By the fame Hand.

H do not die, for I fhall hate

All Women fo, when thou art gone, That thee I fhall not celebrate,

When I remember thou waft one.

But yet thou canst not die, I know,

To leave this World behind, is Death, But when thou from this World wilt go, The whole World vapours in thy Breath.

Or if, when thou, the World's Soul, goeft, It stay, 'tis but thy Carcafs then,

The fairest Woman, but thy Ghost,

But corrupt Worms, the worthiest Men.

wrangling Schools, that fearch what fire Shall burn this World, had none the Wit Unto this Knowledge to aspire,

That this her Fever might be it!

And yet he cannot waste by this,

Nor long endure this torturing Wrong,
For more Corruption needful is
To fuel fuch a Fever long.

These burning Fits but Meteors be,
Whofe Matter in thee foon is fpent.
Thy Beauty, and all Parts, which are thee,
Are an unchangeable Firmament.

And here as my Mind, feizing thee,
Though it in thee cannot perfever;

Yet I had rather Owner be

Of thee one Hour, than all elfe ever.

BREAK of DAY.

By the fame Hand.

TAY, O Sweet, and do not rife,

The Light that shines, comes from thine Eyess

The Day breaks not, it is my Heart,
Because that you and I muft part.
Stay, or elfe my Joys will die,
And perish in their Infancy.

II.

'Tis true, 'tis Day; what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rife from me?
Why should we rife, becaufe 'tis Light?
Did we lie down, because 'twas Night?

Love which in fpight of Darkness brought us hither,
Should in defpight of Light keep us together.

III.

Light hath no Tongue, but is all Eye,

If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worft that it could fay,

That being well, I fain would stay,

And that I lov'd my Heart and Honour fo, That I would not from her, that had them, go

IV.

Muft Business thee from hence remove?

Oh, that's the worft difeafe of Love,
The poor, the foul, the falfe Love can
Admit, but not the bufied Man.

He which hath Bufinefs, and makes Love, doth do
Such wrong, as when a married Man doth woo.

Ba

TWICKNAM Garden.

By the fame Hand.

Lafted with Sighs, and surrounded with Tears,
Hither I come to feek the Spring,

And at mine Eyes, and at mine Ears,
Receive fuch Balm as elfe cures every thing:
But O, Self-traitor, I do bring

The Spider Love which tranfubftantiates all,
And can convert Manna to Gall,

And that this place may thoroughly be thought
True Paradife, I have the Serpent brought.

*Twere wholefomer for me, that Winter did
Benight the Glory of this Place,
And that a grave Froft did forbid
Thefe Trees to laugh, and mock me to my Face
But fince I cannot this Disgrace

Indure, nor leave this Garden, Love let me
Some fenfelefs piece of this Place be;
Make me a Mandrake, fo I may grow here,
Or a ftone Fountain weeping out my Year.

Hither with crystal Vials, Lovers come,
And take my Tears, which are Love's Wine,
And try your Mistress Tears at home,

For all are false, that tafte not just like mine;
Alas Hearts, do not in Eyes fhine,

Nor can you more judge Womens Thoughts by Tears,
Than by her Shadow, what she wears.

perverse Sex, where none is true but she,

Who's therefore true because her Truth kills me.

B$

Confined LOVE.

By the fame Hand.

OME Man unworthy to be Poffeffor

SOME

Ofold or new Love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his Pain and Shame would be leffer,
If on Womankind he might his. Anger wreak,
And thence a Law did grow,

One might but one Man know ;
But are other Creatures fo?

Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by Law forbidden To fmile where they lift, or bend away their Light? Are Birds divorc'd, or are they chidden If they leave their Meat, or lie abroad all Night? Beafts do no Jointures lose

Though they new Lovers chuse,

But we are made worse than those.

Who e'er rigg'd fair Ships to lie in Harbours,
And not to feek Lands, or not to deal with all?
Or built fair Houfes, fet Trees, and Arbours,
Only to lock up, or elfe to let them fall?
Good is not good, unless

A thousand it poffefs,

But doth wafte with Greediness.

LOVES ALCHΥ ΜΥ

Some

By the fame Hand.

Ome that have deeper digg'd Love's Mine than L
Say, where his centrick Happinefs doth lie:
I have lov'd, and got, and told,

But should I love, get, tell, 'till I were old

I fhould not find that hidden Mystery;
Oh, 'tis Impofture all: 4
And as no Chymick yet th' Elixir got,
But glorifies his pregnant Pot,

If by the way to him befal

Some odoriferous Thing, or medicinal,

So, Lovers dream a rich and long Delight,
But get a Winter-feeming-fummer's Night.

Our Eafe, our Thrift, our Honour, and our Day,
Shall we, for this vain bubless Shadow pay?
Ends Love in this, that my Man
Can be as happy as I can, if he can
Endure the fhort Scorn of a Bridegroom's Play >
That loving Wretch that fwears,

'Tis not the Bodies marry, but the Minds,
Which he in her Angelick finds,

Would fwear as juftly, that he hears,

In that Days rude hoarfe minstrelfey, the Sphears. Hope not for Mind in Women, at their best Sweetness and Wit, they are but Mummy poffeft.

BATT upon B AT T To the Land and Praife of Bartholomew Kempfter, Clerk, Poet, and Cutler, of Holy-Roods in Southampton.

By Dr. SPEED Physician at Southampton. Written in the Year 1679.

H could betune the flock with fuch fweet Note,

AD 1! O had 1! Batt, thy Face and Throat,

Could I with equal Metre Hopkins fit,

Out-Sernhold Sternhold, Wifdom eke outwit;
Then would D venture to fet forth thy Praife,
And rob Church-Pews to crown thy Head with Bays