What should we feare _Castara_? The coole aire, That's falne in love, and wanton in thy haire, Will not betray our whispers. Should I steale A Nectar'd kisse, the wind dares not reveale The pleasure I possesse. The wind conspires To our blest interview, and in our fires Bath's like a Salamander, and doth sip, Like _Bacchus_ from the grape, life from thy lip. Nor thinke of nights approach. The worlds great eye Though breaking Natures law, will us supply With his still flaming lampe: and to obey Our chaste desires, fix here perpetuall day. But should he set, what rebell night dares rise, To be subdu'd ith' vict'ry of thy eyes? _An Apparition._ More welcome my _Castara_, then was light To the disordered Chaos. O what bright And nimble chariot brought thee through the aire? While the amazed stars to see so faire And pure a beauty from the earth arise, Chang'd all their glorious bodies into eyes. O let my zealous lip print on thy hand The story of my love, which there shall stand A bright inscription to be read by none, But who as I love thee, and love but one. Why vanish you away? Or is my sense Deluded by my hope? O sweete offence Of erring nature! And would heaven this had Beene true; or that I thus were ever mad. [16]_To the Honourable Mr._ Wm. E. Hee who is good is happy. Let the loude Artillery of Heaven breake through a cloude And dart its thunder at him; hee'le remaine Unmov'd, and nobler comfort entertaine In welcomming th' approach of death; then vice Ere found in her fictitious Paradise. Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past Delights, and raise our appetite to taste Ensuing) brings us to unflattered age. Where we are left to satisfie the rage Of threatning Death: Pompe, beauty, wealth, and all Our friendships, shrinking from the funerall. The thought of this begets that brave disdaine With which thou view'st the world and makes those vaine Treasures of fancy, serious fooles so court, And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport. What should we covet here? Why interpose A cloud twixt us and heaven? Kind Nature chose Mans soule th' Exchecquer where she'd hoord her wealth, And lodge all her rich secrets; but by th' stealth Of our owne vanity, w'are left so poore, The creature meerely sensuall knowes more. The learn'd _Halcyon_ by her wisedome finds A gentle season, when the seas and winds Are silenc't by a calme, and then brings forth The happy miracle of her rare birth, Leaving with wonder all our arts possest, That view the architecture of her nest. Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestowe Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow By age to dotage: while the sensitive Part of the World in it's first strength doth live. Folly? what dost thou in thy power containe