POEMS AND SONGS.
BY Thomas Flatman.
LONDON, Printed by S. and B. G. for Benjamin Took at the Ship in St. Pauls Church-yard, and Ionathan Edwin at the three Roses in Ludgate Street, 1674.
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER.
BY long Prescription time out of mind, the next Leafe to the Title Page claims an EPISTLE to the READER; I had the Project once in my own thoughts too: But the Market is so ahominably forestall'd already with all manner of excuses for Printing, that I could not possibly contrive one, [Page] that would look any thing New: And besides I never found, amongst all the EPISTLES that I have read, that the best Rethorick in 'em could perswade me to have a better opinion of the Books for Their sakes: I am apt to believe the rest of Mankind much of my humour in this particular, and therefore do here expose these few Results of my many Idle hours, to the mercy of the wide VVorld, quite guiltless of Address or Ceremony. And that Reader, who will not believe I had some tolerable [Page] Reason for This Publication, cannot give me much disturbance, because I'me sure he is not at all acquainted with
T. F.
April 10▪ 1674.
TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN on the publishing of his Poems.
I.
I think, thou art not well advis'd my Friend,
To bring thy spriteley Poems on the stage,
Now, when the Muses Empire's at an end,
And there's none left that feel Poetic rage,
Now Cowley's dead, the glory of the age,
And all the lesser singing birds are starv'd ith' cage.
II
Nor was it well done, to permit my Bush
Ny Holly Bush, to hang before thy Wine
For friends Applauses are not worth a Rush,
And every fool can get a gilded signe.
[Page] In troth, I have no faculty at praise,
My Bush is very full of thorns, tho it seems Bays.
III.
When I would praise, I cannot find a Ryme,
But if I have a just pretence to rail,
They come in numerous throngs at any time,
Their Everlasting fountains never fail,
They come in troops and for employment pray,
If I have any wit, it lyes only that way.
IV.
But yet I'le try, if thou wilt rid thy mind
Of thoughts of Rhyming, and of writing well,
And Bend thy studies to another kind,
I mean in Craft and Riches to excel,
If thou desert thy friends and better wine,
And pay'st no more attendance on the needy Nine.
V.
Go and renounce thy Wit and thy good parts,
Wit and good parts great Enemies to wealth,
And barter Honesty for more thriving Arts,
Prize Gold, before a good name, ease, and health.
Answer the Dog and Bottle, and maintain
There's great Ease in a yoak, and freedome in a chain.
VI.
I'le love thee now when this is done, I'le try
To sing thy praise, and force my honest Muse to ly.
VVALTER POPE.
ON THE EXCELLENT POEMS OF MY Most VVorthy Friend Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN.
YOu happy Issue of a happy wit,
As ever yet in charming numbers writ,
Welcome into the Light, and may we be
Worthy so happy a Posterity:
Wee long have wish't for something excellent;
But ne're till now knew rightly what it meant:
For though wee have been gratifi'd 'tis true,
From Several hands with things both fine and new,
The Wits must pardon me if I profess,
That 'till this time the over-teeming press
Ne're set out Poesy in so true a dress:
Nor is it all, to have a share of wit,
There must be judgment too to manage it;
For Fancy's like a rough, but ready Horse,
Wherein (my Freind) you do a maistry own,
If not particular to you alone;
Yet such at least as to all eyes declares
Your Pegasus the best performes his Ayres.
Your Muse can humor all her subjects so,
That as we read we do both feel and know;
And the most firm impenetrable breast
With the same passion that you writ's possest
Your line are Rules, which who shall well observe
Shall even in their errors praise deserve:
The boyling youth, whose blood is all on fire,
Push't on by Vanity, and hot desire,
May learn such conduct here, men may approve
And not excuse, but even applaud his love.
Ovid who made an ART of what to all,
Is in it selfe but too too natural,
Had he but read your verse, might there have seen
The stile of which his Precepts should have been
And (which it seemes he knew not) learn't from thence.
The Love you write, Virgins and Boyes may read
And never be debaucht but better bred,
For without love Beauty would bear no price,
And dulness than desire's a greater vice,
Your greater subjects with such force are writ
So full of sinewy strength, as well as wit,
That when you are Religious, our Divines
May emulate, but not reprove your lines.
And when you reason, there the learned Crew
May learn to speculate and speake from you.
You no prophane, no obscene language use
To smut yo [...]r paper or defile your Muse,
Your gayest things, as well exprest, as meant
Are equally both Queint, and Innocent.
But your Pindarick Odes indeed are such,
That Pindar's Lyre from his own skillful touch
Ne're yeilded such an Harmony nor yet
Verse keep such time on so unequal feet
[...]o by his own generous confession
And (which in Coppying seldome does befal)
The Ectype's better than th' Original.
But whilst your Fame I labour to send forth,
By the ill doing it I cloud your worth,
In something all mankind unhappy are
And you as mortal too must have your share
'Tis your misfortune to have found a freind,
Who hurts & injures where he would commend:
But let this be your comfort, that your Bayes
Shall flourish green, ma [...]ger an ill couch't Praise.
CHARLES COTTON.
TO MY FRIEND Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN upon the publication of his POEMS.
I.
AS when a Prince his Standard do's erect,
And calls his Subjects to the Feild:
From such as Early take his side,
And readily obedience yeild;
He is instructed where he may suspect;
And where he safely may confide:
So Mighty Friend!
That you may see.
A perfect Evidence of Loyalty;
No business I pretend,
[Page] My self I disengage
From all the Incumbrances of humane life
From nourishing the sinful peoples strife,
And all th'infirmities of age.
II.
Domestique care, the minds incurable disease,
That (till the last Emperiment) expects no ease,
Dependance to the only thing
That next to God, and (his Annoynted here) the [...] King)
I will (if possible) forget;
My thoughts I will in order set;
My fast Allegiance I am bound to show;
And (though I cannot quite dissolve the debt)
I must acknowledge what I ow.
III.
But what alas! will our desire avail,
When active strength and vigour fail?
That may protect thy Imortality.
If Envy that Attaqu'es the best of things
And into Rigid question brings
The most undoubted Registers of Fame;
If Envy shall assault thy white & spotless name,
Their whole Artillery let them dispence:
Their Peirceing wit and murd'ring Eloquence,
Noble conceit and Manly Sence,
Charming Numbers let then shine,
And dazle dead in every line
The most malicious of thy Foes.
Though Hell it self should offer to oppose,
I (thy decrepit Subject) only can Resigne
The little life of Art is left, to Ransome thine:
If a Dart I may prevent,
Which at thy repute was meant;
Let them all direct at me.
By dying in this Holy War,
[Page] I possibly may share,
By accident in thy Infallible Eternity.
IV.
But Mighty Friend!
(Before it be too late)
Let us a while expostulate.
What Heat of Glory call'd thee on
Thy learned Empire to extend,
Beyond the limits of thy Vast Dominion?
At home already thou wert crown'd with Ba [...]es:
Why do'st thou forreign Trophies seek to raise.
Poets Arcana's have of Government.
And though the Homagers of thine owne Continent,
Out of a Sense of duty do submit,
Yet Printing (Sir) a jealous fear creates,
And shews a laid design
Unto the Neighbouring Potentates
[Page] Then into all thy secret Arts they pry?
And weigh each Circumstance of poli [...]y;
Offensive and Defensive Leagues they twine,
In Councells and Cabals they sit
Industriously they all Combine
Against the universal Monarchy of wit,
V.
Hence then prepare for an Invasion:
Not from any European civiliz'd Nation.
They differ only circumstantially,
Concerning niceties in Poesy;
And all allow thy Art, Order, and Rules of Decency,
We all agree in principles, nere was yet
A perfect Beauty or un [...]erring Wit.
VI.
Ah Freind! I fear the Barbarous,
(The Infidel unletter'd Crew [...] mean)
[Page] That of no wit approve, but what's profane or els obscene▪
These by far out number us,
And by Hostility possess
The Worlds much greater part,
Like Mahumetans themselves, they openly profess
The Common Enemies of our Beleife and Art,
If these should an advantage take!
And on thy Glory depredation make,
You must submit to the Unhappiness,
The Vulgar, measure Arts (like Valour) by success,
If the Battel be not won
If the Author do not sell;
Into their dull capacities it will not Sink,
They cannot with deliberation think:
How bravely the Commander led them on,
Nor wherein the Books was written well:
(When tis a thing impossible to do,)
He cannot find his Army courage (Sir) nor you
Your Reader [...]s Learning, Wit, and Iudgment too.
TO HIS ESTEEMED FRIEND Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN upon the publishing of his POEMS.
YOur Poems (Freind) come on the publick Stage
In a Debauch'd, and a Censorious Age;
Where nothing now is counted Standard Wit,
But what's Prophane, Obscene, or 's Bad as it.
For our great Wits, like Gallants of the Times,
(And such they are) Court only those Loose Rhimes,
Which like their Misses Patch't and Painted are;
But scorn what Vertuous is, and truely Faire
Such as your Muse is, who with Careful Art
For all but such, hath wisely fram'd a Part.
[Page] One while (methinks) Under some Gloomy Shade
I see the Melancholly Lover Laid,
Pleasing himself in that his Pensive Fit
With what you have on such Occasion writ.
Another while (me thinks) I seem to Hear
'Mongst those, who sometimes will unbend their Care.
And steal themselves out from the busie Throng
Your pleasant Songs in solemne Consort Sung.
Again (me thinks) I see the grave Divine
Lay by his other Books, to Look on thine,
And from thy serious and Divine Review
See what our duty is, and his own too.
Yet worthy Freind you can't but Guesse what doome
Is like to pass on what you've writ by some
But there are others, now your Book Comes forth,
Who (I am Sure) will prize it as 'tis worth,
[Page] Who know it fully fraught with Staple ware,
Such as the works of the brave Cowly are,
And 'mongst our rarest English Poems, Thine
Next unto His, immortally shall shine,
RIC. NEWCOURT.
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN upon the publishing of his POEMS.
RUde, and unpolisht as my lines can be,
I must start forth into the world with Thee.
That which, yet Private, did my wonder raise,
Now 'tis made Publiqu' challenge's my prayse:
Such Miracles thy Charming Verse can do,
Where 'ere it goes, It draw's me with it too.
This is a kind of Birthday to thy Muse!
Transported with delight I cannot chuse
But bid Her Welcome to the Light, and tell,
How much I value what is writ so well;
Tho' Thou reap'st no advantage by my Rhime,
More than a Taper helps the Day to shine.
To pay respect to some departed freind!
The difference of Regard in this doe's ly,
That Honours Dust, Mine That which cannot Dy:
For what can blast the labours of thy Pen
While wit, and vertue are allow'd by men?
Thou entertein'st the world with such a feast,
So cleanly and so elegantly dre'st,
So stor'd with laudable varieties
As may a modest Appetite suffice;
Who ever is thy Guest is sure to find
Something or other that may please his mind:
Sometimes in Pious Flame thy Muse aspire [...]s
Her bosome warm'd with supernatural fires;
In noble flights with Pindar, soar's above;
Dallie's sometime with not-indecent Love,
Thence down into the Grave doe's humbly creep,
And renders Death desirable as Sleep.
The Debuonair, the Melancholy Heer
Find matter for their mirth, ease for their Care▪
[Page] Easie thy Verse, Clean thy Conceptions are,
Neither too proud, Nor too familiar.
Since such Provision's made for all that come.
He must be squeamish that goe's Empty home;
If These Refections cannot do him good,
'Tis 'cause his stomack's Vitious, not the Food.
FRANCIS KNOLLYS.
TO MY DEAR FRIEND Mr. THOMAS FLATMAN upon the publication of his POEMS. PINDARIQVE ODE.
I.
WIthin the haunted thicket, where
The feather'd Ch [...]risters are met to play;
And celebrate with voices clear,
And accent sweets, the praise of May:
The Ouzel, Thrush, and speckled Lark,
And Philomel, that loves the dawn and dark:
These (the inspired throng)
In numbers smooth, and strong
Adorn their noble Theme with an immortal Song,
While, woods, and vaults, the brook and neighbouring hill,
Repeat the varied close, and the melodious Trill.
II.
Here feast your ears, but let your eye,
Wander, and see one of the lesser frie;
Under a leaf, or on a danceing twig,
Ruffle his painted feathers, and look big,
Pirk up his tayle, and hop between,
The boughs; by moving, only to be seen,
Perhaps his troubled breast he prunes
As he doth meditate on his tunes:
At last (compos'd) his little head he rears,
Towards (what he strives to imitate,) the Sphears;
And chirping then begins his best,
Falls on to Pipe among the rest;
Deeming that all's not worth a rush,
Without his whistle from the bush.
III.
Th' harmonious sound did reach my ear,
Which all must know, who e're did hear,
Of Cowley or Orinda's fame:
I heard the Genius, with surprizing grace,
Would visit us with his fair off spring, gay
As is the morning Spring in May;
But fairer much and of immortal race:
IV.
Delighted greatly, as I listning stood,
The sound came from each corner of the wood;
It both the shrubs, and Cedars shak't,
And my drowsy Muse awak't;
Strange, that the sound should be so shrill,
That had its passage through a Quil.
Then I resolv'd Thy praises to rehearse,
The wonders of Thy Pen, among the Croud
Of thy learn'd Freinds that sing so loud:
But 'twas not to be sung, or reacht in verse.
Have told us of, Thou (only Thou) mak'st true.
And all the Miracles which they could show,
Remain no longer Faith; but Science now,
Thou dost those things that noman else durst do,
Thou Paint'st the lightning and the Thunder too!
The Soul and Voice!
Thou'lt make Turks, Iews, with Romanist consent,
To Break the Second great Commandements:
And them perswade an Adoration giv [...]n
In Picture, will as Grateful be to Heav'n
As one in Metre. Th' Art is in Excess;
But yet thy ingenuity makes it less▪
With Pen and Pencil thou dost all out shine
In Speaking Picture, Poesy Divine.
Poets, Creators are! You make us Know
Those are Above, and Dread those are Below;
But 'tis no Wonder you such things can Dare
That Painter, Poet, and A Prophe [...] are.
[Page] The Starrs themselves, think it no Scorn to be
Plac'd, and Directed in their Way by Thee.
Thou Knowst their Virtue, and th [...]ir Scituation,
The Fa [...]e of Yea [...]s, and every great Mutation,
With the same Kindness let them look on Earth;
As when they gave thee first thy Happy Birth!
The sober Saturne Aspects, Cinthia bright,
Resigning Hers, to give us thy New Light▪
The Gentle Venus Rose with Mercury,
(Presage of Softness in thy Poesy)
And Iove, and Mars in Amicable Trine
Do still give Spirit to thy Polish'd Line.
Thou mayst do what thou wilt without controul:
Onely thy self and Heav'n can Paint thy Soul.
FRANC. BERNARD.
THE CONTENTS.
- TO the memory of the incomparable Orinda Pindarique Ode. Page. 1
- The Review. to Dr. W. S. Pindarique Ode. 7
- To my worthy friend Mr. Sam. Woodford on his excellent version of the Psalmes. Pindarique Ode. 18
- On the Death of the truly valiant George Duke of Albemarle. Pindarique Ode. 2 [...]
- The Retirement. Pindarique Ode made in the time of the great sickness 1665. 31
- Translated out of a Part of Petronious Arbiter's Satyricon. 35
- A Thought of Death. 41
- The Desperate Lover. 42
- [Page] Psalme 39, verses 4. th. and 5. th. 45
- The Fatigue, a Song. 46
- Hymne for the Morning. 47
- Anthem for the Evening 48
- Death. a Song. 49
- The Happy Man. 50
- An Elegy on the Earl of Sandwich. 52
- An Epitaph on the Earl of Sandwich. 53
- On Mr. Johnson's several shipwracks. 54
- The Resolve. 56
- Pastoral. 58
- Love's Bravo, Song. 62
- The Batchelor's Song. 63
- The Batchelor's Song, Second part. 64
- Advice to an old man of 63 about to Marry a Girl of 16. Song. 65
- The Expectation. Song. 66
- Coridon converted, Song. 67
- The Humourist, Song. 69
- The Slight. Song. 70
- [Page] The Penitent, Song. 71
- The Defiance, Song. 72
- The Surrender, Song. 74
- F [...]deing Beauty, Song. 75
- The Whim, Song. 76
- A Dialogue, Cloris and Parthenissa. 77
- The Renegado, Song. 79
- Phillis withdrawn. 80
- Weeping at parting, Song. 82
- the Malecontent, Song 84
- The Indifferent, Song. 85
- The Harbour, Song. 86
- The Vnconcerned, Song. 87
- To Mr. Sam. Austin of Wadham Col. Oxon on his most unintelligible Poems. 88
- To my Ingenious Friend Mr. William Faithorn on his Book of Drawing, Etching and Graving. 90
- An Explanation of an Emblem engraven by U. H. 92
- [Page] For Thoughts. 93
- Against Thoughts. 98
- Doomes-day Thought. 103
- Virtus Sola manet, caetera Mortis erunt. 107
- Translated. 109
- The Immovable. 111
- The Wish. 113
- The Cordiall made in the year 1657. 115
- Celadon on Delia singing. 117
- A Character of a Belly God Catius & Horace. 118
- The Advice. 127
- Psalme the 15 paraphrased 128
- Iob. 132
- A Dialogue Orpheus and Euridice. [...]33
- Nudus Redibo. 135
- On the Commentaries of Messire Blaire de Montluc, To the worthy Translator Charles Cotton Es (que) 136
- The Disappointment. Pindarique Ode 138
POEMS.
To the memory of the incomparable ORINDA.
Pindarique Ode.
Stanza I.
A Long Adieu to all that's bright,
Noble or brave in woman-kind;
To all the wonders of their wit,
And Trophies of their mind▪
The glowing heat of th'holy fire is gone:
To th'Altar, whence 'twas kindled, flown;
There's nought on earth, but ashes left behind:
E'r since the amazing sound was spread
Orinda's dead,
[Page 2] Every soft and fragrant word,
All that language could afford;
Every high and lo [...]ty thing
That's wont to set the Soul on wing,
No longer with this worthless world would stay:
Thus, when the death of the great Pan was told,
A long the shore the dismal tidings rol'd;
The lesser Gods their Fanes forsook,
Confounded with the mighty stroke,
They could not over live that fatal day,
But sigh'd & groan'd their gasping Oracles away.
II.
How rigid are the Laws of Fate!
And how severe that black decree!
No sublunary thing is free,
But all must enter th' Adamantine Gate:
Sooner, or later must we come
To Natures dark retiring Room:
And yet 'tis pity, Is it not?
[Page 3] The Learned, as the Fool should die,
One, full as low, as t'other high;
Together blended in the general lot!
Distinguish't only from the common Croud
By an hing'd Coffin or a Holland Shro [...]d,
Tho Fame and Honour speak them ne'r so loud.
Alas Orinda! even Thou!
Whose happy Verse made others live,
And certain Immortality could give,
Blasted are all thy blooming glories now
The Laurel withers o're the brow▪
Methinks it should disturb Thee to conceive
That when poor I, this artless breath resign,
My dust should have as much of Poetry as thine!
III.
Too soon we languish with desire,
Of what we never could e [...]ough ad [...]ire.
On th'billows of this world sometimes we rise,
So dangerously high,
We are to Heaven too nigh:
[Page 4] When all in rage,
(Grown hoary with one minute's age,)
The very self-same fickle wave,
Which the entrancing Prospect gave
Swoln to a Mountain sinks into a Grave.
Too happy Mortals if the powers above,
As merciful would be,
And easie to preserve the thing we love,
As in the giving they are free!
But they too oft delude our wearied eyes,
They fix a flaming sword 'twixt us and Paradise!
A weeping evening blur's a smiling day,
Yet why sho [...]ld heads of gold have feet of Clay?
Why should the man that wav'd th' Almighty wand,
That led the murmuring Croud
By Pillar and by Cloud,
[...]hivering a top of A [...]ry Pisgab stand
Only to see, but never, never tread the Promis'd Land
IV.
Throw your swords and gantlets by
You daring Sons of War!
You cannot purchase e're you die
One honourable scar,
Since that fair hand that guilded all your Bayse;
That in Heroick numbers wrote your praise,
That you might safely sleep in Honours bed,
It self alas is wither'd, cold, and dead,
Cold and dead are all those charmes
That burnisht your victorious arms;
Those useless things hereafter must
Blush first in blood, and then in rust?
No oil, but that of her smooth words can serve,
Weapon and Warriour to preserve.
Expect no more from this Dull Age
But folly, or Poëtick rage,
Short-liv'd nothings of the stage,
Vented to day, and cry'd tomorrow down;
With her the soul of Poesie is gone,
[Page 6] Gone, while our expectations flew
As high a pitch, as she has done,
Exhal'd to Heaven like early dew,
Betimes the little shining drops are flown.
E're th'drowsie world perceiv'd that Manna was come down.
V.
You of the Sex that would be fair,
Exceeding lovely, hither come,
Would you be pure as Angels are,
Come dress you by Orinda's Tomb,
And leave your flattering glass at home,
Within that marble Mirror see,
How one day such as she
You must, and yet alas! can never be!
Think on the heights of that vast Soul,
And then admire, and then condole,
Think on the wonders of her generous Pen,
'T was she made Pompey truely Great;
Neither the purchase of his sweat
Nor yet Cornelia's kindness made him live again
[Page 7] With envy think, when to the grave you go,
How very little must be said of you,
Since all that can be said of vertuous Woman was her due.
The Review.
Pindarique Ode to Dr. W. S.
Stanza I.
WHen first I stept into th'alluring Maze
To tread the world's mysterious ways,
Alas! I had nor guide nor clue,
No Ariadne lent her hand,
Not one of Vertue's Guards did bid me stand,
Or ask't me what I meant to do,
Or whither I would go:
This Lab'rinth so pleasant did appear,
I lost my self with much content,
Infinite hazards underwent,
Out straggled Homer's cra [...]ty Wanderer,
And ten years more than he, in fruitless Travels spent;
[Page 8] The one half of my Life is gone,
The shadow the Meridian past;
Death's dismal even drawing on,
Which will with damps and mists be overcast,
An Evening, that will surely come,
Tis time, high time to give my self the welcome home.
II.
Had I but heartily believ'd,
That all the Royal Preacher said, was true,
When first I entred on the Stage,
And vanity so hotly did pursue;
Convinc't by his experience, not my age:
I had my selflong since retriev'd,
I should have let the Curtain down,
Before the fools part had begun:
But I throughout the tedious play have been
Concern'd in every busie Scene;
Too too inquisitive I try'd
Now this, anon another Face,
And then a third, more odd, took place,
[Page 9] Was every thing, but what I was,
Such was my Protean folly, such my pride
Befool'd through all the Tragy-Comedy,
Where others met with hissing to expect a Plaudite.
III.
I had a mind the Pastoral to prove,
Searching for happiness in Love,
And finding Venus painted with a Dove,
A little naked Boy hard by,
The Dove, which has no gall,
The Boy no dangerous arms at all;
They do thee wrong (great Love) said I,
Much wrong, great Love!—scarce had I spoke
'Ere into my unwary bosome came
An inextinguishable flame:
From fair Amira's eyes the lightening broke,
That left me, more than Thunder-stroke;
She carries tempest in that lovely name:
Love's mighty, and tumultuous pain
Disorders Nature like an Hurricane.
[Page 10] Yet could'nt I believe such storms could be,
When I lanch't forth to Sea;
Promis'd my self a calm, and easie way,
Though I had seen before,
Piteous ruins on the shore,
And on the naked beach Leander breathless lay.
IV.
To extricate my self from Love
Which I could ill obey, but worse command,
I took my Pencils in my hand,
With that Artillery for Conquest strove,
Like wise Pigmalion then did I
My self design my Deity;
Made my own Saint, made my own Shrine:
If she did frown, one dash could make her smile,
All bickerings one easie stroak could reconcile,
Plato feign'd no Idea so divine:
Thus did I quiet many a froward day,
While in my eyes my Soul did play,
Thus did the time, and thus my selfbeguile;
[Page 11] Till on a day, but then I knew not why,
A tear fall'n from my [...]y,
Wash't out my Saint, my Shrine, my Deity:
Prophetique chance; the lines are gone,
And I must mourn o're what I doted on:
I find even Giotto's Circle has not all perfection.
V.
To Poetry I then inclin'd;
Verse that emancipates the mind,
Verse that unbends the Soul;
That Amulet of sickly fame,
Verse that from wind articulate's Name;
Verse for both fortunes fit, to smile & to condole.
'Ere I had long the tryal made,
A serious thought made me afraid:
For I had heard Parnassus sacred Hill,
Was so prodigiously high,
'Its barren up so near the Skie;
The Aether there
So very pure, so subtle, and so rare,
[Page 12] 'Twould a Camaeleon kill
The beast that is all lungs, and feeds on aire:
Poëts the higher up that Hill they go,
Like Pilgrims, share the less of what's below:
Hence 'tis they go repining on,
And murmure more than their own Helicon.
I heard them curse their stars in ponderous Rhimes.
And in grave numbers grumble at the times;
Yet where th'Illustrious Cowley led the way,
I thought it great discretion there to go astray.
VI.
From liberal arts, to the litigious Law,
Obedience, not ambition did me draw;
I look't at awful Quoife, and scarlet Gown
Through others opticks not my own:
Unty the Gordian knot that will,
I see no Rhetorick at all
In them that learnedly can brawl,
And fill with mercenary breath the spatious Hall;
Let me be peaceable, let me be still:
[Page 13] The solitary Tisbite heard the wind,
With strength and violence combin'd,
That rent the Mountains and did make
The solid Earth's foundations shake,
He saw the dreadful fire, & heard the horrid noise,
But found what he expected in the smal stil voice.
VII.
Nor here did my unbridled fancy rest,
But I must try
A pitch more high,
To read the starry language of the East;
And with Caldean Curiosity
Presum'd to solve the Riddles of the Skie;
Impatient till I knew my doom,
Dejected till the good direction come,
I ripp't up Fate's forbidden womb,
Nor would I stay till it brought forth
An easie and a natural birth,
But was solicitous to know
The yet mishapen Embrio,
[Page 14] (Preposterous crime)
Without the formal Midwifry of time:
Fond man! as if too little grief were given
On earth, draws down inquietudes from Heaven;
Permits himself with fear to be unman'd,
Bels [...]azz [...]r like grows won and pale,
His very heart begins to fail,
Is frighted at the writing of the hand,
Which yet nor he, nor all his learn'd Magicians understand.
VIII.
And now at last what's the result of all?
Should the strict Audit come,
And for th'Accompt too early call;
A num'rous heap of Ciphers would be found the total sum
When incompassionate Age shall plow
The delicate Amira's brow,
And draw his furrows deep and long,
What hardy youth is he
[Page 15] Will after that a Reaper be,
Or sing the harvest Song?
And what is Verse, but an effeminate vent
Either of Lust or Discontent?
Colours will starve, and all their glories die,
Invented onely to deceive the eye;
And he that wily Law does love,
Much more of Serpent has than Dove,
There's nothing in Astrology,
But Delphick ambiguity;
We are misguided in the dark, and thus
Each Star becomes an Ignis fatuus▪
Yet pardon me you glorious lamps of light,
'Twas one of you that led the way,
Dispell'd the gloomy night,
Became a Phosper to th'Eternal Day▪
And shew'd the Magi where th' Almighty Infant lay.
IX.
At length the doubtful Victory's won,
It was a cunning ambuscade
The world for my [...]licities had laid;
Yet now at length the day's our own.
Now Conqueror like let us new Laws set down,
Henceforth let all our Love Seraphick turn,
The sprightly and the vigorons flame
On th' Altar let it ever burn,
And sacrifice it's ancient name
A Tablet on my heart, next I'le prepare
Where I would draw the holy Sepulchre,
Behind it a soft Landskip I would lay
Of Melancholly Golgotha:
On th'Altar let me all my spoils lay down,
And if I had One, there I'de hang my Laurel Crown.
Give me the Pa [...]lects of the Law divine,
Such was the Law made Moses face to shine.
And laugh at his malicious power,
Raptur'd in Contemplation thus I'le go
Above unactive Earth, and leave the Stars below.
X.
Tost on the wings of every wind,
After these hoverings too and fro;
(And still the waters higher grow)
Not knowing where a resting place to find,
Whether for Sanctuary should I go
But (Reverend Friend▪) to you,
You that have triumpht o're th'impetuous flood,
That Noah like, in bad times durst be good,
And the stiffe Torrent manfully withstood,
Can save me too;
One that have long in fear of drowning bin,
Surrounded by the rolling waves of sin,
Do You but reach out a propitious hand
And charitably take me in,
I will not yet despair to see dry land.
[Page 18] 'Tis done;—I and no longer fluctuate
I've made the Church my Ark, and Sions Hill my Ararat.
To my worthy Friend Mr. Sam. Woodford, on his exc [...]llent Version of the Psalms.
Pindarique Ode.
Stanza I.
SEe (worthy friend) what I would do;
(Whom neither Muse nor art inspire)
That have no friend in all the sacred Quire,
To shew my kindness for your Book, and you,
Forc'd to disparage, what I would admire:
Bold man that dare's attempt Pindariqu' now,
Since the great Pindar's greatest son
From the ingrateful Age is gone,
Cowley ha's bid th'ingrateful Age adieu;
Found out new worlds of Pocsie:
He, like an Eagle [...]oar'd alo [...]t
To seize his noble prey;
Yet as a Dove's, his soul was soft;
Quiet as night, but bright as Day:
To heaven in a fiery charriot He
Ascended by Seraphiqu Poëtrie;
Yet which of us dull Mortals since can find
Any inspiring Mantle, that He left behinde?
II.
His powerful Numbers might have done you right;
He could have spar'd you immortalitie,
Under that Cheiftaine's banners you might fight
Assur'd of Laurels, and of Victorie
Over devouring time, and sword, and fire,
And Iove's important ire:
My humble verse would better sing
David the shepheard, than the King:
[Page 20] And yet methinks 'tis stately to be one,
Tho' of the meaner sort,
Of them that may approach a Princes Throne,
If'twere but to be seen at Court.
Such (Sir) is my ambition for a name,
Which I shall rather take from you, than give,
For in your Book I cannot miss of Fame,
But by contact shall live.
Thus on your Chariot Wheel shall I
Ride safe, and look as big as Aesops Fly,
Who from th' Olympian race new come,
And now triumphantly flown home,
To's neighbours of the swarm, thus, proudly said,
Don't you remember what a dust I made!
III.
Where e're the Son of Iesse's harp shall sound,
Or Israel's sweetest Songs be sung
(Like Sampson's Lion sweet and strong)
You and your happy Muse shall be renown'd,
[Page 21] To whose kind hand the Son of Iesse owes
His last deliverance from all his Foes.
Bloud-thirsty Saul less barbarous than they,
His person only sought to kill;
These did his deathless Poëms stay,
And sought immortal blood to spill,
To sing whose Songs in Babylon would be
A new Captivity:
Deposed by these Rebels, you alone
Restore the glorious David to his Throne.
Long in disguise the Royal Prophet lay,
Long from his own thoughts banished,
Ne're since his death 'till this illustrious day
Was Scepter in his haad, or Crown plac't on his head:
He seem'd as if at Gath he still had bin,
As once before proud Achish he appear'd,
His Face besmear'd,
With spittle on his sacred beard,
A laughing stock to the insulting Philistine.
[Page 22] Drest in their Rhimes, he lookt as he were mad,
In Tyssue you, and Tyrian Purple have him clad.
On the Death of the truely valiant Geoge Duke o [...] Albemarle.
Pindarique Ode.
Stanza I.
NOw blush thy selfe into confusion
Ridiculous mortality;
With indignation to be trampled on
By them that court Eternity;
Whose generous deeds, and prosperous state
Seem poorly set within the reach of fate,
Whose every Trophy, and each Laurel wreath
Depends upon a little breath;
Confin'd within the narrow bounds of time,
And of incertain age,
[Page 23] With doubtful hazards they engage,
Thrown down, while victory bids them higher climb;
Their glories are ecclips'd by death
Hard circumstances of illustrous men
Whom nature (like the Scythian Prince) detaine's
Within the Bodies chaines
(Nature that rigorous Tamberlaine)
Stout Bajazet disdain'd the barbarous rage
Of that insulting Conquerour,
Bravely himself usurp't his own expiring power
By dashing out his braines against his Iron Cage
II.
But 'tis indecent to complain,
And wretched mortalls curse their stars in vain,
In vain they wast their tears for them that die,
Themselves involv'd in the same destiny,
No more with sorrow let it then be said
The glorious Albemarle is dead;
Let [...] what is said of Him triumphant be,
[Page 24] Words as gay, as is His fame,
And as manly as his name,
Words as ample as his praise,
And as verdant as his bayes▪
An Epinicion, not an Elegy.
Yet why should'st thou, ambitious Muse, believe
Thy gloomy Verse, can any splendors give,
Or make him one small moment longer live?
Nothing but what is vulgar thou canst say;
Or misbecoming numbers sing
What Tribute to his memory canst thou pay,
Whose vertue sav'd a Crown, and could oblige a King!
III.
Many a year distressed Albion lay
By her unnatural Off-spring torne,
Once the Worlds terrour, then its scorn,
At home a Prison, and a broad a Prey:
Her valiant Youth, her valiant Youth did kill,
And mutual blood did spill,
[Page 25] Usurpers then, and many a Mushroom Peer
Within her Palaces did domineer;
There did the Vulture build his Nest,
There the Owles, and Satyrs rest,
By Zim and Ohim all possest,
'Till England's Angel Guardian, Thou,
With pity, and with anger mov'd
For Albion thy belov'd
(Olive Chapplets on thy brow)
With bloudless hands upheld'st her drooping head,
And with thy Trumpets call'dst her from the dead.
Bright Phosper to the rising Sun!
That Royal Lamp, by Thee did first appear
Usher'd into our happy Hemisphaere;
O may it still shine bright and clear!
No Cloud, nor Night approach it, but a constant Noon!
IV.
Nor thus did thy undaunted Valour cease;
Or wither with unactive peace:
[Page 26] Scarce were our Civil broyles allay'd,
While yet the wound of an intestine war,
Hadle [...]t a tender scar,
When of our new Prosperities afraid
Our Jealous Neighbours fatal armes prepare;
In floating groves the enemy drew near,
Loud did the Belgian Lyan roar,
Upon our Coasts th' Armada did appear,
And boldly durst attempt our native shore,
Till His victorious squadrons check't their pride'
And did in Triumph are the Ocean ride.
With thunder, lightning, & with clouds of smoke
He did their insolence restrain,
And gave his dreadful Law to all the Main,
Whose surly billows trembled when he spoke,
And put their willing necks unde his Yoke;
This the stupendious Vanquisher has done,
Whose high prerogative it was a lone
To raise a ruin'd, and secure an Envy'd Throne.
V.
Then angry Heav'n began to frown,
From heaven a dreadful Pestilence came down:
On very side did lamentations rise,
Baleful sigh, and heavy groane,
All was plain't, and all was moan!
The pious friend with trembling Love
Scarce had his latest kindness done
In sealing up his dead friends eyes,
Ere with his own surprizing fate he strove,
And wanted one to close his own,
Death's Iron scepter bore the sway
O're our Imperial Golgotha,
Yet He with kind tho' unconcerned eyes
Durst stay and see those numerous Tragedies.
He in the field had seen Death's griesly shape,
Heard him in volleys talk aloud,
Beheld his grandeur in a glittering Croud
And unamaz'd seen him in Cannons gape:
[Page 28] Ever unterrified His valour stood
Like some tall Rock amid'st a Sea of Blood:
'Twas loyalty from Sword & Pest kept him alive,
The safest Armour, and the best Pre [...]ervative.
VI.
The flaming City next implor'd his aid,
And seasonably pray'd
His force against the fire, whose arms the Seas obey'd,
Wide did th [...] impetuous torrent spread,
Then those goodly Fabricks fell
Temples themselves promiscuously there
Drop't down, and in the common ruin buried were,
The City turn'd into one Mongibel:
The haughty Tyrant shook his curled head,
His breath with vengeance black, his face with fury red.
Then every cheek grew wan and pale,
Every heart did yield and fail,
Nought but Thy presence could its power suppress,
Whose stronger light put out the less,
[Page 29] As London's noble structure rise,
Together shall His memory grow,
To whom that beauteous Town so much does owe.
London! joynt Favourite with Him Thou wer't,
As both possest a Room within one heart,
So now with thine indulgent Soveraign joyn,
Respect his great Friends ashes, for He wep't o're Thine.
V.
Thus did the Duke perform his mighty Stage,
Thus did that Atlas of our State,
With his prodigious acts amaze the Age,
While Worlds of wonders on his shoulders sate,
Full of glories, and of years,
He trod his shining, and immortal way,
Whilst Albion compass'd with new floods of tears
Besought his longer stay.
Prophane that pen, that dares describe thy bliss;
Or write thine Apothcosis!
Whom heaven and thy Prince to pleasure strove,
Entrusted with their Armies, and their love.
[Page 30] In othe [...] Courts'tis dangerous to deserve,
Thou did'st a kind, and grateful Master serve,
Who, to express his gratitude to Thee,
Scorn'd those it natur'd arts of Policy.
Happy had Bellisarius bin
(Whose forward fortune was his sin)
By many Victories undone,
He had not liv'd neglected, dy'd obscure,
If for thy Prince those Battels he had won,
Thy Prince, magnificent above his Emperour.
VIII.
Among the Gods, those Gods that dy'd like thee,
As great as theirs, and full of Majesty
Thy sacred dust shall sleep secure,
Thy Monument as long as theirs endure:
There' free from envy, Thou with them,
Shal't have thy share of Diadem;
Among their Badges shall be set
Thy Garter and thy Coronet;
[Page 31] Or (which is statelyer) thou shalt have
A Mausolaeum in thy Prince's breast,
There thine enbalmed name shall rest,
That Sanctuary shall thee save,
From the dishonours of a Regal grave:
And every wondrous History
Read by in [...]iedulous Posterity,
That writes of Him, shall honourably mention Thëe,
Who by an humble Loyalty has't shown,
How much sublimer gallantry, and renown
'Tis to restore, than to [...]surp a Monarchs Crown.
The Retirement.
Pindarique Ode made in the time of the Great Sickness 1665.
Stanza I.
IN the milde close of an hot Summers day,
When a cool Breeze had fann'd the air,
And Heaven's face look't smooth and fair;
[Page 32] Lovely as sleeping Infants be,
That in their slumbers smilingly,
Dandled on the Mothers knee,
You hear no cry,
No harsh, nor inharmon [...]ous voice,
But all is innocence without a noise:
When every sweet, which the Sun's greedy ray
So lately from us drew,
Began to trickle down again in dew;
Weary, and faint, and full of thought,
Tho for what cause I knew not well,
What I ail'd, I could not tell,
I sate me down at an ag'd Poplar's root,
Whose chiding leaves excepted and my breast,
All the impertinently-busi'd-world enclin'd to rest.
II.
I list'ned heedfully around,
But not a whisper there was found.
[Page 33] The murmuring Brook hard by,
As heavy, and as dull as I,
Seem'd drowsily along to creep;
It ran with undiscovered pace,
And if a pibble stopt the lazy race,
'Twas but as if it started in its sleep,
Eccho her self, that ever lent an ear
To any piteous tone;
Wont to grone, with them that grone,
Eccho herself, was speechless here.
Thrice did I sigh, Thrice miserably cry,
Ai me! the Ny [...]ph ai me! would not reply,
Or churlish, or she was a sleep for company.
III.
I thought on every pensive thing,
That might my passion strongly move,
That might the sweetest sadness bring;
Oft did I tkink on death, and oft on Love,
The triumphs of the little God, and that same gastly King;
[Page 34] The ghastly King what has he done,
How his pale Territories spread!
Strait scantlings now of consecrated ground
His swelling Empire cannot bound,
But every day new Colonies of dead
Enhance his Conquests, and advance his Throne.
The mighty City say'd from storms of war,
Exempted from the Crimson floud,
When all the Land o're flow'd with blood,
Stoop's yet once more to a new Conqueror:
The City which so many Rivals bred,
Sackcloath is on her loyns, and ashes on her head.
IV.
When will the frowning heav'n begin to smile?
Those pitchy clouds be overblown,
That hide the mighty Town,
That I may see the mighty pyle!
When will the angry Angel cease to slay;
And turn his brandish't sword away
From that illustrous Golgotha,
When will that stately Landscape open lie,
The mist withdrawn that intercepts my ey!
That heap of Pyramids appear,
Which now, too much like those of Egypts are:
Eternal Monuments of Pride and Sin,
Magnificent and tall without, but Dead mens bones within.
Translated out of a Part of Petronius Arbiters Satyricon.
I.
AFter a blustring tedious night,
The winds now hush't, & the black tempest o're'
Which the crazy vesiel miserably tore,
Behold a lamentable sight!
Rolling far off, upon a briny wave
Compassionate Philander spi [...]d
[Page 36] A floating Carcass ride,
That seem'd to beg the kindness of a grave.
II.
Sad, and concern'd Philander then
Weigh'd with himself the frail, uncertain state
Of silly, strangely disappointed men,
Whose projects are the sport of Fate,
Perhaps (said he) this poor man's desolate Wife
In a strange Conntry far away,
Expects some happy day,
This gastly thing, the comfort of her life:
III.
His Son it may be dreads no harm,
But kindly waits his Fathers coming home,
Himself secure, he apprehends no storm,
But fancies that he sees him come.
Perhaps the good Old man, that kist this Son,
And left a blessing on his head,
His arms about him spread,
Hopes yet to see him e're his glass be run.
IV.
These are the grand intrigues of man,
These his huge thoughts, and these his vast desires
Restless, and swelling like the Ocean
From his birth till he expires.
See where the naked, breathless Body lies
To every puff of wind a slave,
At the beck of every wave,
That once perhaps was fair, rich, stout, and wise!
V.
While thus Philander pensive said,
Touch't only with a pity for Mankind,
At nearer view, he thought he knew the Dead,
And call'd the wretched Man to mind:
Alas, said he, art Thou that angry Thing,
That with thy looks did'st threaten Death,
Plagues and destruction breath,
But two dayes since, little beneath a King!
VI.
Ai me! where is thy fury now,
Thine insolence, and all thy boundless power,
O most ridiculously dreadful thou!
Expos'd for Beasts and Fishes to devour.
Go sottish Mortals, let your Breasts swell high,
All your designs laid deep as hell,
A small mischance can quel,
Out witted by the deeper plots of Destiny.
VII.
This haughty lump a while before
Sooth'd up It self, perhaps with hopes of Life,
What It would do, when It came safe on shore,
What for It's Son, what for It's Wife;
See where the Man, and all his Politicks lie!
Ye Gods! what Gulphs are set between,
What we have, and what we ween,
Whilst lull'd in dreams of years to come, we die!
VIII.
Nor are we lyable alone,
To misadventures on the mercyless Sea,
A thousand other things our Fate bring on,
And shipwrack't every where we be.
One in the tumult of a Battel dies
Big with conceit of victory,
And routing th'Enemy,
With Garlands deckt, himself the Sacrifice.
IX.
Another, while he pays his vows
On bended knees, & Heaven with tears invokes,
With adoratious as he humbly bowes,
While with gums the Altar smokes,
In th' presence of his God, the Temple falls,
And then religious in vain,
The flatter'd Bigot slain,
Breaths out his last within the sacred walls.
X.
Another with gay Trophies proud,
From his triumphant Chariot overthrown,
Makes pastime for the Gazers of the Croud,
That envy'd him his purchas'd Crown,
Some with full meals, & sparkling bowls of wine,
As if it made too long delay,
Spur on their fatal day,
Whilst others, (needy Souls) at their's repine.
XI.
Consider well and every place,
Offers a ready Road to thy long home,
Sometimes with frowns, sometimes with smiling face
Th' Ambassadors of Death do come.
By open force or secret ambuscade,
By unintelligable wayes,
We end our anxious dayes,
And stock the large Plantations of the Dead,
XII.
But (some may say) 'tis very hard,
With them, whom heavy chance has Cast away,
With no solemnities at all interr'd,
To roam unburi'd on the sea:
No—'tis all one wherereceive our doom,
Since, some where, 'tis our certain lot
Our Carcases must rot,
And they whom heaven covers need no Tombe,
A Thought of Death.
WHen on my sick bed I languish,
Full of sorrow, full of anguish,
Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying,
Panting, groaning, speechless, dying,
My soul just now about to take her flight
Into the Regions of eternal night;
[Page 42] Oh tell me you,
That have been long below,
What shall I do▪
What shall I think, when cruel Death appears,
That may extenuate my fears.
Methinks I hear some gentle Spirit say,
Be not fearful, come away!
Think with thy self that now thou shalt be free,
And find thy long expected liberty,
Better thou mayest, but worse thou can'st not be
Than in this Vale of Tears, and misery.
Like Caesar, with assurance then come on,
And unamaz'd, attempt the Laurel Crown,
That lyes on t'other side Death's Rubicon.
The Desperate Lover.
O Mighty King of Terrors, come!
Command thy Slave to his long home
[Page 43] Great Sanctuary Grave! to thee
In throngs the miserable flie;
Encircl'd in thy frozen arms,
They bid defiance to their harmes,
Regardless of those pond'rous little things,
That discompose th' uneasie heads of Kings.
II.
In the cold earth the Pris'ner lies
Ransom'd from all his miseries,
Himself forgotten, he forgets
His cruel Creditors, and Debts;
And there in everlasting peace
Contentions with their Authors cease.
A turfe of grass or Monument of Stone
Umpires the petty competition,
III.
The disappointed Lover, there,
Breaths not a sigh nor sheds a tear;
[Page 44] With us (fond fools) he never shares
In sad perplexities and cares;
The willow near his tombe that grow's
Reviv's his memory, not his woes,
Or rain, or shine, he is advanc't above
Th' affronts of heaven, and stratagems of Love.
IV.
Then mighty King of Terrors come
Command thy slave to his long home.
And thou my friend that lov'st me best
Seals up these eyes that brake my rest;
Put out the lights, bespeak my knell,
And then eternally farewel.
'Tis all th' amends our wretched Fates can give,
That none can force a desperate man to Live.
Psalm 39. Verses 4th. 5th.
VERSE 4th.
LOrd let me know the Period of my age,
The length of this my weary pilgrimage,
How long this miserable life shall last,
This Life that stayes so long, yet flies so fast!
VRRSE 5th.
Thou by a Span measurest those dayes of mine,
Eternity's the spacious bound of Thine:
Who shall compare his little span with thee,
With Thine incomprehensibility!
Man born to trouble leavs this World with pain,
His best Estate is altogether vain.
The Fatigue.
A SONG.
A Dieu fond World, and all thy wiles,
Thy haughty frowns, & treacherous smiles,
They that behold thee with my eyes,
Thy double dealing will despise:
From thee false world, my deadly Foe,
Into some Desart let me go;
Some gloomy melancholly Cave,
Dark and silent as the Grave,
Let me withdraw; where I may be
From thine impertinencies free:
There, when I hear the Turtle grone,
How sweetly would I make my mone!
Kind Philomel would teach me there
My sorrows pleasantly to bear:
There could I correspond with none
But Heaven, and my own breast alone.
Hymne for the Morning.
AWake my Soul! Awake mine eyes!
Awake my drowsie faculties;
Awake, and see the new born Light
Spring from the darksome womb of night!
Look up and see th' unwearied Sun,
Already is his Race begun:
The pretty Lark is mounted high,
And sings her Matins in the Skie;
Arise my Soul! and thou my voice,
In Songs of Praise early rejoy [...]e!
O [...]reat Creator! Heavenly King!
Thy Praises let me ever sing!
Thy Power has made, thy Goodness kept
This fenceless body while I slept,
Yet one day more hast given me
From all the Powers of darkness free:
[Page 48] O keep my heart from Sin secure,
My Life unblameable and pure,
That when the last of all my dayes is come,
Cheereful, and fearless I may wait my doom.
Anthem for the Evening.
SLeep! downy sleep! come close my eyes,
Tyr'd with beholding vanities!
Sweet slumbers come and chase away
The toiles and follies of the day:
On your soft bosom will I lie,
Forget the World and learn to die.
O Israels watchful shepheard spread
Tents of Angels round my bed;
Let not the spirits of the aire,
While I slumber, me ensnare,
But save thy suppliant free from harmes,
Clasp't in thine everlasting armes.
[Page 49] Clouds and thick darkness is thy throne,
Thy wonderful Pavilion:
Oh dart from thence a shining ray,
And then my midnight shall be day!
Thus when the morn in crim son drest,
Breaks through the windows of the East,
My Hymns of thankful praises shall arise
Like incense, or the morning sacrifice.
DEATH.
SONG.
OH the sad Day,
When friends shall shake their heads and say
Of miserable me,
Hark how he groans, look how he pants for breath,
See how he struggles with the pangs of Death!
When they shall say of these poor eyes,
How Hollow, and how dim they be,
[Page 50] Mark how his breast does swell and rise,
Against his potent enemy!
When some old Friend shall step to my bedside,
Touch my chill face, & thence shall gently slide,
And when his next companions say,
How does he do? what hopes? shall turn away,
Answering only with a lift up hand,
Who can his fate withstand?
Then shall a gasp or two, do more
Then e're my Rhetorick could before,
Perswade the peevish World to trouble me no more!
The Happy Man.
PEaceful is he, and most secure,
Whose heart, and actions all are pure;
How smooth and pleasant is his way,
Whilst Life's Meander slides away
[Page 51] If a fierce Thunderbolt do flie,
This Man can unconcerned lie;
Knows 'tis not levell'd at his head,
So neither noise, nor flash can dread:
Tho' a swift whirlewind tear in sunder
Heav'n above him, or Earth under;
Tho the Rocks on heaps do tumble,
Or the World to ashes crumble,
Tho' the stupendious Mountains from on high
Drop down, and in their humble Vallies lie:
Should the unruly Ocean roar,
And dash its faome against the shore;
He finds no tempest in his mind,
Fears no billow, feels no wind:
All is serene, all quiet there,
There's not one blast of troubled air,
Old stars may fall, or new ones blaze,
Yet none of these his Soul amaze,
Such is the man can smile at irksome death,
And with an easie sigh g [...]ve up his breath.
An Elegy on the Earl of SANDWICH.
IF there were ought in Verse, at once could raise,
Or tender pity, and or immortal praise,
Thine Obsequies, brave Sandwich, would require
What ever might our nobler thoughts inspire;
But since thou find'st by thy unhappy fate,
What 'tis to be unfortunately Great,
And purchase honour at too dear a rate:
The Muses Best attempt, how e're design'd,
Cannot but prove impertinently kind.
Thy glorious valour is a Theam too high,
For all the humble arts of Poësie,
To side with chance, and Kingdomes over-run.
Are little things Ambitious men have done;
But on a flaming Ship thus to despise
That life, which others did so highly prize;
[Page 53] To fight with Fire, and struggle with a wave,
And Neptune with unwearied Arms out brave,
Are deeds surpassing fabulous Chronicle,
And which no future Age can parallel;
Leviathan himselfe [...]s out done by Thee,
Thou greater wonder of the Deep, than he:
Nor could the Deep thy mighty ashes hold,
The Deep that swallows Diamonds and Gold,
Fame [...]v'n thy sacred Relicks does pursue,
Richer than all the treasures of Peru:
While the kind Sea, thy breathless body bring▪
Safe to the bed of Honour, and of Kings.
An Epitaph on the Earl of Sandwich.
HEre lies the Dust of that illustrious Man,
That triumph't o're the Ocean;
Who for his Country nobly courted death,
And dearly sold his glorious Breath,
[Page 54] Or in a word▪ in this cold narrow Grave
Sandwich the Good, the Great, the Brave,
(Oh frail Estate of Sublunary things!)
Lyes equal here with Englands greatest Kings.
On Mr. JOHNSONS several Shipwracks
HE that has never yet acquainted been
With cruel chance, nor Vertue naked seen,
Strip't from th'advantages (which vices wear)
Of happy, plausible, successful, fair;
Nor learn't how long the lowring cloud may last,
Wherewith her beauteous face is overcast,
'Till she her native glories does recover,
And brighter shine, after the Storm is over;
To be inform'd, he need no further go,
Than this divine Epitome of woe;
[Page 55] In Iohnson's life, and writings he may find,
What Homer in his Odysses design'd,
A vertuous man by miserable fate
Rendred ten thousand wayes unfortunate;
Sometimes within a leaking Vessel tost,
All hopes of life, and the lov'd Shore quite lo [...] ▪
While hidden sands, and every greedy wave,
With horror gap't themselves into a grave:
Sometimes upon a Rock with fury thrown,
Moning himself, where none could hear his mone;
Sometimes cast out upon the barren sand,
Expos'd to th' mercy of a Barbarous land:
Such was the pious Iohnson, 'till kind Heaven
A blessed end to all his toiles had given:
To shew, that vertuous men, tho' they appear,
But Fortune's sport, are Providence's care.
The Resolve.
I.
HAd Phillis neither charmes, nor Graces
More than the rest of women wear,
Levell [...]d by Fate with common faces,
Yet Damon could esteem her fair.
II.
Good natur'd Love can soon forgive
Those petty injuries of time,
And all th'affronts of years impute
To her misfortune, not her crime.
III.
Wedlock put's love upon the wrack,
Makes it confess 'tis still the same
In icy age, as it appear'd,
At first when all was lively flame.
IV.
If Hymen's slaves, whose ears are bor'd,
Thus constant by compulsion be,
Why should not choice indear us more
Than Them their hard necessity,
V.
Phillis! 'tis true, thy glass does run,
But since mine too keep's equal pace,
My silver hairs may trouble thee,
As much as me thy ruin'd face.
VI.
Then let us constant be as Heaven,
Whose Laws inviolable are,
Not like those rambling Meteors there,
That foretel ills, and disappear.
VII.
So shall a pleasing calm attend,
Our long uneasie Destiny,
So shall our loves, and lives exp [...]r [...]
From Storms and Tempests ever free.
PASTORAL.
I.
AT break of day poor Celadon
Hard by his Sheep [...]olds walk't alone,
His arms a cross, his head bow'd down,
His oaten pipe besides him thrown,
When Thirs [...]s hidden in a Thicket by,
Thus heard the discontented Shepheard cry.
II.
What is it Celadon has done,
That all his happiness is gone!
The Curtains of the dark are drawn,
And chearful morn begins to dawn,
Yet in my breast 'tis ever dead of night,
That can admit no beam of pleasant light.
III.
You pretty Lambs do leap and play
To welcome the new kindled day,
Your Shepheard harmless, as are you,
Why is he not as frolick too!
If such disturbance th' Innocent attend,
How differs he from them that dare offend!
IV.
Ye Gods! or let me die, or live,
If I must die, why this reprieve?
If you would have me live, O why
Is it with me as those that die!
I faint, I gasp, I pant, my eyes are set,
My Cheekes are pale, and I am living yet.
V.
Ye Gods! I never did withold
The fattest Lamb of all my fold,
[Page 60] But on your Altars laid it down,
And with a Garland did it crown.
Is it in vain to make your Altars smoke?
Is it all one, to please, and to provoke?
VI.
Time was that I could sit and smile,
Or with a dance the time beguile,
My [...]oul like that smooth lake was still,
Bright as the Sun behind yon hill,
Like yonder stately Mountain clear, and high,
Swift, soft, and gay as that same Butterfly.
XII.
But now Within there's Civil war,
In arms my rebel Passions are,
Their old Allegiance laid aside,
The Traitors now in Triumph ride;
That many headed monster has thrown down
It's lawful Monarch Reason, from it's throne,
VIII.
See unrelenting Sylvia see,
All this, and more is long of Thee:
For e'r I saw that charming face,
Uninterrupted was my peace,
Thy glorious [...]eamy eyes have struck me blind
To my own Soul the way I cannot find.
IX.
Yet is it not thy fault nor mine,
Heav'n is too blame, that did not shine
Upon us both with equal rayes,
It made thine bright, mine gloomy dayes,
To Sylvia beauty gave, and riches store,
All Celadon's offence is, he is poor.
X.
Unlucky stars poor Shepheards have,
Whose love is fickle Fortun [...]'s Slave
[Page 62] Those golden days are out of date,
When every Turtle chose his Mate:
Cupid that mighty Prince then uncontroul'd
Now like a little Negro's bought and sold.
LOVE'S Bravo.
SONG.
WHy should we murmur, why repine
Phillis at thy fate, or mine?
Like Pris'ners, why do we those fetters shake,
Which neither thou, nor I can break?
There is a better way to baffle fate,
If Mortals would but mind it,
And 'tis not hard to find it:
Who would be happy, must be desperate;
He must despise those Stars that fright
Only Fools that dread the night▪
[Page 63] Time and chance he must out brave,
He that crouches is their Slave.
Thus the wise Pagans ill at ease,
Bravely chastiz'd their surly Deities.
The Batchelors Song.
LIke a Dog with a bottle, fast ti'd to his tail,
Like Vermin in a trap, or a Thief in a Jail,
Or like a Tory in a Bog,
Or an Ape with a Clog:
Such is the man, who when he might go free,
Does his liberty loose,
For a Matrimony noose,
And sels himself into Captivity;
The Dog he do's howl, when his bottle do's jog,
The Vermin, the Theif, and the Tory in vain
Of the trap, of the Jail, of the Quagmire complain▪
But welfare poor Pug! for he playes with his Clog;
[Page 64] And tho' he would be rid on't rather than his life,
Yet he lugg's it, and he hug's it, as a man does his wife.
The Second Part.
SONG.
HOw happy a thing were a wedding and a bedding,
If a man might purchase a wife
For a twelve month, and a day;
But to live with her all a mans life,
For ever and for ay,
'Till she grow as grey as a Cat,
Good faith Mr. Parson, I thank you for that.
Advice to an Old man of sixty three about to marry a Girle of sixteen.
SONG.
I.
NOw fie upon him! what is Man,
Whose life at best is but a span?
When to an inch it dwindles down,
Ice in his bones, snow on his Crown,
That he within his crazy brain,
Kind thoughts of Love should entertain,
That he, when Harvest comes should plow
And when 'tis time to reap, go sowe,
Who in imagination only strong,
Tho' twice a Child, can never twice grow young.
II.
Nature did those design for Fools,
That sue for work, yet have no tools.
[Page 66] What fellow feeling can there be
In such a strange disparity?
Old age mistakes the youthful breast,
Love dwels not there, but interest:
Alas Good Man! take thy repo [...]e,
Get ribband for thy thumbs, and toes,
Provide thee flannel, and a sheet o [...] lead,
Think on thy Coffin, not thy bridal bed.
The Expectation.
SONG.
I.
WHy did I ever see those glorious eyes
My famish't Soul to Tantalize?
I hop'd for Heav'n, which I had lately seen,
But ne'r perceiv'd the Gulph between:
In vain for bliss did my presumptions seek,
[Page 67] My love so strong
I could not hold my tongue,
My heart so feeble that I durst not speak.
II.
Yet why do I my constitution blame
Since all my heart is out of frame!
[...]Twere better (sure) my passion to appease,
With hope to palliate my disease:
And 'twill be something like Tranquillity,
To hope for that
I must not compass yet
And make a vertue of necessity.
CORIDON converted.
SONG.
I.
WHen Coridon a Slave did lie,
Entangled in his Phillis eye,
[Page 68] How did he sigh! how did he grone!
How melancholy was his tone!
He [...]old his story to the woods
And wept his passion by the flouds;
But Phillis, cruel Phillis, too too blame,
Regarded not his sufferings, nor his flame;
II.
Then Coridon resolv'd no more
His mistress mercy to implore;
How did he laugh how did he sing!
How did he make the forrest ring!
He told his conquests to the woods,
And drown'd his passions in the flouds:
Then Phillis, cruel Phillis, less severe
Would have had him, But he would none of her.
The Humourist.
SONG.
I.
GOod faith I never was but once so mad
To dote upon an idle woman's face,
And then alas! my fortune was so bad
To see another chosen in my place,
And yet I courted her I'me very sure!
With Love as true as his was, and as pure.
II.
But if I ever be so fond again
To undertake the second part of love,
To reassume that most unmanlike pain,
Or after shipwrack do the Ocean prove;
My Mistress must be gentle, kind, and free,
Or I' [...]e be as indifferent as she.
The SLIGHT.
SONG.
I.
I Did but crave that I might kiss,
If not her lip, at least her hand,
The coolest Lover's frequent bliss
And rude is she that will withstand
That inoffensive libertie;
Shee (would you think it) in a fume
Turn'd her about and left the room,
Not she, she vow'd not she.
II.
Well Chariessa then said I,
If it must thus for ever be,
I can renounce my slavery,
And since you will not, can be free:
[Page 71] Many a time she made me dye,
Yet (would you think) I lov'd the more,
But I'le not tak't as heretofore,
Not I, I'le vow not I.
The PENITENT.
SONG.
I.
HAd I but known some years ago
What wretched lovers undergo;
The tempests and the stormes that rise
From their beloved's dangerous eyes,
With how much torment they endure
That Ague, and that Calenture;
Long since I had my error seen,
Long since repented of my sin:
Too late the souldier dread's the Trumpets sound
That newly has received his mortal wound.
II.
But so adventurous was I
My fortunes all alone to try,
Need's must I kiss the burning light,
Because it shin'd, because 'twas bright,
My heart with youthful heat on fire,
I thought some God did me inspire;
And that blind zeal imboldned me,
T'attempt Althaea's Deitie;
Surely those happy Pow'rs that dwell above,
Or never courted, or enjoy'd their love.
The Defiance.
SONG.
I.
BE not too proud imperious Dame,
Your charmes are transitory things,
May melt, while you at heaven aim,
Like Icarus's waxen wings;
[Page 73] And you a part in his misfortues beare,
Drown'd in a briny Ocean of despaire.
II.
You think your beauties are above
The Poet's brain, and Painter's hand,
As if upon the throne of Love
You only should the world command:
Yet know though you presume your title true,
There are pretenders, that will Rival you.
III.
There's an experienc't Rebel Time,
And in his squadarns poverty;
There's Age that bring's along with him
A terrible Artillery:
And if against all these thou keep'st thy Crown,
Th' Usurper Death will make thee lay it down.
The Surrender.
SONG.
I Yeild, I yeild! Divine Althaea see
How prostrate at thy feet I bow,
Fondly in love with my Captivity,
So weak am I, so mighty Thou!
Not long agoe I could defy
Arm'd with wine and company,
Beautie's whole Artillerie:
Quite vanquish't now by thy miraculous Charms:
Here fair Althaea take my arms:
For sure he cannot be of humane race
That can resist so bright, so sweet a face.
Fadeing Beauty.
SONG.
I.
AS poor Aurelia sate alone,
Hard by a Rivulets flowry side,
Envious at Nature's new born pride,
Her slighted self, she thus reflected on.
II.
Alas! that Nature should revive
These flowers, which after Winter's snow
Spring fresh again and brighter shew,
But for our fairer Sex, so ill contrive!
III.
Beauty like theirs a short liv'd thing,
On us in vain she did bestow,
Beauty that onely once can grow,
An Autumn has, but knows no second Spring▪
The Whim.
SONG.
I.
WHy so serious, why so grave?
Man of business, why so muddy?
Thy self from chance thou canst not save
With all thy care and study.
Look merrily then, and take thy repose;
For 'tis to no purpose to look so forlorn,
Since the World was as bad, before thou wer't born,
And when it will mend who knows?
And a thousand years hence 'tis all one,
If thou lay'st on a Dunghil, or sat'st on a Throne,
II.
To be troubled to be sad,
Carking Mortal 'tis a folly,
[Page 77] For a pound of pleasure's not so bad
As an ounce of Melancholly:
Since all our lives long we travel towards Death
Let us rest us sometimes, and bait by the way;
'Tis but dying at last; in our race let us stay,
And we shan't be so soon out of breath.
Sit the Comedy out, and that done,
When the Play's at an end, let the Curtain fall down.
A DIALOGVE.
Cloris and Parthenissa.
C.
WHy doest thou all address deny?
Hard hearted Parthenissa, why?
See how the trembling Lovers come,
That from thy lips expect their doom.
P.
Chloris! I hate them all, they know,
Nay I have often told them so;
[Page 78] Their silly politick's abhorr'd
I scorn to make my slave my Lord:
C.
But Strephon's eyes proclame his love
Too brave, tyrannical to prove,
P.
Oh Chloris! when we loose our pow'r
We must obey the Conquerour.
C.
Yet where a gentle Prince beare's sway
It is no bondage to obey:
P.
But if like Nero, for a while,
With arts of kindness he beguile;
How shall the Tyrant be withstood,
When he has writ his laws in blood!
C.
Love, (Parthenissa) all command's
It fetters Kings in charming bands,
Mars yields his arms to Cupid's darts,
But Beauty soften's savage hearts.
Chorus,
If nothing else can pull the Tyrant down,
Kill him with kindness, and the day's yonr own.
The RENEGADO.
SONG.
I.
REmov'd from fair Vrania's eyes
Into a village far away,
Fond Astrophil began to say,
Thy charmes Vrania I despise;
[...]o bid some other shepheard for thee dy,
That never understood thy Tyranny.
II.
Return'd at length th' amorous swain,
Soon as he saw his Dietie,
Ador'd again and bow'd his knee,
Became her slave, and wore her Chain;
The needle thus that motionless did ly
Trembles, and moves when the lov'd Loadstone's nigh.
PHILLIS withdrawn.
I.
I Did but see her, and she's snatch't away,
I find I did but happy seem;
So small a while did my contentments stay,
As short and pleasant as a dream:
Yet such are all our satisfactions here,
They raise our hopes, and then they disappear.
II.
Ill natur'd Stars that evermore conspire
To quench poor Strephons flame,
To stop the progress of his swift desire,
And leave him but an Aëry name;
Why art thou doom'd (of no pretences proud)
Ixion-like thus to embrace a Cloud?
III.
Yet why should Strephon murmur, why complain,
Or envy Phillis her delight,
Why should her pleasures be to him a pain,
Ea [...]ier perhaps out of his sight?
No, Strephon no! If Phillis happy be,
Thou shouldst rejoyce, what e'r becom's of Thee.
IV.
Amidst the charming glories of the Spring
In pleasant Fields and goodly Bowers
Indulgent Nature seems concern'd to bring
All that may bless her innocent hours,
While thy disastrous Fate has ty'd thee down
To all the noise and Tumult of the Town.
V.
Strephon that for himself expects no good
To Phillis wishes every where,
[Page 82] A long serenity without a Cloud,
Sweet as these smiles of th' Infant year,
May Halcyons in her bosome build their nest
What ever storms shall discompose my breast.
Weeping at Parting.
SONG.
I.
GO gentle Oriana, go,
Thou seest the Gods will have it so;
Alas! Alas! 'tis much in vain
Of their ill usage to complain,
To curse them when we want relief,
Lessens our courage not our grief:
Dear Oriana wipe thine eye,
The time may come, that thou, and I
Shall meet again, long, long to prove
What Vigour absence adds to love,
[Page 83] Smile Orania then, and let me see,
That look again, which stole my liberty.
II.
But say that Oriana die,
And that sad moment may be nigh,
The Gods that for a year can sever,
If it please them can part us ever,
They that refresh, can make us weep.
And into Death can lengthen sleep,
Kind Oriana should I hear
The thing I so extreamly fear,
'Twill not be strange, if it be said,
After a while, I too, am dead.
Weep Oriana weep, for who does know,
Whether we e'r shall meet again below.
The Malecontent.
SONG.
PHillis, O Phillis! Thou art fondly vain,
My wavering thoughts thus to molest,
Why should my pleasure be the onely pain,
That must torment my easie breast?
If with Prometheus I had stoll'n fire,
Fire from above,
As scorching and as bright, as that of love,
I might deserve Iove's ire,
A V [...]lture then might on my liver feed,
But now eternally I bleed,
And yet on Thee, on Thee lies all the blame,
Who freely gav'st the fewel and the flame,
The Indifferent.
SONG.
PRithee confess for my sake, and your own,
Am I the Man or no?
If I am he, thou can'st not do' t too soon,
If not, thou canst not be too slow;
If Woman cannot love, Man's folly's great
Your Sex with soe much zeal to treat;
But if we freely proffer to pursue
Our tender thoughts and spotless love,
Which nothing shall remove,
And you despise all this, pray what are you?
The HARBOUR.
SONG.
O Tedious hopes! when will the storm be o're!
When will the beaten Vessel reach the shore!
Long have I striv'n with blustring winds & tides,
Clouds o're my head, Waves on my sides!
Which in my dark adventures high did swell,
While heaven was black as hell.
O Love, tempestuous Love, yet, yet at last,
Let me my Anchor cast,
And for the troubles I have undergone,
O bring me to a Port which I may call my own.
The Vnconcerned.
SONG.
NOw that the world is all in amaze,
Drums, & Trumpets rending heav'ns,
Wounds a bleeding, Mortals dying,
Widdows and Orphans piteously crying;
Armies marching, Towns in a blaze,
Kingdomes and States at sixes and [...]evens:
What should an honest Fellow do,
Whose courage, and fortunes run equally low?
Let him live say I till his glass be ru [...],
As easily as he may,
Let the wine, and the sand of his glass flow together,
For Life's but a winters day;
Alas from Sun to Sun,
The time's very short, very dirty the weather,
And we silently creep away.
[Page 88] Let him nothing do, he could wish undone;
And keep himself safe from the noise of a Gun.
To Mr. Sam. Austin of Wadham Col. Oxon on his most unintelligible Poems.
SIR,
IN that small inch of time I stole, to look
On th'obscure depths of your mysterious Book
(Heav'n bless my eye sight!) what strains did I see?
What Steropegeretick Poetrie!
What Hieroglyphick words, what all,
In Letters more than Cabalistical!
Our little fingers may our Verses scan,
But all our Noddles understand them can
No more, than read that dung fork, pothook hand
That in Queen's Colledge Library does stand.
The cutting Hanger of your wit I can't [...]see,
For that same scabbard that conceals your Fancy:
Thus a black [...]elvet Casket hides a Jewel;
[Page 89] And a dark woodhouse, wholesome winter fuel;
Thus Iohn Tradeskin starves our greedy eyes,
By boxing up his new found Rarities;
We dread Actaeons Fate, dare not look on,
When you do scowre your skin in Helicon;
We cannot (Lynceus like) see through the wall
Of your strong Morter'd Poems; nor can all
The small shot of our brains make one hole in
The Bulwarke of your Book, that Fort to win.
Open your meanings door, O do not lock it!
Undo the Buttons of your smaller Pocket,
And charitably spend those Angels there,
Let them inrich and actuate our sphere.
Take off our Bongraces, and shine upon us,
Though your resplendent beams should chance to tan us.
Had you but stoln your verses, than we might
Hope in good time they would have come to light;
And felt I not a strange Poetick heat
Flaming within, which reading makes me sweat,
[Page 90] Vulcan should take 'em, and I'de not exempt 'em,
Because they be things Quibus lumen ademptum.
I thought to have commended something there,
But all exceeds my commendations far,
I can say nothing; but stand still, and stare,
And cry O wondrous, strange, profound, & rare,
Vast Wits must fathome you better than thus.
You merit more than their praise: as for us
The Beetles of our Rhimes shall drive full fast in
The wedges of your worth to everlasting.
To my Ingenious Friend Mr. Wil [...]liam Faithorn on his Book of drawing, Etching, and Graving.
SHould I attempt an Elogy, or Frame
A Paper-structure to secure thy name,
[Page 91] The lightening of one Censure, one stern frown
Might quickly hazard that, and thy renown,
But this thy Book prevents that fruitless pain,
One line speaks purelier Thee, than my best [...]strain.
Those mysteries (once like the spiteful mold,
Which bars the greedy Spaniard from his Gold.)
Thou dost unfold in every friendly Page,
Kind to the present, and succeeding Age.
That Hand, whose curious Art prolongs the date
Of frail Mortality, and ba [...]le's Fate
With Brass and Steel, can surely potent be
To rear a lasting monument for Thee:
For my part I prefer (to guard the Dead)
A Copper-Plate beyond a Sheet of Lead.
So long as Brass, so long as Books endure,
So long as neat wrought-Pieces Thou'rt secure.
A [Faithorn sculpsit] is a charm can save
From dull oblivion, and a gapeing grave.
An Explanation of an Emblem engraven by V. H.
SE'st thou those Raies, the Light 'bove them?
And that gay thing the Diadem?
The Wheel and Balance, which are ty'de
T'th Gold, black Clouds on either side?
Se'st thou the winged Trumpeters with all
That kick the World's blew tottering ball?
The flying Globe, the Glass thereon,
Those fragments of a Skeleton?
The Bayes, the Palms, the Fighting men,
And written Scroul?—Come tell me then,
Did thy o're curious eye e'r see
An apter Scheme of Misery?
Whats all that Gold, and sparkling Stones
To that bald scull, to those Cross bones?
What mean those Blades (whom men adore)
To stain the Earth with purple gore?
[Page 93] Sack stately Towns, [...]ilk Banners spread,
Gallop their Coursers o're the dead,
Far more than this? and all to sway
But till those sands shall glide away.
For when the Bubble World shall fly
With stretcht out Plumes, when the brisk ey
Shall close with anguish, sink with tears,
And th'Angels trumpets pierce our ears,
What's haughty Man or those fine things,
Which Heaven calls Men, though Men stile Kings?
Vain World adieu! and farewel fond renown!
Give me the Glory, that's above the Crown!
For Thoughts.
I.
THoughts? what are they?
They are my constant Friends,
Who when harsh Fate it's dull brow bends,
[Page 94] Uncloud me with a smiling Ray,
And in the depth of midnight force a day.
II.
When I retire, and flee
The busie throngs of Company,
To hug my self in privacy;
O the discourse! the pleasant talk,
'Twixt us (my Thoughts) a long a lonely walk!
III.
You like the stupifying Wine
The dying malefactors sip
With shivering lip,
T' abate the rigour of their doom,
By a less troublous cut to their long home;
Make me slight Crosses, though they pil'd up ly,
All by th'enchantments of an extasie.
IV.
Do I desire to see
The throne and Majestie
Of that proud one
Brother and Vnkle to the Stars and Sun?
Those can conduct me where such Toyes reside,
And waft me cross the Main, sans wind and tide.
V.
Would I descrie
Those radiant Mansions 'bove the Skie,
Invisible by Mortal eye?
My Thoughts, my Thoughts can lay
A shining Track thereto,
And nimbly fleeting go:
Through all the eleven Orbs can shove away.
These too, like Iacobs ladder, are
A most Angelick Thorough-fare.
VI.
The wealth that shines
In th'Oriental Mines;
Those sparkling gems which Nature keeps
Within her Cabinets, the deeps;
The Verdant Fields,
The Rarities the Rich world yields;
Rare Structures, whose each gilded spire
Glisters like lihgtning; which, while men admire,
They deem the neighbouring Skie on fire,
These can I gaze upon and glut mine eyes
With fancies of varieties.
As on the front of Pisgah, I
Can th' Holy Land through these my Opticks spie.
VII.
Contemn we then
The peevish rage of men,
Whose violence ne'r can divorce
[Page 97] Our mutual amitie,
Or lay so damn'd a Curse
As non addresses, 'twixt my thoughts and me:
For though I sigh in Irons, They
Use their old freedome, readily obey;
And when my bosome-friends desert me, stay.
VIII.
Come then my darlings, I'le embrace
My Priviledge; make known
The high prerogative I own,
By making all allurements give you place;
Whose sweet society to mee,
A sanctuary and a sheild shall be
'Gain'st the full Quivers of my Destinie.
Against Thoughts.
I.
INtolerable Racks!
Distend my Soul no more,
Loud as the billows when they roar,
More dreadful than the hideous thunder cracks.
Foes inappeasable! that slay
My best contents, around me stand,
Each like a Fury, with a Torch in hand;
An [...] fright me from the hopes of one good day.
II.
When I seclude my self, and say
How frolick will I be,
Unfetter'd from my Company
I'le bath me in felicity!
[Page 99] In come these Guests,
They Harpy like defile my Feasts,
Oh the damn'd Dialogues, the cursed talk,
'Twixt us (my thoughts) along a sullen walk.
III.
You like the poisonous wine
The Gallants quaff
To make 'em laugh,
Yet chance at last t' endure
From thence the tortures of a Calenture,
Fool me with feign'd reflections, till I lie.
Stark raveing in a Bedlam extasie.
IV.
Do I dread
The Starry Throne and Majesty
Of that High God,
Who batters Kingdomes with an Iron Rod,
And makes the Mountains stagger with a n [...]d?
[Page 100] That sits upon the glorious Bow,
Smiling at changes here below.
These go [...]d me to his grand Tribunal, where
They tell me I with horror must appear,
And antedate amazements by grim fear.
V.
Would I descry
Those happy Soul's blest Mansions 'bove the Sky,
Invisible by mortal ey,
And in a noble speculation trace
A journey to that shining place?
Can I afford a sigh or two,
Or breath a Wish that I might thither go:
Th [...]se clip my plumes, and chill my blazing Love
That O I cannot, cannot soar above.
VI.
The Fire that shines
In Subterranean mines,
The Chrystal'd streams,
[Page 101] The [...]ulphur rocks that glow upon
The torrid banks of Phlegeton;
Those [...]ooty fiends which nature keeps,
Bolted and Barred up in the deeps;
Black caves wide Chasmas which who see confess
Types of the Pit so deep, so bottomless!
These mysteries, though I fain would not beho [...]d,
you to my view unfold:
Like an adjudg'd offender, to the high
Tarpeian Hill you force me up, that I
May so be hurried headly down, and Die.
VII.
Mention not then
The streng'th, and faculties of men;
Whose arts cannot expell
These anguishes, this bosome-Hell.
When down my aking head I lay
In hopes to slumber them away;
[Page 102] Perchance I do beguile
Their tyranny a while,
One, or two minutes, then they throng again,
And reassault me with a trebled pain:
Nay though I sob in fetters, they
Spare me not then; perplex me each sad day,
And whom a very Turk would pity, slay.
VIII.
Hence, Hence, (my Jaylors!) Thoughts be gone,
Let my Tranquilities alone.
Shall I embrace
A Crocodile, or place
My choice affections on the fatal Dart,
That stabs me to the heart?
I hate your curst proximity,
Worse than the venom'd arrows heads that be
Cramm'd in the quivers of my Destiny
A Dooms-day Thought. A•. 1659.
JVdgment! two syllables can make
The haughtiest Son of Adam shake:
'Tis coming, and 'twill surely come
The dawning to that Day of Doom;
O th' morning blush of that dread day,
When Heav'n and Earth shall steal away,
Shall in their Pristine Chaos hide,
Rather than th' angry Judge abide:
'Tis not far off▪ methinks I see
Among the Stars some dimmer be;
Some tremble, as their Lamps did fear
A Neighbouring Extinguisher.
The greater Luminaries fail,
Their Glories by Eclipses vail,
Knowing e're long their borrow'd Light
Must sink in th' Universal Night.
[Page 104] When I behold a Mist arise,
Strait to the same astonish't Eies
Th' ascending Clouds do's represent
A scene of th' smoking Firmament.
Oft when I hear a blustring Winde
With a tempestuous murmur joyn'd,
I phancy, Nature in this blast,
Practice's how to breath her Last,
Or sigh's for poor Man's misery,
Or pant's for fair Eternity.
Go to the dull Church-yard, and see
Those Hillocks of Mortalitie,
Where proudest Man is one'ly found
By a small swelling in the Ground;
What crouds of Carcasses are made
Slave to the pickax and the spade!
Digg but a foot, or two, to make
A Cold Bed, for thy dead friends sake,
'Tis odds but in that scantling roome
Thou robb'st another of his Tombe,
[Page 105] Or in thy delving smit'st upon
A shinbone, or a Cranion:
When th' Prison's full, what next can be
But the grand Jayl Deliverie?
The great Assise, when the pale Clay
Shall gape, and render up it's Prey;
When from the dungeon of the Grave
The meager Throng themselves shall heave,
Shake off their linnen chaines, and gaze
With wonder, when the world shall blaze,
Then climbe the mountaines, scale the rocks,
Force op'e the Deep's Eternal locks,
Beseech the Cliffs to lend an eare,
Obdurate they, and will not heare.
What? ne're a cavern ne're a Grot
To cover from the common Lot?
No quite forgotten Hold, to ly
Obscur'd, and pass the reck'ning by?
No—Ther's a quick all piercing Ey
Can through the Earth's dark Center pry,
[Page 106] Search into th' bowels of the Sea,
And comprehend Eternity.
What shall we do then, when the voice
Of the shrill Trump with strong fierce noise
Shall pierce our ears, and summon all
To th' Universe wide Judgment-Hall?
What shall we do, we cannot hide,
Nor yet that scrutiny abide:
When enlarg'd Conscience loudly speaks,
And all our bosom-secrets breaks;
When flames surround, and greedy Hell
Gapes for a Booty, (who can dwell
With everlasting Burnings!) when
Irrevocable words shall pass on Men;
Poor naked Men, who sometimes thought
These frights perhaps would come to nought!
What shall we do? we cannot run
For Refuge, or the strict Judge shun.
'Tis too late then to think what course to take,
While we live here, we must Provision make.
Virtus solamanet, caetera mortis erunt.
I.
NUnquam sitivi, quae vehit aureo
Pactolus alveo flumina; quo magis
Potatur Hermus, tanto avarae
Mentis Hydrops sitibundus ardet.
II.
[...]rustrà caduci carceris incola
Molirer Arces; quilibet angulus
Sat ossa post manes reponet;
Exiguum satis est Sepulchrum.
III.
Nil stemma penso, nil titulos moro [...],
Cerásve aviti sanguinis indices,
Sunt ista fatorum, inque Leth [...]s.
Naufragium paticntur undis.
IV.
Ergo i [...] quieto pectoris ambitu
Quid Mens anhelas fulgura gloriae,
Laudésque inanes, & loquacem
Quae populi sedet ore, famam.
V.
Letho superstes gloria, som [...]ii
Dulcedo vana est, fama malignior,
Nil ta [...]git umbras, nec feretrum
Ingreditur Popularis Aura.
VI.
Mansura sector, sola sed invidi
Expers Sepulchri sydera trajicit,
Spernénsque fatorum tumultus
Pellit humum generosa Virt [...]s.
VII.
Praeceps no vorum caetera meusium
Consumet aetas, seráque temporis
Delebit annosi vetustas
Vtopi [...]ae nova Regna Lunae.
Translated.
I.
I Never thirsted fer the Golden Floud,
Which o're Pactolus wealthy sands do's roule,
From whence the Covetous mind receives no good,
But rather swells the dropsie of his Soul:
II.
On Pallaces why should I set my mind,
Imprison'd in this bodies mouldring clay?
'Er [...] long to poor six foot of Earth confin'd,
Whose bones must crumble at the fatal day.
III.
Titles and Pedigrees what are they to me,
Or honour gain'd by our Fore-Fathers toile,
[Page 110] The Sport of Fate, whose gaudiest Pageantry
Lethe will wash out, dark Oblivion soyle.
IV.
Why then (my Soul) who fain would'st be at ease;
Should the Worlds glory dazle thy bright Ey?
Thy self with vain applause why shouldst thou please,
Or dote on Fame, which Fools may take from Thee!
V.
Praise after Death is but a pleasant dream,
The Dead fare ne'r the worse for ill report;
The Ghosts below know nothing of a Name,
Nor ever Popular Caresses court,
VI.
Give me the lasting Good, Vertue, that flies
Above the Clouds, that tramples on dull Earth,
Exempt from Fates tumultuous mutinies,
Vertue, that cannot need a second Birth:
VII.
All other things must bend their heads to Tim [...],
By Ages mighty Torrent born away,
Hereafter no more thought on than my Rhime,
Or Fa [...]ry Kingdomes in Utopia.
The Immoveable
SONG.
I.
WHat though the Skie be clouded o're,
And Heav'ns Influence smile no more?
Though Tempests rise, and Earthquakes make
The giddy World's foundation shake?
A gallant breast contemns the feeble blow
Of angry Gods, and scorns what Fate can do,
II.
What if Alarums sounded be,
And we must face our enemy,
If Cannons bellow out a death,
Or Trumpets woo away our breath?
'Tis brave amidst the glittering Throng to die,
Nay Sampson like to fall with Company.
III.
Then let the Swordman domineer,
I can, nor Pike, nor Musket fear;
Clog me with Chains, your envies tire,
For when I will, I can expire;
And when the puling fit of Life is gone,
The worst that cruel man can do, is done.
The Wish.
SONG.
I.
NOt to the Hills where Cedars move
Their cloudy heads, not to the grove
Of Myrtles in th' Elysian shade,
Nor Tempe which the Poets made;
Not on the spicy mountaines play,
Or travail to Arabia:
I aime not at the careful throne,
Which Fortune's darlings sit upon;
No, no, the best this fickle world can give
Has but a litttle, little time to live.
II.
But let me soar, O let me flie
Beyond poor Earths benighted ey,
Beyond the pitch swift Eagles towre,
[...]Above the reach of humane Power;
Above the Stars, above the way,
Whence Phoebus darts his piercing ray.
O let me tread those Courts that are,
So bright, so pure, so blest, so fair,
As neither thou, nor I must never know
On Earth 'tis thither, thither would I go.
The Cordial. In the year 1657.
SONG.
I.
DId you hear of the News (O the News) how it thunders!
Do but see, how the block headed Multitude wonders!
One fumes, & stamps, & stares to think upon
What others wish as fast, Confusion.
One swears we're gone, another just a going,
While a third sits and cryes,
'Till his half blinded eyes,
Call him pitiful Rogue for so doing.
[Page 116] Let the tone be what 'twill that the mightyones utter,
Let the cause be what 'twill why the poorer, sort mutter;
I care not what your state confounders do,
Nor what the stout repiners undergoe:
I cannot whine at any alterations;
Let the Swed beat the Dane
Or be beaten again,
What am I in the croud of the Nations?
III.
What care I if the North and South Poles come together;
If the Turk, or the Pope's Antichristian, or neither;
If fine Astraea be (as Naso said)
From mortals in a peevish fancy fled:
Rome, when 'twas all on fire, her people mourning▪
[Page 117] 'Twas an Emperour could stand
With his harp in his hand
Sing and play, while the City was burning.
Celadon on Delia singing.
O Delia! for I know 'tis she,
It must be she, for nothing less could move
My tuneless heart than something from Above
I hate all earthly harmonie:
Hark, Hark ye Nymphs, and satyrs all around!
Hark how the bafled Eccho faints; see how she dies
Look how the winged Quire all gasping lye's
At the melodious sound;
See, while she sings
How they droop and hang their wings!
Angelick Delia sing no more,
Thy song's too great for mortal eare;
Thy charming notes wee can no longer bear:
[Page 118] O then in pity to the World give o're,
And leave us stupid as we were before.
Fair Delia take the fatal choice,
Or veil thy beauty, or suppress thy Voice.
His Passions thus poor Celadon betray'd,
When first he saw, when first he heard the lovely Maid.
A Character of a Belly God.
Catius and Horace.
Horace.
WHence Brother Case, and whither bound so fast?
Ca.
Oh, Sir, you must excúse me I'm in haste,
I dine with my (Lord Mayor) and can't allow
Time for our eating Directory n [...]w,
[Page 119] Though I must needs confess, I think my Rules
Would prove Pythagoras and Plato Fooles.
Hor.
Grave Sir, I must acknowledge, 'tis a crime
To interrupt at such a nick of time;
Yet stay a little Sir, it is no Sin;
You 're to say Grace e're dinner can begin;
Since you at food such Virtuoso are,
Some Precepts to an hungry Poet spare.
Ca.
I grant you Sir, next pleasure t'ane in eating
Is that (as we do call it) of repeating;
I still have Kitching Systems in my mind,
And from my Stomachs fumes a brain well lin'd,
Hor.
Whence pray Sir learnt you those ingenious Arts,
From one at home, or hyr'd from foreign parts?
Ca.
No names Sir (I beseech you,) that's foul 'play
We ne'r name Authors, only what they say.
1.
" For Eggs chuse long, the round are out of fashion
" U [...]savoury and distasteful to the Nation
" In the long Egg lyes Cock a-doodle-doo.
2.
" Chuse Coleworts planted on a soile that's dry,
" Even they are worse for th'wetting (verily!)
3.
" If friend from far shall come to visit, then
" Say thou wouldst treat the wight wth mortal Hen
" Do'nt thou forthwith pluck of the cackling head
" And impale Corps on Spit assoon as dead;
" For so she will be tough beyond all measure,
" And friend shall make a trouble of a pleasure,
" Steep't in good wine let her her life surrender,
" O then shee'l eat most admirably tender.
4.
" Mushromes that grow in meadows are the best,
" For ought I know there's poyson in the rest.
5.
" He that would many happy Summers see,
" Let him eat Mulberies fresh off the Tree,
" Gather'd before the Sun's too high, for these
" Shall hurt his stomack less than Cheshire Cheese.
6.
" Aufidius (had you done so t'had undone ye)
" Sweetned his morning's [...] draughts of Sack-with Honey;
[Page 121]" But he did ill, to empty veines to give
" Corroding Potion for a Lenitive.
7.
" If any man to drink do thee in veigle in,
" First whet thy whistle with some good Metheglin.
8.
" If thou art bound, and in continual doubt
" Thou shalt get in no more till some get out,
" The Muscle, or the Cockle will unlock
" Thy bodies trunck, and give a vent to nock;
" Some say that Sorrel Steep't in Wine will do,
" But to be sure, put in some Aloes too.
9.
" All shel-fish (with the growing Moon increast)
" Are ever when she fills her Orb the best;
" But for brave Oysters Sir. exceeding rare,
" They are not to be met with every where;
" Your Wall fleet Oysters no man will prefer
" Before the juicy Grass-green Colchester;
" Hungerford Crawfish match me if you can,
" There's no such crawlers in the Ocean.
10.
" Next for your Suppers, you (it may be) think
" There goe's no more to't, but just eat and drink;
[Page 122] " But let me tell you Sir, and tell you plain,
" To dress 'em well requires a man of brain;
" His Palate must be quick, and smart, and strong,
" For sauce, a very Critick in the tongue.
11.
" He that payes dear for Fish, nay though the best,
" May please his Fishmonger more than his Guest,
" If he be ignorant what sauce is proper,
" There's Machiavel in th' Menage of a Supper.
12.
" For Swines flesh, give me that of the wild Boar,
" Pursu'd and hunted all the Forrest o're;
" He to the liberal Oke nere quits his love,
" And when he finds no Acorns, grunts at Iove;
" The Hampshire Hog with Pease and Whey that's fed
" Sti'd up, is neither good alive nor dead.
13.
" The tendrells of the Vine are Sallads good
" If when they are in season understood.
14.
" If servants to thy board a Rabbet bring,
[Page 123]" Be wise and in the first place carve a wing.
15.
" When Fish and Fowl are right, and at just age,
" A feeders curiosity t'asswage,
" If any ask, who found the Mystery?
" Let him enquire no farther, I am he.
16.
" Some fancy bread out of the Oven hot,
" Variety's the Glutton's happiest lot.
17.
" Its not enough the Wine you have be pure,
" But of your Oyl as well you ought be sure.
18.
" If any fault be in the generous Wine,
" Set it abroad all night, and 'twill refine,
" But never strein it, nor let it pass through linen,
" Wine will be worse for that, as well as Women,
19.
" The Vintner that of Malaga and Sherry
" With damn'd ingredients patcheth up Canary,
" With segregative things as Pigeons eggs
" Strait purifies, and takes away the dregs.
20.
" An 'ore-charg'd Stomack roasted shrimps will ease.
" The Cure by Lettuce is worse than the disease.
21.
" To quicken appetite it will behoove ye
" To feed couragiously on good Anchovie.
22.
" Westphalia Ham, and the Bolognia Sawsage;
" For second or third course will clear a passage,
" But Lettuce after meales! fie on't, the Glutton
" Had better feed upon Ram [...]ally-Mutton.
23.
" [...]Twere worth one's while in Palace or in cottage,
" Right well to know the sundry sorts of Pottage;
" There is your French Pottage, Nativity broth,
" Yet that of Fetter lane exceeds them both;
" About a limb of a departed Tup
" There may you see the green herbs boyling up,
" And fat abundance o're the furnace floate,
" Resembling Whale-Oyl in a greenland Boat.
24.
" The Kentish Pippin's best, I dare be bold,
" That ever blew-cap Costard-monger sold.
25.
" Of Grapes, I like the Raisins of the Sun;
" I was the First immortal Glory won,
" By mincing Pickle Herrings with these Raisin▪
" And Apples; 'Twas I set the world a gazing,
" When once they [...]asted of this Hogan Fish,
" Pepper and Salt enamelling the dish.
26.
" 'Tis ill to purchase great Fish with great matter,
" And then to serve it up in scanty platter;
" Nor is it lesse unseemly some believe,
" From Boy with greasy fist drink to receive;
" But the cup soul within's enough to make
" A squeamish creature puke and turn up stomach.
27.
" Then Brooms and Napkins and the Flander's Tyle,
" These must be had too, or the Feast you spoil,
" Things little thought on, and not very dear,
" And yet how much they cost one in a year!
28.
" Would'st thou rub Alablaster with hands sable,
" Or spred a Diaper cloth on dirty Table?
" Embelish Treat, as thou wouldst do an Ode.
Hor.
O learned sir, how greedily I hear
This elegant Diatriba of good cheer!
Now by all that's good, by all provant you love,
By sturdy Chine of Beefe, and mighty Jove,
I do conjure thy gravity, let me see
The man that made thee this discovery;
For he that sees Original's more happy
Than him that draws by an ill favour'd Copy;
O bring me to the man, I so admire!
The Flint from whence brake forth these sparks of fire,
What satisfaction would the visions bring?
If sweet the stream, much sweeter is the spring.
The Advice.
SONG.
I.
POor Celia once was very fair
A quick bewitching ey she had,
Most neatly look't her braided haire,
Her dainty cheeks would make you mad.
Upon her lip did all the Graces play,
And on her breast ten thousand C [...]pids lay
II.
Then many a doting Lover came
From seventeen till twenty one,
Each told her of his mighty flame,
But she (forsooth) affected none,
[Page 128] One was not hansome, t'other was not fine,
This of Tobacco smelt; and that of Wine.
III.
But t'other day it was my fate,
To walk along that way alone,
I saw no Coach before her gate,
But at the door I heard her moane,
She dropt a tear, and sighing seem'd to say
Young Ladies marry, Marry while you may!
Psalme. 15. Paraphras'd.
VERSE. 1.
WHo shall approach the dread Iehova's Throne,
Or dwell within thy Courts O Holy one!
That happy man whose feet shall tread the road
Up Sion's hill, that holy hill of God.
VERSE 2.
He that's devout and strict in all he does,
That through the sinful world uprightly goes,
The desp'rate heights from whence the great ones fall,
(Giddy with same) turn not his head at all:
Stands firm on Honours pinacle, and so
Fears not the dreadful precipice below.
Of Conscience not of Man he stands in awe,
Just to observe each tittle of the Law!
His words and thoughts bear not a double part,
His breast is open, and he speaks his heart.
VERSE 3.
He that reviles not, or with cruel words,
(Deadly as venome, sharp as two edg'd swords)
Murthers his friends repute, nor dares b [...]ie [...]e,
That rumour which his Neighbour's soul may grieve:
[Page 130] But with kind words embalme's his bleeding Name,
Wipes of the rust, and polishes his fame,
VERSE IV.
He in whose eys the bravest sinners be
Extreemly vile, though rob'd in Majestie;
But if he spies a righteous man (though poor)
Him he can honour, love, admire, adore,
In Israel's humbled plains had rather stay,
Than in the tents of Kedar bare the sway:
He that severely keeps his sacred vow,
No mental reservation dares allow;
But what he swears, intends; will rather dy,
Lose all he has, then tell a solemn Ly.
VERSE V.
He that extorts not from the needy soul,
When Laws his Tyranny cannot controul;
He whom a thousand Empires cannot hire,
[Page 131] Against a guiltless person to conspire.
He that has these perfections, needs no more
What treasures can be added to his store:
The Pyramids shall turne to dust, to hide
Their own vast bulk, and haughty Founders pride.
Leviathan shall dy within his deep,
The eyes of heaven close in eternal sleep;
Confusion may o're whelm both sea, and land
Mountains may tumble down, but he shall stand.
JOB.
FEw be the days, that feeble man must breath,
Yet frequent Troubles antedate his death:
Gay like a flow'r he comes, which newly grown,
Fades of it self, or is untimely mowne:
Like a thin aëry shadow does he flie,
Lengthn [...]ng and shortning still until he die:
And does Iehova think on such a one,
Does he behold him from his mighty throne?
Will he contend with such a worthless thing,
Or dust and Ashes into judgment bring?
Unclean, unclean is man ev'n from the womb
Unclean he falls into his drowzy Tomb.
Surely, he cannot answer God▪ nor be
Accounted pure, before such purity.
A Dialogue.
Orpheus and Euridice.
Orpheus.
EVridice, my fair, my fair Euridice!
My love, my joy, my life, if so thou be
In Pluto's Kingdome answer me, appear
And come to thy poor Orpheus.—
Eur.
Oh I hear
I hear, dear Orpheus, but I cannot come
Beyond the bounds of dull Elizium.
I cannot—
Or.
And why wilt thou not draw near?
Is there within these Courts a shade so dear
As he that calls thee?—
Eur.
No, there cannot be
A thing so lovely in mine eyes as thee.
Orph.
[Page 134]Why comes not then Euridice?—
Eur.
The fates
The fates forbid, and these eternal Gates
Never unbarr'd, to let a pris'ner go
Deny me passage, nay grim Cerberus too
Stands at the door—
Or:
But cannot then
They that ore Lethe go, return agen?
Eur:
Never oh never!—
Orp:
Sure they may, let [...]s try
If art can null the laws of Destiny.
My Layes compacted Thebes, made every Tree
Loosen it's roots to caper, come let's see
What thou and I can do?
Chor.
Perchance the throng
Of Ghosts may be enchanted with a song
And mov'd to Pity.—
Eur.
Hark the hinges move
The Gate's unbarr'd, I come, I come my love.
Chorus amborum.
[Page 135]'Twas musick, only musick could un-spel
Helplesse, undone Euridice from Hell.
Nudus Redibo
NAked I came when I began to be
A man among the sons of miserie,
Tender, unarm'd, helplesse and quite [...]orlorn
E're since 'twas my hard fortune to be born;
And when the space of a few weary dayes
Shall be expir'd, then must I go my wayes.
Naked I shall return, and nothing have,
N [...]thing wherewith to bribe my hungry grave.
[Page 136] Then what's the proudest Monarch's glittering Robe,
Or what's he more, than I, that rul'd the Globe?
S [...]nce we must all without distinction die,
And slumber both stark naked, He and I.
On the Commentaries of Messire Blaize de Montluc. To the Worthy Translator Charles Cotton, Esq
HE that would aptly write of warlike men,
Should make his Ink of blood, a sword his Pen;
At least he must their memories abuse,
Who writes with less than Maro's mighty Muse:
All (Sir) that I could say of this great Theme
(The Brave Montluc) would lessen his esteem;
[Page 137] Whose Laurels too much native verdure have,
To need the Praises vulgar Chaplets crave:
His own bold hand, what it durst write, durst do,
Grappled with Enemies, and Oblivion too;
Hewd his own Monument, and grav'd thereon,
Its deep and durable inscription.
To you (Sir) whom the valiant Author owes,
His second Life, and Conquest o're his Foes,
Ill natur'd Foes, Time and Detraction,
What is a Stranger's Contribution!
Who has not such a share of vanity,
To drea [...] that one, who with such industry
Obliges all the world, can be oblig'd by me.
The Disappointment.
Pindarique Ode.
STANZA I.
OFt have I pondred in my pensive heart,
When even from my self I've stoll'n away,
And heavily considerd many a day,
The cause of all my anguish, and my smart:
Sometimes besides a shady grove,
(As dark as were my thoughts, as close as was my Love)
Dejected have I walkt alone,
Acquainting scarce my self with my own moan.
Once I resolv'd undauntedly to hear,
What 'twas my Passions had to say,
[Page 139] To find the reason of that uproare there,
And calmly, if I could, to end the fray:
No sooner was my resolution known
But I was all-Confusion;
Fierce Anger, flattering Hope, and black D [...] pair,
Bloudy Revenge, and most ignoble Fear,
Now altogether clamorous were,
My breast a perfect Chaös grown,
A mass of nameless things together hurld,
Like th' formless Embrio of the unborn world,
Just at it's rouzing from eternal night,
Before the great Creator said, Let there be light.
II.
Thrice happy then are Beasts said I,
That underneath these pleasant Covertsly,
They only sleep, and eat, and drink,
They never meditate, nor think;
Or if they do, have not the unhappy art
[Page 140] To vent the overflowings of their heart,
They without trouble live, without disorder die,
Regardless of Eternity.
I said, I would like them be wise,
And not perplex my self in vain,
Nor bite the uneasie Chain.
No no said I, I will Philosophize!
And all th'ill natur'd World despise:
But when I had reflected long,
And with deliberation thought
How few have practic'd, what they gravely taught,
(Tho' 'tis but folly to complain)
I judg'd it worth a generous disdain,
And brave defiance in Pindarique Song.
III.
&c.
FINIS.