_To_ CASTARA. _Of true delight._ Why doth the eare so tempt the voyce, That cunningly divides the ayre? Why doth the pallate buy the choyce Delights oth' sea, to enrich her fare? As soone as I, my eare obey The Eccho's lost even with the breath. And when the sewer takes away I'me left with no more taste, then death. Be curious in pursuite of eyes To procreate new loves with thine; Satiety makes sence despise What superstition thought divine. Quicke fancy how it mockes delight? As we conceive, things are not such, The glow-worme is as warme as bright, Till the deceitfull flame we touch. When I have sold my heart to lust, And bought repentance with a kisse I find the malice of my dust, That told me hell contain'd a blisse. The Rose yeelds her sweete blandishment Lost in the fold of lovers wreathes, The violet enchants the sent, When earely in the Spring she breaths. But winter comes and makes each flowre Shrinke from the pillow where it growes, Or an intruding cold hath powre To scorne the perfume of the Rose. Our sences like false glasses show Smooth beauty where browes wrinkled are, And makes the cosen'd fancy glow. Chaste vertue's onely true[33] and faire. [33] chaste. 1635. _To my noblest Friend, I. C. Esquire._ Sir, I hate the Countries durt and manners, yet I love the silence; I embrace the wit And courtship, flowing here in a full tide. But loathe the expence, the vanity, and pride. No place each way is happy. Here I hold Commerce with some, who to my eare unfold (After a due oath ministred) the height And greatnesse of each star shines in the state: The brightnesse, the eclypse, the influence. With others I commune, who tell me whence The torrent doth of forraigne discord flow: Relate each skirmish, battle, overthrow, Soone as they happen; and by rote can tell Those _Germane_ townes, even puzzle me to spell. The crosse or prosperous fate of Princes, they Ascribe to rashnesse, cunning, or delay: And on each action comment, with more skill Then upon _Livy_, did old _Machavill_. O busie folly! Why doe I my braine Perplex with the dull pollicies of _Spaine_, Or quicke designes of _France_? Why not repaire To the pure innocence oth' Country ayre: And neighbor thee, deare friend? Who so dost give Thy thoughts to worth and vertue, that to live Blest, is to trace thy wayes. There might not we Arme against passion with Philosophie; And by the aide of leisure, so controule, What-ere is earth in us, to grow all soule? Knowledge doth ignorance ingender when We study misteries of other men And forraigne plots. Doe but in thy owne shade (Thy head upon some flowry pillow laide, Kind Natures huswifery) contemplate all His stratagems who labours to inthrall