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And rather wish, in their expense of sack, So, the allowance from the king to use, As the old bard, should no Canary lack,

'T were better spare a butt, then spill his Muse. For in the genius of a poet's verse,

The king's fame lives. Go now, denie his teirce.

EPIGRAM

TO A FRIEND, AND SONNE.

SONNE, and my friend, I had not call'd you so
To me, or beene the same to you, if show,
Profit, or chance had made us: but I know
What by that name we each to other owe,
Freedome, and truth; with love from those begot.
Wise-crafts on which the flatterer ventures not.
His is more safe commoditie, or none:
Nor dares he come in the comparison.
But as the wretched painter, who so ill
Painted a dog, that now his subtler skill
Was, t' have a boy stand with a club, and fright
All live dogs from the lane, and his shop's sight.
Till he had sold his piece, drawne so unlike :
So doth the flattrer, with farre cunning strike
At a friend's freedome, proves all circling meanes
To keepe him off; and how-so-e're he gleanes
Some of his formes, he lets him not come neere
Where he would fixe, for the distinction's feare.
For as at distance few have facultie

To judge, so all men comming neere can spie,
Though now of flattery, as of picture are
More subtle workes, and finer pieces farre,
Then knew the former ages: yet to life,
All is but web and painting; be the strife
Never so great to get them: and the ends,
Rather to boast rich hangings then rare friends.

TO THE IMMORTALL

MEMORIE AND FRIENDSHIP

OF THAT NOBLE PAIRE, SIR LUCIUS CARY, AND SIR H. MORISON.

THE TURNE.

BRAVE infant of Saguntum, cleare

Thy comming forth in that great yeare,
When the prodigious Hannibal did crowne
His rage, with razing your immortall towne.
Thou, looking then about,

E're thou wert halfe got out,

Wise child, did'st hastily returne,

And mad'st thy mother's wombe thine urne.

How summ'd a circle didst thou leave man-kind Of deepest lore, could we the center find!

THE COUNTER-TURNE.

Did wiser nature draw thee back,
From out the horrour of that sack,
Where shame, faith, honour, and regard of right
Lay trampled on; the deeds of death, and night
Urg'd, hurried forth, and horld
Upon th' affrighted world:

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POORE wretched states, prest by extremities,
Are faine to seeke for succours, and supplies
Of princes' aides, or good men's charities.
Disease the enemie, and his engineeres,
Want, with the rest of his conceal'd compeeres,
Have cast a trench about me, now five yeares;

And made those strong approaches by false braies, Reduicts, halfe-moones, horne-workes, and such close wayes,

The Muse not peepes out, one of hundred dayes;
But lyes block'd up, and straightned, narrow'd in,
Fix'd to the bed, and boords, unlike to win
Health, or scarce breath, as she had never bin;
Unlesse some saving honour of the crowne,
Dare thinke it, to relieve, no lesse renowne,
A bed-rid wit, then a besieged towne.

TO THE KING

ON HIS BIRTH-DAY, NOV. 19, 1632.

AN EPIGRAM ANNIVERSARIE.

THIS is king Charles his day. Speake it thou Towre Unto the ships, and they from tier to tier Discharge it 'bout the iland, in an houre,

As lowd as thunder, and as swift as fire. Let Ireland meet it out at sea halfe way,

Repeating all Great Brittain's joy, and more, Adding her owne glad accents to this day,

Like Eccho playing from the other shore. What drums, or trumpets, or great ord'nance can, The poetrie of steeples, with the bells, Three kingdomes' mirth, in light, and aërie man, All noises else, Made lighter with the wine.

At bonefires, rockets, fire-workes, with the shoutes That cry that gladnesse, which their hearts would

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Weston! that waking man! that eye of state!
Who seldome sleepes! whom bad men only hate!
Why doe I irritate, or stirre up thee,
Thou sluggish spawne, that canst, but wilt not see!
Feed on thy selfe for spight, and show thy kind :
To vertue, and true worth, be ever blind.
Dreame thou could'st hurt it, but before thou wake,
T' effect it; feele, thou 'ast made thine owne heart
ake.

TO THE RIGHT HON.

HIEROME, LORD WESTON,
AN ODE GRATULATORIE,

FOR HIS RETURNE FROM HIS EMBASSIE.

SUCH pleasure as the teeming Earth
Doth take an easie Nature's birth,

1632.

When she puts forth the life of ev'ry thing: And in a dew of sweetest raine,

She lies deliver'd without paine,

Of the prime beautie of the yeare, the Spring.

The river in their shores doe run,

The clowdes rack cleare before the Sun,
The rudest winds obey the calmest ayre,
Rare plants from ev'ry banke doe rise,
And ev'ry plant the sense surprise,

Because the order of the whole is faire !

The very verdure of her nest,
Wherein she sits so richly drest,

As all the wealth of season there was spread;
Doth show the Graces and the Houres
Have multipli'd their arts and powers,

In making soft her aromatique bed.
Such joyes, such sweets doth your returne
Bring all your friends (faire lord) that burne
With love to heare your modestie relate,
The bus'nesse of your blooming wit,
With all the fruit shall follow it,

Both to the honour of the king and state.

O how will then our court be pleas'd,
To see great Charles of travaile eas'd,

When he beholds a graft of his owne hand,
Shoot up an olive fruitfull, faire,
To be a shadow to his heire,

And both a strength, and beautie to his land!

ON THE RIGHT HON. AND VERTUOUS

LORD WESTON,

LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND, UPON THE
DAY HE WAS MADE EARLE OF PORTLAND,
FEB. 17, 1632.

TO THE ENVIOUS.

LOOKE up, thou seed of envie, and still bring
Thy faint and narrow eyes to reade the king
In his great actions: view whom his large hand,
Hath rais'd to be the port unto his land!

EPITHALAMION;

OR

A SONG,

CELEBRATING THE NUPTIALS OF THAT NOBLE GENTLEMAN, MR. HIEROME WESTON, SON AND HEIRE OF THE LORD WESTON, LORD HIGH TREASURER OF ENGLAND, WITH THE LADY FRANCES STUART, DAUGHTER OF ESME D. of LENOX DECEASED, AND SISTER OF THE SURVIVING DUKE OF THE SAME NAME.

THOUGH thou hast past thy summer standing, stay A-while with us, bright Sun, and help our light; Thou can'st not meet more glory on the way, Between thy tropicks, to arrest thy sight,

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Stay, thou wilt see what rites the virgins doe!
The choisest virgin-troup of all the land!
Porting the ensignes of united two,

Both crownes and kingdomes in their either hand;
Whose majesties appeare,

To make more cleare
This feast, then can the day
Although that thou, O Sun, at our entreaty stay!

See, how with roses and with lillies shine,

(Lillies and roses, flowers of either sexe) The bright bride's paths,embelish'd more then thine With light of love, this paire doth intertexe! Stay, see the virgins sow (Where she shall goe)

The emblemes of their way.

O, now thou smil'st, faire Sun, and shin'st as thou wouldst stay!.

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They are th' exampled paire, and mirrour of their

Force from the phoenix then no raritie

Of sex, to rob the creature; but from man, The king of creatures; take his paritie With angels, Muse, to speake these: nothing can Illustrate these but they

Themselves to day,

Who the whole act expresse;

All else we see beside are shadowes and goe lesse.

It is their grace and favour that makes seene
And wonder'd at the bounties of this day:
All is a story of the king and queene!
And what of dignitie and honour may
Be duly done to those

Whom they have chose,
And set the marke upon,
To give a greater name and title to their owne!
Weston, their treasure, as their treasurer,

That mine of wisdome, and of counsells deep,
Great say-master of state, who cannot erre,
But doth his carract, and just standard keepe
In all the prov'd assayes,

And legall wayes
Of tryals, to worke downe

[crowne.

Men's loves unto the lawes, and lawes to love the

And this well mov'd the judgement of the king
To pay with honours, to his noble sonne
To day, the father's service; who could bring
Him up, to doe the same himselfe had done.
That farre-all-seeing eye
Could soorte espie

What kind of waking man
He had so highly set; and in what Barbican.

Stand there; for when a noble nature's rais'd,

It brings friends joy, foes griefe, posteritie fame; In him the times, no lesse then prince, are prais'd, And by his rise, in active men, his name Doth emulation stirre;

To th' dull, a spur

It is: to th' envious meant

A meere upbraiding griefe, and tort'ring punishment.

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O happy bands! and thou more happy place,
Which to this use wer't built and consecrate !
To have thy God to blesse, thy king to grace,
And this their chosen bishop celebrate;
And knit the nuptiall knot,

Which time shall not,
Or canker'd jealousie,

With all corroding arts, be able to untie !

The chappell empties, and thou may'st be gone
Now, Sun, and post away the rest of day:
These two, now holy church hath made them one,
Doe long to make themselves so, another way;
There is a feast behind,

To them of kind,

Which their glad parents taught

One to theother, long ere these to light were brought.

Haste, haste, officious Sun, and send them night
Some houres before it should, that these may know
All that their fathers and their mothers might
Of nuptiall sweets, at such a season, owe,
To propagate their names,

And keepe their fames
Alive, which else would die;

For fame keepes vertue up, and it's posteritie.
Th' ignoble never liv'd, they were a-while

Like swine, or other cattell here on Earth:
Their names are not recorded on the file

Of life, that fall so; Christians know their birth
Alone, and such a race,

We pray may grace,

Your fruitfull spreading vine,

But dare not aske our wish in language fescennine:

Yet, as we may, we will, with chast desires,
(The holy perfumes of a marriage bed)
Be kept alive those sweet and sacred fires
Of love between you and your lovely-head:
That when you both are old,

You find no cold

There; but, renewed, say,

(After the last child borne) this is our wedding day.

Till you behold a race to fill your hall,

A Richard, and a Hierome, by their names Upon a Thomas, or a Francis call;

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A Kate, a Frank, to honour their grand-dames,
And 'tweene their grandsire's thighes,

Like pretty spies,

Peepe forth a gemme; to see

How each one playes his part, of the large pedigree.
And never may they want one of the stem,
To be a watchfull servant for this state;
But like an arme of eminence 'mongst them,
Extend a reaching vertue early and late:
Whilst the maine tree still found
Upright and sound,

By this sun's noonested's made

So great; his body now alone projects the shade.
They both are slipt to bed; shut fast the doore,
And let him freely gather loves first-fruits,
He's master of the office; yet no more
Exacts then she is pleas'd to pay: no suits,
-Strifes, murmures, or delay,
Will last till day;

Night, and the sheetes will show
The longing couple all that elder lovers know.

THE HUMBI,E PETITION OF POORE BEN.
TO TH' BEST OF MONARCHS, Masters, men,
KING CHARLES;

Doth most humbly show it,
To your majestie, your poët:

THAT whereas your royall father,
James the blessed, pleas'd the rather,
Of his speciall grace to letters,
To make all the Muses debters
To his bountie; by extension
Of a free poetique pension,
A large hundred markes annuitie,
To be given me in gratuitie
For done service and to come:

And that this so accepted summe,
Or dispenc'd in bookes, or bread,
(For with both the Muse was fed)
Hath drawne on me, from the times,
All the envie of the rimes,
And the ratling pit-pat-noyse,
Or the lesse-poëtique boyes;
When their pot-guns ayme to hit,
With their pellets of small wit,
Parts of me (they judg'd) decay'd,
But we last out, still unlay'd.

Please your majestie to make
Of your grace, for goodnesse sake,
Those your father's markes, your pounds;
Let their spite (which now abounds)
Then goe on, and doe its worst;

This would all their envie burst:

And so warme the poet's tongue,
You'ld reade a snake in his next song.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE,

THE LORD TREASURER OF ENGLAND.

AN EPIGRAM.

Ir to my mind, great lord, I had a state,
I would present you now with curious plate
Of Noremberg, or Turkie; hang your roomes
Not with the Arras, but the Persian loomes.
I would, if price or prayer could them get,
Send in, what or Romano, Tintaret,
Titian, or Raphael, Michael Angelo
Have left in fame to equall, or out-goe
The old Greek-hands in picture, or in stone.
This I would doe, could I know Weston, one
Catch'd with these arts, wherein the judge is wise
As farre as sense, and onely by the eyes.
But you, I know, my lord; and know you can
Discerne betweene a statue and a man;
Can doe the things that statues doe deserve,
And act the businesse which they paint or carve.
What you have studied are the arts of life;
To compose men and manuers; stint the strife
Of murmuring subjects; make the nations know
What worlds of blessings to good kings they owe:
And mightiest monarchs feele what large increase
Of sweets, and safeties, they possesse by peace.
These I looke up at, with a reverent eye,
And strike religion in the standers-by ;

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