Part 6

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.

Let not thy grones force Eccho from her cave, Or interrupt her weeping o're that wave, Which last _Narcissus_ kist: let no darke grove Be taught to whisper stories of thy love. What though the wind be turn'd? Canst thou not saile By vertue of a cleane contrary gale, Into some other Port? Where thou wilt find, It was thy better _Genius_ chang'd the wind, To steere thee to some Iland in the West, For wealth and pleasure, that transcends thy East. Though _Astrodora_, like a sullen starre Eclipse her selfe: Ith' sky of beauty are Ten thousand other fires, some bright as she. And who with milder beames, may shine on thee. Nor yet doth this Eclipse beare a portent, That should affright the world: The firmament Enjoyes the light it did, a Sunne as cleare, And the young Spring doth like a Bride appeare, As fairely wed to the _Thessalian_ grove As e're it was; though she and you not love. And we two, who like two bright stars have shin'd Ith' heaven of friendship, are as firmely joyn'd As bloud and love first fram'd us. And to be Lov'd, and thought worthy to be lov'd by thee, Is to be glorious. Since fame cannot lend An honour, equals that of _Talbots_ friend. Nor envie me that my _Castara's_ flame Yeelds me a constant warmth: Though first I came To marriage happy Ilands: Seas to thee Will yeeld as smooth a way, and winds as free. Which shall conduct thee (if hope may divine;) To this delicious port: and make love thine.

_To_ CASTARA. _The reward of Innocent Love._

We saw and woo'd each others eyes, My soule contracted then with thine, And both burnt in one sacrifice. By which our Marriage grew divine.

Let wilder youth, whose soule is sense, Prophane the Temple of delight. And purchase endlesse penitence, With the stolen pleasure of one night.

Time's ever ours, while we dispise The sensuall idoll of our clay. For though the Sunne doe set and rise, We joy one everlasting day.

Whose light no jealous clouds obscure, While each of us shine innocent. The troubled streame is still impure, With vertue flies away content.

And though opinion often erre, Wee'le court the modest smile of fame. For sinnes blacke danger circles her, Who hath infection in her name.

Thus when to one darke silent roome, Death shall our loving coffins thrust; Fame will build columnes on our tombe, And adde a perfume to our dust.

_To my noble Friend, Sir_ I. P. _Knight_.

Sir,

Though my deare _Talbots_ Fate exact, a sad And heavy brow; my verse shall not be clad For him this houre in mourning: I will write To you the glory of a pompous night, Which none (except sobriety) who wit Or cloathes could boast, but freely did admit. I (who still sinne for company) was there And tasted of the glorious supper, where Meate was the least of wonder. Though the nest Oth' _Phœnix_ rifled seem'd t'amaze the feast, And th' Ocean left so poore that it alone Could since vant wretched herring and poore John. _Lucullus_ surfets, were but types of this, And whatsoever riot mention'd is In story, did but the dull _Zanye_ play, To this proud night; which rather wee'le terme day: For th'artificiall lights so thicke were set, That bright Sun seem'd this to counterfeit But seven (whom whether we should Sages call Or deadly sinnes, Ile not dispute) were all Invited to this pompe. And yet I dare Pawne my lov'd Muse, th' _Hungarian_ did prepare Not halfe that quantity of victuall, when He layd his happy siege to _Nortlinghen_. The mist of the perfumes was breath'd so thicke That _Linx_ himselfe thought his sight fam'd so quicke, Had there scarce spyed one sober: For the wealth Of the _Canaries_ was exhaust, the health Of his good Majestye to celebrate, Who'le judge them loyall subjects without that: Yet they, who some fond privilege to mainteine, Would have rebeld; their best freehold, their braine Surrender'd there; and five fifteenes did pay To drink his happy life and reigne. O day It was thy piety to flye; th' hadst beene Found accessary else to this fond sinne. But I forget to speake each stratagem By which the dishes enter'd, and in them Each luscious miracle, As if more bookes Had written beene oth' mystery of Cookes Then the Philos'phers stone, here we did see All wonders in the kitchin Alchimy: But Ile not have you there, before you part You shall have something of another art. A banquet raining downe so fast, the good Old Patriarch would have thought a generall flood: Heaven open'd and from thence a mighty showre Of Amber comfits it sweete selfe did powre Upon our heads, and Suckets from our eye Like thickend clouds did steale away the sky, That it was question'd whether heaven were _Black-fryers_, and each starre a confectioner; But I too long detaine you at a feast You hap'ly surfet of; now every guest Is reeld downe to his coach; I licence crave Sir, but to kisse your hands, and take my leave.

_To The Right Honourable_ Archibald _Earle of_ Ar.