Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete, Poems

Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete · Poems

A Miscelany of Epigrams, Sonnets, Epitaphs, and such other Verses, as were found written, with the Poeme, aforegoing.

Of the Inuention of the nine Muses.

THe Acts of Ages past, doth Clio write.

The Tragoedie's, Melpomenes delight.

Thalia, is with Comedies contented.

E…terpe, first, the Shepheards Pipe inuented.

Terpsicore, doth Song, and Lute applie.

Dauncing Er…to found Geometry.

Calliop…, on louing Verses dwels.

The secrets of the Starres, Vrania tells.

Polymnia, with choyce words, the speech doth trim.

And great Apollo shares with all of them.

Those thrice three Feminines▪ we Mases call;

But that one Masculine is worth them all.

Of the Labours of Hercules.

FIrst, he the strong Nemean Lyon slew:

The many-headed Hydra next ore-threw.

The Eremanthian Bore he thirdly foyles:

Then of his golden Hornes the Stagge he spoyles.

The foule Stymphalian Birds he fifthly frayd:

Next, he the Queene of Amazons ore-swayd▪

Then clensd Aegeas Stalls, with filth so full:

And eighthly, tamed the vntamed Bull.

He slew proud Diomedes with his Horses.

From triple Gerio… his rich Heard he forces.

He slew the Dragon for the fruite of gold:

And made blacke Cerber… the day behold.

These were his twelue stout Labours. And they say,

With fifty Virgins in one night he lay.

If true it be, tis thought he labourd more

In that one act, then in the twelue before.

Being … by a Gentleman in his Dining-roome, where was nothing but a Map of England to entertaine him, he thus turned it into Verse.

FAire England in the bosome of the Seas,

Amid her two and fiftie Prouinces,

Sits like a glorious Empresse; whose rich Throne,

Great Nymphes of honor come to wayt vponupon.

First, in the height of brauery appeares

Kent, East and South, and Middle-Saxon Shires:

Next, Surry▪ Barkshire, and Southampton get,

With Dorcet, VVilton, and rich Sommerset.

Then Deuon, with the Cornish Promontory:

Gloster and VVorster, faire Sabrinas glory.

Then Salope, Suffolke, Northfolke large and faire,

Oxford and Cambridge, that thrice learned paire.

Then Lincolne, Darby, Yorkeshire, Nottingham,

Northamption, VVarwick, Stafford, Buckingham.

Chester and Lancaster (with Heards well stord)

Huntingdon, Hartford, Rutland, Hereford.

Then Princely Durham, Bedford, Leister, and

Northumber, Cumber and cold VVestmerland.

Braue English shires; with whom lou'd equally

Welch Munmouth, Rad…or, and Mountgomery,

Adde all the glory (to her T…aine) they can:

So doth Glamorgan, Breckn…, Cardigan,

Caernaruan, Denbigh, …-Shire,

With Anglesey (which ore the sea doth reare

Her… lofty head And with the first, though last,

Flint, Pembrooke and Carmarthen might be pla….

For all of these (vntounto their power) maintaine

Their Mistrisse England with a royall Traine.

Yea, for Supporters at each hand, hath she

The VVight and Man, that two braue Ilands be.

From these, I to the Scottish Nymphes had iorny'd,

But that my Friend was backe againe returned,

Who hauing kindly brought me to his home,

Alone did leaue me in his Dining Rome:

Where I was faine (and glad I had the hap)

To begg an entertainment of his Map.

An Epitaph vponupon the Right Vertuous Lady, the Lady SCOTT.

LEt none suppose this Relique of the Iust,

as here wrapt vp, to perish in the dust.

No, like best …, her time she fully stood:

Then being growne in Faith, and ripe in Good;

(With stedfast hope, that shee another day,

Should rise with Christ) with Dea…h here downe she lay.

And, that each part, which Her, in life had grac't,

Preseru'd might be, and meet againe at last:

The Poore, the Worl…, the Heauens, and the Graue:

Her Almes, her Praise, her Soule, her Body hauehave.

An Epitaph vponupon a Woman, and her Child, buried together in the same Graue.

BEneath this Marble Stone doth lye,

…he Subiect of Deaths Tyranny.

A Mother: who in this close Tombe,

Sleepes with the issue of her wombe.

Though cruelly enclinde was he;

And with the fruit shooke downe the Tree.

Yet was his cruelty in vaine.

For, Tree, and Fruit, shall spring againe.

A Christmas Carroll.

SO, now is come our ioyfulst Feast;

Let eueryevery man be iolly.

Each Roome, with Yuie leaues is drest,

And eueryevery Post, with Holly.

Though some Churles at our mirth repine,

Round your forheads Garlands twine,

Drowne sorrow in a Cup of Wine.

And let vsus all be merry.

Now, all our Neighbours Chimneys smoke,

And Christmas blocks are burning;

The, Ouens, they with bakt meats choke,

And all their Spits are turning.

Without the doore, let sorrow lie:

And, if for cold, it hap to die,

Weele bury't in a Christmas Pye.

And euermore be merry.

Now, eueryevery Lad is wondrous trimm,

And no man minds his Labour.

Our Lasses hauehave prouided them,

A Bag-pipe, and a Tabor.

Young men, and Mayds, and Girles & Boyes,

Ciue life, to one ano… hers Ioyes:

And, you anon shall by their noyse,

Perceiue that they are merry.

Ranke Misers now, doe sparing shun:

Their Hall of Musicke soundeth:

And, Dogs, thence with whole shoulders run,

So, all things there aboundeth.

The Countrey-folke, themselues aduance;

For Crowdy-Mutton's come out of France:

And Iack shall pipe, and Iyll shall daunce,

And all the Towne be merry.

Ned Swash hath fetcht his Bands from pawne,

And all his best Apparell.

Brisk Nell hath bought a Ruffe of Lawne,

With droppings of the Barrell.

And those that hardly all the yeare

Had Bread to eat, or Raggs to weare,

Will hauehave both Clothes, and daintie fare:

And all the day be merry.

Now poore men to the Iustices,

With Capons make their arrants,

And if they hap to faile of these,

They plague them with their Warrants.

But now they feed them with good cheere,

And what they want, they take in Beere:

For, Christmas comes but once a yeare:

And then they shall be merry.

Good Farmours, in the Countrey, nurse

The poore, that else were vndone.

Some Land-lords, spend their money worse,

On Lust, and Pride at London.

There, the Roysters they doe play;

Drabb and Dice their Landt away,

Which may be ours, another day:

And therefore lets be merry.

The Clyent now his suit forbeares,

The Prisoners heart is eased.

The Debtor drinks away his cares,

And, for the time is pleased.

Though others Purses be more fat,

Why should we pine or grieue at that?

Hang sorrow, care will kill a Cat.

And therefore lets be merry.

Harke, how the Wagges, abrode doe call

Each other foorth to rambling.

Anon, youle see them in the Hall,

For Nutts, and Apples scambling.

Harke, how the Roofes with laughters sound!

Annon they'l thinke the house goes round:

For, they the Sellars depth hauehave found.

And, there they will be merry.

The VVenches with their Wassell-Bowles,

About the Streets are singing:

The Boyes are come to catch the Owles,

The Wild-mare, in is bringing.

Our Kitchin-Boy hath broke his Boxe,

And, to the dealing of the Oxe,

Our honest neighbours come by flocks,

And, here, they will be merry.

Now Kings and Queenes, poore Sheep-cotes hauehave,

And mate with eueryevery body:

The honest, now, may play the knaue,

And wise men play at Noddy.

Some Youths will now a Mumming goe;

Some others play at Rowland-hoe,

And, twenty other Gameboyes moe:

Because they will be merry.

Then wherefore in these merry daies,

Should we I pray, be duller?

No; let vsus sing some Roundelayes,

To make our mirth the fuller.

And, wh…lest thus inspir'd we sing,

Let all the Streets with ecchoes ring:

Woods, and Hills, and eueryevery thing,

Beare witnesse we are merry.

An Epitaph vponupon the Porter of a PRISON.

HEre lye the bones of him, that was of late,

A Churlish Porter of a Prison gate.

Death many an euening at his lodging knockt,

But could not take him, for the dore was lockt:

Yet at a Tauerne late one night he found him,

And getting him, into the seller, drownd him.

On which, the world (that stil the worst is thinking)

Reports abroad, that he was kild with drinking:

Yet let no Prisoner, whether Thiefe or Debtor

Reioyce, as if his fortune were the better;

Their sorrows likely to be nere the shorter,

The Warden liues, though death hath took the Porter.

A Sennet vponupon a stolne Kisse.

NOw gentle sleepe, hath closed vp those eyes,

Which waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe:

And f…eeaccesse vntounto that sweet lip, lies,

From whence I long the rosie breath to draw.

Me think…s no wrong it were, if I should steale

From those two melting Rubies, one poore kisse:

None sees the theft, that would the thiefe reueale,

Nor rob I her of ought, which she can misse:

Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,

There would be little signe I had done so:

Why then should I this robbery delay?

Oh! she may wake, and therewith angry grow.

Well, if she do, Ile back restore that one,

And twenty hundred thousand more for lone.

An Epitaph vponupon Abram Good…fellow, a common Alehouse-hunter.

BEware, thou looke not who here vnderunder lies,

Vnlesse thou long to weepe away thine eyes.

This man (as sorrowfull report doth tell vsus)

Was, when he liu'd, the Prince of all Goodfellows.

That day he dide, it cannot be belieu'd,

How out of reason, all the Alewiues grieu'd,

And what abominable lamentation

They made at Black-boy, and at Salutation;

They hould and cride, and euer more among,

This was the burthen of their wofull Song:

VVell, goe thy wayes, thy like hath neuer been,

Nor shall thy match againe be euer seene:

For out of doubt now thou art dead and gone,

Theres many a Tap house will be quite vndone,

And Death by taking thee, did them more skath,

Then yet the Ale-house protect done them hath.

Loe, such a one but yesterday was he,

But now he much is alterd, you do see.

Since he came hither, he hath left his ryot,

Yea, changed both his company and dyet,

And now so ciuill lies; that to your thinking,

He neither for an Ale-house cares, nor drinking.

An Epitaph vponupon a Gentlewoman, who had fore-told the Time of her death.

HEr, who beneath this stone, consuming lyes,

For many Virtues we might memorize.

But, most of all, the praise deserueth shee,

In making of her Words, and Deeds agree.

For, shee so truely kept the Word shee spake,

As that with Death, she promise would not breake.

I shall (quoth she) be dead, before the midd

Of such a Month. And, as she said, she did.

An Epitaph, on a Child, Sonne to Sir W. H. Knight.

HEre lyes, within a Cabinet of stone,

The deare remainder of a Prety-one.

Who did in wit, his yeares so farre out-passe,

His parents Wonder, and their Ioy he was.

And, by his face, you might hauehave deemed him,

To be on earth some heauenly Cheruh…m.

Sixe yeares with life he labor'd. Then deceast,

To keepe the Sabbath of eternall rest.

So; that, which many thousand able men,

Are lab'ring for, till threescore yeares and ten.

This blessed Childe attained to, er'e seauen;

And, now enioyes it with the Saints of Heauen.

A Song.

NOw Young-man, thy dayes and thy glories appeare,

Like Sun-shine and blossomes in Spring of the yeare.

Thy vigour of body, thy spirits, thy wit,

Are perfect, and sound, and vntroubled yet.

Now then, oh, now then, if safetie thou louelove.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, thy Maker aboue.

Mispend not a morning, so excellent cleare;

Neuer (for euer) was happinesse nere.

Thy noone-tyde of life hath but little delight,

And sorrowes on sorrowes will follow at night.

Now then, oh, now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

That Strength, & those Beauties that grace thee to day,

To morrow, may perish, and vanish away.

Thy Wealth, or thy Pleasures, or Friends that now be,

May waste, or deceiue, or be traytors to thee.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Thy ioynts are yet nimble, thy sinnewes vnslacke.

And marrow vnwasted, doth strengthen thy backe.

Thy Youth from diseases preserueth the braine;

And blood with free passage, plumps enury vaine.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

But (trust me) it will not for euer be so;

Those Armes that are mightie, shall feebler grow.

And those Legs, so proudly supporting thee, now,

With Age, or Diseases, will stagger and bow.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Then, all those rare Features, now gracefull in thee;

Shall (plough'd with Times furrowes) quite ruined be.

And they, who admired, and lou'd thee so much,

Shall loath, or forget thou hadst euer been such.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Those tresses of Haire, which thy youth doe adorne,

Will looke like the Meads in a Winterly morne.

And, where red and white intermixed did grow,

Dull palenesse, a dea…ly complexion will show.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

That Forhead imperious, whereon we now view,

A smoothnesse, and whitenesse enameld with blew;

Will loose that perfection, which Touth now maintaines,

And change it for hollownesse, wrinckles, and staines.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou; oh mind thou, &c.

Those Eares, thou with Musicke didst oft entertaine,

And charme with so many a delicate Straine;

May misse of those pleasures, wherewith they are fed,

And neuer heare Song more, when youth is once fled.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Those Eyes, which so many, so much did admire,

And with strange affections set thousands on fire:

Shut vp in that darkenesse, which Age will constraine,

Shall neuer see mortall; no, neuer againe.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Those Lips, whereon Beautie, so fully discloses,

The colour and sweetnesse of Rubies, and Roses;

Instead of that hue, will gastlinesse weare,

And none shall beleeue, what perfection was there.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Thy Teeth, that stood firmely, like Pearles in a row,

Shall rotten, and scatterd disorderly grow:

The Mouth, whose proportion earths-wonder was thought,

Shall rob'd of that sweetnesse, be prized at nought.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

That Gate, and those Gestures, that win thee such grace,

Will turne to a feeble and staggering pace.

And thou, that or'e mountaines ranst nimbly to day;

Shalt stumble at eueryevery rubb in the way.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind then, oh mind then, &c.

By these imperfections▪ old age will preuaile,

Thy marrow, thy sinewes, and spirits will fayle.

And nothing is left thee, when those are once spent,

To giuegive▪ or thy selfe; or another, content.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Those Fancies that lull thee, with Dreames of delight,

Will trouble thy quiet, the comfortlesse night,

And thou, that now sleepest thy troubles away,

Shalt heare, how each Cockrell giues warning of day.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

Then, Thou, that art yet vntounto thousands so deare,

Of all shal… despisd, or neglected appeare.

Which, when thou perceiust (though now pleasant it be)

Thy life will be grieuous and loathsome to thee.

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

That lust, which thy youth can so hardly forgoe,

Will leaue thee; and leaue thee, repentance, and woe.

And then, in thy …olly no ioy thou canst hauehave,

Nor hope other rest, then a comfortlesse grau….

Now then, oh now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

For, next shall thy Breath be quite taken away,

Thy Flesh turn'd to dust, and that dust turn'd to clay:

And, those thou hast loued, and share of thy store,

Shall leaue thee, forget thee, and mind thee no more.

Now then, oh, now then, &c.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, &c.

And yet, if in time thou remember not this,

The slenderest part of thy sorrow it is:

Thy Soule to a torture, more fearefull shall wend,

Hath euer, and euer, and neuer an end.

Now then, oh, now then, if safetie thou louelove.

Mind thou, oh mind thou, thy Maker aboue.

A Dreame.

WHen bright Phaebus at his rest,

Was reposed in the West,

And the cherefull day-light gone,

Drew vnwelcome darknesse on;

Night, her blacknesse, wrapt about me,

And, within, 'twas as without me.

Therefore, on my tumbled bedd,

Downe I laid my troubled head:

Where, mine eyes inur'd to care,

Seldome vsd to slumbring were.

Yet, or' etyr'd of late, with weeping;

Then, by chance, they fell a sleeping.

But, such Visions me diseas'd,

As in vaine, that sleepe I ceaz'd:

For, I sleeping Fancies had,

VVhichWhich, yet waking, make me sad.

Some, can sleepe away their sorrow;

But, mine doubles, eueryevery morrow.

Walking to a pleasant Groue,

(VVhere, I vsd to thinke of LoueLove)

I, me thought, a place did view,

VVherein Flora's riches grew.

Primerose, Hyacinth, and Lillies,

Cowslips, Vy'lets, Daffodillies.

There, a Fountaine, close beside,

I, a matchlesse Beautie spide.

So she lay, as if she slept:

But, much griefe, her waking kept.

And, she had no softer pillow,

Then the hard root of a Willow.

Downe her Cheekes, the teares did flow,

(Which a greeued heart did show)

Her faire eyes, the earth beholding,

And, her armes themselues enfolding;

Shee, her passion to betoken,

Sigh'd, as if her heart were broken.

So much griefe, me thought she shew'd,

That my sorrow it renew'd:

But, when neerer her I went,

It encreast my discontent.

For a gentle Nymph shee prooued,

Who, me (long vnknowne) had loued.

Streight, on me shee fixt her looke;

Which, a deepe impression tooke.

And, of all that liue (quoth shee)

Thou art welcommest o me.

Then (misdoubting to be blamed)

Thus, she spake, as halfe ashamed.

Thee, vnknowne, I long affected,

And, as long, in vaine expected.

For, I had a hopefull thought,

Thou wouldst craue, what others sought;

And I, for thy sake, hauehave stayd,

Many wanton Springs, a Maid.

Still, when any wooed me,

They renewd, the thought of thee:

And, in hope thou wouldst hauehave tride

Their Affections, I denide.

But, a Louer, forc't vponupon me,

By my Friends, hath now vndone me.

What, I waking dar'd not show,

In a Dreame, thou now doest know:

But, to better my estate;

Now, alas, it is too late.

And, I both awake, and sleeping,

Now, consume my Youth in weeping.

Somewhat then, I would hauehave sayd;

But, replyings were denayd.

For, me thought, when speake I would,

Not a word bring foorth I could,

And, as I a kisse was taking;

That I lost to, by awaking.

Certaine Verses written to his louing Friend, vponupon his departure.

SWift Time, that will by no entreaty stay,

Is now gone by, and summons me away.

And, what my griefe, denies my tongue to doe,

My true affection driues my pen vntounto.

Deare Heart; that day, and that sad houre is come,

In which, thy face I must be banisht from:

And goe to liue, where (peraduenture) we

Hereafter must, for aye, deuided be.

For, twixt our bodies, which now close are met,

A thousand Hills and Vallies shall be set:

A thousand Groues, a thousand weeping Springs,

And many thousand other enuious things,

Which, when we are departed, keepe vsus may,

From comming nearer, till our dying day.

So these our hands, which thus each other touch,

Shall neuer after this time doe so much.

Nor shall these eyes, which yet themselues delight,

(with mutuall gazing on each other light)

Be euer raysed vp againe, so neare,

To view each other in their proper spheare.

Nor ere againe, through those their Christall orbes,

Reade what sad passion, our poore hearts disturbs.

Which when we think vponupon, we scarce containe,

Their swelling Floud-gates; but a pearly raine

Drops frō those plenteous Springs: & forth are sent

From those sad dungeons, where our harts are pent,

So many sighes; that, in our parting, now,

A storme of Passions we must venture through.

Whose fury, I would stay to see ore-past

Before I went, in spight of all my hast,

But that, I view some tokens, which fore-tell,

That by delay, the Flouds will highe swell;

And, whilst to be diuided, we are loth,

With some worse perill, ouerwhelme vsus both.

Oh! rather let vsus wisely vndergoe

A sorrow, that will daily lesser grow▪

Then venture on a pleasing mischiefe, which

Will vnawares, our honest hearts bewitch:

And bring vsus to such passe (at last) that we

Shall nere perceiue it, till vndone we be.

I find your louelove; and so the same approue,

That I shall euer louelove you, for that louelove.

And, am so couetous of such deare pelfe,

That, for it, I could giuegive away my selfe.

And yet, I rather would go pine, and die,

For want thereof; then liue till you, or I,

Should giuegive, or take, one dram of that delight

Which is anothers; and so, marre out-right

Our most vnstaind affection: which, hath yet

No inclination vntounto ill, in it.

Nay (though it more vnsufferable were)

I would, eu'n that iust liberty forbeare

Which honest friendship is allow'd to take:

If I perceiu'd, it me vnapt did make,

To master my affections: or to goe

On those affaires, that Reason calls me to.

Those Parents that discreet in louing be,

When on their new-borne child a Wen they see,

Which may (perchance) in aftertime, disgrace

The sweete proportion of a louely face:

(Although it wound their soules to heare the mone,

And see the tortures of their pritty one)

To weepe a little, rather are content,

Whilst he endures the Surgeons Instrument;

Then suffer that soule blemish there, to spread;

Vntill his face be quite disfigured.

So, we betwixt whose soules, there is begot

That sweet Babe, Friendship; must beware, no spot

Through our indulgent indiscretion grow,

That may the beauty of our louelove ore-throw:

Let's rather beare a little discontent;

And learne of Reason, those things to preuent

Which marre affection. That our friendship may

Wax firmer, and more louely eu'ry Day.

There is, indeed, to gentle hearts, no smarting,

That is more torment to them, then departing

From those they louelove. And doubtlesse, if that we

Were so vnited, as the married be;

Our bodies at our par…re, would be so,

As if each of them … a …oule forgoe.

But, in our flesh; we are, and must remaine

Perpetuall strangers: and our selues containe

From that embrace, which marriage louelove allowes:

Or else, I iniure virtue; you, your vowes.

And, for a short vnworthy pleasure, marre

Those rich contentments, which eternall are.

Of which, I am in hope, that, alwaies we

Should in each others presence guiltlesse be.

But in our absence (sure I am) we shall

Not onelyonly still be innocent of all,

That simple folly, and that ouer-sight,

To which, our many frailties tempt vsus might:

But, by this meanes shall also scape the blot,

Wherwith i… toungs our names would seek to spot.

Which if you feare, and would auoyd the wrongs

That may befall you by malicious tongues,

Then seeke my absence: for I hauehave in that

VntoUnto my friends, been too vnfortunate:

Yet, as I louelove faire-virtue, there is no man

Ere heard me boast the fauours of a woman

To her dishonour; neither (by my soule)

Was I ere guiltie of an Act so foule,

As some imagine. Neither doe I know

That woman yet, with whom I might be so;

For neuer kindnesses to me were show'd,

Which I dar'd thinke, for euill end bestow'd.

Nor euer, to this present houre, did I

Turne friendship, fauour, opportunitie;

(Or ought vouchsaft me) thereby to acquire

Those wicked ends which … doe desire.

For, whensoeuer lust begun to flame,

It was extinguisht, by true louelove, and shame.

But, what would this my innocence preuaile,

When your faire Name, … should assayle?

And how abhord should I hereafter be,

If you should suffer infamy by me?

You feare it not one halfe so much you say,

As you are loth I should depart away:

And hap what will, you thinke to be content,

Whilst I am here; and you still innocent.

Indeed, those friends approue I not, which may

By eueryevery slanderous tongue be talkt away:

But yet, I like not him that will not striue,

As much as in him lyeth, free to liue,

From giuing iust occasions of offence:

For, else he vainely braggs of innocence.

And so doe we, vnlesse, that without blame

We purpose with our louelove, to keepe our fame.

Then, let vsus pleased part; and though the dearenes

Of our affection, couets both a nearenes

In mind and body; let vsus willingly

Beget a Virtue of necessitie.

And, since we must compelled be to liue,

By time and place diuided; let vsus striue

In the despight of time and distance, so

That louelove of virtue may more perfect grow:

And that this seperation, we lament,

May make our meeting fuller of content.

Betwixt our bodies (this Ile not deny)

There is a deare respectiue sympathy;

Which makes vsus mutually both ioy, and grieue

As there is cause. And farther, I belieue,

That our contentment is imperfect, till

They hauehave each other in possession still:

But, that which in vsus two, I LoueLove, dare name,

Is twixt our Soules; and such a powerfull flame,

As nothing shall extinguish nor obsure,

Whilst their eternall substance, doth endure:

No, not our absence; nor that mightie space,

Betwixt my home, and your abiding place.

For, ere your Eyes, my eyes had euer seene;

When many thousand furlongs lay betweene,

Our vnknowne bodies: And before that you

Had seene my face, or thought the same to view,

You most entirely loued me (you say)

Which shewes our soules had then found out the way,

To know each other: And vnseene of vsus,

To make our bodies meet vnthought of, thus.

Then; much lesse now, shall hill, or dale, or groue,

Or, that great tract of ground which must remoue

My body from you: there, my soule confine,

To keepe it backe from yours: or yours from mine.

Nay, being more aquainted then they were,

And actiue spirits, that can any where

Within a moment meet. They to and fro,

Will eueryevery minute to each other go

And, we shall louelove, with that deare louelove, wherein

Will neither be offence, nor cause of sinne.

Yea, whereas carnall louelove, is euer colder,

As youth decayes; and as the flesh growes older:

And, when the body is dissolued, must

Be buried with obliuion in the dust.

We, then shall dearer grow: and this our louelove,

Which now imperfect is, shall perfect proue.

For, theres no mortall power can rob true Friends,

Of that which noblest Amitie attends.

Nor any seperation that is able,

To make the virtuous Louers miserable.

Since, when disasters threaten most deiection,

Their, Goodnesse maketh strongest their affection.

And, that which works in others loues, deniall;

In them, more noble makes it, by the triall.

Tis true; that whē we part, we know not whether

These bodies shall, for euer, meet together;

As you hauehave said. Yet, wherefore should we grieue,

Since, we a better meeting doe belieue?

If we did also know, that when we die,

This louelove, should perish euerlastingly.

And that we must as bruitish creatures do,

Lose with our bodies, all our dearnesse to:

Our seperation, then, a sorrow were,

Which mortall heart had neuer power to beare.

And we should faint and die, to thinke vponupon

The passions would be felt, when I were gone.

But, seeing in the soule, our louelove is plac't;

And (seeing) soules of death shall neuer tast:

No Death can end our louelove. Nay; when we dye,

Our soules (that now in chaines and fettters lie)

Shall meet more freely, to pertake that ioy,

Compard to which, our friendship's but a toy.

And, for each bitternesse, in this our louelove,

We shall a thousand sweet contentments proue.

Meane while; we, that (together liuing) may

Through humane weaknesses be led astray:

(And vnawares, make that affection foule,

Which virtue yet keeps blamelesse in the soule)

By Absence shall preserued be, as cleane,

As to be kept (in our best thoughts) wee meane.

And, in our Prayers for each other, shall

GiueGive, and receiue more kindnesses, then all

The world can yeeld vsus. And, when other men

Whose louelove is carnall, are tormented, when

Death calls them hence: because they robbed be

Of all their hope (for euermore) to see

The obiect of their LoueLove: we shall auoid,

That bitter anguish wherewith they are cloyd.

And, whensoer'e it happens, thou, or I,

Shall feele the time approaching vsus to dye;

It shall not grieue vsus at our latest breath,

To mind each other on the bed of death:

(Because of any ouersight, or sinne,

Whereof we guiltie in our soules hauehave bin)

Nor will death feare vsus, cause we shall perceiue

That these contentments, which we had not leaue

To take now we are liuing; shall be gaind,

When our imprison'd soules shall be vnchaind.

Nay rather wish to dye, we might possesse

The sweet fruition of that happinesse,

Which we shall then receiue, in the perfection

Of Him, that is the fulnesse of Affection.

If Time preuented not, I had in store

To comfort thee, so many Reasons more,

That thou wouldst leaue to grieue; although we should

Each others persons neuer more behold.

But, there is hope. And then, that know you may,

True Friends can in their absence find the way.

To compasse their contentments, whom they louelove:

You shall ere long, the powre it hath, approue.

Meane while, you still are deare: yea, liue or dye,

My soule shall louelove you euerlastingly.

And howsoere, there seeme such cause of sorrow;

Yet, those that part, and thinke to meet to morrow,

Death may diuide to night; And, as before,

Their Feare was lesse, their Griefe will be the more.

Since therefore, whether far I liue, or nigh,

There is in meeting an vncertaintie.

Let vsus, for that which surest is, prouide.

Part like those Friends, whom nothing can diuide:

And, since we Louers first became, that we,

Might to our power each others comfort be:

Let's not the sweetnesse of our louelove destroy;

But, turne these weepings into teares of ioy.

On which condition, I doe giuegive thee, this;

To be both Mine, and Sorrowes parting-kisse.

PHIL'ARETE.

FINIS.

The Stationers Postscript.

THere bee three or foure Songs in this Poeme aforegoing, which were stollen from the Authour, and heeretofore impertinently imprinted in an imperfect and erronious Copie, foolishly intituled His Workes; which the Stationer hath there falsely affirmed to bee Corrected and Augmented for his owne Aduantage; and without the said Authours knowledge, or respect to his credit. If therfore you hauehave seene them formerly in those counterfet Impressions, let it not be offensiue that you finde them againe in their proper places; and in the Poeme to which they appertaine.

Vale. I. M.

End of the text · George Wither, Fair-Virtue the Mistress of Philarete (1622)