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Not a waste, or needless sound
Till we com to holier ground,
I shall be your faithfull guide
Through this gloomy covert wide,
And not many furlongs thence
Is your Fathers residence,
Where this night are met in state
Many a friend to gratulate
His wish't presence, and beside
All the Swains that there abide,
With Jiggs, and rural dance resort,
We shall catch them at their sport,
And our sudden coming there
Will double all their mirth and chere;
Com let us haste, the Stars grow high,

But night sits monarch yet in the mid sky.


The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town and the Presidents Castle, then com in Countrey-Dancers, after them the attendant Spirit, with the two Brothers and the Lady.


Spir. Back Shepherds, back, anough your play, Till next Sun-shine holiday,

Here be without duck or nod

Other trippings to be trod

Of lighter toes, and such Court guise

As Mercury did first devise

With the mincing Dryades

On the Lawns, and on the Leas.

This second Song presents them to their father and mother.

Noble Lord, and Lady bright,

I have brought ye new delight,
Here behold so goodly grown

Three fair branches of your own,

Heav'n hath timely tri'd their youth,

And sent them here through hard assays

Their faith, their patience, and their truth.

With a crown of deathless Praise,
To triumph in victorious dance
O're sensual Folly, and Intemperance.



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The dances ended, the Spirit Epiloguizes.
Spir. To the Ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes that ly
Where day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky:
There I suck the liquid ayr

All amidst the Gardens fair

Of Hesperus, and his daughters three

That sing about the golden tree:

Along the crisped shades and bowres
Revels the spruce and jocond Spring,

The Graces, and the rosie-boosom'd Howres,
Thither all their bounties bring,

That there eternal Summer dwels,
And West winds, with musky wing

About the cedar'n alleys fling



Nard, and Cassia's balmy smels.

Iris there with humid bow,


Waters the odorous banks that blow

Flowers of more mingled hew
Then her purfl'd scarf can shew,
And drenches with Elysian dew
(List mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of Hyacinth, and roses
Where young Adonis oft reposes,
Waxing well of his deep wound
In slumber soft, and on the ground
Sadly sits th' Assyrian Queen;
But far above in spangled sheen
Celestial Cupid her fam'd son advanc't,
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranc't
After her wandring labours long,
Till free consent the gods among
Make her his eternal Bride,

And from her fair unspotted side

Two blissful twins are to be born,

Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly don,

I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earths end,

Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend,



And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the Moon.

Mortals that would follow me,
Love vertue, she alone is free,
She can teach ye how to clime
Higher then the Spheary chime;
Or if Vertue feeble were,

Heav'n it self would stoop to her.


The End.


Anno aetatis 17.

On the Death of a fair Infant dying of a Cough.

O FAIREST flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,

Summers chief honour if thou hadst out-lasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss.


For since grim Aquilo his charioter

By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot,

Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.


So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,

Through middle empire of the freezing aire

He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr,
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care.
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair biding place.



On the Death of a fair Infant.


Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas' strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform'd him to a purple flower
Alack that so to change thee winter had no power.


Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead

Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
Could Heav'n for pittie thee so strictly doom?
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine.


Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)

Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight

And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.


Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin'd roofe

Of shak't Olympus by mischance didst fall;

Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall

Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head.

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