TO MUSIC. A SONG.

MUSICK, thou queen of heaven, care-charming spel,

That striketh stillnesse into hell;

Thou that tam'st tygers, and fierce storms that

rise,

With thy soule-melting lullabies;

Fall down, down, down, from those thy chiming

spheres,

To charme our soules as thou enchant'st our eares.

TO THE WESTERN WIND.

SWEET western wind, whose luck it is,

Made rivall with the aire,

To give Perenna's lip a kisse,
And fan her wanton haire,—

Bring me but one, Ile promise thee,
Instead of common showers,

Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me,
And all beset with flowers.

UPON THE DEATH OF HIS SPARROW. AN ELEGIE.

WHY doe not all fresh maids appeare

To work love's sampler onely here,

Where spring-time smiles throughout the yeare?

Are not here rose-buds, pinks, all flowers
Nature begets by th' sun and showers,
Met in one hearce-cloth, to ore-spred
The body of the under-dead?

Phill, the late dead, the late dead deare,-
O! may no eye distill a teare

For you, once lost, who weep not here!
Had Lesbia, too-too kind, but known
This sparrow, she had scorn'd her own;
And for this dead which under-lies
Wept out her heart, as well as eyes.
But endlesse peace sit here and keep
My Phill the time he has to sleep,
And thousand virgins come and weep,
To make these flowrie carpets show
Fresh, as their blood, and ever grow,
Till passengers shall spend their doome,
Not Virgil's Gnat had such a tomb.

TO PRIMROSES FILL'D WITH MORNING-DEW.

WHY doe ye weep, sweet babes? can tears
Speak griefe in you,

Who were but borne

Just as the modest morne

Teem'd her refreshing dew?

Alas, you have not known that shower

That marres a flower;

Nor felt th'unkind

Breath of a blasting wind;

Nor are ye worne with yeares,
Or warpt, as we,

Who think it strange to see

Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young
To speak by teares before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known
The reason why

Ye droop and weep.

Is it for want of sleep,

Or childish lullabie ?

Or that ye have not seen as yet
The violet?

Or brought a kisse

From that sweet-heart to this?

No, no, this sorrow shown

By your teares shed,

Wo'd have this lecture read:

That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are and with teares brought

forth.

HOW ROSES CAME RED.

ROSES at first were white,
Till they co'd not agree,
Whether my Sappho's breast,
Or they more white sho'd be.
But being vanquisht quite,

A blush their cheeks bespred;
Since which beleeve the rest,

The roses first came red.

COMFORT TO A LADY UPON THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND.

DRY your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrows raine,

Since, clouds disperst, suns gild the aire again.
Seas chase and fret, and beat, and over-boile,
But turne soone after calme as balme or oile.
Winds have their time to rage; but when they

cease,

The leavie trees nod in a still-born peace.
Your storme is over: lady, now appeare

Like to the peeping spring-time of the yeare.

Off then with grave clothes; put fresh colours on, And flow, and flame, in your vermillion.

Upon your cheek sate ysicles awhile;

Now let the rose raigne like a queene, and smile.

HOW VIOLETS CAME BLEW.

LOVE on a day wise poets tell,
Some time in wrangling spent,
Whether the violets should excell,
Or she, in sweetest scent.

But Venus having lost the day,
Poore girles, she fell on you,
And beat ye so, as some dare say,
Her blowes did make ye blew.
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VOL. I.

UPON GROYNES. AN EPIG.

GROYNES, for his fleshly burglary of late,
Stood in the holy-forum candidate :

The word is Roman, but in English knowne;
Penance, and standing so, are both but one.

TO THE WILLOW-TREE.

THOU art to all lost love the best,
The onely true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left of love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorne,

Then willow-garlands 'bout the head,
Bedew'd with teares, are worne.

When with neglect, the lover's bane,
Poore maids rewarded be
For their love lost, their onely gaine
Is but a wreathe from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade,
When weary of the light,

The love-spent youth and love-sick maid
Come to weep out the night.