The songs of Moses and Deborah paraphras'd with poems on several occasions : never before publish'd : to which is added, a Pindarick on Mr. L'Estrange.

The songs of Moses and Deborah paraphras'd with poems on several occasions : never before publish'd : to which is added, a Pindarick on Mr. L'Estrange.

Table of contents

Title page

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOHN LORD CHƲRCHILL.

To my Friend the AUTHOR.

THE CONTENTS.

THE SONG OF MOSES Paraphras'd.

THE SONG OF DEBORAH Paraphras'd.

MIRACLES, Works Above and Contrary to NATURE. Occasion'd by the Publishing of a Book, Entituled, Miracles no Violation of the Laws of Nature. 1682.

A DIALOGUE Between the Two RIVERS, CHAM and ISIS, ON THE KING's Dissolving the Oxford PARLIAMENT.

A POEM, Writen on the occasion of the THANKSGIVING-DAY FOR THE DISCOVERY OF THE Phanatical Plot, September 9. 1683.

AN EPITAPH On the late E. of S.

THE TOWER of LONDON. On the Commitment of some Great Persons.

Religio vi & armis non est propaganda.

A SHORT SATYR AGAINST KEEPING▪

THE PENITENT.

THE WOOING.

The Fifth Ode of the Second Book of Horace imitated.

On two Lads unfortunately expell'd the University for a Riot

On three Ladies, who going abroad in Masquerade met with some Bullies, drew and fought 'em; in the Fray one of the Ladies was desperately wounded, 1683.

A POEM ON THE Prince's Marriage.

To the Memory of the Learned Dr. J. N. who died of a Consumption, 1683.

On the Famous PAINTER Mr. J. E. Pindarick Odes.

A POEM ON Mr L'Estrange.

ERRATA.

Books Printed and Sold by Luke Meredith, at the King's Head in St. Paul's Church-yard.

§

§

[Page]

[Page]

THE SONGS OF MOSeS and DEBORAH Paraphras'd.

WITH POEMS ON Several Occasions.

Never before Publish'd.

To which is added, A PINDARICK ON Mr. L'ESTRANGE.

Veniam dabimus petimusque vicissim.

LONDON,Printed for Luke Meredith, at the King's Head, at the West-End of St. Paul's Church-Yard. MDCLXXXV.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE JOHN LORD CHƲRCHILL.

[Page]

[Page]

MY LORD,

THere are several things in the World that carry along with them no real use or profit; but serve only to fill up the vacuities of the Creation, and please purely upon the account of Variety: Among this class of Beings some Men have [Page] graciously vouchsafed to rank all Essayers in this kind: and our Authors further add, That if Nature ever made any thing in Vain, 'twas a Poet. Well, for once let Poets have the worshipful Name of Jesters to Mankind; let us grant for once, That they are but Risus plorantis Mundi, as was said of the Rainbow, the Sport and Caprice of Nature; Men work'd off when she was in an excellent merry vein. Yet hard Fate it is, That while like Silk-Worms, they unravel their very Bowels for the Pleasure and Luxury of Mankind; they must lye Entomb'd in their own bottoms. We read, I confess, of few of the Tribe that have been Lord Mayors or Secretaries of State, Men of vast Business or Politicks: Yet [Page] let me oppose to this bold Slander, by way of Apology, for the usefulness of Poetry, what stands Recorded of the Famous Alcaeus, that great Poet and Souldier, who used to make his Speeches in Verse at the head of his Army; and thought there was as much Martial Musick in the Harmonious Cadence of Numbers, as in the louder noise of Drums and Hautboys. Nay we further read, Poets were the Civility Masters to Mankind, and the only Divines of the old World: and even the greatest Preachers of our days are not ashamed to make use of their Sermon-Notes, and bespangle their Discourse with the Golden Remains of their Compositions.

[Page] I question not, but Your Lordship does presently fore-see what Advantage I intend to make of this Preamble; For where now shou'd persecuted Poetry fly, but to the Patronage of the Great? Whose very Title, at the Front of its Productions, is Charm enough against all the peevish Bolts of an illjudging Age. And, I hope, Your Lordship will the more easily pardon the Presumption, in prefixing Your awful Name to these Trifles, when You shall consider, That the Greatest Men the World yet produc'd, have been Your Fellow-sufferers, have been pester'd with Addresses of this kind: The great Scipio had Ennius always in his Camp: And a greater than he, the Macedonian Youth, carried a whole Knot [Page] of the Brothers of the Quill, into Asia, with him. And Your Lordship may, with Modesty enough, put in for a Share in this Privilege, of having Poeta a latere; whose Sword has already acted Wonders; and will in time, no question, cut out more Work for Heroick Poetry; than the ablest Pen can engrave.

But still, My Lord, these Motives had been too weak, had not Your Natural Candor and Ingenuity open'd a way for this bold Attempt: And here I have but too large a Field to expatiate in. I may safely say, You possess all the Virtues, separate from the Vices of a Courtier. All that have the Honour of Your Lordship's Acquaintance, proclaim You Master of a Soul, that [Page] is unruffled with Passion, undisturbed with the Freakishness of Humour; where Affability with State, Humility with Greatness, meet and center.

This is Great and Illustrious: But Your Lordship's steady and unbyass'd Loyalty, is the Brightest Star in this Constellation of Virtues: Far from the Humor of some Male-Contents of our Age, who upon the least Pique, and Court-Disgust, fly off to the Faction; not unlike the Fellow, who had God on one side of his Shield, and the Devil on the other, with this Motto, If You won't have me, here's One will.

Thus, when Nature had fitly fram'd Your Mind, she left not off here, but took order the fair Inhabitant shou'd be lodg'd in as delicate [Page] a Body; a Structure of such admirable Contrivance and Regularity, that I must here apply what Plato has said of Philosophers, That the Souls of Vulgar Persons are lodg'd in their Bodies, but the Bodies of Philosophers in their Souls; their very Bodies being so pure, defecate and refin'd: Never was a happier Match made by Fate, except in that bless'd Conjunction of Your other Half, Your Honour'd Lady, and Your Self; a Couple so well pair'd by Heaven, that if all the Beauty and Proportion of both Sexes shou'd be lost, here it might be retriev'd: And such is the Harmony of Your Souls, so strong the Tie of Conjugal Affection, as it cou'd scarce be greater, when the whole World had but [Page] Two in Family: An Example of such admirable Influence, that it were able throughly to Convert any Age, less lewd than That we live in.

But in vain, My Lord, I seek to play the Panegyrist, when Heaven it self has long since design'd You for a lasting Ornament to this Nation, by chusing Your Lordship to be a Part of those precious Remains of the Scoth Wreck: and his Royal Highness has taught the World how to value so much Worth and Excellency, when Your Lordship had the Honour to be the Second Man call'd into the Long-Boat.

As for these ensuing Trifles Your Lordship may easily perceive by the Weakness of the Child, that the Parent is of no strong Masculine [Page] Constitution in Poetry: But if the World will be pleas'd to take 'em as they are, I promise, for their Comfort, never to trouble 'em more. But why do I appeal to the Many? No: With the Wise Heathen, Contemno minutos istos Deos modo Jovem propitium habeo: Let the World freely damn 'em for their Money, so they live but in the favourable Opinion of Your Lordship; which is the utmost Ambition of,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's Most Devoted Servant, C. Cleeve.

To my Friend the AUTHOR.

[Page]

[Page]

AS you and I have walk'd along by Pauls,

And happen'd there to see the numerous shoals

Of Authors scatter'd upon every Stall,

Which hourly wait for an effectual call:

How often have I cry'd, Look here my Friend,

Of writing Verse you find there is no end;

For see where Denham, Dryden, Oldham, lye:

Few read the Title Page, and fewer buy.

When to the Book-Retailing Coxcomb's price,

Perhaps the cautious Buyer will not rise;

Come, Sir, says he, to fetch him to his Gin,

See I'll be kind, here take the Medal in.

Audacious Sot! to use a Poet so,

Thus Chandlers with their Penny Chapmen do;

Into the Bargain Thread and Paper throw.

To see 'em ty'd and strung on ev'ery Board,

It does at once Pity and Mirth afford:

For then methinks all the Harmonious Band,

Just like so many Country Fidlers stand;

[Page] Please you a Lesson, Masters; here is good

Store of Pindarick, Pastoral and Ode.

Oh cursed killing shame! and yet in spite

Of this ill Fate; spite of your Stars you'd write.

If you had been so plaguy fond to know

How we [...] the world approv'd your vein or so,

You might have clap'd a Copy in the dark

Before a Book; like a raw entring Spark,

Have writ C. C. and only set your Mark.

T. KING.

THE CONTENTS.

[Page]

THE Song of Moses Paraphras'd. Pag. 1

The Song of Deborah Paraphras'd. 13

Miracles, Works above and contrary to Nature. Occasioned by the Publishing a Book, Entituled, Miracles no violation of the Laws of Nature. 55

A Dialogue between the Two Rivers, Cham and Isis, on the King's Dissolving the Oxford Parliment. 62

A Poem, written on the occasion of the Thanksgiving-Day for the Discovery of the Phanatical Plot, September 9. 1683. 69

An Epitaph on the late E. of S. 81

The Tower of London. On the Commitment of some Great Persons. 83

Religio vi & armis non est propaganda. 85

[Page] A short Satyr against Keeping. 88

The Penitent. 95

The Wooing. 99

The Fifth Ode of the Second Book of Horace imitated. 101

On two Lads unfortunately expell'd the University for a Riot. 103

On Three Ladies who going abroad in Masquerade, met with some Bullies, Drew and Fought 'em; in the Fray, one of the Ladies was desperately Wounded, 1683. 106

A Poem on the Prince's Marriage. 111

To the Memory of the Learned Dr. J. N. who died of a Consumption, 1683. 118

On the Famous Painter Mr. J. E. Pindarick Odes. 124

A Poem on Mr. L'Estrange. 135

THE SONG OF MOSES Paraphras'd.

[Page]

I.

NOW had bless'd Israel gain'd the distant Shore,

They long had reacht with greedy Eyes before,

When their Great Guide wav'd his Mysterious Wand,

Beck'ning the Sacred Host to make a Stand;

They own'd the mighty Sign, and strait obey'd;

They turn'd, and all around the wondrous Wreck survey'd.

[Page] The parted Seas ran to embrace afresh,

And hide their Father Neptune's Nakedness;

These Secrets, which now long unveil'd had been,

Since Nature's Birth before ne'r seen.

For scatter'd o'er the Bottom of the Deep,

(The Store-house, where the Sea its Spoils is wont to keep)

Lay Anchors, Helmets, shatter'd Bones,

Lay Heaps of Jewels, and unvalued Stones;

Some were lodg'd in dead Men's Skulls,

And in the self-same Holes,

Where Eyes of old did dwell with their Enlivening Beams,

There were hid reflecting Gems.

With as swift Pace the Waves to their old Beds did move,

As when at first the Almighty Fiat spake,

Bidding them strait, dry Land forsake;

And to one great Abyss the scatter'd Waters drove▪

The Waves in Triumph bore their Spoils along,

And with fresh Prizes fraught,

Which in their Watry Net they'd caught,

In numerous Bands to th' wondring Shore did throng.

[Page] Close by the Hebrews side, upon the spacious Sand,

Lay all the Pride of Aegypt's Land;

One Wave the mighty Cenchres bore,

Another brought his faithful Page to Shore.

Curst Pharaoh! now as much with Water swell'd,

As he before with haughty Pride was fill'd.

Here lay a Prince, and there a Swain,

Both clad in th' Native Scarlet of the Main;

In equal Death both the same State maintain.

Each Hebrew at his Feet his Master now do's view,

Each Man his curs'd Oppressor knew:

Their Pleasure tho' a secret Fear controul'd;

For yet they look't as cruel, fierce and bold;

And yet they seem'd to grin out their Commands,

And still to threaten with up-lifted Hands.

Now dead, the Hebrews fear 'em more,

Than living they had done before.

II.

Thus, O ye Sons of Israel, be it done,

Cryes Amram's mighty Son;

May thus a speedy Ruin seize on those,

Who dare our God, or's Prophet's Voice oppose:

[Page] For He it is, that great unutterable Name,

Who now has done this Glorious Work of Fame.

'Twas by his Hand the Chamian Army fell;

Down like a Stone they went, and sunk as deep as Hell.

The generous Horse, proud of his Master's Weight,

At first pranc'd down the Gulph with stately Gate:

As pleas'd and glad he stood,

As when he us'd to water at some Neighbouring Flood:

But when the rowling Seas came down amain,

He started strait, and flounc'd, and slip't the useless Rein.

No Aid the Faithful Beast can lend;

But Horse and Rider too beneath this watry Fate must bend.

He grew unruly with the Fright,

Not us'd to this odd way of Fight.

He saw no other Enemy throughout the Field,

But Water, which beneath his pressing Hoof did yield.

But still the slippery Foe came on him fresh again,

And plung'd him down, at last, into the faithless Main:

[Page] There in watry Stalls to feed

With Horses of another Breed.

Pity, that Vengeance innocent Beasts shou'd slay!

Pity, that they for sinning Man shou'd pay!

Upon the floating Chariots head.

Where once proud Aegypt's purpled Monarch sate,

All the Scaly Herd were got;

It pleas'd 'em far above their Watry Bed.

Thus plac'd, as proud the Sea-Born Monsters mov'd,

As their Brother Fish above;

Who in that Sea of Air, which there does flow,

With all the other Signs, an endless Journey go.

See there sad Aegypt's Ruines scatter'd o're the Main:

This did the Lord himself, a Glorious Name to gain

III.

Our God, (sang on the Great Inspired Seer)

The All-wise God, whom we adore and fear,

No lazy Deity is, or idle Looker-on,

Whil'st his People suffer Wrong.

[Page] A Jealous Being, ready to redress:

Nor will He see his Votaries borne down by thriving Wickedness.

His Power oft in Battles has been shown

Against the Enemies of his Heavenly Crown.

When He goes forth to War,

He wears no Armor, weilds no Spear;

Nor's wont with Steed or Chariot to appear,

The Officious Winds beneath Him bend;

And in a well-form'd Vehicle of Clouds He does descend.

A dazling Glory round his Head does stand,

And forked Thunder fills his Hand.

'Twas thus upon the Plains of endless Day,

He thro' the Embattel'd Seraphims forc'd his way:

'Twas thus He met the Rebel Sons of Light,

And sent 'em howling down into Eternal Night.

Thus He of Old did call

The Waters o'er the Universal Ball;

As soon as e're He spoke,

The troubled Sea from its dark Chambers broke;

All the Cataracts of the Sky

Precipitated from on high;

[Page] Heaven's Flood-gates burst asunder:

To them joyn'd Lightning, Hail and Thunder;

And from Above they came with a disorder'd Course,

To meet the Sea's Auxiliary Force:

The Sea and Rain, as old Acquaintance, joyn;

(For the Sun's Rays from hence these Show'rs did once refine.)

The wondring World, as in an Ambush ta'n,

Was cover'd o'er by the wild Deluge, and prevailing Main.

Thus from the Walls of Heaven, the Eternal King look't down,

And saw strange Fires burn Sodom's lustful Town.

Each Angel shook his Starry Sphere, and down there came

Whole Gushes strait of flaming Rain.

The amazed Sodomites now wonder more:

They oft had seen Stars fall by Night,

That was a common Sight;

But never thought they carried Fire, before.

By the same Hand the Chamian Army fell;

As swift as Light they went, and sunk as deep as Hell.

[Page]

IV.

Tell this, ye Winds, bear on your Wings the same,

To the far distant Coasts of Fame!

The Lord of Hosts, that is his wondrous Name!

Whisper it to each Country, where you come,

As through your Stormy Empire you do roam:

But to the Aegyptian Court,

Be sure ye strait resort,

And There proclaim aloud the killing Sound,

That Pharaoh, and his Host, are drown'd!

Ye Erythraean Waves, whene're ye joyn,

The Seas that run beyond the Line,

If they enquire from whence these Spoyls you bear,

What makes your Waves twice dy'd in red appear?

Tell 'em, Proud Aegypt's King, with all his Luxury,

Within your watry Grave entomb'd does lie:

And tell 'em, Tho' a Thousand Shores they wash,

And as many Countries pass;

There no Heathen Idols are,

Who can with Israel's God compare.

[Page] Ye Fields of Zoan, say; for you have been,

Of Heavenly Wonders, the unhappy Scene;

Can all your numerous Stock of Gods afford

One, who dare stand before the Lord?

When on your Cattle He a Murrain sent,

Among the meaner Herd the adored Heifer went.

When the ripe Corn and Fruits did blasted lie,

With them your Garden Gods did hang their Heads, and die.

When Nile was turn'd to Blood, and putrid Gore,

Your Sacred Crocodile came forth, and dy'd upon the Shore.

But let not injur'd Nile complain;

The same Almighty Rod again,

Which did his Waters paint, has dy'd the Neighboring Main.

V.

'Twas then (continued he his tuneful Song)

When our Army march'd along,

The Travelling Flame before us did appear,

The never-failing Cloud fell in the Rear.

The Queen of Heaven wonder'd, still by Night,

To see a Fire below, so Glorious, Fierce and Bright.

[Page] The Sun himself surpriz'd as much by Day,

That with his Rays he ne'r could chase this Cloud away.

At the first Sight of the Mysterious Rod,

As if they'd spy'd the Finger of a God,

The Waters loos'd their close Embrace,

Crowding back with furious Haste.

Into the secret Paths our Host did move,

Paths so full of Mystery,

That the Heavenly Host above,

Were surpriz'd as much as We.

For the Stars cou'd never guess,

Why in the Ocean's polish'd Glass,

They cou'd no longer see their Face.

After our Troops the Pharian Tyrant bent,

With violent Haste, blaspheming as he went.

In vain you try, ye Slaves, to shun your Fate,

Or fly my just provoked Hate.

I fear no longer now your God,

Nor the damn'd Sorcerer's Conjuring Rod.

More the bold Monster wou'd have said, and worse,

But a fierce bidden Wave came on, and stop't th [...] foolish Curse.

[Page]

VI.

In Aegypt's Sky now let sad Clouds appear,

Tho' they were ne'r before seen there.

Now howl, ye beastly Pharian Deities,

And echo thro' Heaven's Vault your hideous Cries.

Now hang again, ye Garden Gods, your Head;

For He, the mighty He, that made you so, is dead.

O'er trembling Edom too, and Moab, let the Sound,

And even to Canaan's Land, rebound:

Let Jordan now back to his Fountain run.

For what was here begun,

Said the great Inspired Seer,

Shall again be acted there.

His Waves at God's Command shall make a stand,

And open too a Path for Israel's Sacred Band.

THE SONG OF DEBORAH Paraphras'd.

[Page]

[Page]

I.

NOW breath We, warlike Mates, good Fortune bids us pause:

See the hoarse Trumpets threatning Voice be drown'd;

See it no more the Neighboring Valleys wound;

In softer peaceful Strains we'll Anthems sound

To the Great Name, that did espouse our Righteous Cause.

[Page] Israel a Captive now no longer shall be said:

Ah! Blessed Israel, raise thy ransom'd Head!

Sisera's no more; his Soul is with his Army fled.

Proud Midian now has clear'd the mighty Score,

That has been running up this Twenty Suns, and more.

The vast Arrears of Rapine, Death and Spoil,

One Day has paid, this black Day's memorable Foil.

There Hecatombs to Shades below are gone,

And there for injured Hebrew Ghosts atone.

Ye Midian Slaves, go, and this Victory tell;

Our Fathers dy'd, and said, Revenge us, as they fell.

The Cries of Brothers, Husbands, Children slain,

For this Avenging Light did long complain.

I saw their Blessed Spirits hover o're

These Plains, which once had drunk their Sacre Gore.

They smil'd to see Proud Jabin fall,

To see us deal round Death to All:

They lean'd their subtle Organs down to catch th [...] Steam,

Which in great Mists from Midianitish Blood di [...] Stream.

[Page]

II.

God, and your Arms be prais'd! Ah! foolish I,

Thus to Purloin from Heaven a Victory!

For, Oh! Ye Powers above, what Mortal may

Share in the Glory of this Day?

Our little, meager, trembling Host

Look't like a wild disorder'd Rout of Ghosts:

No, Thou Great God, alone, thy Power did'st exert;

It was thy Arm; Thou both the Sword and Buckler wert.

Baruck, and I, can lay no Claim

To this mighty Work of Fame.

May I thy humble Prophetess still counted be;

The Deity's great Lieutenant, He.

Hear this, ye Kings, ye Earthly Gods,

Who of your Numbers boast,

Your Armed Towns, and well-appointed Hosts:

'Twixt Heaven, and You, see here the mighty Odds.

The Almighty from Above does see,

How wondrous careful, and sollicitous you be:

[Page] He sees your Men, like busie Emmets, crawl

Over the Mole-hill of this Earthly Ball;

He sits, and with a scornful Smile surveys it all.

Your very Chariots fail in a Retreat:

Jabin's proud General had

Numbers of Scores in sturdy Iron clad;

And yet was forc'd to owe his Safety to his Feet.

III.

With it this frightful Day such dire Confusion bore,

As when thro' Idumea's Hilly Coast,

Amram's great Son led the Beloved Host;

Our Army came behind, and Terror march'd before.

Fame hasted strait, and all around,

Threw the astonishing Sound;

Into their Towns she flew, and scatter'd there,

Blind Terror, deaf Disorder, helpless Fear.

Edom cou'd now it self no more command,

But wish'd surrounded with more Hills, to stand.

Thus 'twas of old on smoaking Sinah's Head,

With such Amazement was it over-spread,

[Page] When the Great Law first took its Birth,

And Heaven convers'd with Earth,

God and his Creature in Conjunction sate, Familiarly did debate:

Man's ravish'd Opticks feasted on the Sight Divine,

Which way, we know no more, than how the Soul and Body joyn.

When first upon the Mountain's Top,

The Eternal King came down;

The shuffling Clouds, to make Him room,

Together rush't, and hence loud Storms did come.

By Smoak, and vaporous Heat, the Lightning fed,

Stood like a short-liv'd Glory ro [...]nd his Head:

At every Word the list'ning Thunder roar'd aloud,

And, in dire Accents, told it to the trembling Crowd.

Such Sights, upon its Plains, the Heavens ne'r did know.

Since the bold Sons of Light here met their Overthrow.

Such was the dismal Scene of this Black Day:

As Sion shook, as Edom trembled then, so now did they.

[Page]

IV.

Moses, at first, our Captive-Neck did free

From curs'd Aegyptian Slavery:

But He, and his Commission, dy'd;

And Joshua's Sword the Active Rod supply'd:

And what He did we have been taught,

And how he Wonders wrought:

From East to West his Conquering Arms he threw,

And did even Humane Thought out-go.

An Age or more his Fame secur'd our Peace;

To That we ow'd our very Bread and Ease.

In after Days

God did some well-fram'd Spirits raise;

Othniel, Ehud, and great Shamgar's Arm

Defended Israel's Flock from Harm:

The bordering Tyrant's Force they did rebate;

And, for a while, kept off the Bolts of angry Fate.

For ever live, for ever let recorded stand

The Illustrious Acts of Shamgar's Hand:

Quitting his Plow, unarm'd he took his Course,

Where lay Encamp't all the Philistian Force.

[Page] His Hand a peaceful Goad did bear,

(A Tool unpractic'd in the Art of War:)

With this he rul'd his Beasts, with the same Goad he scar'd,

And drove before him the whole Pagan Herd.

And when he had the Heavenly Call obey'd,

He hasten'd to his plain unfinish'd Trade.

But still our fetter'd Land her Griefs bemoan'd;

And still beneath inglorious Bondage groan'd.

This struggling shew'd she had some Courage left;

Of Life and Spirits not yet quite bereft:

And that, Alas! was all,

That we these few and vain Attempts could call.

As when Diseases do our Body take,

Nature some Help wou'd fain afford;

Some weak Essays she's wont to make,

To throw her Rider off, and cast the painful Load.

Such was the Temper of our baffled Power;

It serv'd to shew our Weakness more:

And this was all we gain'd hereby,

To change our Masters, not our Misery.

Like some poor Bark, which just has scap't a Wreck,

And after finds a Pirate seizing on her Deck.

[Page]

V.

Oh, can we! can we! without Blushes, name,

Our memorable Shame?

When Palestine, the wretched Palestine, was grown

Like one besieged Town,

Tho' business call'd, we ne're durst look abroad:

The straggling Canaanite beset the common Road.

The Merchant's Camel, and the Peasant's Team,

Thro' unknown Paths, and Hills were wont to climb:

Thro' Woods, by Wild Beast's Dens, they took their painful way,

To escape Men, less Merciful than they.

The Villager his Herds to lonesome Caves did drive;

And there, on equal Terms, was forc'd to live.

Every thing wore the face of War;

And we at Home close Prisoners were.

Like a young Infant, of his Friends bereft,

And to accursed Guardians left,

Its poor defenceless Innocence is torn;

To every one a Prey, to every one a Scorn.

[Page] Thus Israel mourn'd her Fate; 'till I arose,

Whom All-wise Heaven for this high Task did choose:

Leaving my Palm-tree Shade, an humble Seat;

From Misery and Noise a blest Retreat.

I fixt her giddy State, so long abus'd,

And by proud Jabin's Iron Scepter bruis'd;

I thro' her dying Parts new Life and Soul infus'd.

VI.

But yet, 'twas strange, Religion stood,

And 'scap't the Universal Flood:

'Twas passing strange, maugre this noisy Rout,

War shou'd make Men more Devout.

They who alone did worship but one God before,

Now only they all Gods adore.

Before their Conquerors they fall;

And next, upon their Conqueror's Gods they call.

Curs'd Fate! That made 'em at one Stroke forego

Their Soul and Body too.

To the grim Baal, and horned Ashtaroth,

And all the foppish Pageantry

Of black Idolatry,

[Page] They pour their faithless Souls and Prayers forth.

Plain must the Object of their Worship be:

They scorn to kneel to any Deity,

But what they may both feel and see.

No more to that Ʋnutterable Name they pray,

That led 'em with a Mighty Hand,

Thro' the wild Desarts parched Sands,

And scatter'd slaughter'd Nations in their way.

Their Father's Courage, and their Father's God,

Joshua's fell Sword, and Moses's sacred Rod,

Are now forgot, can now no more Impression make:

They want new Miracles to buoy their sinking Faith.

To Hazor, the proud Jabin's Seat, they bend,

As to the Mother-Church, and there their Offerings send.

They fetch'd the old cast Gods of all the Country round:

They worshipp'd all that cou'd be made or found;

And Deities were bought and sold,

Like other Ware, like Spices, Balm, and Gold.

[Page]

VII.

Thus the offended Monarch of the Skies,

From Pagan Altars saw their Incense rise;

Their Worship tender'd at a Foreign Shrine;

In cursed Moloch's Fane their Offerings shine:

And cou'd no longer hold; but with a Parent's Care,

Took up the Rod, and did for War prepare,

To bring the Truant Israel to an humble Sence

Of Duty and Allegiance.

Commissions strait were issued out,

To all the willing Nations round about.

We in our Walls, by leaguering Troops, were barr'd;

They at our very Gates kept Guard.

We treated were just like a common Foe,

(For he that fights 'gainst Heaven, must be so.)

Mark't out by Heaven for Ruin, thus we lay;

And learnt (too late, Alas!) the right Way how to Pray.

The frighted Pleader left the Bar,

At the grim Approach of War.

[Page] The awful Judge, who Justice doth dispence

Within our Gates, was often forced thence.

He often stop't a Cause,

To hear the Trumpet's threatning Noise.

In our saint Breasts a chilling Fear there reign'd;

Of Blood our Veins, of Arms our Magazines were drain'd.

We cou'd not boast a Sword, or serviceable Pike;

Bondage had canker'd o'er our Souls and Arms alike.

Accouter'd so, our Troops for Fight prepare;

As when a ravenous Wolf is near,

And with his well-known Sound alarms

The Villagers, and calls to Arms.

The affrighted Swains came out, and on the Hills appear;

Some Goads, some Flails, and Plow-shares bear;

Some Axes, knotted Clubs, and Darts,

With all those rude and innocent Arts,

With which our plain Fore-Fathers armed went,

'Fore Death, ingenious grown, worse Engines did invent.

[Page]

VIII.

For ever bless'd, and sure they blessed are,

(For Heaven will ratifie my prayer)

Those glorious Chiefs who bore the heat

Of this days toil, and sweat,

When God and injur'd Israels wrongs obterg'd;

In Honors Bed they rather chose to lye,

Than tamely and ingloriously dye;

Than wait the Stone, the Gout, or Fevers lingring siege.

In that great Roll of Warriors which is hurl'd,

By babling Fame, around the World.

What place so e're,

Of Moses shall or Joshua hear;

In the same rank these Worthies shall appear.

In each black wound their glutted swords did give,

As in well written Lines, their Deathless Names

shall live.

Fame will to after times show 'em without a blot:

Nor shall unworthy Deborah and Baruc be forgot.

Now we from Blood and War have got a full Release;

Say, who reaps not the fruits of Peace?

[Page] The universal good

By all is own'd, is understood.

Speak, you, who Head our Tribes, and bear a Princes Train;

Your Scarlet Honors cannot now complain

Of a double dye and stain.

No more your Sons as Guards are forc'd to wait

Upon the Tyrants State.

Your beauteous Daughters now no more are fain to be

Slaves to his Pride and Luxurie.

What ever Earth, or Air, or Seas afford,

Now your well spread Tables load.

Before, your very Water in great charges stood;

We once were forc'd to buy it with our Blood.

In vain through secret Sands the Chymist Nature strain'd,

And for our use the Ocean drain'd.

Our Wells and Springs were at the Conquerors will,

And at a distance thus they strove to kill.

[Page]

IX.

All things are chang'd, and wear a different face,

The frighted Judge resumes his wonted place;

And War no more does Property deface.

The labouring Peasant on his Team does wait,

Nor fears being Press'd for Service of the State.

Upon the pleasant Hills the Flocks again do stray;

The Shepherd tunes his Pipe, and sees 'em play.

Now War, that hungry Wolf, is dead,

All other fears are with it fled.

To his thatcht Cell the Villager repairs,

And there with rural pastime drowns his cares.

No more his mid-night sleep is broke by loud alarms

Of Trumpets, clashing Swords, and rattling Arms.

Traffick, and all the train of peaceful arts do thrive:

Now Wars obnoxious weed

Is gone and withered;

Which wou'd before let nothing by it thrive.

Such strange tumultuous joys we hear.

Such noisy Triumphs thro' our Tribes are shown,

As in a Fort or walled Town;

[Page] After a tedious Ten months Siege appear:

Out run the Rabble at the widen'd Ports,

And fall to Songs, and discontinued sports.

Secure they tread those paths, which not a Moon ago,

Lay cover'd with a threatning Foe:

With pleasure, point, and say, along this Coast

Lay all the mighty Jabin's Host:

Here stood his Guards, and there the General's Tent;

And here his Armed Chariots went.

The Air shall undisturb'd with groans remain;

The blooded Rivers shall no more complain:

No more shall streaming Gore the Verdant Meadows stain;

But Air, and Floods, and Earth its head shall rear,

And joyful as our looks appear.

X.

Deborah, arise, and let thy numbers flow

Briskly, as thy enliven'd spirits do:

Begin thy hallow'd strains,

'To Hazor bear the sound:

Let nothing there but grief abound.

[Page] Strike all the Hills, echo it o're the Plains;

Then Israel too will joyn, as in a well tun'd Quire,

And all with general joy inspire.

Thus the shrill Harbinger of day,

Upon himself does first essay.

Clapping his wings, he wakes himself, and then

Rouses the World and sleeping Man.

The Sun in all his Rounds cou'd never boast,

A gladder day; not when the Pharian Host

'Fore the Mysterious Rod of Moses fell.

Not when bold Joshua sent five Kings uncrown'd to Hell.

Ill fortune, like the Clouds above,

From clime to clime does shift and rove.

Long has it stood o're Palestine,

Engendr'd with loud Storms and Rain.

Now the big-bellied Fate to Midians sky is flown,

And there has broke, and there amazing terror thrown.

Oh, how my labouring breast does team

With the transporting Theam!

So where Abinoam's God-like Son does wait;

Here, mighty Baruc, take me for thy War-like mate.

[Page] Thus hand in hand we'll bravely move;

Crown'd with Victory from above.

Now, now our Triumphs are begun:

War, like a tamed Lyon, by our side does run.

Thus when two silver Currents do combine,

And in their journey to the Ocean joyn:

The thirsty Meadows feel the welcome Flood and are

With drinking, fresh and fair.

The joyful Hind stands on the River side,

And blesses still the rowling beauteous Tide.

XI.

Now are our conquering brows with Lawre bound,

With Monumental Arms our Walls are crown'd

And Oh! may they hang still, for ever there b [...] kept

Useless, as when within the Mine they slept.

At slavery and wounds the heated Souldier laughs

And unbought Wines in his full Helmet quaffs.

The Aged Parent creeps to meet his darling Boy

Come reeking from the Chace,

But dyes in the embrace:

[Page] His feeble spirits sink beneath the weighty joy.

With holy Songs our Virgins to the Altars press;

And there aloud proclaim

The Hallow'd Name,

By whom our Wars are hush'd, or soon in Victory cease.

With bended Heads the Midian Nobles wait

Upon the solemn Pomp and State.

The cursed Pagan spoils are doom'd to fire,

In the same flames their Vassal'd Gods expire.

Tabor a glad spectator was of this days fight:

Tabor beheld the Tragick sight.

With numerous Deaths see how the Mountain swells;

See how the slaughter'd Troops enlarge his Hills.

At his extended Foot the Echos play and ring:

The Valleys, stuck with Corn, rejoyce and sing.

Midian's unbounded spoil

No longer mocks the Plowman's toil:

Till the ripe Harvest now uncrop'd they stand;

Nor fear being torn by the rude Souldiers Hand.

[Page]

XII.

Go on my blest Inspired Strains, and say,

Who shar'd the Glory of this Day.

In mighty numbers sing each Tribe, and Name:

This Task does challenge all the Lungs of Fame.

The willing Ephraim led this Sacred Band;

The Benjamite must next in Honour stand:

In the same Rank place Issachar;

His Tribe alone a War:

Out-step't his Princes at the Trumpet's Call;

Baruc, the Noble Baruc, was their General.

The Odds, which Fate did give, he scorn'd to take;

But did the Hills forsake.

Hills so vastly steep and high,

Tho' the spik'd Chariots of great Sisera,

With Wings, instead of Wheels, had cut the way,

They scarce cou'd thither fly.

Next in the War-like Dance,

Does Napthali advance.

Not far behind, see Zebulon

Comes marching bravely on.

[Page] Bold Zebulon laid aside the Thirst of sordid Pelf:

Bold Zebulon lov'd his Country as himself:

He scorn'd the paltry Tyes of Gain or Blood;

So well he understood

The louder Voice of Publick Good.

XIII.

In our triumphant Army's Rear

The Scholar, and the Scribe appear.

With eager Steps, and a disorder'd Pace they come,

Quitting their living Tomb;

Where they for many Winters buried lay,

And only had been taught to Read and Pray.

They oft had heard of Fights,

And such unusual Sights;

Oft in the compass of a Page,

Seen Armies furiously engage:

At Speculation's duller Trade they'd been;

But never yet the Practick seen.

They throw away their Pens: Hence, hence, then foolish Quill;

Of Blood and Death give us our Fill:

A scaly Gantlet now, with Joynts of Steel,

[Page] Must glove our Hand; and thus we'll Slaughter deal.

With this we'll Blows, as thick as Hail, dispence,

And Souldiers in a Day commence:

As glorious Things we'll act; as much we'll dare,

As those have serv'd a 'Prenticeship in War.

And more than this; We can record the bloody Scene;

And what our Swords have fought, can blazor with our Pen.

XIV.

But, Ah! what binds the Hands, or does controul

Dispirited Reuben's niggard Soul?

To thee, with Sighs and Tears, our Widow'd Lan [...] repairs:

These idly blow,

These idly fall:

The Sea and Winds as soon would listen to our Pray'rs.

Does servile Bondage Charms and Magick wear?

Are you so fond of Slavery and Pain?

Or is there Musick in your Chain,

That now 'tis offer'd cheap, yet Liberty you fear▪

[Page] Where are the Men, that saw the Pharian Tyrant die;

And, with their Conquering Arms, thro' Sandy Wastes did flie;

Tho' fiery Serpents strow'd their way,

And Anak's Off-spring, Monsters worse than they?

In vain, fond Men, we count our Victories;

Posterity will take 'em all for Forgeries and Lies.

Our lank and sickly Veins

None of their generous Blood contains.

Our Cowardize has taught our Neighbours not to fear:

What We of old to them, now They to us appear.

XV.

Full Twenty times the labouring Sun

His yearly Round has gone;

And still, ignoble Souls, we're found

With Midian's undeserved Fetters bound.

Gilead, Manasses! Oh, accursed Theam!

Whose happy Lots are faln by Beauteous Jordan's Stream.

[Page] Look on that heap of Stones, which in the Flood,

For many Ages now, a Miracle has stood;

And learn once more to trust the self-same God.

Asher and Dan, like Slaves of Business, toil;

Follow their Trade, and sordid Gain,

(Oh deathless Shame, immortal Stain!)

Whil'st all around, the Foe their Country tears and spoils.

So a mad Pilot, when the Waves run high,

And threatning, dare the very Sky;

When every Billow shews a gaping Grave,

Runs from the Helm, a Chest or Trunk to save:

A mighty Sea comes on, and swallows all;

Miser and Pelf go down together at one Fall.

XVI.

But these perhaps may 'scape the Rod

Of an avenging God:

These are innocent and free,

Meroz, if compar'd with thee.

On thee our Stock of Curses we must show'r.

Curse Meroz, (said some Heavenly Power.)

[Page] The Hills around that stood,

Took the glad Sound, and struck it on the Neighbouring Flood.

Oh base Neutrality!

From thy curs'd Battlements, with careless Eye,

Contending Armies thou could'st spy;

As in a Theater, gaze and point at us beneath,

And laugh at our amazing Scenes of Death.

A narrow compass sure thy Soul does own;

Man for himself was ne'r design'd alone.

Heaven does by us, as here by Lamps is done;

They shine for themselves, but still dispence

Their welcom Influence,

And do the Business of the absent Sun.

Nature for every Grain

Of Beauty, Worth or Excellence,

That She bestows upon her Favourite, Man;

Still, like a thrifty Goddess, does design;

And cries, the Glory shall be mine.

XVII.

Every thing here below is priz'd, and understood,

As it comes near an Universal Good.

[Page] When the Sea, that Watry Foe,

Its Cup does over-flow,

We take the Hills, and there securely lie,

And all its fruitless Rage desire.

So when our beggar'd Land denies

Its usual Supplies,

Of Corn, and Fruits, and Plenty's store;

The kind Waves take our Ships, and bring us more.

Thus Man to Man is link't by pure necessity;

And he that mutual Succors does deny,

To all the World 'tis plain,

The half-soul'd niggard Fool wou'd break the Chain.

May all the Ills that Israel ever knew,

Or has deserv'd; may these, and thousand more,

That Heaven, for sinning Man, reserves in store,

Be thy accursed Due.

Rot may thy very Name, that late Posterity,

Shall doubting say, Where did this cursed City lye?

I see, I see, 'tis done; no more repeat;

They're heard, like Prayers, and Heaven has made 'em Fate.

[Page]

XVIII.

Down came the Midian Host, with all their Travelling Gods,

And like a Torrent did our Land bestride:

Confederate Kings, like mingling Floods,

Swell'd up the mighty Tide.

In the first Rank did stand,

Of Voluntiers a fiery Band,

And all the unsettled Humors of the Land.

They took no Money, had no Pay;

Their Fortunes in their Scabbards lay:

So that, who e're for Fight did first prepare,

We were to pay the Charges of the War.

Megiddo's Waters saw the frightful sight

Of a rude Host, so terrible and bright;

And to their Mother-Streams they hasted in a Fright.

Five hundred rowling Carrs, with Spikes and Iron bound,

Came on, and as they pass'd, they furrow'd all the Ground.

The base retailing way of Death they did disown,

And now they came to mow whole Armies down.

[Page]

XIX.

The War-like Sisera in the Van appear'd,

By Hebrew Mothers so long curs'd and fear'd:

He smil'd to see our wild disorder'd Rout;

For sure 'twas never for a Fight cut out.

Look here, ye Midian Chiefs, (he cries)

Cast round your willing Eyes;

Do but behold you poor and starved Band,

How like the Husks and Shales of Men they stand.

This meager Host will scarce afford

Work enough for all our Swords:

Scarce Blood enough their sickly Veins contain,

To give each naked Spear a Stain:

See, their Executors, the knavish Daws, appear,

And still, with watchful Eye, keep in their Army's Rear.

Ye Slaves, attend the Terms that mighty Jabin gives;

And from our Hands receive your forfeit Lives.

No Moses now, nor Joshua is here,

To save you from our all-avenging Spear.

[Page] Go Home, fond Men, beneath the Palm-tree's Shade,

There attend your War-like Maid:

There sit, and listen to those Laws,

That We, your gracious Conquerors, will impose.

XX.

In such vile Threats the railing Tyrant spoke.

But Baruc did high Heaven invoke:

God's Arm strike with Us; 'tis a fearful Odds:

Yet the Eternal Power,

Whom we adore,

Alone surpasses all their numerous Rout of Gods.

Think not to Day, Great God, O not to Day,

We humbly pray,

On our Fore-Father's guilty Times;

Or the additional numbers of our Crimes;

Wherein We, their forward Sons,

Our sinning Fathers have out-done.

He spoke, the Armies joyn'd; but, Oh, surprizing Sight!

It never cou'd be stil'd on th' Midian's Part, a Fight:

[Page] But as if a fearful Damp

Had by some Angel's Hand been scatter'd through their Camp.

On such cheap Terms they sold the Victory,

As if they came but to be slain, and die:

With furious haste their Chariots backward press'd,

Mowing whole Squadrons as they pass'd.

How many Images,

Which had by God, and Midian Fathers been

Twenty Years and more a fashioning,

Were in a moment torn, defac'd and spoil'd?

The Roads and Fields were strown with Limbs of Man and Horse;

These Arts of Death the Inventors selves now Curse.

Fond Men, so witty grown

To their own Destruction!

XXI.

All the Fraternity

Of Elements, Fire, Water, Earth and Sky,

In a joynt Conspiracy,

Hasted to divide the Prey,

And share the Glory of this Tragick Day.

[Page] Kishon, that antient Flood,

With pouring Cataracts, swell'd of Rain and Blood,

Finding his peaceful Journey home

Disturb'd, began to rave and foam;

In a wild Rage, he let his Sluces out,

And swept the Field, and harass'd all the Plains about:

Down the glad Tide went Baggage, Horses, and Infantry,

And help't t' increase the Riches of the adjoyning Sea.

Heaven kept its Word, and all its Forces brought;

Beneath our Banners, warring Angels fought:

Each took his Charge; some threw whole Sheets of Flame;

Arm'd with Thunder, others came.

Some at as sad a Task had been,

All to enhance the dismal Scene.

Levies of howling Winds, they there convey'd,

Which round their Head fearfully roar'd and plaid.

The rowling Fires above their baleful Influence shed,

And hung, like bearded Comets, o're their Head:

[Page] And all the Help they from these Tapers have,

Was but to light 'em to their Grave.

In vain we spent our Strokes, the Work was done,

And Heaven finish'd what we had begun.

XXII.

Now, my bold Song, thy highest Strains command;

And thus enshrin'd, let Jael stand.

Jael, great Glory of our Sex,

If to thy Name we wou'd be just,

Thy deathless Worth shou'd never mix

With common Numbers, or with common Dust.

Whole Jael shall not die; my well-tun'd Song shall save

The greatest Portion of her from the Grave.

When Israel's ransom'd Land

Shall cease to understand,

What's meant by Plenty, Peace and Liberty;

Then, not till then, thy Fame shall die.

Our Hebrew Virgins shall Embalm,

In Annual Songs, the mighty Kenite's Name:

With Joy and Wonder read thy Story o're;

And thence inspir'd, greater shall act, and more.

[Page] The Midian Dames, at mention of thy Name, shall fly,

And with it still their Children, when they cry.

Oh, blessed be that Hand, that made the Whole!

Oh, blessed be the Heart, that did the Hand controul!

XXIII.

Gloriously smear'd with sordid Dust and Sweat,

As to a kind Retreat,

Into her Tent the wretched Sisera prest;

The new-drawn Blood lay reeking on his Helmets Crest.

Her Board with choicest Country-Viands spread;

With pleasant Looks her Face, she beg'd him feed:

And all to cloak the Pious Cheat,

And from suspicion skreen his black impending Fate.

But now to Rest inclin'd;

Sleep to its Temples did its Leaden Plummets bind.

Through his distracted Brain strange Images did rove,

A thousand gliding Phantoms move:

[Page] He saw the Field, with Armed Troops, o'erspred;

His Men, like Leaves in Autumn, faln, and scattered:

The Battle was again fought over in his Head.

Thus whirl'd in Fancy's Airy Coach,

He pass'd by various Things, and various Fates;

Downfal of Men and States.

Something, at last, there did approach,

In an imperfect Vision's gloomy Scene;

It look'd as if his own ill Fate 't had been,

With this ill-boding Sight, unruly grown.

Away his drowzy Chain he wou'd have thrown

But Sleep lay heavy on him, as afore:

For Fate had said, Sisera shall wake no more.

XXIV.

Into her willing Hands

Strait she commands

The little Instrument of Fate:

But Fear, our Sexes Curse, her Courage did rebate.

How shall I such a bold Act essay

Against the World's great Captain, Sisera?

[Page] What if my trembling Hand shou'd miss the Stroke,

And his unruly Soul the Fetters loose,

In which dull Sleep the Hero does enclose;

What Plagues and Furies must I needs provoke?

His Troops perhaps do this way fly,

May reach my Tent before the Tragedy:

Then tho' the wild Attempt be solely mine,

Revenge will light on every Branch of Heber's Line.

By this one Stroke

All Hospitable Laws are broke:

Came he not hither as a Friend?

Cannot that Thought some Pity lend?

Begone Relentings, which as Mists arise,

And fain wou'd cloud this Glorious Enterprize.

Shall I a League with that curs'd Man commence,

Who to Heaven's King owes no Allegiance?

Jael, be great in Act, as thou hast been in Thought;

That Heart will aid, which first the Motion brought.

Our Sex to Pity is inclin'd:

'Twas Heaven the Project first design'd;

[Page] From thence, from thence it came:

Such a bold Thought wou'd shake and stagger Woman's Fame.

The groaning Widows Cries, methinks, I hear;

The Shrieks of ravish'd Virgins strike my Ear:

Our Sex the Tyrant ne're wou'd spare.

T's but one Man (a mighty Man) that's lost;

What's that to all our Blood and Cost;

To all the Lives this Monster's Sword can boast?

XXV.

Bare and expos'd he lay; a tempting Sight,

That a less daring Hand might e'ne invite.

She look'd around her, lest some straggling Page shou'd come,

And change the Fatal Doom.

Forbear, said she, hard-hearted Jael; do;

These bloody Acts befit not you:

With that the Instrument of Death away she threw.

But noble, manly Anger soon

Bid her pursue what she had once begun.

The Blood, by Midian spilt, her staggering Courage fir'd;

[Page] And the Black Scene of all her Country's Woes appear'd.

Shamgar and Ehud to her Thoughts repair:

The Instance pleas'd; with that she smooth'd aside his Hair.

Thus having quell'd the doubtful Strife,

The fatal Hammer hovering o're his Head,

The Imperial Seat of Life;

Great God of Israel, guide my Hand, (she said.)

Betwixt his Temples pierc'd the willing Tool;

And at the little Vent came out his mighty Soul.

XXVI.

There lie, thou bloodless Remnant of great Sisera;

To ravenous Beasts and Fowls a Prey;

As greedy once of Blood, as they.

Cheated by Fate, trepann'd, deceiv'd;

Of Life's last Stake by a Woman's Hand bereav'd.

Unhappy too in this; Thou ne're must know

The feeble Hand, that gave the Blow.

How small a thing, well manag'd by our Fate,

Can open thro' Life's Golden Gate,

And all our vast Designs defeat?

[Page] Where be the fawning Peers, that cring'd and bow'd?

Where be the thronging Troops, that hemm'd thee round?

Where be the Chariots, which so many Death once bore,

That a destroying Angel scarce has more?

Ill-natur'd Fate, that can't afford

So much as one poor Page t' attend his dying Lord!

To the cold Ground he lean'd his bending Head,

As if his list'ning Body wou'd

Full fain have understood,

Which way the Soul, his dearest Mate, was fled.

XXVII.

Surrounded with her beauteous Maiden Train,

Which thither did resort,

To see and make the Glories of the Midian Court▪

Sate his proud Mother, rack't with pressing Pain

A Civil War her labouring Breast maintain'd;

And Joy and Fear, by turns, the Empire gain'd.

As when two adverse Winds, upon the Sea,

Dispute for Victory;

[Page] The Wat'ry Plains are harass'd with their Shocks:

All curse these Stormy Foes, Ships, Seas and Rocks.

Oft, from her Palace Top, she cast an eager Look

Over the Plains, till the arched Heaven took

Her bounded Sight; but yet her Fancy stray'd;

Her anxious Thoughts a farther Journey made.

Why stays my Son? where is his loytering Host?

This Victory perhaps much Blood and Sweat has cost.

Despair has arm'd these rebel Hebrews, sure,

That they durst more than just his Army's sight endure.

No: His clogg'd Chariots the vast Prey does load;

'Tis that retards him on the Road.

They slowly move with a Triumphant Grace;

And come but just a Conqueror's pace.

Hazor, throw ope thy enlarged Gates; prepare

To meet the God of War.

Hung round with Spoils, hither his Troops does bend:

Those old Aegyptian Tenants, to vile Slavery born,

In Crowds the Solemn Pomp adorn,

Hazor, prepare to share the mighty Dividend.

[Page] Now Jewish Virgins sentenc'd are

To sigh whole Years away in Foreign Air.

And the rich Births of all their Hebrew Looms,

To Us unbought, unpurchas'd come.

For Us, like painful Bees, they work and toil:

We have the Crop, whoe're manur'd the stubborn Soil.

XXVIII.

Thus, thus let all

Unpitied fall;

And such be still the Doom, and worse,

Of those, whose impious Threats are driven

Against the invulnerable Clouds of Heaven;

Who dare pull down the Eternal Vengeance of its Curse.

Who fights with Heaven, and wou'd Associate

His Fellow-Creatures, 'gainst the Eternal Mind of Fate,

Shoots up an Arrow in the Air, and strives

Upon their Fountains Streams to drive;

The Dart descends, the Stream slows back again,

And mocks the vain Projector's fruitless Toil and [...]ain.

[Page] And thus it needs must be,

When weak Mortality;

When wretched Dust and Ashes, poor contending Man,

Wou'd the great Mover's Counsels contradict and scan.

The lowest Class of Insects, in some Sense, may vie

With the Coelestial Hierarchy:

The vilest Worm may call the Angel, Brother;

Their Pedigree deriv'd does stand

From the same great Artist's Hand:

He that made One of Earth, with Light dress'd up the Other.

Thus these Extreams of the Creation

Meet in a single Point, and join;

And thus admit of some Comparison.

Thus, thus let all

Unpitied fall;

And such be still the Doom, and worse,

Of those, whose impious Threats are driven

Against the Invulnerable Clouds of Heaven;

Who dare pull down the Eternal Vengeance of its Curse.

[Page] But the Great God has Blessings scarce enough in store,

For those who, with an humble Sense,

With a well-temper'd Confidence,

Fear where they love, and love where they adore.

May such an equal Race of Glory run

With yon Meridian Sun,

Who never leaves aspiring, till he has reach't his Noon.

And, Oh! Ye pious Souls, a farther Journey go;

And, like him, ne're Declension know.

MIRACLES, Works Above and Contrary to NATURE. Occasion'd by the Publishing of a Book, Entituled, Miracles no Violation of the Laws of Nature. 1682.

[Page]

—Fiunt non haec sine numine Divum.

Virg.

I.

WHen that bold Hand of old did Fire convey

From out Jove's Arsenal, where still does lie

All his Materials for Mortality.

[Page] Daring Attempt! to animate his well-wrought Man of Clay!

This Vital Fire, which After-times call'd Soul,

Within its Earthly Dungeon pent,

Grew quickly weary of Imprisonment:

The Body scarce cou'd its new Guests controul.

Tho' this Corporeal Seat was beautified

With all things, both for Use and Pride;

Several fair Rooms the gentle Artist made,

In which he wondrous Skill display'd;

The Heart, the Liver, and the Brain,

Which might the Heaven-born Soul contain;

Which with their Beauty might her wand'ring

Thoughts restrain.

Five Port-hole Senses too he made,

By which all Objects were convey'd:

So that what still abroad was done,

Was within as quickly known.

What-e're was tasted, smelt, seen, felt or heard,

As swift as Thought it runs

Thro' winding Paths, and secret Turns;

And to the Soul's remote Apartment straight repair'd.

But yet for all this seeming Pomp and State,

[Page] Which on the fair Inhabitant did wait,

In scanty Bounds her Empire was restrain'd;

Measure the Man,

Six Foot of Body, and a Span,

Her vast Dominions did contain.

II.

No: She wou'd often break her solitary Cage,

And in a curious search engage.

Thro' all the Regions of endless Day,

She took her painful way:

Thro' the wide Courts of all the Starry Sky;

Thro' Nature's darkest Cells she'd fly;

Where Causes and Effects do brooding ly.

Still homewards wou'd her piercing Fancy rove,

And commune with her kindred, Souls above:

Thro' all the World's Mysterious Maze she'd strole;

But still was out a Prisoner on Parole.

Hence 'tis, we find in Man such Thirst, and strong Desire,

Into the hidden Depths of Nature to enquire.

What Rarities soe're the Ocean breeds,

[Page] Whatever Earth within its Womb contains;

On these with careful and unwearied Pains,

His vast unbounded Appetite he feeds:

Whether the World were made by Fate or Chance?

What makes the Sphaeres keep their well-measur'd Dance?

What makes the fixt Stars look so bright?

Whence 'tis they borrow their large Draughts of Light;

Which, with a bounteous Hand, they throw

On all benighted Beings here below?

What Torments 'tis the Clouds do undergo,

When with their Cracks they scare us Mortals so?

What makes 'em bellow out, and roar?

These, and a thousand more;

All the choice Work of checquer'd Nature's Art,

The Soul pursues through every Nook, and secret Part.

III.

But when through all the windings, turns, and folds,

Through Plants, Beasts, Stars, and all her strongest Holds,

[Page] Nature is trac'd, and now run down:

Her doubling Arts and Tricks must quite disown:

Here 'tis the scanty Soul of Man is at a fault;

Various things arise,

Of which the reason she can ne'r devise:

So must the rest by Nature's God be taught;

For the Eternal Mover has thought fit,

Nature, his Viceroy, bounds to set,

Which she can ne'r transgress of skip:

Her Tedder she can never slip.

(And as he said once to the raging Sea.)

This be thy Goal, let this thy utmost journey be:

These various Arts play o're, these shapes put on.

Be it thy Task alone

Thunder to form, and Winter's howling Storm;

Which all the nether world alarms.

With Subterranean Fires the Sea distil;

Then into Fountains let it trill.

Pick though the fleecy Snow, and scatter Rain;

And 'twixt all ranks of things the well-knit League maintain.

Of thy great sway this is utmost Verge;

Further thy Limits see thou ne're enlarge:

[Page] For God has thrown a duskey Vail o're all

The things we Miracles call:

That Ark of Mysteries he cover'd keeps:

The saucy Mortal dyes, who into't peeps.

IV.

For tell me, Nature's Sage, who looks so wondrous Wise,

Whence sprung that glorious Star,

Which did our SAVIOƲR's way prepare:

That with such streaming Rays was lighted in the Skies?

This serv'd to fill with Learned cares

The Eastern Sages, and Astronomers;

They were confounded at the new born Light;

The Stars themselves came wondring to the sight,

Now in the Sea they saw a Star unknown, so bright.

Say, What was that that fetter'd up the Flood,

When the great Hebrew Guide those secret journeys trod?

What was the cause, I fain would know,

(You that to Nature's Idol so do bow)

What made the Shade run back

Upon the Dial's Plate, and its old rode forsake?

[Page] Time, to all other Men, is Bald behind;

That Pious Soul alone sure hold cou'd find.

The glorious Charioteer of Day,

At the bold Hebrew Chief's Command,

On Gibea's Mount once made a stand;

Here he quite turn'd his Coach, and drove another way.

Pale Nature startled at the bold design,

And her approaching Fate cou'd easily divine.

The Western Sea wrap'd in confusion stood,

No more cou'd hope to see him plunge into its flood.

The frighted Persian trembled for his non-plust God.

The second causes of things here below,

And Hand-maid Nature's Arts, is all that Man can know;

But he that further strives to penetrate

Into the winding Chambers of Eternal Fate,

And wou'd peruse that Brazen Book,

In which dark Register no Mortal e're shall look;

Th' Almighty pitying this his search so vain,

Or angry at the pride of frail short-sighted Man,

With various wiles his prying thoughts does fool,

And through a maze of terrors leads his wandring Soul.

A DIALOGUE Between the Two RIVERS, CHAM and ISIS, ON THE KING's Dissolving the Oxford PARLIAMENT.

[Page]

Written, May, 1681.

CHAM.

HAIL Sacred Nymph! the best beloved of all

The Goddesses that croud great Neptune's Hall.

[Page] Why, gentle Isis, tell me, does thy Flood,

Impetuous grown, begin to rage so loud?

I see its frowns in surly Billows rise,

And grumbling Waves complain in doleful wise.

No Verdant Green thy Temples now can boast:

Thy Rushes all are scatter'd, torn and lost.

With grief and rage thy glowing Eyes do burn,

And on the Bank lies thy negelcted Ʋrn.

Say what's the cause, quickly declare thy harms.

Does some proud River-God resist thy Charms?

Or did some Sylvan naked thee espie,

Whilst in a flaggy covert thou didst lie.

ISIS.

[...] the Sun leaves our Clime, and hastens down

To [...] the Indian World, and there to crown

His [...]ct Adorers hopes, we see him reel

Into the other Earth; and soon we feel

(Through want) the Blessings which he once did bring.

The Tenants of the Air refuse to sing,

And after him to the other World take wing.

Old Nature's self, does faint and drooping lye;

Half the Creation's just about to die.

[Page] My Caesar gone, I straight did overturn

My Pitcher, and cashier'd the empty Ʋrn:

I bid my Waters drive without their guide;

Which swelling, straight run roughly by my side,

With furious hast the head-strong Waters mov'd,

Lashing the sounding Shores as they did rove.

I tore my Chaplets off, and said aloud,

(My flaming Eyes hid in a watry Cloud)

How soon the Heaven of my joy's o'recast?

How soon my short-liv'd Glory's gone and past?

This world no lasting solid good contains,

But like a gloomy Winters day remains;

Beset with Cloudy Suns, and falling Rains.

How strange a damp my thriving hopes has cross'd?

Is this the only thing that we can boast,

That once Great Charles was ours? Had we no charms,

But he must straight be ravish'd from our Arms

By that proud City? Thus of old great Jove,

With all the Cavalcade of Gods above,

To the Black Aethiop did a visit pay;

Where, like fond Mothers who their Babes o'relay,

The Sun displays too powerful a Ray.

[Page] For twelve days space they regal'd him with Fumes

Of Southern Spices and divenest Gums,

And then with all his Court he left their shore,

And made that Hell which was an Heaven before.

Oh cursed Faction's black ungrateful Mind,

Thus with their very Maker to contend!

His Gracious Reign all their Enjoyments gives;

To his forgiving Hand they owe their forfeit Lives.

Look but on me, and there your duty read,

You Rebel Dathanites, who every day

My Tax of Waters to the Ocean pay,

To the kind source from whence my Stream is fed.

Curse on my Stars, that mock'd my ripening Joys,

They said Be blest. My currents murmuring noise

Stood still, and all my Silver-winged Fry

(As if they'd heard it too) swam gladly by:

When now, as if my Fates were lavish grown,

They snatch my Charles, and with him all is flown.

CHAM.

Hold, foolish Nymph, forbear thy groundless moan,

What though this Pomp and painted Cloud be gone?

[Page] A quiet solitude, and calms of Rest,

With their blest Train do now enrich thy Breast.

Content in Camps or Courts was never found,

Where all with noise and tumult does resound.

In humble Grots and Cells she loves to lye;

From thronged Palaces the bashful Nymph does flye.

I saw those shoals of Boats thy floud bestride,

Whilst Men, as thick, stood wondering by the side.

They on thy Captive Neck did proudly lye,

I saw and griev'd thy Glorious Misery.

None of those things my case does vex and rack:

No Royal Vessel plows my Aged Back.

Free from these stately ills, I gently glide,

Close by the Melancholy Student's side:

Who oft me Tagus, oft Pactolus names,

And to my Streams courts the Aonian Dames.

He sees my purer Flood, and well does know,

Set by my Banks his Laurels needs must grow.

Our Schools and Colleges, the Muses Seat,

No Courtier ranges with his Gouty Feet;

His Oaths and noise the Fop ne're belches here,

Nor in our empty Desks does strut and stare;

[Page] Driving those little Insects from our Hive,

We in the Muses shade securely thrive.

ISIS.

I call the Gods to witness all, how proud

And glad I was to bear the Pompous load

Of Ships and Boats, that did my Waters grace:

I kiss'd the Keel that furrow'd on my face.

I scarce with half the joy

The Mandates of dread Neptune did obey,

When all of us were summon'd to convey

The Mother of the Gods to th'Latin shore.

(For I was there, and no small part I bore

In that great Entry, with those famous three,

Cymothoe, Arethuse, Callirrhoe.)

But now like some forsaken Nymph I lye,

Whom all her Lovers scornfully do flye.

No Ship lyes rocking on my swelling Flood

With Canvass wings expanded o're my head:

All's clear and unfrequented, as the Sea,

After a sweeping Storm is wont to be.

No Waves of crouding people pass our Street,

But an eternal silence every where you meet.

[Page] The Nine their great Apollo's loss bemoan;

For him the Hills, for him the Woods do groan.

The stately Buskin now no more the Muse will wear:

In humble Elogy her pains she does declare.

Like Men in Greenland, now our Sun's once set,

A tedious live long Night usurps its seat:

Upon its flaggy Wings old Winter comes,

And every where through this black Empire roams:

Binds up the Brooks, and does the Floods benum.

The pretty purling Streams for ever must be dumb.

Our Orator and Grave Philosopher,

No sence now in their Books can find, they swear;

The Poets Lyre touch'd with one single Ray

Of our Great Charles, before would sweetly play;

Divinely Sing of Hero's and of Kings;

The useless thing now on the Willows hangs.

Thus God-like Kings with Heaven seem to share

In that its great Prerogative; when e're

In wrath they speak, upon their Lips destruction hangs,

And winged ruine waits their dread commands.

Well: I cou'd ne're Great Charles's loss sustain,

But that I in my Flood each Night behold his Wain.

A POEM, Writen on the occasion of the THANKSGIVING-DAY FOR THE DISCOVERY OF THE Phanatical Plot, September 9. 1683.

[Page]

Hic genus antiquum terrae, Titania pubes,

Fulmine dejecti, fundo volvuntur in imo.

Virg.

I.

OUR State-Convulsions had of late so chang'd

The Muse's Empire; through her Countries rang'd;

[Page] Had drown'd her sweet and tuneful voice

In Pamphleteering Scriblers croaking noise.

I in a rage threw by my Quill, and vow'd

A sullen silence with th' unthinking crowd;

Ne're more in Sacred Verse to traffick or delight,

When lo! the fair Britannia appear'd in sight.

II.

No weeping showers had stain'd her Heavenly Face,

Nor her torn Hair impair'd her Native Grace:

No Tempest had o'recast her sight;

Her eyes were rather drunk with light.

Nor was She mantled in Grief's Sable dress,

As when she mourn'd o're the Great Martyr's Hearse;

But Majesty with charming sweets allay'd,

Was in her looks, which did at once perswade

And force; scarce so divine the Queen of Love,

When to the Phrygian Boy in Ida's Grove,

Naked she stood: My sence with wondrous A [...]

Run o're the whole, yet seem'd to dwell on every part.

[Page] A thin light Vest her beauties strove to hide

In vain: through th' silken Cloud, with glorious pride,

Her brightness broke; she stood and smil'd a while,

Then in these pleasing accents did revile.

III.

And does my Loyal Slave supinely lye?

So some poor Sinner sleeps away a Jubilee.

Does he no joy nor sence betray,

While vaulting Flames around him play?

While the whole circuit of our Isle is crown'd

With flames as great, as in the Skies are shown

When the Sun, blood red, goes down;

And with huge tracks of light the Horizon fringes round.

But now

I saw two Comets tilting in the Air,

Their grifly Mains woven with flaming Hair:

A thousand ways with restless pains they went;

Th' embowell'd Fire, in their close Entrails pent,

Made 'em to rage: sometimes they run and miss'd,

Then turning stop'd, and at each other hiss'd.

[Page] At last they shot through th' Air, and did retire,

Leaving behind 'em a long path of glowing Fire.

The gazing crowd pleas'd at these harmless Wars,

Lodg'd with their louder cryes the falling Stars.

So to th' Hesperian Shore each Night the Natives crowd,

To hear Sol's hissing Wheels plunge in the Western Flood.

So sets the Sun, and so fell they.

IV.

Our flaming Isle does Scaldis Banks amuse,

Who asks from every mingling Wave what news.

Some say, a burning Mount they fear;

And others straight set down the Year.

The trembling Dutchman never wonder'd more

Since Drake his Fire-ship through the Channel bore.

The scattering light gilds all the watry way:

The Fishes think they in the Sun-shine play.

Yet unconcern'd, like Snow on Aetna's top,

Amidst these flames can'st thou so thoughtless sleep?

Assume thy Lyre; to Albion's fires, this day,

A blameless, pious Nero, thou mayst play.

[Page] With that she took her Wand, that all commanding thing,

And gently touch'd my Lips, and thus she bid me sing.

V.

It was that Halcyon Age

When Loyalty and Fortune did engage

In a blest Conspiracy,

To make our Land forget her former misery.

The Martyr'd Sire was dead,

And Charles the Second Reigned in his stead.

Great Charles! whose Noble Veins

As Princely Blood contains:

In whom as many Royal Houses met,

As in the Heavens e're Astronomers cou'd fancy yet.

A Prince, whose Youth in Courts abroad was bred,

And there with Arts and Manners fashioned.

(Like his Incarnate Lord)

His own dear Land did not afford

A place to lay his Exil'd weary Head;

And there he this Oraculous Truth was taught,

Friends best when try'd, Experience best when bought.

[Page]

VI.

At his Illustrious Return,

Our Widow'd Land left off to mourn:

And as the cheerful Morning's Light,

After a tedious stormy Night,

Looks brisk and gay, and with fresh Joy does ru [...]

To meet and welcome back the Rising Sun.

Peace, Plenty, and the Arts, with all their Beauteous Train,

Did peep abroad, and everywhere abound;

Which now entomb'd had lain

A tedious Night of twenty Winters under ground

Fortune to Pity now enclin'd,

Forgot to be unkind,

Left off to vex our Earth,

With civil Discord's monstrous Births.

Mars did no longer stain fair Albion's Face,

But fled to his Beloved Thrace.

No noise was heard of broken Leagues or Wars▪

And Love usurp't upon our Home-bred Jarrs.

Neptune's self was now content,

Since, Charles left thund'ring in his Element;

[Page] Since he enjoy'd the Sovereignty

Of the Asserted Sea.

The British Oak rid Admiral

Among the floating Forest; every Sail

Paid Homage to this God o'th' Watry Main;

And Foreign Fleets, like Pleasure-Boats, made up his Train.

VII.

Our Mother-Isle, blest with her Young Ones, lay,

And seem'd to put the other Earth away:

So lay Peru, with all the Western World,

Before the greedy Spaniard dream't of Gold,

In rich Potozi's Mines.

Rome and Geneva off we flung;

And all that Romish was, except the Tongue.

When all the World beside blind Monkish Error led,

And Pure Religion, frighted, from it fled;

Our Land leap't up, and, like another Dele,

The wand'ring Goddess took, and us'd her well.

Their subtle Pedlars of Divinity

Had all pack't up their Wares; no Bigot Knee

Bow'd yearly at St. Peter's sacred Gate;

Nor at Loretta's thronged Shrine did wait.

[Page] Their Agnus Dei's no rich Fleeces gave;

They ne're of late cou'd in our English Pastures thrive.

VIII.

Thus against all the open, fore-seen Bolts of Fate,

Firmly we had secur'd our State;

'Gainst France and Holland's Pride, and restless Tiber's Hate.

But as the Fruit, which long has stood,

Maugre the nipping Frosts, and Winter Blasts,

By some home-bred Worm, at last,

Is canker'd, and is withered;

Pale Faction saw, and curs'd our blest Estate;

They saw themselves dethron'd, their Power abate.

Thus from Ambition's Root sprung all their Discontent;

They now repent

Of that Blest Prince, whom Heaven, and their own Choice, had sent.

Discarded Lords, Priests, Atheists, all were met,

And in private Juncto sate:

The dexterous Achitophel,

(That word alone contains an Hell)

[Page] Among the Boldest did appear,

And briskly took the Chair:

The bloody Senate sate, the Crippled Thing

Rais'd himself, and thus began.

IX.

Contemn'd, scorn'd, trampled on, and nothing made!

Thus by a weak and Puny King out-brav'd!

From Honor's Pitch, to vilest Drudgery thrown,

By a poor Thing, a Creature of our Own!

Too far oblig'd, our Worth he can't repay;

And so like dangerous Tools we're thrown away:

Fore long, perhaps, must share a Turkish Fate,

And Life and Honours lose

By Axe, or Hempen Noose,

Lest we reveal the Secrets of the State.

What Mortal Men, that Souls, like ours, do own,

Cou'd see the Care of Government and Laws,

The Honours both of Sword and Gown,

On those vile Wretches heap't and thrown,

Who are Deserters of our Holy Cause?

Yet so it is; Upon his Bed and Throne

[Page] These Villains wait, and hang, these damn'd State-Burrs,

And entertain the Monarch's leisure Hours;

To such an height the Turn-coat Slaves are grown.

Unlike to me, I thank my Stars, who ne're

Wou'd court that Childish Toy, a Monarch's Ear;

Unlike to me, who this great Tenent boast,

I always hated what was uppermost.

X.

Can we so tamely all our Right forgo?

Or is the Lechery of Ambition,

And all the luscious Sweets of Power to us unknown?

With full Command we reign'd here once,w [...] know;

Can we so soon forget our Prosperous Fate,

When we, with Pious Cheats, Ʋnking'd the State

Cullied the Monarch of his Sting and Pow'r,

And sent the uselss Drone to beg from Door t [...] Door?

But now we're come to murmuring Israel's Pitch▪

Because our Hands once got Rebellion's Itch,

[Page] Like out-law'd Felons we must stand,

And ne're enjoy Preferment's Promis'd Land.

No, no: 'Tis but another Charles that's lost;

And if He live, our brave Designs are crost.

By the old tedious Road of Justice we

Scorn to procure his Destiny;

The Second Charles must fall a bolder way;

A Gun shall do the Work; nor give him time to Pray.

He spoke, and threw his baleful Eyes around:

Bravely Resolv'd! thro' all the willing Court resounds.

The Hellish Voice down to the Center strook;

Infernal Jove's black Palace shook:

The Furies for this joyful Hour prepare,

And straight threw Hisses round the Air:

They lean'd their hungry Jaws, and stood

Longing to gorge and wanton once again in British Blood.

XI.

But their blind Rage begot so vast a Birth,

At last, they wanted Strength to bring it forth.

Like the fam'd Man, who did of old to Heaven aspire

[Page] In flaming Coach, and 'scap't Mortality,

(That Ditch, which in the middle way did lie);

Our God-like Monarch was preserv'd by Fire;

And Heaven rever'd his Doom; the Gun recoil'd,

And its proud Planter with loud Ruine foil'd.

Thus when Earth's cursed Race with Heaven made War,

And strove to fool the Thunderer;

Daring Typhoeus clasp't the Mountain's Waste,

And furiously he tore it from its Base:

The bleating Sheep upon the Top did feed,

The harmless Cattle low'd in ev'ry Mead.

At first he stagger'd with the Mountain's Load:

To see Hills upward move, scar'd every God.

But, in a trice, it crush'd him, and his Grave di [...] prove;

He heaving lay, and curs'd the Gods above.

AN EPITAPH On the late E. of S.

[Page]

BEneath this Turf of Grass does lye

The Good Old Cause and Antony:

Tony, a Judgment sent by Heaven's Command;

Tony, the Prince Elect of Fairy-Land;

The Golden Calf of the unthinking Crowd,

Before whom each blue-apron'd Statesman bow'd.

Finding his Pious Cheats won't do

In this our World, he's gone to Hell below;

And there he vends his Politicks in Fashion,

To Corah's Tribe reads his Association;

Flying the Rod of injur'd Majesty,

He cross'd the Seas for Gospel Liberty,

Of hatching Treasons, and embroiling States.

But lo! the Justice of the Eternal Fates:

[Page] The Dutch, whom he to ruine once had doom'd,

Saw him and all his little arts entomb'd;

There's nought to fear but this now, come the worst,

Lest from his busie factious dust,

Pent within his Country's Womb,

An after-Earthquake thence shou'd come.

THE TOWER of LONDON.
On the Commitment of some Great Persons.

[Page]

FOR Stones to speak, is not a flight so high,

Is no great miracle in Poetry;

E're since Amphion once did call

The willing Stones into the Theban Wall,

All our whole Off-spring have been Musical.

I am the great Physician of the State,

And the Commands of my dread Master wait;

Whoe're of this great Family I see

Oppress'd with some usurping Malady,

My Soveraign Doses strait I do prepare,

For them good Diet and a better Air,

Who standing on the giddy heights of State,

Are grown light-headed, and so tempt their fate;

With some mild Med'cines work, some desperate be,

And them I cure by a Phlebotomy.

[Page] I am the Haven of Security

To those that long been driving on the Sea

Of factious Courts; 'twas here our Raleigh found

Experience, Learning, Health, in short, firm ground▪

When all abroad nothing but wrecks appear'd

Of floating Statesmen; he securely steer'd.

Entomb'd in me he full twelve Winters past,

And here his mighty Pen he drew at last;

Here he cou'd safely at Guiana touch,

Nor be afraid of Spaniard or of Dutch.

A greater Man my Walls did ne're enrich,

Since my own Julius here his Camp did pitch.

Here restless Spirits at last center'd be,

Their motion spent and tir'd, they fix in me.

Thus 'tis; these are the Airy Castles all

Build to themselves, who Plot their Country's fall▪

Now harmless as my uncharg'd Cannon are,

So tame these Sons of great Intrigue appear.

Religio vi & armis non est propaganda.

[Page]

I.

NO, no, I'm sure it cannot be,

What e're the bloody Jesuit crys,

That such a gentle Deity

Should take delight in humane Sacrifice;

Let Scythian Dian's Priests such notions teach,

Such savage Doctrine the wild Brachman preach;

Whose craving God must every day be fed,

With humane steam and gore must every day be pampered;

Whose Altars with these poor recruits they ply,

To lengthen out his Immortality.

II.

Religion takes a different course,

She wants no Arms or outward force,

With secret Charms she does unlock

The inmost Rooms and Chambers of the Soul,

With Swords and Racks in vain she trys to shock,

Or reasons nobler power controul,

[Page] By parlee and capitulation

The Mind's Imperial Fort is won;

Like lightning she unto the heart can pierce,

The outward case yet ne're the worse.

III.

Religion is a lambent Flame,

Gentle and calm its influence;

Within her Family ne're Zealot came;

With him she never could dispence,

Whose blind Enthusiasms hot desire,

Would make a man believe,

That, Persian like,

All his Religion he had plac'd in Fire;

The effects of ignorant and misty zeal

(Drawn into errors Bogs and Fens we feel)

Where it is wont our reason to benight,

So shews it carrys heat without a spark of light.

IV.

When Heathen Rome with Heathen Britain warr'd,

Honour and not Religion was the stake;

This was the Game their Eagle did regard,

For this its humble stoops did make;

[Page] The painted Britain then might fall

Before his Fathers Gods, and on 'em call:

Our Sacred Things they let alone,

Nor forc'd us change our Gods of wood for theirs of stone.

This Rome's Arch-flamen never did desire,

This cruel task ne're at our hands require,

That as our Coin a Caesar's Head did bear,

So our Religion too the Roman stamp should wear.

V.

If the Sword can Converts make,

And then the Faggot and the Stake,

There's no more powerful argument;

I now shall think there's something in't,

When next I see th' Apostles pictur'd stand,

Some Swords, some Saws, some Axes in their hand.

A SHORT SATYR AGAINST KEEPING▪

[Page]

I.

TELL me not what the rage of Poets is,

Who of their promis'd Pence and Glories miss;

When venturing out their stock of Rhime and Wit

To Fame's wild Coast, they'r bauk'd the third Days hit:

Or what the curst ambitious Statesman feels,

Who thunder-strucken downwards headlong reels;

Or what the Pleader feels that's turned or' th' Bar,

Or the black Hell that cashier'd Favorites bear.

This is too poor, with greater I'd ingage,

And with steel Whips of furies lash the Age:

Come then, lead on, do thou inspire my Pen,

Juno! poor injur'd Queen of Gods and Men;

[Page] For Jove cou'd not restrain his lustful Soul;

He (Poets say) was the first Keeping Fool;

He first of all the Stallion Gods above,

Rambling from home in Masquerade, made Love;

At Athens, Sparta, Dele he us'd to kiss,

At every stage he past, he kept a Miss;

Wives, Virgins, every Female he assay'd,

And the whole World one great Seraglio made.

Great Princess! with such keen Revenge inspire,

Fill all my veins with such a restless fire,

As when from fair Alemena's Breast you tore,

The Bastard which to Jupiter she bore;

As when at last you made the spurious Fop

Pay for his Fathers sport on Aeta's top.

With this, and more, arm thou my stabbing Quill;

Envenom'd thus, the Arrow needs must kill.

II.

How strange a Slave? how fond and dull a Fool

Is he that deals and parcels out his Soul

Twixt Wife and Miss? so shuns a chaste embrace

To court the gaudy Pageant of a Face;

Say not 'tis Love, 'tis Lust divides the Man

'Twixt what he wou'd, what lawfully he can;

[Page] Pure Love does in one constant current swim,

Lust cuts a Chanel, and lets out the stream;

In Lust and Love we see the difference,

Betwixt a Tyrant and a Lawful Prince;

The Sympathy of Love cements the Soul,

Wanting this stay from Plagues to Plagues we rowl.

III.

But in this freakish Age, of all the worst,

(Since our whole race was for a Woman curst)

An honourable Love we flout and spurn,

This Fire can't in our colder Regions burn;

Led by a wandring and fantastick flame,

We act o're Lusts, which we want words to name.

Marriage! I that's the word; 'tis never spoke

But we strait fall to crossing, or invoke

Some Angel, or the Deity to defend

From that infernal out-of-fashion Friend.

If in the Gordian Matrimonial Knot,

Against his will, perhaps, the Man be got,

Hopes of great Friends, or Pence have drawn him in,

Within three days to cool he doth begin;

Love's raging Calenture is pass'd and o're,

And his pulse beats as even as before;

[Page] His Love ebbs out, and Lust flows in as fast;

Whater'e is violent can seldom last:

He breaks the Damm in which he was inclos'd,

And to the common rout of Waters flows;

He straight begins to damn the pall'd delight,

New Kickshaws now must raise his appetite;

Any Salacious Bitch that is at hand,

That Oaths, or Prayers, or Money can command;

An old cast Mistress now will serve the turn,

To quench those flames in which he frys and burn.

The Jilts their little arts, like sawces, use,

The tir'd and nauseate taste to disabuse;

And garnish'd Poyson does more grateful come,

Than a course cleanly dish prepar'd at home.

These are the modish Sparks, who still complain

That step-dame Nature does all men restrain;

That none injoy a bliss so defaecate and good,

As those that savage run about the wood.

IV.

Our Grandame at one clap the World did shamm,

And these her Daughters do by piece-meal damm.

Below the Navel no Religion,

This for a standing truth they know and own;

[Page] Thus arm'd, from every age they gather spoils,

From twelve to fifty fall into their toils;

The old decrepit Lecher, one wou'd think,

Shou'd now at last leave off to Whore and Drink,

Beneath the weight of Claps and Years shou'd sink;

But Lust, like generous Wine, does stronger grow,

And still with age its sprightly force renew;

The Snow upon his candid Locks appears,

Within, he flames, as great as Aetna bears;

The harass'd Bawd has her quietus pass,

And the old jaded Horse is turn'd to grass;

Tir'd, not yet conquer'd, he must work and slave

To feed his Lust, as hungry as the Grave;

His worn out joys he fain would still repeat,

A brace of Whores his aged side must heat,

As in a Feaver we lay Pigeons to the Feet.

These rampant Minxes have enslav'd the Town,

From Westminster to Cornhil all's their own.

These not ty'd up to honours nicer rules,

Please far beyond those squeamish Virtuous Fools,

Who are so corded to a Marriage Bed,

Nor have the trick to sell a Maiden-head,

[Page] Twenty times o're: in these light Vessels all

The Sparks of Court, and Town are wont to sail,

Whilst Virtuous Wives, like sluggish Ships of Trade,

Move slow, for Profit, not for Pleasure made.

The Paradise of every forward Fop,

From Bully down to Fore-man of the Shop.

The Merchant's Man upon his Madam waits,

Not two Years serv'd, he needs must pass these Straits.

These Coolers (rot 'em) are expos'd and shown

When my young Master's Worship comes to Town.

The Country Squire does strait to nibling run,

Once enter'd, soon grows lewd, and is undone.

V.

What e're the great Reformers of the Age,

Dryden and Lee can say, those Preachers of the Stage,

Or mighty Oldham's keen Satyrick rage;

Spight of all these, the grand Debauch does live,

As some Men do for railing, better thrive.

[Page] Dryden, good Man, thought Keepers to reclaim,

Writ a kind Satyr, call'd it Limberham.

This all the herd of Lechers strait alarms,

From Charing-Cross to Bow was up in Arms;

They damn'd the Play all at one fatal blow,

And broke the Glass that did their Picture show.

THE PENITENT.

[Page]

BOötes just had lodg'd his drowsie Carr,

And all the scatter'd seeds of light from far

Began to move, and crowd their ranks to fill,

When first they spy'd Sol on the Eastern Hill,

Who driving briskly o're the Azure way,

Whipp'd on the sluggish morn; in plain, 'twas Day:

I wak'd, and wonder'd how I had slept in pain,

My labouring Breast did furious Wars maintain;

The out-works of my heart beleaguer'd stood

With sighs and throbbing pains, my circling Blood

Beat quick, and trembled at the unequal strife

Betwixt the proud Disease and strugling life▪

Whilst the dull Cent'nels of my Senses slept

(Surcharg'd with Wine, and from their duty kept)

Through the unguarded Ports the Foe did start

To the Pavilion Royal of my Heart;

[Page] I thought at first to let the sluces out,

And so to drown the Country round about;

In vain alas! so strange a Pleurisie

Was never cured by Phlebotomy:

At last I found it to be Love, and that

My froward Heart cry'd, nor yet did know for what;

Love's Magick vanish'd thus from 'fore my Face,

I saw a thousand Cupids in the place;

Each bore a little shield, on which appear'd

Whole show'rs of Tears, and Hearts with Blood▪ besmear'd;

This Army led by Venus and her Boy

(She had forgot the Wound she felt at Troy)

I search'd my Heart, it was all o're one Wound,

Quivers of bearded Shafts I sticking found;

Smiling, I shall not now I see, said I,

Love's Martyr, but a Malefactor dye;

I laugh'd at Cupid as the Poets Creature,

And swore his Mother had not one good Feature,

Blasphem'd his Power, his God-ship I defy'd,

Bid the Boy do his worst; and thus I cry'd;

I call'd his Votaries all whining Fools,

Who stood to that blind Archer's Laws and Rules▪

[Page] The Slave some pleasure at the Oar may find,

His Body chain'd, yet free as Air his Mind:

But who Love's Gally towes, through Seas of Tears

And Hurricanes of Sighs his Passage steers;

I play'd the Traytor with this King of hearts,

Expos'd his ways, and all his little Arts,

I vow'd I'd toss the Phaeton from his Chair,

Who wrapt in Flames sets all the World on Fire.

I yield, Ye mighty Powers of Love, I yield,

No longer able to maintain the Field,

My stubborn Soul gives way, the day's your own,

My frozen Heart dissolves before your Sun;

A dreadful Victim to Love's God I'm made,

With Lightning scorch'd, with which before I plaid;

Forbear your eager Darts, I beg, lest so

My heart you scarce from your own Quiver know.

A sad ungracious Rebel I have been,

And long bore Arms against Love's Sovereign Queen.

Now, like some Sinner, my past life I mourn,

And like him straight grow wise, repent and turn,

[Page] My heart within its Urn shall hourly strive

To keep Love's gentle Fire still alive.

Clorinda's Name shall be the charming Air,

She in my Songs the only part shall bear,

On her fair Body I'll my Altar raise,

And there each Morn and Evening sacrifice.

THE WOOING.

[Page]

I

MAdam, for God's sake what d' ye mean to do?

This (like the Persian) is to buy, not woo;

I'm frozen to a Statue, while in vain

Under your Window I declare my pain,

And yet my inward flame the brisker burns,

The all surrounding cold to fuel turns;

So that an Ant'peristasis I see

In Love as well as in Philosophy.

II.

Heaven's twinkling Host are mask'd in Clouds,

Darkness and Night each lovely Object shrouds,

Loud Boreas hears me call you cruel-fair,

And to his Brother Wind the sound does bear;

Yet led by Love's false dancing light I rove,

Through thickest Cold and Night I blindly move,

[Page] Th' officious Winds themselves conspire the same,

And with their Wings serve but to fan my Flame.

III.

Madam, I swear, if you but once will break,

From Bed the rev'ling Winds no more shall speak,

But to their broken Prisons sneak.

Terrour and Night shall march away,

Like Spirits at the approach of Day,

Through th' Casement of my Breast your Eye Beams hurl'd,

Shall make it Day too in my lesser World.

The Fifth Ode of the Second Book of Horace imitated.

[Page]

PRethee, for shame thy passion hide,

The thing's too young to make a Bride,

I can't devise what this wild fancy means,

The Girl's but just now got into her Teens;

Dost think you tender, untry'd Neck can e'r

Endure Love's pond'rous Yoke to wear?

Not ripe for sport, nor yet for action fit,

How shou'd her humour with a Husband hit?

Shou'd you your eager Flames but try,

And all Love's mighty Dose apply,

The o'rcharg'd Girl wou'd in the Combat dy.

With it the puling Maid cou'd ne'r dispence,

The luscious Sweets wou'd overcome her Infant sence.

Keep her at Hackney or at Islington

A Year or two before she comes to Town.

There by the Mother of the Maids she'll be

Soon tutour'd in the hidden Mystery,

There she'll be taught new studied Arts and Charms,

And come a full-blown Bride into your Arms.

[Page] Take her abroad, and walk her in the Fields,

And let her see what teeming Nature yields;

Show her the lovely Cow how 't's milk'd, that can▪

Perhaps her fancy raise, and make her think on Man.

For every thing it's time and tide does know,

When did you see ripe Grapes at Easter, trow?

It is a sight with us exceeding rare,

But they are plenty at the Fair:

Stay till the Vine has had the Summer-Sun,

And Autumn's brought it to perfection;

The bladder'd Grapes shall then in Clusters bend,

And to your taste its racy Liquor send.

She'll soon write Woman; for Time's partial hand▪

Takes from your Glass, and adds unto her Sand.

Now make your court, my life for yours,

She'll briskly answer your amours;

Now draw down all Love's grand Artillery,

And Night and Day your Leaguer ply,

Now Sigh for Sigh she'll give, and Vow for Vow▪

And learn to toy and wanton well as you.

On two Lads unfortunately expell'd the University for a Riot

[Page]

I.

COme, dearest Timon, prethee let's be gone,

And quit this lov'd, ungrateful Town;

If the mad Tempest will not cease

Till we th'angry Gods appease,

'Tis better thou and I shou'd dye

Than the whole Ship's Company;

If nought but humane Sacrifice

Will satisfie these hungry Deities,

With the fam'd Curtius boldly plunge into the Cave,

And Death and all our peevish Fates out-brave;

'Twas He the mighty He alone,

Who did the sins of a whole Host atone:

Death unmask'd to him did come,

He living rode into his Tomb,

The mighty Debt alone He paid,

It took him in its hungry Jaws, and so the Plague was staid.

[Page]

II.

Over the Universal Ball

Undauntedly we'll move,

Where'r the fleeting Goddess Fortune calls,

Until at last she constant prove;

Like Birds of Paradise we'll daily live

(For sure none like these happy Creatures thrive)

With mutual enjoyments blest,

Ever loving,

Ever moving,

Till we find a place of rest.

III.

See where our better Genius goes,

A happy Guide and Partner in our woes,

See how the loving Phantom glides along,

Leaving behind a gloeing track of light,

To be our Convoy through this gloomy Night,

Through want, disgrace, and all th'ignoble throng▪

But lo! the dismal Scene appears;

What's this that strikes my eyes, alarms my ears?

I see drawn Swords and Drums; a Camp no doubt;

Away, I hate this cursed bloudy Rout;

[Page] As Pallas over Arts presideth there,

So here the Goddess wields a Spear,

That even in a Camp, I'm sure,

The Muses Sons might be secure,

But nothing here appears but bloud and wounds,

And I abhor what looks like Scarlet Gowns.

IV.

See where the cheating Citts, and supple Courtiers stand,

Those Locusts of our pleasant Land,

Go forward, pass 'em all, and never stop

Until you reach Parnassus flourishing top,

Cambridge one side o' th' forked Hill commands,

Upon the Other Oxford stands;

Here, here, we'll lay our wearied heads,

By gentle Isis Banks and verdant Meads

We'll sit and tune our tender Reeds.

What surly Cam wou'd ne'r allow,

We to this beauteous Nymph must owe;

Our longing Souls we'll in her Waters drench,

And at her Floud our thirst of Learning quench.

On three Ladies, who going abroad in Masquerade met with some Bullies, drew and fought 'em; in the Fray one of the Ladies was desperately wounded, 1683.

[Page]

I.

ROmantick Dames! who dare disown,

For Sword and Perruque, Petticoat and Gown;

In ancient times thus a bold Son of Fame

Wou'd imitate Jove's Thunder, and his forked Flame,

The God with scornful smile the Wretch surveys,

And posts a Counter-bolt to end his days.

Patroclus thus Achilles's Arms wou'd wear,

Tickled and proud the ponderous Shield to bear,

The Trojan Captains soon espi'ed the Cheat,

So the Fool dy'd only for seeming great.

II.

'Tis much, Old Boy, to thy brave hand we owe,

A Secret rare and choice it did on us bestow,

A Woman's flinty Breast with Streams of Bloud does flow.

[Page] Before we thought 'em all Divinities,

And as we do to other Deities,

Besotted Fools! were Altans wont to raise.

But now the thing is better understood,

We find they're nothing else but Flesh and Bloud.

III.

Wounded! nay then I'saith I find

We're all deceiv'd in Womankind.

The Poets in their usual Tone

Cry Womens hearts are made of Stone;

But we need never now despair,

Though whole Quarries should be there,

To pass these Alps a way is show'd us here,

Without the help of Fire and Vinegar.

IV.

Thou hadst, Old Soul, a lucky hand,

For now we plainly see the New-found-Land

Of Womans heart, which in past Ages lay

Like O Brazile or Terra incognita.

A Womans heart is Love's▪ Acropolis,

Where like some Mountain-King he lies,

Secur'd by Frost and Snow from Enemies;

[Page] Pride, scorn and cold disdain, [...] Menial Servants, waits,

And foolish bug-bear Honour keeps the Gates;

Thy piercing Sword without delay

To Love's proud Bulwark forc'd its way,

And though thou hast not ta'n the Town,

Yet all the Out-works are thine own,

So very near the Walls you came,

That the unguarded places you can name,

That you cou'd now securely see

Where she might best assaulted be,

A blest Discovery no doubt,

For Women after this can never long hold out.

V.

Unhappy Lady, to expose

A Life, which rather than you e'r shou'd lose,

I my self to dye wou'd chuse!

But why shou'd foolish I such pity show

To that curst Sex, who none for man does know?

Man daily falls a Sacrifice,

And wounded by their Witchcraft lies,

[Page] Yet not one sigh or falling tear,

Not one kind Beam does e'r appear

Their dying Worshipper to cheer.

But still with scorn and taunts they do abound,

And so throw Salt into the rankling Wound.

VI.

In Women still this fighting freak does reign

From Troy's fam'd Wars, down to the French Campagn;

For Mother Venus (as the Story goes)

Once ventur'd out against her Grecian Foes:

That she was breech'd and booted, 'tis not said;

But this is sure, She went in Masquerade.

The Grecian and the Trojan Huffs

Were helter skelter faln to Cuffs,

Like Light'ning on the formost Ranks she flew,

But in a Camp 'las what shou'd Women do?

She soon was spied by Bully Diomed;

Who at first touch e'n set her on her head:

He drew and cut her through her Gauntlet-Glove,

And sent her whining to her Father Jove:

Yet still we see her Daughters love the sport,

Though once their Mother paid so dearly for't;

[Page] But somewhat strange it seems to be,

And e'en a Riddle is to me,

That Venus naked all men does o'rcome,

And now well arm'd shou'd meet so sad a Doom.

VII.

My little Female Bully, what design

Had'st thou in this odd Garb and warlike Mein?

Arm'd with dite Steel, why wouldst thou e'r appear?

Thy hands were made to weild another Spear:

In Love's soft Battels you may Glory win;

But here to think to do so is a sin:

Nay, if we will believe some Writers Pen,

One Woman there's too hard for twenty Men.

Now I'm not so much a Sot,

But can with ease find out your Plot;

By sin you lost your Empire and your sway,

And now wou'd fain retrieve the day,

Well then! pray thus let me decide the Fray:

Trust me, 'twill be a far more glorious Prize,

Lay by these Arms, and conquer with your Eyes;

Only let Man be Master in the Streets,

And you shall always beat between the Sheets.

A POEM ON THE Prince's Marriage.

[Page]

Ʋt gaudent Pater Aeneas, & Avunculus Hector.

Virgil.

I.

ALmighty Love! who can thy ways define?

Thou small intrieguing God, thou 'rt all design;

Thy Quiver and thy Darts are farther known

Than the gay wandring Bow which in the Clouds is shown;

Thou keep'st the Gods themselves in awe

By thy Universal Law;

Jove, though amidst his stores of Rain and Hail,

Against thy secret Flames can nought prevail,

Thou breakest through his Guards, and with thy Dart

Doest pierce the groaning Monarch to the heart.

[Page] Neptune, though all around with Waves opprest,

Yet by the Ocean finds his Love encreast,

Like water that on fire's cast.

Nay, thou beyond the Tropicks canst approach,

Where Sol in all his Journey dare not touch;

Let it be Torrid, or the Frigid Zone,

There an Empire thou dost owne,

Which wou'd both temperate be,

Were it not, bold God, for thee.

Denmark, which lies remoter from the Sun,

With as brisk Flames, we find, as Britain burn.

O Love, thou weakest part in Souls the most Divine!

Against the Prince's warlike Brest

First against His ease and rest,

By practis'd Arts and tricks thou didst design;

He own'd thy power, and never stay'd,

But thy Godship soon obey'd;

Led by thy light through rolling Seas He mov'd

To meet his Royal Love.

He fear'd no Rocks that lay between,

So that within her Breast none cou'd be seen;

He fear'd not all the ills from Seas and Winds cou'd come,

So that her breath did not pronounce his fatal Doom.

[Page] Thus Vesta's Flame it self did once maintain

Through the black Deep, till it the Port did gain,

Till it at Rome had reacht the Sacred Fane.

Nor did he long expect his Doom,

He did but come, and see, and overcome;

By Parlee, and Capitulation,

In ten days space her Virgin Fort was won.

An easier Conquest Jove cou'd never boast,

No Mistris ever stood him in less cost;

When cloyster'd Danae he wou'd gain,

To bribe her Keepers he was fain;

With Gold his Godship then was forc'd to buy

New Morsels and Supplies for his unbounded Luxury.

II.

Pardon, blest Pair, these rude unpolish'd Lines,

With which a Loyal Muse wou'd now adorn your Shrines;

Like some young Virgin, who when half undrest,

(Around her loosely casts her Vest)

Into the Croud with eager steps does go,

To gaze and wonder at the pompous show:

Welcome, Great Prince, to our once happy shore,

(For this once one time, dear Land, thy pardon I implore)

[Page] For many years the Pride of all the Floud,

The envy of the Western World it stood;

In this our Isle, as once of Rhodes was said,

The Sun was never thought to hide his head;

Antiquity with all its searching eyes,

Cou'd never fansie or devise,

That once in Aegypt, or in Albion, Clouds cou'd rise.

Let Fortunate or Happy now no longer be its Name,

But style it henceforth Europe's shame:

As in Greek Story, we of Countries reade,

That for their sins have often chang'd their Breed,

Of Men, or Manners; so, no more appears,

But all are here transform'd to Lyons, Dogs and Bears.

III.

But the mistaken World may fansie yet,

That happiness here keeps her peaceful Seat,

Who see our thronged Streets still ebb and flow

With Waves of people crouding to and fro;

Who with such artful Beauty and surprize

See all our Palaces and Temples rise,

Who see our Navies daily plough the Main,

With a full Harvest blest of dear-bought gain;

[Page] Some freighted with the Golden Spoils o'th' West,

Some with the shining Entrails of the East:

So a poor Swain viewing a Tyrant's State,

With secret Envy does applaud his Fate;

But yet ne'r learns to prize his own dear peaceful rest,

Nor sees those inward flames that rack the gaudy Pageant's Brest.

Thus Aetna to the distant Sailers sight

Shews with a top that's verdant, flourishing and bright;

But yet within its burning Womb contains

Nothing but Brimstone, Lime, and scorching sulphurous Veins.

IV.

Yet from these Mists, Great Sir, that darken all the Air,

A sudden joy does dart, and scatter our despair,

When thus by you a way we open'd find

How the Fates may still be kind,

How by your Royal Progeny

We and our Sons may ever happy be.

So have I seen a kind auspicious Star

Shine forth and guide the wandring Traveller,

[Page] While all else stood with thickest Night beset,

This sparkled like a Diamond set in Jet.

So from two warring Clouds black teeming Womb

Oft have I seen the nimble Lightning come,

And trembling run o'r all the Azure way,

And with its light create a short-liv'd Day.

The unruly Many now shall cease to rage,

Or ever more disturb the Age:

No more shall Schism, and bold Anarchy

Among our English Manufactures number'd be;

Pale Faction now shall hang its drooping head,

It shall be through the World proclaim'd,

That Oracles are once more ceast,

That the Old Cause, the mighty Pan is dead.

These curst heart-burnings, and ill-boding Flames

Shall hence be exorcis'd by your illustrious Names, As Culinary Fire

In the Suns Beams does lose its force, and strait expire.

The giddy Rabble and the Beasts of Prey

Shall by your Nuptial Fires be scar'd away;

As men in Africa do Bonfires rear,

To keep 'em from the Lyon and the savage Bear.

[Page] Then let our British Annals talk no more

Of one St George, his Deeds and wondrous Pow'r;

This is the Man; Him the Great ORDER shall

In future times their Saint and Patron call,

And what before was Legend, Fable, Lye,

Shall pass for Current and Authentick History.

To the Memory of the Learned Dr. J. N. who died of a Consumption, 1683.

[Page]

I.

PITY it is all our Poetick rage

Must waste in Libel against Death, each blubber'd Page

Must weep in Verse, each faint and piteous strain

Of Saints departed must complain;

Death has of late with utmost rage and cruelty

Harass'd the Muse's Family,

And made her free-born Subjects wear the Chain

With which Plebeian Souls he aws;

I wonder'd at the spiteful Cause,

And thus 'twixt grief and rage did strait complain

II.

Sure the pale Monarch of Eternal Night

Mistakes his Creet, whilst here with Tyrant's spight

He sports and laughs to see so many Victims fall;

Creet! where stood his hallowed Stall,

[Page] Creet, where the Caitiff still had store,

Glutting himself with humane Gore,

When yearly with the reeking bloud

Of seven young Boys

He gorg'd his Jaws,

Till high-born Theseus stopt the sacred Floud.

III.

I know the secret cause, it must be it,

Why Death does wage immortal War with Wit;

Learning and Wit a Lease of Life can give

And make our Names in after-ages bud and thrive,

These to the Tyrant are no Friends,

But baulk his curst ignoble Ends;

So these Lights must go out, that he again

In Night and darkness uncontroul'd may reign;

Like some bold Villain, who the Archives burns,

And all the blest Remains to Ashes turns,

That there no Proof in future times may be

Of his low Birth, and Dunghil Pedigree.

IV.

Death's cold embrace what Mortal e'er can fly?

Since Phoebus's dearest Son does breathless lye;

[Page] Lov'd by the God upon a double score,

He Physick added to Arts general store;

If a Disease had stroke a wounded Soul,

He wou'd the sawcy Malady controul,

With choicest Simples, and Herbs Sovereign Juice,

(Which seldom did his just Commands refuse)

But if weak Nature in her part did fail,

And the Destroyer o'er his Druggs prevail,

He straight cou'd with his Pen

Fetch him to life again.

Embalm the Memory of the Just,

And make it flourish in the Dust;

Death here with witty malice doth repay

All favours and civilities past,

And let those Devils he once cast

Out of our Bodies, on himself now prey;

That Death, which for a punishment was meant,

Shou'd fly on those that are most innocent!

V.

Nature had cast him in her largest Mould,

This well-built Frame a Mind as large controul'd;

I saw it, happy Saint, and said go on,

Thou surely wilt compleat the wretched Span.

[Page] (Life's longest Stage) thy threescore years and ten.

Fond man! deceiv'd and gull'd by outward shew,

What cou'd his Soul with such a Partner do!

His Mind and Body were ill-pair'd by Fate,

To act things vastly good, Divinely great;

His eager Soul with Learning's thirst was fir'd,

His Body lagg'd, and in the Journey tir'd,

Like generous Wine, his Soul for ease complain'd,

Broke the frail Cask, that its vast Spirits contain'd;

Whatever Vertue Druggs and Herbs can boast,

Unhappy Friend, were on thee lost:

So that the Artist's skill we must adore,

And rather say the Art it self was poor;

But one faint Spark of Life was left, I doubt,

With pious care he blew, and chanc'd to put it out.

VI.

To our Forefather's Death, and kinder Fate

Gave longer Truce, in Life's sweet Bower they sate

Five times as long, when to the hundredth Year

They'd climb'd, the pleasing Task did still appear

Renew'd, and still with haste the rowling Year Came back again.

[Page] Their hopes did with their lengthen'd Ages thrive,

And now by Custom they might plead to live.

Death in his winged Chariot might have flown

To the wide Ocean, or the swarthy Zone,

And there have trifled many a Year, and fed

His pamper'd Steeds with steam of Indian bloud,

Then have return'd.

While we alas! who 'have more to do than they,

A World of Art, as well as Nature, to survey,

Just know what 'tis to live, then straight are snatcht away.

VII.

His winged Shaft with wondrous Art

A thousand ways the Tyrant does impart;

Burns in a Feaver, in a Dropsie drowns,

And Man, the lesser World, with slimy Rheume confounds,

Plucking up all the Sluces in its Rounds.

With more than Syren's Art he flatters still

In a Consumption, when he means to kill;

Here like the sleep of Infants, Death

Lays by his Leaden hand, and gently takes our breath,

[Page] With all the Graces the stern Monarch wears,

Allays our fears, and sweetly stills our cares;

Thus He to thee appear'd, dear Saint, the kindest Dart

In all Death's Quiver struck thee to the heart.

So the fam'd Seneca expir'd,

Feeling his trickling Blood retir'd;

His heart unman'd, defenceless quite,

In a soft Dream his Soul took flight,

And hasted to the Shades of Night.

Death long had laid her Siege to thee,

That, like Ostend, thou needs must be

Nothing but Ruines at Delivery.

On the Famous PAINTER Mr. J. E. Pindarick Odes.

[Page]

I.

THE blustring Hero struts in slow-pac'd lines▪

In humble Elegy the Lover whines,

In keen Iambicks others scold and rail,

The Lyrick Verse has many a pretty Tale,

These old starch'd ways and I can ne'er agree,

For Poets well as Painters too

(If the observing World says true)

Are still for bold Pindarick Liberty.

Dull measure will my fancy sink, not raise,

When I design intemperately to praise;

I sing a wondrous man and wondrous things,

What need of gouty Feet; my Muse has got her wings.

II.

But stay, my Muse, wilt thou no God invoke,

Is no kind Deity bespoke,

[Page] To guide thee through the vast mysterious maze

Of his unbounded praise?

Great Phoebus! daign for once to lend an ear

To an humble Poet's Prayer;

With open Arms so may thy Thetis run

To meet thy Teem and setting Sun;

So may thy glorious Head for ever be

From sooty Earthly Vapours free,

With undisturbed Rays may shine,

Till the last Flames shall the whole World refine,

When thou must too expire,

As in thy Beams now Culinary Fire.

III.

But why shou'd I with so much passion ask

That which thou count'st thy daily Task?

Poets and Painters too

To thee their fair designments owe;

In vain the feeble Poets write

Unless the God of Wit indite;

In vain they paint, and show their Art,

Unless thou play thy Part;

Shoud'st thou but once deny their Pieces light,

Their best-wrought Draughts must lye in endless Night.

[Page] For at the Call of thy approaching Sun,

The hidden Colours all do run,

The green, the blue, the yellow, and the red,

And all the Regiment make Head,

When in a Morn thou risest first from sleep,

Each colour to its well-known feature creepe.

What is that thing, I fain wou'd know,

With which thou'rt wont to gild the watry Bow,

What are those all-enlivening Beams

With which thou paint'st the murmuring Streams,

With which thou trickest up the Air and Skies,

Which on the Plants in gaudy colours lies!

With that same Pencil let me stand,

And all the Lines and Strokes command

With measure and due Art to march along

Into my well-proportion'd Song.

That while I sing this matchless Morn,

(Who through various Climes has run,

And with the greatest skill has gather'd thence

Paintings Elixir and true Quintessence)

Here a soft gentle Stroke may rise,

And there a bolder may surprize.

[Page] Thus, Dearest Friend, you see

How we are outdone by thee

In our own Calling, Poetry,

Even Words and Metaphors you must impart

They all are borrow'd from the Storehouse of thy Art.

IV.

Zeuxes, Apelles, and those mighty Names,

That swell so big the mouth of Fame,

For many Ages did retain

The Universal Painting Reign.

Courted and lov'd by all, with wonder view'd,

By dull Antiquities admiring Crowd;

But their poor Images were wont to wear

Their Pointers, this a Dog and that Bear;

They ne'er cou'd higher than a Landskip rise,

Which at first sight might pleasingly surprize.

The foolish Birds, I think we read, were caught,

And to their painted Berries brought;

Alas! my Friend, hadst thou but liv'd,

The Painters Mighty Self had been deceiv'd:

But these to Titian and Angelo

Their Sovereign Empire did forego,

[Page] And Painting still was in its stripling Age,

Till Lely and Vandike did mount the Stage;

And when these Prophets went at Death's great Call,

They let their Mantle on thee fall,

And with the same they did impart

A double Portion of their Spirit and Art.

V.

But stay, here Friendship's Sacred Name

In my bold Song an equal share does claim.

What! Can my overweaning Muse

The Mighty Ryley's Praise refuse?

Ryley, the second Glory of our Age,

The Darling of the Court, the Town and Stage;

Ryley by Heaven sent

By way of an experiment,

To show the World how feeble Natures part

May be outdone by her great Scholar, Art.

Upon the weight of these two Columns lye

Paintings Universal Monarchy.

The Gyants War describ'd upon a Shield,

Was all Antiquity cou'd yield;

[Page] Or Gods that on their painted Poops did pass,

Viewing themselves within the liquid Glass:

A timorous Age! that crept along the Sand,

But never durst lose sight of Land.

But thou, my Friend, didst boldly out to Sea,

And thy own Pilot too wilt be;

And scorn'st to sneak to servile Arts and Rules,

Made to fetter Dastard Souls.

VI.

With such a glowing Warmth, as I pass by,

Thy Pictures strike my cheated Eye;

They seem to move, and nod, and speak▪

And into violent passions break;

That for the time to come

Painting no more shall be an Art that's dumb.

Whatever skill or cost

The famous Raphael's Pieces boast;

Now to oblivion and contempt they're damn'd,

And into Corners and dark Entries cram'd;

But thy Great Fame (as some good Pictures do,

Which best appear when far remov'd from view)

With After-times shall still maintain its light,

And at an Ages distance shine more bright.

[Page]

VII.

Methinks, I in thy wondrous Art adore

Something that looks like a Creating Pow'r;

For when this World's great Draught, and well▪ wrought Piece

Of Air, and Earth, and Seas,

Was fashion'd by the Thunderer's hand,

All things at first did mixt and huddled stand,

All things together lay in Nature's tiring Room,

The Water and the Fire both struggled in on [...] Womb,

Gold things with hot, and moist with dry

Did undistinguish'd ly;

When by a touch of their Great Makers Art,

The jarring Seeds of things did freely part,

They humbly did retire without complaint,

And out there leapt this World's most beauteo [...] Piece of Paint.

So o'er the Chaos of a gloomy Ground

Oft have I seen thy nimble Pencil move;

And here a Hill the sight wou'd bound,

And here wou'd peep a Floud, and there a Grove

[Page] And straight a glorious Heaven wou'd arise,

Spangled and stuck with starry Eyes;

And here a beauteous Nymph her head wou'd reer▪

With Eyes so killing, Mien so wondrous rare,

That though some foolish Men may call

This lovely Creature Shadow all;

Yet here I vow with fam'd Pygmalion.

If I must go a wooing,

For Shadows of thy doing,

I'd some of Nature's Substances disown.

VIII.

Philosophy this Notion clears,

That the pale Moon two Faces wears,

With one she looks at us, they say,

Which radiant is and bright;

The other's always turn'd away,

And hid in thickest Night:

But if the Picture of thy well-fraught Mind

I regularly draw, my Friend,

There must no Shade be there at all,

Nothing that we may darkness call;

Thou, like the Sun, art a full Globe of Light,

Shining in every part, throughout the whole most bright,

[Page] Adorn'd with every Artful Grace that can

Make up an Illustrious Man.

Painting the Jewel is, I own,

Which in thy Ring of Arts is set and shown;

But though in this thou dost excel,

Yet other things beside thy Praises tell,

A Sword, as well as Pencil, thou canst wield,

And dare to tread, as well as paint a Field.

His Hand, which with such gentle Strokes you saw

But now that beauteous Woman shape and draw,

Can, rougher grown, with as unerring Art

Its Passage force to a bold Rival's heart;

His Courage equal to his Fancy's shown,

Both with as vigorous heat do burn,

If once provoke't, his Pencils Rod thrown down,

Into a Serpent he can turn.

IX.

And since all Strokes and Lines we find

Humbly to wait at thy Command,

As readily obey thy hand

As that the motions of thy Mind,

Prethee go on

My best beloved Song,

[Page] And tell thy humble Masters just desire,

The God of Wit will still thy Strains inspire;

Ah gentle Artist, when thou tak'st in hand

The cruel Mistress of my heart,

Which like my Soul within me stands,

Is all in all, and all in every Part,

Dress her in charms of choicest white and red,

And show the World what ne'er has been

In all past Ages heard or seen,

That thou canst draw a perfect Maidenhead.

The Face with interfering Circles fill'd,

Like Nature's Alphabet does stand,

In every Letter thou art skill'd,

Though darkly writ by Nature's hand;

By each small Track and winding Line

The temper of the Soul thou canst Divine,

As if Dame Nature thou hadst stood and view'd

Whilst She complexions did divide and brew;

So by my Sylvia's features thou canst guess

My eternal wo or bliss,

By these perhaps thou'lt find

Whether she ever will prove kind;

As your rich Mines have oft been found

By the bare surface of the Ground.

[Page] But, gentle Artist, in her eyes

Let none of that fierce Lightning rise;

All sweet and charming let her be,

That without fear I her lov'd face may see;

Let no frowns on the Copy fall,

Whatever may be seen in the Original.

And then to thy great Name, and greater Art I'll bow,

And She shall by thy hand immortal grow;

Her Image Time nor Fate shall e'er devour;

So small is Death's, so great the Painter's power.

A POEM ON Mr L'Estrange.

[Page]

‘—In magnis voluisse sat est.’

I.

A Task too vast for any living Mortal Wight

Oh cou'd we call back from the shades again

Great Oldham, Cowley, or Immortal Ben,

Those happy Bards might something worthy thee indite;

And though these three to our assistance came,

With all their rich and shining Eloquence,

With all the gaudy Trappings of their sence,

The Dress wou'd prove too poor and scanty for thy Fame;

Their startling Metaphors and Simile's,

Their soaring Flights and bold Hyperbole's

[Page] Wou'd vastly fall beneath their hopes,

If spoke on thee, wou'd never pass for Flourishes or Tropes.

And yet amidst this plenteous store

Of Theme and Subject, miser-like, I'm poor;

Who e'er at too much Sea-room griev'd before?

Long have I trembling stood upon the Sand,

And dreaded to put off from Land,

When straight, I know not how, I'm tost

Into the boundless Main, in Heaps of Waters lost,

Whilst from my weak unaided sight,

The Shore, the Fields and Turrets take their hasty flight.

II.

I come with equal veneration stor'd,

As big with shame, with as much wonder fraught,

As what the World of old their Children taught;

When the Diluvian Patriarch they ador'd;

With such swell'd hopes, with such concern they ran

To see and hear that Great Surviving Man,

Who of two Worlds a Citizen had been.

The Janus-Noah wore a double face,

Present and past together here took place.

[Page] Like that fam'd Sire, You liv'd before the Flood,

And well do know how 'twas our old World stood,

That curst prevailing Deluge, which o'rflow'd

(A heavier Judgment!) with polluted Streams of Blood,

And You were sav'd, like him, the World to bless,

To stock it with a more obedient Race,

To be a Preacher of sound Loyalty and righteousness.

Gyants did then infest the Land,

Clubbs and Committees with their hundred hands;

But some of these are gone unto their Place,

By a dissenting Levite's special Grace

(Maugre their crimes) they sweetly are possest

Among the Saints of EVERLASTING REST.

But if Rebellion can such blest rewards assign,

Cheer up, Beelzebub, the next turn is thine;

We must not say the Learned Father rav'd,

The Devil himself may at long run be sav'd:

If Bloud and Treason lead to happiness,

If these insure Eternal bliss,

In the wise Indian's Prayer,

Oh may I, may I ne'r come there;

[Page] In such a Crew let me be never seen,

But, like the Rotterdammer, rather hang between.

III.

Can He whom Truth and Loyalty their Patron chose, Want a befitting Muse?

Go on, my Song, and give but one Poetick loose;

He that the Python and the Hydra slew,

He that the savage Herds with Musick drew,

Had Paeans fram'd, and Altars rais'd,

Were sung in Verse, ador'd and prais'd;

Yet these were all but misty Types of You.

Much greater Conquests crown thy mighty Pen:

Beasts were their Prize, but thou hast tamed Men,

Men with their Reasons blind, their Senses foully gross,

Less docible than the Rhinoceros,

To kneel for CHARLES that may in time be taught,

To pray or drink for Him the Rabble's hardly brought;

The Rabble, which if one by one you singly place,

For reasonable Beings they may pass;

But if together they associate be,

Call 'em a shapeless Lump of blind Monstrosity.

[Page] Methinks, like fabulous Scylla, thou dost lye,

Beset with barking Currs incessant Cry:

This is thy Task; severer far than theirs,

Condemn'd to fight with Beasts in Amphitheaters;

And harder much thy Fate (a Fate too harsh and sowre,)

(Thou Loyalty's undaunted Confessor)

For Scars as thick thy injur'd Fame does know,

As Scaeva on his Buckler Darts cou'd show;

He shook the Pointed Harvest off his Shield,

And with fresh courage rang'd the Field;

And so do you,

With vigorous heat the Fight renew,

With interest return 'em all on the admiring Foe.

IV.

When You, by Ostracism damn'd,

Were forc'd to quit your Native Land;

It did at once pity and wonder move,

To see the frantick mirth that ev'ry where

Among the Many did appear,

(So short and quick the Turns of popular hate and love.)

At thy Eclipse much louder Shouts were found,

Than e'r are heard on the Arcadian Ground,

[Page] When all the silly Swains

Come with their Brass, to ease the labouring Cynthia's Pains.

The Rout, who live a bare Mechanick life,

Admit of no Dispute, or reasoning strife;

They with their moving Leaders must comply,

Who act, true Brutes, by pure necessity.

For if we wou'd the Mystery behold,

The Wolves were now turn'd Keepers of the Fold;

And thou shou'dst been like Banisht Tully mourn'd,

And shou'dst have, like him too, with Songs return'd.

Great Engineer of State,

Whose well-purg'd Ears, and watchful Eye

Cou'd all our Catilines defeat,

Cou'd all their subterraneous Works and Mines descry.

For in thy Lines, as in a Necromantick Glass,

At three Years distance was distinctly shown

(Though thy Prophetick Gift we n'er wou'd own)

The Figure of their Plot, its features, Limbs and Face.

[Page]

V.

Sidney

College in Camhridge.

, the Muses humble Seat,

(But by L'Estrange's Name made great)

Sidney no longer mourns; but joys to bring Thee forth,

No longer blushes at her

Oliver Cromw.

other guilty Birth:

For in this fair Rebecca's Womb

You struggled both, from hence you both did come;

Supplanter is thy Name, design'd by Fate

The great Usurper to defeat:

For thy blest Pen by this does half atone

For all the mighty Ills his Sword has done;

You Loyal nourishment and Vertue bore

From the same Breast, whence that black Fiend before

Suckt nought but Bloud and unconcocted Gore.

Thus Natures Sages wisely prove and show

From the same Cause different Effects may slow;

The Suns kind Rays can choicest Beings form,

If pure and fine the Subject which they warm;

But if on Mud receiv'd, how can they chuse,

But Frogs and Toads, and such vile Births produce.

[Page] Go on, Brave man, boldly ride out the Storm,

With which this peevish Age Thy Sacred Head wou'd harm;

In after-times the Mighty Good

Shall be better understood,

And if the Muse Futurities can read,

Fame, like thy Body, shall weigh more when dead;

Thy Friends, like Amulets, thy Lines shall bear,

As once the World Great Castriot's Bones did wear;

Like the Bohemian's famous Drum

Thy blest Remains shall Glory win,

As surely scare thy Foes, as surely strike 'em dumb,

Though that was cover'd with his Skin.

ERRATA.

PAge 24. Line 13. read come. p. 25. l. 5. r. oblig'd. p. 27. l. 17. r. live. p. 29. l. 20. for So r. See. p. 33. l. 18. r. thou foolish Quill. p▪ 34. l. 11. r. Those. p. 37. l. 11. r. shine not for. p. 43. l. 7. r. Horse. p. 45. l. 3. r. Hole. ib. l. 14. r. sleep to his. p. 46. l. 18. r. Oh how shall I. p. 47. l. 18. r. hand. p. 48. l. 2. r. frame. p. 88. l. 9. r. Pleader turned o'er the. p. 90. l. 15. for the r. she. l. 16. r. Fiend. p. 92. l. 9. r. Tho'. ib. r. candied. l. 11. r. past. p. 96. l. ult. who stoopt. p. 100. l. 3, 4. r. break From Bed, the. p. 113. l. ult. dele once. p. 126. l. 17. r. Man.

FINIS.

Books Printed and Sold by Luke Meredith, at the King's Head in St. Paul's Church-yard.

[Page]

AN Introduction to the Old English History. Comprehended in three several Tracts. The First, An Answer to Mr. Petyt's Rights of the Commons Asserted; and to a Book Intituled, Jani Anglorum Facies Nova; The Second Edition very much enlarged. The Second, An Answer to a Book Intituled, Argumentum Antinormanicum, much upon the same Subject; Never before Published. The Third, The Exact History of the Succession of the Crown of England; The Second Edition, also very much enlarged. Together with an Appendix, Containing several Records, and a Series of Great Councils and Parliaments Before and After the Conquest, unto the End of the Reign of Henry the Third. And a Glossary expounding many Words, used frequently in our antient Records, Laws and Historians. Published for the Vindication of Truth, and the Assistance of such as desire with satisfaction to read, and truly understand the Antient English Historians, and other Pieces of Antiquity. By Robert Brady, Doctor in Physick.

[Page] Two Treatises. The First, Concerning Reproaching and Censure: The Second, An Answer to Mr. Serjeant's Sure-Footing. To which are annexed Three Sermons Preached upon several Occasions, and very useful for these Times. By the late Learned and Reverend William Falkner, D. D.

A Dialogue between a Pastor and his Parishiner touching the Lord's Supper.

Rhetoricae Libri Duo: Quorum Prior de Tropis& Figuris, Posterior de Voce & Gestu praecipit. In usum Scholarum postremò recogniti, infinitisque paenè mendis expurgati. Autore Carolo Butlero,Madg. Artium Magistro.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

The songs of Moses and Deborah paraphras'd with poems on several occasions : never before publish'd : to which is added, a Pindarick on Mr. L'Estrange.

Cleeve, Charles, b. 1661.

Edition statement

1685

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A33398

ID [STC]

Wing C4625

ID [STC]

ESTC R12342

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

12388565

ID [OCLC]

ocm 12388565

ID [VID]

60915

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A33398)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 60915)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 657:7)

Source

— The songs of Moses and Deborah paraphras'd with poems on several occasions : never before publish'd : to which is added, a Pindarick on Mr. L'Estrange., Cleeve, Charles, b. 1661..

Extent

[16], 142, [2] p.

Printed for Luke Meredith ...,. London :: 1685.. (Attributed to Charles Cleeve. Cf. BM.) (Errata: p. 142.) (Advertisement: p. [1]-[2] at end.) (Dedication to John Churchill (later Duke of Marlborough) signed: C. Cleeve.) (Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.)

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