John Ashmore Poems

The Argvment.
Goods got with care, we should not spare,
But spend them merily:
It then best fits, while time permits;
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The Argvment.
Whose birth the Muse doth not refuse
To grace with friendly eye,
Shall glory gaine, by the sweet veine
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Netubeatum dixeris &c.
Think not (good Saul) that hee is blest
Through Cities stately Gates that goes,
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Queen Elsabeth oft my complaints did heare:
But she no help (by death prevented) gave me.
These ruines crav'd a great King them t'up-reare:
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Blinde Fortune hath not Fowler nam'd thee then.
For, as he Birds doth take, so thou tak'st men.
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The Dane me sackt, poor wretch the Scot, o're-bold
In victory, unworthily me sold:
But, to both Realmes a Royall stem, by Fate,
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Come Virgins, come: Why doe you linger so,
With streams of tears that frō your swoln eys showr?
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Quod vitæ sectaboriter, &c.
What kinde of life may I desire as best,
If Courts of Iustice freed from Brawls ne'r rest?
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Wherefore did Fame this wofull Newes forth spread,
That thou (our Soveraigne) by curst hands wast dead?
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With silver Lips this Cup to thee I send:
Which with thy rosie Lips allow to blend.
It will thee satisfie with Nectar sweet,
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