My Muse (great Lord) when last you heard her sing Did to your Uncles Urne, her off'rings bring: And if to fame I may give faith, your eares Delighted in the musicke of her teares. That was her debt to vertue. And when e're She her bright head among the clouds shall reare And adde to th' wondring heavens a new flame, Shee'le celebrate the Genius of your name. Wilde with another rage, inspir'd by love, She charmes the Myrtles of the Idalian grove. And while she gives the Cyprian stormes a law, Those wanton Doves which _Cythereia_ draw Through th' am'rous ayre: Admire what power doth sway The Ocean, and arrest them in their way. She sings _Castara_ then. O she more bright, Than is the starry Senate of the night; Who in their motion did like straglers erre, Cause they deriv'd no influence from her, Who's constant as she's chaste. The Sinne hath beene Clad like a neighb'ring shepheard often seene To hunt those Dales, in hope then _Daphnes_, there To see a brighter face. Th' Astrologer In th' interim dyed, whose proud Art could not show Whence that Ecclipse did on the sudden grow. A wanton Satyre eager in the chase Of some faire Nimph, beheld _Castara's_ face, And left his loose pursuite; who while he ey'd, Unchastely, such a beauty, glorified With such a vertue; by heavens great commands Turn'd marble, and there yet a Statute stands. As Poet thus. But as a Christian now, And by my zeale to you (my Lord) I vow, She doth a flame so pure and sacred move; In me impiety 'twere not to love. [11] _To the Right Honourable my very good Lord_, JOHN _Earle of S._ 1634, 1635. _To_ CUPID. _Wishing a speedy passage to_ CASTARA. Thankes _Cupid_, but the Coach of _Venus_ moves For me too slow, drawn but by lazie Doves. I, left a journey my delay should finde, Will leape into the chariot of the winde. Swift as the flight of lightning through the ayre, Hee'le hurry me till I approach the faire But unkinde _Seymors_. Thus he will proclaime, What tribute winds owe to _Castara's_ name. Viewing this prodigie, astonisht they, Who first accesse deny'd me, will obey, With feare what love commands: Yet censure me As guilty of the blackest sorcery. But after to my wishes milder prove: When they know this the miracle of love. _To_ CASTARA. _Of Love._ How fancie mockes me? By th' effect I prove, 'Twas am'rous folly, wings ascrib'd to love, And ore th' obedient elements command. Hee's lame as he is blinde, for here I stand Fixt as the earth. Throw then this Idoll downe Yee lovers who first made it; which can frowne Or smile but as you please. But I'me untame In rage. _Castara_ call thou[12] on his name, And though hee'le not beare up my vowes to thee, Hee'le triumph to bring downe my Saint to me. [12] then. 1634.