The Exequies.

DRaw neer

You Lovers that complain

Of Fortune or Disdain,
And to my Ashes lend a tear;

Melt the hard marble with your grones,
And soften the relentlesse Stones,

Whose cold imbraces the sad Subject hide
Of all Loves cruelties, and Beauties Pride.

No Verse

No Epicedium bring,

Nor peaceful Requiem sing,
To charm the terrours of my Herse;
No prophane Numbers must flow neer
The sacred silence that dwells here;
Vast Griefs are dumb, softly, oh softly mourn
Lest
you disturb the Peace attends my
Urn.

Yet strew

Upon my dismall Grave,

Such offerings as you have,

Forsaken Cypresse and sad Ewe;

For kinder Flowers can take no Birth Or growth from such unhappy Earth. Weep only o're my Dust, and say, Here lies To Love and Fate an equal Sacrifice.

Thomas Stanley.

IO

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Though you as beauteous are, and flowers as gay,

Hough you be absent here, I needs must say

As ever they were wont to be;
Nay the Birds rural musick too
Is as melodious and free,

As if they sung to pleasure you:

I saw a Rose-Bud o'pe this morn; I'll swear
The blushing Morning open'd not more fair.

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How could it be so fair, and you away?
How could the Trees be beauteous, Flowers so gay?

Could they remember but last year,

How you did Them, They you delight,

The sprouting leaves which saw you here,
And call'd their Fellows to the sight,

Would, looking round for the same sight in vain,
Creep back into their silent Barks again.

Where ere you walk'd trees were as reverend made,
As when of old Gods dwelt in every shade.

Is't possible they should not know,
What loss of honor they sustain,
That thus they smile and flourish now,
And still their former pride retain ?

Dull Creatures! 'tis not without Cause that she,
Who fled the God of wit, was made a Tree.

In ancient times sure they much wiser were,
When they rejoyc'd the Thracian verse to hear;
In vain did Nature bid them stay,

When Orpheus had his song begun,
They call'd their wondring roots away,
And bad them silent to him run.

How would those learned trees have followed you?
You would have drawn Them, and their Poet too.

But who can blame them now? for, since you're gone,
They're here the only Fair, and Shine alone.

You did their Natural Rights invade;

Where ever you did walk or sit,

The thickest Boughs could make no shade,
Although the Sun had granted it:

The fairest Flowers could please no more, neer you,
Then Painted Flowers, set next to them, could do.

IO

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When e're then you come hither, that shall be
The time, which this to others is, to Me.
The little joys which here are now,
The name of Punishments do bear;
When by their sight they let us know
How we depriv'd of greater are.

"Tis you the best of Seasons with you bring;
This is for Beasts, and that for Men the Spring.

Abraham Cowley.

L

The Change.

Ove in her Sunny Eyes does basking play ;

Love walks the pleasant Mazes of her Hair;
Love does on both her Lips for ever stray;
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there.
In all her outward parts Love's always seen;
But, oh, He never went within.

Within Love's foes, his greatest foes abide,
Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride.

So the Earths face, Trees, Herbs, and Flowers do dress,
With other beauties numberless :

But at the Center, Darkness is, and Hell;

There wicked Spirits, and there the Damned dwell.

With me alas, quite contrary it fares;

Darkness and Death lies in my weeping eyes,
Despair and Paleness in my face appears,
And Grief, and Fear, Love's greatest Enemies;
But, like the Persian-Tyrant, Love within

Keeps his proud Court, and ne're is seen.

Oh take my Heart, and by that means you'll prove
Within too stor❜d enough of Love:

Give me but Yours, I'll by that change so thrive,
That Love in all my parts shall live.

So powerful is this change, it render can,
My outside Woman, and your inside Man.

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Abraham Cowley.

To his Coy Mistress.

HAd

Ad we but World enough, and Time,
This coyness Lady were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges side

Should'st Rubies find: I by the Tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
before the Flood:

Love you ten years

And you should if you please refuse
Till the Conversion of the Jews.

My vegetable Love should grow
Vaster then Empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze.
Two hundred to adore each Breast:
But thirty thousand to the rest.
An Age at least to every part,
And the last Age should show your
For Lady you deserve this State;
Nor would I love at lower rate.

Heart.

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