Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete, Poem · Floating text 1

Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete · Poem · Floating text 1

Sonnet 1.

ADmire not Shepheards Boy,

Why I my Pipe forbeare;

My sorrowes, and my ioy,

Beyond expression are.

Though others may,

In Songs display

Their passions, when they wooe:

Yet, mine doe flie,

A pitch too high,

For words to reach vntounto.

If such weake thoughts as those,

With others fancies moue;

Or, if my breast did close,

But common Straines of LoueLove:

Or passions store,

Learnd me no more,

To feele then others doe:

I'de paint my cares,

As blacke as theirs,

And teach my Lynes to wooe.

But oh! thrice happy yee,

Whose meane conceit is dull;

You from those thoughts are free,

That stuffe my breast so full:

My loues excesse,

Lets to expresse,

What Songs are vsed to:

And my delights,

Take such high flights,

My Ioyes will mee vndoe.

I hauehave a LoueLove that's faire,

Rich, Wise, and Nobly borne;

Shee's true Perfections heire,

Holds nought but Vice in scorne.

A heart to find,

More chast, more kind,

Our Plaines affoord no moe.

Of her degree,

No blab Ile be,

For doubt, some Prince should wooe.

And yet I doe not feare,

(Though shee my meannesse knowes)

The Willow Branch to weare,

No, nor the yellow hose.

For, if great Ioue,

Should sue for louelove,

Shee would not me forgoe

Resort I may,

By night or day.

Which brauer, dare not doe.

You Gallants, borne to pelfe,

To Lands, to Titles store;

Ime borne but to my Selfe,

Nor doe I care for more.

Adde to your earth,

Wealth, Honors, Birth,

And all you can thereto;

You cannot proue,

That height of LoueLove,

Which, I in meannesse doe.

Great Men hauehave helpes to gaine,

Those fauours they implore;

Which, though I winne with paine,

I finde my ioyes the more.

Each Clowne may rise,

And climbe the Skies,

When he hath found a Staire:

But ioy to him,

That dares to climbe,

And hath no helpe, but ayre.

Some say, that LoueLove repents,

Where Fortunes disagree;

I know the high'st contents,

From low beginnings be.

My loue's vnfain'd,

To her that daignd,

From Greatnesse, stoope thereto.

Shee loues, cause I,

So meane, dar'dtrie,

Her better worth to wooe.

And yet although much ioy,

My Fortune seemes to blesse;

Tis mixt with more annoy,

Then I shall ere expresse:

For, with much paine

Did I obtaine,

The Iem Ile nere forgoe:

Which, yet I dare

Nor shew, nor weare;

And that breeds all my woe.

But fie, my foolish tongue,

How loosely now it goes!

First, let my Knell be rung,

Ere I doe more disclose.

Mounts thoughts on high;

Cease words, for why:

My meaning to diuine:

To those I leaue,

That can conceiue,

So braue a LoueLove as mine.

And now, no more Ile sing,

Among my fellow Swaines:

Nor Groues, nor Hilles shall ring,

With Ecchoes of my plaines.

My Measures be,

Confus'd (you see)

And will not sute thereto:

Cause, I hauehave more,

Braue thoughts in flore,

Then words can reach vntounto.

Sonnet. 2.

HEnce away, you Syrens, leaue me,

And vnclaspe your wanton Armes;

Sugred words shall ne're deceiue me,

(Though thou proue a thousand Charmes)

Fie, fie, forbeare;

No common snare,

Could euer my affection chaine:

Your painted baits,

And poore deceits,

Are all bestowed on me, in vaine.

I'me no flaue, to such as you be;

Neither shall a snowy Brest,

Wanton Eye, or Lip of Ruby,

Euer robb me, of my rest.

Goe, goe, display,

Your Beauties ray,

To some ore-soone enamour'd Swaine.

Those common wiles,

Of sighs and smiles;

Are all bestowed on me, in vaine.

I hauehave elsewhere, vowed a dutie;

Turne away thy tempting eyes.

Shew not me, a naked Beautie,

Those Impostures, I despise.

My Spirit lothes,

Where gawdy clothes,

And fained Othes, may louelove obtaine.

I louelove Her so,

Whose looke, sweares No;

That, all your labours will be vaine.

Can he prize the tainted Posies,

Which on eueryevery brest are worne;

That may plucke the spotlesse Roses,

From their neuer-touched Thorne?

I can goe rest,

On her sweet Brest;

That is the pride of Cynthia's traine.

Then hold your tongues,

Your Mermaid Songs,

Are all bestow'd on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,

Where each Peasant mates with him.

Shall I haunt the thronged Vallies,

Whilst ther's noble Hils to climbe?

No, no; though Clownes

Are skar'd with frownes,

I know the best can but disdaine:

And those Ile proue;

So shall your LoueLove

Be all bestowed, on me in vaine.

Yet, I would not daigne embraces,

With the greatest-fairest Shee,

If another shar'd those graces,

VVhichWhich had beene bestowed on Me.

I gaue that One,

My LoueLove, where none,

Shall come to robb me of my gaine.

Your fickle Hearts

Makes Teares, and Arts,

And all, bestowed on me in vaine.

I doe scorne, to vow a Dutie,

VVhere each lustfull Lad may wooe.

GiueGive me Her, whose Sun-like Beautie,

Buzzards dare not soare vntounto.

Shee, shee it is,

Affoords that Blisse,

For which, I would refuse no paine.

But such as you,

Fond fooles adue;

You seeke to captiue me in vaine.

Prowd she seem'd in the beginning,

And disdaind my looking on:

But, that coy one in the winning,

Proues a true one being wonne.

VVhat ere betide,

Shee'l nere diuide,

The fauour shee to me shall daigne.

But, your fond louelove,

VVill fickle proue:

And all that trust in you, are vaine.

Therefore know, when I enioy One,

(And for louelove employ my breath)

Shee I Court shall be a Coy one,

Though I winne her with my death.

A fauour there,

Few ayme at dare.

And if perhaps, some Louer plaine,

Shee is not wonne,

Nor I vndone,

By placing of my louelove in vaine.

Leaue me then, you Syrens leaue me;

Seeke no more to worke my harmes:

Craftie wiles cannot deceiue me;

Who am proofe against your Charmes.

You labour may,

To lead astray,

The heart, that constant shall remaine:

And I the while,

Will sit and smile,

To see you spend your time in vaine.

Sonnet 3.

WHen Philomela with her straines,

The Spring had welcom'd in;

And Flora, to bestrow the Plaines,

With Daysies did begin:

My LoueLove, and I (on whom suspitious eyes,

Had set a thousand spies)

To cosen Argos stroue;

And seene of none,

We got alone,

Into a shady Gr…e.

On eueryevery Bush, the Eglantine,

with leaues perfumed hung.

The Primrose, made the …edge-rowes fine,

The woods, of Musicke rung.

The Earth, the Aire, & all things did conspire

To raise contentment higher.

That, had I come to wooe:

Nor meanes of grace,

Nor time, nor place;

Were wanting thereunto.

With hand in hand, alone we walkt,

And oft each other …y…e:

Of LoueLove, and passions past, we …,

Which our poore hearts had tride.

Our soules, infus'd into each other were:

And, what may be her care,

Did my more sorrow breed.

One mind we bore;

One Faith we swore:

And both in one agreed.

Her dainty Palme, I gently prest,

And with her Lips I plaid.

My Cheeke, vponupon her panting Brest,

And on her Necke I laid.

And yet, we had no sence of wanton lust:

Nor, did we then mistrust,

The poyson in the sweet.

Our Bodies wrought

So close, we thought,

Because our Soules should meet.

With pleasant toyle, we breathles grew;

And kist in warmer blood:

VponUpon her Lips, the …,

Like drops on Roses stood;

And on those …;

Whose sweets; were such to me,

Them could I not …

No, not to feast,

On Venus …;

Whence Streames of sweetnesse flow.

But, kissing and embracing, we

So long together lay;

Her touches all inflamed me,

And I began to stray.

My hands, presum'd so farre, they were too bold.

My tongue, vnwisely told

How much my heart was chang'd.

And Virtue quite,

VVas put to flight,

Or, for the time estrang'd.

Oh! what are we, if in our strength,

VVee ouer boldly trust?

The strongest forts, will yeeld at length,

And so our Virtues must.

In Me, no force of Reason had preuaild;

If shee had also faild.

But ere I further straid,

She sighing kist,

My naked wrist;

And thus, in teares she said.

Sweet heart (quoth she) if in thy brest,

Those Virtues reall bee,

Which hitherto thou hast profest,

And I beleeu'd in thee:

Thy Selfe, and Me, oh seeke not to abuse.

Whilst Thee I thus refuse,

In hotter flames I frie:

Yet, let vsus not,

Our true louelove spot,

Oh, rather let mee die.

For, if thy heart should fall from good,

What would become of mine?

As strong a passion, stirres my blood,

As can distemper thine.

Yet, in my brest this rage I smoother would,

Though it consume me should;

And, my desires containe:

For, where we see,

Such breaches be,

They seldome stop againe.

Are we the two, that hauehave so long,

Each others loues imbrac't?

And neuer did Affection wrong,

Nor thinke a thought vnchast?

And shall, oh, shall we now, our matchlesse Iay,

For one poore touch destroy?

And all content forgoe?

Oh no, my Deare,

Sweet heart, forbeare;

I will not loose thee so.

For, should we doe a deed so base,

(As it can neuer be)

I could no more hauehave seene thy face,

Nor wouldst thou looke on me.

I should of all our passions gr…w asham'd;

And blush when thou art nam'd,

Yea (though thou constant wert)

I being nought,

A iealous thought,

Would still torment my heart.

What goodly thing doe wee obtaine,

If I consent to thee?

Rare ioyes we loose, and what we gaine,

But common pleasures be:

Yea, those (some say) who are to lust enclind,

Driue LoueLove out of the mind;

And so much Reason misse:

That they admire,

What kind of fire,

A chast affection is.

No vulgar blisse, I aymed at,

When first I heard thee wooe:

Ile neuer prize a man for that,

Which eueryevery Groome can doe.

If that be louelove; the basest men that be,

Doe louelove as well as we.

Who, if we beare vsus well,

Doe passe them then,

As Angels, men,

In glory doe excell.

Whilst thus she spake, a cruell Band

Of Passions ceazd my Soule:

And, what one seemed to command,

Another did controule.

Twixt Good, and Ill, I did diuided lie,

But, as I rais'd mine eye,

In her me thought I saw,

Those virtues shine,

Whose rayes diuine,

First gaue Desire, a Law.

With that, I felt the blush of shame,

Into my cheeke returne,

And LoueLove, did with a chaster flame,

VVithin my Bosome burne.

My Soule, her light of Reason had renew'd;

And by those Beames I view'd,

How slily Lust ensnares:

And all the fires,

Of ill Desires,

I quenched with my Teares.

Goe Wantons now, and flout at this,

My coldnesse, if you list;

Vaine fooles, you neuer knew the blisse,

That doth in LoueLove consist.

You sigh, and weepe, and labour to enioy;

A Shade, a Dreame, a Toy.

Poore Folly you pursue,

And are vnblest,

Since eueryevery beast,

In pleasure equals you.

You neuer tooke so rich content,

In all your wanton play,

As this to me hath pleasure lent,,

That Chast she went away.

For as some sinnes, which me committed hauehave;

Sharpe stings behind them leeue.

Whereby we vexed are:

So, ill supprest,

Begetteth rest,

And peace, without compare.

But least this Conquest slight you make,

Which on my selfe I wonne;

Twelue labors, I will vndertake,

With Ioues victorious Sonne,

Er'e I, will such another brunt endure.

For, had Diana pure,

Thus tempted beene to sinne;

That Queene of Night,

(With her chast light,)

Had scarce, a Maiden binne.

OH! how honor'd are my Songs,

Grac't by your melodious tongues?

And how pleasing doe they seeme,

Now your voices Carroll them?

Were not, yet, that taske to doe,

Which my word inioynes me to,

I should begge of you, to heare,

What your owne inuentions were.

But, (before I ought will craue)

What I promisd, you shall hauehave.

And, as I on mortall Creatures,

Cald, to view her bodies features;

Shewing how, to make the Senses,

Apprehend her excellences.

Now; I speake of no worse subiect,

Then a Soules, and Reasons obiect:

(And relate a Beauties glories,

Fitting heauenly Auditories)

Therefore, whilst I sit and sing,

Hemme me Angels, in a Ring.

Come ye Spirits, which hauehave eies,

That can gaze on Deityes:

And vnclog'd, with bruitish sences,

Comprehend such excellences.

Or, if any mortall eare,

Would be granted leaue to heare,

(And find profit with delight,

In what now, I shall indite)

Let him first be sure, to season

A prepared hart with reason:

And, with Iudgement, drawing nigh,

Lay all fond affections by.

So, through all her vailings, He

Shall the Soule of beautie see.

But, auoid you earth-bred Wights,

Cloid with sensuall appetites.

On bafe obiects glut your eies,

Till your starueling pleasure dies.

Feede your eares, with such delights,

As may match you grosse conceits;

For, within your muddie braine,

These, you neuer can containe.

Thinke not, you, who by the sence,

Only iudge of excellence;

(Or doe all contentment place,

In the beauty of a face)

That these higher thoughts of our,

Soare so base a pitch as your.

I can giuegive, as well as you,

Outward Beauties all their due:

I can most contentments see,

That in louelove, or women be.

Though I dote not on the features,

Of our daintiest female creatures;

(Nor, was ere so void of shames,

As to play their lawlesse games)

I more prize a snowye Hand,

Then the gold on Tagus strand:

And a daintie Lippe before,

All the greatest Monarcks store.

Yea, from these I reape as true,

And as large contents as you.

Yet, to them I am not tide.

I hauehave rarer sweets espide;

(Wider prospects of true pleasure)

Then your curbed thoughts can measure.

In her Soule, my Soule descries,

Obiects, that may feede her eyes.

And the beauty of her mind,

Shewes my Reason where to finde,

All my former pleasure doubled.

Neither with such passion troubled;

As wherewith it oft was crost:

Nor so easie to be lost.

I, that rauisht lay, wel-nigh,

By the lustre of her eye:

And, had almost sworne affection,

To the fore exprest perfection;

As if nothing had been higher,

Whereunto I might aspire.

Now, hauehave found, by seeking nearer,

Inward worth; that shining clearer;

(By a sweet and secret mouing)

Drawes me to a dearer louing.

And, whilst I that louelove conceiue,

Such impressions it doth leaue,

In the Intellectiue part;

As, defaceth from my hart,

Eu'rie thought of those delights,

Which allure base appetits.

And, my mind so much imploies,

In contemplating, those ioyes,

Which, a purer sight, doth find,

In the beauty of her Mind:

That, I so thereon am set,

As (me thinkes) I could forget,

All her sweetest outward graces:

Though I lay in her imbraces.

But, some thinking with a smile,

What, they would hauehave done the while:

Now suppose my words are such,

As exceed my power too much.

For, all those, our Wantons hold,

Void of Vigor, dull, and cold:

Or (at best) but fooles, whose flame,

Makes not way vntounto their shame.

Though at length with griefe they see

They the fooles doe proue to be.

These, the body so much minded,

That their Reason ouer-blinded,

By the pleasures of the Sence,

Hides from them that excellence;

And that sweetnes, whose true worth,

I am here to blazon forth.

Tis not; tis not, those rare graces,

That doe lurke in womens faces.

Tis not, a displayd perfection,

Youthfull eyes, nor cleare complexion;

Nor a skin, smooth-satten like,

Nor a daintie Rosie cheeke,

That to wantonnesse can moue,

Such as vertuously doe louelove.

Beautie, rather gently drawes

Wild Desires, to Reasons Lawes;

And oft frights men from that sin,

They had else transgressed in:

Through a sweet amazement, stroke,

From an ouer-ruling looke.

Beautie, neuer tempteth men

To lasciuiousnes; but when

Carelesse Idlenesse hath brought

Wicked longings into thought.

Nor doth youth, or heat of blood,

Make men prooue what is not good.

Nor the strength, of which they vaunt.

Tis the strength, and power they want,

And the basenesse of the Mind,

Makes their bruit desires enclind,

To persue those vaine delights,

Which affect their Appetites.

And so blinded doe they grow,

(Who are ouertaken so)

As their dulnes cannot see,

Nor beleeue that better be.

Some, hauehave blood as hot as their,

Whose affections loosest are;

Bodies that require no art,

To supply weake Natures part.

Youth they hauehave; and, sure, might to,

Boast of what, some (shamelesse doe)

Yet, their Minds that aime more high,

(Then those baser pleasures lye)

Taught by Virtue can suppresse,

All attempts of wantonnesse.

And such powerfull motiues frame,

To extinguish Passions flame;

That (by Reasons good direction)

Quallifying loose affection;

Theile in midst of Beauties fires,

Walke vnscorcht of ill Desires.

Yet, no such, as stupid shame,

Keeps from actions worthy blame.

But, in all so truly Man,

That their apprehensions can,

Prize the bodies vtmost worth:

And, find many pleasures forth,

In those Beauties; more then You,

That abuse them, euer knew.

But, perhaps her outward grace,

Here discrib'd, hath tane such place,

In some ore-enamourd breast,

And so much his hart possest,

As He thinkes it passeth telling,

How shee may be more excelling:

Or what worth, I can prefer,

To be more admir'd in Her.

Therefore, now I will be briefe,

To preuent that misbeliefe.

And, if there be present here,

Any one, whose nicer eare:

Taskes my Measures, as offending,

In too seriously commending

What affects the Sense; or may,

Iniure Virtue any way.

Let them know; tis vnderstood,

That if they were truly good,

It could neuer breed offence,

That I shewd the excellence,

With the power of God and Nature,

In the beauty of his Creature.

They from thence would rather raise,

Cause, to meditate his praise:

And thus thinke; How faire must He,

That hath made this Faire-one be!

That; was my proposed End.

And, to make them more attend

VntoUnto this; so much excelling,

As it passeth meanes of telling.

But at worst; if any Straine,

Makes your Memories retaine,

Sparks of such a banefull fire,

As may kindle ill desire:

This, that followes after, shall

Not alone extinguish all;

But, eu'n make you blush with shame,

That your thoughts were so to blame.

Yet, I know when I hauehave done,

(In respect of that bright Sunne,

Whose inestimable light

I would blazon to your sight)

These, ensuing flashes, are,

As to Cynthia's beames a Starre;

Or, a petty Comets ray,

To the glorious Eye of Day.

For, what power of words or Art,

Can her worth at full impart?

Or, what is there, may be found,

Plac'd within the Senses bound;

That can paint those sweets to me,

Which the Eyes of LoueLove doe see?

Or the Beauties of that Mind,

Which her body hath enshrin'd.

Can I thinke, the Guide of Heauen,

Hath so bountifully giuen,

Outward features, cause he meant,

To hauehave made lesse excellent,

Her diuine part? Or suppose,

Beautie, Goodnesse doth oppose;

Like those fooles, who doe despaire,

To find any Good and Faire?

Rather; There I seeke a mind,

Most excelling, where I find

God hath to the body lent,

Most-beseeming Ornament.

But, though he that did inspire

First, the true Promethean fire,

In each seuerall soule did place

Equall Excellence and Grace,

As some thinke; yet hauehave not they

Equall Beauties eueryevery way.

For, they more or lesse appeare,

As the outward Organs are:

Following much the temp'rature,

Of the Body, grosse or pure.

And I doe beleeue it true,

That, as we the Body view:

Nearer to perfection grow;

So, the Soule her selfe doth show:

Others more, and more excelling,

In her powre; as in her dwelling.

For, that purenesse giueth way,

Better to disclose each Ray,

To the Dull conceit of man,

Then a grosser substance can.

Thus, through spotlesse Christall, wee

May the Dayes full glory see;

When, if clearest Sunbeames passe,

Through a foule polluted glasse:

So discollerd, the'il appeare;

As those Staines they shone through, were.

Let no Critticke cauill then,

If I dare affirme agen;

That her Minds perfections are,

Fairer then her Bodie's farr;

And, I need not proue it by,

Axioms of Philosophy,

Since no proofe can better be,

Then their rare effect in me.

For, while other men complaining,

Tell their Mistresses disdaining:

Free from care, I write a storie,

Only of her worth and glory.

While most Louers pining sit,

(Rob'd of libertie and wit)

Vassaling themselues with shame,

To some proud imperious Dame:

Or, in Songs their Fate bewailing,

Shew the world their faithles fayling.

I, enwreath'd with boughs of Myrtle,

Fare like the beloued Turtle.

Yea while most, are most vntoward,

Peeuish, vaine, inconstant, froward.

While their best contentments bring,

Nought but after-sorrowing.

She, those childish humors slighting,

Hath conditions so delighting,

And doth so my blisse indeauour,

As my ioy encreaseth euer.

By her actions I can see,

That her Passions so agree,

VntoUnto Reason; as they erre,

Seldome, to distemper her.

Lone she can (and doth) but so,

As she will not ouerthrow,

Loues content by any folly,

Or, by deeds that are vnholy.

Dotingly, she nere affects;

Neither willingly neglects

Honest louelove: But meanes doth find,

With discretion to be kind.

Tis nor thundring Phrase, nor Othes,

Honors, wealth, nor painted Clothes,

That can her good liking gaine,

If no other worth remaine.

Neuer tooke her heart, delight

In your Court-Hermaphrodite,

Or such frothy Gallants, as

For the Times Heroes passe.

Such; who (still in louelove) doe all

Faire, and Sweet, and Lady call.

And where e're they hap to stray,

Either prate the rest away;

Or, of all discourse to seeke,

Shuffle in at Cent, or Gleek.

Goodnesse more delights her, than

All their Maske of Folly can.

Fond, she hateth to appeare;

Though she hold her friend as deare,

As her part of life vnspent:

Or, the best of her content.

If the heat of youthfull fires,

Warme her blood with those desires,

Which are by the course of Nature,

Stird in eueryevery perfect Creature:

As those Passions kindle, so

Doth Heauens grace, and Reason grow

Abler, to suppresse in her

Those rebellions; and they stirre,

Neuer more affection, then

One good thought allayes agen.

I could say, so chast is shee,

As the new-blowne Roses be.

Or, the drifts of Snow, that none

Euer toucht, or lookt vponupon.

But, that were not worth a Flie,

Seeing so much Chastitie,

Old Pigmalion Picture had:

Yea, those Eunuchs borne or made,

Ne're to know Desire; might say,

Shee deseru'd no more then they.

Wheras, whilst their worth proceeds

From such wants, as they must needs,

Be vnmou'd (cause Nature fram'd

No affections to be tam'd)

Through her daintie Limbs, are spread,

Vigour, heat, and freely shed,

Life blood into eueryevery vaine;

Till they fill, and swell againe:

And no doubt they striue to force,

Way, in some forbidden Course.

Which, by Grace she still resists;

And so Courbs within their lists,

Those Desires: that she is chaster,

Then if she had none to master.

Malice, neuer lets she in:

Neither hates she ought, but sin.

Enuy, if she could admit,

Ther's no meanes to nourish it:

For, her gentle heart is pleas'd,

When she knowes anothers eas'd.

And ther's none, who euer got

That perfection, she hath not.

So, that no cause is there, why

Shee should any one enuy.

Mildly angry sheele appeare,

That the baser Rout may feare;

Through presumption to misdoe.

Yet, she often faines that to.

But let wrong be whatsoeuer,

She giues way to Choller, neuer.

If she e're of Vengeante thought,

Twas nor life, nor blood was sought;

But (at most) some prayer to moue,

Iustice for abused LoueLove:

Or, that Fate would pay againe,

Loues neglectors with disdaine.

If she euer crau'd of Fate,

To obtaine a higher State;

(Or ambitiously were giuen)

Sure, twas but to climbe to heauen.

Pride, is from her heart as farre,

As the Poles in distance are.

For, her worth, nor all this praise,

Can her humble spirit raise,

Lesse to prize me, then before;

Or her selfe, to value more.

Were she Vaine; she might alledge,

Twere her Sexes priuiledge.

But, shee's such; as (doubtlesse) no man

Knowes lesse folly, in a woman.

To preuent a being Idle,

Sometime, with her curious Needle,

(Though it be her meanest glory)

Shee so limnes an Antique Story,

As Minerua (would she take it)

Might her richest Sample make it.

Other while, againe, she rather

Labors, with delight to gather

Knowledge from such learned Writs,

As are left by famous Wits.

Where, Shee chiefly seekes to know,

God; Her selfe; and what we owe,

To our Neighbour: since with these,

Come all needefull Knowledges.

Shee, with Adam, neuer will

Long to learne both Good and Ill;

But, her state well vndestood,

Rests her selfe, content with Good.

Auarice, abhorreth shee,

As the lothsom'st things that be:

Since she knowes it is an ill,

That doth ripest vertue kill.

And, where ere it comes to rest,

(Though in some strict Matrons brest)

Be she ne're so seeming iust,

Ile no shewes of Goodnesse trust.

For, if you but gold can bring;

Such, are hir'd to any thing.

If you thinke she Iealous be;

You are wide: For, credit me,

Her strong'st Iealousies, nought are,

Other then an honest care,

Of her friends. And, most can tell,

Who so wants that, loues not well.

Though some little feare she showes,

Tis no more then louelove allowes:

So the passion doe not moue her,

Till she greeue, or wrong her louer.

Shee may thinke He may doe ill;

Though, shee'l not beleeue he will.

Nor, can such a harmelesse thought,

Blemish true affection ought:

Rather, when as else it would,

Through security growe cold.

This her Passion, keeping measure,

Strengthens LoueLove, and sweetens Pleasure.

Crueltie, her soule detests;

For, within her Bosome rests,

Noblest Pitty; vsherd by,

An vnequall'd Courtesie.

And, is grieu'd at good mens moane,

As the griefe were all her owne.

Iust shee is; so iust, that I

Know she would not wrong a Flye;

Or, oppresse the meanest thing,

To be Mistresse to a King.

If our Painters would include,

Temperance, and Fortitude,

In one Picture; She would fitt,

For the nonce to paterne it.

Patient, as the Lambe is she.

Harmelesse, as the Turtles be.

Yea, so largely stor'd, with all

Which we Mortals Goodnesse call;

That, if euer Virtue were,

Or may be, incarnate here;

This is she, whose praises, I

Offer to Eternitie.

Shee's no Image trimd about,

Faire within, and foule without:

But a Iemm that doth appeare,

Like the Diamond, eueryevery where,

Sparkling rayes of Beautie forth;

All of such vnblemisht worth,

That wert possible, your eye

Might her inmost thoughts espie,

And behold the dimmest part,

Of the lustre in her heart.

It would find that Center passe,

What the Superficies was.

And, that eueryevery angle there,

Like a Diamonds inside were.

For, although that Excellence

Passe the piercingst Eye of Sence;

By their operations we,

Guesse at things that hidden be.

So (beyond our common reach)

Wise men can by Reason teach,

What the influences beene,

Of a Planet, when vnseene;

Or the Beautie of a Starre,

That doth shine aboue vsus farre.

So, by that wide-beaming Light,

Wherewith Titan Courts our sight,

By his clothing of the Earth;

By the wondrous, various Birth,

Of new Creatures, yearely bred

Through his heat; and nourished:

And by many Virtues moe

(Which our Senses reach vntounto)

We conclude; they are not all,

Which make faire that goodly Ball.

Though shee prize her honour more,

Then the far-fetcht precious store

Of the rich Molucchi, or

All the wealth was traffickt for,

Since our Vessels, passage knew

VntoUnto Mexico, Peru:

Or those spacious Kingdomes, which

Make the proud Iberians rich.

Tis not that vncertaine blast,

Keepes my Mistresse Good, or Chast.

Shee, that but for honours sake,

Doth of ill a Conscience make;

(More in feare what Rumour sayes,

Then in louelove to vertuous wayes)

Though she seem'd more ciuill than,

You hauehave seene a Courtezan,

For an honor: And cries Oh fie,

At each shew of vanitie.

Though she censure all that be,

Not so foolish coy as shee.

Though she with the Roman Dame

Kill her selfe, to purchase fame.

Shee would prostitute become,

To the meanest basest Groome;

If so closely they may doe it,

As the world should neuer know it.

So at best those women prooue,

That for honour; virtue louelove.

GiueGive me her, that Goodnes chuseth

For it owne sake: And refuseth

To hauehave greatest honors gain'd,

With her secret conscience stain'd.

GiueGive me her, that would be poore;

Die disgrac't; nay, thought a whoore;

And each Times reproch become,

Till the generall day of Doome:

Rather then consent to act

Pleasing Sinne, though by the fact,

(With esteeme of vertuous) she

Might the German Empresse be.

Such my Mistresse is; and nought

Shall hauehave power to change her thought.

Pleasures cannot tempt her eye,

On their Bayts to glance awry.

For their good she still esteemes,

As it is; not as it seemes:

And, she takes no comfort in

Sweetest pleasure, sowr'd with Sinn.

By her selfe, she hath such care,

That her actions decent are.

For, were she in secret hid,

None might see her what she did.

Shee would doe, as if for spies,

EueryEvery wall were stucke with eyes.

And be chary of her honour,

Cause the heau'ns do looke vponupon her.

And, oh what had power to moue,

Flames of Lust, or wanton louelove,

So farre, to disparage vsus,

If we all, were minded thus?

These, are Beauties that shall last,

When the Crimson blood shall wast;

And the shining Haire wax gray:

Or with age be worne away.

These, yeeld pleasures, such as might,

Be remembred with delight;

When we gaspe our latest breath,

On the loathed bed of death.

Though discreetly speake shee can,

Sheele be silent, rather than

Talke while others may be heard.

As if she did hate, or fear'd,

Their Condition; who will force

All, to wait on their Discourse.

Reason hath on her bestowed

More of knowledge, then she owed

To that Sex: and Grace with it,

Doth aright her Practise fit.

Yet, hath Fate so framed her,

As she may at sometime, erre:

But, if ere her iudgement stray,

Tis that other women may,

Those much-pleasing Beauties see,

Which in yeelding Natures be.

For, since no perfection can

Here on earth be found in Man,

Ther's more good in free submissions,

Then ther's ill in our transgressions.

Should you heare her, once, contend,

In discoursing, to defend

(As she can) a doubtfull Cause:

She such strong Positions drawes

From known Truths; and doth apply,

Reasons with such Maiestie:

As if she did vndertake,

From some Oracle to speake.

And you could not think, what might

Breed more louelove, or more delight.

Yet, if you should marke agen,

Her discreet behauiour, when

She finds Reason to repent

Some wrong-pleaded Argument.

She so temperatly lets all

Her mis-held opinions fall;

And, can with such Mildnesse bow:

As 'twill more enamour you,

Then her knowledge. For, there are

Pleasing sweets without compare

In such yeeldings; which doe prooue,

Wit, Humilitie, and LoueLove.

Yea, by those mistakings; you

Her Condition so shall know,

(And the nature of her mind,

So vndoubtedly shall find)

As will make her, more endeared,

Then if she had neuer erred.

Farther; that she nought may misse,

Which worth praise in woman, is:

This, vntounto the rest I add.

If I wound, or sicknes, had;

None should for my curing runne.

(No not to Appollo's sonne)

She, so well, the Virtue knowes,

Of each needfull Hearbe that growes;

And so fitly, can apply,

Salues to eueryevery Maladie:

That, if she, no succour gaue me,

Twere no meanes of Art, could saue me.

Should my Soule oppressed lye,

(Sunke with griefe and sorrow nigh)

She hath balme for minds distrest;

And could ease my pained breast.

She so well knowes how to season,

Passionate discourse with Reason;

And knowes how to sweeten it,

Both with so much louelove and wit;

That, it shall prepare the Sense.

To giuegive way with lesse offence.

For, greeued minds, can ill abide,

Counsell churlishly applide:

Which, instead of comfortings;

Desperation, often brings.

But, harke Nymphs: me thinkes, I heare

Musicke, sounding in mine eare.

Tis a Lute: And hee's the best

For a Voice, in all the West,

That doth touch it. And the Swaine,

I would hauehave you heare so faine,

That my Song, forbeare will I,

To attend his melodie.

Hither comes he, day by day,

In these Groues to sing, and play,

And, in yonn close Arbor, He

Sitteth now, expecting me.

He, so bashfull is; that mute

Will his Tougne be, and his Lute,

Should he happen to espie

This, vnlookt for Company.

If you, therefore list to heare him,

Let's with silence walke more neere him.

Twill be worth your paines (beleeue me)

(If a Voice, content may giuegive yee)

And, await you shall not long;

For, He now beginns a Song.