Short Poems

High mounted on an Ant Nanus the tall
Was throwne alas, and got a deadly fall.
Under th' unruly Beasts proud feet he lies
All torne; with much adoe yet ere he dyes,
Hee straines these words; Base Envy, doe, laugh on.
Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaethon .

I Paint so ill, my peece had need to bee
Painted againe by some good Poesie.
I write so ill, my slender Line is scarce
So much as th' Picture of a well-lim'd verse.
Yet may the love I send be true, though I
Send nor true Picture, nor true Poesie:
Both which away, I should not need to feare,
My Love, or Feign'd or painted should appeare.

Lo here the faire Chariclia! in whom strove
So false a Fortune, and so true a Love.
Now after all her toyles by Sea and Land,
O may she but arrive at your white hand,
Her hopes are crown'd, onely she feares that than,
Shee shall appeare true Ethiopian.

Come death, come bands, nor do you shrink, my eares,
At those hard words mans cowardise calls feares.
Save those of feare, no other bands feare I;
Nor other death then this; the feare to dye.

Here, where our Lord once laid his Head,
Now the Grave lies buried.

One Eye? a thousand rather, and a Thousand more
To fix those full-fac't Glories, o he's poore
Of Eyes that has but Argus store,
Yet if thou'lt fill one poore Eye, with thy Heaven and Thee,
O grant (sweet Goodnesse) that one Eye may be

Thou hast the art on't Peter; and canst tell
To cast thy Nets on all occasions well.
When Christ calls, and thy Nets would have thee stay:
To cast them well's to cast them quite away.

So Bartas like thy fine spun Poems been,
That Bartas name will prove an Epicene.

Like the fish of the bright and twittering fin,
Bright fish! diving deep as high soars the lark,
So, far, far, far, doth the maiden swim,
Wild song, wild light, in still ocean's dark.

Around the Springs of Gray my wild root weaves
Traveller repose & Dream among my leaves.