Francis Kynaston Poems

Dear Cynthia, though thou bear'st the name
Of the pale Queen of night,
Who changing yet is still the same
Renewing still her light:
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While the Queene revels, Cynthia Queen of night
Withdraws & lyes drown'd in her brothers light.
Say why the Goddesse now shuns bals, who leads
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VVhile Northward you King Charles on hunting goe,
And to the South your Princely backe doe show,
Cloudy Orion in the Skies doth frowne,
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The journy Northward which the King design'd
Was once deferr'd because of raine and winde,
Now broken off when as the clouds he saw
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Of late the heaven with cold was clos'd up so,
Frost bound the flouds & buried fields in snow.
Now Zephyres calmes the ayre, and boats are seene
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VVho Lucrine Lakes or Neros Ponds commends.
Admire a Northerne King, whose work transcends.
Lo a new Ocean in his Royall Court
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King.
Vain Painter, why limm'st thou the King? wherfore
Dost thou great Grampian born Ioves face smeare o're?
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Faire Goddesse, honour of the Borbons name,
You are not wrong'd, no faith is broke, no strife;
Not without you your Love to our coasts came,
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VVhile a short stay, short way divides us twaine,
Nor yet of me, nor of your hap complaine.
My Charles and Mary while you doe me misse,
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Musicke.
Phœbus gave me my voyce, which pleasant Thrushes
And Nightingals excels midst poplar bushes,
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