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Thou shalt upon another forest fet,
Where many shipwreck, and no further get.
When thou art there, confider what this chace
Mif-spent, by thy beginning at the face.

Rather fet out below; practife my art;
Some fymmetry the foot hath with that part
Which thou doft feek, and is thy map for that,
Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at:
Leaft fubject to disguise and change it is;
Men say the devil never can change his :
It is the emblem that hath figured
Firmness; 'tis the first part that comes to bed.
Civility we fee refin'd: the kifs,
Which at the face began. tranfplanted is,
Since to the hand, fince to th' imperial knee,
Now at the Papal foot delights to be.
If kings think that the nearer way, and do
Rife from the foot, lovers may do fo too :
For as free spheres move fafter far than can
Birds, whom the air refifts; so maỳ that man,
Which goes this empty and ethereal way,
Than if at beauties enemies he stay.
Rich Nature hath in women wifely made
Two purfes, and their mouths aversely laid :
They then which to the lower tribute owe,
That way which that exchequer looks must go:
He which doth not, his error is as great
As who by clyfter gives the stomach meat.

TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED.

Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy bufk, which I envie,
That still can be, and still can ftand, fo nigh.
Your gown going off fuch beauteous ftate reveals,
As when through flow'ry meads th' hill's fhadow
fteals.

Off with that weary coronet, and fhew
The hairy diadem which on your head doth grow.
Now off with thofe fhoes, and then foftly tread
In this Love's hallow'd temple. this foft bed.
In fuch white robes heaven's angels us'd to be
Reveal'd to men; thou angel bring'ft with thee
A heav'n like Mah'met's paradife; and though
Ill fpirits walk in white, we eas❜ly know
By this thefe angels from an evil fprite;
Thofe fet our hairs but these our flesh upright.
Licenfe my roaving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O my America! my ewfoundland!

My kingdom's safest when with one man mann'd.
My mine of precious ftones! my empery!
How am I bleft in thus difcovering thee!
To enter in these bonds is to be free;
Then where my hand is fet my feal shall be.
Full nakedness! all joys are due to thee;

As fouls unbodied bodies uncloth'd must be,
To tafte whole joys. Gems, which you women use,
Are, like Atlanta's ball, cati in men's views;
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly foul may court that and not them:
Like pictures or like books gay coverings made,
For lay-men are all women thus array'd.

COME, Madam! come; all reft my powers defy; Themfelves are only myftic books, which we
Until I labour, I in labour lie.

The foe oft-times having the foc in fight
Is tir'd with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glitt'ring,
But a far fairer world encompafling.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which your wear,
That th' eyes of bufy fools may be stopt there.

(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Muft fee reveal'd. I hen fince that I may know,
As liberally as to thy midwife fhow
Thyfelf, caft all, yea, this white linen, hence;
There is no pennance due to innocence.

To teach thee, I ani naked first; why, then,
What need'ft thou have more covering than a man?
E iiij

FUNERAL ELEGIES.

ANATOMY OF THE WORLD;

Wherein, by occafion of the untimely death of Mrs. ELIZABETH DRURY, the frailty and the decay of this whole world is reprefented.

THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY.

TO THE PRAISE OF THE DEAD, AND THE ANATOMY.

WELL dy'd the world, that we might live to fee | Death bars reward and fhame; when envy's gone

This world of wit in his Anatomy:

No evil want his good; fo wilder heirs
Bedew their fathers' tombs with forced tears,
Whole 'ftate requites their lofs. While thus we
gain,

Well may we walk in blacks, but not complain.
Yet how can I confent: the world is dead
While this Mufe lives? which in his fpirit's flead
Seems to inform a world, and bids it be,
In fpight of lofs or frail mortality.
And thou the fubject of this well-born thought,
Thrice noble Maid! could'ft not have found nor
fought

A fitter time to yield to thy fad fate
Than while this fpirit lives that can relate
Thy worth fo well to our last nephew's eyne,
That they shall wonder both at his and thine.
Admired match! where ftrives in n utual grace
The cunning pencil and the comely face;
A task which thy fair goodness made too much
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch.
Enough it is to praise them that praise thee,
And lay that but enough thofe praises be,
Which, hadft thou liv'd, had hid their fearful head
From th' angry checkings of thy modest red.

And gain, 'tis fafe to give the dead their own:
As then the wife Egyptians wont to lay
More on their tombs than houses, these of clay,
Bu thofe of brafs or marble were; fo we
Give more unto thy ghost than unto thee.
Yet what we give to thee thou gav'st to us,
And may'ft but thank thy felf for being thus:
Yet what thou gav'it and wert, O happy maid!
Thy grace profefs'd all due where 'tis repaid.
So thefe high fangs that to thee fuited been,
Serve but to found thy Maker's praife and
thine,

Which thy dear foul as fweetly fings to him,
Amid the choir of faints and feraphim,
As any angel's tongue can fing of thee;
The fubjects differ, though the skill agree:
For as by infant years men judge of age,
Thy early love thy virtues did prefage
What high part thou bear'ft in thofe beft of
fongs,

Whereto no burden nor no end belongs.
Sing on, thou virgin foul! whofe lofsful gain
Thy love-fick parents have bewail'd in vain;
Never may thy name be in fongs forgot
Till we fhall fing thy ditty and thy note.

AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD.

THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY.

Thy intrinfic balm and thy prefervative,
Can never be renew'd, thou never live;
I (fince no man can make thee live) will try
What we may gain by thy Anatomy.
Her death hath taught us, dearly, that thou art

WazN that rich foul, which to her heav'n is Corrupt and mortal in th pureft part.

gone,

Whom all do celebrate who know they 'ave one,
(For who is fure he hath a soul, unless
It fee, and judge, and follow worthiness,
And by deeds praise it? he who doth not this
May lodge an inmate foul, but 'tis not his)
When that queen ended here her progrefs time,
And as t' her ftanding houfe to heav'n did
climb,

Where, loth to make the faints attend her long,
She's now a part both of the choir and song :
This world in that great earthquake languished,
For in a common bath of tears it bled,
Which drew the strongest vital spirits out,
But fuccour'd them with a perplexed doubt
Whether the world did lose or gain in this;
(Because fince now no other way there is
But goodness, to fee her whom all would fee,
All muft endeavour to be good as fhe)
This great confumption to a fever turn'd,
And fo the world had fits; it joy'd, it mourn'd;
And as men think that agues phthysic are,
And th' ague being spent give over care;
So thou, fick world! mistak'ft thyself to be
Well, when, alas! thou'rt in a lethargy.

Her death did wound and tame thee then, and

then

Thou might'st have better spar'd the fun or man.
That wound was deep; but 'tis more misery
That thou haft loft thy fenfe and memory.
'Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan;
But this is worse that thou art fpeechlefs grown.
Thou haft forgot thy name thou hadft; thou wast
Nothing but the, and her thou haft o'erpast ;
For as a child kept from the font until
A prince, expected long, come to fulfil
The ceremonies, thou unnam'd hadst laid,
Had not her coming thee her palace made :
Her name defin'd thee, gave thee form and frame,
And thou forgett'ft to celebrate thy name.
Some months the hath been dead, (but, being dead,
Measures of time are all determined)
But long the hath been away, long, long; yet none
Offers to tell us who it is that's gone.
But as in ftates doubtful of future heirs,
When fickness without remedy impairs
The prefent prince, they're loth it should be faid
The prince doth languish, or the prince is dead;
So mankind, feeling now a general thaw,
A ftrong example gone, equal to law,
The cement, which did faithfully compact
And give all virtues, now refolv'd and flack'd,
Though it fame blafphemy to say fhe was dead,
Or that our weakneis was difcovered

In that confeffion; therefore spoke no more

Let no man fay, the world itself being dead,
'Tis labour loft to have discovered
The world's infirmities, fince there is none
Alive to ftudy this diffection:

For there's a kind of world remaining still,
Though the, which did inanimate and fill
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night
Her ghoft doth walk, that is, a glimmering light,
A faint weak love of virtue and of good
Reflects from her on them which understood
Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,
The twilight of her memory doth stay,
Which, from the carcafe of the old world free,
Creates a new world, and new creatures be
Produc'd; the matter and the ftuff of this
Her virtue, and the form our practice is;
And though to be thus elemented arm
These creatures from home born intrinsic harm,
(For all affum'd unto this dignity,
Co many weedlefs Paradifes be,
Which of themfelves produce no ven'mous fin,
Except fome foreign ferpent bring it in)
Yet because outward storms the strongest break,
And ftrength itfelf by confidence grows weak,
This new world may be fafer, being told
The dangers and difeafes of the old;
For with due temper men do them forego
Or covet things, when they their true worth
know.

There is no health; phyficians fay that we
At befl enjoy but a neutrality:
And can there be worfe ficknefs than to know
That we are never well, nor can be fo?
We are born ruinous; poor mothers cry
That children come not right nor orderly,
Except they headlong come, and fall upon
An ominous precipitation.

How witty's ruin, how importunate
Upon mankind! it labour'd to frustrate
Even God's purpofe, and made woman, fent
For man's relief, caufe of his languishment:
They were to good ends, and they are fo ftill,
But acceffary, and principal in ill;
For that first marriage was our funeral;
One woman at one blow then kill'd us all,
And fingly one by one they kill us now,
And we delightfully ourfelves allow
To that confumption; and, profufely blind,
We kill ourselves to propagate our kind;
And yet we do not that; we are not men;
There is not now that mankind which was then,
When as the fun and man did feem to frive
(Joint-tenants of the world) who should furvive;
When ftag and raven, and the long-liv'a tree,
Compar'd with man dy'd in minority;

Than tongues, the foul being gone, the lofs de- When, if a flow-pac'd itar had ftoln away

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From the obferver's marking, he might stay
Two or three hundred years to fee 't again,
And then make up his obfervation plain

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When as the age was long, the fize was great,
Man's growth confefs'd and recompenc'd the

meat;

So fpacious and large, that every foul

Did a fair kingdom and large realm controul;
And when the very stature, thus erect,

Did that foul a good way t'wards heav n direct.
Where is this mankind now? who lives to age
Fit to be made Methufalem his page
Alas! we fearce live long enough to try
Whether a true-made clock run right or lie.
Old grandfires talk of yesterday with forrow,
And for our children we reserve to-morrow.
So fhort is life, that every peasant strives,
In a torn houfe or field, to have three lives.
And as in lafting, fo in length, is man
Contracted to an inch who was a fpan;
For had a m n at first in forefts ftray'd,
Or fhipwreck'd in the fea, one would have laid
A wager that an elephant or whale
That met him would not haftily affail
A thing fo equal to him: now alas!
The fairies and the pygmies well may pass
As credible. Mankind decays fo foon,
We're fcarce our fathers' fhadows caft at noon;
Only death adds t' our length; nor are we grown"
In ftature to be men till we are none.
But this were light, did our lefs volume hold
All the old text; or had we chang'd to gold
Their filver, or difpos'd into lefs glafs
Spirits of virtue which then scatter'd was:
But 'tis net fo; we're not retir'd, but dampt;
And as our bodies fo our minds are crampt :
"Tis fhrinking, not clofe weaving, that hath thus,
In mind and body both, bedwarfed us.
We feem ambitious God's whole work t' undo;
Of nothing he made us, and we strive too
To bring ourselves to nothing back; and we
Do what we can to do't as foon as he.
With new difeafes on ourfelves we war,
And with new phyfic, a worfe engine far.
This man, this world's vice-emperor, in whom
All faculties, all graces, are at home;
And if in other creatures they appear,
They're but man's minifters and legates there,
To work on their rebellions, and reduce
Them to civility and to man's ufe:

This man, whom God did woo, and, loth t' attend
Till man came up, did down to man defcend;
This man, fo great, that all that is, is his,
Oh what a trifle and poor thing he is!
If man were any thing, he's nothing now;
Help, or at leaft fome time to waste, allow
To his other wants; yet when he did depart
With her, whom we lament, he loft his heart.
She, of whom th' Ancients feem'd to prophefy,
When they call'd virtues by the name of She;
She, in whom virtue was fo much refin'd,
That for allay unto fo pure a mind
She took the weaker fex; fhe that could drive
1 Le poifonous tincture and the ftain of Eve
Out of her thoughts and deeds, and purify
All by a true religious alchimy;

She, the is dead! fhe's dead When thou know'st this,
Thou know'll how poor a trifling thing man is,

And learn'ft thus much by our Anatomy,
The heart being perish'd, no part can be free,
And that except thou feed (not banquet) on
The fupernatural food, religion,

Thy better growth grows withered and fcant;
Be more than man, or thou'rt lefs than an ant.
Then as mankind, fo is the world's whole frame
Quite out of joint, almoft created lame;
For before God had made up all the reft,
Corruption enter'd and deprav'd the best:
It feiz'd the angels, and then, first of all,
The world did in her cradle take a fall,
And turn'd her brains, and took a general main
Wronging each joint of th' universal frame.
The nobleft part, man, felt it firft; and then
Both beats and plants curft in the curfe of man
So did the world from the first hour decay,
That evening was beginning of the day;
And now the Springs and fummers which we fe
Like fons of women after fifty be:
And new philofophy calls all in doubt
The element of fire is quite put out;
The fun is left, and th' earth, and no man's wit
Can well direct hini where to look for it:
And freely men confefs that this world's spent,
When in the planets and the firmament
They feek fo many new; they fee that this
Is crumbled out again t' his atomies:
'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone,
All juft fupply, and all relation:
Prince, fubject. father, fon, are things forgot,
For every man alone thinks he hath got
To be a phoenix, and that then can be
None of that kind of which he is, but he.
This is the world's condition now, and now
She that should all parts to re-union bow;
She that had all magnetic force alone
To draw and faften funder'd parts in one;
She whom wife Nature had invented then,
When fhe obferv'd that every fort of men
Did in their voyage in this world's fea ftray,
And needed a new comp afs for their way;"
She, that was best and first original
Of all fair copies, and the general
Steward to Fate; fhe, whole rich eyes and breaf
Gilt the West Indies, and perfum'd the East,
Whofe having breath'd in this world did beftov
Spice on thofe ifles, and bade them ftill fmell fo
And that rich Inde. which doth gold inter,
Is but as ngle money coin'd from her;
She, to whom this world muft itself refer,
As fuburbs or the microcofm of her;

She, the is dead; fhe's dead! When thou know
this,

Thou know'ft how lame a cripple this world is,
And learn'ft thus much by our Anatomy,
That this world's general sickness doth not lie
In any humour, or one certain part,
But as thou faw't it rotten at the heart,
Thou fee'ft a hectic fever hath got hold
Of the whole fubftance, not to be controll'a,
And that thou haft but one way not t'admit
The world's infection, to be none of it:
For the world's fubtil'ft immaterial parts
Feel this confuming wound, and age's darts:

For the world's beauty is decay'd or gone,
Beauty, that's colour and proportion.
We think the heav'ns enjoy their spherical,
Their round proportion embracing all,
But yet their various and perplexed course,
Obferv'd in diverfe ages, doth enforce
Men to find out fo many eccentric parts,
Such diverfe down-right lines, fuch overthwarts,
As difproportion that pure form: it tears
The firmament in eight and forty fhares,
And in these constellations then arife

New stars, and old do vanish from our eyes; [war,
As though heav'n fuffered earthquakes, peace or
When new tow'rs rife, and old demolish'd are.
They have impal'd within a zodiac

The free-born fun, and keep twelve figns awake
To watch his fteps; the Goat and Crab control
And fright him back, who elfe to either pole
(Did not thefe tropics fetter him) might run;
For his courfe is not round, nor can the fun
Perfect a circle, or maintain his way
One inch direct, but where he refe to-day
He comes no more, but with a cozening line
Steals by that point, and fo is ferpentine;
And feeming weary of his reeling thus,
He means to fleep, being now fal'n nearer us.
So of the stars, which boaft that they do run
In circle fill, none ends where he begun;
All their proportion's lame, it finks, it fwells;
For of meridians and parallels

Man hath weav'd out a net, and this net thrown
Upon the heav'ns, and now they are his own.
Loth to go up the hill, or labour thus
To go to heav'n, we make heav'n come to us.
We pur, we rein the ftars, and in their race
They're diverfely content t' obey our pace.
But keeps the earth her round proportion ftill?
Doth not a Tenarus or higher hill

Rife fo high like a rock, that one might think
The floating moon would fhipwreck there and fink?
Seas are fo deep, that whales being ftruck to-day,
Perchance to-morrow fcarce at middle way
Of their wish'd journey's end, the bottom, die;
And men to found depths fo much line untie,
As cue might juflly think that there would rife,
At end thereof, one of th' antipodes ;
If under all a vault infernal be,
(Which fure is fpacious, except that we
Invent another tormert, that there muft
Millions into a straight hot room be thruft)
Then folidnefs and roundness have no place:
Are thefe but warts and pockholes in the face
Of th' earth? Think fo; but yet confefs in this
The world's proportion disfigur'd is;
That those two legs whereon it doth rely,
Reward and punishment, are Lent awry:
And, oh! it can no more be questioned
That beauty's beft proportion is dead,
Since even grief itself, which now alone
Is left is, is without proportion.
She, by whole lines proportion should be
Examin'd, measure of all fymmetry,

Whom had that Ancient feen, who thought fouls

made

Of harmony, he would at next have said

That Harmony was fhe, and thence infer
That fouls were but refultances from her,
And did from her into our bodies go,
As to our eyes the forms from objects flow:
She who, if those great doctors truly said,
That th' ark to man's proportion was made,
Had been a type for that, as that might be
A type of her in this, that contrary
Both elements and paffions liv'd at peace
In her, who caus'd all Civil war to cease:
She, after whom what form fo'er we see,
Is difcord and rude incongruity;
[this,
She, fhe is dead, fhe's dead! When thou know't
Thou know'ft how ugly a montier this world is,
And learn't thus much by our Anatomy,
That here is nothing to enamour thee;
And that not only faults in inward parts,
Corruptions in our brains, or in our hearts,
Poifoning the fountains whence our actions spring,
Endanger us; but that if every thing
Be not done fitly and in proportion,
To fatisfy wife and good lookers-on,
Since most men be fuch as most think they be,
They're lothfome too by this deformity:
For good and well muft in our actions meet;
Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.
But beauty's other fecond element,
Colour and luftre, now is as near spent;
And had the world his juft proportion,
Were it a ring ftill, yet the ftone is gone;
As a compaffionate turcoife, which doth tell,
By looking pale, the wearer is not well;
As gold falls fick being flung with Mercury,
All the world's parts of fuch complexion be.
When Nature was moft bufy, the first week
Swaddling the new-born earth, God feem'd to like
That the thould fport herfeif fometimes and play,
To mingle and vary colours every day;
And then, as though she could not make enow,
Himfelf his various rainbow did allow.
Sight is the nobleft fenfe of any one;
Yet fight hath only colour to feed on,
And colour is decay'd: funimer's robe grows
Dufky, and like an oft dy'd garment fhews
Our blufhing red, which us'd in cheeks to spread,
Is inward funk, and only our fouls are red.
Perchance the world might have recovered,
If the whom we lament had not been dead :
Bat fhe, in whom all white, and red, and blue,
(Beauty's ingredients) voluntary grew,
As in an unvext Paradife, from whom
Did all things verdure and their luftre come,
Whole compofition was miraculous,
Being all colour, all diaphanous,

(For air and fire but thick grofs bodies were,
And livelieft itones but drowfy and pale to her)
She, fhe is dead; she's dead. When thou know'st

this,

Thou know'ft how wan a ghost this our world is,
And learn't thu n uch by our Anatomy,
That it fhould more affright than pleasure thee:
And that, fince all fair colour then did fink,
'fis now but wicked vanity to think
To colour vicious deeds with good pretence,
Or with bought colours to illude men's fente,

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