’Tis to me, though a rare one, but a shire; A place of good earth, if compared with worse, Which hath a lesser part in Adam’s curse: Or, for to draw a simile from the High’st, Tis like unto salvation without Christ, A fairly situate prison: When again Shall I enjoy that friendship, and that braine? When shall I once more hear, in a few words, What all the learning of past times affords? Austin epitomiz’d, and him that can To make him clear contract Tertullian. But I detain you from them: Sir, adieu! You read their works, but let me study you. ON DR. CORBET’S MARRIAGE. (From “Wit Restored,” 8vo. 1658.) Come all yee Muses and rejoice At your Apolloe’s happy choice; Phœbus has conquer’d Cupid’s charme; Fair Daphne flys into his arm. If Daphne be a tree, then mark, Apollo is become the barke. If Daphne be a branch of bay, He weares her for a crowne to-day: O happy bridegroom! which dost wed Thyself unto a virgin’s bed. Let thy love burne with hot desire, She lacks no oil to feed the fire. You know not poore Pigmalion’s lot, Nor have you a mere idol got. You no Ixion, you no proud Juno makes embrace a cloud. Looke how pure Diana’s skin Appeares as it is shadow’d in A chrystal streame; or look what grace Shines in fair Venus’ lovely face, Whilst she Adonis courts and woos; Such beauties, yea and more than those, Sparkle in her; see but her soul, And you will judge those beauties foul. Her rarest beauty is within, She’s fairest where she is not seen; Now her perfection’s character You have approv’d, and chosen her. O precious! she at this wedding The jewel weares—the marriage ring. Her understanding’s deep: like the Venetian duke, you wed the sea; A sea deep, bottomless, profound, And which none but yourself may sound. Blind Cupid shot not this love-dart; Your reason chose, and not your heart; You knew her little, and when her Apron was but a muckender, When that same coral which doth deck Her lips she wore about her neck: You courted her, you woo’d her, not Out of a window, she was got And born your wife; it may be said Her cradle was her marriage-bed. The ring, too, was layd up for it Untill her finger was growne fit: You once gave her to play withal A babie, and I hope you shall This day your ancient gift renew, So she will do the same for you: In virgin wax imprint, upon Her breast, your own impression; You may (there is no treason in ’t) Coine sterling, now you have a mint. You are now stronger than before, Your side hath in it one ribb more. Before she was akin to me Only in soul and amity; But now we are, since shee’s your bride, In soul and body both allyde: ’Tis this has made me less to do, And I in one can honour two.