Or that

ye

have not seen as yet

The violet?

Or brought a kisse

From that sweet-heart to this?

No, no, this sorrow shown
By your teares shed,

Wo'd have this lecture read,

That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceiv'd with grief are, and with teares brought forth.

HOW ROSES CAME RED.

ROSES at first were white,
Till they co'd not agree,
Whether my Sapho's breast,
Or they more white sho'd be.

But being vanquisht quite,

A blush their cheeks bespred;
Since which, beleeve the rest,
The roses first came red.

COMFORT TO A LADY UPON THE DEATH OF HER

HUSBAND.

DRY your sweet cheek, long drown'd with sorrow's

raine ;

Since clouds disperst, suns guild the aire again.
Seas chafe and fret, and beat, and over-boile;
But turne soone after calme, as balme or oile.

K

Winds have their time to rage, but when they cease,
The leavie trees nod in a still-born peace.

Your storme is over; Lady, now appeare
Like to the peeping spring-time of the yeare.

Off then with grave clothes, put fresh colours on ;
And flow, and flame, in your vermillion.

Upon your cheek sat ysicles awhile ;

Now let the rose raigne like a queene, and smile.

HOW VIOLETS CAME BLEW.

LOVE on a day, wise poets tell,
Some time in wrangling spent,
Whether the violets sho'd excell,
Or she, in sweetest scent.

But Venus having lost the day,
Poore girles, she fell on you,
And beat ye so, as some dare say,
Her blowes did make ye blew.

UPON GROYNES. EPIG.

GROYNES, for his fleshly burglary of late,
Stood in the Holy Forum Candidate;

The word is Roman, but in English knowne;
Penance, and standing so, are both but one.

TO THE WILLOW-TREE.

THOU art to all lost love the best,
The onely true plant found,

Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left of love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorne,

Then willow-garlands, 'bout the head,
Bedew'd with teares, are worne.

When with neglect, the lover's bane,
Poore maids rewarded be,
For their lost love, their onely gaine
Is but a wreathe from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade,
When weary of the light,

The love-spent youth, and love-sick maid,

Come to weep out the night.

MRS ELIZ. WHEELER, UNDER THE NAME OF THE
LOST SHEPARDESSE.

AMONG the mirtles as I walkt,
Love and my sighs thus intertalkt;
Tell me, said I, in deep distresse,
Where I may find my shepardesse.

Thou foole, said love, know'st thou not this? every thing that's sweet, she is.

In

In yond' carnation goe and seek,

There thou shalt find her lip and cheek;
In that ennamel'd pansie by,

There thou shalt have her curious eye;
In bloome of peach and rose's bud,
There waves the streamer of her blood.
'Tis true, said I, and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an union ;

But on a sudden all were gone.

At which I stopt; said Love, these be
The true resemblances of thee;

For as these flowers, thy joyes must die,
And in the turning of an eye;

And all thy hopes of her must wither,
Like those short sweets ere knit together.

TO THE KING.

IF when these lyricks, Cesar, you shall heare,
And that Apollo shall so touch your eare,
As for to make this, that, or any one
Number, your owne, by free adoption ;
That verse, of all the verses here, shall be
The heire to this great realme of poetry.

TO THE QUEENE.

GODDESSE of youth, and lady of the spring,
Most fit to be the consort to a king,

Be pleas'd to rest you in this sacred grove,
Beset with mirtles, whose each leafe drops love.
Many a sweet-fac't wood-nymph here is seene,
Of which chast order you are now the Queene.
Witnesse their homage when they come and strew
Your walks with flowers, and give their crowns to you.
Your leavie throne, with lilly-work possesse,
And be both princesse here, and poetresse.

THE POET'S GOOD WISHES FOR THE
MOST HOPEFULL AND HANDSOME PRINCE,
THE DUKE OF YORKE.

MAY his pretty duke-ship grow

Like t'a rose of Jericho ;

Sweeter far then ever yet

Showrs or sunshines co'd beget.

May the graces and the howers

Strew his hopes, and him with flowers;
And so dresse him up with love,

As to be the chick of Jove.

May the thrice-three-sisters sing
Him the soveraigne of their spring;

And entitle none to be

Prince of Hellicon but he.

5