TO THE REVEREND DR FELL, DEAN of Ch: Ch: at his returne in May 1666 from the WEST MINSTER ELECTION.
AS a wise Victor still pursues new Fame,
Adds to his Empire, and extends his Name:
Because he knows and dreads the certain Fate
Of whatsoever's Eminent or Great;
Which if their farther progress be delay'd
(As Planets when they stop) prove Retrograde.
(For States and Kingdomes are revers'd and hurl'd
Like those great Lights that influence the world.)
So (worthy Sir) that new accesse and gain
Your acquir'd Empires greatness may maintain,
Fresh Plots and Stratagems your wisdome finds
To conquer Hearts and captivate new minds.
While the designes of your unstinted soul,
Nor War can cross, nor Pestilence controul.
Such fervent zeal did Priests of old incline
To quench a God or grasp a burning shrine.
And you Sir, like devout Metellus came
To snatch a Pallas from surrounding flame:
Your vertues rightly tim'd, you wisely thence
Enhance their value at the same expence.
You grasp short liv'd occasion ere she dyes.
Prevent address, and rescue by surprize.
Others Devotion only comes, and flits;
And their zeal warmes them but like Ague fits:
Yours constant is, its motion still the same.
Nimble and restless like aspiring flame.
So the Suns Heat and active Influence,
Do Life and Vigour constantly dispense.
And when from us his cheerfull Beam declines,
'Tis to hatch Gold, and ripen Indian Mines.
Through Sickness, Tumult, and whatever waits
On factious Cities, and diseased States,
To pass so free, secure, and unconfin'd;
Argues the greatness of your Godlike Mind.
Thus the Heav'ns Progress undisturb'd appears
'Midst humane troubles, and disorder'd fears.
Earths low disasters no obstructions bring
To stop their Bounty or retard the Spring.
And now (Great Sir) while Orators enclose
Their Gratulations in looser Prose.
Will not their boundless Liberty resigne,
Shackle their Duty, or their Joys confine,
But long Pathetick Sentences rehearse:
Your Obligations fetter me in Verse.
Their grave Harangues with Interest combine;
And their set-speech courts trivial designe.
Our Thoughts are Innocent, and are secure;
Like unmixt Elements both Calm and Pure.
Musick that does Poetick Souls employ,
Is the most natural result of Joy.
Then welcome (Sir) unto a place is grown
To be a structure every way your own.
Whose few years Bounty has improv'd it more
Then tedious Reigns of profuse Kings before.
Your Glory 'tis to Build so brave a Pile:
And them the Founders we may truly Stile.
With far less Structures Pilgrime Princes buy
The favour of an angry Deity.
And Superstitious deceasing Kings
(Who think that every Quarry Blood-stones brings)
Less costly Piles to staunch the wounds intend
Of a slain Brother or a murther'd Friend.
How shall we guess your Pieties intent?
At once so liberal and Innocent!
Had the Great Woolsey's soul Prophetick been,
And a so neer succeeding Age foreseen;
Should harbour a Devotion so profuse,
Such a stupendious Piety produce;
As void of Ostentation calmly drowns
The Gifts of Kings and largesses of Crowns;
And free from Noise and Tumult, has o'recome
The wealth of England and the pride of Rome.
And (though it have, nor State nor Kingdom drain'd,
Nor is by lavish Majesty maintain'd)
Outvies the Greatness of his Power and Mind;
All that he did, and all that he design'd:
This had restrain'd his Pride, and made him know
His projects mean and his ambition low.
Disguis'd his great looks in a bashful frown;
And clad his face more Scarlet then his gown.
But (Sir) your Modesty your Fame displayes,
And puts no limits to your spreading rayes.
(Which far transcend the narrow laws of Verse,
And must be boundless as the Universe.]
Your Merits all Encomiums debar,
He still shoots low that levels at a Star.
And he that will your meanest action tell,
Under your nearer influence must dwell.
This may the poorest thoughts exalt, and raise
To the sublime Ideas of your Praise.
Instruct our verse from your great works to draw
A Maid-like Beauty, and a Man-like aw.
With graceful Majesty our numbers stream:
Both smooth and stately like their lofty Theme,
This may at length inform us how to Sing,
A Cardinal transcended and a King.
The mighty Maro (while in Country cells)
Thus writes as low and narrow as he dwells.
Till Romes high fabricks elevate his Stile,
And teach him build a like Majestick Pile.
He's to her greatness Parallel and just,
While Caesar's Palace makes his Muse august.
AN EPITAPH Upon a Gentleman aged above Sixty, he died as he liv'd, Faithful to the Church, and Loyal to the King, lies Buried with a Son of about nine years of Age.
I.
IF to be Good, when Vertue was a Crime,
If on abandon'd Piety to wait,
Pity and prop those ruines others climbe,
Were to be Famous, Popular and Great:
(Reader,) this weeping Marble had confin'd
The universal sorrow of Mankind.
II.
For here lies one, whose Faith unshaken stood,
By mighty Interest though oft alarm'd.
Not threescore Icy winters chil'd his blood:
While true Devotion loyalty still warm'd.
(Like Wines when they of youthful fume abate)
Time gave him vigour, and more useful heat.
III.
Led by a clearer Zeal, he shun'd those lights,
Which in Religion's night misguide the most.
Whom fear deceives, and ignorance affrights;
At length in dismal Precipices lost.
Ne're follow'd a blind faith's fantastick guess,
Ne're courted Faction in a Modish dress.
IV.
Nor wants the verdure of a happy Spring,
(The constant, Pious wish of weeping Verse.)
Here no vain pomp needs loaded baskets bring.
That just Solemnity might Crown his Hearse,
Death cropt his Son, and ere it was full blown,
That flow'ry sweetness on his Grave was thrown.
An Epitaph upon three Sisters, buried together. Their Education was wholly at home; They liv'd Vertuous, and dy'd Marriagable.
I.
HOld Stranger, let no hasty tear
Prophane the greatness of our loss:
Light signs of sorrow dis-appear
When serious woes the Soul engross.
And weeping passion while with publish'd Grief,
It pities others, seeks its own Relief.
II.
Here lie three Sisters, had what e're
The Triple Spring of Beauty gives.
Colour, Proportion; and an Aire
Such as with Beauty breaths, and lives.
Their number, friendship, and perfections bore
Marks of the Trinity they still adore.
III.
No publick Envy e're alarm'd,
No flattery their Beauties fed:
No Paint bely'd, no Passion warm'd
Their cheeks into a borrow'd red.
Deaf to the tempting noise of Court and King;
And pure as waters in their Native Spring.
IV.
Grown up to kindle chast desire,
Unfit for frozen sheets of Lead,
Their youthful, sprightly flames expire;
And the Grave cheats the Marria'ge Bed.
Just so descending Goddesses draw near,
And midst poor mans Embraces dis-appear.
V
How frails Perfection, and how vain!
The crooked Oak's deform'd and old.
Can to a thousand years attain
Through sommers heat and winters cold.
While amidst Tempests that securely grows,
Heav'ns warm approaches parch the budding Rose.
VI.
Declining Nature now grows old
No doubt, for she through fond presage
Of future poverty lays hold
On th' Avarice of thrifty Age:
Only poor Beauties now abroad are found,
Her Gold and Gems lie treasur'd under ground.
TO THE Memory of the Incomparable Mr. Abraham Cowley, lately Deceased.
I.
AS when some matchless Monarch dies, straight all
Adjoyning Kings resent his hasty fate:
With grave Solemnity deplore his fall,
VVhich yet their Pow'r enlarges and their State:
II.
So while the mighty Cowley yields his breath
His Neighbours sorrow in Poetick guise;
In frequent Elegies lament his Death,
Though on his Ruines they exspect to rise.
III.
And I, whose small Estate will scarce support
A mean Repute by Vulgar Poets won,
Like a profuse Retainer of the Court
Must keep the Fashion though I be undone.
IV.
May he whose dawning light of early Day
Outvy'd the splendour most Meridians have
Deign that a Tapers faint officious Ray
Do a small act of Duty to his Grave.
V.
Though vain's the Zeal which Richest Gums bestows,
Or strews the Flowers of no common Verse.
For his each leaf does nobler sweets disclose,
And his own Garden best adorn his Herse.
VI.
Those happy Simples rescue from the Grave,
When Physicks Rules but empty succours bring.
From their fresh bloom his constant Glories have
A lovely Verdure and a lasting Spring.
VII.
Nor him unwilling Histories record,
'Mongst those who at great Fame not good arrive;
VVhose Names are only read to be abhor'd,
As Civil Wars and signal Plagues survive.
VIII.
But such a blest Eternity attends
His works, as is from Spicy Odours bred,
VVich some fam'd Herbalist together blends
At once to sweeten and preserve the dead.
IX.
A ruin'd * Palace first he rais'd, and then
Sommerset House.
Describ'd a Garden worthy such a Pile.
To Build and Plant with failing Age in ken
Deaths fatal Omen wise observers stile.
X.
Yet must Experience cancel here her Laws;
Those very works shall make him deathless grow:
Thence he new life and youthfull vigour draws;
Themselves obstructing what they would foreshow.
XI.
Hence then we date our Mighty Lyricks Birth,
VVhile with him rival Emulation dies.
Heav'ns Harp ne'r sets, but seems to touch the Earth;
Still brighter thence, and greater in its Rise.
XII.
In Solemn Duty to his Princely Grave,
Concern and Prejudice do now expire:
VVith the observance of an Eastern slave
First light his Pile, then leap into the fire.
XIII.
For even they, who (while he liv'd) oppress'd
His growing Merits and his worth defam'd,
Confess him now of Modern Wits the best,
And next Immortal
Buried between Chaucer & Spencer.
Spencer to be nam'd.
XIV.
So Romes repenting Senate Altars rears
And their yet bleeding Romulus adore;
He their Devotions object straight appears
VVho fell the Victim of their
Fuisse quo (que) tum credo ali quos qui discerptum Regem Patrum manibus taciti arguerent Liv.
Rage before.
XV.
How just (ye Gods) was He! though oft arraign'd,
Though oft condemn'd by Wars severest Laws;
His Hopes discarded, and his Honour stain'd
Accus'd for his ready compliance with the late Usurpers.
For a too quick * Surrender of his Cause.
XVI.
See what weak Crimes do his first Faith oppose,
VVich Interest and base design attest:
Like Pious David down his Harp he throws
VVhen those that hear him are by Rage possest.
XVII.
For first in happy Verse he did design
The
A History of the Civil Wars.
seeds of Faction, and the source of War:
How Piety can with Ambition joyn,
And more then Hell contrive, Religion dare.
XVIII.
But after
In the Preface to his Book.
Newburies twice dismal Field
Rebellions Conquest he no longer sings.
His measures unto wild disorder yield,
And Englands weeping moisture cracks his strings.
XIX.
Strong fate the vulgar unto Ruine led,
Disease their Meat, distemper was their Drink:
Now o're the Body was it too far spred
To deem the Tetter curable by Ink.
XX.
Bold Treasons matchlesse Triumphs he had seen,
Ere from the War his Loyal Pen retir'd:
Thought Poetry had real fury been,
And no feign'd madness, now to be Inspir'd.
XXI.
And therefore knowing Time alone defeats
The force of Floods by hasty Torrents fed,
(Like a foyl'd Prince) with Rebels wisely treats:
By feign'd Compliance unto Conquest led.
XXII.
Unhappy man, whose miseries ne'r cease!
On whom kind Fortune scarce bestows one smile!
His Loyalty is paid with Court-disgrace,
And a Retirement bitter as Exile.
XXIII.
Yet he's ne'r chang'd by Sorrows or by Time:
His rever'd Prince does in his weeping Eyes
Appear more Sacred still, and more sublime;
As heights at distance seem to reach the Skies,
XXIV.
He thought on Pious Davids mighty Name,
Whom once his Muse so happily did Sing:
And deem'd it Treason 'gainst his Princely Theme
Ought should divide the Poet and the King.
XXV.
Curst those, who (like the
German Who found our Gunpowder,
Monck) invent
The seeds of Ruine in their fatal Cells:
Whose Leisure's on designs of Tumult bent,
And on the Deaths of tardy Ages dwells.
XXVI.
While nought those Rebel discontented Souls.
But dismal thoughts of Stabs and Drugs possess,
By Physicks aid, Deaths Empire he controuls,
And does those ills which they design, redress.
XXVII.
He from the Noise and Injuries of Court,
Does only so to silent Groves repair,
As half-tir'd Passengers to Shades resort
From the offensive fury of the Air.
XXVIII.
Here his Pindarick Muse so bravely foar'd,
Commended others and her own fate mourn'd,
Long absent vertue seem'd to Earth restord,
And Poetry unto the Woods return'd.
XXIX.
Nor did the Learned World e're think him less;
(The fate of all great Persons in disgrace)
None there did his commanding worth depress,
Or his Supream Authority displace.
XXX.
Him still their Guide succeeding Wits propound,
And those that best approach him Fame commends.
His Royal stamp on basest Mettals found
Together value and resemblance lends.
XXXI.
So, near his Death some recluse Prince gives Law,
When Vertue's heighten'd by Romantique Lore:
His cloyster'd Majesty retains that aw
By which his Edicts rul'd the world before.
FINIS.