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The morn doth usher thee, with smiles &

blushes, The Earth reflects her glances in thy face. Birds, insects, Animals with Vegative, Thy heart from death and dulness doth

revive: And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive.

6 Thy swift Annual, and diurnal Course, Thy daily streight, and yearly oblique path, Thy pleasing fervor, and thy scorching

force, All mortals here the feeling knowledg

hath. Thy presence makes it day, thy absence

night, Quaternal Seasons caused by thy might: Hail Creature, full of sweetness, beauty & delight.

7 Art thou so full of glory, that no Eye Hath strength, thy shining Rayes once to

behold? And is thy splendid Throne erect so high? As to approach it, can no earthly mould. How full of glory then must thy Creator

be? Who gave this bright light luster unto thee;

48 Admir'd, ador'd for ever, be that Majesty.

8 Silent alone, where none or saw, or heard, In pathless paths I lead my wandring feet, My humble Eyes to lofty Skyes I rear'd To sing some Song, my mazed Muse

thought meet. My great Creator I would magnifie, That nature had, thus decked liberally: But Ah, and Ah, again, my imbecility!

9 I heard the merry grashopper then sing, The black clad Cricket, bear a second part, They kept one tune, and plaid on the same

string, Seeming to glory in their little Art. Shall Creatures abject, thus their voices

raise? And in their kind resound their makers

praise: Whilst I as mute, can warble forth no higher layes.

10 When present times look back to Ages


12 Here sits our Grandame in retired place, And in her lap, her bloody Cain new born, The weeping Imp oft looks her in the face,

80 Bewails his unknown hap, and fate for

lorn; His Mother sighs, to think of Paradise, And how she lost her bliss, to be more

wise, Believing him that was, and is, Father of lyes.

13 Here Cain and Abel come to sacrifice, Fruits of the Earth, and Fatlings each do

bring. On Abels gift the fire descends from

Skies, But no such sign on false Cain's offering; With sullen hateful looks he goes his

wayes. Hath thousand thoughts to end his broth

ers dayes, Upon whose blood his future good he

hopes to raise.



14 There Abel keeps his sheep, no ill he

thinks, His brother comes, then acts his fratri

cide, The Virgin Earth, of blood her first

draught drinks But since that time she often hath been


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The wretch with gastly face and dreadful

mind, Thinks each he sees will serve him in his

kind, Though none on Earth but kindred near

then could he find.

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15 Who fancyes not his looks now at the

Barr, His face like death, his heart with horror

fraught, Nor Male-factor ever felt like warr, When deep dispair, with wish of life hath

fought, Branded with guilt, and crusht with treble

woes, A Vagabond to Land of Nod he goes. A City builds, that wals might him secure from foes.

16 Who thinks not oft upon the Fathers ages. Their long descent, how nephews sons

they saw, The starry observations of those Sages, And how their precepts to their sons were

law, How Adam sigh'd to see his Progeny, 110 Cloath'd all in his black sin full Livery, Who neither guilt, nor yet the punishment could fly

17 Our Life compare we with their length

of dayes Who to the tenth of theirs doth now

arrive? And though thus short, we shorten many

wayes, Living so little while we are alive; In eating, drinking, sleeping, vain delight So unawares comes on perpetual night, And puts all pleasures vain unto eternal flight.

18 Wlien I behold the heavens as in their

prime, And then the earth (though old) stil clad

in green, The stones and trees, insensible of time, Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are

seen; If winter come, and greeness then do fade, A Spring returns, and they more youth

full made; But Man grows old, lies down, remains

where once he's laid.

Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees,

the earth Because their beauty and their strength

last longer Shall I wish there, or never to had birth, Because they're bigger, & their bodyes

stronger? Nay, they shall darken, perish, fade and

dye, And when unmade, so ever shall they lye, But man was made for endless immortality.

21 Under the cooling shadow of a stately

Elm Close sate I by a goodly Rivers side, Where gliding streams the Rocks did

overwhelm; A lonely place, with pleasures dignifi'd. I once that lov'd the shady woods so well, Now thought the rivers did the trees

excel, And if the sun would ever shine, there

would I dwell.

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I markt, nor crooks, nor rubs that there

did lye Could hinder ought, but still augment its

force: O happy Flood, quoth I, that holds thy Till thou arrive at thy beloved place, Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace.

23 Nor is't enough, that thou alone may'st

slide, But hundred brooks in thy cleer waves do


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To gain more good, or shun what might

thee harm Thy cloaths ne're wear, thy meat is every

where, Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water

cleer, Reminds not what is past, nor what to

come dost fear,




So hand in hand along with thee they

glide To Thetis house, where all imbrace and

greet: Thou Emblem true, of what I count the

best, O could I lead my Rivolets to rest, So may we press to that vast mansion, ever blest.

24 Ye Fish which in this liquid Region 'bide, That for each season, have your habita

tion, Now salt, now fresh where you think best

to glide To unknown coasts to give a visitation, In Lakes and ponds, you leave your nu

merous fry, So nature taught, and yet you know not

why, You watry folk that know not your felicity.

25 Look how the wantons frisk to tast the

air, Then to the colder bottome streight they

dive, Eftsoon to Neptun's glassie Hall repair To see what trade they great ones there

do drive, Who forrage o're the spacious sea-green

field, And take the trembling prey before it

yield, Whose

is their scales, their spreading fins their shield.

28 The dawning morn with songs thou dost

prevent, Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered So each one tunes his pretty instrument, And warbling out the old, begin anew, And thus they pass their youth in sum

mer season, Then follow thee into a better Region, Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion.

29 Man at the best a creature frail and vain, In knowledg ignorant, in strength but

weak, Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain, Each storm his state, his mind, his body

break, From some of these he never finds cessa

tion, But day or night, within, without, vexa

tion, Troubles from foes, from friends, from

dearest, near'st Relation.




26 While musing thus with contemplation

fed, And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain, The sweet-tongu'd Philomel percht ore my

head, And chanted forth a most melodious strain Which rapt me so with wonder and de

light, I judg'd my hearing better then my sight, And wisht me wings with her a while to

take my Aight.

30 And yet this sinfull creature, frail and

vain, This lump of wretchedness, of sin and

sorrow, This weather-beaten vessel wrackt with

pain, Joyes not in hope of an eternal morrow; Nor all his losses, crosses and vexation, In weight, in frequency and long duration Can make him deeply groan for that di

vine Translation.



27 O merry Bird (said I) that fears no

snares, That neither toyles nor hoards up in thy

barn, Feels no sad thoughts, nor cruciating

31 The Mariner that on smooth waves doth

glide, Sings merrily, and steers his Barque with

ease, As if he had command of wind and tide, And now become great Master of the

seas; 1 Anticipate.



But suddenly a storm spoiles all the sport, And makes him long for a more quiet

port, Which 'gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort.

32 So he that saileth in this world of pleas

ure, Feeding on sweets, that never bit of th'

sowre, That's full of friends, of honour and of

treasure, Fond fool, he takes this earth ev'n for

heav'ns bower. But sad affliction comes & makes him see Here's neither honour, wealth, nor safety; Only above is found all with security.

I stretcht thy joynts to make thee even

feet, Yet still thou run'st more hobling then is

meet; In better dress to trim thee was my mind, But nought save home-spun Cloth, i'th'

house I find In this array, 'mongst Vulgars mayst thou In Criticks hands, beware thou dost not

come; And take thy way where yet thou art not

known, If for thy Father askt, say, thou hadst And for thy Mother, she alas is poor, Which caus'd her thus to send thee out of door.






33 O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things, That draws oblivions curtains over kings, Their sumptuous monuments, men know

them not, Their names without a Record are forgot, Their parts, their ports, their pomp's all

laid in th' dust Nor wit nor gold, nor buildings scape times rust;

230 But he whose name is grav'd in the white

stonei Shall last and shine when all of these are


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To my dear and loving Husband If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee; If ever wife was happy in a man Compare with me ye women if you can. I prize thy love more then whole Mines

of gold, Or all the riches that the East doth hold. My love is such that Rivers cannot quench, Nor ought but love from thee, give rec

ompence. Thy love is such I can no way repay, The heavens reward thee manifold I pray. Then while we live, in love lets so per

sever, That when we live no more, we may live




Thou ill-form'd offspring of my feeble

brain, Who after birth did'st by my side remain, Till snatcht from thence by friends, less

wise then true Who thee abroad, expos'd to publick view, Made thee in raggs, halting to th' press

to trudg, Where errors were not lessened (all may

judg) At thy return my blushing was not small, My rambling, brat (in print) should

mother call, I cast thee by as one unfit for light, Thy Visage was so irksome in my sight; 10 Yet being mine own, at length affection

would Thy blemishes amend, if so I could : I wash'd thy face, but more defects I saw, And rubbing off a spot, still made a fiaw.

1 Rev. ii. 17.

A Letter to her Husband, absent upon

Publick employment My head, my heart, mine Eyes, my life,

nay more. My joy, my Magazine of earthly store, If two be one, as surely thou and I, How stayest thou there, whilst I at Ips

wich lye? So many steps, head from the heart to

sever If but a neck, soon should we be to

gether: I like the earth this season, mourn in

black, My Sun is gone so far in's Zodiack,

? First published in edition of 1678.

Whom whilst I 'joy'd, nor storms, nor

frosts I felt, His warmth such frigid colds did cause

to melt. My chilled limbs now nummed lye for




ward gone,

Or every mote that in the sun-shine hops, May count my sighs, and number all my

drops : Tell him, the countless steps that thou

dost trace, That once a day, thy Spouse thou mayst

imbrace; And when thou canst not treat by loving

mouth, Thy rayes afar, salute her from the south. But for one moneth I see no day (poor

soul) Like those far scituate under the pole, Which day by day long wait for thy arise, O how they joy when thou dost light the

skyes. Q Phæbus, hadst thou but thus long from

thine Restrain'd the beams of thy beloved

shine, At thy return, if so thou could'st or durst Behold a Chaos blacker then the first. Tell him here's worse then a confused

matter, His little world's a fathom under water, Nought but the fervor of his ardent beams Hath power to dry the torrent of these

streams. Tell him I would say more, but cannot

well, Opressed minds, abruptest tales do tell. Now post with double speed, mark what


Return, return sweet Sol from Capricorn; In this dead time, alas, what can I more Then view those fruits which through thy

heat I bore? Which sweet contentment yield me for a

space, True living Pictures of their Fathers face. O strange effect! now thou art SouthI weary grow, the tedious day so long; But when thou Northward to me shalt

return, I wish my Sun may never set, but burn 20 Within the Cancer of my glowing breast, The welcome house of him my dearest

guest. Where ever, ever stay, and go not thence, Till natures sad decree shall call thee

hence; Flesh of thy flesh, bone of thy bone, I here, thou there, yet both but one.

A. B. Another Phæbus make haste, the day's too long,

be gone, The silent night's the fittest time for

moan; But stay this once, unto my suit give ear, And tell my griefs in either Hemisphere: (And if the whirling of thy wheels don't

drown'd) The woful accents of my doleful sound, If in thy swift Carrier thou canst make

stay, I crave this boon, this Errand by the way, Commend me to the man more lov'd then

life, Shew him the sorrows of his widdowed

wife; My dumpish thoughts, my groans, my

brakish tears My sobs, my longing hopes, my doubting

fears, And if he love, how can he there abide ? My Interest's more then all the world be

side. He that can tell the starrs or Ocean sand, Or all the grass that in the Meads do

stand, The leaves in th’ woods, the hail or drops

of rain, Or in a corn-field number every grain,

I say,

By all our loves conjure him not to stay. 40



As loving Hind that (Hartless) wants her

Deer, Scuds through the woods and Fern with

harkning ear, Perplext, in every bush & nook doth pry, Her dearest Deer, might answer ear or

eye; So doth my anxious soul, which now doth

miss, A dearer Dear (far dearer Heart) then

this. Still wait with doubts, & hopes, and fail

ing, eye, His voice to hear, or person to discry. Or as the pensive Dove doth all alone (On withered bough) most uncouthly beThe absence of her Love, and loving Mate, Whose loss hath made her so unfortunate: Ev'n doe I, with many a deep sad

groan Bewail my turtle true, who now is gone,


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