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Poems of 1646.



HEN we are dead, and now, no more
Our harmles mirth, our wit, and score

Distracts the towne; when all is spent
That the base niggard world hath lent
Thy purse, or mine; when the loath'd noise
Of drawers,? prentises and boyes
Hath left us, and the clam'rous barre
Items no pints i'th' Moone or Starre ;3
When no calme whisp'rers wait the doores,
To fright us with forgotten scores;4
And such agèd long bils carry,
As might start an Antiquary ;
When the sad tumults of the Maze,


Cf. “Elegie on the death of Mr. R. W., in Olor Iscanus, onward. G.

Tapster, or waiter, as in Shakespeare "wait upon him at his table as drawers" (2 Henry iv. ii. 2) et alibi. G.

3 Inns so named. G. • Debts, as before. G.


Arrests, suites, and the dreadfull face
Of sergeants are not seene, and wee
No lawyers ruffes or gownes must fee :
When all these mulcts are paid, and I
From thee, deare wit, must part, and dye ;
Wee'le beg the world would be so kinde,
To give's one grave as wee'de one minde ;
There-as the wiser few suspect,
That spirits after death affect -
Our soules shall meet ; and thence will they
-Freed from the tyranny of clay-
With equall wings, and ancient love
Into the Elysian fields remove;
Where in those blessed walkes they'le find,
More of thy genius, and my mind :

First, in the shade of his owne bayes,
Great Ben” they'le see, whose sacred layes,
The learned ghosts admire, and throng,
To catch the subject of his song.
Then RANDOLPT in those holy meades,
His Lovers, and Amyntas reads,
Whilst his Nightingall close by,

1 Choose, love. G
2 Ben Jonson : died 1637. G.

Thomas Randolph : born 1605: died 1634. His Poems with the Muses Looking-Glasse and Amyntas (1638) passed through various editions. G.

Sings his, and her owne elegie.
From thence dismiss'd, by subtill roades,
Through airie paths, and sad aboads;
They'le come into the drowsie fielils
Of Lethe, which such vertue yeelds,
That-if what Poets sing be true-
The streames all sorrow can subdue.
Here on silent, shady greene,
The soules of lovers oft are seene,
Who in their life's unhappie space,
Were murther d by some perjur'd face.
All these th' inchanted streames frequent,
To drowne their cares, and discontent,
That th' inconstant, cruell sex
Might not in death their spirits rex :

And here our soules bigge with delight
Of their new state will cease their flight:
And now the last thoughts will appeare,
They'le have of us, or any here;
But on those flowry banks will stay,
And drinke all sense, and cares away.

So they that did of these discusse,
Shall find their fables true in us.


YRANT farewell : this heart, the prize
And triumph of thy scornfull eyes,

I sacrifice to heaven, and give
To quit my sinnes, that durst believe
A woman's easie faith, and place
True joyes in a changing face.

Yet e're I goe : by all those teares, And sighes I spent 'twixt hopes and feares ; By thy owne glories, and that houre Which first inslav'd me to thy power; I beg, faire one, by this last breath, This tribute from thee after death. If when I'm gone, you chance to see That cold bed where I lodged bec, Let not your hate in death appeare, But blesse my ashes with a teare : This influxe from that quickning eye, By secret pow'r, which none can spie, The cold dust shall informe, and make Those flames—though dead-new life partake. Whose warmth help'd by your tears shall

bring, O're all the tombe a sudden Spring : If crimson flowers, whose drooping heads

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