To CASTARA,

The vanity of Avarice.

Harke? how the traytor wind doth court
 The Saylors to the maine;
To make their avarice his sport?
A tempest checks the fond disdaine;
They beare a safe though humble port.
Wee'le sit my love upon the shore,
 And while proud billowes rise
To warre against the skie, speake ore
Our Loves so sacred misteries.
And charme the Sea to th' calme it had before.
Where's now my pride t'extend my fame
 Where ever statues are?
And purchase glory to my name

To CASTARA,

Being debarr'd her presence.

Banisht from you, I charg'd the nimble winde,
My unseene Messenger, to speake my minde,
In am'rous whispers to you. But my Muse
Lest the unruly spirit should abuse
The trust repos'd in him, sayd it was due
To her alone, to sing my loves to you.
Heare her then speake. Bright Lady, from whose eye,
Shot lightning to his heart, who joyes to dye
A martyr in your flames: O let your love
Be great and firme as his: Then nought shall move

Eccho to Narcissus.

In praise of Castara's discreete Love.

Scorn'd in thy watry Vrne Narcissus lye,
Thou shalt not force more tribute from my eye
T' increase thy streames: or make me weepe a showre,
To adde fresh beauty to thee, now a flowre.
But should relenting heaven restore thee sence,
To see such wisedome temper innocence,
In faire Castara's love; how shee discreet,
Makes causion with a noble freedome meete,
At the same moment; thould'st confesse fond boy,
Fooles onely think them vertuous, who are coy.

An answere to CASTARA'S question .

T'is I Castara , who when thou wert gone,
Did freeze into this melancholly stone,
To weepe the minutes of thy absence. Where
Can greefe have freer scope to mourne than here?
The Larke here practiseth a sweeter straine,
Aurora's early blush to entertaine,
And having too deepe tasted of these streames,
He loves, and amorously courts her beames.
The courteous turtle with a wandring zeale,
Saw how to stone I did my selfe congeale,
And murm'ring askt what power this change did move,

To CASTARA.

Of Love.

How fancie mockes me? By th' effect I prove,
'Twas am'rous folly, wings ascrib'd to love,
And ore th' obedient elements command.
Hee's lame as he is blinde, for here I stand
Fixt as the earth. Throw then this Idoll downe
Yee lovers who first made it; which can frowne
Or smile but as you please. But I'm untame
In rage. Castara call thou on his name,
And though hee'le not beare up my vowes to thee,
Hee'le triumph to bring downe my Saint to me.

To CASTARA.

Of Love.

To CVPID.

Wishing a speedy passage to CASTARA.

Thankes Cupid , but the Coach of Venus moves
For me too slow, drawne but by lazie Doves.
I, lest my journey a delay should finde,
Will leape into the chariot of the wind.
Swift as the flight of lightning through the ayre,
Hee'le hurry me till I approach the faire,
But unkinde Seymors . Thus he will proclaime,
What tribute winds owe to Castara's name.
Viewing this prodigie, astonisht they,
Who first accesse deny'd me, will obey,
With feare what love commands: Yet censure me

Vpon CASTARA'S departure .

I am engag'd to sorrow, and my heart
Feeles a distracted rage. Though you depart
And leave me to my feares; let love in spite
Of absence, our divided soules unite.
But you must goe. The melancholy Doves
Draw Venus chariot hence: The sportive Loves
Which wont to wanton here hence with you flye,
And like false friends forsake me when I dye.
 For but a walking tombe, what can he be;
 Whose best of life is forc't to part with thee?

Vpon CASTARA'S departure .

I am engag'd to sorrow, and my heart

To a friend inquiring her name, whom he loved.

Fond Love himselfe hopes to disguise
From view, if he but covered lies,
Ith' veile of my transparent eyes.

Though in a smile himselfe he hide,
Or in a sigh, thou art so tride
In all his arts, hee'le be discride.

I must confesse (Deare friend) my flame,
Whose boasts Castara so doth tame,
That not thy faith, shall know her name.

Twere prophanation of my zeale,
If but abroad one whisper steale,
They love betray who him reveale.

In a dark cave which never eye

To CASTARA,

Inquiring why I loved her.

Why doth the stubborne iron prove
So gentle to th' magnetique stone?
How know you that the orbs doe move;
With musicke too? since heard of none?
And I will answer why I love.

'Tis not thy vertues, each a starre
Which in thy soules bright spheare doe shine,
Shooting their beauties from a farre,
To make each gazers heart like thine;
Our vertues often Meteors are.

'Tis not thy face. I cannot spie
When Poëts weepe some Virgins death,
That Cupid wantons in her eye,

A Dialogue betweene ARAPHILL and CASTARA. A RAPH .

Dost not thou Castara read
Am'rous volumes in my eyes?
Doth not every motion plead
What I'de shew, and yet disguise?
 Sences act each others part.
 Eyes, as tongues, reveale the heart. Cast .

I saw love as lightning breake
From thy eyes, and was content
Oft to heare thy silence speake.
Silent love is eloquent.
 So the sence of learning heares,
 The dumbe musicke of the Spheares. A RAPH .

Then there's mercy in your kinde,
Listning to an unfain'd love.