TO THE MOST

ILLVSTRIOVS,

AND

Moft Hopefull PRINCE,

CH

ARLE S,

Prince of Wales.

Ell may my Book come forth like
Publique Day,

When fuch a Light as You are leads
the way:

Who are my Works Creator, and

alone

The Flame of it, and the Expansion.

And look how all thofe heavenly Lamps acquire
Light from the Sun, that inexhaufted Fire:
So all my Morne and Evening Stars from You
Have their Existence, and their Influence too.
Full is my Book of Glories; but all These
By You become Immortall Substances.

SING of brooks, of blossomes, birds, and bowers:

Of April, May, of June, and Julyflowers.

I sing of may-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes,

Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridall-cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have accesse
By these, to sing of cleanly-wantonnesse.
I sing of dewes, of raines, and piece by piece
Of balme, of oyle, of spice, and amber-greece.
I sing of times trans-shifting; and I write
How roses first came red, and lillies white.
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab, and of the fairie-king.
I write of hell; I sing, and ever shall,
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.

TO HIS MUSE.

WHITHER, mad maiden, wilt thou roame ?

Farre safer 'twere to stay at home;

Where thou mayst sit, and piping please
The poore and private cottages.

B

Since coats and hamlets best agree

With this thy meaner minstralsie.

There with the reed, thou mayst expresse
The shepherds fleecie happinesse:
And with thy eclogues intermixe

Some smooth and harmlesse beucolicks.
There on a hillock thou mayst sing
Unto a handsome shephardling;
Or to a girle (that keeps the neat)
With breath more sweet then violet.
There, there, perhaps, such lines as these
May take the simple villages.

But for the court, the country wit

Is despicable unto it.

Stay then at home, and doe not goe
Or flie abroad to seeke for woe.
Contempts in courts and cities dwell;
No critick haunts the poore mans cell :
Where thou mayst hear thine own lines read
By no one tongue, there, censured.
That man's unwise will search for ill,
And may prevent it, sitting still.

TO HIS BOOKE.

WHILE thou didst keep thy candor undefil'd,

Deerely I lov'd thee, as my first-borne child :

But when I saw thee wantonly to roame
From house to house, and never stay at home;
I brake my bonds of love, and bad thee goe,
Regardlesse whether well thou sped'st, or no.
On with thy fortunes then, what e're they be;
If good I'le smile, if bad I'le sigh for thee.

ANOTHER.

To read my booke the virgin shie

May blush, while Brutus standeth by :
But when he's gone, read through what's writ,
And never staine a cheeke for it.