That them the vertue of my shrine, By miracle so long refine; Till they prove innocent as mine. _Upon_ CASTARA'S _absence_. Tis madnesse to give Physicke to the dead; Then leave me friends: Yet haply you'd here A lecture; but I'le not dissected be, T' instruct your Art by my anatomie. But still you trust your sense, sweare you discry No difference in me. All's deceit oth' eye, Some spirit hath a body fram'd in th' ayre, Like mine, which he doth to delude you, weare: Else heaven by miracle makes me survive My selfe, to keepe in me poore Love alive. But I am dead, yet let none question where My best part rests, and with a sigh or teare, Prophane the Pompe, when they my corps interre, My soule imparadis'd, for 'tis with her. _To_ CASTARA, _Complaining her absence in the Country_. The lesser people of the ayre conspire To keepe thee from me, _Philomel_ with higher And sweeter notes, wooes thee to weepe her rape, Which would appease the gods, and change her shape. The early Larke, preferring 'fore soft rest Obsequious duty, leaves his downy nest, And doth to thee harmonious tribute pay; Expecting from thy eyes the breake of day. From which the Owle is frighted, and doth rove (As never having felt the warmth of love.) In uncouth vaults, and the chill shades of night, Nor biding the bright lustre of thy sight. With him my fate agrees. Not viewing thee I'me lost in mists, at best, but meteors see. _To_ THAMES. Swift in thy watry chariot, courteous _Thames_, Hast by the happy error of thy streames, To kisse the banks of _Marlow_, which doth show Faire _Seymors_, and beyond that never flow. Then summon all thy Swans, that who did give Musicke to death, may henceforth sing, and live, For my _Castara_. She can life restore, Or quicken them who had no life before. How should the Poplar else the Pine provoke; The stately Cedar challenge the rude Oke To dance at sight of her? They have no sense From nature given, but by her influence. [10]If _Orpheus_ did those senslesse creatures move, He was a Prophet, and fore-sang my love. [10]If _Orpheus_ did those senslesse creatures stirre, He was a Prophet, and fore-sang of her. 1634, 1635. _To the right honourable the Earle of_ SHREWES.[11]