I Heard a sigh, and something in my eare Did whisper, what my soule before did feare. That it was breath'd by thee. May th' easie Spring Enricht with odours, wanton on the wing Of th' Easterne wind, may ne're his beauty fade, If he the treasure of this breath convey'd; 'Twas thine by 'th musicke which th' harmonious breath Of Swans is like, propheticke in their death: And th' odour, for as it the nard expires, Perfuming Phœnix-like his funerall fires. The winds of Paradice send such a gale, To make the Lovers vessels calmely saile To his lov'd Port. This shall, where it inspires, Increase the chaste, extinguish unchaste fires. _To the Right Honourable the Lady_ F. Madam. You saw our loves, and prais'd the mutuall flame; In which as incense to your sacred name Burnes a religious zeale. May we be lost To one another, and our fire be frost; When we omit to pay the tribute due To worth and vertue, and in them to you: Who are the soule of women. Others be But beauteous parts oth' female body; she Who boasts how many nimble _Cupids_ skip Through her bright face, is but an eye or lip: The other who in her soft brests can show Warme Violets growing in a banke of snow, And vaunts the lovely wonder, is but skin: Nor is she but a hand, who holds within The chrystall violl of her wealthy palme, The precious sweating of the Easterne balme. And all these if you them together take, And joyne with art, will but one body make, To which the soule each vitall motion gives; You are infus'd into it, and it lives. But should you up to your blest mansion flie, How loath'd an object would the carkasse lie? You are all mind. _Castara_ when she lookes, On you th' Epitome of all, that bookes Or e're tradition taught; who gives such praise Unto your sex, that now even customes sayes He hath a female soule, who ere hath writ Volumes which learning comprehend, and wit. _Castara_ cries to me; Search out and find The Mines of wisedome in her learned mind, And trace her steps to honour; I aspire Enough to worth, while I her worth admire. _To_ CASTARA, _Against opinion_. Why should we build, _Castara_, in the aire Of fraile opinion? Why admire as faire, What the weake faith of man gives us for right? The jugling world cheats but the weaker sight. What is in greatnesse happy? As free mirth, As ample pleasures of th' indulgent earth We joy, who on the ground our mansion finde, As they, who saile like witches in the wind Of Court applause. What can their powerfull spell Over inchanted man, more than compell Him into various formes? Nor serves their charme Themselves to good, but to worke others harme. Tyrant Opinion but depose. And we Will absolute ith' happiest Empire be. _To_ CASTARA. _Upon beautie._