Chapter II: Part 2

ARAPH. Dost not thou _Castara_ read
Am'rous volumes in my eyes?
Doth not every motion plead
What I'de shew, and yet disguise?
Sences act each others part.
Eyes, as tongues, reveale the heart.

CAST. I saw love, as lightning breake
From thy eyes, and was content
Oft to heare thy silence speake.
Silent love is eloquent.
So the sence of learning heares,
The dumbe musicke of the Spheares.

ARAPH. Then there's mercy in your kinde,
Listning to an unfain'd love,
Or strives he to tame the wind,
Who would your compassion move?
No y'are pittious, as y're faire.
Heaven relents, o'recome by prayer.

CAST. But loose man too prodigall
Is in the expence of vowes;
And thinks to him kingdomes fall
When the heart of woman bowes:
Frailty to your armes may yeeld;
Who resists you, wins the field.

ARAPH. Triumph not to see me bleede,
Let the Bore chased[9] from his den,
On the wounds of mankinde feede.
Your soft sexe should pitty men.
Malice well may practise Art,
Love hath a transparent heart.

CAST. Yet is love all one deceit,
A warme frost, a frozen fire.
She within her selfe is great,
Who is slave to no desire.
Let youth act, and age advise,
And then love may finde his eyes.

ARAPH. _Hymens_ torch yeelds a dim light,
When ambition joynes our hands.
A proud day, but mournefull night,
She sustaines, who marries lands.
Wealth slaves man, but for their Ore,
Th' Indians had beene free, though poore.

CAST. And yet wealth the fuell is
Which maintaines the nuptiall fire,
And in honour there's a blisse.
Th' are immortall who aspire.
But truth sayes, no joyes are sweete,
But where hearts united meete.

ARAPH. Roses breath not such a sent,
To perfume the neighbr'ing groves;
As when you affirme content,
In no spheare of glory moves.
Glory narrow soules combines:
Noble hearts Love onely joynes.

[9] chased. 1634, 1635.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Intending a journey into the Countrey_.

Why haste you hence _Castara_? can the earth,
A glorious mother, in her flowry birth,
Shew Lillies like thy brow? Can she disclose
In emulation of thy cheeke, a Rose,
Sweete as thy blush? Upon thy selfe then set
Just value, and scorne it, thy counterfet.
The Spring's still with thee; But perhaps the field,
Not warm'd with thy approach, wants force to yeeld,
Her tribute to the Plough; O rather let
Th' ingratefull earth for ever be in debt
To th' hope of sweating industry, than we
Should starve with cold, who have no heat but thee.
Nor feare the publike good. Thy eyes can give
A life to all, who can deserve to live.

_Upon_ CASTARA'S _departure_.

I am engag'd to sorrow, and my heart
Feeles a distracted rage. Though you depart
And leave me to my feares; let love in spite
Of absence, our divided soules unite.
But you must goe. The melancholy Doves
Draw _Venus_ chariot hence. The sportive Loves
Which wont to wanton here, hence with you flye,
And like false friends forsake me when I dye.
For but a walking tombe, what can he be;
Whose best of life is forc't to part with thee?

_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon a trembling kisse at departure_.

Th' Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows
Purple to th' Violet, blushes to the Rose;
Did never yeeld an odour rich as this.
Why are you then so thrifty of a kisse,
Authoriz'd even by custome? Why doth feare
So tremble on your lip, my lip being neare?
Thinke you I parting with so sad a zeale,
Will act so blacke a mischiefe, as to steale
Thy Roses thence? And they, by this device,
Transplanted: somewhere else force Paradice?
Or else you feare, lest you, should my heart skip
Up to my mouth, t' incounter with your lip,
Might rob me of it: and be judg'd in this,
T' have _Judas_ like betraid me with a kisse.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Looking backe at her departing_.

Looke backe _Castara_. From thy eye
Let yet more flaming arrowes flye.
To live, is thus to burne and dye.

For what might glorious hope desire,
But that thy selfe, as I expire,
Should bring both death and funerall fire?

Distracted Love, shall grieve to see
Such zeale in death: For feare lest he
Himselfe, should be consumed in me.

And gathering up my ashes, weepe,
That in his teares he then may sleepe:
And thus embalm'd, as reliques, keepe.

Thither let lovers pilgrims turne,
And the loose flames in which they burne,
Give up as offerings to my Urne.

That them the vertue of my shrine,
By miracle so long refine;
Till they prove innocent as mine.

_Upon_ CASTARA'S _absence_.

Tis madnesse to give Physicke to the dead;
Then leave me friends: Yet haply you'd here
A lecture; but I'le not dissected be,
T' instruct your Art by my anatomie.
But still you trust your sense, sweare you discry
No difference in me. All's deceit oth' eye,
Some spirit hath a body fram'd in th' ayre,
Like mine, which he doth to delude you, weare:
Else heaven by miracle makes me survive
My selfe, to keepe in me poore Love alive.
But I am dead, yet let none question where
My best part rests, and with a sigh or teare,
Prophane the Pompe, when they my corps interre,
My soule imparadis'd, for 'tis with her.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Complaining her absence in the Country_.

The lesser people of the ayre conspire
To keepe thee from me, _Philomel_ with higher
And sweeter notes, wooes thee to weepe her rape,
Which would appease the gods, and change her shape.
The early Larke, preferring 'fore soft rest
Obsequious duty, leaves his downy nest,
And doth to thee harmonious tribute pay;
Expecting from thy eyes the breake of day.
From which the Owle is frighted, and doth rove
(As never having felt the warmth of love.)
In uncouth vaults, and the chill shades of night,
Nor biding the bright lustre of thy sight.
With him my fate agrees. Not viewing thee
I'me lost in mists, at best, but meteors see.

_To_ THAMES.

Swift in thy watry chariot, courteous _Thames_,
Hast by the happy error of thy streames,
To kisse the banks of _Marlow_, which doth show
Faire _Seymors_, and beyond that never flow.
Then summon all thy Swans, that who did give
Musicke to death, may henceforth sing, and live,
For my _Castara_. She can life restore,
Or quicken them who had no life before.
How should the Poplar else the Pine provoke;
The stately Cedar challenge the rude Oke
To dance at sight of her? They have no sense
From nature given, but by her influence.
[10]If _Orpheus_ did those senslesse creatures move,
He was a Prophet, and fore-sang my love.

[10]If _Orpheus_ did those senslesse creatures stirre,
He was a Prophet, and fore-sang of her. 1634, 1635.

_To the right honourable the Earle of_ SHREWES.[11]

My Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her sing
Did to your Uncles Urne, her off'rings bring:
And if to fame I may give faith, your eares
Delighted in the musicke of her teares.
That was her debt to vertue. And when e're
She her bright head among the clouds shall reare
And adde to th' wondring heavens a new flame,
Shee'le celebrate the Genius of your name.
Wilde with another rage, inspir'd by love,
She charmes the Myrtles of the Idalian grove.
And while she gives the Cyprian stormes a law,
Those wanton Doves which _Cythereia_ draw
Through th' am'rous ayre: Admire what power doth sway
The Ocean, and arrest them in their way.
She sings _Castara_ then. O she more bright,
Than is the starry Senate of the night;
Who in their motion did like straglers erre,
Cause they deriv'd no influence from her,
Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sinne hath beene
Clad like a neighb'ring shepheard often seene
To hunt those Dales, in hope then _Daphnes_, there
To see a brighter face. Th' Astrologer
In th' interim dyed, whose proud Art could not show
Whence that Ecclipse did on the sudden grow.
A wanton Satyre eager in the chase
Of some faire Nimph, beheld _Castara's_ face,
And left his loose pursuite; who while he ey'd,
Unchastely, such a beauty, glorified
With such a vertue; by heavens great commands
Turn'd marble, and there yet a Statute stands.
As Poet thus. But as a Christian now,
And by my zeale to you (my Lord) I vow,
She doth a flame so pure and sacred move;
In me impiety 'twere not to love.

[11] _To the Right Honourable my very good Lord_, JOHN _Earle of S._ 1634, 1635.

_To_ CUPID.
_Wishing a speedy passage to_ CASTARA.

Thankes _Cupid_, but the Coach of _Venus_ moves
For me too slow, drawn but by lazie Doves.
I, left a journey my delay should finde,
Will leape into the chariot of the winde.
Swift as the flight of lightning through the ayre,
Hee'le hurry me till I approach the faire
But unkinde _Seymors_. Thus he will proclaime,
What tribute winds owe to _Castara's_ name.
Viewing this prodigie, astonisht they,
Who first accesse deny'd me, will obey,
With feare what love commands: Yet censure me
As guilty of the blackest sorcery.
But after to my wishes milder prove:
When they know this the miracle of love.

_To_ CASTARA.
_Of Love._

How fancie mockes me? By th' effect I prove,
'Twas am'rous folly, wings ascrib'd to love,
And ore th' obedient elements command.
Hee's lame as he is blinde, for here I stand
Fixt as the earth. Throw then this Idoll downe
Yee lovers who first made it; which can frowne
Or smile but as you please. But I'me untame
In rage. _Castara_ call thou[12] on his name,
And though hee'le not beare up my vowes to thee,
Hee'le triumph to bring downe my Saint to me.

[12] then. 1634.

_To the_ Spring,
_Upon the uncertainty of_ CASTARA'S _abode_.

Faire Mistresse of[13] the earth, with garlands crown'd
Rise, by a lovers charme, from the parcht ground,
And shew thy flowry wealth: that she, where ere
Her starres shall guide her, meete thy beauties there.
Should she to the cold Northerne climates goe,
Force thy affrighted Lillies there to grow;
Thy Roses in those gelid fields t' appeare;
She absent, I have all their Winter here.
Or if to the torrid Zone her way she bend,
Her the coole breathing of _Favonius_ lend,
Thither command the birds to bring their quires.
That Zone is temp'rate. I have all his fires.
Attend her, courteous Spring, though we should here
Lose by it all the treasures of the yeere.

[13] to. 1634, 1635.

_To_ Reason,
_Upon_ CASTARA'S _absence_.

With your calme precepts goe, and lay a storme,
In some brest flegmaticke which would conforme
Her life to your cold lawes: In vain y' engage
Your selfe on me. I will obey my rage.
Shee's gone, and I am lost. Some unknowne grove
I'le finde, whereby the miracle of Love
I'le turne t' a fountaine, and divide the yeere,
By numbring every moment with a teare.
Where if _Castara_ (to avoyd the beames
Oth' neighb'ring Sun) shall wandring meete my streames.
And tasting, hope her thirst alaid shall be,
Shee'le feele a sudden flame, and burne like me:
And thus distracted cry. Tell me thou cleere,
But treach'rous Fount, what lover's coffin'd here?

_An[14] answere to_ CASTARA'S _question_.

T'is I _Castara_, who when thou wert gone,
Did freeze into this melancholy stone,
To weepe the minutes of thy absence. Where
Can greefe have freer scope to mourne than here?
The Larke here practiseth a sweeter straine,
_Aurora's_ early blush to entertaine,
And having too deepe tasted of these streames,
He loves, and amorously courts her beames.
The courteous turtle with a wandring zeale,
Saw how to stone I did my selfe congeale,
And murm'ring askt what power this change did move,
The language of my waters whispered, Love.
And thus transform'd Ile stand, till I shall see,
That heart so ston'd and frozen, thaw'd in thee.

[14] _In._ 1634.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon the disguising his affection_.

Pronounce me guilty of a Blacker crime,
Then e're in the large Volume writ by Time.
The sad Historian reades, if not my Art
Dissembles love, to veile an am'rous heart.
For when the zealous anger of my friend
Checkes my unusuall sadnesse: I pretend
To study vertue, which indeede I doe,
He must court vertue who aspires to you.
Or that some friend is dead and then a teare,
A sigh or groane steales from me: for I feare
Lest death with love hath strooke my heart, and all
These sorrowes usher but its funerall.
[15]Which should revive, should there you a mourner be,
And force a nuptiall in an obsequie.

[15] Which would revive, should you there mourner be. 1634, 1635.

_To the honourable my honoured kinsman_, Mr. G. T.

Thrice hath the pale-fac'd Empresse of the night,
Lent in her chaste increase her borrowed light,
To guide the vowing Mariner: since mute
_Talbot_ th'ast beene, too slothfull to salute
Thy exil'd servant. Labour not t' excuse
This dull neglect: Love never wants a Muse.
When thunder summons from eternall sleepe
Th' imprison'd ghosts, and spreads oth' frighted deepe,
A veile of darknesse; penitent to be
I may forget, yet still remember thee,
Next to my faire, under whose eye-lids move,
In nimble measures beauty, wit, and love.
Nor thinke _Castara_ (though the sexe be fraile,
And ever like uncertaine vessels saile
On th' ocean of their passions; while each wind
Triumphs to see their more uncertaine mind,)
Can be induc't to alter: Every starre
May in its motion grow irregular;
The Sunne forget to yeeld his welcome flame
To th' teeming earth, yet she remaine the same.
And in my armes (if Poets may divine)
I once that world of beauty shall intwine,
And on her lips print volumes of my love,
Without a froward checke, and sweetly move
Ith' Labyrinth of delight. If not, Ile draw
Her picture on my heart, and gently thaw
With warmth of zeale, untill I heaven entreat,
To give true life to th' ayery counterfeit.

Eccho _to_ Narcissus.
_In praise of_ CASTARA'S _discreete Love_.

Scorn'd in thy watry Urne _Narcissus_ lye,
Thou shalt not force more tribute from my eye
T' increase thy streames: or make me weepe a showre,
To adde fresh beauty to thee, now a flowre.
But should relenting heaven restore thee sence,
To see such wisedome temper innocence,
In faire _Castara's_ love; how she discreet,
Makes caution with a noble freedome meete,
At the same moment; thould'st confesse fond boy,
Fooles onely think them vertuous, who are coy.
And wonder not that I, who have no choyce
Of speech, have praysing her so free a voyce:
Heaven her severest sentence doth repeale,
When to _Castara_ I would speake my zeale.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Being debarr'd her presence_.

Banisht from you, I charg'd the nimble winde,
My unseene Messenger, to speake my minde,
In am'rous whispers to you. But my Muse
Lest the unruly spirit should abuse
The trust repos'd in him, sayd it was due
To her alone, to sing my loves to you.
Heare her then speake. Bright Lady, from whose eye
Shot lightning to his heart, who joyes to dye
A martyr in your flames: O let your love
Be great and firme as his: Then nought shall move
Your setled faiths, that both may grow together:
Or if by Fate divided, both may wither.
Hark! 'twas a groane. Ah how sad absence rends
His troubled thoughts! See, he from _Marlow_ sends
His eyes to _Seymors_. Then chides th' envious trees,
And unkinde distance. Yet his fancie sees
And courts your beauty, joyes as he had cleav'd
Close to you, and then weepes because deceiv'd.
Be constant as y'are faire. For I fore-see
A glorious triumph waits o'th victorie
Your love will purchase, shewing us to prize
A true content. There onely Love hath eyes.

_To_ Seymors,
_The house in which_ CASTARA _lived_.

Blest Temple, haile, where the Chast Altar stands,
Which Nature built, but the exacter hands
Of Vertue polisht. Though sad Fate deny
My prophane feete accesse, my vowes shall flye.
May those Musitians, which divide the ayre
With their harmonious breath, their flight prepare,
For this glad place, and all their accents frame,
To teach the Eccho my _Castara's_ name.
The beautious troopes of graces led by love
In chaste attempts, possesse the neighb'ring grove
Where may the Spring dwell still. May every tree
Turne to a Laurell, and propheticke be.
Which shall in its first Oracle divine,
That courteous Fate decree _Castara_ mine.

_To the_ Dew,
_In hope to see_ CASTARA _walking_.

Bright Dew which dost the field adorne
As th' earth to welcome in the morne,
Would hang a jewell on each corne.

Did not the pittious night, whose eares
Have oft beene conscious of my feares
Distill you from her eyes as teares?

Or that _Castara_ for your zeale,
When she her beauties shall reveale,
Might you to Dyamonds congeale?

If not your pity, yet how ere
Your care I praise, 'gainst she appeare,
To make the wealthy Indies here.

But see she comes. Bright lampe oth' skie,
Put out thy light: the world shall spie,
A fairer Sunne in either eye.

And liquid Pearle, hang heavie now
On every grasse that it may bow
In veneration of her brow.

Yet if the wind should curious be,
And were I here, should question thee,
Hee's full of whispers, speak not me.

But if the busie tell-tale day,
Our happy enterview betray;
Lest thou confesse too, melt away.

_To_ CASTARA.

Stay under the kinde shadow of this tree
_Castara_, and protect thy selfe and me
From the Sunnes rayes. Which shew the grace of Kings,
A dangerous warmth with too much favour brings.
How happy in this shade the humble Vine
Doth 'bout some taller tree her selfe intwine,
And so growes fruitefull; teaching us her fate
Doth beare more sweetes, though Cedars beare more state:
Behold _Adonis_ in yand' purple flowre,
T'was _Venus_ love: That dew, the briny showre,
His coynesse wept, while strugling yet alive:
Now he repents, and gladly would revive,
By th' vertue of your chaste and powerfull charmes,
To play the modest wanton in your armes.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Ventring to walke too farre in the neighbouring wood_.

Dare not too farre _Castara_, for the shade
This courteous thicket yeelds, hath man betray'd
A prey to wolves: to the wilde powers oth' wood,
Oft travellers pay tribute with their blood.
If carelesse of thy selfe of me take care,
For like a ship where all the fortunes are
Of an advent'rous merchant; I must be,
If thou should'st perish banquerout in thee.
My feares have mockt me. Tygers when they shall
Behold so bright a face, will humbly fall
In adoration of thee. Fierce they are
To the deform'd, obsequious to the faire.
Yet venter not; tis nobler farre to sway
The heart of man, than beasts, who man obey.

_Upon_ CASTARA'S _departure_.

Vowes are vaine. No suppliant breath
Stayes the speed of swift-heel'd death.
Life with her is gone and I
Learne but a new way to dye.
See the flowers condole, and all
Wither in my funerall.
The bright Lilly, as if day,
Parted with her, fades away.
Violets hang their heads, and lose
All their beauty. That the Rose
A sad part in sorrow beares,
Witnesse all those dewy teares,
Which as Pearle, or Dyamond like,
Swell upon her blushing cheeke.
All things mourne, but oh behold
How the wither'd Marigold
Closeth up now she is gone,
Judging her the setting Sunne.

_A Dialogue between_ NIGHT _and_ ARAPHILL.

NIGHT. Let silence close my troubled eyes,
Thy feare in _Lethe_ steepe:
The starres bright cent'nels of the skies,
Watch to secure thy sleepe.

ARAPH. The Norths unruly spirit lay
In the disorder'd Seas:
Make the rude Winter calme as _May_,
And give a lover ease.

NIGHT. Yet why should feare with her pale charmes,
Bewitch thee so to griefe?
Since it prevents n' insuing harmes,
Nor yeelds the past reliefe.

ARAPH. And yet such horror I sustaine
As the sad vessell, when
Rough tempests have incenst the Maine,
Her Harbor now in ken.

NIGHT. No conquest weares a glorious wreath
Which dangers not obtaine:
Let tempests 'gainst thee shipwracke breathe,
Thou shalt thy harbour gaine.

ARAPH. Truths _Delphos_ doth not still foretell,
Though _Sol_ th' inspirer be.
How then should night as blind as hell,
Ensuing truths fore-see?

NIGHT. The Sunne yeelds man no constant flame.
One light those Priests inspires.
While I though blacke am still the same,
And have ten thousand fires.

ARAPH. But those, sayes my propheticke feare,
As funerall torches burne;
While thou thy selfe the blackes dost weare,
T' attend me to my Urne.

NIGHT. Thy feares abuse thee, for those lights
In _Hymens_ Church shall shine,
When he by th' mystery of his rites,
Shall make _Castara_ thine.

_To the Right Honourable_, _the Lady_, E. P.

Your judgement's cleere, not wrinckled with the Time,
On th' humble fate: which censures it a crime,
To be by vertue ruin'd. For I know
Y'are not so various as to ebbe and flow
Ith' streame of fortune, whom each faithlesse winde
Distracts, and they who made her, fram'd her blinde.
Possession makes us poore. Should we obtaine
All those bright jems, for which ith' wealthy Maine,
The tann'd slave dives; or in one boundlesse chest
Imprison all the treasures of the West,
We still should want. Our better part's immence,
Not like th' inferiour, limited by sence.
Rich with a little, mutuall love can lift
Us to a greatnesse, whether chance or thrift
E're rais'd her servants. For though all were spent,
That can create an _Europe_ in content.
Thus (Madam) when _Castara_ lends an eare
Soft to my hope, I Loves Philosopher,
Winne on her faith. For when I wondring stand
At th' intermingled beauty of her hand,
(Higher I dare not gaze) to this bright veine
I not ascribe the blood of _Charlemaine_
Deriv'd by you to her. Or say there are
In that and th'other _Marmion_, _Rosse_, and _Parr
Fitzhugh_, _Saint Quintin_, and the rest of them
That adde such lustre to great _Pembrokes_ stem.
My love is envious. Would _Castara_ were
The daughter of some mountaine cottager,
Who with his toile worne out, could dying leave
Her no more dowre, than what she did receive
From bounteous nature. Her would I then lead
To th' Temple, rich in her owne wealth; her head
Crown'd with her haires faire treasure; diamonds in
Her brighter eyes; soft Ermines in her skin;
Each Indie in each cheeke. Then all who vaunt,
That fortune, them t' enrich, made others want,
Should set themselves out glorious in her stealth,
And trie if that, could parallel this wealth.

_To_ CASTARA.
_Departing upon the approach of Night._

What should we feare _Castara_? The coole aire,
That's falne in love, and wanton in thy haire,
Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale
A Nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale
The pleasure I possesse. The wind conspires
To our blest interview, and in our fires
Bath's like a Salamander, and doth sip,
Like _Bacchus_ from the grape, life from thy lip.
Nor thinke of nights approach. The worlds great eye
Though breaking Natures law, will us supply
With his still flaming lampe: and to obey
Our chaste desires, fix here perpetuall day.
But should he set, what rebell night dares rise,
To be subdu'd ith' vict'ry of thy eyes?

_An Apparition._

More welcome my _Castara_, then was light
To the disordered Chaos. O what bright
And nimble chariot brought thee through the aire?
While the amazed stars to see so faire
And pure a beauty from the earth arise,
Chang'd all their glorious bodies into eyes.
O let my zealous lip print on thy hand
The story of my love, which there shall stand
A bright inscription to be read by none,
But who as I love thee, and love but one.
Why vanish you away? Or is my sense
Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence
Of erring nature! And would heaven this had
Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad.

[16]_To the Honourable Mr._ Wm. E.

Hee who is good is happy. Let the loude
Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloude
And dart its thunder at him; hee'le remaine
Unmov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine
In welcomming th' approach of death; then vice
Ere found in her fictitious Paradise.
Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past
Delights, and raise our appetite to taste
Ensuing) brings us to unflattered age.
Where we are left to satisfie the rage
Of threatning Death: Pompe, beauty, wealth, and all
Our friendships, shrinking from the funerall.
The thought of this begets that brave disdaine
With which thou view'st the world and makes those vaine
Treasures of fancy, serious fooles so court,
And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport.
What should we covet here? Why interpose
A cloud twixt us and heaven? Kind Nature chose
Mans soule th' Exchecquer where she'd hoord her wealth,
And lodge all her rich secrets; but by th' stealth
Of our owne vanity, w'are left so poore,
The creature meerely sensuall knowes more.
The learn'd _Halcyon_ by her wisedome finds
A gentle season, when the seas and winds
Are silenc't by a calme, and then brings forth
The happy miracle of her rare birth,
Leaving with wonder all our arts possest,
That view the architecture of her nest.
Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestowe
Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow
By age to dotage: while the sensitive
Part of the World in it's first strength doth live.
Folly? what dost thou in thy power containe
Deserves our study? Merchants plough the maine
And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more,
By avarice in the possession poore.
And yet that Idoll wealth we all admit
Into the soules great temple. Busie wit
Invents new Orgies, fancy frames new rites
To show it's superstition, anxious nights
Are watcht to win its favour: while the beast
Content with Natures courtesie doth rest.
Let man then boast no more a soule, since he
Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee
(Whom Fortune hath exempted from the heard
Of vulgar men, whom vertue hath prefer'd
Farre higher than thy birth) I must commend,
Rich in the purchase of so sweete a friend.
And though my fate conducts me to the shade
Of humble quiet, my ambition payde
With safe content, while a pure Virgin fame
Doth raise me trophies in _Castara's_ name.
No thought of glory swelling me above
The hope of being famed for vertuous love.
Yet wish I thee, guided by the better starres
To purchase unsafe honour in the warres
Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race,
And merits, well may challenge th' highest place.
Yet know, what busie path so-ere you tread
To greatnesse, you must sleepe among the dead.

[16] _To the Honourable my most honoured friend_, Wm. E. _Esquire_. 1635.

_To_ CASTARA,
_The vanity of Avarice_.

Harke? how the traytor wind doth court
The Saylors to the maine;
To make their avarice his sport?
A tempest checks the fond disdaine,
They beare a safe though humble port.

Wee'le sit my love upon the shore,
And while proud billowes rise
To warre against the skie, speake ore
Our Loves so sacred misteries.
And charme the Sea to th' calme it had before.

Where's now my pride t' extend my fame
Where ever statues are?
And purchase glory to my name
In the smooth court or rugged warre?
My love hath layd the Devill, I am tame.

I'de rather like the violet grow
Unmarkt i'th shaded vale,
Then on the hill those terrors know
Are breath'd forth by an angry gale,
There is more pompe above, more sweete below.

Love, thou divine Philosopher
(While covetous Landlords rent,
And Courtiers dignity preferre)
Instructs us to a sweete content,
Greatnesse it selfe, doth in it selfe interre.

_Castara_, what is there above
The treasures we possesse?
We two are all and one, wee move
Like starres in th' orbe of happinesse.
All blessings are Epitomiz'd in Love.

_To my most honoured Friend and Kinsman_, R. St., _Esquire_.

It shall not grieve me (friend) though what I write
Be held no wit at Court. If I delight
So farre my sullen Genius, as to raise
It pleasure; I have money, wine, and bayes
Enough to crowne me Poet. Let those wits,
Who teach their Muse the art of Parasits
To win on easie greatnesse; or the yongue
Spruce Lawyer who's all impudence and tongue
Sweat to divulge their fames: thereby the one
Gets fees; the other hyre, I'me best unknowne:
Sweet silence I embrace thee, and thee Fate
Which didst my birth so wisely moderate;
That I by want am neither vilified,
Nor yet by riches flatter'd into pride.
Resolve me friend (for it must folly be
Or else revenge 'gainst niggard Destinie,
That makes some Poets raile?) Why are their times
So steept in gall? Why so obrayde the times?
As if no sin call'd downe heav'ns vengeance more
Then cause the world leaves some few writers poore?
Tis true, that _Chapmans_ reverend ashes must
Lye rudely mingled with the vulgar dust,
Cause carefull heyers the wealthy onely have;
To build a glorious trouble o're the grave.
Yet doe I not despaire, some one may be
So seriously devout to Poesie
As to translate his reliques, and finde roome
In the warme Church, to build him up a tombe.
Since _Spencer_ hath a Stone; and _Draytons_ browes
Stand petrified ith' wall, with Laurell bowes
Yet girt about; and nigh wise _Henries_ herse,
Old _Chaucer_ got a Marble for his verse.
So courteous is Death; Death Poets brings
So high a pompe, to lodge them with their Kings:
Yet still they mutiny. If this man please
His silly Patron with Hyperboles.
Or most mysterious non-sence, give his braine
But the strapado in some wanton straine;
Hee'le sweare the State lookes not on men of parts
And, if but mention'd, slight all other Arts.
Vaine ostentation! Let us set so just
A rate on knowledge, that the world may trust
The Poets Sentence, and not still aver
Each Art is to it selfe a flatterer.
I write to you Sir on this theame, because
Your soule is cleare, and you observe the lawes,
Of Poesie so justly, that I chuse
Yours onely the example to my muse.
And till my browner haire be mixt with gray
Without a blush, Ile tread the sportive way,
My Muse direct; A Poet youth may be,
But age doth dote without Philosophie.

_To the World._
_The Perfection of Love._

You who are earth, and cannot rise
Above your sence,
Boasting the envyed wealth which lyes
Bright in your Mistris lips or eyes,
Betray a pittyed eloquence.

That which doth joyne our soules, so light
And quicke doth move.
That like the Eagle in his flight,
It doth transcend all humane sight,
Lost in the element of Love.

You Poets reach not this, who sing
The praise of dust
But kneaded, when by theft you bring
The rose and Lilly from the Spring
T' adorne the wrinckled face of lust.

When we speake Love, nor art, nor wit
We glosse upon:
Our soules engender, and beget
_Idaas_, which you counterfeit
In your dull propagation.

While Time, seven ages shall disperse,
Wee'le talke of Love,
And when our tongues hold no commerse.
Our thoughts shall mutually converse.
And yet the blood no rebell prove.

And though we be of severall kind
Fit for offence:
Yet are we so by Love refin'd,
From impure drosse we are all mind.
Death could not more have conquer'd sence.

How suddenly those flames expire
Which scorch our clay?
_Prometheas_-like when we steale fire
From heaven 'tis endlesse and intire
It may know age, but not decay.

_To the_ Winter.

Why dost thou looke so pale, decrepit man?
Why doe thy cheeks curle like the Ocean,
Into such furrowes? Why dost thou appeare
So shaking, like an ague to the yeare?
The Sunne is gone. But yet _Castara_ stayes,
And will adde stature to thy Pigmy dayes,
Warme moysture to thy veynes: her smile can bring
Thee the sweet youth, and beauty of the Spring.
Hence with thy palsie then, and on thy head
Weare flowrie chaplets as a bridegroome led
To th' holy Fane. Banish thy aged ruth,
That Virgins may admire and court thy youth.
And the approaching Sunne when she shall finde
A Spring without him, fall, since uselesse, blinde.

_Upon a visit to_ CASTARA _in the Night_.

T'was Night: when _Phœbe_ guided by thy rayes,
Chaste as my zeale, with incence of her praise,
I humbly crept to my _Castara's_ shrine.
But oh my fond mistake! for there did shine
A noone of beauty, with such lustre crown'd,
As shewd 'mong th' impious onely night is found.
It was her eyes which like two Diamonds shin'd,
Brightest ith' dark. Like which could th' Indian find,
But one among his rocks, he would out vie
In brightnesse all the Diamonds of the Skie.
But when her lips did ope, the Phœnix nest
Breath'd forth her odours; where might _Jove_ once feast,
Hee'd loath his heavenly surfets: if we dare
Affirme, _Jove_ hath a heaven without my faire.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Of the chastity of his Love_.

Why would you blush _Castara_, when the name
Of love you heare? Who never felt his flame,
Ith' shade of melancholly night doth stray,
A blind Cymmerian banisht from the day.
Let's chastly love _Castara_, and not soyle
This Virgin lampe, by powring in the oyle
Of impure thoughts. O let us sympathize,
And onely talke ith' language of our eyes,
Like two starres in conjunction. But beware
Lest th' Angels who of love compacted are,
Viewing how chastly burnes thy zealous fire,
Should snatch thee hence, to joyne thee to their quire.
Yet take thy flight: on earth for surely we
So joyn'd, in heaven cannot divided be.

_The Description of_ CASTARA.

Like the Violet which alone
Prospers in some happy shade;
My _Castara_ lives unknowne,
To no looser eye betray'd.
For shee's to her selfe untrue,
Who delights ith' publicke view.

Such is her beauty, as no arts
Have enricht with borrowed grace.
Her high birth no pride imparts,
For she blushes in her place.
Folly boasts a glorious blood,
She is noblest being good.

Cautious she knew never yet
What a wanton courtship meant:
Not speaks loud to boast her wit,
In her silence eloquent.
Of her selfe survey she takes,
But 'tweene men no difference makes.

She obeyes with speedy will
Her grave Parents wise commands.
And so innocent, that ill,
She nor acts, nor understands.
Womens feete runne still astray.
If once to ill they know the way.

She sailes by that rocke, the Court,
Where oft honour splits her mast:
And retir'dnesse thinks the port,
Where her fame may anchor cast.
Vertue safely cannot sit,
Where vice is enthron'd for wit.

She holds that dayes pleasure best.
Where sinne waits not on delight.
Without maske, or ball, or feast,
Sweetly spends a winters night.
O're that darknesse, whence is thrust,
Prayer and sleepe oft governs lust.

She her throne makes reason climbe,
While wild passions captive lie.
And each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to heaven flie:
All her vowes religious be,
And her love she vowes to me.

_FINIS._

CASTARA

The Second part.

_Vatumque lascivos triumphos,
Calcat Amor, pede conjugali._

_LONDON_
Printed for WILLIAM COOKE
and are to be sold at his Shop,
neare _Furnivals-Inne_ Gate
in _Holborne_. 1639.

A Wife

_Is the sweetest part in the harmony of our being. To the love of which, as the charmes of Nature inchant us, so the law of grace by speciall priviledge invites us. Without her, Man if piety not restraine him; is the creator of sinne; or, if an innated cold render him not onely the businesse of the present age; the murderer of posterity. She is so religious that every day crownes her a martyr, and her zeale neither rebellious nor uncivill. Shee is so true a friend, her Husband may to her communicate even his ambitions, and if successe Crowne not expectation, remaine neverthelesse uncontemned. Shee is colleague with him in the Empire of prosperity; and a safe retyring place when adversity exiles him from the World. She is so chaste, she never understood the language lust speakes in, nor with a smile applaudes it, although there appeare wit in the Metaphore. Shee is faire only to winne on his affections, nor would she be Mistris of the most eloquent beauty; if there were danger, that might perswade the passionate auditory, to the least irregular thought. Shee is noble by a long descent, but her memory is so evill a herald, shee never boasts the story of her Ancestors. Shee is so moderately rich, that the defect of portion doth neither bring penury to his estate, nor the superfluity licence her to Riot. Shee is liberall, and yet owes not ruine to vanity, but knows Charity, to be the soule of goodnesse, and Vertue without reward often prone to bee her own destroyer. Shee is much at home, and when she visites 'tis for mutuall commerce, not for intelligence. Shee can goe to Court, and returne no passionate doater on bravery; and when shee hath seene the gay things muster up themselves there, she considers them as Cobwebs the Spider vanity hath spunne. Shee is so generall in her acquaintance, that shee is familiar with all whom fame speakes vertuous; but thinkes there can bee no friendship but with one; and therefore hath neither shee friend nor private servant. Shee so squares her passion to her Husbands fortunes, that in the Countrey shee lives without a froward Melancholly, in the town without a fantastique pride. She is so temperate, she never read the modern pollicie of glorious surfeits; since she finds Nature is no Epicure if art provoke her not by curiositie. Shee is inquisitive onely of new wayes to please him, and her wit sayles by no other compasse then that of his direction. Shee lookes upon him as Conjurers upon the Circle, beyond which there is nothing but Death and Hell; and in him shee beleeves Paradice circumscrib'd. His vertues are her wonder and imitation; and his errors, her credulitie thinkes no more frailtie, then makes him descend to the title of Man. In a word, shee so lives that she may dye; and leave no cloude upon her Memory, but have her character nobly mentioned: while the bad Wife is flattered into infamy, and buyes pleasure at too[17] deare a rate, if shee onely payes for it Repentance._

[17] _so._ 1635.

_Fifty Poems, chiefly on Wedded Happiness._

_To_ CASTARA,
_Now possest of her in marriage_.

This day is ours. The marriage Angell now
Sees th' Altar in the odour of our vow,
Yeeld a more precious breath, then that which moves
The whispring leaves in the _Panchayan_ groves.
View how his temples shine, on which he weares
A wreath of pearle, made of those precious teares
Thou wept a Virgin, when crosse winds did blow,
Our hopes disturbing in their quiet flow.
But now _Castara_ smile, No envious night
Dares enterpose it selfe, t'ecclipse the light
Of our cleare joyes. For even the lawes divine
Permit our mutuall love[18] so to entwine,
That Kings, to ballance true content, shall say:
Would they were great as we, we blest as they.

[18] loves. 1634.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon the mutuall love of their Majesties_.

Did you not see, _Castara_, when the King
Met his lov'd Queene; what sweetnesse she did bring
T' incounter his brave heat; how great a flame
From their brests meeting, on the sudden came?
The Stoike, who all easie passion flies,
Could he but heare the language of their eyes,
As heresies would from his faith remove
The tenets of his sect, and practise love.
The barb'rous nations which supply the earth
With a promiscuous and ignoble birth,
Would by his precedent correct their life,
Each wisely chuse, and chastely love a wife.
[19]Princes example is a law. Then we
If loyall subjects, must true lovers be.

[19] Princes examples are a law. Then we. 1634.

_To_ ZEPHIRUS.

Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breath
_Castara_ and my selfe I here bequeath
To the calme wind. For heaven such joyes afford
To her and me, that there can be no third.
And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light:
Her eyes supply your office with more bright
And constant lustre. Angels guardians, like
The nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strike
Or hoist up saile; Nor shall our vessell move
By Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love.
The courtesie of this more prosperous gale
Shall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saile
To some blest Port, where ship hath never lane
At anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophane
Hath ever trod; Where nature doth dispence
Her infant wealth, a beautious innocence.
Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride,
(The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abide
On that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're,
Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there.
Thence age and death are exil'd, all offence
And feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence.
A silence there so melancholly sweet,
That none but whispring Turtles ever meet.
Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe,
To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two.
And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne;
_Castara_, wee'le obey and rule alone.
For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare,
Would be depraved, should but a third be there.

_To_ CASTARA
_in a Trance_.

Forsake me not so soone. _Castara_ stay,
And as I breake the prison of my clay,
Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath,
And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death.
Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play.
Goe happy twins of love; The courteous Sea
Shall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep,
Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe.
Every ungentle rocke shall melt away,
The Syrens sing to please, not to betray.
Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quire
Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire.
While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even,
Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven.

_To_ DEATH,
CASTARA _being sicke_.

Hence prophane grim man, nor dare
To approach so neere my faire.
Marble vaults, and gloomy caves,
Church-yards, Charnell houses, graves,
Where the living loath to be,
Heaven hath design'd to thee.
But it needs 'mongst us thou'lt rage,
Let thy fury feed on age.
Wrinckled browes, and withered thighs,
May supply thy sacrifice.
Yet perhaps as thou flew'st by,
A flamed dart shot from her eye,
Sing'd thy wings with wanton fire,
Whence th' art forc't to hover nigh her.
If Love so mistooke his aime,
Gently welcome in the flame:
They who loath'd thee, when they see
Where thou harbor'st, will love thee.
Onely I, such is my fate,
Must thee as a rivall hate,
Court her gently, learne to prove,
Nimble in the thefts of love.
Gaze on th' errors of her haire:
Touch her lip; but oh beware,
Lest too ravenous of thy blisse,
Thou shouldst murder with a kisse.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Inviting her to sleepe_.

Sleepe my _Castara_, silence doth invite
Thy eyes to close up day; though envious night
Grieves Fate should her the sight of them debarre,
For she is exil'd, while they open are.
Rest in thy peace secure. With drowsie charmes,
Kinde sleepe bewitcheth thee into her armes;
And finding where Loves chiefest treasure lies,
Is like a theefe stole under thy bright eyes.
Thy innocence rich as the gaudy quilt
Wrought by the Persian hand, thy dreames from guilt
Exempted, heaven with sweete repose doth crowne
Each vertue, softer then the Swans fam'd downe.
As exorcists wild spirits mildly lay,
May sleepe thy fever calmely chase away.

_Upon_ CASTARA'S _recoverie_.

She is restor'd to life. Unthrifty Death,
Thy mercie in permitting vitall breath
Backe to _Castara_, hath enlarg'd us all,
Whome griefe had martyr'd in her funerall.
While others in the ocean of their teares,
Had sinking, wounded the beholders eares,
With exclamations: I without a grone,
Had suddenly congeal'd into a stone:
There stood a statue, till the generall doome;
Had ruin'd time and memory with her tombe.
While in my heart, which marble, yet still bled,
Each Lover might this Epitaph have read.
"Her earth lyes here below; her soul's above,
This wonder speakes her vertue, and my love."

_To a Friend,
Inviting him to a meeting upon promise._

May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wine
Which makes the zeale of _Amsterdam_ divine;
If you make breach of promise. I have now
So rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bow
T' adore my _Genius_. Of this wine should _Prynne_
Drinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginne
A health to _Shakespeares_ ghost, But you may bring
Some excuse forth, and answer me, the King
To-day will give you audience, or that on
Affaires of state, you and some serious Don
Are to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sin
So farre, as to leave word y'ar not within.
The least of these, will make me only thinke
Him subtle, who can in his closet drinke
Drunke even alone, and thus made wise create
As dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state,
Projecting for such baits, as shall draw ore
To _Holland_, all the herrings from our shore.
But y'are too full of candour: and I know
Will sooner stones at _Sals'burg_ casements throw,
Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, all
The rich impropriations, then let pall
So pure Canary, and breake such an oath:
Since charity is sinn'd against in both.
Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale,
Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and veale
Say grace in Latine; while I saintly sing
A Penitential verse in oyle and Ling.
Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight,
Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right!
This I am sure: My sacke will disingage
All humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage,
That _Hypocrene_ shall henceforth Poets lacke,
Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke.
Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend,
How good _Castara_ is, how deare my friend.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Where true happinesse abides_.

_Castara_ whisper in some dead mans eare,
This subtill _quære_; and hee'le point out where,
By answers negative, true joyes abide.
Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tide
Of greatnesse, they can no firme basis have,
Upon the trepidation of a wave.
Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth,
Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth,
To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' grace
Love they to wanton of a brighter face,
For th'are above Times battery; and the light
Of beauty, ages cloud will soone be night.
If among these Content, he thus doth prove,
Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love?

_To_ CASTARA.

Forsake with me the earth, my faire,
And travell nimbly through the aire,
Till we have reacht th' admiring skies;
Then lend sight to those heavenly eyes
Which blind themselves, make creatures see.
And taking view of all, when we
Shall finde a pure and glorious spheare;
Wee'le fix like starres for ever there.
Nor will we still each other view,
Wee'le gaze on lesser starres then you;
See how by their weake influence they,
The strongest of mens actions sway.
In an inferiour orbe below,
Wee'le see _Calisto_ loosely throw
Her haire abroad: as she did weare,
The self-same beauty in a Beare,
As when she a cold Virgin stood,
And yet inflam'd _Joves_ lustfull blood.
Then looke on _Lede_, whose faire beames
By their reflection guild those streames,
Where first unhappy she began
To play the wanton with a Swan.
If each of these loose beauties are
Transform'd to a more beauteous starre
By the adult'rous lust of _Jove_;
Why should not we, by purer love?

_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon the death of a Lady_.

_Castara_ weepe not, though her tombe appeare
Sometime thy griefe to answer with a teare:
The marble will but wanton with thy woe.
Death is the Sea, and we like Rivers flow
To lose our selves in the insatiate Maine,
Whence Rivers may, she[20] ne're returne againe.
Nor grieve this Christall streame so soone did fall
Into the Ocean; since she perfum'd all
The banks she past, so that each neighbour field
Did sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld.
Which now adorne her Hearse. The violet there
On her pale cheeke doth the sad livery weare,
Which heavens compassion gave her; And since she
Cause cloath'd in purple can no mourner be,
As incense to the tombe she gives her breath,
And fading, on her Lady waits in death.
Such office the Ægyptian handmaids did
Great _Cleopatra_, when she dying chid
The Asps slow venome, trembling she should be
By Fate rob'd even of that blacke victory.
The flowers instruct our sorrowes. Come then all
Ye beauties, to true beauties funerall,
And with her, to increase deaths pompe, decay.
Since the supporting fabricke of your clay
Is faine, how can ye stand? How can the night
Shew stars, when Fate puts out the dayes great light?
But 'mong the faire, if there live any yet,
She's but the fairer _Digbies_ counterfeit.
Come you who speake your titles. Reade in this
Pale booke, how vaine a boast your greatnesse is.
What's honour but a hatchment? what is here
Of _Percy_ left, and _Stanly_, names most deare
To vertue? but a crescent turn'd to th' wane,
An Eagle groaning o're an infant slaine?
Or what availes her, that she once was led,
A glorious bride to valiant _Digbies_ bed,
Since death hath them divorc'd? If then alive
There are, who these sad obsequies survive
And vaunt a proud descent, they onely be
Loud heralds to set forth her pedigree.
Come all who glory in your wealth, and view
The embleme of your frailty. How untrue
(Though flattering like friends) your treasures are,
Her Fate hath taught[21]: who, when what ever rare
The either Indies boast, lay richly spread
For her to weare, lay on her pillow dead.
Come likewise my _Castara_ and behold,
What blessings ancient prophesie foretold,
Bestow'd on her in death. She past away
So sweetely from the world, as if her clay
Laid onely downe to slumber. Then forbeare
To let on her blest ashes fall a teare.
But if th'art too much woman, softly weepe.
Lest griefe disturbe the silence of her sleepe.

[20] we. 1634.

[21] Her Fate hath taught you: who, when what ever rare. 1634, 1635.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Being to take a journey_.

What's death more than departure; the dead go
Like travelling exiles, compell'd to know
Those regions they heard mention of: Tis th'art
Of sorrowes, sayes, who dye doe but depart.
Then weepe thy funerall teares: which heaven t'adorne
The beauteous tresses of the weeping morne,
Will rob me of: and thus my tombe shall be
As naked, as it had no obsequie.
Know in these lines, sad musicke to thy eare,
My sad _Castara_, you the sermon here
Which I preach o're my hearse: And dead, I tell
My owne lives story, ring but my owne knell.
But when I shall returne, know 'tis thy breath
In sighes divided, rescues me from death.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Weeping_.

_Castara!_ O you are too prodigall
Oth' treasure of your teares; which thus let fall
Make no returne: well plac'd calme peace might bring
To the loud wars, each free a captiv'd King.
So the unskilfull Indian those bright jems,
Which might adde majestie to Diadems,
'Mong the waves scatters, as if he would store
The thanklesse Sea, to make our Empire poore.
When heaven darts thunder at the wombe of Time,
Cause with each moment it brings forth a crime,
Or else despairing to roote out abuse,
Would ruine vitious earth; be then profuse.
Light, chas'd rude chaos from the world before,
Thy teares, by hindring it's returne, worke more.

_To_ CASTARA,
_Upon a sigh_.

I Heard a sigh, and something in my eare
Did whisper, what my soule before did feare.
That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie Spring
Enricht with odours, wanton on the wing
Of th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade,
If he the treasure of this breath convey'd;
'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breath
Of Swans is like, propheticke in their death:
And th' odour, for as it the nard expires,
Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires.
The winds of Paradice send such a gale,
To make the Lovers vessels calmely saile
To his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires,
Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires.

_To the Right Honourable the Lady_ F.

Madam.