LAUGH AND LIE DOWNE.

Y'AVE laught enough, sweet, vary now your text, And laugh no more; or laugh, and lie down next.

TO HIS HOUSHOLD GODS.

RISE, houshold-gods, and let us goe,
But whither, I my selfe not know.
First, let us dwell on rudest seas;
Next, with severest salvages;
Last, let us make our best abode,
Where humane foot as yet ne'r trod;
Search worlds of ice, and rather there
Dwell, then in lothed Devonshire.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE AND ROBIN RED-BREST.

WHEN I departed am, ring thou my knell,
Thou pittifull and pretty Philomel;
And when I'm laid out for a corse, then be
Thou sexton, Red-brest, for to cover me.

TO THE YEW AND CYPRESSE TO GRACE HIS

FUNERALL.

Вотн you two have

Relation to the

grave;

And where

The fun'rall-trump sounds, you are there.

I shall be made

Ere long a fleeting shade;
Pray come,

And doe some honour to my tomb.

Do not deny

My last request, for I
Will be

Thankfull to you, or friends, for me.

I CALL AND I CALL.

I CALL, I call: who doe ye call?
The maids to catch this cowslip ball;

But since these cowslips fading be,

Troth, leave the flowers, and maids take me. Yet, if that neither you will doe,

Speak but the word, and Ile take you.

ON A PERFUM'D LADY.

You say y'are sweet; how sho'd we know
Whether that you be sweet or no?
From powders and perfumes keep free,

Then we shall smell how sweet you be.

A NUPTIALL SONG, OR EPITHALAMIE ON SIR
CLIPSEBY CREW AND HIS LADY.

WHAT'S that we see from far? the spring of day
Bloom'd from the east, or faire injewel'd May
Blowne out of April; or some new-
Star fill'd with glory to our view,

Reaching at heaven,

To adde a nobler planet to the seven?
Say, or doe we not descrie
Some goddesse, in a cloud of Tiffanie
To move, or rather the

Emergent Venus from the sea?

'Tis she! 'tis she! or else some more divine Enlightned substance; mark how from the shrine Of holy saints she paces on,

Treading upon vermilion

And amber; spice

Ing the chafte aire with fumes of paradise.

Then come on, come on, and yeeld A savour like unto a blessed field,

When the bedabled morne

Washes the golden eares of corne.

See where she comes, and smell how all the street Breathes vineyards and pomgranats; O how sweet! As a fir'd altar, is each stone,

Perspiring pounded cynamon.

The phenix nest,

Built up of odours, burneth in her breast.

Who therein wo'd not consume

His soule to ash-heaps in that rich perfume?
Bestroaking fate the while

He burnes to embers on the pile.

Himen, O Himen! tread the sacred ground;
Shew thy white feet, and head with marjoram crown'd:
Mount up thy flames, and let thy torch
Display the bridegroom in the porch,
In his desires

More towring, more disparkling then thy fires;
Shew her how his eyes do turne
And roule about, and in their motions burne
Their balls to cindars; haste,

Or else to ashes he will waste.

Glide by the banks of virgins then, and

passe

The showers of roses, lucky foure-leav'd grasse;
The while the cloud of younglings sing,
And drown yee with a flowrie spring;
While some repeat

Your praise, and bless you, sprinkling you with wheat,
While that others doe divine,

"Blest is the bride, on whom the sun doth shine;" And thousands gladly wish

You multiply, as doth a fish.

And beautious bride, we do confess y'are wise,
In dealing forth these bashfull jealousies:

In Love's name do so, and a price

Set on your selfe, by being nice.
But yet take heed,

What now you seem, be not the same indeed,
And turne apostate: Love will

Part of the way be met, or sit stone still.
On then, and though you slow-

Ly go, yet, howsoever, go.

And now y'are enter'd, see the codled cook
Runs from his torrid zone, to prie and look,
And blesse his dainty mistresse; see,
The aged point out, This is she,

Who now must sway

The house (love shield her) with her Yea and Nay; And the smirk butler thinks it

Sin, in's nap'rie, not to express his wit;

Each striving to devise

Some gin, wherewith to catch your eyes.

To bed, to bed, kind turtles, now, and write
This the short'st day, and this the longest night,
But yet too short for you; 'tis we

Who count this night as long as three,
Lying alone,

Telling the clock strike ten, eleven, twelve, one.