PHRENE.

AONIAN sisters, help my Phræne's praise to tell, Phræne, heart of my heart, with whom the graces

dwell;

snow,

For I surcharged am so sore that I not know What first to praise of her, her breast, or neck of [eyes, Her cheeks with roses spread, or her two sun-like Her teeth of brightest pearl, her lips where sweetness lies: [forth, But those so praise themselves, being to all eyes set That, Muses, ye need not to say aught of their worth; Then her white swelling paps essay for to make known, [are shown; But her white swelling paps through smallest veil Yet she hath something else, more worthy than the

rest,

Not seen; go sing of that which lies beneath her breast, And mounts like fair Parnasse, where Pegase well doth run

Here Phræne stay'd my Muse ere she had well begun.

KISSES DESIRED.

THOUGH I with strange desire

To kiss those rosy lips am set on fire,

Yet will I cease to crave

Sweet kisses in such store,

As he who long before

In thousands them from Lesbia did receive: Sweetheart, but once me kiss,

And I by that sweet bliss

Even swear to cease you to importune more;
Poor one no number is;

Another word of me ye shall not hear
After one kiss, but still one kiss, my dear.

A LOVER'S HEAVEN.

THOSE Stars, nay suns, which turn So stately in their spheres,

And dazzling do not burn,

The beauty of the morn

Which on these cheeks appears,

The harmony which to that voice is given,
Makes me think you are Heaven.

If Heaven you be, O! that by powerful charms
I Atlas were, infolded in your arms!

EPITAPH.

THIS dear, though not respected earth doth hold One, for his worth, whose tomb should be of gold.

BEAUTY'S IDEA.

WHO would perfection's fair idea see,
On pretty Cloris let him look with me;
White is her hair, her teeth white, white her skin,
Black be her eyes, her eye-brows Cupid's inn:
Her locks, her body, hands do long appear,
But teeth short, short her womb, and either ear,
The space 'twixt shoulders; eyes are wide, brow wide,
Strait waist, the mouth strait, and her virgin pride.
Thick are her lips, thighs, with banks swelling there,
Her nose is small, small fingers, and her hair,
Her sugar'd mouth, her cheeks, her nails be red,
Little her foot, breast little, and her head.
Such Venus was, such was that flame of Troy,
Such Cloris is, mine hope and only joy.

All only constant is in constant change;
What done is, is undone, and when undone,
Into some other figure doth it range;

Thus rolls the restless world beneath the Moon:
Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place,
Aspire, and steps, not reach'd by nature, trace.

A GOOD that never satisfies the mind,
A beauty fading like the April show'rs,
A sweet with floods of gall that runs combin'd,
A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A honour that more fickle is than wind,
A glory at opinion's frown that low'rs,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,
A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind,
A vain delight our equals to command,
A style of greatness, in effect a dream,
A swelling thought of holding sea and land,
A servile lot, deck'd with a pompous name:
Are the strange ends we toil for here below,
Till wisest death make us our errours know.

Look as the flow'r, which ling'ringly doth fade,
The morning's darling late, the summer's queen,
Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green,
As high as it did raise, bows low the head:
Just so the pleasures of my life being dead,
Or in their contraries but only seen,
With swifter speed declines than erst it spread,
And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been.
Therefore, as doth the pilgrim, whom the night
Hastes darkly to imprison on his way,
Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright
Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day:
Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn,
And twice it is not given thee to be born.

THE weary mariner so far not flies
An howling tempest, harbour to attain;
Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise,
So fast to fold, to save his bleating train,
As I (wing'd with contempt and just disdain)
Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize,
And sanctuary seek, free to remain

From wounds of abject times, and envy's eyes:
To me this world did once seem sweet and fair,
While sense's light mind's perspective kept blind;
Now like imagin'd landscape in the air,
And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find :
Or if aught here is had that praise should have,
It is an obscure life and silent grave.

Or this fair volume which we world do name,
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare,

Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame,
His providence extending every where,
His justice, which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page, no period of the same:
But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleas'd with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold;
Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin' wrought.

THE grief was common, common were the cries,
Tears, sobs, and groans of that afflicted train,
Which of God's chosen did the sum contain,
And Earth rebounded with them, pierc'd were skies;
All good had left the world, each vice did reign
In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise,
And all degrees and each estate did stain,
Nor further had to go whom to surprise;
The world beneath, the prince of darkness lay,
And in each temple had himself install'd,
Was sacrific'd unto, by prayers call'd,
Responses gave, which, fools, they did obey;
When, pitying man, God of a virgin's womb
Was born, and those false deities struck dumb.

"RUNshepherds, run, where Bethlem blest appears;
We bring the best of news, be not dismay'd,
A Saviour there is born, more old than years,
Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stay'd;
In a poor cottage inn'd, a virgin maid,
A weakling did him bear who all upbears;
There he in clothes is wrapp'd, in manger laid,
To whom too narrow swadlings are our spheres.
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth;
This is that night, no day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is;
In Heaven be glory; peace unto the Earth :"
Thus singing through the air the angels swam,
And all the stars re-echoed the same.

"O THAN the fairest day, thrice fairer night,
Night to best days, in which a sun doth rise,
Of which the golden eye which clears the skies
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow light;
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,
'Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies:
Blest cottage, that hath flow'rs in winter spread;
Though wither'd, blessed grass, that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place."
Thus singing to the sounds of oaten reed,
Before the babe the shepherds bow'd their knees,
And springs ran nectar, honey dropp'd from trees.

"THE last and greatest herald of Heaven's king, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from Earth exil'd.

There burst he forth. All ye whose hopes rely
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn,
Repent, repent, and from old errours turn."
Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?
Only the echoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their flinty caves, 46 Repent, repent."

"THESE eyes, dear Lord, once tapers of desire,
Frail scouts betraying what they had to keep,
Which their own heart, then others set on fire,
Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep;
These locks of blushing deeds, the gilt attire,
Waves curling, wreckful shelves to shadow deep,
Rings, wedding souls to sin's lethargic sleep,
To touch thy sacred feet do now aspire.
In seas of care behold a sinking bark,

By winds of sharp remorse unto thee driven:
O let me not be rutin's aim'd-at mark;
My faults confess'd, Lord, say they are forgiven."
Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian fair,
His tear-wet feet still drying with her hair.

"I CHANGED Countries new delights to find,
But, ah! for pleasure I did find new pain;
Enchanting pleasure so did reason blind,
That father's love and words I scorn'd as vain.
For tables rich, for bed, for following train
Of careful servants to observe my mind;
These herds I keep my fellows are assign'd,
My bed's a rock, and herbs my life sustain.
Now while I famine feel, fear worser harms,
Father and Lord, I turn, thy love, yet great,
My faults will pardon, pity mine estate."
This, where an aged oak had spread its arms,
Thought the lost child, while as the herds he led,
And pin'd with hunger, on wild acorns fed.

Is that the world doth in amaze remain,
To hear in what a sad, deploring mood,
The pelican pours from her breast her blood,
To bring to life her younglings back again;
How should we wonder at that sovereign good,
Who from that serpent's sting that had us slain,
To save our lives, shed his life's purple flood,
And turn'd to endless joy our endless pain!
Ungrateful soul, that charm'd with false delight,
Hast long, long wander'd in sin's flow'ry path,
And didst not think at all, or thought'st not right
On this thy pelican's great love and death.
Here pause, and let (though Earth it scorn) Heaven
Thee pour forth tears to him pour'd blood for thee.

If in the east when you do there behold

Forth from his crystal bed the Sun to rise, With rosy robes and crown of flaming gold; If gazing on that empress of the skies

[see

That takes so many forms, and those fair brands Which blaze in Heaven's high vault, night's watch

ful eyes;

If seeing how the sea's tumultuous bands

Of bellowing billows have their course confin'd; How unsustain'd the Earth still stedfast stands; Poor mortal wights, you e'er found in your mind

A thought, that some great king did sit above, Who had such laws and rites to them assign'd; A king who fix'd the poles, made spheres to move, All wisdom, pureness, excellency, might, All goodness, greatness, justice, beauty, love;With fear and wonder hither turn your sight, See, see, alas! him now, not in that state Thought could forecast him into reason's light. Now eyes with tears, now hearts with grief make great,

Bemoan this cruel death and ruthful case,
If ever plaints just woe could aggravate:
From sin and Hell to save us human race,

See this great king nail'd to an abject tree,
An object of reproach and sad disgrace.
O unheard pity! love in strange degree!

He his own life doth give, his blood doth shed, For wormlings base such worthiness to see. Poor wights! behold his visage pale as lead,

His head bow'd to his breast, locks sadly rent, Like a cropp'd rose, that languishing doth fade. Weak nature, weep! astonish'd world, lament! Lament, you winds! you Heaven, that all contains!

And thou, my soul, let nought thy griefs relent! Those hands, those sacred hands, which hold the reins Of this great all, and kept from mutual wars The elements, bare rent for thee their veins: Those feet, which once must tread on golden stars, For thee with nails would be pierc'd through and

torn;

[bars: For thee Heaven's king from Heaven himself deThis great heart-quaking dolour wail and mourn, Ye that long since him saw by might of faith, Ye now that are, and ye yet to be born. Not to behold his great Creator's death,

The Sun from sinful eyes hath veil'd his light, And faintly journies up Heaven's sapphire pa.h; And cutting from her prows her tresses bright

The Moon doth keep her Lord's sad obsequies, Impearling with her tears her robe of night; All staggering and lazy lour the skies;

The earth and elemental stages quake; The long-since dead from bursted graves arise. And can things, wanting sense, yet sorrow take, And bear a part with him who all them wrought, And man (though born with cries) shall pity lack? Think what had been your state, had he not brought To these sharp pangs himself, and priz'd so high Your souls, that with his life them life he bought! What woes do you attend, if still ye lie

Plung'd in your wonted ordures! Wretched brood! Shall for your sake again God ever die? O leave deluding shows, embrace true good,

He on you calls, forego sin's shameful trade;
With prayers now seek Heaven, and not with
blood.

Let not the lambs more from their dams be had,
Nor altars blush for sin; live every thing;
That long time long'd-for sacrifice is made.
All that is from you crav'd by this great king
Is to believe: a pure heart incense is.
What gift, alas! can we him meaner bring?
Haste, sin-sick souls! this season do not miss,
Now while remorseless time doth grant you

RISE from those fragrant climes, thee now embrace;
Unto this world of ours, O haste thy race,
Fair Sun, and though contrary ways all year
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest share,
Join thy blue wheels to hasten time that low`rs,
And lazy minutes turn to perfect hours;
The night and death too long a league have made,
To stow the world in horrour's ugly shade.
Shake from thy locks a day with saffron rays
So fair, that it outshine all other days;
And yet do not presume, great eye of light,
To be that which this day must make so bright.
Sce an eternal Sun hastes to arise;
Not from the eastern blushing seas or skies,
Or any stranger worlds Heaven's concaves have,
But from the darkness of an hollow grave.