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INSCRIPTIONS.

To The Most HIGH AND MIGHTIE MONARCH,

JAMES BY THE GRACE OF GOD OF GREAT
BRITTAINE FRANCE AND IRELAND KING,
DEFENDER OF THE FAITH ETC.

Most powerful King,
This land hath ever knowne
In all her ages since her infant birth
Whose glorious fame o'er all the world is blowne:
Monarch of hearts, the chastest Muse on Earth,
Daigne but to cast thy (Royall) eye aside
Upon this worke, to be her (Princely) guide.

Then shall I sing to future ages all,
The sacred story of this spacious frame,
And warble forth the fortunes of this ball,
In all times past to thy renowned fame.
Give me but peace to end what I begin,
And thy dear browes shall heavens rich garland

win.

Oh I am plung’d on every side with foes,
Which seeke my ruin, to undo me quite,
To waste my state, more then it comes it goes.
Let me have justice, give my Muse her right:
They gripe my goods, and make me still their sport,
Whilst they retaine to thy admired Court.

Under that maske, they treade me in the dust,
Trample upon me with their hard bare feete.
Devouring all to satisfy their lust,
Leaving me (scarce) a simple winding sheete.
To reconvey my body to the ground,
All for a toy that I (untimely) found.

Wherein no hurt to any living man,
Themselves or others in the same is meant,
Yet am I (sifted) winnowed with a fan,
Turmoiled about in (sable) sorrowes pent :
O give me Peace, or heare my cause great King
Then shall my Muse thy worth divinely sing.

xxxiv. TO CHARLES PRINCE OF WALES.

And all the actions since the worlds beginning,
In every age shall then be brought to light,
The noblest, (grave) caused by our Grandesires

sinning,
Shall be revived out from oblivions night :
The times unmaskt, the world her fall shall see,
Even as my Muse shall favored be by thee.
Your maiesties most humble

and loyall subject,

THOMAS PEYTON.

TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE CHARLES PRINCE OF

WALES.

Most hopefull Prince, Europes richest gem,
Successor to these famous westerne Iles,
Chaste olive branch, descended of that stem,
Whose what he hath, all on thy fortune smiles:
Inheritor to such a Potent King,
As no age yet, his like could ever bring.

Brave Pearl of men, within whose lovely face,
The sacred Muses learned arts combine,
And all Heavens gifts from great Apollos race,
Apparent seem within thy browes to shine,
Thy fathers Doran, Kingly workes of state,
This more than needs as born but out of date.

Yet Royall Prince, let but thine eyes behold,
This lofty subject in these Rural rimes,
T'will more encourage than Earths purest gold,
To make my Muse to all succeeding times,
Blaze forth thy parts and high deserved fame,
That thy rare worth may all the world inflame.

As in a garden of sweet fragrant flowers,
Where each man takes what to his mind seemes

best,
Then sits him down within their pleasant bowers,
Peruseth all, and for a time doth rest,
Contented, joy'd (admiring) to have found ;
So great a change, in one small piece of ground.

So dearest Prince, within thy fathers workes,
What Poesies sweet, grave sentences divine,
Sad morall matter in each subject lurkes?
To draw thy youth to trace him line by line,
Whilst this may chance to recreate thy mind,
As glimmering Luna in Sols absence shines.

Persist, go on, and as thy virtues won
The Loyal love of every faithful heart,
So to the end, thy course (directly) run,
And winged Fame shall from thee never start,
But scale the clouds and mount the lofty skyes,
To sound thy worth as farre as India lies.
Your Highnesse in all humblenesse

THOMAS PEYTON.

TO THE Right HONORABLE, FRANCIS LORD

VERULAM, LORD CHANCELOR OF ENGLAND.

Most honored Lord,
Within whose reverened face,
Truth, Mercy, Justice, Love and all combine,
Heavens dearest Daughters of Jehovahs race,
Seeme all at full within thy browes to shine,
The King himself (T immortalize thy fame)
Hath in thy name foretiped out the same.

Great Verulam, my soul hath much admired,
Thy courtly carriage in each comely part,
Worth, Merit, Grace, when what the land desired
Is powr'd upon thee as thy just desart,
Grave liberal mind contending with the rest,
To seat them all in thy judicious breast.

Thrice noble Lord, how dost thou prize of Gold,
Wealth, Treasures, Mony and such Earthly cash ?
For none of them thou hast thy justice sold,
But held them all as base (infected) trash
To snare, allure, out from a dunghill wrought,
The seared conscience of each muddy thought.

Weigh but my cause, refer me not to those,
That from the first were partiall in my right,
Ah this is more than once thine Honour knowes,
Thou seest mine owne hath now undone me quite,
Whilst by a trick they got me in their paw,
Against the order of thy Court and Law.

If I were such as some would have thee thinke,
I meane my foes which utterly defame,
Mine Innocence and alltogether linke
To wound my state, and blemish much my name:
Yet justice wills, what in their hands hath laine,
Thus to my losse should be restored againe.

Ah dearest Lord, hold but the scales upright
Let Court nor favour oversway my cause,
To press me more than is beyond my might,
Is but their reach to crosse thy former Lawes,
Let me have Peace, or that which is mine owne,
And thy just worth shall o'er the world be blowne.
Your Lordships in all humblenesse,

THOMAS PEYTON.

To THE READER.

The Title described.

Unto the Wise, Religious, Learned, Grave,
Judicious Reader, out this work I send,
The tender sighted that small knowledge have,
Can little lose, but much their weaknesse mend :
And generous spirits which from Heaven are sent,
May solace here, and find all true content.

A Paradise (presented) to each eye,
Within the vignet of the Title page,
Where Justice, Mercie, Nature, Love, do lie,
Before th’ Almightie in the first sound Age.
Time stands betwixt, and Truth his daughter

beares,
His traine behind, a world of aged yeares.

Fierce Nemesis she mounts (within the Ayre)
On Pegasus, that winged Horse of fame,
And by her side a sword all naked bare,
Grave justice sits, a (sable) lowring Dame,
Under her feet the worlds most spacious Globe,
And weighs mens actions in a scarlet robe.

This may denote the goodly glorious worth,
The precious value, Maiestie and Grace
Of all the sisters (Glory of this Earth)
Gods dearest daughters in their several place,
Above the world, heavens crown their browes

adorne,
To shew (at full) how they do (bribing) scorne.

Peruse it well for in the same may lurke,
More (obscure) matter in a deeper sence,
To set the best and learned wits on worke,
Then hath as yet in many ages since,
Within so small a little volumne beene
'Or on the sudden can be found and seene,

Urania dear, attired in her silke,
To draw thee on with more attentive heed,
The weaker sort she sometimes feeds with milk
All guilty mens damnd vices up to weede :
Th' envious Momes that her Chaste Muse doth

touch, She hopes to mend, but cares not for them much.

Thine to his power

THOMAS PEYTON.

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