May you drinke beare, or that adult'rate wine Which makes the zeale of _Amsterdam_ divine; If you make breach of promise. I have now So rich a Sacke, that even your selfe will bow T' adore my _Genius_. Of this wine should _Prynne_ Drinke but a plenteous glasse, he would beginne A health to _Shakespeares_ ghost, But you may bring Some excuse forth, and answer me, the King To-day will give you audience, or that on Affaires of state, you and some serious Don Are to resolve; or else perhaps you'le sin So farre, as to leave word y'ar not within. The least of these, will make me only thinke Him subtle, who can in his closet drinke Drunke even alone, and thus made wise create As dangerous plots as the Low Countrey state, Projecting for such baits, as shall draw ore To _Holland_, all the herrings from our shore. But y'are too full of candour: and I know Will sooner stones at _Sals'burg_ casements throw, Or buy up for the silenc'd Levits, all The rich impropriations, then let pall So pure Canary, and breake such an oath: Since charity is sinn'd against in both. Come therefore blest even in the Lollards zeale, Who canst with conscience safe, 'fore hen and veale Say grace in Latine; while I saintly sing A Penitential verse in oyle and Ling. Come then, and bring with you prepar'd for fight, Unmixt Canary, Heaven send both prove right! This I am sure: My sacke will disingage All humane thoughts, inspire so high a rage, That _Hypocrene_ shall henceforth Poets lacke, Since more Enthusiasmes are in my sacke. Heightned with which, my raptures shall commend, How good _Castara_ is, how deare my friend. _To_ CASTARA, _Where true happinesse abides_. _Castara_ whisper in some dead mans eare, This subtill _quære_; and hee'le point out where, By answers negative, true joyes abide. Hee'le say they flow not on th' uncertaine tide Of greatnesse, they can no firme basis have, Upon the trepidation of a wave. Nor lurke they in the caverns of the earth, Whence all the wealthy minerals draw their birth, To covetous man so fatall. Nor ith' grace Love they to wanton of a brighter face, For th'are above Times battery; and the light Of beauty, ages cloud will soone be night. If among these Content, he thus doth prove, Hath no abode; where dwels it but in Love? _To_ CASTARA.