And one foretold by Water thou should'st die:
(Ah! foule befall that foule Tongues Prophesie!)
Yet I by Night am troubled in my Dreames
That I doe see thee toss'd in dang'rous Streames,
And oftimes shipwrack'd cast upon the Land,
And lying breathlesse on the queachy Sand;
And oft in Visions see thee in the Night
Where thou at Sea maintain'st a dang'rous Fight,
And with thy proved Target and thy Sword
Beat'st back the Pyrate which would come aboord.
Yet be not angry that I warne thee thus:
The truest love is most suspitious.
Sorrow doth utter what it still doth grieve,
But Hope forbids us sorrow to beleeve;
And in my counsell yet this comfort is,
It cannot hurt although I thinke amisse :
Then live in hope in Triumph to returne
When cleerer Dayes shall leave in Clouds to mourne.
But so hath Sorrow girt my Soule about

That that word Hope (me thinkes) comes slowly out;
The reason is I know it here would rest

Where it might still behold thee in my Brest.
Farewell, sweet Poole, faine more I would indite
But that my Teares doe blot what I doe write.

From " ed. 1619.

Englands Heroicall Epistles,"

Edward the Fourth to Mistres Shore.

The Argument.

DWARD the Fourth bewitch'd with the Report
Of Mistres Shore resounded through his Court,
Steales to the Citie in a strange Disguise
To view that Beautie whose trans-piercing Eyes
Had shot so many: which did so content
The amorous King that instantly he sent

These Lines to her whose Graces did allure him;
Whose Answere backe doth of her love assure him.

To thee the fair'st that ever breath'd this ayre,
From English Edward to thee fairest Faire.
Ah, would to God thy Title were no more!
That no remembrance might remaine of Shore
To countermaund a Monarchs high desire
And barre mine Eyes of what they most admire.
O why should Fortune make the Citie proud,
To give that more then is the Court allow'd;
When they (like Wretches) hoord it up to spare
And doe ingrosse it as they doe their ware?

When fame first blaz'd thy Beautie here in Court
Mine Eares repulsde it as a light Report;

But when mine Eyes saw what mine Eare hath heard
They thought Report too niggardly had spar'd,

And strucken dumbe with wonder did but mutter,
Conceiving more then it had words to utter.
Then thinke of what thy Husband is possest,
When I maligne the wealth wherewith hee's blest,
When much abundance make the needie mad
Who having all yet knowes not what is had :
Into Fooles Bosomes this good fortune creepes,
And Summes come in whilst the base Miser sleepes.
If now thy beautie be of such esteeme,

Which all of so rare excellencie deeme,
What would it be and prized at what rate
Were it adorned with a Kingly State?
Which being now but in so meane a Bed
Is like an uncut Diamond in Lead,
E'er it be set in some high-prized Ring
Or garnished with rich enamelling :
We see the beauty of the Stone is spilt
Wanting the gratious Ornament of Gilt.
When first attracted by thy heavenly Eyes
I came to see thee in a strange Disguise,
Passing thy Shop thy Husband call'd me backe,
Demanding what rare Jewell I did lacke.

I want (thought I) One that I dare not crave
And One (I feare) thou wilt not let me have.
He calls for Caskets forth and shewes me store;

But yet I knew he had one Jewell more,

And deadly curst him that he did deny it

That I might not for Love or Money buy it.

O might I come a Diamond to buy

That had but such a Lustre as thine Eye,

Would not my Treasure serve, my Crowne should goe

If any Jewell could be prized so!

An Agat branched with thy blushing straines,
A Saphire but so azur'd as thy veines,

My Kingly Scepter onely should redeeme it
At such a price if Judgement could esteeme it.
How fond and senselesse be those Strangers then
Who bring in Toyes to please the English men!
I smile to thinke how fond th'Italians are

To judge their artificiall Gardens rare,

When London in thy Cheekes can shew them heere Roses and Lillies growing all the yeere:

The Portugall that only hopes to win

By bringing stones from farthest India in,

When happie Shore can bring them forth a Girle
Whose Lips be Rubies and her Teeth be Pearle.
How silly is the Polander and Dane

To bring us Crystall from the frozen Maine,
When thy cleare Skins transparence doth surpasse
Their Crystall as the Diamond doth Glasse!
The foolish French which bring in Trash and Toyes
To turne our Women Men, our Girles to Boyes,
When with what Tyre thou do'st thy selfe adorne
That for a Fashion onely shall be worne,
Which though it were a Garment but of Haire
More rich then Robe that ever Empresse ware.

Me thinkes thy Husband takes his marke awry
To set his Plate to sale when thou art by,
When they which doe thy Angell-locks behold
As the base Drosse doe but respect his Gold,
And wish one Haire before that massie Heape
And but one Locke before the Wealth of Cheape:

And for no cause else hold we Gold so deare

But that it is so like unto thy Haire.

And sure I thinke Shore cannot choose but flout

Such as would find the great Elixar out,

And laugh to see the Alchymists that choke

Themselves with Fumes and waste their Wealth in smoke;

When if thy Hand but touch the grossest Mold

It is converted to refined Gold;

When theirs is chaffred at an easie rate,

Well knowne to all to be adulterate,

And is no more when it by thine is set

Then paltry Bengle or light-prized Jeat.

Let others weave Perfumes, for thee unmeet;

If there were none thou couldst make all things sweet:

Thou comfort'st ev'ry Sense with sweet repast,

To heare, to see, to smell, to feele, to taste;
Like a rich Ship whose very refuse Ware
Aromatikes and precious Odors are.

If thou but please to walke into the Pawne
To buy thee Cambricke, Callico or Lawne,

If thou the whitenesse of the same wouldst prove,
From thy more whiter hand plucke off thy glove;
And those which buy, as the beholders stand,

Will take thy Hand for Lawne, Lawne for thy Hand.
A thousand Eyes, clos'd up by envious Night,
Doe wish for Day but to injoy thy sight,

And when they once have blest their eyes with thee
Scorne ev'ry object else what ere they see;

So like a Goddesse Beautie still controules
And hath such pow'rfull working in our Soules.
The Merchant which in Traffique spends his life,