Then leave my lines their homely equipage,
Mounted beyond the circle of the sun;
Amaz'd I read the style when I have done,
And her I love that sent that heavenly rage.

Of Phebe then, of Phebe then I sing,
Drawing the purity of all the spheres,
The pride of earth, or what in heaven appears,
Her honour'd face, and fame to light to bring.

In fluent members, and in pleasant veins,

I rob both sea and earth of all their state;
To praise her parts I charm both time and fate,
To bless the Nymph that yields me love-sick pains.

My sheep are turn'd to thoughts, whom froward will
Guides in the labyrinth of restless Love;
Fear lends them pasture wheresoe'er they move,
And by their death their life renounceth still.

My sheep-hook is my pen, my oaten reed
My paper where my many woes are written:
Thus silly swain (with Love and Fancy bitten)
I trace the plaints of pain in woeful weed.

Yet are my cares, my broken sleeps, my tears,
My dreams, my doubt, for Phebe sweet to me;

Who waiteth heaven in Sorrow's vale must be,
And glory shines where danger most appears.

Then, Coridon, although I blithe me not,

Blame me not man, since Sorrow is

my

sweet:

So willeth Love, and Phebe thinks it meet,

And kind Montanus liketh well his lot.

CORIDON.

Oh stayless youth, by Error so misguided,
Where Will prescribeth laws to perfect Wits,

Where Reason mourns, and Blame in triumph sits,
And Folly poisoneth all that Time provided.

With willful blindness blear'd, prepar'd to shame,

Prone to neglect occasion when she smiles;

Alas that Love by fond and froward guiles

Should make thee track the path to endless blame.

Ah, my Montanus! cursed is the charm,
That hath bewitched so thy youthful eyes;
Leave off in time to like these vanities;
Be forward to thy good, and flee thy harm.

As many bees as Hebla daily shields,
As many fry as fleet on ocean's face,

As

many herds as on the earth do trace,

As many flowers as deck the fragrant fields,

As many stars as glorious heaven contains,
As many storms as wayward winter weeps,
As many plagues as hell inclosed keeps;
So many griefs in Love, so many pains.

Suspicion, thoughts, desires, opinions, prayers, Mislikes, misdeeds, fond joys, and feigned peace, Illusions, dreams, great pains, and small increase, Vows, hope, acceptance, scorns, and deep despairs.

Truce, war, and woe, do wait at Beauty's gate;
Time lost, laments, reports, and privy grudge,
And last, fierce Love is but a partial judge,

Who yields for service, shame: for friendship, hate.

MONTANUS.

All adder-like I stop mine ears, fond swain,

So charm no more, for I will never change!
Call home thy flock betime that stragling range,

For, lo! the sun declineth hence amain.

མཉྩན�མ ་་་་་་་་་་ས

TO HIS

BEST COUSIN, MRS. BARBARA LOKE.

By Michael Cosowarth.

DEVOTED love to God, to man, to thee,

For hoped bliss, for kind, for kindred's sake,
Did first inflame the frozen heart of me,
That I this task too good should undertake.

But do thou take it kindly at my hands,

That I respect thy good in that I do,

Though kind and kindness too, two mighty bands,

Should me of duty have e'en held thereto.

But kind and kindness in this waning age

Are both abortive twins, both born to die;

And slain of self-love in a bitter rage,
With no remorse of dear affinity.

But never shall th' injurious worldlings say,
That I did kind or kindness cast away."

Harl. MSS. 6906. It is prefixed to Cosowarth's MS. Version

of the Psalms.

TO

MY COUSIN, MICHAEL COSOWARTH.

By Richard Carew of Anthony.

THESE Psalms which from their native sense exil'd,

In soil of Barbarism long rov'd amiss,

COSWARTH calls home with high-tun'd voice of his, And for such dwellers doth meet palace build. Divine the author was, who them compil'd;

Divine the stuff, divine the fashion is;

a

or divine for truth men serves to this;

Though on thy Muse to heaven up-mounted then,

Thy mind inspired scorn Fame's lower blast,
Yet will she blaze thy praises unto men
And less esteem'd, the more thee follow fast.
Myself of thee for these, of these for thee,
Of both for both's worth will a lover be.b

• Illegible.

b Harl. MSS. 6906. It is prefixed to Cosowarth's MS. Version of

the Psalms, of which a specimen will hereafter be given.