hen rise to life with these,
Mark'd in thy book for faithful witnesses.

508. HOPE WELL AND HAVE WELL: OR, FAIR AFTER FOUL WEATHER.

What though the heaven be lowering now,
And look with a contracted brow?
We shall discover, by-and-by,
A repurgation of the sky;
And when those clouds away are driven,
Then will appear a cheerful heaven.

509. UPON LOVE.

I held Love's head while it did ache;
But so it chanc'd to be,
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forthwith came to me.

Ay me! how shall my grief be still'd?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be kill'd
For being too-too kind?

510. TO HIS KINSWOMAN, MRS. PENELOPE WHEELER.

Next is your lot, fair, to be number'd one,
Here, in my book's canonisation:
Late you come in; but you a saint shall be,
In chief, in this poetic liturgy.

511. ANOTHER UPON HER.

First, for your shape, the curious cannot show
Any one part that's dissonant in you:
And 'gainst your chaste behaviour there's no plea,
Since you are known to be Penelope.
Thus fair and clean you are, although there be
_A mighty strife 'twixt form and chastity_.

_Form_, beauty.

513. CROSS AND PILE.

Fair and foul days trip cross and pile; the fair
Far less in number than our foul days are.

_Trip cross and pile_, come haphazard, like the heads and tails of coins.

514. TO THE LADY CREW, UPON THE DEATH OF HER CHILD.

Why, madam, will ye longer weep,
Whenas your baby's lull'd asleep?
And (pretty child) feels now no more
Those pains it lately felt before.
All now is silent; groans are fled:
Your child lies still, yet is not dead;
But rather like a flower hid here
To spring again another year.

515. HIS WINDING-SHEET.

Come thou, who art the wine and wit
Of all I've writ:
The grace, the glory, and the best
Piece of the rest.
Thou art of what I did intend
The all and end;
And what was made, was made to meet
Thee, thee, my sheet.
Come then, and be to my chaste side
Both bed and bride.
We two, as reliques left, will have
One rest, one grave.
And, hugging close, we will not fear
Lust entering here,
Where all desires are dead or cold
As is the mould;
And all affect