I need not tell you, of our health, which here

Must be presum❜d, nor yet shall our good cheare Swell

up my paper, as it has done me,

Or as the Mayor's feast does Stowe's History:
Without an early bell to make us rise,

Health calls us up and novelty; our eyes
Have divers objects still on the same ground,
As if the Earth had each night walk'd her round
To bring her best things hither: 'tis a place
Not more the pride of shires then the disgrace,
Which I'de not leave, had I my Dean to boot,
For the large offers of the cloven-foot

Unto our Saviour, but you not being here
'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;
Phoebus 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 ber,
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 yo
Her breast, your own impression; !

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