselfe a mockery to propose,
'Mong whom the humblest Judges grow to fit)
She who in purple cloathes the Violet:
If thus she cares for things even voyd of sence;
Shall we suspect in us her providence?
_To_ CASTARA.
What can the freedome of our love enthrall?
_Castara_ were we dispossest of all
The gifts of fortune; richer yet than she
Can make her slaves, wee'd in each other be.
Love in himselfe's a world. If we should have
A mansion but in some forsaken cave;
Wee'd smooth misfortune: and our selves thinke then
Retir'd like Princes from the noise of men,
To breath a while unflatter'd. Each wild beast,
That should the silence of our cell infest,
With clamor, seeking prey; Wee'd fancie were
Nought but an avaritious Courtier.
Wealth's but opinion. Who thinks others more
Of treasures have, than we, is[27] onely poore.
[27] he's. 1634.
_On the death of the Right Honourable_, GEORGE _Earle of S._
Bright Saint, thy pardon, if my sadder verse,
Appeare in sighing o're thy glorious hearse,
To envie heaven. For fame it selfe now weares
Griefes Livery, and onely speaks in teares.
And pardon you _Castara_, if a while
Your memory I banish from my stile;
When I have payd his death the tribute due,
Of sorrow, I'le returne to Love and you.
Is there a name like _Talbot_, which a showre
Can force from every eye? And hath even powre
To alter natures course? How else should all
Runne wilde with mourning, and distracted fall:
Th' illiterate vulgar in a well tun'd breath,
Lament their losse, and learnedly chide death,
For its[28] bold rape, while the sad Poets song
Is yet unheard, as if griefe had no tongue.
Th'amaz'd marriner having lost his way
In the tempestuous desart of the Sea,
Lookes up but findes no starres. They all conspire
To darke themselves, t'enlighten this new fire.
The learn'd Astronomer with daring eye,
Searching to tracke the Spheres through which you flie,
(Most beauteous soule) doth in his journey faile,
And blushing, sayes, the subtlest art is fraile,
And but truths counterset. Your flight doth teach,
Faire Vertue hath an Orbe beyond his reach.
But I grow dull with sorrow. Unkinde Fate
To play the tyrant and subvert the state
Of setled goodnesse. Who shall henceforth stand
A pure example to enforme the Land
Of her loose riot[29]? Who shall counter-checke
The wanton pride of greatnesse; and direct
Straid honour in the true magnificke way?
Whose life shall shew what triumph 'tis t'obey
The hard commands of reason? And how sweet
The nuptials are, when wealth and learning meet?
Who will with silent piety confute
Atheisticke Sophistry, and by the fruite
Approve Religions tree? Who'le teach his blood
A Virgin law and dare be great and good?
Who will despise his stiles? And nobly weigh
In judgements ballance, that his honour'd clay
Hath no advantage by them? Who will live
So innocently pious, as to give
The world no scandall? Who'le himself deny,
And to warme passion a cold martyr dye?
My griefe distracts me. If my zeale hath said,
What checks the living: know I serve the dead.
The dead, who needs no monumentall vaults,
With his pale ashes to intombe his faults.
Whose sins beget no libels, whom the poore
For benefit; for worth, the rich adore.
Who liv'd a solitary Phœnix free
From the commerce with mischiefe, joy'd to be
Still gazing heaven-ward, where his thoughts did move,
Fed with the sacred fire of zealous love.
Alone he flourisht, 'till the fatall houre
Did summon him, when gathering from each flowre
Their vertuous odours, from his perfum'd nest,
He tooke his flight to everlasting rest.
There shine great Lord, and with propitious eyes,
Looke downe, and smile upon this sacrifice.
[28] his. 1634, 1635.
[29] wit. 1634.
_To my worthy Cousin_ Mr. E. C.
_In praise of the City life, in the long Vacation._
I Like the greene plush which your meadows weare;
I praise your pregnant fields, which duly beare
Their wealthy burden to th'industrious Bore.
Nor doe I disallow that who are poore
In minde and fortune, thither should retire:
But hate that he who's warme with [30]holy fire
Of any knowledge, and 'mong-us may feast
On Nectar'd wit, should turne himselfe t' a beast,
And graze ith' Country. Why did nature wrong
So much her paines, as to give you a tongue
And fluent language; If converse you hold
With Oxen in the stall, and sheep ith' fold?
But now it's long Vacation you will say
The towne is empty, and who ever may
To th' pleasure of his Country home repaire,
Flyes from th' infection of our _London_ aire.
In this your errour. Now's the time alone
To live here; when the City Dame is gone,
T' her house at _Brandford_; for beyond that she
Imagines there's no land, but _Barbary_,
Where lies her husbands Factor. When from hence
Rid is the Country Justice whose non-sence
Corrupted had the language of the Inne,
Where he and his horse litter'd: We beginne
To live in silence, when the noyse oth' Bench
Not deafens _Westminster_, nor corrupt French
Walkes _Fleet-street_ in her gowne. Ruffes of the Barre,
By the Vacations powre translated are,
To Cut-worke bands. And who were busie here,
Are gone to sow sedition in the shire.
The aire by this is purg'd, and the Termes strife,
Thus fled the City: we the civill life
Lead happily. When in the gentle way,
Of noble mirth, I have the long liv'd day,
Contracted to a moment: I retire.
To my _Castara_, and meet such a fire
Of mutuall love: that if the City were
Infected, that would purifie the ayre.
[30] th' holy fire. 1634.
_Loves Aniversarie
To the Sunne._
Thou art return'd (great Light) to that blest houre
In which I first by marriage, sacred power,
Joyn'd with _Castara_ hearts: And as the same
Thy lustre is, as then, so is our flame:
Which had increast, but that by loves decree,
'Twas such at first, it ne're could greater be.
But tell me (glorious Lampe) in thy survey,
Of things below thee, what did not decay
By age to weaknesse? I since that have seene
The Rose bud forth and fade, the tree grow greene
And wither, and the beauty of the field
With Winter wrinkled. Even thy selfe dost yeeld
Something to time, and to thy grave fall nigher.
But vertuous love is one sweet endlesse fire.
_Against them who lay unchastity to the sex of Women._
They meet but with unwholesome Springs,
And Summers which infectious are:
They heare but when the Meremaid sings,
And onely see the falling starre:
Who ever dare,
Affirme no woman chaste and faire.
Goe cure your feavers: and you'le say
The Dog-dayes scorch not all the yeare:
In Copper Mines no longer stay,
But travell to the West, and there
The right ones see:
And grant all gold's not Alchimie.
What mad man 'cause the glow-wormes flame
Is cold, sweares there's no warmth in fire?
Cause some make forfeit of their name,
And slave themselves to mans desire;
Shall the sex free
From guilt, damn'd to the bondage be?
Nor grieve _Castara_, though 'twere fraile,
Thy Vertue then would brighter shine,
When thy example should prevaile,
And every womans faith be thine.
And were there none:
'Tis Majesty to rule alone.
_To the Right Honourable and excellently learned_,
WILLIAM _Earle of_ St.
My Lord,
The Laurell doth your reverend temples wreath
As aptly now, as when your youth did breath
Those tragicke raptures which your name shall save
From the blacke edict of a tyrant grave.
Nor shall your Day ere set, till the Sunne shall
From the blind heavens like a cynder fall;
And all the elements intend their strife,
To ruine what they fram'd: Then your fames life,
When desp'rate Time lies gasping, shall expire
Attended by the world ith' generall fire.
Fame lengthens thus her selfe. And I to tread
Your steps to glory, search among the dead,
Where Vertue lies obscur'd; that as I give
Life to her tombe, I spight of time may live.
Now I resolve in triumph of my verse,
To bring great _Talbot_ from that forren hearse,
Which yet doth to her fright his dust enclose:
Then to sing _Herbert_ who so glorious rose,
With the fourth _Edward_, that his faith doth shine
Yet in the faith of noblest _Pembrookes_ line.
Sometimes my swelling spirits I prepare
To speake the mighty _Percy_, neerest heire,
In merits as in blood, to CHARLES the great:
Then _Darbies_ worth and greatnesse to repeat:
Or _Morleyes_ honour, or _Mounteagles_ fame,
Whose valour lies eterniz'd in his name.
But while I thinke to sing those of my bloud,
And my _Castara's_; Loves unruly flood
Breakes in, and beares away what ever stands,
Built by my busie fancy on the sands.
_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon an embrace_.
'Bout th' Husband Oke, the Vine
Thus wreathes to kisse his leavy face:
Their streames thus Rivers joyne,
And lose themselves in the embrace.
But Trees want sence when they infold,
And Waters when they meet, are cold.
Thus Turtles bill, and grone
Their loves into each others eare:
Two flames thus burne in one,
When their curl'd heads to heaven they reare.
But Birds want soule though not desire:
And flames materiall soone expire.
If not prophane; we'll say
When Angels close, their joyes are such.
For we not love obey
That's bastard to a fleshly touch.
Let's close _Castara_ then, since thus
We patterne Angels, and they us.
_To the Honourable_, G. T.