To weed out those, whose hands imbrew'd in bloud Cropt off thy youth, and flower in the bud.

Sleep in thy peace: thus happy hast thou prov'd, Thou might'st have di'de more knowne, not more belov'd.

Io. Fo.

UPON SIR THO. OVERBURIE THE AUTHOR OF THIS INGENIOUS POEM.

H

ESPERIDES (within whose gardens grow

Apples of gold) may well thy losse depiore:
For in those gardens they could never show
A tree so faire of such a fruitfull store.

Grace was the root, and thou thy selfe the tree,
Sweet counsels were the berries grew on thee.

Wit was the branch that did adorne the stocke,
Reason the leafe upon those branches spred,
Under thy shadow did the Muses flocke,
And (by thee) as a mantle covered:

But what befell, O, too much out of hind!
For thou wast blasted by a West-on wind.

R. Ca.

OF SIR THOMAS OVERBURIE HIS WIFE AND

W

MARRIAGE.

HEN I behold this wife of thine so faire,

So far remov'd from vulgar beauties (aire
Being lesse bright and pure) me thinks I see
An uncloth'd soule, by potent alchymy
Extraught from ragged matter. Thou hast made
A wife more innocent than any maide.
Evah's state, before the fall, decyphered here,
And Plato's naked vertue's not more cleare.
Such an idea as scarce wishes can

Arrive at, but our hopes must ne're attaine
A soule so far beyond the common make
As scorn'd corporeall joyning. For her sake
(Despairing else contract) thou too turn'st soule;
And to enjoy her faires without controule,
Cast'st off this bodies clog: so must all do,
Cast matter off, who would abstractions woo.
To flie so soone then (soule) wel hast thou done,
For in this life, such beauties are not wone.
But when I call to mind thine unripe fall,
And so sad summons to thy nuptiall,
Either, in her thy bold desires did taste
Forbidden fruit, and have this curse purchast,
Or, having this elixir made thine owne
(Drawne from the remnant of creation,)

The faces their malignant spirits breathe
To punish thine ambitious love with death.
Or, thy much envide choyce hath made the rest
Of concrete relicts, point their aymes infest
To thy confusion. And with them seduc'd
Friendship (displeas'd to see a love produc'd
Lesse carnall than it selfe) with policy
So pure and chaste a love to nullifie.
Yet howsoe'r, their project flies in smoke,

The poyson's cordiall, which they meant should choke:
Their deeds of darknes, like the bridall night,
Have joyn'd spirituall lovers, in despight

Of false attempts: And now the wedding's done;
When in this life such faires had not bin won.

E. G.

TH

TO THE BOOKE.

HOU wofull widdow, once a happy wife,
That didst enjoy 80 sweet a mate:

Who, now bereaved is of life,

Untimely wrought, through inward hate.
O deed most vile, to haste the end
Of him, that was so good a friend!

F. H.

·

ON THIS EXCELLENT POEM, THE WIFE.

OE here the matchlesse patterne of a wife,

Lishit the matchless pattern of a

The bad commends the good, as dark doth light,

Or as a loathed bed a single life;

The good, with wisdome and discretion clad,
With modesty, and faire demeanour dight,
Whose reason doth her will to love invite.

Reason begot, and passion bred her love,
Self-will she shun'd, fitnes the marriage made;
Fitnes doth cherish love, selfe-will debate.
Loe thus, and in this monument of proofe
A perfect wife, a worke nor time can fade,
Nor loose respect betray to mortall fate.
This none can equall; best, but imitate.

R. C.

I

ON SIR THOMAS OVERBURIES POEM, THE

WIFE.

AM glad yet ere I die, I have found occasion,
Honest and just, without the worlds perswasion,

Or flattery, or bribery, to commend

A woman for her goodnesse; and God send

I may find many more: I wish them well;

They are pretty things to play with; when Eve fell
She tooke a care that all the women-kind

That were to follow her, should be as blind
As she was wilfull; and till this good wife,
This peece of vertues that ne're tooke her life
From a fraile mothers labour: those stand still
As marginals to point us to our ill,

Came to the worlde, as other creatures doe
That know no God but will; we learn'd to woo;
And if she were but faire, and could but kisse,
Twenty to one we could not chuse amisse ;
And as we judge of trees, if straight and tall,

That may be sound, yet never till the fall

Find how the raine hath drill'd them; so till now
We only knew we must love; but not how:
But here we have example, and so rare,
That if we hold but common sense and care,
And steere by this card; he that goes awry,
Ile boldly say at his nativity,

That man was seal'd a foole: yet all this good
Given as it is, not cloath'd in flesh and blood,
Some may averre, and strongly, 'twas meere ment
In way of practice, but not president;
Either will make us happy men; for he
That marrieth any way this mystery,
Or any parcell of that benefit,

Though he take hold of nothing but the wit,

Hath got himselfe a partner for his life,

More than a woman, better than a wife.

I. F.

1