Eclogue. 1613. December 26

Vnseasonable man, statue of ice,What could to countries solitude enticeThee, in this yeares cold and decrepit time?Natures instinct drawes to the warmer climeEven small birds, who by that courage dare,In numerous fleets, saile through their Sea, the aire.What delicacie can in fields appeare,Whil'st Flora'herselfe doth a freeze jerkin weare?Whil'st windes do all the trees and hedges stripOf leafes, to furnish roddes enough to whipThy madnesse from thee; and all springs by frostHave taken cold, and their sweet murmure lost;If thou thy faults or fortunes would'st lamentWith just solemnity, do it in Lent;At Court the spring already advanced is,The Sunne stayes longer up; and yet not hisThe glory is, farre other, other fires.First, zeale to Prince and State; then loves desiresBurne in one brest, and like heavens two great lights,The first doth governe dayes, the other nights.And then that early light, which did appeareBefore the Sunne and Moone created were,The Princes favour is defus'd o'r all,From which all Fortunes, Names, and Natures fall;Then from those wombes of starres, the Brides bright eyes,At every glance, a constellation flyes,And sowes the Court with starres, and doth preventIn light and power, the all-ey'd firmament;First her eyes kindle other Ladies eyes,Then from their beames their jewels lusters rise,And from their jewels torches do take fire,And all is warmth, and light, and good desire;Most other Courts, alas, are like to hell,Where in darke plotts, fire without light doth dwell:Or but like Stoves, for lust and envy getContinuall, but artificiall heat;Here zeale and love growne one, all clouds disgest,And make our Court an everlasting East.And can'st thou be from thence?

Idios. No, I am there.As heaven, to men dispos'd, is every where,So are those Courts, whose Princes animate,Not onely all their house, but all their State.Let no man thinke, because he is full, he hath all,Kings (as their patterne, God) are liberallNot onely in fulnesse, but capacitie,Enlarging narrow men, to feele and see,And comprehend the blessings they bestow.So, reclus'd hermits often times do knowMore of heavens glory, then a worldling can.As man is of the world, the heart of man,Is an epitome of Gods great bookeOf creatures, and man need no farther looke;So is the Country of Courts, where sweet peace doth,As their one common soule, give life to both,I am not then from Court.

Allophanes.Dreamer, thou art.Think'st thou fantastique that thou hast a partIn the East-Indian fleet, because thou hastA little spice, or Amber in thy taste?Because thou art not frozen, art thou warme?Seest thou all good because thou seest no harme?The earth doth in her inward bowels holdStuffe well dispos'd, and which would faine be gold,But never shall, except it chance to lye,So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye;As, for divine things, faith comes from above,So, for best civill use, all tinctures moveFrom higher powers; From God religion springs,Wisdome, and honour from the use of Kings.Then unbeguile thy selfe, and know with mee,That Angels, though on earth employd they bee,Are still in heav'n, so is hee still at homeThat doth, abroad, to honest actions come.Chide thy selfe then, O foole, which yesterdayMight'st have read more then all thy books bewray;Hast thou a history, which doth presentA Court, where all affections do assentUnto the Kings, and that, that Kings are just?And where it is no levity to trust?Where there is no ambition, but to'obey,Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may;Where the Kings favours are so plac'd, that allFinde that the King therein is liberallTo them, in him, because his favours bendTo vertue, to the which they all pretend?Thou hast no such; yet here was this, and more,An earnest lover, wise then, and before.Our little Cupid hath sued Livery,And is no more in his minority,Hee is admitted now into that brestWhere the Kings Counsells and his secrets rest.What hast thou lost, O ignorant man?

Idios.I knewAll this, and onely therefore I withdrew.To know and feele all this, and not to haveWords to expresse it, makes a man a graveOf his owne thoughts; I would not therefore stayAt a great feast, having no Grace to say.And yet I scap'd not here; for being comeFull of the common joy, I utter'd some;Reade then this nuptiall song, which was not madeEither the Court or mens hearts to invade,But since I'am dead, and buried, I could frameNo Epitaph, which might advance my fameSo much as this poore song, which testifiesI did unto that day some sacrifice.