Whose whispers soft as those which lovers breath _Castara_ and my selfe I here bequeath To the calme wind. For heaven such joyes afford To her and me, that there can be no third. And you kinde starres, be thriftier of your light: Her eyes supply your office with more bright And constant lustre. Angels guardians, like The nimbler ship boyes shall be joy'd to strike Or hoist up saile; Nor shall our vessell move By Card or Compasse, but a heavenly love. The courtesie of this more prosperous gale Shall swell our Canvas, and wee'le swiftly saile To some blest Port, where ship hath never lane At anchor, whose chaste soule no foot prophane Hath ever trod; Where nature doth dispence Her infant wealth, a beautious innocence. Pompe (even a burthen to it selfe) nor Pride, (The Magistrate of sinnes) did e're abide On that so sacred earth. Ambition ne're, Built for the sport of ruine, fabrickes there. Thence age and death are exil'd, all offence And feare expell'd, all noyse and faction thence. A silence there so melancholly sweet, That none but whispring Turtles ever meet. Thus Paradise did our first Parents wooe, To harmelesse sweets, at first possest by two. And o're this second, wee'le usurpe the throne; _Castara_, wee'le obey and rule alone. For the rich vertue of this soyle I feare, Would be depraved, should but a third be there. _To_ CASTARA _in a Trance_. Forsake me not so soone. _Castara_ stay, And as I breake the prison of my clay, Ile fill the Canvas with m'expiring breath, And with thee saile o're the vast maine of death. Some Cherubin thus as we passe shall play. Goe happy twins of love; The courteous Sea Shall smooth her wrinkled brow: the winds shal sleep, Or onely whisper musicke to the deepe. Every ungentle rocke shall melt away, The Syrens sing to please, not to betray. Th' indulgent skie shall smile: each starry quire Contend, which shall afford the brighter fire. While Love the Pilot, steeres his course so even, Ne're to cast anchor till we reach at Heaven. _To_ DEATH, CASTARA _being sicke_.