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Rather then love, let me be ever lost,
Or let me 'gender with eternall frost.

UPON JULIA'S RIBAND.

As shews the aire when with a rain-bow grac'd, So smiles that riband 'bout my Julia's waste; Or like Nay, 'tis that Zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

THE FROZEN ZONE; OR, JULIA DISDAINFULL.

WHITHER? Say, whither shall I fly,
To slack these flames wherein I frie?
To the treasures shall I

goe,

Of the raine, frost, haile, and snow?
Shall I search the under-ground,
Where all damps and mists are found?
Shall I seek, for speedy ease,

All the floods and frozen seas?
Or descend into the deep,

Where eternall cold does keep?

These may coole; but there's a zone

Colder yet then any one;

That's my Julia's breast, where dwels

Such destructive ysicles;

As that the congelation will

Me sooner starve, then those can kill.

AN EPITAPH UPON A SOBER MATRON.

WITH blamelesse carriage I lived here,
To th' almost sev'n and fortieth yeare.
Stout sons I had, and those twice three,
One onely daughter lent to me:
The which was made a happy bride,
But thrice three moones before she dy'd.
My modest wedlock, that was known
Contented with the bed of one.

TO THE PATRON OF POETS, M. END. PORTER.

LET there be patrons; patrons like to thee,
Brave Porter! Poets ne'r will wanting be.
Fabius, and Cotta, Lentulus, all live

In thee, thou man of men! who here do'st give
Not onely subject-matter for our wit,

But likewise oyle of maintenance to it.

For which, before thy threshold, we'll lay downe
Our thyrse for scepter, and our baies for crown.
For, to say truth, all garlands are thy due ;
The laurell, mirtle, oke, and ivie too.

THE SADNESSE OF THINGS FOR SAPHO'S SICKNESSE.

LILLIES will languish, violets look ill;

Sickly the primrose, pale the daffadill;

That gallant tulip will hang down his head,
Like to a virgin newly ravished.

6

Pansies will weep, and marygolds will wither,
And keep a fast, and funerall together;

If Sapho droop, daisies will open never,
But bid good-night, and close their lids for ever.

LEANDER'S OBSEQUIES.

WHEN as Leander young was drown'd,
No heart by love receiv'd a wound;
But on a rock himselfe sate by,
There weeping sup'rabundantly.
Sighs numberlesse he cast about,
And all his tapers thus put out;
His head upon his hand he laid,
And sobbing deeply, thus he said:
Ah, cruell sea! and, looking on't,
Wept as he'd drowne the Hellespont.
And sure his tongue had more exprest,
But that his teares forbad the rest.

HOPE HEARTENS.

NONE goes to warfare, but with this intent;
The gaines must dead the feare of detriment.

FOURE THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE.

HEALTH is the first good lent to men;
A gentle disposition then :

Next, to be rich by no by-wayes;

Lastly, with friends t' enjoy our dayes.

HIS PARTING FROM MRS DOROTHY KENEDAY.

WHEN I did goe from thee, I felt that smart
Which bodies do, when souls from them depart.
Thou did❜st not mind it, though thou then might'st see
Me turn'd to teares, yet did'st not weep for me.
'Tis true I kist thee, but I co'd not heare

Thee spend a sigh, t' accompany my teare.

Methought 'twas strange, that thou so hard sho'dst

prove,

Whose heart, whose hand, whose ev'ry part spake love.
Prethee (lest maids sho'd censure thee) but say
Thou shed'st one teare when as I went away;
And that will please me somewhat; though I know,
And love will swear't, my dearest did not so.

THE TEARE SENT TO HER FROM STANES.

GLIDE, gentle streames, and beare
Along with you my teare

To that coy girle,

Who smiles, yet slayes

Me with delayes,

And strings my teares as pearle.

See, see, she's yonder set,

Making a carkanet

Of maiden-flowers!

There, there present

This orient,

And pendant pearle of ours.

H

Then say I've sent one more
Jem to enrich her store;

And that is all

Which I can send,

Or vainly spend,

For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply

Of them, the spring's once drie; a

But Ile devise,

Among the rest,

A way that's best,

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