Tells I was wanton, tells I followed sense,
And thererefore caft, by guilt of mine offence;
Must hear the right of heaven needs fatisfy,
And where I wanton lay, must wretched die.

Here I begin to wale my hard mishap,
My fudden, strange unlook'd-for misery;
Accufing them that did my youth entrap,
To give me fuch a fall of infamy.
And poor diftrefs'd Rosamond (faid I)

Is this thy glory got, to die forlorn

In deferts where no ear can hear thee mourn?

Nor any eye of pity to behold

The woful end of my fad tragedy;
But that thy wrongs unfeen, thy tale untold,
Must here in fecret filence buried lie
And with thee, thine excuse together die.

Thy fin reveal'd, but thy repentence hid,
Thy fhame alive, but dead what thy death did.

Yet breathe out to thefe walls the breath of moan, Tell th' air thy 'plaints, fince men thou canst not tell.

And though thou perifh defolate alone,

Tell yet thyself, what thyself knows too well;
Utter thy grief wherewith thy foul doth fwell.
And let thy heart pity thy heart's remorse,
And be thyself the mourner and the corfe.

Condole thee here, clad all in black despair,
With filence only, and a dying bed;
Thou that of late, fo flourishing, so fair,
Didft glorious live, admir'd and honour'd:
And now from friends, from fuccour hither led,
Art made a spoil to luft. to wrath, to death,
And in difgrace, forc'd here to yield thy breath.

Did nature (for this good) ingeniate,
To fhew in thee the glory of her beft;
Framing thine eye the flar of thy ill fate,
Making thy face the foe to fpoil the reft?
O beauty, thou an enemy profest

To chastity, and us that love thee most, [loft?
Without thee, how w' are loth'd, and with thee

You, you that proud with liberty and beauty,
(And well may you be proud that you be fo)
Glitter in court, lov'd and obferv'd of duty;
Would God I might to you but ere I go
Speak what I feel, to warn you by my woe,
To keep your feet in cleanly paths of fhame,
That no enticing may divert the fame.

Sec'ng how against your tender weakness still,
The ftrength of wit, and gold, and all is bent;
And all th' affaults that ever might or skill,
Can give against a chafte and clean intent:
Ah! let not greatnefs work you to consent.
The fpot is foul, though by a monarch made.
Kings cannot privilege what God forbade.

Lock up therefore the treasure of your love, Under the fureft keys of fear and shame: [move, And let no pow'rs have pow'r hafte thoughts to

To make a lawless entry on your fame;
Open to those the comfort of your flame,
Whofe equal love shall march with equal pace,
In those pure ways that lead to no disgrace.

For fee how many discontented beds,
Our own aspiring, or our parents pride
Have caus'd, whilst that ambition vainly weds
Wealth, and not love honour, and nought befide:
Whilft married but to titles, we abide

As wedded widows, wanting what we have,
When shadows cannot give us what we crave.

Or whilft we spend the fresheft of our time,
The fweet of youth implotting in the air;
Alas, how oft we fall, hoping to climb;
Or whether as unprofitably fair,
Whilft thofe decays which are without repair,
Make us neglected, fcorn'd and reprov'd.
(And O, what are we, if we be not lov'd?)

Faften therefore upon occafions fit,
Left this, or that, or like difgrace as mine,
Do overtake your youth or ruin it,
And cloud with infamy your beauty's shine:
Seeing how many feek to undermine

The treafury that's unpoffeft of any:
And hard 'tis kept that is defir'd of many.

And flie (O flie) these bed-brokers unclean,
(The monsters of our fex) that make a prey
Of their own kind, by an unkindly mean;
And even (like vipers) eating out a way
Through th' womb of their own fhame, accurs'd
they

Live by the death of fame, the gain of fin,
The filth of luft, uncleanness wallows in.

As if 'twere not enough that we (poor we)
Have weakness, beauty, gold, and men our foes.
But we must have fome of ourfelves to be
Traitors unto ourselves, to join with those ?
Such as our feeble forces do difclofe,

And ftill betray our caufe, our fhame, our youth,
To luft, to folly, and to mens untruth?

Hateful confounders both of blood and laws,
Vile orators of fhame, that plead delight:
Ungracious agents in a wicked caufe,
Factors for darkness, meffengers of right;
Serpents of guile, devils, that do invite

[be.

The wanton taste of that forbidden tree, Whofe fruit once pluck'd, will fhew how foul we You in the habit of a grave afpect, (In credit by the truft of years) can fhew The cunning wayes of luft, and can direc The fair and wily wantons how to go, Having (your lothfome felves) your youth spent fo. And in uncleanness ever have been fed, By the revenue of a wanton bed.

By you have been the innocent betray'd,
The blufhing fearful, bolden'd unto fin,
The wife made fubtle, fubtle made the maid,

The husband fcorn'd, difhonoured the kin:
Parents difgrac'd, children infamous been.
Confus'd our race, and falfified our blood,
Whilft fathers fons poffefs wrong fathers good.

This, and much more, I would have uttered then,
A teftament to be recorded ftill,
[pen,
Sign'd with my blood, fubfcrib'd with confcience
To warn the fair and beautiful from ill.
Though I could wish (by th' example of my will)
I had not left this note to the fair,
But did inteftate t' have had no heir.

Judge thofe whom chance deprives of sweetest treasure,

What 'tis to lofe a thing we hold fo dear :
The best delight, wherein our foul takes pleasure,
The fweet of life, that penetrates fo near.
What paffions feels that heart, enforc'd to bear
The deep impreffion of fo ftrange a fight,
That overwhelms us, or confounds us quite?

Amaz'd he ftands, nor voice nor body fteers,
Words had no paffage, tears no iffue found,
For forrow fhut up words, wrath kept in tears,
Confus'd affects each other do confound:
Oppreft with grief, his paffions had no bound.
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come;
For light cares fpeak, when mighty griefs are
dumb.

At length, extremity breaks out away,
Through which, th' imprifoned voice with tears
attended,

Wails out a found that forrows do bewray,
With arms acrofs, and eyes to heaven bended,
Vapouring out fighs that to the fkies afcended.

Sighs (the poor eafe calamity affords)
Which ferve for speech when forrow wanteth
words.

O heavens (quoth he) why do mine eyes behold
The hateful rays of this unhappy fun?
Why have I light to fee my fins control'd,
With bloed of mine own fhaine thus vilely done?
How can my fight endure to look thereon?

Why doth not black eternal darkness hide
That from mine eyes, my heart cannot abide ?

What faw my life wherein my foul might joy; What had my days whom troubles still afflicted, But only this, to counterpoise annoy?

This joy, this hope, which death hath interdic ted;

This fweet, whose lofs hath all distress inflicted; This, that did feafon all my four of life, Vex'd ftill at home with broils, abroad in strise.

Vex'd still at home with broils, abroad in ftrife,
Diffenfion in my blood, jars in my bed.
Diftruft at board, fufpecting ftill my life,
Spending the night in horror, days in dread;
(Such life hath tyrants, and this life I led).

These mis'ries go mafk'd in glittering fhews,
Which wife men fee, the vulgar little knows.
Thus as thefe paffions do him overwhelm,
He draws him near my body to behold it.
And as the vine marry'd unto the elm
With ftrict embraces, fo doth he enfold it:
And as he in his careful arms doth hold it,
Viewing the face that even death commends,
On fenfelefs lips, millions of kiffes fpends.

Pitiful mouth (faith he) that living gav❜ft
The sweetest comfort that my foul could with:
O be it lawful now, that dead thou hav'st,
This forrowing farewell of a dying kiss,
And you fair eyes, containers of my blifs,

Motives of love, born to be matched never,
Entomb'd in your fweet circles, fleep for ever.
Ah! how methinks I fee death dallying seeks,
To entertain itfelf in love's fweet place;
Decay'd rofes of difcolour'd cheeks,
Do yet retain dear notes of former grace;
And ugly death fits fair within her face;

Sweet remnants refting of vermilion red, That death itfelf doubts whether the be dead.

Wonder of beauty, oh receive these 'plaints,
Thefe obfequious, the laft that I fhall make thee:
For lo! my foul that now already faints,
That lov'd thee living, dead will not forfake thee,
Haftens her speedy course to overtake thee.

I'll meet my death, and free myself thereby,
For (ah) what can he do that cannot die?

Yet ere I die, thus much my foul doth vow,
Revenge fhall fweet'n death with ease of mind;
And I will caufe pofterity shall know,
How fair thou wert above above all wom'nkind,
And after ages monuments fhall find.

Showing thy beauty's title, not thy name.
Rofe of the world, that sweeten'd fo the fame.

This faid, though more defirous yet to say, (For forrow is unwilling to give over) He doth reprefs what grief would elfe bewray, Left he too much his paffion fhould discover; And yet refpe& fcarce bridles fuch a lover, So far tranfpoted that he knows not whe ther,

For love and majefty dwell ill together.

Then were my funeral's not long deferr'd,
But done with all the rites pomp could devife,
At Godftow, where my body was interr'd,
And richly tomb'd in honourable wife,
Where yet as now scarce any note defcries,
Unto thefe times, the memory of me,
Marble and brafs fo little lafting be.

For those walls which the credulous devout,
And apt-believing ignorant did found;
With willing zeal, that never call'd in doubt,
That time their works fhould ever so confound,
Lie like confufed heaps as under ground.

And what their ignorance esteem'd so holy,
The wifer ages do account as folly.

And were it not thy favourable lines
Re edify'd the wrack of my decays,
And that thy accents willingly affigns
Some farther date, and give me longer days,
Few in this age had known my beauties praise.
But thus renew'd my fame redeems fome time,
Till other ages fhall neglect thy rhyme.