To the richest Treasury That e’er fill’d ambitious eye; To the faire bright Magazin Hath impoverisht Love’s Queen; To th’ Exchequer of all honour

Sir, your sad absence I complain,… Her long-hid spring, that gave her… Who now her cheerful aromatick hea… Shrinks in her cold and dismal wid… Whilst the false sun her lover dot…

Divine Destroyer, pitty me no mor… Or else more pitty me; Give me more love, ah, quickly giv… Or else more cruelty! For left thus as I am,

The day is curl’d about agen To view the splendor she was in; When first with hallow’d hands The holy man knit the mysterious b… When you two your contracted souls…

DE SCAEVOLA. Lictorem pro rege necans nunc muti… Sacrifico propriam concremat igne… Miratur Porsenna virum, paenamque… Maxima cum obscessis faedera a vic…

The childish god of love did swear… Thus: By my awfull bow and quiver… Yon’ weeping, kissing, smiling pai… I’le scatter all their vowes i’ th… And their knit imbraces shiver.

Lucasta TELL me Alexis what this parting… That so like dying is, but is not… Alexis It is a swounding for a while from…

AH Lucasta, why so Bright! Spread with early streaked light! If still vailed from our sight, What is’t but eternall night? II

Heark! Oh heark! you guilty Tre… In whose gloomy Galleries Was the cruell’st murder done, That e’re yet eclipst the Sunne ; Be then henceforth in your twigges

Sweet serene skye—like Flower, Haste to adorn her Bower: From thy long clowdy bed, Shoot forth thy damaske head. II.

In the nativity of time, Chloris! it was not thought a crim… In direct Hebrew for to woe. Now wee make love, as all on fire, Ring retrograde our lowd desire,

Sweet serene skye-like Flower, Haste to adorn her Bower: From thy long clowdy bed, Shoot forth thy damaske head. II.

You, that can aptly mixe your joye… And weave white Iös with black El… Can Caroll out a Dirge, and in on… Sing to the Tune, either of life,… You, that can weepe the gladnesse…

SANAZARI HEXASTICON. Viderat Adriacis quondam Neptunus… Stare urbem et toto ponere Jura m… Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantumvis, Ju… Objice et illa mihi moenia Martis…

Now Whitehall’s in the grave, And our head is our slave, The bright pearl in his close shel… Now the miter is lost, The proud Praelates, too, crost,