To myne intirely beloued Mr Iohn Sandford

O V'R of the world! go, get thee hence away;
What makst in heil with so much honesty?
Yet keepe it (Iohn), perhapps another day
I will do thee good; meanewhile thy friend (poore I)
Will sweare for Arte and Nature th art as good
As whomesoe're, if made of flesh and bloud.

To most ingenious Mr Francis Beaumont

Some that thy name abreulate, call thee Franck;
So may they well, if they respect thy witt;
For like rich corne (that some fools call too ranck)
All cleane Wit reapers still are griping it;
And could I sow for thee to reape and vse,
I should esteeme it manna for the Muse.

To my louing and iuditious friend Mr Francis Wye.

Wye was the nimphe neere which I first did breath.
And Wye's the man with whome I loue to liue;
The first, is apt to nourish life and death,
The last, but comforts sweete, to life doth giue:
Then Wye I pree thee runne with righter course
To mee then Wye doth wandring from her sourse.

Againe.

L OUING-BELOU'D ; your generous desert
Hath from the world, wonue loue, from mee my hart;
Then put your winnings vp into your chest
Where (being prime) myne age puts vp my rest.

Only the tzinitzcan is in power, the tzinitzcan arouses me in my affliction, letting fall its songs like sad flowers.
Wherever it wanders, wherever it lives, one awaits it here with the drum, in affliction, in distress, here in the house of spring.
Who is the royal son? Is not the royal son, the son of God, Jesus Christ, as was written in your writings, as was written in your songs?
Is not the flowery writing within the house of flowers that he shall come there from heaven?

To my deere friend, countryman, and expert Master in the liberall science of Musick, Mr Thomas Warrock

One citty brought vs forth, and brought vs vp;
Then drinke I in this Heliconian cup
To thee an health: but if the liquor bee
Not halfe so pleasing as I wish for thee,
That fault he mine; for thou deseru'st the best
For thy rare hand, head, heart, and louing brest.

To my worthy friend, Robert Poyntz Esquire

Thy name is antient; then some still haue beene
T' vphold the branches while they flourisht greene;
Thou art a branch so full of pith and sap
That in thy house thou stopst each little gap
Mistake me not, my meaning's most sincere,
As now thou art, and thy forefathers were

To my most louing and intirely beloued Pupill, Mr Arthur De la-vale, attending the right honourable and most happy Earle of Dunbarre.

Thy name is of the Vale: thy nature, not:
For it is kinde and truly generous:
As are thy worthy brothers (well I wou)
Then is thy nature highly vertuous:
Yet being lowly too as is the Dale,
Thy name thy nature fits, deere De la-Vale.

My heart grieved, I, the singer, was afflicted, that these are the only flowers, the only songs which I can procure here on earth; see how they speak of sickness and of death, how all go there to their homes, alas.
Sometimes thou hast toiled and acquired skill, thou takest refuge in thy fame and renown on earth; but see how vain they speak, alas.
As many as live on earth, truly they go to God when they descend to the place where are their homes, alas.

To thee, the Cause of All, to thee I cried out in sadness, my sighs rose up before thy face; I am afflicted here on earth, I suffer, I am wretched, never has joy been my lot, never good fortune; my labor has been of no avail, certainly nothing here lessens one's suffering; truly only to be with thee, near thee; may it be thy will that my soul shall rise to thee, may I pour out my tears to thee, before thee, O thou Giver of Life.