POEMS, Chiefly of the Lyric kind. In Two Books.

I. SONGS, &c. Sacred to DEVOTION.

II. ODES, ELEGYS, &c. to VERTUE Loyalty and Friendship.


—Si non Uranie lyram
Coelestem cohibet, nec Polyhymnia
Humanum resugit tendere barbiton.
Horat. Od. 1. Imitat.
[...] Pythag. Aur. Carm.

LONDON, Printed by S. and D. Bridge, for John Lawrence at the Sign of the Angel in the Poultrey. MDCCVI.


IT has been a long Complaint of the Vertuous and Refined World, that Poesie whose Original is Divine, should be enslav'd to Vice and Profane­ness; that an Art inspired from Heaven should have so far lost the Memory of its Birth-place, as to be in­gaged in the Interests of Hell: and bring all her re­sistless Forces of Metaphor, Wit, Rhyme and Num­ber, and range them under the Banner of the Great Malicious Spirit to assault the Honour of God and the Souls of Men.

The Eldest Song which History has brought down to our Ears was a noble Act of Worship paid to the God of Israel, ‘When his Right hand became glo­rious in Power, when thy Right hand, O Lord, dashed in pieces the Enemy; the Chariots of Pharaoh and his Host were cast into the Red-Sea; Thou didst blow with thy Wind, the Deep covered them, and they sank as Lead in the mighty Waters, Exod. 15.’ This Art was maintain'd Sacred thro' the following Ages of the Church, and imploy'd by Kings and Pro­phets, by David, Solomon, and Isaiah, in breathing the Life of Angels into the Hearts of Men, and rear­ing their Minds Heavenward in warm and tuneful Devotion.

[Page] In the Younger Days of Heathenism the Muses were devoted to the same Service: The Language in which Old Hesiod addresses them is this.


In English.
Pierian Muses, fam'd for Heavenly Lays,
Descend, and sing the God your Fathers Praise.

And the pursues the Subject in ten Pious Lines, which I could not forbear to Transcribe if the Aspect and Sound of so much Greek were not terrifying to a nice Reader.

But some of the later Poets of the Pagan World have more debased this Divine Gift, and many of the Writers of first Rank in this our Age of Na­tional Christians have to their Eternal Shame surpas­sed the vilest of the Gentiles. They have Expos'd Religion to Drollery, and drest her up in the most Ridiculous Habit, for the Scorn of the ruder Herd of Mankind. They have painted the Vices like so many Goddesses, added the Charms of Wit to Debau­chery, and heightned the Temptation where Nature needs the strongest Restraints. With Sweetness of Sound and Delicacy of Expression they have given a Relish to Blasphemies of the harshest kind, and when they rant at their Maker in Sonorous Numbers they fancy themselves to have acted the Hero well.

[Page] Thus almost in vain have the Throne and the Pul­pit cried, Reformation, while the Stage and Licen­tious Poems have waged open War with the Pious Design of Church and State. The Press has spread the Poyson far, and scatter'd wide the Mortal Infecti­on; Unthinking Youth have been allured to Sin be­yond the Vicious Propensities of Nature, plung'd early into Diseases and Death, and sunk down to Damnation in Multitudes. How will these Allies of the Nether World, the Lewd and Profane Versifiers stand aghast before the Great Judge, when the Blood of many Souls whom they never saw shall be laid to the Charge of their Writings, and be dreadfully re­quir'd at their Hands. The Reverend Mr. Collier has set this Awful Scene before them in just and fla­ming Colours; and if the Application were not too rude and uncivil, that noble Stanza of my Lord Ros­common on Psal. 148. might be address'd to them,

Ye Dragons, whose Contagious Breath
Peoples the dark Retreats of Death,
Change your dire Hissings into Heav'nly Songs,
And praise your Maker with your Forked Tongues.

But alass! there is a deep Silence among these Men of all Divine Subjects, unless in Banter; The Wonders of Creating Power, the Mysteries of Re­deeming Love, and the mighty Works of Renewing Grace are neglected by those, whom Heaven has in­dued with a Gift proper to adorn and cultivate 'em: An Art whose sweet Insinuations might have almost [Page] convey'd Piety into resisting Nature, and melted Souls of Iron to the Love of Virtue.

Will the Writers of this Age cite the French Critic on their side, and say,

De la Foy d'un Chrétien les Mysteres terribles
D'Ornemens egayez ne sont point susceptibles:

That the Mysteries of Christianity are not capable of [...] Ornaments: The Davideis and the two Arthurs [...] broke down this Obstacle, and experimentally [...]futed the vain pretence.

Besides, the Christian Mysteries have no need of these Tinsel Trappings; the Glories of our Religion in a plain Narration and a simple Dress have some­thing brighter and bolder in them, something more surprizing and Divine, than all the Adventures of Gods and Heroes, all the dazling Images of false lu­stre that compose and garnish a Heathen Poem; here the Subjects themselves would give wonderful Aids to the Muse; and the Heavenly Theme would so relieve a dull Hour and a languishing Genius, that when the Muse nods, the Sense would burn and sparkle upon the Reader, and keep him feelingly awake.

With how much less toil and expence might a Dryden, an Otway, a Congreve, or a Dennis furnish out a Christian Poem than a Modern Play; there is nothing amongst all the Ancient Fables or Later Romances, that have two such Extremes united in them, as the Eternal God becoming an Infant of Days, the Possessor of the Pallace of Heaven laid to [Page] Sleep in a Manger, the Holy Jesus who knew no Sin bearing the Sins of Men in his Body on the Tree, Agonies of Sorrow loading the Soul of him who was God over all Blessed for ever; and the So­veraign of Life stretching his Arms on a Cross, Bleeding and Expiring: The Heaven and the Hell in our Divinity are infinitely more delightful and dreadful than the Childish Figments of a Dog with three Heads, the Buckets of the Belides, the Furies with Snaky Hairs, or all the Flow'ry Stories of Ely­sium. Aud if we survey the one as Themes Divinely True, and the other as a Medly of Fooleries which we can never believe, the advantage for touching the Springs of Passion will fall infinitely on the side of the Christian Poet; our Wonder and our Love, our Pity, Delight, and Sorrow, with the long train of Hopes and Fears, must needs be under the Command of an Harmonious Pen, whose every Line makes a part of the Reader's Faith, and is the very Life or Death of his Soul.

If the trifling and incredible Tales that furnish out a Tragedy are so arm'd by Wit and Fancy as to be­come Soveraign of the Rational Powers, to triumph over all the Affections, and manage our Smiles and our Tears at pleasure; how wondrous a Conquest might be obtain'd over a wild World, and reduce it at least to Sobriety, if the same Happy Talent were employed in dressing the Scenes of Religion in their proper Figures of Majesty, Beauty and Terror. The Affairs of this Life with their reference to a Life to come, would shine bright in a Dramatick Descripti­on. The Anguish of inward Guilt, the secret Stings [Page] and Racks and Scourges of Conscience, the sweet re­tiring Hours and Seraphical Joys of Devotion, the Victory of a Resolved Soul over a thousand Temp­tations, the Inimitable Love and Passion of a Dying God, the Awful Glories of the last Tribunal, the grand Decisive Sentence from which there is no Ap­peal, and the Consequent Transports or Horrors of the two Eternal Worlds. How would such a Per­formance call back the dying Piety of the Nation to Life and Beauty: It would make Religion appear like it self, and confound the Blasphemies of a pro­fligate World, ignorant of Pious Pleasures.

But we have reason to fear that the Tuneful Men of our Day have not rais'd their Ambition to so Di­vine a Pitch; I should rejoyce to see more of this Coelestial Fire kindling within them, for the Flashes that break out in some present and past Writings be­tray an Infernal Source. This the Incomparable Mr. Cowley in the latter End of his Preface, and the Ingenious Sir Richard Blackmore in the beginning of his have so pathetically describ'd and lamented; and I rather refer the Reader to mourn with them than detain and tire him here. These Gentlemen in their large and laboured Works of Poesie have given the World happy Examples of what they wish and in­courage in Prose: The One in a rich Variety of Thought and Fancy; the Other in all the Beauties of Profuse and Florid Diction.

If shorter Sonnets were compos'd on sublime Sub­jects, such as the Psalms of David, and the Holy Transports interspers'd in the other Sacred Writings, or such as the Moral Odes of Horace, and the An­cient [Page] Lyricks, I perswade my self that the Christian Preacher would find abundant Aid from the Poet in his Design to diffuse Vertue and allure Souls to God. If the Heart were first inflam'd from Hea­ven, and the Muse were not left alone to form the Devotion and pursue a Cold Scent, but only call'd in as an Assistant to the Worship, then the Song would end where the Inspiration ceases; the whole Com­posure would be of a Piece, all Meridian Light and Meridian Fervor. And the same Pious Flame would be propagated and kept glowing in the Heart of him that reads. Some of the shorter Odes of the two Poets now mentioned, and a few of the Reverend Mr. Norris's Essays in Verse are convincing Instances of the Success of this Proposal.

'Tis my Opinion also that the free and unconfin'd Measures of Pindar would best maintain the Digni­ty of the Theme, as well as give a loose to the De­vout Soul, nor check the Raptures of her Faith and Love. Tho' in my feeble Attempts of this kind I have most unhappily fetter'd my Thoughts in the narrow Numbers of our Old Psalm-Translators, I have contracted and cramp't the Sense, or render'd it obscure and feeble by the too speedy and regular returns of Rhime.

If my Friends expect a particular account of this or any other Circumstance relating to what I here Publish, they will be pleas'd to accept of this short one.

Assures them that Poesy is not the Business of my Life, and if I seized those Hours of Leisure wherein my Soul was in a more sprightly and tuneful Frame to entertain them or my self with a Divine or Moral Song, I hope I shall find an Easy Pardon.
Were never written with a design to appear before the Judges of Wit, but only to assist the Meditations and Worship of Vulgar Christians, to whom the Mea­sures of Hopkins by Custom are grown Familiar and Natural, and esteemed almost Sacred by being bound up in the same Volume with Scripture. These are but a small part of two hundred Hymns of the same kind which are ready for Public Use if the World receive favourably what I now present. The Rea­son that sent these out first, and divided them from their Fellows, is, that in most of These there are some Expressions which are not suited to the plain­est Capacities, and differ too much from the usual [Page] Methods of Speech in which Holy Things are pro­pos'd to the general Part of Mankind.
The ODES to VER­TUE &c.
Were form'd when the Frame and Humour of my Soul was just suited to the Subject of my Verse: The Image of my Heart is painted in them; and if they meet with a Reader whose Soul is akin to mine, perhaps they may agreeably entertain him. The Dullness of the Fancy and Coarseness of Expression will disappear, the sameness of the Humour will create a Pleasure, and insensibly overcome and con­ceal the Defects of the Muse.
Of that Noblest Latin Poet of Modern Ages Casi­mire Sarbiewski of Poland would need no Excuse, did they but arise to the Beauty of the Original. I have often taken the Freedom to add ten or twenty Lines, or to leave out as many, that I might suit my Song more to my own Design, or because I found it Impossible to present the Force, the Fineness, and [Page] the Fire of his Expression in our Language. I wish some English Pen would import some of the Trea­sures of that rich Genius and bless our Nation.
To particular Friends are warranted and defended by the Practise of the two best Lyric Writers Horace and Casimire: And tho' the Authority of the first be more Venerable, yet if in some Instances I prefer the latter, I pray the Criticks to forgive me; and I hope my Friends will excuse the Freedom of the Ad­dress.
In the POEMS of HE­ROIC Measure
I have attempted in Rhime the same variety of Ca­dence, Comma, and Period, which Blank Verse Glories in as its peculiar Elegance and Orna­ment.
I have generally conformed my Lines to the shorter Size of the Ancients, and avoided to imitate the Ex­cessive Lengths to which some Modern Writers have stretched their Sentences, and especially the conclu­ding Verse. In these the Ear is the truest Judge, nor was it made to be enslav'd to any precise Model of Elder or Later Times.

After all, I must petition my Reader to lay aside the sowr and sullen Air of Criticism, and to assume the Friend. Let him come with a design to be en­tertain'd and pleas'd, rather than to seek his own Dis­gust and Aversion, which will not be hard to find. I am not so Vain as to think there are no Faults, nor so Blind as to espy none: There is not one Copy that intirely pleases me: The best of them sinks vastly below the Idea which I form of a Divine or Moral Ode. He that deals in the Mysteries of Heaven, or of the Muses should be a Genius of no Vulgar Mould; and as the Name of Vates belongs to both, so the Furniture of Both is compriz'd in that Line of Ho­race,

—Cui Mens Divinior, atque Os
Magna Locuturum—

[Page] But what Juvenal spake in his Age abides true in ours: A compleat Poet or a Prophet is such an one ‘—Qualem nequeo monstrare, & sentio tantùm.’

Perhaps neither of these Characters in Perfection shall ever be seen on Earth, till the Seventh Angel has sounded his Awful Trumpet, till the Victory be compleat over the Beast and his Image; when the Natives of Heaven shall joyn in Triumphal Consort with Prophets and Tuneful Saints, and Sing unto their Golden Harps, Salvation Honour and Glory to him that sits upon the Throne, and to the Lamb for ever.

A TABLE OF THE Songs, &c. in the First Book.

  • THE Divine Sovereignty Pag. 1
  • The Transcendent Glories of the Deity 4
  • God appears most Glorious in our Salvation by Christ 7
  • An Hymn of Praise to the God of England for Three Great Salvations, (viz.) from the Spanish Invasi­on, from the Gunpowder Plot, and from Popery and Slavery by King William, in Two Parts 10
  • God Incomprehensible 16
  • Sickness gives a Sight of Heaven 18
  • The Universal Hallelujah: Or Psalm 148 Para­phras'd 21
  • The Love of Christ on his Cross and on his Throne 25
  • Death a Welcome Messenger 27
  • Sincere Praise 29
  • God's Infinity 32
  • [Page] Longing for the second coming of Christ 34
  • The Sufferings and Glories of Christ. A Song in Tris­syllable Feet 37
  • The Day of Judgment, an Ode, in English Sapphic 40
  • Confession and Pardon 43
  • Jesus the only Saviour 48
  • A Song of Praise to God, the 100th Psalm. In Tris­syllable Feet 52
An Essay on a few Psalms in Language more suited to the Gospel.
  • The Happy Saint and Cursed Sinner, Psalm 1. 54
  • Doubts and Fears supprest, Psalm 3d. 56
  • Praise to the Lord from all Nations, Psalm 100. 59
  • Brotherly Love, Psalm 133. 61
  • The Pleasure of Love to Christ present or absent 62
  • A Sight of Christ 65
  • Longing for Heaven, or the Song of Angels above 70
  • God Sovereign and Gracious 76
An Essay on Divine Love in several fol­lowing Odes, in imitation of Solomon's Song.
  • The Hazard of Loving the Creatures 78
  • Christ's Amazing Love and my Amazing Coldness 80
  • Wishing him ever with me 82
  • [Page] The Absence of the Beloved 84
  • Sick of Love. Solomon's Song 1. 3. 86
  • Sitting in an Arbour 88
  • Bewailing my own Inconstancy 90
  • Forsaken, yet hoping 93
  • The Law and Gospel 95
  • The Death of Moses: Deut. 32. 49, 50. and 34. 5, 6. or, the Injoyment of God worth dying for 97
  • Ad Dominum nostrum & Servatorem Jesum Chri­stum. Oda 100
  • Excitatio Cordis Coelum versus. Ad Seipsum 106
  • Breathing toward the Heavenly Country 108
  • The Glories of God exceed all Worship 110

A TABLE OF THE Odes, Elegys, &c. in the Se­cond Book.

  • TO Her Majesty Pag. 113
  • To Mr. John Lock, retir'd from Business 117
  • To Mr. John Shute, on Mr. Lock's last Sickness 119
  • To Mr. William Nokes. Friendship. (See more p. 237) 121
  • To Nathanael Gould Esq Lawful Ambition 123
  • To Dr. Thomas Gibson. The Life of Souls 125
  • To my Brothers E. and T. W. False Greatness 128
  • To Mr. A. S. and Mr. T. H. Strict Religion exceed­ing rare 130
  • On the sudden Death of Mrs. Mary Peacock 133
  • To the Reverend Mr. B. Rowe. 'Tis dangerous to fol­low the Multitude 136
  • To my Sisters S. and M. W. an Epistle 138
  • [Page] To Mr. C. and S. Fleetwood. The World vain, and the Soul Immortal 141
  • To Mr. William Blackbourn. Life flies too fast to be wasted 144
  • To Mr. Robert Atwood. The Kingdom of the Wise Man. Part 1. 145
  • Part. 2. Or the Bold Stoic 150
  • To the Reverend Mr. Thomas Rowe. Free Philo­sophy 153
  • To the Reverend Mr. John Howe. The Vanity of Humane Cares 155
  • To Mr. Nicholas Clark. Complaining of Vapours or Disorders of the Head 158
  • Upon the dismal Narrative of the Afflictions of a Friend 161
  • The Reverse, on the view of Remaining Comforts 164
  • To the Right Honourable John Lord Cutts. The Har­dy Soldier 167
  • To Mrs. B. Bendish. Against Tears 169
  • A Word of Warning, or Few Happy Marriages 171
  • To Mr. Henry Bendish. The Indian Philosopher, or Matches made above, but broke in coming down 175
  • To David Polhill Esq An Epistle 180
  • To David Polhill Esq An Answer to an Infamous Sa­tyr against King William III. 182
  • To the Discontented and Unquiet. Vertue alone makes the Mind Easy 189
  • To John Hartopp Esq Youth and Pleasure tarry not 194
  • To Thomas Gunston Esq Happy Solitude 197
  • [Page] To John Hartopp Esq The Disdain of Sensual Joys 201
  • Fratri suo Dilecto R. W. Epistola 203
  • To Dr. John Speed of Southampton. An Epistle 207
  • Ad Reverendum Virum Dom. Johannem Pinhorne fi­dum pueritiae meae Praeceptorem. Oda. 209
  • Votum. Seu Vita in terris Beata. Ad Virum dig­nissimum Johannem Hartoppium Baronettum 215
  • To the Lady Abney. A Funeral Poem on Tho. Gun­ston Esq, 219
  • To Mr. Arthur Shallett Merchant: An Elegiac Ode on the Reverend Mr. Thomas Gouge 247
  • An Epitaph on King William III. of Glorious Memory 264


PAg. 41. lin. 13. read upon. P. 42. l. 10. for arise r. ascend. P. 103. l. 4. after fructus dele [,] P. 126. l. 19. r. beat. P. 134. l. penult r. Sphere. P. 159. l. 2. for How r. Now. P. 190. l. 5. r. Breast. P. 197. l. 3. for They r. The. P. 204. l. 8. r. Patris. P. 214. l. 8. r. Numen, &.

Songs and Hymns Sacred to DEVOTION.

THE Divine Sovereignty.

GReat God, indulge a Mortal Tongue,
Nor let thy Thunders roar
Whilst little Notes and feeble Song
Attempt th' Eternal Pow'r.
Life, Death, and Hell, and Worlds unknown
Hang on thy firm Decree;
Thou sit'st on no precarious Throne,
Nor Borrowest leave to Be.
Thy Sovereign Voice bids ancient Night
Her Spacious Realms resign,
And Lo! ten Thousand Globes of Light
In Fields of Azure shine.
Thy Wisdom with Superiour Sway
Guides this vast moving Frame;
Whilst all the Ranks of Being pay
Deep Reverence to thy Name.
Vengeance attends t' obey thy Frown,
And Blessings wait thy Smile;
A Wreath of Lightning arms thy Crown,
But Love adorns it still.
Unnumber'd Wonders in thee meet,
And various Glory shines;
The Crossing Rays too fiercely beat
Upon our fainting Minds.
Angels are lost in sweet Surprize
If thou unvail thy Grace;
And humble Awe runs thro' the Skies
When Wrath arrays thy Face.
When Mercy joyns with Majesty
To spread their Beams abroad,
Not all the fairest Minds on high
Are Shadows of a God.
Thy Mighty Works Great Gabriel Sings
In a too feeble Strain;
And labours upon all his Strings
To reach thy Thoughts in vain.
Created Powers how weak they be!
How short our Praises fall!
So much akin to Nothing We,
And Thou th' Eternal All.

THE Transcendent Glories OF THE DEITY.

GOD is a Name my Soul adores;
Th' Almighty Three, th' Eternal One:
Nature and Grace with all their Powers
Confess the Infinite Unknown.
From thy Great Self thy Being Springs;
Thou art thine own Original;
[Page 5] Made up of Uncreated Things,
And Self-Sufficience bears them all.
Thy Voice hath form'd the Seas and Spheres,
Bid the Waves roar, and Planets shine;
But Nothing like thy Self appears
Thro' all these Spacious Works of thine.
Still rolling Nature dies and grows;
From Change to Change the Creatures run:
Thy Being no Succession knows,
And all thy vast Designs are One.
A Glance of thine runs thro' the Globes,
Rules the Bright Worlds, and moves their Frame:
Broad Sheets of Light compose thy Robes;
Thy Guards are form'd of living Flame.
Thrones and Dominions round thee fall
And Worship in Submissive Forms;
Thy Presence shakes this lower Ball,
This little Dwelling Place of Worms.
Then how shall trembling Mortals dare
To sing thy Glory or thy Grace;
Beneath thy Feet we lie so far,
And see but Shadows of thy Face?
Who can behold the Blazing Light?
Who can approach Consuming Flame?
None but thy Wisdom knows thy Might;
None but thy Word can speak thy Name.

GOD Appears most Glorious IN OUR Salvation by CHRIST.

FAther, how wide thy Glory shines!
How high thy Wonders rise!
Known thro' the Earth by thousand Signs,
By thousand thro' the Skies.
Those mighty Orbs proclaim thy Power,
Their Motions speak thy Skill;
And on the Wings of every Hour
We read thy Patience still.
Part of thy Name Divinely stands
On all thy Creatures writ;
They show the Labour of thine Hands,
Or Impress of thy Feet.
But when We view thy Strange Design
To save Rebellious Worms,
Where Vengeance and Compassion joyn
In their Divinest Forms:
Our Thoughts are lost in Reverend Awe,
We Love and we Adore;
The tallest Angel never saw
So much of God before.
Here the whole Deity is known,
Nor dares a Creature guess
Which of the Glories brightest shone,
The Justice or the Grace.
When we transgress'd the Fathers Laws,
The dying Son atones;
Oh the Dear Mysteries of his Cross!
The Triumph of his Groans!
Now the full Glories of the Lamb
Adorn the Heavenly Plains;
And the Young Cherubs learn his Name,
And try their choicest Strains.
O may I bear some humble Part
In that Immortal Song;
Wonder and Joy shall tune my Heart,
And Love command my Tongue.

AN Hymn of Praise TO The God of ENGLAND, FOR Three Great Salvations.
• I. From the Spanish Invasion, 1588. , • II. From the Gunpowder-Plot, Nov. 5. , and • III. From Popery and Slavery by King William of Glorious Memory, who landed Nov. 5. 1688. 

INfinite God, whose Counsels stand
Like Mountains of Eternal Brass,
Pillars to prop our Sinking Land,
Or Guardian Rocks to break the Seas.
From Pole to Pole thy Name is known,
Thee a Whole Heaven of Angels praise,
Our Laboring Tongues would strike thy Throne
With the Loud Triumphs of thy Grace.
Part of thy Church by thy Command
Stands rais'd upon the Brittish Isles,
There, said the Lord, to Ages stand
Firm as the Everlasting Hills.
In vain the Spanish Ocean roar'd,
And roll'd its Billows to our Shore;
The Billows sunk beneath thy Word,
And all the Floating War they bore.
Come, said the Sons of bloody Rome,
Let us provide new Arms from Hell,
And down they digg'd thro' Earth's dark Womb,
And ransack'd all the burning Cell.
Old Satan lent them fiery Stores,
Infernal Coal, and Sulph'rous Flame,
And all that burns, and all that roars,
Outrageous Fires of dreadful Name.
Beneath the Senate and the Throne
Engines of Hellish Thunder lay,
There the dark Seeds of Fire were sown
To spring a Bright, but dismal Day.
Thy Love beheld the black Design,
Thy Love that Guards thine England round;
Strange! how it quench'd the fiery Mine,
And crush'd the Tempest under Ground.

THE Second Part.

ASsume my Tongue a Nobler Strain,
Sing the New Wonders of the Lord;
The Foes revive their Pow'rs again,
Again they die beneath his Sword.
Dark as our Thoughts our Minutes roll
While Tyranny possest the Throne;
And Murtherers of an Irish Soul
Ran threatning Death thro' every Town.
The Roman Priest and Brittish Prince
Joyn'd their best Force and blackest Charms;
And the fierce Troops of neighbouring France
Offer'd the Service of their Arms.
'Tis done, they cry'd, and laught aloud,
The Courts of Darkness rang with Joy,
Th' Old Serpent hiss'd, and Hell grew proud,
While Zion mourn'd her Ruine nigh.
But lo! The great Deliverer Sails
Commission'd from Jehovah's Hand;
And Smiling Seas, and wishing Gales
Convey him to the longing Land.
The happy Day and happy Year
Nov. 5. 1688.
Both in our new Salvation meet:
The Day that quencht the Burning Snare,
Nov. 5.
And Year that burnt th' Invading Fleet.
Now did thine Arm, O God of Hosts,
Now did thine Arm shine dazling bright;
The Sons of Might their Hands had lost,
And Men of Blood forgot to fight.
Brigades of Angels lin'd the way,
And guarded William to his Throne;
There, ye Celestial Warriours, stay,
And make his Palace like your own.
Thus, Mighty God, thy Praise Divine
From Heaven and Earth at once shall flow;
Angels and Men conspire and joyn
In Hallelujahs, here below.
All Hallelujah, Heavenly King,
Tis thy Victorious Arm we sing;
Fly round the Globe, ye Ecchoing Joys,
And vaulted Skies repeat the Noise.

GOD Incomprehensible.

FAR in the Heav'ns my God retires,
My God, the point of my Desires,
And hides his Lovely Face;
When he descends within my View
He charms my Reason to pursue,
But leaves it tir'd and fainting in th' unequal Chase.
Or if I reach unusual height,
Till near his Presence brought;
There Floods of Glory check my Flight,
Cramp the bold Pinions of my Wit
And all untune my Thought;
Plung'd in a Sea of Light I roll,
Where Wisdom, Justice, Mercy Shines;
Infinite Rays in Crossing Lines
Beat thick Confusion on my Sight, and overwhelm my Soul.
Come to my aid, ye Fellow-Minds,
And help me reach the Throne,
(What single Strength in vain designs,
United Force hath done;
Thus Worms may Joyn, and grasp the Poles,
Thus Atoms fill the Sea,)
But the whole Race of Creature-Souls,
Stretch'd to their last extent of Thought plunge and are lost in Thee.
Great God; behold my Reason lies
Adoring; yet my Love would rise
On Pinions not her own:
Faith shall direct her humble Flight
Thro' all the trackless Seas of Light
To Thee th' Eternal Fair, the Infinite Unknown.


OFT have I sat in Secret Sighs
To feel my Flesh decay,
Then groan'd aloud with frighted Eyes
To view this tott'ring Clay.
But I forbid my Sorrows now,
Nor dares the Flesh complain,
Diseases bring their Profit too;
The Joy o'recomes the Pain.
My chearful Soul now all the Day
Sits waiting here and Sings;
[Page 19] Looks thro' the Ruins of her Clay,
And practises her Wings.
Faith almost changes into Sight,
While from afar she Spies
Her fair Inheritance in Light
Above created Skies.
Had but the Prison-Walls been strong,
And firm without a flaw,
In Darkness she had dwelt too long,
And less of Glory saw.
But now the Everlasting Hills
Thro' every Chink appear,
And something of the Joy she feels
While she's a Pris'ner here.
The Shines of Heaven rush sweetly in
At all the Gaping Flaws,
Visions of Endless Bliss are seen,
And Native Air she draws.
O may these Walls stand tott'ring still,
The Breaches never close,
If I must here in Darkness dwell,
And all this Glory lose.
Or rather let this Flesh decay,
The Ruins wider grow,
Till glad to see the Enlarged way
I stretch my Pinions thro'.

THE Universal Hallelujah, OR, PSALM 148. PARAPHRAS'D.

PRAISE ye the Lord each Heavenly Tongue
That sits around his Throne:
Jesus the Man shall lead the Song,
The God inspire the Tune.
Gabriel and all th' Immortal Quire
That fill the Realms above,
Sing, for the form'd you of his Fire,
And feeds you with his Love.
Shine to his Praise ye Chrystal Skies,
The Floor of his Abode,
Or vail your little twinkling Eyes
Before a brighter God.
Thou rolling Globe of Golden Light
Whose Beams Create our Days,
Joyn with the Silver Queen of Night
To own your borrow'd Rays.
Blush and refund the Honours paid
To your inferiour Names;
Tell the blind World, your Orbs are fed
By his O'reflowing Flames.
Winds, ye shall bear his Name aloud
Thro' the Ethereal Blue,
For when His Chariot is a Cloud
He makes his Wheels of you.
Thunder and Hail, and Fires and Storms,
The Troops of his Command,
[Page 23] Appear in all your Dreadful Forms,
And speak his awful Hand.
Shout to the Lord, ye Surging Seas,
In your Eternal Roar,
Let Wave to Wave resound his Praise,
And Shore reply to Shore:
While Monsters rolling on the Flood
In Scaly Silver shine,
Speak terribly their Maker-God,
And lash the foaming Brine.
But Gentler Things shall tune his Name
To softer Notes than these,
Young Zephyrs breathing o're the Stream,
Or whispering thro' the Trees.
Wave your tall Heads, ye lofty Pines,
To him that bid you grow,
Sweet Clusters, bend the fruitful Vines
On every Thankful Bough.
Let the shrill Birds his Honour raise,
And tune it in the Sky:
While groveling Beasts attempt his Praise
With hoarser Harmony.
Thus while the meaner Creatures sing,
Ye Mortals take the Sound,
Eccho the Glories of your King
Thro' all the Nations round.
Th' Eternal Name must fly abroad
From England to Japan;
And the whole Race shall bow to God
That owns the Name of Man.


NOW let my Faith grow strong and rise,
And view my Lord in all his Love;
Look back to hear his Dying Cries,
Then mount and see his Throne above.
See where he Languish'd on the Cross;
Beneath my Sins he groan'd and dy'd;
See where he fits to plead my Cause
By his Almighty Father's Side.
If I behold his Bleeding Heart,
There Love in Floods of Sorrow reigns,
He triumphs o're the Killing Smart,
And buys my Pleasure with his Pains.
Or if I climb th' Eternal Hills
Where the dear Conqueror sits enthron'd,
Still in his Heart Compassion dwells
Near the Memorials of his Wound.
How shall a pardon'd Rebel show
How much I Love my Dying God?
Lord, here I banish every Foe,
I hate the Sins that Cost thy Blood.
I hold no more Commerce with Hell,
My dearest Lusts shall all depart;
But let thine Image ever dwell
Stampt as a Seal upon my Heart.

DEATH A Welcome Messenger.

LORD, when we see a Saint of thine
Lie gasping out his Breath,
With Longing Eyes, and Looks Divine,
Smiling, and pleas'd in Death;
How we could e'en contend to lay
Our Limbs upon that Bed,
And ask thine Envoy to convey
Our Spirits in his stead.
Our Souls are rising on the Wing
To venture in his Place,
[Page 28] For when grim Death has lost his Sting,
He has an Angels Face.
Jesus, then purge my Crimes away,
'Tis Guilt creates my Fears,
'Tis Guilt gives Death its fierce Array,
And all the Arms it bears.
Oh, if my threatning Sins were gone,
And Death had lost his Sting,
I could invite the Angel on,
And chide his lazy Wing.
Away these interposing Days,
And let the Lovers meet;
The Angel has a cold Embrace,
But kind, and soft, and sweet.
I'de leap at once my Seventy Years,
And fly into his Arms,
And [...] and all my Cares
[...] [...]eavenly Charms.
Joyful I'd lay this Body down,
And leave the lifeless Clay,
Without a Sigh, without a Groan,
And Stretch and soar away.

Sincere Praise.

ALmighty Maker God!
How wondrous is thy Name!
Thy Glories how diffus'd abroad
Thro' the Creations Frame!
Nature in every Dress
Her humble Homage Pays,
And takes a Thousand Ways t' express
Thine Undissembled Praise.
In Native White and Red
The Rose and Lilly stand,
[Page 30] And free from Pride their Beauties spread
To show thy skilful Hand.
The Lark mounts up the Sky
With Unambitious Song,
And bears her Maker's Praise on high
Upon her Artless Tongue.
My Soul would rise and Sing
To her Creator too,
Fain would my Tongue adore my King,
And Pay the Worship due.
But Pride that busie Sin
Spoils all that I perform,
Curs'd Pride, that creeps securely in,
And swells a haughty Worm.
Thy Glories I abate,
Or praise thee with Design;
Some of thy Favours I forget,
Or would have something mine.
The very Songs I frame
Are Faithless to thy Cause,
And steal the Honours of thy Name
Unto their own Applause.
Create my Soul anew,
Else all my Worship's vain;
This wretched Heart will ne'er be true
Until 'tis form'd again.
Descend Celestial Fire,
And seize me from above,
Melt me in Flames of pure Desire
A Sacrifice to Love.
Let Joy and Worship spend
The Remnant of my Days,
And to my God my Soul ascend
In sweet Perfumes of Praise.

GOD's Infinity.

SOME Seraph, lend your Heavenly Tongue,
Or Harp of Golden String,
That I may raise a lofty Song
To our Eternal King.
Thy Names, how Infinite they be!
Great Everlasting One!
Boundless thy Might and Majesty,
And Unconfin'd thy Throne.
Thy Glories shine of Wondrous Size,
And wondrous Large thy Grace,
Immortal Day breaks from thine Eyes,
And Gabriel Vails his Face.
Thine Essence is a vast Abyss
Which Angels cannot sound,
[Page 33] An Ocean of Infinities
Where all our thoughts are drownd.
The Mysteries of Creation lie
Beneath Enlightned Minds,
Thoughts can ascend above the Sky,
And fly before the Winds.
Reason may grasp the Massie Hills,
And stretch from Pole to Pole,
But Half thy Name our Spirit fills,
And Overloads our Soul.
In vain our Haughty Reason swells,
For Nothing's found in Thee
But Boundless Unconceivables,
And Vast Eternity.


WHEN shall thy Shining Face be seen?
When shall our Eyes behold our God?
What lengths of Distance lie between,
And Hills of Guilt, a Heavy Load!
Our Months are Ages of Delay,
And slowly every Minute wears;
Fly winged Time, and roll away
These tedious Rounds of Sluggish Years.
Ye Heavenly Gates, loose all your Chains,
Let the Eternal Pillars bow,
[Page 35] Dear Saviour, Cleave the Starry Plains,
And make the Chrystal Mountains flow.
Hark how thy Saints unite their Cries,
And pray and wait the General Doom,
Come, thou the Soul of all our Joys,
Thou the Desire of Nations, come.
Put thy bright Robes of Triumph on,
And bless our Eyes, and bless our Ears,
Thou absent Love, thou Dear Unknown,
Thou Fairest of ten thousand Fairs.
Our Heart-strings groan with deep Complaint,
Our Flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee,
And every Limb and every Joynt
Stretches for Immortality.
Our Spirits shake their Eager Wings,
And burn to meet thy rolling Throne,
We rise away from Mortal things
To attend thy Shining Chariot down!
Now let our Chearful Eyes survey
The blazing Earth and melting Hills,
And smile to see the Lightnings play,
And flash along before thy Wheels.
O for a shout of Violent Joys
To Joyn the Trumpets thundring sound!
The Angel Herald shakes the Skies,
Awakes the Graves, and tears the Ground.
Ye Slumbring Saints, a Heavenly Host
Stands waiting at your gaping Tombs,
Let every Sacred Sleeping Dust
Leap into Life, for Jesus comes.
Jesus the God of Might and Love
New moulds our Limbs of Cumbrous Clay,
Quick as Seraphick Flames we move,
Active and Young and Fair as they.
Our airy Feet with unknown flight
Swift as the motions of Desire
Run up the Hills of Heavenly Light,
And leave the Weltring World in Fire.

THE Sufferings and Glories OF CHRIST.
A SONG In Trisyllable Feet.

I Long for a Consort of Heavenly Praise,
To Jesus the God, the Omnipotent Son,
My Voice should awake in Harmonious Lays,
Could it tell half the Wonders that Jesus has done.
I would sing how he left his own Palace of Light,
And Robes made of Glory that dress'd him above;
Yet pleas'd with his Journey, and swift was his Flight,
For he rode on the Pinions of Infinite Love.
Far down to the Place of our distant Abode
He came (we adore him) to raise us on high;
He came to attone the Revenge of a God,
And he took up a Life to be able to die.
All Hell and its Lyons stood Roaring around,
His Flesh and his Spirit with Malice they tore;
While Worlds of Sorrow lay pressing him down,
As vast as the Burden of Sins that he bore.
Fast bound in the Chains of Imperious Death
The Infinite Captive a Prisoner lay,
The Infinite Captive arose from the Earth,
And leap't to the Hills of Ethereal Day.
Then mention no more of the Wrath of a God;
Of the Lyons of Hell and their Roarings no more;
We lift up our Eyes to his Shining Abode,
And our loudest Hosannahs his Name shall adore.
We crown the Triumpher with the Honours he won,
Hosannah thro' all the Coelestial Groves!
The God and the Man! how he fills up his Throne!
How He sits! how He shines! how He looks! how He Loves!
O happy ye Heavens, and happy ye Hills
Where he treads with his Feet and diffuseth his Grace,
While Mercy and Majesty, Glories and Smiles
Play gently around the sweet Air of his Face.
Amongst a [...] Choir of Archangels and Songs
The Mighty Redeemer Eternally reigns,
And the Sound of his Name from a Million of Tongues
Flies o're the bright Mountains and blesses the Plains.

THE Day of Judgment.
An ODE, Attempted in English Sapphick.

WHEN the Fierce North-wind with his Airy Forces
Rears up the Baltick to a foaming Fury,
And the red Lightning with a Storm of Hail comes
Rushing amain down,
How the poor Sailers stand amaz'd and tremble!
While the hoarse Thunder like a Bloody Trumpet
Roars a loud onset to the gaping Waters
Quick to devour them.
Such shall the Noise be and the Wild disorder,
(If things Eternal may be like these Earthly)
Such the dire Terror when the great Archangel
Shakes the Creation,
Tears the strong Pillars of the Vault of Heaven,
Breaks up old Marble the Repose of Princes;
See the Graves open, and the Bones arising,
Flames all around 'em.
Hark the shrill Out-cries of the Guilty Wretches!
Lively bright Horror and amazing Anguish
Stare thro' their Eyelids, while the living Worm lies
Gnawing within them.
Thoughts like old Vultures prey upun their Heart­strings,
And the smart twinges, when their Eye beholds the
Lofty Judge frowning, and a Flood of Vengeance
Rolling afore him.
Hopeless Immortals! how they scream and shiver
While Devils push them to the Pit wide Yawning
Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong
Down to the Centre.
Stop here my Fancy: (All away ye horrid
Doleful Ideas;) Come arise to Jesus,
How he sits Godlike! And the Saints around him
Thron'd and adoring!
O may I sit there when he comes Triumphant
Dooming the Nations: Then arise to Glory,
While our Hosannahs all along the Passage
Shout the Redeemer.

Confession and Pardon.

ALAS my aking Heart!
Here the keen Torment lies;
It racks my waking Hours with Smart,
And frights my Slumbring Eyes.
Guilt will be hid no more,
My Griefs take vent apace,
The Crimes that blot my Conscience o're
Flush Crimson in my Face.
My Sorrows like a Flood
Impatient of Restraint
Into thy Bosom, O my God,
Pour out a long Complaint.
This impious Heart of mine
Could once defie the Lord,
Could rush with Violence on to Sin
In presence of thy Sword.
As often have I stood
A Rebel to the Skies,
The Calls, the Tenders of a God,
And Mercies Loudest cries.
He offers all his Grace,
And all his Heaven to me;
Offers! But 'tis to senseless Brass
That can nor feel nor see.
Jesus the Saviour stands
To court me from above,
And looks and spreads his wounded Hands,
And shows the Prints of Love.
But I, a stupid Fool,
How long have I withstood
The Blessings purchas'd with his Soul,
And paid for all in Blood?
The Heav'nly Dove came down
And tender'd me his Wings,
To mount me upward to a Crown
And bright Immortal things.
Lord, I'm asham'd to say
That I refus'd thy Dove,
And sent thy Spirit griev'd away
To his own Realms of Love.
Nor all thine Heav'nly Charms,
Nor thy revenging Hand
Could force me to lay down my Arms,
And bow to thy Command.
Lord, 'tis against thy Face
My Sins like Arrows rise,
And yet, and yet (O matchless Grace)
Thy Thunder silent lies.
O shall I never feel
The Meltings of thy Love?
Am I of such Hell-harden'd Steel
That Mercy cannot move?
Now for one powerful Glance
Dear Saviour, from thy Face!
This Rebel-heart no more withstands,
But sinks beneath thy Grace.
O'recome by dying Love I fall,
And at thy Cross I lie;
I throw my Flesh, my Soul, my All,
And Weep, and Love, and Die.
"Rise, says the Prince of Mercy, rise;
With Joy and Pity in his Eyes:
"Rise and behold my wounded Veins,
"Here flows the Blood to wash thy Stains.
"See, my Great Father's reconcil'd:
He say'd, and Lo the Father smil'd;
The Joyful Cherubs clapt their Wings,
And sounded Grace on all their Strings.


ADAM, our Head, our Father fell,
And Justice doom'd the Race to Hell:
The fiery Law speaks all Despair,
There's no Reprieve, nor Pardon there.
Call a bright Council in the Skies:
"Seraphs, the Mighty and the Wise,
"Say, what Expedient can you give
"That Sin be damn'd and Sinners live?
"Speak, are you strong to bear the Load,
"The weighty Vengeance of a God?
"Which of you loves our wretched Race,
"Or dares to venture in our Place?
In vain we ask: For all around
Stands Silence thro' the Heavenly Ground:
There's not a glorious Mind above
Has half the Strength, or half the Love.
But, O unutterable Grace!
Th' Eternal Son takes Adam's place;
Down to our World the Saviour flies,
Stretches his naked Arms and Dies.
Justice was pleas'd to bruise the God,
And pay its Wrongs with Heavenly Blood;
Infinite Racks and Pangs He bore,
And rose. The Law could ask no more.
Amazing Work! Look down, ye Skies,
Wonder and gaze with all your Eyes,
Ye Heavenly Thrones stoop from above,
And bow to this Mysterious Love.
See, how they bend! See, how they look!
Long they had read th' Eternal Book,
And study'd dark Decrees in vain,
The Cross and Calvary makes them plain.
Now they are struck with deep Amaze,
Each with his Wings conceals his Face;
Now clap their sounding Plumes, and cry,
"The Wisdom of a Diety.
Low they adore th' Incarnate Son,
And sing the Glories he hath won,
Sing how he broke our Iron Chains,
How deep he sunk, how high he reigns.
Triumph and reign Victorious Lord,
By all thy flaming Saints ador'd;
And say, dear Conqueror, say, how long
'Ere we shall fly to joyn their Song?
Lo, from afar the promis'd Day
Shines with a well-distinguish'd Ray:
But my wing'd Passion hardly bears
These tedious Rounds of rolling Years.
Send down a Chariot from above
With fiery Wheels, and pav'd with Love;
Raise me beyond th' Ethereal Blue,
To Sing and Love as Angels do.

A Song of Praise TO GOD.
PSALM C. In Trissyllable Feet.

SIng aloud to the Lord: Let the two Frozen Poles
Awake to the Song, and dissolve in the Praise;
At the Fiery Line will we kindle our Souls,
Nor the Worship be quench't by the Western Seas.
Come Nations adoring the Infinite King,
With Zeal in your Bosoms, and Joy in your Eyes:
His Wonderful Name should eternally ring
Round the broad Globe of Earth to the Circling Skies.
'Twas he that gave Life to our Souls with a Breath,
He fashion'd our Clay to the Figure of Men;
And when we had stray'd to the Regions of Death,
He reduc'd his own Sheep to his Pastures again.
We enter his Gates with Hosannahs and Songs,
The Arches resound with the Notes that we raise;
Thus while our Devotions are paid with our Tongues,
Thy Temple adores by repeating the Praise.
Thy Power shakes the World, and makes it self known;
Thy Love like Eternity has ne're a Bound;
The Truth of our God must stand firm as his Throne
When the Wheels of old Time shall cease to go round.

An Essay on a few of DAVID's PSALMS Translated into Plain Verse, in Language more agreeable to the clear­er Revelations of the Gospel.


BLEST is the Man, whose cautious Feet
Shun the broad Path which Sinners chuse,
Who hates the House where Atheists meet,
And dreads the Words that Scoffers use.
He loves t' employ his Morning Light
Reading the Statutes of the Lord,
And spends the wakeful Hours of Night
With Pleasure pond'ring o're the Word.
He like a Plant by gentle Streams
Shall Flourish in Immortal Green;
And Heav'n will shine with Kindest Beams
On every Work his Hands begin.
But Sinners find their Counsels cross'd:
As Chaff before the Tempest flies,
So shall their Hopes be blown and lost
When the last Trumpet shakes the Skies.
In vain the Rebel crouds to stand
In Judgment with the Pious Race;
The dreadful Judge with Stern Command
Divides him to a different Place.
"Strait is the Way my Saints have trod,
"I blest the Path and drew it plain:
"But you would chuse the crooked Road,
"And it leads down t' Eternal Pain.

Doubts and Fears SUPPRES'D.

LOOK, Gracious God, how numerous they
Whose envious Power and Rage
Conspiring my Eternal Death
Against my Soul engage.
The lying Tempter would perswade
There's no Relief in Heaven;
[Page 57] And all my swelling Sins appear
Too big to be forgiven.
But God my Glory and my Strength
Shall tread the Tempter down,
And drown my Sins beneath the Blood
Of his Dear Dying Son.
I cry'd, and from his Sacred Hill
He bow'd a list'ning Ear;
I call'd my Father and my God,
And he dispers'd my Fear.
He threw soft Slumbers on mine Eyes
In sight of all my Foes,
I 'woke, and wondred at the Grace
That guarded my Repose.
What, tho' the Hosts of Death and Hell
All arm'd against me stood,
Terrors no more shall shake my Soul,
Nor Tremblings chill my Blood.
Lord, I adore thy Wondrous Love,
And thy Salvation sing:
My God hath broke the Serpents Teeth,
And Death has lost his Sting.
Salvation to the Lord belongs,
The Lord alone can save;
Blessings attend thy People here,
And reach beyond the Grave.

Praise to the LORD FROM All NATIONS.

SING to the Lord with Joyful Voice,
Let every Land his Name adore,
The Brittish Isles shall send the Noise
Across the Ocean to the Shore.
With gladness bow before his Throne,
And let his Presence raise your Joys,
Know that the Lord is God alone,
And form'd our Souls, and fram'd our Voice.
Infinite Power without our aid
Figur'd our Clay to humane Mould;
And when our Wandring Feet had stray'd,
He brought us to his Sacred Fold.
Enter his Gates with Thankful Songs,
Thro' his Wide Courts your Voices raise;
Almighty God, our Joyful Tongues
Shall fill thine house with sounding Praise.
Wide as the World is thy Command,
Vast as Eternity thy Love,
Firm as a Rock thy Truth must stand
When rolling Years shall cease to move.

Brotherly Love.

LO, what an entertaining Sight
Are Brethren that agree,
Brethren whose chearful Hearts unite
In Bands of Piety.
When Streams of Love from Christ the Spring
Descend to every Soul,
And Sacred Peace with Balmy Wing
Shades and bedews the whole;
'Tis like the Oyl on Aaron shed
Which choice Perfumes compose,
Down softly from his Reverend Head
It trickled to his Toes.
Tis pleasant as the Morning Dews
That fall on Zion's Hill;
Where God his mildest Glory shews,
And makes his Grace distil.

THE PLEASURE OF Love to CHRIST Present or Absent.

OF all the Joys we Mortals know
Jesus, thy Love exceeds the rest;
Love, the best Blessing here below,
And nearest Image of the Blest.
Sweet are my Thoughts, and soft my Cares
When the dear Heav'nly Flame I feel;
[...] all my Hopes and all my Fears
There's something kind and pleasing still.
While I am held in his Embrace
There's not a Thought attempts to rove;
Each Smile he wears upon his Face
Fixes and charms and fires my Love.
He speaks, and strait Immortal Joys
Run thro' my Ears, and reach my Heart;
My Soul all melts at that dear Voice,
And Pleasure shoots thro' every Part.
If he withdraw a Moments space
He leaves a Sacred Pledge behind,
Here in this Breast his Image stays,
The Grief and Comfort of my Mind.
While of his Absence I complain,
And long, and weep as Lovers do,
There's a strange Pleasure in the Pain,
And Tears have their own Sweetness too.
When round his Courts by Day I rove,
Or ask the Watchmen of the Night
For some kind Tidings of my Love;
His very Name creates Delight.
Jesus my God; yet rather come;
Mine Eyes would dwell upon thy Face;
'Tis best to see my Lord at Home,
And feel the Presence of his Grace.
The Substance of the following Copy, and many of the Lines as they here stand were sent me by an Esteemed Friend Mr. W. Nokes, with a desire that I would form them into a Pindarick Ode; but I retain'd his Measures least I should too much alter his Sense.

A Sight of CHRIST.

ANgels of Light, your God and King surround
With Noble Songs; in his Exalted Flesh
He claims your Worship; while his Saints on Earth
Bless their Redeemer-God with humble Tongues.
Angels with lofty Honours crown his Head;
We bowing at his Feet, by Faith may feel
This distant Influence, and confess his Love.
Once I beheld his Face, when Beams Divine
Broke from his Eyelids, and unusual Light
Wrap't me at once in Glory and Surprize.
My Joyful Heart high leaping in my Breast
With Transport cry'd, This is the Christ of God;
Then threw my Arms around in sweet Embrace,
And clasp'd, and bow'd Adoring low, till I was lost in him.
While he appears no other Charms can hold
Or draw my Soul asham'd of former things,
Which no Remembrance now deserve or Name
Tho' with Contempt, best in Oblivion hid.
But the bright Shine and Presence soon withdrew;
I sought him whom I Love, but found him not;
I felt his Absence; and with strongest cries
Proclaim'd, Where Jesus is not, all is vain.
Whether I hold him with a full Delight,
Or seek him panting with Extream Desire,
'Tis He alone can please my Wondring Soul;
[Page 67] To hold or seek him is my only Choice.
If he refrain on me to cast his Eye
Down from his Palace, nor my longing Soul
With upward Look can spy my Dearest Lord
Thro' his Blue Pavement, I'll behold him still
With sweet reflection on the peaceful Cross,
All in his Blood and Anguish, groaning deep,
Gasping and dying there.—
This Sight I ne're can loose, by it I live:
A Quickning Vertue from his Death inspir'd
Is Life and Breath to me; His Flesh my Food;
His Vital Blood I drink, and hence my Strength.
I Live, I'm Strong, and now Eternal Life
Beats quick within my Breast; my Vigorous Mind
Spurns the dull Earth, and on her fiery Wings
Reaches the Mount of Purposes Divine,
Counsels of Peace betwixt th' Almighty Three
Conceiv'd at once, and Sign'd without Debate
In perfect Union of the Eternal Mind.
With vast Amaze I see the Unfathom'd Thoughts,
Infinite Schemes, and Infinite Designs
[Page 68] Of God's own Heart in which he ever rests.
Eternity lies open to my View;
Here the Beginning and the End of all
I can discover; Christ, the End of all,
And Christ the great Beginning; He my Head,
My God, my Glory, and my All in All.
O that the Day, the joyful Day were come
When the first Adam from his Ancient Dust
Crown'd with new Honours shall revive, and see
Jesus his Son and Lord; while shouting Saints
Surround their King, and God's Eternal Son
Shines in the midst but with Superior Beams,
And like himself; Then the Mysterious Word
Long hid behind the Letter shall appear
All Spirit and Life, and in the fullest Light
Stand forth to publick View, and there disclose
His Father's Sacred Works and wondrous Ways:
Then Wisdom, Righteousness and Grace Divine
Thro' all the Infinite Transactions past
Inwrought and shining shall with double blaze
[Page 69] Strike our astonish't Eyes, and ever reign
Admir'd and Glorious in Triumphant Light.
Death and the Tempter, and the Man of Sin
Now at the Bar arraign'd, in Judgment cast,
Shall vex the Saints no more, but perfect Love
And loudest Praises perfect Joy create,
While ever-circling Years maintain the blissful State.

LONGING FOR HEAVEN, OR, THE Song of Angels Above.

EARTH has detain'd me Prisoner long,
And I'me grown weary now;
My Heart, my Hand, my Ear, my Tongue,
There's nothing here for you.
Tir'd in my Thoughts I stretch me down,
And upward glance mine Eyes,
Upward (my Father) to thy Throne,
And to my Native Skies.
There the dear Man my Saviour sits,
The God, how bright he shines!
[Page 71] And scatters Infinite Delights
On all the happy Minds.
Seraphs with elevated Strains
Circle the Throne around,
And Move and Charm the Starry Plains
With an Immortal Sound.
Jesus the Lord their Harps employs,
Jesus my Love they sing,
Jesus the Name of both our Joys
Sounds sweet from every String.
Hark, how beyond the narrow Bounds
Of Time and Space they run,
And speak in most Majestick Sounds
The Godhead of the Son.
How on the Father's Breast he lay
The darling of his Soul,
Infinite Years before the Day,
Or Heavens began to roll.
And now they sink the lofty Tone,
And milder Notes they play,
And bring th' Eternal Godhead down
To dwell in humble Clay.
O the dear Beauties of that Man!
(The God resides within)
His Flesh all pure without a Stain,
His Soul without a Sin.
Then, how he look't, and how he smild,
What wondrous things he said,
Sweet Cherubs, stay, dwell here a while,
And tell what Jesus did.
At his Command the Blind awake,
And feel the gladsome Rays;
He bids the Dumb attempt to speak,
They try their Tongues in Praise.
He shed a thousand Blessings round
Where 'ere he turn'd his Eye;
He spake, and at the Sovereign Sound
The Hellish Legions fly.
Thus while with unambitious Strife
Th' Ethereal Minstrels rove
Thro' all the Labours of his Life,
And Wonders of his Love.
In the full Quire a broken String
Groans with a strange Surprize;
The rest in silence mourn their King
That Bleeds and Loves and Dies.
The little Saints with dropping Wings
Cease their harmonious Breath,
No blooming Trees, nor bubbling Springs,
While Jesus sleeps in Death.
Then all at once to living Strains
They summon every Chord,
Break up the Tomb, and burst his Chains,
And show their rising Lord.
Around the flaming Army throngs
To guard him to the Skies,
With loud Hosannahs on their Tongues,
And Triumph in their Eyes.
In awful State the Conquering God
Ascends his shining Throne,
While tuneful Angels sound abroad
The Vict'ries he has won.
Now let me rise, and Joyn their Song,
And be an Angel too;
My Heart, my Hand, my Ear, my Tongue,
Here's Joyful Work for you.
[...] would begin the Musick here
And so my Soul should rise,
Oh for some Heavenly Notes to bear
My Spirit to the Skies!
There, ye that love my Saviour, sit,
There I would fain have place,
Amongst your Thrones, or at your Feet,
So I might see his Face.
[...] am confin'd to Earth no more,
But mount in haste above
To bless the God that I adore,
And sing the Man I Love.

GOD Sovereign and Gracious.

THE Lord! how fearful is his Name?
How wide is his Command?
Nature with all its Mighty Frame
Lies rolling in his Hand.
Immortal Glory forms his Throne,
And Light his Awful Robe;
Whilst with a Smile or with a Frown
He manages the Globe.
A Word of His Almighty Breath
Can swell or sink the Seas;
Build the vast Empires of the Earth,
Or break 'em as he please.
Adoring Angels round him fall
In all their Shining Forms,
His Sovereign Eye looks thro' them all,
And pities Mortal Worms.
His Bowels to our Worthless Race
In sweet Compassion move;
He Cloaths his Looks with softest Grace,
And takes his Title, Love.
Now let the Lord for ever Reign,
And Sway us as he will,
Sick or in Health, in Ease or Pain,
We are his Favourites still.
No more shall peevish Passion rise,
The Tongue no more Complain;
'Tis Sovereign Love that lends our Joys,
And Love resumes again.

THE HAZARD OF Loving the Creatures.

WHERE'ere my Flatt'ring Passions rove
I find a lurking Snare;
'Tis dangerous to let loose our Love
Beneath th' Eternal Fair.
Souls whom the Tye of Friendship binds,
And Things that share our Blood
Seize a large Portion of our Minds,
And leave the less for God.
Nature hath soft but powerful Bands,
And Reason She controuls;
[Page 79] While Children with their little Hands
Hang closest to our Souls.
Thoughtless they act th' Old Serpent's Part;
What tempting things they be!
Lord, how they twine about our Heart,
And draw it off from thee!
Our hasty Wills rush blindly on
Where rising Passion rolls,
And thus we make our Fetters strong
To bind our Slavish Souls.
Dear Sovereign, break these Fetters off,
And set our Spirits free;
God in himself is Bliss enough,
For we have all in thee.

Christ's Amazing Love AND My Amazing Coldness.

COME let me Love: or is my Mind
Harden'd to Stone, or froze to Ice?
I see the Blessed Fair One bend
And stoop t' embrace me from the Skies!
O 'tis a Thought would melt a Rock,
And make a Heart of Iron move,
That those sweet Lips, that Heavenly Look
Should seek my Kisses and my Love.
I was a Traytor doom'd to Fire,
Bound to sustain Immortal Pains;
He flew on Wings of strong Desire
Assum'd my Guilt, and took my Chains.
Infinite Grace! Almighty Charms!
Stand in Amaze, ye rolling Skies,
Jesus the God with naked Arms
Hangs on a Cross of Love and Dies.
Did Pity ever stoop so low
Drest in Divinity and Blood?
Was ever Rebel courted so
In Groans of an Expiring God?
Again He lives; and spreads his Hands,
Hands that were nay l'd to tort'ring Smart;
"By these dear Wounds, says He, and stands
And prays to clasp me to his Heart.
Sure I must Love; or are my Ears
Still Deaf, nor feel the Passion move?
Then let me melt my Heart to Tears,
And Die because I cannot Love.

Wishing him ever with me.

NOW be that smiling Moment blest
When First I saw my Love,
Jesus, the Fairest and the Best
Of all the Forms above.
A thousand Graces ever rise
And bloom upon his Face,
A thousand Arrows from his Eyes
Shoot thro' my Heart with sweet Surprize,
And stand to guard the Place.
All Natures Art shall never cure
The Heavenly Pains I found,
And 'tis beyond all Beauties Power
To make another Wound:
Earthly Beauties grow and fade,
Nature may heal the Wounds She made,
But Charms so much Divine
[Page 83] Hold a long Empire of the Heart,
What Heaven has joyn'd shall never part,
And Jesus must be mine.
In vain the envious Shades of Night,
Or Flatteries of the Day
Would vail his Image from my Sight,
Or tempt my Soul away;
Jesus is all my Waking Theme,
His Lovely Form meets every Dream,
And knows not to depart:
The Passion reigns
Thro' all my Veins,
And floating round the Crimson Stream
Still finds him at my Heart.
Dwell there, for ever dwell, my Love;
Here I confine my Sence,
Nor dare my Wildest Wishes rove,
Nor stir a Thought from thence.
Let me be lost in thine Embrace
As Rivers in the Sea;
[Page 84] Or live Eternity of Days
To spend them all with thee.
Still I would lie in those dear Arms
Dissolving still among thy Charms,
And as the Moments fly,
I'de Breathe away successive Souls,
So Billow after Billow rolls
To kiss the Shoar, and Dye.

THE Absence of the Beloved.

COME, lead me to some lofty Shade
Where Turtles moan their Loves;
Tall Shadows were for Lovers made,
And Grief becomes the Groves.
Tis no mean Beauty of the Ground
That has inslav'd mine Eyes,
[Page 85] I faint beneath a Nobler Wound,
Nor love below the Skies.
Jesus the Spring of all that's bright,
The Everlasting Fair,
Heavens Ornament and Heavens Delight
Is my Eternal Care.
But, ah! how far above this Grove
Does the dear Charmer dwell?
Absence, that keenest Wound to Love,
That sharpest Pain I feel.
Pensive I climb the Sacred Hills,
And near him vent my Woes,
Yet his sweet Face he still conceals,
Yet still my Passion grows.
I murmur to the hollow Vale,
I tell the Rocks my Flame,
And bless the Eccho in her Cell
That best repeats his Name.
My Passion breaths perpetual Sighs
Till pitying Winds shall hear,
And gently bear them up the Skies,
And gently wound his Ear.

Sick of Love.
Solom. Song, i. 3.

TELL me thou Fairest of thy Kind,
My Love, my All-Divine,
Where may this fainting Head reclin'd
Relieve such Cares as mine?
Ye Shepheards, Lead me to your Grove:
If burning Noon Infect the Sky,
The Sick'ning Sheep to Coverts fly,
The Sheep not half so Scorch't as I
Thus Languishing in Love.
Stretch't on the Flowry Shades along
There would I tune my Tender Song,
And drop a Melting Tear;
Musick has wondrous Charms they say,
Musick can raging Heats allay,
And Tame the wildest Care.
Begin my Song the Soothing Strain;
But the dear Flame is Charming Sweet,
I would not cool the Passion yet,
Nor can I bear the pain.
Strangely I'm Rack't in wide Extreams,
I burn, I burn, I burn, and yet I Love the Flames.
Oh why should Beauty Heavenly Bright
Stoop down to Charm a Mortals Sight,
And Torture with the Sweet excess of Light?
Our Hearts, alas! how frail their make!
With their own weight of Joy they break,
Oh why is Love so strong, and Natures self so weak?
Dear Lord, forgive my rash Complaint,
And Love me still,
Against my froward Will,
Unvail thy Beauties tho' I faint.
Send the great Herald from the Sky,
And at the Trumpets awful roar
This feeble state of things shall fly,
And Pain and Pleasure mix no more.
Then I shall gaze with Strengthen'd Sight
On Glories Infinitely bright,
My Heart shall all be Love, my Jesus all Delight.

Sitting in an Arbour.

SWEET Muse descend and bless the Shade,
And bless the Evening Grove;
Business and Noise and Day are fled,
And every Care but Love.
But hence, Ye Wanton Young and Fair,
Mine is a purer Flame,
No Phillis shall infect the Air
With her unhallowed Name.
Jesus has all my Powers possest,
My Hopes, my Fears, my Joys:
He the dear Sovereign of my Breast
Shall still command my Voice.
Some of the fairest Quires above
Shall flock around my Song,
With Joy to hear the Name they Love
Sound from a Mortal Tongue.
His Charms shall make my Numbers flow,
And hold the falling Floods,
While Silence sits on every Bough
And bends the List'ning Woods.
I'le carve our Passion on the, Bark,
And every wounded Tree
Shall drop and bear some Mystick Mark
That Jesus dy'd for me.
The Swains shall wonder when they read
Inscrib'd on all the Grove,
That Heaven it Self came down, and bled
To win a Mortals Love.

BEWAILING My own Inconstancy.

I LOVE the Lord; but ah! how far
My Thoughts from the dear Object are!
This wanton Heart how wide it roves!
And Fancy meets a Thousand Loves.
[...] my Soul burn to see my God
[...] tread the Courts of his abode,
But Troops of Rivals throng the place
And Tempt me off before his Face.
Would I enjoy my Lord alone,
[...] bid my Passions all be gone,
All but my Love; and Charge my Will
To bar the Door and keep it still.
But Cares or Trifles make or find
Still new Avenues to the Mind,
Till I with Grief and Wonder see
Huge Crouds betwixt my Lord and Me.
Oft I am told the Muse will prove
A Friend to Piety and Love;
Strait I begin some Sacred Song,
And take my Saviour on my Tongue.
Strangely I lose his Lovely Face
To hold the Empty Sounds in Chase;
At best the Chymes divide my Heart,
And the Muse shares the larger part.
False Confident! And falser Breast!
Fickle and fond of every Guest:
Each Airy Image as it flies
Here finds admittance thro' my Eyes.
This Foolish Heart can leave her God,
And Shadows tempt her Thoughts abroad,
How shall I fix this Wandring Mind,
Or throw my Fetters on the Wind?
Look gently down, Almighty Grace,
Prison me round in thine Embrace:
Pity the Soul that would be thine,
And let thy Power my Love Confine.
Say, when shall that bright Moment be
That I shall live alone for thee,
My Heart no Foreign Lords adore,
And the wild Muse prove false no more?

Forsaken, yet Hoping.

HAPPY the Hours, the Golden Days
When I could call my Jesus mine,
And sit and view his Smiling Face,
And melt in Pleasures all Divine.
Near to my Heart within my Arms
He lay, till Sin defil'd my Breast,
Till broken Vows and Earthly Charms
[...]ir'd and provok'd my Heavenly Guest.
And now He's gone, (O Mighty Woe)
Gone from my Soul and hides his Love!
[Page 94] Curse on you, Sins, that griev'd Him so,
Ye Sins, that forc'd him to remove.
Break, Break my Heart, Complain my Tongue,
Hither, my Friends, your Sorrows bring,
Angels, assist my Doleful Song,
If you have e're a Mourning String.
But, ah! Your Joys are ever high,
Ever His Lovely Face you see,
While my poor Spirits pant and die,
And Groan for thee, my God, for thee.
Yet let my Hope look thro' my Tears
And spy afar his rolling Throne,
His Chariot thro' the cleaving Spheres
Shall bring the bright Beloved down.
Swift as a Roe flies o're the Hills
My Soul springs out to meet him high,
Then the dear Conqueror turns his Wheels,
And climbs the Mansions of the Sky.
There Smiling Joy for ever reigns,
No more the Turtle leaves the Dove;
Farewel to Jealousies, and Pains,
And all the Ills of Absent Love.

The Law and Gospel.

"CURST be the Man, for ever Curst
"That doth the smallest Sin commit,
"Death and Damnation for the First,
"Without Relief and Infinite.
Thus Sinai roars; and round the Earth
Thunder and Fire and Vengeance flings;
[...] Jesus, thy dear gasping Breath
[...] Calvary says Gentler things.
"Pardon, and Grace and boundless Love
"Streaming along a Saviour's Blood,
[Page 96] "And Life and Joys and Crowns above
"Dear purchas'd by a Bleeding God.
Hark, how he prays, (the Charming Sound
Dwells on his Dying Lips) Forgive;
And every Groan and gaping Wound
Cries, "Father, Let the Rebels Live.
Go you that rest upon the Law,
And toil and seek Salvation there,
Look to the Flames that Moses saw,
And shrink, and tremble, and despair.
But I'll retire beneath the Cross,
Saviour, at thy dear Feet I lie;
And the keen Sword that Justice draws
Flaming and Red shall pass me by.

THE Death of MOSES,
Deut. xxxii. 49, 50. and xxxiv. 5, 6.
OR THE Enjoyment of GOD VVorth Dying for.

LORD, 'tis an Infinite Delight
To see thy Lovely Face,
To dwell whole Ages in thy Sight
And feel thy Kind Embrace.
This Gabriel knows; and Sings thy Name
With his Immortal Tongue;
Moses the Saint Enjoys the same,
And Loud repeats the Song.
All the bright Nation sounds thy Praise
From the Eternal Hills,
While the Sweet Odour of thy Grace
The Heavenly Region fills.
Thy Charming Looks and Shining Power
Spread Life and Joy abroad:
O 'tis a Heaven worth dying for
To see a Smiling God.
Shew me thy Face, and I'll away
From all Inferiour Things;
Speak, Lord, and here I quit my Clay,
And stretch mine Airy Wings.
'Twas a Sweet Journey to the Sky
The wondrous Prophet try'd,
"Climb up the Mount, says God, and Dye,
The Prophet Climb'd and Dy'd.
Softly his fainting Head he lay
Upon his Maker's Breast,
His Maker Kiss'd his Soul away,
And laid his Flesh to rest.
In God's own Arms he left the Breath
That God's own Spirit gave;
His was the Noblest Road to Death,
And his the Sweetest Grave.

AD Dominum nostrum & Servatorem Jesum Christum. ODA.

TE, Grande Numen, Corporis Incola,
Te, magna magni Progenies Patris,
Nomen verendum nostri Jesû
Vox, Citharae, Calami sonabunt.
Aptentur auro grandisonae Fides,
Christi Triumphos incipe Barbite,
Fractosque terrores Averni,
Victum Erebum, domitamque Mortem.
Immensa vastos saecula circulos
Volvêre, blando dum Patris in sinû
Toto fruebatur Jehovâ
Gaudia mille bibens Jesus;
Donec superno vidit ab Aethere
Adam cadentem, Tartara hiantia,
Unâque mergendos ruinâ
Heu nimium miseros Nepotes.
Vidit minaces Vindicis Angeli
Ignes & Ensem, Telaque Sanguine
Tingenda nostro, dum rapinae
Spe fremuere Erebaea Monstra.
Commota Sacras Viscera protinus
Sensêre flammas, Omnipotens Furor
Ebullit, Immensique Amoris
Aethereum calet Igne pectus.
"Non tota prorsus Gens hominum dabit
"Hosti triumphos: Quid Patris & Labor
"Dulcisque Imago? Num peribunt
"Funditus? O prius Astra caecis
"Mergantur undis, & redeat Chaos.
"Aut ipse disperdam Satanae dolos,
"Aut ipse disperdar, & isti
"Sceptra dabo moderanda dextrae.
"Testor paternum Numen, & hoc Caput
"Aequale testor, dixit, & Aetheris
Inclinat ingens culmen, alto
Desiliitque ruens Olympo.
Mortale corpus impiger induit
Artusque nostros, heu tenues nimis
Nimisque viles! Vindicique
Corda dedit fodienda Ferro,
Vitamque Morti; Proh dolor! O graves
Tonantis Irae! O Lex nimis aspera!
Mercesque peccati severa
Adamici, vetitique fructus,
Non poena lenis! Quô ruis impotens!
Quo Musa! largas fundere lachrymas,
Bustique Divini triumphos
Sacrilego temerare fletu?
Sepone questus. Laeta Deum cane
Majore Chordâ. Psalle sonoriùs
Ut ferreas Mortis cavernas
Et rigidam penetravit Aulam.
Sensêre Numen Regna feralia,
Mugit Barathrum, contremuit Chaos,
Dirùm fremebat Rex Gehennae,
Perque suum tremebundus Orcum
Latè refugit. "Nil agis Impie,
"Mergat vel Imis te Phlegethon vadis,
"Hoc findet undas fulmen, Inquit,
Et patrios Jaculatus Ignes
Trajecit hostem. Nigra Silentia
Umbraeque flammas Aethereas pavent
Dudum perosae, ex quo corusco
Praecipites cecidere Coelo.
Immane rugit jam Tonitru; fragor
Latè ruinam mandat: ab infimis
Lectaeque destinata genti
Tartara disjiciuntur antris.
Heìc strata passim vincula, & heìc jacent
Unci cruenti, Tormina Mentium
Invisa, ploratuque vasto
Spicula Mors sibi adempta plangit.
En, ut resurgit Victor ab ultimo
Ditis Profundo, curribus aureis
Astricta raptans Monstra Noctis
Perdomitumque Erebi Tyrannum.
Quanta Angelorum gaudia Jubilant
Victor paternum dum repetit Polum?
En qualis ardet, dum beati
Limina scandit Ovans Olympi!
Io Triumphe plectra Seraphica,
Io Triumphe grex hominum sonet,
Dum laeta quaquaversus ambos
Astra repercutiunt Triumphos.

Excitatio cordis Coelum versus.

Ad seipsum.
HEU quot sêcla teris carcere Corporis
Wattsi, quid refugis Limen & Exitum?
Nec meus Aethereum Culmen, & Atria
Magni Patris anhelitat?
Corpus vile creat mille Molestias,
Circum Corda volant & Dolor, & Metus,
Peccatumque malis durius omnibus
Caecas Insidias struit.
Non hoc grata tibi Gaudia de solo
Surgunt. Christus abest, deliciae tuae,
Longè Christus abest, Inter & Angelos
Et picta astra perambulans.
* Coeli summa petas, nec Jaculabitur
Iracunda Tonans fulmina: Te Deus
Hortatur; Vacuum tende per Aëra
Pennas nunc homini datas.

Breathing towards the Heavenly Country. Casimire. Book I. Od. 19. Imitated. ‘Urit me Patriae Decor, &c.

THE Beauty of my Native Land
Immortal Love inspires;
I burn, I burn with strong Desires,
And sigh and wait the high Command.
There glides the Moon her shining Way,
And shoots my Heart thro' with a Silver Ray;
Upward my Heart aspires:
A thousand Lamps of Golden Light
Hung high in vaulted Azure charm my Sight,
And wink and becken with their Amorous Fires.
[Page 109] O Ye dear Glories of my Heavenly Home,
Bright Sentinels of my Fathers Court
Where all the happy Minds resort,
When will my Father's Chariot come?
Must ye for ever walk the Ethereal Round,
For ever see the Mourner lie
An Exile of the Sky,
A Prisoner of the Ground?
Descend some shining Servant from on high,
Build me a hasty Tomb;
A Grassie Turf will raise my Head,
The Neighbouring Lillies dress my Bed
And shed a cheap Perfume.
Here I put off the Chains of Death
My Soul too long has worn,
Friends, I forbid one groaning Breath,
Or Tear to wet my Urn;
Raphael, behold me all undrest,
Here gently lay this Flesh to rest;
Then mount and lead the Path unknown,
Swift I pursue thee, Flaming Guide, on Pinions of my own.

THE GLORIES of GOD Exceed all Worship.

ETERNAL Power! whose high Abode
Becomes the Grandeur of a God;
Infinite Lengths beyond the Bounds
Where the Skies roll their little Rounds.
The lowest Step about thy Seat
Rises too high for Gabriel's Feet,
In vain the tall Arch-Angel tries
To reach thine height with wondring Eyes.
Thy dazling Beauties whilst he Sings
He hides his Face behind his Wings,
And Ranks of Shining Thrones around
Fall Worshipping, and spread the Ground.
Lord, what shall Earth and Ashes do!
We would adore our Maker too,
From Sin and Dust to thee we cry
The Great, the Holy, and the High.
Earth from afar has heard thy Fame,
And Worms have learnt to lisp thy Name.
But, O, the Glories of thy Mind
Leave all our soaring Thoughts behind.
God is in Heaven, and Men below,
Short be our Tunes, our Words be few;
A Sacred Reverence checks our Songs,
And Praise sits silent on our Tongues.
The END of the First BOOK.
‘Tibi silet Laus, O Deus.’Psal. lxv. 1.



QUEEN of the Northern World, whose gentle Sway
Invites our Love, and binds our Hearts t' Obey:
[Page 114] Forgive the Nation's Groan when William dy'd;
Lo, at thy Feet in all the Loyal Pride
Of rising Joy Three Happy Realms appear,
And William's Urn almost without a Tear
Stands; nor Complains: While from thy Gracious Tongue
Peace flows in Silver Streams amidst the Throng.
Amazing Balm, that on those Lips was found
To heal the Twinges of that Mortal Wound,
The Danger, and the Scar! Far-distant Lands
Whose Lives lay trusted in Nassovian Hands
Transfer their Souls, and live; secure they Play
In thy Mild Rays, and feel a growing Day.
Thy beamy Wing at once defends and warms
Fainting Devotion; whilst in various Forms
Fair Piety shines thro' the Brittish Isles:
Here at thy Side, and in thy kindest Smiles
Blazing in Ornamental Gold she stands,
To Bless thy Councils, and Assist thy Hands,
And Crowds wait round her to receive Commands.
[Page 115] There at a Humble distance from the Throne
Beauteous She lies; Her Lustre all her own,
Ungarnish'd; yet not blushing, nor afraid,
Nor knows Suspicion, nor affects the Shade.
In Words of Solemn Form, or with a freer Cry
Warm as our Zeal for Thee, We Both address the Sky,
Vow for thy Safety Both, and live beneath thine Eye.
PRINCESS, the World already owns thy Name;
Go, mount the Chariot of Immortal Fame,
Nor Die to be Renown'd: Fames loudest Breath
Too dear is purchas'd by an Angels Death.
The Thunder of thy Hand with general Joy
Shall crush Rebellion and the Rival Boy:
Thy Sounding Arms his Gallick Patron hears,
And speeds his Flight; nor overtakes his Fears
Till hard Despair wring from the Tyrant's Soul
The Iron Tears out. Let thy Frown controul
Our Angry Jarrs at Home, till Wrath submit
Her Bloody Banners to thine Awful Feet▪
[Page 116] Mad Zeal and Frenzy with their Murtherous Train
Flee these Blest Realms in thine Auspicious Reign,
Envy expire in Rage, and Treason bite the Chain.
Let no black Scenes affright the Brittish Stage,
Thy Thread of Life prolong our Golden Age,
Long bless the Earth: Then rise and shine on high
The fairest Glory of the Western Sky;
There check the Rays of each Malignant Star,
Heal the dire Pestilence, forbid the War,
Warm the chill North, Sooth the two Rugged Bears,
And stretch thy Peaceful Influence to the Southern Spheres.

TO Mr. John Lock Retired from The World of Business.

ANGELS are made of Heavenly Things,
And Light and Love our Souls compose,
Their Bliss within their Bosom springs,
Within their Bosom flows.
But narrow Minds still make pretence
To search the Coasts of Flesh and Sence,
And fetch Diviner Pleasures thence.
Men are akin to Ethereal Forms,
But they belye their Nobler Birth,
Debase their Honour down to Earth,
And claim a share with Worms.
He that has Treasures of his own
May leave the Cottage or the Throne,
May Quit the Globe, and dwell alone
Within his spacious Mind.
LOCK hath a Soul wide as the Sea,
Calm as the Night, bright as the Day,
There may his vast Idea's play,
Nor feel a Thought confin'd.

TO Mr. JOHN SHUTE ON Mr. LOCK's Dangerous Sick­ness sometime after he had re­tired to study the Scriptures.

AND must the Man of wondrous Mind
(Now his rich Thoughts are just refin'd)
Forsake our Longing Eyes?
Reason at length submits to wear
The Wings of Faith, and Lo they rear
Her Chariot high, and nobly bear
Her Prophet to the Skies.
Go, Friend, and wait the Prophet's Flight,
Watch if his Mantle chance to light
And seize it for thy own;
SHUTE is the Darling of his Years,
Young SHUTE his better Likeness bears,
All but his Wrinkles and his Hairs
Are copy'd in his Son.
Thus when our Follies or our Fau'ts
Call for the Pity of thy Thoughts,
Thy Pen shall make us wise:
The Sallies of whose Youthful Wit
Could pierce the British Fogs with Light,
Place our true Interest in our Sight,
And open half our Eyes.

TO Mr. William Nokes.

FRIENDSHIP, thou Charmer of the Mind,
Thou sweet deluding III,
The brightest Minute Mortals find,
And sharpest Hour we feel.
Fate has divided all our shares
Of Pleasure and of Pain,
In Love the Comforts and the Cares
Are mix'd and joyn'd again.
But whilst in Floods our Sorrow rolls,
And Drops of Joy are few,
This dear Delight of Mingling Souls
Serves but to swell our Woe.
Oh! why should Bliss depart in haste,
And Friendship stay to moan?
Why the fond Passion cling so fast,
When every Joy is gone?
Yet never let our Hearts divide,
Not Death dissolve the Chain:
For Love and Joy were once ally'd,
And must be joyn'd again.

TO Nathanael Gould Esq
Lawful Ambition.

'TIS not by Splendor, or by State,
Majestick Mien, or lofty Gate
My Muse takes Measure of a King:
If Wealth or Height or Bulk will do,
She calls each Mountain of Peru
A more Exalted thing.
Frown on me, Friend, if e're I boast
O're Fellow Minds, enslav'd in Clay,
Or swell when I shall have ingross't
A larger Heap of Shining Dust,
And wear a bigger Load of Earth than they.
[Page 124] Let the vain World Salute me loud,
My Thoughts look inward, and forget
The Sounding Names of High and Great,
The Flatteries of the Crowd.
When GOVLD commands His Ships to run
And Search the Traffick of the Sea,
His Fleet o'retakes the falling Day,
And bears the Western Mines away,
Or Richer Spices from the Rising Sun:
While the glad Tenants of the Shoar
Shout and pronounce him Senator,
Yet still the Man's the same:
For well the Happy Merchant knows
The Soul with Treasure never grows,
Nor swells with airy Fame.
But trust me GOULD, 'tis lawful Pride
To rise above the mean Controul
Of Flesh and Sence to which we're ty'd;
This is Ambition that becomes a Soul.
[Page 125] We steer our Course up thro' the Skies,
Farewel this Barren Land:
We ken the Heavenly Shoar with longing Eyes,
There the dear Wealth of Spirits lies,
And beckoning Angels stand.

TO Dr. Thomas Gibson.
The Life of Souls.

SWIFT as the Sun rolls round the Day
We hasten to the Dead,
Slaves to the Wind we puff away,
And to the Ground we tread.
'Tis Air that lends us Life, when first
The vital Bellows heave;
[Page 126] Our Flesh We borrow of the Dust,
And when a Mothers Care has Nurst
The Babe to Manly size, we must
With Usury pay the Grave.
Juleps still tend the dying Flame,
And Roots and Herbs play well their Game
To save our sinking Breath,
While GIBSON brings his awful Power
To rescue the precarious Hour
From the Demands of Death.
I'de have a Life to call my Own
That shall depend on Heaven alone;
Nor Air, nor Earth, nor Sea
Mix their base Essences with mine,
Nor claim Dominion so Divine
To give me leave to Be.
Sure there's a Mind within, that reigns
O're the dull current of my Veins,
I feel the Inward Pulse bear high
With vigorous Immortality.
[Page 127] Let Earth resume the Flesh it gave,
And Breath dissolve amongst the Winds;
GIBSON, the things that fear a Grave,
That I can loose, or You can save,
Are not akin to Minds.
We claim acquaintance with the Skies,
Upward our Spirits hourly rise,
And there our Thoughts Employ:
When Heaven shall sign our Grand Release,
We are no Strangers to the Place,
The Business, or the Joy.

TO My Brothers E. and T. W.
False Greatness.

BROTHERS, forbear to call him Blest
That only has a large Estate,
Should all the Treasures of the West
Meet and Conspire to make him Great.
Let a broad Stream with Golden Sands
Thro' all his Meadows roll,
He's but a Wretch with all his Lands
That wears a narrow Soul.
He swells amidst his wealthy Store,
And proudly poizing what he weighs,
[Page 129] In his own Scale he fondly lays
Huge Heaps of Shining Oar,
He spreads the Balance wide to hold
His Mannors and his Farms,
And cheats the Beam with Loads of Gold
He hugs between his Arms.
So might the Plough-boy climb a Tree,
When Craesus mounts his Throne,
And both stand up and smile to see
How long their Shadow's grown;
Alass! how vain their Fancies be,
To think that Shape their own.
Thus mingled still with Wealth and State
Craesus himself can never know;
His true Dimensions, and his Weight
Are far inferiour to their show;
Were I so tall to reach the Pole,
Or grasp the Ocean with my Span,
I must be measur'd by my Soul.
The Mind's the Standard of the Man.

TO Mr. A. S. and Mr. T. H.

I'ME born aloft and leave the Croud,
I sail upon a Morning-Cloud
Skirted with dawning Gold:
Mine Eyes beneath the opening Day
Command the Globe with wide survey,
Where Ants in busie Millions play
And tug and heave the Mould.
"Are These the things, my Passion cry'd,
"That we call Men? Are These ally'd
"To the fair Worlds of Light?
[Page 131] "They have ras'd out their Maker's Name
"Grav'n on their Minds with pointed Flame
"In Strokes Divinely bright.
"Wretches, they hate their Native Skies:
"If an Ethereal Thought arise
"Or Spark of Vertue shine,
"With cruel Force they damp its Plumes,
"Choke the Young Fire with sensual Fumes,
"And Chain their Souls to Sin.
"Lo, how they throng with panting Breath
"The broad descending Road
"That leads unerring down to Death,
"Nor miss the Dark Abode.
Thus while I drop a Tear or two
On the wild Herd, a Noble Few
Dare to stray upward, and pursue
Th' unbeaten Way to God.
I meet their Spirits mounting high,
SHALLET I saw, and HUNT was there,
They break thro' loads of Pondrous Care,
With Morning Incense up they Fly
Perfuming all the Air.
Charm'd with the Pleasure of the Sight
My Soul adores and Sings:
"Blest be the Power that aids their Flight,
"That streaks their Path with heavenly Light,
"And gives them Zeal for Wings.

ON The Sudden Death OF Mrs. Mary Peacock.
An Elegiack Song.

HARK! She bids all her Friends Adieu;
Some Angel calls her to the Spheres;
Our Eyes the radiant Saint pursue
Thro' liquid Telescopes of Tears.
Farewell, bright Soul, a short Farewel
Till We shall meet again above
In the sweet Groves where Pleasures dwell,
And Trees of Life bear Fruits of Love.
There Glory sits on every Face,
There Friendship smiles in every Eye,
There shall our Tongues relate the Grace
That led us homeward to the Sky.
O're all the Names of Christ our King
Shall our harmonious Voices rove,
Our Harps shall sound from every String
The Wonders of his bleeding Love.
Come Sovereign Lord, Dear Saviour come,
Remove these separating Days,
Send thy bright Wheels to fetch us home;
That Golden Hour, how long it stays!
How long must we lie ling'ring here,
While Saints around us take their Flight?
Smiling they quit this dusky Syhere,
And mount the Hills of Heavenly Light.
Sweet Soul, we leave thee to thy Rest,
Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God,
Till we from Bands of Clay releas'd
Spring out and climb the shining Road.
While the Dear Dust she leaves behind
Sleeps in thy Bosom, Sacred Tomb;
Soft be her Bed, her Slumbers Kind,
And all her Dreams of Joy to come.

TO THE Reverend Mr. B. Rowe.
'Tis Dangerous to follow the Multitude.

ROWE, if we make the Croud our Guide
Thro' Life's uncertain Road,
Mean is the Chase; and wandering wide
We miss th' Immortal Good.
Men live at random and by Chance,
Bright Reason never leads the Dance;
Whilst in the broad and beaten Way
O're Hills and Dales from Truth we stray,
To Ruin we descend, to Ruin we advance.
Wisdom retires, she hates the Crowd,
And with a decent Scorn
Aloof she climbs her steepy Seat,
Where nor the Grave nor Giddy Feet
Of the Learn'd Vulgar or the Rude
Have e're a Passage worn.
Meer Hazard first began the Track
Where Custom leads her Thousands blind
In willing Chains and strong;
There's not one bold, one noble Mind
Dares tread the fatal Error back,
But Hand in Hand our selves we bind
And drag the Age along.
Mortals, a Savage Herd, and loud
As Billows on a noisy Flood
In rapid order roll:
Example makes the Mischief good:
With jocund Heel we beat the Road
Unheedful of the Goal.
Me let some Friendly Seraph's Wing
Snatch from the Crowd, and bear Sublime
To Wisdom's lofty Tower,
Thence to survey that wretched Thing
Mankind; and in Exalted Rhime
Bless the delivering Power.

TO My Sisters S. and M. W.
An Epistle.

Dear Sisters,
READ the Love of my Heart in the first Line of my Letter, and believe it. I'me much concern'd to bear of my Mother's continued Weakness; we take our Share of those painful Disorders of Nature which afflict her whom we Honour and Love: I know also that your Hurries of Business must be more than dou­bled thereby; but we are daily leaving Care and Sin behind us: The past Temptations shall vex us no more, [Page 139] the Months that are gone return not, and the Sor­rows that we hourly feel lessen the decreed Number; every Pulse beats a Moment of Pain away, and thus by Degrees we arrive nearer to the sweet Period of Life and Trouble.
Bear up (my dear Ones) thro' the ruffling Storms
Of a vain vexing World: Tread down the Cares
Those ragged Thorns that lie across the Road,
Nor spend a Tear upon 'em. Trust me, Sisters,
The Dew of Eyes will make the Briars grow.
Nor let the distant Phantom of Delight
Too long allure your Gaze, or swell your Hope
To dangerous size: If it approach your Feet
And court your Hand, forbid the Intruding Joy
To sit too near your Heart: Still may our Souls
Claim Kindred with the Skies, nor mix with Dust
Our betterborn Affections: Leave the Globe
A Nest for Worms, and hasten to our Home.
O there are Gardens of th' Immortal Kind
That Crown the Heavenly Edens rising Hills
With Beauty and with Sweets; no Lurking Mischief
Dwells in the Fruit, nor Serpent twines the Boughs:
[Page 140] The Branches bend Laden with Life and Bliss
Ripe for the Taste; but 'tis a steep Ascent:
Hold fast the* Golden Chain let down from Heaven,
'Twill help your Feet and Wings; I feel its Force
Draw upward: Fasten'd to the Pearly Gate
It Guides the Way unerring: Happy Clue
Thro' this dark Wild! 'Twas Wisdom's Noblest Work,
All joyn'd by Power Divine, and every Link is Love.

Sisters, Accept the sudden Rapture kindly. The Muse is not awake every Day, if she has a Moments Release from the Lethargy, see, 'tis devoted to serve and please you—&c.

TO Mr. C. and S. Fleetwood.
The World Vain AND The Soul Immortal.

FLEETWOODS, Young Generous Pair,
Despise the Joys that Fools pursue;
Bubbles are light and brittle too,
Born of the Water and the Air.
Try'd by a Standard Bold and Just
Honour and Gold are Paint and Dust;
How vile the last is, and as vain the first:
[Page 142] Things that the Crowd calls Great and Brave,
With me how low their Value's brought!
Titles, and Names, and Life, and Breath,
Slaves to the Wind and born for Death;
The Soul's the only Thing We have
Worth an Important Thought.
The Soul! 'tis of th' Immortal Kind,
Not form'd of Fire, or Earth, or Wind,
Outlives the mouldring Corps, and leaves the Globe behind.
In Limbs of Clay tho' She appears,
Drest up in Ears and Eyes,
The Flesh is but the Souls Disguise,
There's nothing in her Frame kin to the Rags she Wears.
From all the Laws of Matter free,
From all we feel, and all we see
She stands Eternally distinct, and must for ever Be.
Rise then, my Thoughts, on high,
Soar beyond all that's made to Dye;
[Page 143] Lo! on an Awful Throne
Sits the Creatour and the Judge of Souls,
Whirling the Planets round the Poles,
Winds off our Threads of Life, and brings our Pe­riods on.
Swift the Approach, and Solemn is the Day,
When this Immortal Mind
Strip't of the Body's coarse Array
To Endless Pain, or Endless Joy
Must be at once consign'd.
Think of the Sands run down to waste,
We possess none of all the Past,
None but the Present is our own;
Grace is not plac'd within our Power,
'Tis but one short, one shining Hour,
Bright and declining as a Setting Sun.
See the white Minutes wing'd with hast;
The NOW that flies may be the last,
Seize the Salvation e're 'tis past,
Nor mourn the Blessing gone:
[Page 144] A Thoughts Delay is Ruine here,
A Closing Eye, a Gasping Breath
Shuts up the Golden Scene in Death,
And drowns you in Despair.

TO Mr. William Blackbourn.
Life flies too fast to be Wasted.

Quae tegit canas modo Bruma valles
Sole vicinos jaculante montes
Deteget rursum— Casimir. Lib. 2. Od. 2.
MARK, how it Snows! how fast the Vally fills?
And the sweet Groves the hoary Garment wear;
Yet the Warm Sun-Beams bounding from the Hills
Shall melt the Vail away, and the young Green appear.
But when Old Age has drop't upon your Head
Her Silver Frost, there's no returning Sun;
Swift rolls our Autumn, swift our Summer's fled,
When Youth, and Love, and Spring, and Golden Joys are gone.
Then Cold, and Winter, and your Aged Snow
Stick fast upon you; not the rich Array,
Nor the Green Garland, nor the Rosy Bough
Shall cancel or conceal the Melancholy Gray.
The Chase of Pleasure is not worth the Pains,
While the Bright Sands of Health run wasting down▪
And Honour calls you from the softer Scenes
To sell the gaudy Hour for Ages of Renown.
'Tis but one Youth and short that we can have,
And one Old Age dissolves our feeble Frame;
But there's a Heavenly Art t' elude the Grave,
And with the Heroe-Race Immortal Kindred claim.
The Man that has his Countries Sacred Tears
To drop upon his Herse, has liv'd his Day:
Thus, BLACKBOURN, we should leave our Names our Heirs;
Old Time and waning Moons sweep all the rest away.

TO Mr. Robert Atwood.
THE Kingdom of the Wise Man.


THE rising Year beheld th' Imperious Gaul
Stretch his Dominion, while a hundred Towns
Crouch'd to the Victor: But a steady Soul
[Page 147] Stands firm on its own Base, and reigns as wide,
As Absolute; and sways ten thousand Slaves,
Lusts and wild Fancies with a Soveraign Hand.
We are a little Kingdom: But the Man
That chains his Rebel Will to Reasons Throne
Forms it a large one, ATWOOD, whilst his Mind
Makes Heaven its Council, from the Rolls above
Draws his own Statutes, and with Joy obeys.
'Tis not a Troop of Well-appointed Guards
Create a Monarch, not a Purple Robe
Dy'd in the Peoples Blood, not all the Crowns
Or dazling Tiars that bend about the Head,
Tho' Gilt with Sun-Beams and beset with Stars.
A Monarch He that Conquers all his Fears
And treads upon them; when he stands alone,
Makes his own Camp; four Guardian Virtues wait
His Nightly Slumbers and secure his Dreams.
Now dawns the Light; He ranges all his Thoughts
In square Battalions, bold to meet th' Attacks
Of Time and Chance, himself a numerous Host,
[Page 148] All Eye, all Ear, all wakeful as the Day,
Firm as a Rock, and moveless as the Centre.
In vain the Harlot Pleasure spreads her Charms
To lull his Thoughts in Luxuries fair Lap
To sensual Ease, (the Bane of little Kings,
Monarchs whose waxen Images of Souls
Are moulded into Softness) still his Mind
Wears its own Shape, nor can the Heavenly Form
Stoop to be model'd by the wild Decrees
Of the mad Vulgar, that unthinking Herd.
He lives above the Crowd, nor hears the Noise
Of Wars and Triumphs, nor regards the Shouts
Of Popular Applause, that empty Sound,
Nor feels the flying Arrow of Reproach,
Or Spite, or Envy. In himself secure,
Wisdom his Tower, and Conscience is his Shield,
His Peace all Inward, and his Joys his Own.
Now my Ambition swells, my Wishes soar,
This be my Kingdom; sit above the Globe
[Page 149] My 'Rising Soul, and dress thy self around
And shine in Virtues Armour; Climb the height
Of Wisdoms lofty Castle, there reside
Safe from the Smiling and the Frowning World.
Yet once a Day drop down a gentle Look
On the great Molehill, and with pitying Eye
Survey the Busie Emmets round the Heap
Crowding and Bustling in a Thousand Forms
Of Strife and Toil, to purchase Wealth and Fame,
A Bubble or a Dust: Then call thy Thoughts
Up to thy self to feed on Joys unknown,
Rich without Gold, and Great without Renown.

PART II. OR The Bold Stoick.

HOnour demands my Song. Forget the Ground
My Generous Muse, and sit amongst the Stars;
There sing the Soul, that Conscious of her Birth
Lives like a Native of the Vital World
Amongst these dying Clods, and bears her State
Just to her self: How nobly she maintains
Her Character, Superiour to the Flesh,
She weilds her Passions like her Limbs, and knows
The Brutal Powers were only born't obey.
This is the Man whom Storms could never make
Meanly complain, nor can a flatt'ring Gale
Make him talk proudly: He hath no Desire
To read his Secret Fate; yet unconcern'd
[Page 151] And calm could meet his unborn Destiny
In all its Charming or its Frightful Shapes.
He that unshrinking and without a Groan
Bears the first Wound may finish all the War
With meer Couragious Silence, and come off
Conqueror: For the Man that well conceals
The heavy Strokes of Fate he bears 'em well.
He, tho' th' Atlantick and the Midland Seas
With adverse Surges meet, and rise on high
Suspended 'twixt the Winds, then rush amain
Mingled with Flames upon his Single Head
And Clouds and Stars and Thunder, he would stand▪
And from the lofty Castle of his Mind
Sublime look down and Joyfully Survey
The Ruins of Creation; he alone
Heir of the Dying World: A piercing Glance
Shoots upwards from between his closing Lids
To reach his Birth-place, then without a Sigh
He bids his batter'd Flesh lie gently down
Amongst its Native Rubbish; while his Soul
[Page 152] Breaths and flies upward, an undoubted Guest
Of the third Heaven, th' unruinable Sky.
Thither when Fate has brought Our willing Souls,
No matter whether 'twas a Sharp Disease,
Or a sharp Sword that help'd the Travellers on,
And push'd us to our Home. Bear up my Friend,
My ATWOOD, and break thro' the Surging Brine
With steddy Prow; Know, we shall once arrive
At the fair Haven of Eternal Bliss
To which we ever steer; whether as Kings
Of wide Command we've spread the Spacious Sea
With a broad Painted Fleet, or Row'd along
In a thin Cockboat with a little Oar.
There let my narrow Plank shift me to Land
And I'll be happy, thus I'll leap Ashore
Joyful and fearless on the Immortal Coast,
Since all I leave is Mortal, and it must be lost.

Free Philosophy.
To the much Honoured Mr. Thomas Rowe. THE Director of my Youthful Studies.

CUSTOM, that Tyranness of Fools,
That leads the Learned round the Schools
In Magick Chains of Forms and Rules,
My Genius storms her Throne:
No more ye Slaves with Awe profound
Beat the dull Track, nor dance the Round,
Loose Hands, and quit th' Inchanted Ground,
Knowledge invites us each alone.
I hate these Shackles of the Mind
Forg'd by the haughty Wise;
Souls were not born to be confin'd,
And led like Sampson Bound and Blind:
I love thy gentle Influence, ROWE,
Who only dost Advise:
Thy gentle Influence like the Sun
Only dissolves the Frozen Snow,
Then bids our Thoughts like Rivers flow,
And chuse the Channels where they run.
Thoughts should be free as Fire or Wind;
The Pinions of a Single Mind
Will thro' all Nature fly:
But who can drag up to the Poles
Long fetter'd Ranks of Leaden Souls?
My Genius which no Chain controuls
Roves with Delight, or deep or high:
Swift I survey the Globe around,
Dive to the Centre thro' the Solid Ground,
Or travel o're the Sky.

To the Reverend Mr. John Howe.
THE Vanity of Human Cares.

GREAT Man, permit the Muse to climb
And seat her at thy Feet,
Bid her attempt a Thought sublime,
And consecrate her Wit.
I feel, I feel th' attractive Force
Of thy superiour Soul,
My Chariot flies her upward Course,
The Wheels Divinely roll.
Now let me chide the mean Affairs
And mighty Toyl of Men:
[Page 156] How they grow grey in trifling Cares,
Or wast the Motions of the Spheres
Upon Delights as vain!
A Puff of Honour fills the Mind,
And Yellow Dust is solid Good;
Thus like the Ass of Savage Kind
We snuff the Breezes of the Wind,
Or steal the Serpents Food.
Could all the Choirs
That charm the Poles
But strike one doleful Sound,
'Twould be imploy'd to mourn our Souls,
Souls that were fram'd of Sprightly Fires
In Floods of Folly drown'd.
Souls made of Glory seek a Brutal Joy,
How they disclaim their Heavenly Birth,
Melt their Bright Substance down with drossy Earth,
And hate to be refin'd from that impure Alloy.
Oft has thy Genius rouz'd us hence
With Elevated Song,
[Page 157] Bid us renounce this World of Sence,
Bid us divide th' Immortal Prize
With the Seraphick Throng:
"Knowledge and Love make Spirits blest,
"Knowledge their Food and Love their Rest;
But Flesh, the unmanageable Beast,
Resists the Pity of thine Eyes
And Musick of thy Tongue.
Then let the Worms of groveling Mind
Round the short Joys of Earthy Kind
In restless Windings Roam;
HOWE hath an ample Orb of Soul,
Where shining Worlds of Knowledge roll,
Where Love the Center and the Pole
Compleats the Heaven at Home.

TO Mr. Nicholas Clark.
Complaining of Vapors, OR, Disorders of the Head.

TWAS in a Vale where Osyers grow
By murm'ring Streams we told our Woe,
And mingled all our Cares:
Friendship sat pleas'd in both our Eyes,
In both the weeping Dews arise
And drop alternate Tears.
The Vigorous Monarch of the Day
How mounted half his Morning Way
Shone with a fainter Bright,
Still sickning and decaying still
Dimly he wander'd up the Hill
With his Expiring Light.
In dark Eclipse his Chariot roll'd,
The Queen of Night obscur'd his Gold
Behind her Sable Wheels:
Nature grew sad to loose the Day,
The Flow'ry Vales in Mourning lay,
In Mourning stood the Hills.
Such are our Sorrows, CLARK, I cry'd,
Clouds of the Brain grow black, and hide
Our darkned Souls behind;
In the young Morning of our Years
Distempering Fogs have climb'd the Spheres,
And Choke the Lab'ring Mind.
Lo the Gay Planet rears his Head
And overlooks the Lofty Shade
New-bright'ning all the Skies▪
But say, Dear Part'ner of my Moan,
When will our long Eclipse be gone,
Or when our Suns arise?
In vain are potent Herbs apply'd,
Harmonious Sounds in vain have try'd
To make the Darkness fly.
But Drugs would raise the Dead as soon,
Or clatt'ring Brass relieve the Moon,
When fainting in the Sky.
Some friendly Spirit from above,
Born of the Light, and nurs't with Love,
Assist our feebler Fires;
Force these Invading Glooms away;
Souls should be seen quite thro' their Clay
Bright as your Heavenly Choirs.
But if the Fogs must damp the Flame,
Gently, kind Death, dissolve our Frame,
Release the Prisoner-Mind:
Our Souls shall mount at thy Discharge
To their bright Source, and shine at large
Nor clouded, nor confin'd.

UPON The Dismal Narrative OF THE Afflictions of a Friend.

NOW let my Cares all buried lie,
My Griefs for ever Dumb:
Your Sorrows swell my Heart so high
They leave my own no Room.
Sickness and Pains are quite forgot,
The Spleen itself is gone,
Plung'd in your Woes I feel them not,
Or feel them all in One.
Infinite Grief puts Sense to flight,
And all the Soul invades:
So the broad Gloom of spreading Night
Devours the Evening Shades.
Thus am I born to be Unblest!
This Sympathy of Woe
Drives my own Tyrants from my Breast
T' admit a Forreign Foe,
Sorrows in long Succession reign;
Their Iron Rod I feel,
Friendship has only chang'd the Chain,
But I'me the Pris'ner still.
Why was this Life for Misery made?
Or why drawn out so long?
Is there no room amongst the Dead?
Or is a Wretch too Young?
Move faster on, Great Nature's Wheel,
Be kind, ye rolling Powers,
Hurl my Days headlong down the Hill
With undistinguisht Hours.
Be dusky all my rising Suns,
Nor smile upon a Slave:
Darkness and Death, make hast at once
To hide me in the Grave.

THE REVERSE; ON THE View of some of my Friends re­maining Comforts.

THUS Nature tun'd her Mournful Tongue,
Till Grace lift up her Head,
Revers'd the Sorrow and the Song,
And smiling thus she said.
Were kindred Spirits born for Cares?
Must every Grief be mine?
Is there a Sympathy in Tears,
And Joys refuse to Joyn?
Forbid it Heav'n, and raise my Love,
And make our Joys the same:
So Bliss and Friendship joyn'd above
Mix an Immortal Flame.
Sorrows are lost in vast Delight
That Brightens all the Soul,
As Deluges of dawning Light
O'rewhelm the Dusky Pole.
Pleasures in long Succession reign
And all my Powers Imploy:
Friendship but shifts the pleasing Scene,
And fresh repeats the Joy.
Life has a soft and silver Thread,
Nor is it drawn too long,
Yet when my vaster Hopes perswade
I'me willing to be gone.
Fast as ye please roll down the Hill,
And hast away, my Years;
Or I can wait my Father's Will,
And dwell beneath the Spheres.
Rise glorious every future Sun,
And bright be all my Days,
Till Death that brightest Moment come
With well-distinguish't Rays.

To the Right Honourable JOHN Lord CUTTS.
[At the Siege of Namure.]
The Hardy Soldier.

"O Why is Man so thoughtless grown?
"Why guilty Souls in hast to dye?
"Vent'ring the Leap to Worlds unknown,
"And heedless to the Battel fly?
"Are Lives but worth a Soldiers Pay?
"Why will ye joyn such wide Extreams?
"And stake Immortal Souls in play
"At desperate Chance and Bloody Games?
"Valour's a nobler Turn of Thought,
"Whose pardon'd Guilt forbids her Fears:
"Calmly she meets the deadly Shot
"Secure of Life above the Stars.
"But Frenzy dares Eternal Fate,
"And spurr'd with Honour's Airy Dreams
"Flies to Attack th' Infernal Gate,
"And force a Passage to the Flames.
Thus hov'ring o're NAMVRIA's Plains
Sung Heav'nly Love in Gabriel's form:
Young THRASO felt the moving Strains,
And Vow'd to pray before the Storm.
Anon the Thundring Trumpet calls,
"My Vows be damn'd, the Hero crys,
Then Swears by Heav'n, and Scales the Walls,
Drops in the Ditch, despairs, and dies.

Against Tears. The beginning of Ode 23. Book 4. of Casimire Imitated.

Si, quae flent mala, lugubres
Auferrent Oculi, &c.

TO Mrs. B. Bendish.

COULD you perswade me Tears were Good
To wash our Mortal Cares away,
These Eyes of mine should weep a Flood,
And Stream into a Briny Sea.
Or if these Orbs are hard and dry,
(These Orbs that never use to Rain)
I'de part with all I'me worth to buy
One Sovereign Drop for all my Pain.
Were both the Golden Indies mine,
I'de give both Indies for a Tear;
I'de Barter all but what's Divine,
Nor should I think the Bargain Dear.
But Tears, alas, are trifling Things,
They rather feed than heal our Woe;
From trickling Eyes new Sorrow springs,
As Weeds in Rainy Seasons grow.
Thus Weeping urges Weeping on;
In vain our Miseries hope Relief,
For one Drop calls another down,
Till we are drown'd in Seas of Grief.
Then let your streaming Tears be staid,
Wear Native Courage on your Face:
These Vulgar Things were never made
For Souls of a Superior Race.
If 'tis a Thorny Path you go,
And thousand Foes your Steps surround,
Stamp the Thorns down, Charge thro' the Foe:
The Hardest Fight is Highest Crown'd.

A Word of Warning, OR Few Happy Marriages.

SAY, Mighty Love, and teach my Song
To whom thy Sweetest Joys belong,
And who the Happy Pairs
Whose Yielding Hearts and Joyning Hands
Find Blessings twisted with their Bands
To soften all their Cares.
Not the Wild Herd of Nymphs and Swains
That thoughtless fly into the Chains
As Custom leads the way:
If there be Bliss without Design,
Ivys and Oaks may grow and twine,
And be as Blest as they.
Not Sordid Souls, whose Earthy Mould
Drawn by Congenial Charms of Gold
To dull Embraces move:
So two Rich Mountains of Peru
May rush to Wealthy Marriage too,
And make a World of Love.
Not the Mad Tribe that Hell inspires
With Wanton Flames; those raging Fires
The Purer Bliss destroy:
On Aetna's top let Furies Wed,
And Sheets of Lightning dress the Bed
T' improve the Burning Joy.
Nor the Dull Pairs whose Marble Forms
None of the melting Passions warms,
Can mingle Hearts and Hands:
Logs of green Wood that quench the Coals
Are Married just like Stoick Souls,
With Osyers for their Bands.
Not Minds of Melancholy Strain
Still Silent, or that still Complain,
Can the dear Bondage bless:
As well may Heavenly Consorts spring
From two old Lutes with ne're a String,
Or none besides the Bass.
Nor can the soft Enchantments hold
Two Jarring Souls of Angry Mould,
The Rugged, and the Keen:
Sampson's young Foxes might as well
In Bonds of Cheerful Wedlock dwell
With Fire-brands ty'd between.
Nor let the Cruel Fetters bind
A Gentle to a Savage Mind;
For Love abhors the Sight:
Loose the fierce Tyger from the Deer,
For native Rage and native Fear
Stand and forbid Delight.
Two Kindest Souls alone must meet;
'Tis Friendship makes the Bondage sweet,
And feeds their mutual Loves:
Bright Venus on her Rolling Throne
Is drawn by gentlest Birds alone,
And Cupids Yoke the Doves.

TO Mr. Henry Bendish.
[Page 176]The Indian Philosopher, OR Matches made Above, But Broke in coming down.

Dear SIR,
THE following Song was yours when first com­pos'd: The Muse then described the general Fate of Mankind, that is, to be Ill-match'd: And now she rejoyces that you have escaped the common Mischief, and that your Soul has found its own Mate. Let this Ode then Congratulate you Both: Grow mu­tually in more compleat Likeness and Love; Perse­vere and be Happy: Accept from the Press what the Pen more privately inscribed to you.
WHY should our Joys transform to Pain?
Why gentle Hymen's Silken Chain
A Plague of Iron prove?
BENDISH, 'tis strange the Charm that binds
Millions of Hands should leave their Minds
At such a loose from Love.
In vain I sought the wondrous Cause,
Rang'd the wide Fields of Natures Laws,
And urg'd the Schools in vain;
[Page 177] Then deep in Thought, within my Breast
My Soul retir'd, and Slumber drest
A bright Instructive Scene.
O're the broad Lands and 'cross the Tide
On Fancies Airy Horse I ride,
(Sweet Rapture of the Mind)
Till on the Banks of Ganges Flood
In a tall Ancient Grove I stood
For Sacred Use design'd.
Hard by a Venerable Priest
Ris'n with his God the Sun from Rest
Awoke his Morning-Song;
Thrice he conjur'd the Murm'ring Stream;
The Birth of Souls was all his Theme,
And half Divine his Tongue.
"He Sang th' Eternal rolling Flame,
"That Vital Mass, that still the same
"Does all our Minds compose;
[Page 178] "But shap'd in twice ten thousand Frames,
"Thence differing Souls of differing Names,
"And Jarring Tempers rose.
"The mighty Power that form'd the Mind
"One Mould for every Two design'd,
"And bless'd the New-born Pair:
"This be a Match for This, he said,
"Then down he sent the Souls he made
"To seek them Bodies here:
"But parting from their warm Abode
"They lost their Fellows on the Road,
"And never joyn'd their Hands:
"Ah cruel Chance, and crossing Fates!
"Our Eastern Souls have dropt their Mates
"On Europes Barbarous Lands.
"Happy the Youth that finds the Bride
"Whose Birth is to his own ally'd,
"The Sweetest Joy of Life:
[Page 179] "But Oh the Crowds of Wretched Souls
"Fetter'd to Minds of different Moulds,
"And chain'd t' Eternal Strife!
Thus Sang the wondrous Indian Bard,
My Soul with vast Attention heard,
While Ganges ceas'd to flow:
"Sure then, I cry'd, might I but see
"That gentle Nymph that twinn'd with me,
"I may be Happy too.
"Some Courteous Angel tell me where,
"What distant Lands this unknown Fair
"Or distant Seas detain?
"Swift as the Wheel of Nature rolls
"I'de fly to meet and mingle Souls,
"And wear the Joyful Chain.

TO David Polhill Esq
An Epistle.

LET useless Souls to Woods retreat,
POLHILL should leave a Country Seat
When Vertue bids him dare be Great.
Nor Kent, nor Sussex should have Charms
While Liberty with Loud Alarms
Calls you to Counsels and to Arms.
Lewis by his own Slaves Ador'd
Bids you receive a Base-born Lord:
Awake your Cares! Awake your Sword!
Young Tory Votes to Rule the People
By High-Church; Can you Swear and Tipple,
And fetch Commissions from the Steeple?
Thy Grandsire-shades with Jealous Eye
Frown down to see their Offspring lie
Careless, and let their Country die.
If Trevia fear to let you stand
Against the Gaul with Spear in Hand,
At least Petition for the Land.

TO David Polhill Esq
AN Answer to an Infamous SATYR, CALL'D, Advice to a Painter, Written chiefly against King WILLIAM III. Of Glorious Memory.


AND must the Hero that redeem'd our Land
Here in the Front of Vice and Scandal stand?
The Man of Wondrous Soul, that Scorn'd his Ease
Tempting the Winters and the faithless Seas,
[Page 183] And paid an Annual Tribute of his Life
To guard his England from the Irish Knife
And crush the French Dragoon? Must WIL­LIAM's Name
That brightest Star that gilds the Wings of Fame,
WILLIAM the Brave, the Pious, and the Just
Adorn these gloomy Scenes of Tyranny and Lust?
POLHILL, my Blood's a Fire, my Spirits flame;
Vengeance and Darkness on the Poets Name:
Why smoak the Skies not? Why no Thunders roll?
Nor kindling Lightnings blast his guilty Soul?
Audacious Wretch! to stab a Monarch's Fame,
And fire his Subjects with a Rebel-Flame,
To call the Painter to his Black Designs
To draw our Guardian's Face in Hellish Lines:
Painter beware! the Monarch can be shown
Under no Shape but Angels or his own,
GABRIEL or WILLIAM on the Brittish Throne.
Oh! could my Thoughts but grasp the vast Design,
And Words with Infinite Ideas joyn,
[Page 184] I'de rouse Apelles from his Iron Sleep,
And bid him trace the Warriour o're the Deep:
Trace him Apelles, o're the Belgian Plain,
Fierce, how he climbs the Mountains of the Slain
Scattering Just Vengeance thro' the Red Campaign.
Then dash the Canvas with a flying Stroke
Till it be lost in Clouds of Fire and Smoak,
And say, 'Twas thus the Conqueror thro' the Squa­drons broke.
Mark him again emerging from the Cloud
Far from his Troops; there like a Rock he stood
His Countries Single Barrier in a Sea of Blood.
Calmly he leaves the Pleasures of a Throne,
And his MARIA Weeping; whilst alone
He wards the Fate of Nations, and provokes his own:
But Heav'n secures its Champion; o're the Field
Paint hov'ring Angels; tho' they fly conceal'd,
Each intercepts a Death, and wears it on his Shield.
Now, noble Pencil; lead him to our Isle,
Mark how the Skies with Joyful Lustre smile,
[Page 185] Then imitate the Glory; on the Strand
Spread half the Nation longing till he Land.
Wash off the Blood, and take a peaceful Teint,
All Red the Warriour, White the Ruler paint,
Abroad a Hero, and at Home a Saint.
Throne him on high upon a shining Seat,
Lust and Prophaneness dying at his Feet,
While round his Head the Lawrel and the Olive meet,
The Crowns of War and Peace; and may they blow
With Flow'ry Blessings ever on his Brow.
At his right Hand pile all the English Laws
In Sacred Volumes; thence the Monarch draws
His Wise and Just Commands—
Rise ye Old Sages of the Brittish Isle,
On the fair Tablet cast a reverend Smile
And bless the Peice; these Statutes are your own,
That sway the Cottage, and direct the Throne;
People and Prince are one in WILLIAM's Name,
Their Joys, their Dangers, and their Laws the same.
[Page 186] Let Liberty and Right with Plumes display'd
Clap their glad Wings around their Guardian's Head,
Religion o're the rest her Starry Pinions spread.
Religion guards him; round the Imperial Queen,
Place waiting Vertues, each of Heav'nly Mien;
Learn their bright Air, and paint it from his Eyes,
The Just, the Bold, the Temperate, and the Wise
Dwell in his Looks: Majestick, but Serene;
Sweet, with no Fondness; Cheerful, but not Vain:
Bright without Terror; Great, without Disdain.
His Soul inspires us what his Lips command,
And spreads his brave Example thro' the Land,
Not so the former Reigns;—
Bend down his Ear to each afflicted Cry,
Let Beams of Grace dart gently from his Eye;
But the bright Treasures of his Sacred Breast
Are too Divine, too Vast to be exprest,
Colours must fail where Words and Numbers faint,
And leave the Hero's Heart for Thought alone to paint.


NOW Muse, pursue the Satyrist again,
Wipe off the Blotts of his Invenom'd Pen;
Hark, how he bids the Servile Painter draw
In monstrous Shapes the Patrons of our Law;
At one slight Dash he cancels every Name
From the white Rolls of Honesty and Fame:
This Scribbling Wretch marks all he meets for Knave,
Shoots sudden Bolts promiscuous at the Base and Brave,
And with unpardonable Malice sheds
Poison and Spite on undistinguish'd Heads.
Painter, forbear; or if thy bolder Hand
Dares to attempt the Villains of the Land,
Draw first this Poet, like some baleful Star
With silent Influence shedding Civil War;
Or Factious Trumpeter, whose Magick Sound
Calls off the Subjects to the Hostile Ground,
And scatters Hellish Feuds the Nation Round.
[Page 188] These are the Imps of Hell, that cursed Tribe
That first create the Plague, and then the Pain de­scribe.
Draw next above, the Great Ones of our Isle,
Still from the Good distinguishing the Vile;
Seat 'em in Pomp, in Grandeur, and Command,
Feeling the Subjects with a greedy Hand:
Paint forth the Knaves that have the Nation sold,
And tinge their greedy Looks with sordid Gold.
Mark what a selfish Faction undermines
The Pious Monarch's generous Designs,
Spoil their own Native Land as Vipers do,
Vipers that tear their Mothers Bowels thro'.
Let great NASSAW beneath a careful Crown
Mournful in Majesty, look gently down,
Mingling soft Pity with an Awful Frown:
He grieves to see how long in vain he strove
To make us blest, how vain his Labours prove
To save the stubborn Land he condescends to Love.

TO THE Discontented and Unquiet.
Vertue alone makes the Mind Easie.

Imitated partly from Casimire: Book 4. Ode 15.
Nil est, Munati, nil iterum canam
Mortale nil est immedicabilis
Immune taedî, &c.
MADAM, There's nothing here that's free
From wearisome Anxiety:
And the whole Round of Mortal Joys
With short possession tires and cloys:
'Tis a dull Circle that we tread
Just from the Window to the Bed,
[Page 190] We rise to see and to be seen,
Gaze on the World a while, and then
We Yawn and Stretch to Sleep again.
But FANCY, that uneasie Guest
Still holds a Lodging in our Beast;
She finds or frames Vexations still,
Her self the greatest Plague we feel.
We take strange Pleasure in our Pain,
And make a Mountain of a Grain,
Assume the Load, and pant and sweat
Beneath th' Imaginary Weight.
With our dear selves we live at strife,
While the most constant Scenes of Life
From Peevish Humours are not free;
Still we affect Variety:
Rather than pass an Easie Day,
We Fret and Chide the Hours away,
Grow weary of this Rolling Sun,
And vex that he should ever run
The same old Track; and still, and still
Rise red behind yon Eastern Hill,
[Page 191] And chide the Moon that darts her Light
Thro' the same Casement every Night.
We shift our Chambers and our Homes
To dwell where Trouble never comes:
Sylvia has left the City Croud,
Against the Court exclaims aloud,
Flies to the Woods; a Hermit-Saint!
She loaths her Patches, Pins, and Paint,
Dear Diamonds from her Neck are torn:
But HUMOUR, that Eternal Thorn
Sticks in her Heart: She's hurry'd still
'Twixt her Wild Passions and her Will:
Haunted and hagg'd where're she roves
By purling Streams, and silent Groves,
Or with her Furies, or her Loves.
Then our own Native Land we hate,
Too Cold, too Windy, or too Wet;
Change the thick Climate, and repair
To France or Italy for Air;
[Page 192] In vain we change, in vain we fly;
Go Sylvia, mount the Whirling Sky,
Or ride upon the Feather'd Wind;
In vain; If this Diseased Mind
Clings fast and still sits close behind.
Faithful Disease, that never fails
Attendance at her Ladies side
Over the Desart or the Tide
On rolling Wheels or flying Sails.
Happy the Soul that Vertue shows
To fix the place of her Repose,
Needless to move; for she can dwell
In her Old Grandsire's Hall as well.
VERTUE that never loves to roam,
But sweetly hides her self at Home,
And easy on a Native Throne
Of humble Turf sits gently down.
Yet should Tumultuous Storms arise
And mingle Earth and Seas, and Skies,
[Page 193] Should the Waves swell, and make her roll
Across the Line or near the Pole,
Still She's at Peace; for well She knows
To lanch the Stream that Duty shows,
And makes her Home wher'ere She goes.
Bear her, ye Seas, upon your Breast,
Or waft her, Winds, from East to West
On the soft Air; She cannot find
A Couch so easie as her Mind,
Nor breathe a Climate half so kind.

TO John Hartopp Esq
Youth and Pleasure tar­ry not.

Casimire, Book 1. Ode 4. Imitated.‘Vive jucundae metuens juventae, &c.’
LIVE, my Dear HARTOPP, live to Day,
Nor let the Sun look down and say,
"Inglorious here he lies.
Shake off your Ease, and send your Name
To Immortality and Fame
By ev'ry Hour that flies.
Youth's a soft Scene, but trust her not,
Her Airy Minutes swift as Thought
Slide off the Slipp'ry Sphere;
Moons with their Months make hasty Rounds,
The Sun has pass'd his Vernal Bounds
And whirls about the Year.
Let Folly dress in Green and Red,
And Gird her Wast with flowing Gold,
Knit blushing Roses round her Head,
Alass! the gaudy Colours fade,
The Garment waxes old.
HARTOPP, mark the withering Rose,
And the pale Gold how dim it shows!
Bright and lasting Bliss below
Is all Romance and Dream,
Only the Joys Coelestial flow
In an Eternal Stream.
The Pleasures that the Smiling Day
With large Right hand bestows,
[Page 196] Falsly her Left conveys away
And shuffles in our Woes.
So have I seen a Mother play
And Cheat her Silly Child,
She gave and took a Toy away,
The Infant cry'd, and smil'd.
Airy Chance and Iron Fate
Hurry and Vex our Mortal State,
And all the Race of Ills create;
Now fiery Joy, now sullen Grief
Commands the Reins of Human Life,
The Wheels impetuous roll;
The harnest Hours and Minutes strive,
And Days with stretching Pinions drive
down fiercely on the Goal.
Not half so fast the Gally flies
O're the Venetian Sea,
When Sails and Oars and laboring Skies
Contend to make her Way.
[Page 197] Swift Wings for all the flying Hours
The God of Time prepares,
They rest lie still yet in their Nest
And grow for future Years.

TO Thomas Gunston Esq
Happy Solitude.

Casimire Book 4. Ode 12. Imitated.‘Quid me latentem, &c.’
THE noisy World complains of me
That I should shun their Sight, and flee
Visits, and Crowds and Company.
[Page 198] GUNSTON, the Lark dwells in her Nest
Until she mount the Skies;
And in my Closet I could rest
Till to the Heavens I rise.
Yet they will urge, "This private Life
"Can never make you Blest,
"And twenty Doors are still at Strife
"T' engage you for a Guest?
Friend, should you see the Louvre, or Whitehall
Open their Royal Gates, and call,
And wait for WATTS to come,
He has no Business there at all
Who finds so much at Home.
When I within my self retreat,
I shut my Doors against the Great;
My busy Eyeballs inward roll,
And there with large survey I see
All the wide Theatre of Me,
And view the various Scenes of my retiring Soul;
There I walk o're the Mazes I have trod,
[Page 199] While Hope and Fear are in a doubtful Strife
Whether this Opera of Life
Be acted well to gain the Plaudit of my God.
There's a Day hastning, ('tis an Awful Day)
When the great Sovereign shall at large review
All that we speak and all we do,
The several Parts we act on this wide Stage of Clay:
These he approves, and those he blames,
And Crowns perhaps a Porter, and a Prince he Damns
O if the Judge from his tremendous Seat
Shall not condemn what I have done,
I shall be Happy tho' unknown,
Nor need the gazing Rabble, nor the shouting Street.
I hate the Glory, Friend, that springs
From Vulgar Breath and empty Sound;
Fame mounts her upward with a Flatt'ring Gale
Upon her Airy Wings
Till Envy Shoots, and Fame receives the Wound;
Then her flagging Pinions fail,
[Page 200] Down Glory falls and strikes the Ground
And breaks her batter'd Limbs.
Rather let me be quite conceal'd from Fame;
How happy I should lye
In Sweet Obscurity,
Nor the Loud World pronounce my little Name!
Here I could live and dye alone;
Or if Society be due
To keep our Tast of Pleasure new,
GVNSTON, I'de live and die with you,
For both our Souls are one.
Here we could sit and pass the pleasing Hour,
And Pity Kingdoms and their Kings,
And smile at all their shining Things,
Their Toys of State, and Images of Power;
Vertue should dwell within our Seat,
Vertue alone could make it sweet,
Nor is her self secure but in a close Retreat.
While she withdraws from publick Praise
Envy perhaps would cease to rail,
[Page 201] Envy it self may innocently gaze
At Beauty in a Vail.
But if she once advance to Light,
Her Charms are lost in Envy's Sight,
And Vertue is the Mark of Universal Spight.

TO John Hartopp Esq
THE Disdain of Sensual Joys.

HARTOPP, I love the Soul that dares
Tread the Temptations of his Years
Beneath his Youthful Feet:
FLEETWOOD and all thy Heavenly Line
Look thro' the Stars, and Smile Divine
Upon an Heir so Great.
[Page 202] Young HARTOPP knows this Noble Theme,
That the wild Scenes of Busie Life,
The Noise, th' Amusements, and the Strife
Are but the Visions of the Night,
Gay Phantoms of delusive Light,
Or a Vexatious Dream.
Flesh is the vilest and the least
Ingredient of our Frame,
We're born to live above the Beast,
Or quit the Manly Name:
Pleasures of Sence we leave for Boys,
Be shining Dust the Miser's Food,
Let Fancy feed on Fame and Noise;
Souls must pursue Diviner Joys,
And seize th' Immortal Good.

EPISTOLA. Fratri suo dilecto R. W. J. W. S. P. D.

RUrsum tuas, Amande Frater, Accepi Literas, eo­dem fortassè momento quo meae ad te pervene­runt; Idemque qui te scribentem vidit Dies, meum ad Epistolare munus excitavit Calamum; Non Inane est inter nos Fraternum nomen, unicus enim Spiritus nos in­tùs animat, agitque, & Concordes in ambobus efficit motus: O Utinam crescat indiès, & vigescat mutua Charitas; faxit Deus, ut amor sui nostra incendat & defoecet pectora, tunc etenim & alternis purae Amici­tiae flammis erga nos invicèm Divinum in modum ardebi­mus; Contemplemur JESUM nostrum, Coeleste illud & adorandum Exemplar Charitatis. Ille est
Qui quondam aeterno delapsus ab Aethere Vultus
Induit Humanos, ut posset Corpore nostras
Heu miseras sufferre vices; Sponsoris obivit
Munia, & in sese Tabulae maledicta Minacis
Transtulit, & sceleris poenas hominisque reatu [...].
Ecce jacet desertus humi, diffusus in herbam
Integer, innocuas versus sua sidera Palmas
Et placidum attollens Vultum, nec ad oscula Patries
Amplexus solitosve: Artus nudatus amictu
Sidereos, & sponte sinum patefactus ad Iras
Numinis armati. "Pater, hic infige * Sagittas,
"Haec, ait, iratum sorbebunt Pectora Ferrum,
"Abluat Aethereus mortalia Crimina Sanguis.
Dixit, & horrendùm fremuerunt maenia Coeli
Infensusque Deus; (quem jam posuisse paternum
Musa queri vellet nomen, sed & ipsa fragores
Ad tantos pavefacta silet,) Jam dissilit Aether,
Pandunturque fores, ubi duro Carcere regnat
IRA, & Poenarum Thesauros mille coercet.
[Page 205] Inde ruunt gravidi vesano Sulphure Nimbi,
Centuplicisque volant contorta Volumina Flammae
In Caput immeritum; diro hic sub Pondere pressus
Restat, compressos dumque ardens explicat artus
Purpureo Vestes tinctae sudore madescunt.
Nec tamen infando Vindex Regina labori
Segniùs incumbit, sed lassos increpat Ignes
Acritèr, & somno languentem suscitat * Ensem:
"Surge, age, Divinum pete Pectus, & imbue sacro
"Flumine mucronem; Vos hinc, mea Spicula, latè
"Ferrea per totum dispergite tormina Christum,
"Immensum tolerare valet: Ad pondera Poenae
"Sustentanda hominem suffulciet Incola Numen.
"Et tu sacra Decas Legum, Violata Tabella,
"Ebibe Vindictam; vastâ satiabere caede,
"Mortalis Culpae pensabit dedecus ingens
"Permistus Deitate Cruor—
Sic fata, immiti contorquet Vulnera Dextrâ
Dilaniatque Sinus, Sancti penetralia Cordis
Panduntur, saevis avidus Dolor involat alis,
[Page 206] Atque audax Mentem Scrutatur, & Ilia mordet.
Interea Servator * Ovat, Victorque Doloris
Eminet, Illustri perfusus membra Cruore,
Exultatque Miser fieri; nam fortius illum
Urget Patris honos, & non vincenda Voluptas
Servandi miseros Sontes. O Nobilis Ardor
Poenarum! O quid non Mortalia pectora cogis
Durus amor? Quid non Coelestia?—

At subsidat Phantasia, vanescant Imagines, Nescio quo me proripuit amens Musa; Volui quatuor lineas pedibus astringere, & Ecce! Numeri crescunt in im­mensum, dumque concitato Genio laxavi fraena, Vereor ne juvenilis Impetus Theologiam laeserit, & audax ni­mis Imaginatio. Heri ad me allata est Epistola indi­cans Matrem meliusculè se habere, licet Ignis febrilis non prorsus deseruit mortale ejus Domicilium. Plura volui, sed turgidi & crescentes versus noluêre plura, & coarctârunt Scriptionis limites. Vale, Amice Fra­ter, & in stadio pietatis & artis Medicae strenuus de­curre. Datum a Musaeo meo Londini, xv. Kalend. Febr. Anno salutis MDCXCIII.

TO Dr. JOHN SPEED of Southampton.
An EPISTLE, Occasion'd by his Ingenious Sa­tyr on the Dissenters, mingled with his Encomium of Mr. Lloyd's Paraphrase on Solomon's Song, printed in 8vo. 1682.

TRUE Son of Phoebus, Heir t' his Tuneful Quill,
His murthering Arrows, and his healing Skill:
Thy Bills his Med'cines are, his Lyre thy Song,
Thine Heart his Quiver, and his Bow thy Tongue:
[Page 208] * But here's no Python: Sooth thine Arms a while,
And charm thy stately Rigor to a Smile,
For Schism prevails no more; we love to see
Our Words and Lines in Couplings well agree
Nor do we thus abhor Conformity.
Hymns may be soft and smooth and comely Drest
With humane Art, nor savour of the Beast,
A Lyrick Ode submits to Godly Notes;
Harmonious Words no more offend our Throats.
Nor Rhime, nor Tune, nor Sacred Sense confines
The Spirit, Freedom flows in tuneful Lines,
And Conscience feels the Pleasure, nor complains
Of Impositions, Prisons, Bonds, and Chains,
Whilst pure Devotion sings and ANNE th' Indul­gent Reigns.
Then, Sir, Submit with Joy thine Iron Stile
To the soft Polish of a gentle File;
The Courteous Muse shines brightest; and 'tis fit
Apollo's Heir should deal in kinder Wit.
[Page 209] SPEED to his Lute in Artful Numbers sings
Melodious; till his Angry Bow he brings
Across the Chorded Shell, and hurts the gentler Strings.

Ad Reverendum Virum Dom. Johannem Pinhorne, Fidum pueritiae meae Praeceptorem. Pindarici Carminis Specimen.

ET te, PINORNI, Musa Trisantica
Salutat, ardens discipulam tuam
Graté fateri: Nunc Athenas,
Nunc Latias per amaenitates
Tutò pererrans te recolit Ducem,
Te quondam teneros & Ebraia per aspera gressus
Duxisse fidâ manu.
[Page 210] Tuo patescunt lumine Thespii
Campi atque ad arcem Pierid [...] iter.
En altus assurgens Homerus
Arma Deosque Virosque miscens
Occupat Aethereum Parnassi culmen: Homeri
Immensos stupeo Manes—
Te, Maro dulcé canens sylvas, te bella sonantem
Ardua, da veniam tenui venerare Camoenâ;
Tuaeque accipias, Thebane Vates,
Debita Thura Lyrae.
Vobis, magna Trias! clarissima Nomina, semper
Scrinia nostra patent, & Pectora nostra patebunt,
Quum mihi cunque levem concesserit otia & horam
Divina Mosis pagina.
Flaccus ad hanc Triadem ponatur, at ipse pudendas
Deponat Veneres: Venias, sed * purus & Insons
Ut te collaudem, dum sordes & mala lustra
Ablutus, Venusine, canis ridesve. Recisae
Hâc lege accedant Satyrae Juvenalis, amari
Terrores vitiorum. At longè caecus abesset
[Page 211] Persius, obscurus Vates, nisi lumina circum­scidisses.
Fusa forent, Sphingisque aenigmata, Bonde,
Grande sonans Senecae Fulmen, grandisque Cothurni
Pompa Sophoclei celso ponantur eodem
Ordine, & ambâbus simul hos amplectar in ulnis.
Tutò, Poetae, tutò habitabitis
Pictos abacos: Improba Tinea
Obiit, nec audet saeva castas
Attingere Blatta Camaenas.
At tu renidens foeda Epigrammatum
Farrago inertûm, stercoris impii
Sentina soetens, Martialis,
In Barathrum relegandus imum
Aufuge, & hinc tecum rapias Catullum
Insulsè mollem, naribus, auribus
Ingrata castis carmina, & improbi
Spurcos Nasonis Amores.
Nobilis extremâ gradiens Caledonis ab orâ
En Buchananus adest. Divini Psaltis Imago
Jessiadae Salveto; potens seu Numinis Iras
Fulminibus miscere, sacro vel lumine Mentis
[Page 212] Fugare noctes, vel Citharae sono
Sedare fluctus Pectoris.
Tu mihi haerebis comes ambulanti,
Tu domi astabis socius perennis,
Nunc Mensae tenui simul assidere
Dignabere, nunc Lecticae.
Mox recumbentis vigilans ad aurem
Aureos suadebis inire Somnos
Sacra sopitis superinferens ob­livia curis.
Stet juxtà * Casimirus, huic nec parciùs Ignem
Natura indulsit, nec Musa armavit Alumnum
* Sarbivium rudiore Lyrâ.
Quanta Polonum levat aura Cygnum!
Humana linquens (en sibi devii
Montes recedunt) luxuriantibus
Spatiatur in aëre pennis.
Seu tu fortè Virum tollis ad aethera,
Cognatosve Thronos & patrium Polum
Visurus consurgis ovans,
[Page 213] Visum fatigas, aciemque fallis,
Dum tuum à longè stupeo volatum
O non Imitabilis Ales.
Sarbivii ad nomen gelida incalet
Musa, simul totus fervescere
Sentio, Stellatas levis induor
Alas & tollor in altum.
Jam juga Zionis radens pede
Elato inter sidera vertice
Longè despecto mortalia.
Quam juvat altisonis volitare per aethera pennis,
Et ridere procul fallacia Gaudia sêcli
Terrellae Grandia inania,
Quae mortale genus (heu malè) deperit.
O Curas hominum miseras, Cano,
Et miseras nugas Diademata,
Ventosae sortis Ludibrium!
En mihi subsidunt Terrenae à pectore Faeces,
Gestit & effraenis divinum effundere Carme [...]
Mens afflata Deo—
—At vos Heroes & Arma
[Page 214] Et procul este Dii, Ludicra Numina.
Quid mihi cum vestrae pondere Lanceae,
Pallas! aut vestris, Dionyse, Thyrsis?
Et Clava, & Anguis, & Leo, & Hercules,
Et brutum Tonitru fictitii Patris
Abstate à carmine nostro.
Te, Deus Omnipotens! Te nostra sonabit Jesu
Musa, nec assueto coelestes Barbiton ausû
Tentabit numeros. Vasti sine limite Numenet
Immensum sine lege Deum numeri sine lege sonabunt.

Sed Musam magna pollicentem destituit vigor, Divino jubare perstringitur oculorum acies: En la­bascit pennis, tremit artubus, ruit deorsum per inane Aetheris, jacet victa, obstupescit, silet.

Ignoscas Reverende Vir vano conamini, fragmen hoc rude licèt & impolitum aequi boni Consulas, & gratitudinis jam diu debitae in partem reponas.

VOTUM. SEU Vita in terris beata. AD Virum Dignissimum Johannem Hartoppium Ba­ronettum. 1702.

HARTOPPI, longo stemmate nobilis
Venâque Ingenii divite, si roges
Quem mea Musa beat,
Ille mihi Felix ter & ampliùs,
Et similes superis annos agit
Qui sibi sufficiens semper adest sibi.
Hunc longè à curis mortalibus
Inter agros, sylvasque silentes
[Page 216] Se Musisque suis tranquillâ in pace fruentem
Sol oriens videt & recumbens.
Non suae Vulgi favor insolentis
(Plausus insani vacuus popelli)
Mentis ad sacram penetrabit arcem
Feriat licèt aethera clamor.
Nec Gaza flammans divitis Indiae,
Nec, Tage, vestrae fulgor Arenulae
Ducent ab obscurâ quiete
Ad laquear radiantis Aulae.
O si daretur stamina proprii
Tractare fusi pollice proprio,
Atque meum mihi fingere Fatum;
Candidus vitae color innocentis
Fila nativo decoraret Albo
Non Tyriâ; vitiata conchâ.
Non aurum, non gemma nitens, nec purpura telae
Intertexta forent invidiosa meae.
Longé à Triumphis, & sonitu Tubae
Longé remotos transigerem dies,
[Page 217] Abstate Fasces, splendida Vanitas,
Et vos abstate, Coronae.
Pro meo tecto casa sit, salubres
Captet Auroras, procul Urbis atro
Distet à fumo, fugiatque longé
Dura Pthisis mala, dura Tussis.
Displicet Byrsa, & fremitu molesto
Turba Mercantûm; gratiùs alvear
Demulcet aures murmure, gratius
Fons salientis aquae.
Litigiosa Fori me terrent jurgia, lenes
Ad Sylvas properans rixosas execror artes
Eminus in tuto à Linguis—
Blandimenta artis simul aequus odi,
Valete, Cives! & amaena Fraudis
Verba; proh Mores! & inane Sacri
Nomen Amici!
Tuque, quae nostris inimica Musis
Felle sacratum vitias amorem,
[Page 218] Absis aeternùm, Diva libidinis,
Et Pharetrate Puer!
Hinc hinc, Cupido, longius avola,
Nil mihi cum foedis, Puer, ignibus,
Aethereâ fervent face pectora,
Sacra mihi Venus est Urania,
Et juvenis Jessaeus Amor mihi.
Coeleste carmen (nec taceat lyra
Jessaea) laetis auribus insonet,
Nec Watsianis è medullis
Ulla dies rapiet vel hora.
Sacri Libelli deliciae meae,
Et vos, Sodales, semper amabiles,
Nunc simul adsitis, nunc vicissim,
Et fallite taedia vitae.

A Funeral POEM ON Thomas Gunston Esq
Presented to The Right Honourable The Lady ABNEY Lady Mayoress of London. July 1701.


HAD I been a common Mourner at the Funeral of the Dear Gentleman deceased, I should have labour'd after more of Art in the following Composition to supply the defect of Nature and to feign [Page 220] a Sorrow; but the uncommon Condescension of his Friendship to Me, the Inward Esteem I pay his Me­mory, and the vast and tender Sence I have of our Loss make all the Methods of Art needless, whilst na­tural Grief supplies more than all.

I had resolv'd indeed to lament in Sighs and Silence, and frequently check'd the forward Muse when she brought me Grief in Numbers, and urg'd me to a tune­ful Mourning; but the Importunity was not to be re­sisted: Long Lines of Sorrow flow'd in upon my Fancy 'ere I was aware, whilst I took many a Solitary Walk in the Garden adjoyning to his Seat at Newington: Nor could I free my self from the Melancholy Idea's that crowded themselves upon me, and your Ladyship will find throughout the Poem that the fair and unfi­nish'd Building which he had just raised for himself gave almost all the turns of Mourning to my Thoughts, for I pursue no other Topicks of Elegy then what my Passion and my Senses led me to.

The Poem roves as my Eyes and Thoughts did, from one part of the Fabrick to the other: It rises from the Foundation, salutes the Walls, the Doors, and the Windows, drops a Tear upon the Roof, and climbs the Turret that dear Retreat, where I promis'd my self many sweet Hours of his Conversation; there my Song wanders amongst the delightful Subjects Divine and Moral which used to Entertain our happy leisure, and thence flings her self down to the Fields and the Shady Walks where I so often injoy'd his pleasing Discourse, and my Sorrows diffuse themselves there without a limit: [Page 221] I had quite forgotten what I was writing, till I correct my self and rise to the Turret again to lament that De­solate Seat, and how vainly shines the Golden Ball that Crowns it: Thus I have written without rule and with a negligence becoming Woe unfeigned.

Had I design'd a compleat Elegy on your Dearest Brother and intended it for publick View, I should have followed the usual Forms of Poetry, spent whole Pages in the Character and Praises of the Deceased, and thence took occasion to call Mankind to Complain aloud of the Universal and Unspeakable Loss: But I wrote meerly for my self as a Friend of the Dead and to ease my full Soul by breathing out my own Com­plaint: I knew his Character and Vertues so well that there was no need to mention 'em while I talk'd only with my self, for the Image of them was ever present with me, which kept my Sorrow lively and my Tears flowing with my Numbers.

Perhaps your Ladyship will expect some Divine Thoughts and Sacred Meditations mingled with a Sub­ject so solemn as this is: Had I form'd a Design of offering it to your Hands I had compos'd a more Chri­stian Poem: But 'twas Grief purely natural for a Death so surprizing that drew all the Lines of it, and there­fore my highest Reflections are but of a Moral Strain; Such as it is, your Ladyship requires a Copy of it, but let it not touch your Soul too tenderly, nor renew your own Mournings. Receive it, Madam, as a Sacrifice of Love and Tears offer'd at the Tomb of a Departed Friend, and let it abide with you as a Witness of that [Page 222] Affectionate Respect and Honour that I bore him, all which as your Ladyships most rightful Due both by Me­rit and Succession, is now humbly offered by

Your Ladyships most Hearty and Obedient Servant, I. Watts.

TO THE Dear Memory of my Honoured Friend Thomas Gunston Esq Who Died November 11. 1700. When he had just Finish't his Seat at NEWINGTON.

OF blasted Hopes and of short withering Joys
Sing Heavenly Muse. Try thine Ethereal Voice
In Funeral Numbers and a doleful Song;
GUNSTON the Just, the Generous, and the Young,
GUNSTON the Friend is dead. O Empty Name
Of Earthly Bliss! 'Tis all an Airy Dream,
All a Vain Thought! Our Soaring Fancies rise
On treacherous Wings; and Hopes that touch the Skies
[Page 224] Drag but a longer Ruine thro' the downward Air,
And plunge the falling Joy but deeper in Despair.
How did our Souls stand flatter'd and prepar'd
To shout him welcome to the Seat he rear'd!
There the Dear Man should see his Hopes Compleat,
Smiling and tasting every lawful Sweet
That Peace and Plenty brings, while numerous Years
Roll'd happy Circles round the Joyful Spheres:
Revolving Suns should still renew his strength,
And draw th' uncommon Thread to an unusual Length.
But hasty Fate thrusts her dread Shears between,
Cuts the Young Life off, and shuts up the Scene▪
Thus Airy Pleasure dances in our Sight
And spreads fair Images of Gay Delight
T' allure our Souls, till just within our Arms
The Vision dies, and all the painted Charms
Flee quick away from the pursuing Sight,
Till they are lost in Shades, and mingle with the Night.
[Page 225] Muse, stretch thy Wings and thy sad Journey bend
To the fair * Fabrick that thy Dying Friend
Built Nameless: 'Twill suggest a thousand things
Mournful and Soft as my Urania Sings.
How did he lay the deep Foundations strong,
Marking the Bounds, and rear the Walls along
Solid and Lasting; there a numerous Train
Of Happy GUNSTON's might in Pleasure reign
While Nations perish and long Ages run,
Nations unborn, and Ages unbegun:
Not Time it self should waste the Blest Estate,
Nor the Tenth Race rebuild the Ancient Seat:
How fond our Fancies are! The Founder Dies
Childless: His Sisters weep, and close his Eyes,
And wait upon his Herse with never-ceasing Cries.
Lofty and Slow it moves unto the Tomb,
While weighty Sorrow nods on every Plume;
[Page 226] A Thousand Groans his dear Remains convey
To his cold Lodging in a Bed of Clay,
His Countries Sacred Tears well-watering all the Way.
See the dull Wheels roll on the Sable Load,
But no dear Son to tread the Mournful Road,
And fondly kind drop his young Sorrows there,
The Father's Urn bedewing with a Filial Tear.
O had he left us One behind to play
Wanton about the Painted * Hall, and say
"This was my Father's, with Impatient Joy
In my fond Arms I'de clasp't the Smiling Boy,
And call'd him my Young Friend: But Awful Fate
Design'd the mighty Stroke as lasting as 'twas great.
And must this Building then, this costly Frame
Stand here for Strangers? Must some unknown Name
Possess these Rooms, the Labours of my Friend?
Why were these Walls rais'd for this hapless End?
[Page 227] Why these Apartments all adorn'd so Gay?
Why his rich Fancy lavish't thus away?
Muse, view the * Paintings, how the hovering Light
Plays o're the Colours in a wanton Flight,
And mingled Shades wrought in by soft Degrees
Give a sweet Foyl to all the Charming Piece;
But Night, Eternal Night hangs black around
The dismal Chambers of the hollow Ground,
And Solid Shades unmingled round his Bed
Stand Hideous: Earthy Fogs embrace his Head,
And noysom Vapours glide along his Face
Rising perpetual. Muse, forsake the place,
Flee the raw Damps of the unwholsome Clay,
Look to his Airy spacious Hall, and say
How has he chang'd it for a loathsome Cave,
Confin'd and Crowded in a narrow Grave!
Th' Unhappy House looks desolate and mourns,
And every Door groans doleful as it turns;
The Pillars languish, and each lofty Wall
Stately in Grief, laments the Master's Fall
[Page 228] In drops of Briny Dew; the Fabrick bears
His faint Resemblance and renews my Tears.
Solid and square it rises from below;
A Noble Air without a Gaudy Show
Reigns thro' the Model, and adorns the Whole,
Manly and Plain just like the Builders Soul.
O how I love to view the Stately Frame,
That dear Memorial of the best-lov'd Name!
Then could I wish for some prodigious Cave
Vast as his Seat, and silent as his Grave,
Where the tall Shades stretch to the hideous Roof,
Forbid the Day, and guard the Sun-beams off;
Thither, my willing Feet, shou'd ye be drawn
At the gray Twilight, and the early Dawn;
There sweetly sad shou'd my soft Minutes roll,
Numbring the Sorrows of my drooping Soul.
But these are Airy Thoughts! Substantial Grief
Grows by those Objects that should yield Relief;
Fond of my Woes I heave my Eyes around,
My Grief from every Prospect courts a Wound;
[Page 229] Views the green Gardens, views the Smiling Skies,
Still my Heart sinks, and still my Cares arise;
My wandring Feet round the dear Mansion rove,
And there to sooth my Sorrows I indulge my Love.
Oft have I laid the Awful Calvin by,
And the sweet Cowley, with Impatient Eye
To see those Walls, pay the sad Visit there,
And drop the Tribute of an hourly Tear:
Still I behold some Melancholy Scene,
With many a Pensive Thought, and many a Sigh between.
Two Days ago we took the Evening Air,
I, and my Grief, and my Urania there;
Say, my Urania, how the Western Sun
Broke from Black Clouds, and in full Glory shone
Gilding the Roof, then dropt into the Sea,
And sudden Night devour'd the sweet remains of Day
Thus the dear Youth just rear'd his shining Head
From Obscure Shades of Life, and sunk among [...] Dead.
[Page 230] The rising Sun adorn'd with all his Light
Smiles on these Walls again: But endless Night
Reigns uncontroul'd where the dear GUNSTON lies,
He's set for ever, and must never rise.
Then why these Beams, Unseasonable Star,
These lightsome Smiles descending from afar
To greet a Mourning House? In vain the Day
Breaks thro' the * Windows with a joyful Ray,
And marks a shining Path along the Floors
Bounding the Evening and the Morning Hours;
In vain it bounds 'em: While vast Emptiness
And hollow Silence reigns thro' all the Place,
Nor heeds the cheerful change of Nature's Face.
Yet Natures Wheels will on without controul,
The Sun will rise, the tuneful Spheres will roll,
And the two Nightly Bears walk round and watch the Pole.
See while I spèak, high on her Sable Wheel
Old Night comes rolling up the Eastern Hill:
[Page 231] Troops of dark Clouds prepare her way; behold,
How their brown Pinions Edg'd with Evening Gold
Spread Shaddowing o're the House, and glide away
Slowly pursuing the declining Day;
O're the broad * Roof they fly their Circuit still,
Thus Days before they did, and Days to come they will;
But the Black Cloud that Shaddows o're his Eyes
Hangs there immoveable, and never flies:
Fain would I bid the Envious Gloom be gone,
Ah fruitless Wish! how are his Curtains drawn
For a long Evening that despairs the Dawn!
Muse, view the Turret: Just beneath the Skies
Lonesome it stands, and fixes both mine Eyes
As it would ask a Tear. O Sacred Seat,
Sacred to Friendship! O Divine Retreat!
Here did I hope my happy Hours t' employ,
And fed beforehand on the promis'd Joy,
When weary of the noisy Town, my Friend
From Mortal Cares retiring shou'd ascend
[Page 232] And lead me thither. We * alone wou'd sit,
Free and secure of all Intruding Feet:
Our Thoughts shou'd stretch their longest Wings and rise,
Nor bound their Soarings by the lower Skies:
Our Tongues shou'd aim at everlasting Themes,
And speak what Mortals dare, of all the Names
Of Boundless Joys and Glories, Thrones, and Seats
Built high in Heaven for Souls: We'd trace the Streets
Of Golden Pavement, walk each happy Field,
And climb and tast the Fruits the spicy Mountains yield:
Then would we swear to keep the Sacred Road,
And walk right upwards to the blest Abode:
We'd charge our parting Spirits there to meet,
There Hand in Hand approach th' Almighty's Seat'
And bend our Heads adoring at our Maker's Feet.
Thus should we mount on bold adventrous Wings,
In high Discourse, and dwell on Heavenly things,
[Page 233] While the pleas'd Hours in sweet Succession move,
And Minutes measur'd as they are above
By ever-circling Joys, and ever-shining Love.
Anon our Thoughts should lower their lofty Flight,
Sink by degrees, and take a pleasing Sight
A large round Prospect of the spreading Plain,
The Wealthy River, and his Winding Train,
The Smoaky City, and the Busie Men.
How we should smile to see degenerate Worms
Lavish their Lives, and fight for Airy Forms
Of Painted Honour, Dreams of empty sound,
Till Envy rise, and shoot a secret Wound
At swelling Glory; strait the Bubble breaks,
And the Scenes vanish as the Man awakes:
Then the tall Titles Insolent and Proud
Sink to the Dust, and mingle with the Crowd.
Man is a restless Thing: Still vain and wild,
Lives beyond Sixty, nor outgrows the Child:
His hurrying Lusts still break the Sacred Bound,
[Page 234] To seek new Pleasures on forbidden Ground,
And buy them all too dear. Unthinking Fool,
For a short dying Joy to sell a Deathless Soul!
'Tis but a Grain of Sweetness they can Sow,
And reap the long sad Harvest of Immortal Woe.
Another Tribe toyl in a different Strife,
And banish all the lawful Sweets of Life
To sweat and dig for Gold, to hoard the Oar,
Hide the dear Dust yet darker than before,
And never dare to use a Grain of all the Store.
Happy the Man that knows the Value just
Of Earthly Things, nor is enslav'd to Dust.
'Tis a rich Gift the Skies but rarely send
To Fav'rite Souls. Then happy thou, my Friend,
For thou hadst learnt to Manage and Command
The Wealth that Heaven bestow'd with Liberal Hand:
Hence this fair Structure rose; and hence this Seat
Made to invite my not unwilling Feet;
In vain 'twas made! for We shall never meet,
[Page 235] And Smile, and Love, and Bless each other here,
The Envious Tomb forbids thy Face t' appear,
Detains thee GVNSTON from my longing Eyes,
And all my hopes lie buried where my GVNSTON lies.
Come hither all ye tenderest Souls that know
The heights of Fondness and the depths of Woe,
Young Mothers, who your darling Babes have found
Untimely Murd'red with a ghastly Wound;
Ye frighted Nymphs, who on the Bridal Bed,
Claspt in your Arms your Lovers Cold and Dead,
Come; in the Pomp of all your wild Despair
With flowing Eyelids and disorder'd Hair,
Death in your Looks; come mingle Grief with me,
And drown your little Streams in my unbounded Sea.
You Sacred Mourners of a Nobler Mould
Born for a Friend, whose dear Embraces hold
Beyond all Natures Ties; you that have known
Two happy Souls made intimately One,
[Page 236] And felt a parting Stroke, 'tis you must tell
The Smart, the Twinges, and the Racks I feel:
This Soul of mine that dreadsul Wound has born,
Off from its Side its dearest Half is torn,
The Rest lies bleeding, and but lives to mourn.
Oh Infinite Distress! Such raging Grief
Shou'd command Pity, and despair Relief.
Passion methinks should rise from all my Groans,
Give Sense to Rocks, and Sympathy to Stones.
Ye dusky * Woods and ecchoing Hills around
Repeat my Cries with a perpetual Sound:
Be all ye flowry Vales with Thorns o'regrown,
Assist my Sorrows, and declare your own,
Alas! your Lord is dead. The humble Plain
Must ne're receive his Courteous Feet again:
Mourn ye gay smiling Meadows, and be seen
In Wintry Robes instead of Youthful Green:
And bid the Brook that still runs warbling by
Move silent on, and weep his useless Channel dry.
[Page 237] Hither methinks the lowing Herds shou'd come,
And moaning Turtles murmur o're his Tomb:
The Oak shou'd wither, and the curling * Vine
Weep his Young Life out, while his Arms untwine
Their Amorous Folds, and mix his Bleeding Soul with mine.
Ye stately Elms in your long Order mourn,
Strip off your Pride to dress your Master's Urn:
Here gently drop your Leaves instead of Tears;
Ye Elms, the Reverend Growth of Ancient Years,
Stand tall and naked to the Blustring Rage
Of the mad Winds; thus it becomes your Age
To show your Sorrows. Often ye have seen
Our Heads reclin'd upon the rising Green;
Beneath your Sacred Shade diffus'd we lay,
Here Friendship reign'd with an unbounded sway:
Hither our Souls their constant Off'rings brought,
The Burthens of the Breast, and Labours of the Thought;
Our opening Bosoms on the Conscious Ground
Spread all the Sorrows, all the Joys we found,
[Page 238] And mingled every Care; nor was it known
Which of the Pains or Pleasures were our own;
Then with an equal Hand and honest Soul
We share the Heap; yet both possess the Whole,
And all the Passions there thro' both our Bosoms roll.
By turns We Comfort, and by turns Complain,
And Bear and Ease by turns the Sympathy of Pain.
Friendship! Mysterious Thing, what Magick Powers
Support thy Sway, and charm these Minds of ours?
Bound to thy Foot we boast our Birth-right still,
And dream of Freedom when we've lost our Will,
And chang'd away our Souls: At thy Command
We snatch new Miseries from a Foreign Hand
To call them ours, and thoughtless of our Ease
Plague the dear Self that we were born to please.
Thou Tyranness of Minds, whose Cruel Throne
Heaps on poor Mortals Sorrows not their own;
As tho' our Mother Nature cou'd no more
Find Woes sufficient for each Son she bore,
Friendship divides the Shares, and lengthens out the Store.
[Page 239] Yet are we fond of thine Imperious Reign,
Proud of the Slavery, wanton in our Pain,
And chide the courteous Hand when Death dissolves the Chain.
Vertue, forgive the Thought! The raving Muse
Wild and despairing knows not what she does,
Grows mad in Grief, and in her Savage Hours
Affronts the Name she Loves and she adores.
She is thy Votaress too; and at thy Shrine
O Sacred Friendship! offer'd Songs Divine
While GUNSTON liv'd, and both our Souls were thine.
Here to these Shades at solemn Hours we came
To pay Devotion with a mutual Flame,
And roll'd in Pleasures, while the Evening Breeze
Fann'd the Leaves gently, sporting thro' the Trees,
And the declining Sun with sloping Wheels
Roll'd down the Golden Day behind the Western Hills.
Mourn ye young * Gardens, ye unfinish't Gates,
Ye Green Inclosures and ye growing Sweets,
Lament, for ye our Midnight Hours have known,
And watch'd us walking by the silent Moon
In Conference Divine, while Heavenly Fire
Kindling our Breasts did all our Thoughts inspire
With Joys almost Immortal; then our Zeal
Blaz'd and burnt high to reach th' Ethereal Hill,
And Love refin'd like that above the Poles
Threw both our Arms round one anothers Souls
In Rapture and Embraces. Oh forbear,
Forbear, my Song! this is too much to hear,
Too dreadful to repeat; such Joys as these
Fled from the Earth for ever!
Oh for a general Grief! let all things share
Our Woes that knew our Loves. The Neighbour­ing Air
Let it be laden with Immortal Sighs,
And tell the Gales, that every Breath that flies
[Page 241] Over these Fields shou'd murmur and complain,
And kiss the fading Grass, and propagate the Pain▪
Weep all ye Buildings, and ye * Groves around
For ever Weep, This is an endless Wound
Vast and Incurable. Ye Buildings knew
His Silver Tongue, ye Groves have heard it too:
At that dear Sound no more shall ye rejoyce,
And I no more must hear the Charming Voice,
Wo to my drooping Soul! that Heavenly Breath
That could speak Life lies now congeal'd in Death;
While on his folded Lips all Cold and Pale
Eternal Chains and heavy silence dwell.
Yet my fond Hope would hear him speak again;
Once more at least, one gentle Word; and then
GUNSTON aloud I call: In vain I cry
GUNSTON aloud; for he must ne're reply.
In vain I mourn, and drop these Funeral Tears,
Death and the Grave have neither Eyes nor Ears:
[Page 242] Wandring I tune my Sorrows to the Groves,
And vent my swelling Griefs, and tell the Winds our Loves;
While the dear Youth Sleeps fast and hears 'em not;
He has forgot me: In the lonesome Vault
Mindless of WATTS and Friendship there he lies
Deaf and Unthinking Clay.
But whither am I led? This Artless Grief
Hurries the Muse on obstinate and deaf
To all the nicer Rules, and bears her down
From the tall Fabrick to the Neighbouring Ground:
The pleasing Hours and the dear Moments past
In these sweet Fields reviving on my Tast
Snatch me away resistless with Impetuous hast.
Spread thy strong Pinions once again my Song,
And reach the * Turret thou hast left so long:
O're the wide Roof its lofty Head it rears,
Waiting for our Converse; but only hears
The noisie Tumults of the Realms on high;
The Winds salute it Whistling as they fly,
[Page 243] Or jarring round the Windows; Rattling Showers
Lash the fair Sides, above loud Thunder roars,
But still the Master Sleeps; nor hears the Voice
Of Sacred Friendship, nor the Tempests noise:
An Iron Slumber sits on every Sence,
In vain the Heavenly Thunders strice to rouze it thence.
One Labour more, my Muse, the Golden * Sphere
Seems to demand: See thro' the Dusky Air
Downward it shines upon the rising Moon,
And as she labours up to reach her Noon,
The Ball pursues her Orb with streaming Light,
And shoots a Golden Dày on the Pale Queen of Night:
But not one Beam can reach the darksome Grave,
Or pierce the solid Gloom that fills the Cave
Where GUNSTON dwells in Death. My waking Eyes
Saw the last Midnight reigning o're the Skies,
[Page 244] And Old Bootes drove his shining Carr
Thro' the Midheaven: Behold the Glittering Sphere
Bright as a Burning Meteor born on high,
Or some new Comet gla [...]ing thro' the Sky
It flam'd and mingled with the larger Stars;
In vain (said I) the Golden Comet Glares,
In vain it stands; while with a dismal Fall
He sunk beneath the Ground that rais'd the Lofty Ball.
Now let me call the Joyful Day to mind;
'Twas a fair Morning; and the Blustring Wind
Slept in its peaceful Caverns, while he came
Gazing and pleas'd to see the Noble Frame
Crown'd with that shining Orb. "Stand there, he cries,
"Thou little Emblem of the boundless Skies
"Whither my Soul with fiery Passion tends;
The Emblem stands; and tells surviving Friends
Of the bright Palace and the Golden Throne
Where the Dear GUNSTON's better part is gone:
[Page 245] His eager Thoughts bent on their shining way
Let the Clay drop to mingle with the Clay;
But his great Soul beyond the Stars is fled:
Then why, my Heart, why should we Mourn him Dead?
Strangely, my Thoughts, ye let this cozening Grief
With a false Name impose on your Belief:
It saw the Flesh sink down with closing Eyes
To the cold Earth, and cry'd, 'tis GUNSTON Dies:
Mistaken Grief! to call the Flesh the Friend!
The Heavenly Court saw the Bright Youth ascend,
Flew to embrace him with Immortal Love,
And sung his Welcome to the Seats above.
The Building firm, and all the Mansions bright,
The Roof high-Vaulted with Aethereal Light:
Beauty and Strength on the tall Bulwarks Sate
In Heavenly Diamond: And for every Gate
On Golden Hinges a broad Ruby turns,
Guards off the Foe, and as it moves it burns.
Millions of Glories Reign thro' every part;
Infinite Power and Uncreated Art
[Page 247] Stand here display'd, and to the Stranger show
How it out-shines the Noblest Seats below;
The Stranger just look'd down, and Smil'd upon 'em too.
Come, my Urania, leave the doleful Strain,
Let Heavenly Notes resume their Joys again;
In Everlasting Numbers sing, and say,
"GUNSTON the Friend lives still, and wipe our Tears away.

AN ELEGY ON THE Reverend Mr. Tho. Gouge.

TO Mr. Arthur Shallett Mer­chant.

Worthy SIR,

THE Subject of the following Elegy was high in your Esteem and enjoy'd a large share of your Affections. Scarce doth his Memory need the Assistance of the Muse to make it perpetual, [Page 248] But when She can at once pay her Honours to the Venerable Dead, and by this Address acknowledge the Favours She has received from the Living, 'tis a dou­ble Pleasure to

Your obliged humble Servant,

TO THE MEMORY OF THE Reverend Mr. Tho. Gouge, Who Died January 8. 1699/1700.

YE Virgin Souls, whose Sweet Complaint
Could teach * Euphrates not to flow,
Could Sion's Ruine so Divinely Paint
Array'd in Beauty and in Woe;
Awake, ye Virgin Souls, to mourn,
And with your Tuneful Sorrows dress a Prophet's Urn.
[Page 250] O could my Lips, or Flowing Eyes
But imitate such Charming Grief,
I'de teach the Seas, and teach the Skies
Wailings, and Sobs, and Sympathies,
Nor should the Stones, or Rocks be deaf;
Rocks shall have Eyes, and Stones have Ears,
While GOUGE's Death is Mourn'd in Melody and Tears.
Heaven was impatient of our Crimes,
And sent his Minister of Death
To Scourge the bold Rebellion of the Times,
And to demand our Prophet's Breath;
He came commission'd for the Fates
Of Awful MEAD, and Charming BATES,
There he essay'd the Vengeance first,
Then took a dismal Aim and brought great GOUGE to Dust.
Great GOUGE to Dust! How Doleful is the Sound?
How vast the Stroke is? And how wide the Wound?
[Page 251] Yes, 'tis a vast uncommon Death,
Yes, 'tis a Wound unmeasurably wide;
No Vulgar Mortal Dy'd
When he resign'd his Breath.
The Muse that Mourns a Nations Fall
Shou'd wait at GOVGE's Funeral,
Should mingle Majesty and Groans
Such as she Sings to sinking Thrones,
And in deep-sounding Numbers tell
How Sion trembled when this Pillar fell.
Sion grows Weak, and England Poor,
Nature her self with all her Store
Can furnish such a Pomp for Death no more.
The Reverend Man let all things mourn;
Sure he was some Aethereal Mind,
Fated in Flesh to be confin'd,
And order'd to be Born.
His Soul was of th' Angelick frame,
The same Ingredients, and the Mould the same,
When the Creator makes a Minister of Flame;
[Page 252] He was all form'd of Heavenly Things,
Mortals, believe what my Urania Sings,
For she has seen him rise upon his Flamy Wings.
How would he mount, how would he fly,
Up thro' the Ocean of the Sky
Tow'rd the Coelestial Coast!
With what amazing swiftness soar
Till Earth's dark Ball was seen no more
And all its Mountains lost.
Scarce could the Muse pursue him with her Sight,
But, Angels, you can tell,
For oft you met his Wondrous Flight,
And knew the Stranger well;
Say, how he past the radiant Spheres
And visited your happy Seats,
And trac'd the well known Turnings of the Golden Streets,
And walk'd among the Stars.
Tell how he climb'd the Everlasting Hills
Surveying all the Realms above,
[Page 253] Born on a Strong-wing'd Faith, and on the Fiery Wheels
Of an Immortal Love.
'Twas there he took a glorious Sight
Of the Inheritance of Saints in Light,
And read their Title in their Saviour's Right.
How oft the humble Scholar came,
And to your Songs he rais'd his Ears
To learn the Unutterable Name,
To view the Eternal Base that bears
The New Creations Frame.
The Countenance of God he saw
Full of Mercy, full of Awe,
The Glories of his Power, and Glories of his Grace:
There he beheld the Wondrous Springs
Of those Eternal Sacred Things
The Peaceful Gospel and the Fiery Law
In that Majestic Face.
That Face that all his Gazing Powers employ
With most profound Abasement and exalted Joy.
[Page 254] The Rolls of Fate were half unseal'd,
He stood adoring by;
The Volumes open'd to his Eye,
And sweet Intelligence he held
With all his shining Kindred of the Sky.
Ye Seraphs that surround the Throne,
Tell how his Name was thro' the Pallace known,
How warm his Zeal was, and how like your own:
Speak it aloud, let half the Nation hear,
And bold Blasphemers shrink and fear:
Impudent Tongues, to blast a Prophet's Name!
The Poison sure was fetch'd from Hell
Where the old Blasphemers dwell,
To taint the purest Dust, and blot the whitest Fame.
Impudent Tongues! You should be darted thro',
Nail'd to your own Black Mouths, and lie
Useless and Dead till Slander die,
Till Slander die with you.
"We saw him, say th' Ethereal Throng,
"We saw his warm Devotions rise,
"We heard the fervour of his Cries,
"And mixt his Praises with our Song:
"We knew the secret Flights of his retiring Hours,
"Nightly he wak'd his inward Powers,
"Young Israel rose to Wrestle with his God,
"And with unconquer'd Force scal'd the Coelestial Towers
"To reach the Blessing down for those that sought his Blood.
"Oft we beheld the Thunderer's Hand
"Rais'd high to crush the Factious Foe;
"As oft we saw the rolling Vengeance stand
"Doubtful t' obey the dread Command,
"While his ascending Pray'r witheld the falling Blow.
Draw the past Scenes of thy Delight
My Muse, and bring the Wondrous Man to Sight.
[Page 256] Place him surrounded as he stood
With Pious Crowds, while from his Tongue
A Stream of Harmony ran soft along,
And every Ear drank in the flowing Good:
Softly it ran its Silver Way,
Till warm Devotion rais'd the Current strong;
Then fervid Zeal on the sweet Deluge rode,
Life, Love, and Glory, Grace, and Joy
Divinely roll'd promiscuous on the Torrent-Flood,
And bore our Raptur'd Sense away, and Thoughts and Souls to God.
O might we dwell for ever there!
No more return to breath this grosser Air,
This Atmosphere of Sin, Calamity, and Care.
But Heavenly Scenes soon leave the Sight
While we belong to Clay,
Passions of Terror and Delight
Demand alternate Sway.
Behold the Man whose awful Voice
Could well proclaim the Fiery Law,
[Page 257] Kindle the Flames that Moses saw,
And swell the Trumpets Warlike noise.
He stands, the Herald of the Threatning Skies,
Lo, on his Reverend Brow the Frowns Divinely rise,
All Sinai's Thunder on his Tongue, and Lightning in his Eyes.
Round the high Roof the Cursès flew
Distinguishing each guilty Head,
Far from th' unequal War the Atheist fled,
His Kindled Arrows still pursue,
His Arrows strike the Atheist thro',
And fix him down to Dread.
The Marble Heart groans with an inward Wound:
Blaspheming Souls of harden'd Steel
Shriek out amaz'd at the new Pangs they feel,
And dread the Eccho's of the Sound.
The Lofty Wretch Arm'd and Array'd
In gaudy Pride sinks down his Impious Head,
Plunges in dark Despair, and mingles with the Dead.
Now Muse assume a softer Strain,
Now sooth the Sinners Raging Smart,
Borrow of GOVGE the wondrous Art
To calm the Surging Conscience, and asswage the Pain.
He from a Bleeding God derives
Life for the Souls that Guilt had slain,
And strait the dying Rebel lives,
The Dead arise again.
The opening Skies almost obey
His powerful Song, a Heavenly Ray
Awakes Despair to Light, and sheds a cheerful Day.
His wondrous Voice rolls back the Spheres,
Recalls the Scenes of Ancient Years
To make the Saviour known;
Sweetly the flying Charmer roves
Thro' all his Labours and his Loves,
The Anguish of his Cross, and Triumphs of his Throne.
Hark, he invites our Feet to try
The steep ascent of Calvary,
And sets the fatal Tree before our Eye:
See here Coelestial Sorrow reigns;
Rude Nails and ragged Thorns lay by
Ting'd with the Crimson of Redeeming Veins.
In wondrous Words he sung the Vital Flood
Where all our Sins were drown'd,
Words fit to heal and fit to wound,
Sharp as the Spear, and Balmy as the Blood.
In his Discourse Divine
Afresh the Purple Fountain flow'd,
Our falling Tears kept Sympathetick Time
And trickled to the Ground,
While every Accent gave a doleful Sound,
Sad as the breaking Heart-strings of th' Expiring God.
Down to the Mansions of the Dead
With trembling Joy our Souls are lead,
The Captives of his Tongue;
[Page 260] There the dear Prince of Light reclines his Head
Darkness and Shades among.
With pleasing Horror we survey
The Caverns of the Tomb,
Where the Belov'd Redeemer lay
And shed a sweet Persume.
Hark, the Old Earthquake roars again
In GOUGE's Voice, and breaks the Chain
Of heavy Death, and tears the Tombs;
The Rising God! he comes, he comes,
With Throngs of waking Saints, a long triumphing Train.
See the bright Squadrons of the Sky,
Downward on Wings of Joy and Hast they fly,
Meet their returning Sovereign and attend him high.
A shining Carr the Conqueror fills
Form'd of a Golden Cloud;
Slowly the Pomp rolls up the Azure Hills,
Old Satan foams and yells aloud,
And gnaws th' Eternal Brass that binds him to the Wheels.
[Page 261] The opening Gates of Bliss receive their King,
The Father-God Smiles on his Son,
Pays him the Honours he has won,
The lofty Thrones adore, and little Cherubs Sing.
Behold him on his Native Throne,
Glory sits fast upon his Head;
Dress't in new Light and Beamy Robes
His Hand rolls on the Seasons and the shining Globes,
And sways the living Worlds and Regions of the Dead.
GOUGE was his Envoy to this Realm below,
Vast was the Trust, and great his Skill,
Bright the Credentials he could show,
And Thousands own'd the Seal.
His Hallowed Lips could well impart
The Grace, the Promise, and Command:
He knew the Pity of EMMANUEL's Heart,
And Terrors of JEHOVAH's Hand.
How did our Souls start out to hear
The Embassies of Love he bore,
[Page 262] While every Ear in Rapture hung
Upon the Charming Wonders of his Tongue.
Lifes busie Cares a Sacred Silence bound,
Attention stood with all her Powers,
With fixed Eyes and Awe profound,
Chain'd to the Pleasure of the Sound,
Nor knew the flying Hours.
But Oh! my everlasting Grief!
Heaven has recall'd his Envoy from our Eyes,
Hence Deluges of Sorrow rise,
Nor hope th' Impossible Relief.
Ye Remnants of the Sacred Tribe
Who feel the Loss, come share the Smart,
And mix your Groans with mine:
Where is the Tongue that can describe
Infinite Things with Equal Art,
Or Language so Divine?
Our Passions want the Heavenly Flame,
Almighty Love Breaths faintly in our Songs,
And Awful Threatnings languish on our Tongues;
HOWE is a Great, but single Name.
[Page 263] Amidst the Crowd he stands alone;
Stands yet, but with his Starry Pinions on,
Dress't for the Flight and ready to be gone:
Eternal God, command his Stay,
Stretch the dear Months of his Delay;
O we could wish his Age were one Immortal Day!
But when the Flaming Chariot's come
And shining Guards t' attend thy Prophet Home,
Amidst a thousand Weeping Eyes
Send an Elisha down, a Soul of Equal Size,
Or burn the Worthless Globe, and take us to the Skies.

AN EPITAPH ON King WILLIAM III. Of Glorious Memory, Who Died March 8th. 1701.

BEneath these Honours of a Tomb
GREATNESS in humble Ruine lies:
(How Earth confines in narrow Room
What Heroes leave below the Skies!)
Preserve, Oh Venerable PILE,
Inviolate thy Sacred Trust;
To thy cold Arms the BRITTISH Isle
Weeping commits her Richest Dust.
Ye gentlest Ministers of FATE
Attend the Monarch as he lies,
And bid the Softest SLUMBERS wait
With Silken Cords to bind his Eyes.
Rest his dear SWORD beneath his Head;
Round him his Faithful ARMS shall stand;
Fix his bright ENSIGNS on his Bed,
The Guards and Honors of our Land.
Ye Sister Arts of PAINT and VERSE,
Place ALBION fainting by his Side,
Her Groans arising 'ore the Herse,
And BELGIA sinking when he Dy'd.
High o're the Grave RELIGION set
In Solemn Gold: pronounce the Ground
Sacred, to bar unhallow'd Feet,
And plant her Guardian VERTUES round.
Fair LIBERTY in Sables drest
Write his lov'd Name upon his Urn,
WILLIAM, the Scourge of Tyrants past,
And Awe of Princes yet Unborn.
Sweet PEACE his Sacred Relicks keep
With Olives blooming round her Head,
And stretch her Wings across the Deep
To bless the Nations with the Shade.
Stand on the Pile, Immortal FAME,
Broad Stars adorn thy brightest Robe,
Thy thousand Voices sound his Name
In Silver Accents round the Globe.
FLATTERY shall faint beneath the Sound,
While Hoary TRUTH inspires the Song;
ENVY grow pale and bite the Ground,
And MALICE gnaw her Forky Tongue.
NIGHT and the GRAVE remove your Gloom;
Darkness becomes the Vulgar Dead;
But GLORY bids the Royal Tomb
Disdain the Horrors of a Shade,
GLORY with all her Lamps shall burn,
And watch the Warriors sleeping Clay,
Till the last Trumpet rouze his Urn
To aid the Triumphs of the Day.

BOOKS Printed for John Lawrence at the Angel in the Poultrey.

VIndiciae Mentis. An Essay of the Being and Na­ture of the Mind: Wherein the Dostinction of Mind and Body, the Substantiality, Personality, and Perfection of Mind is asserted; and the Original of our Minds, their Present, Separate, and Future state, is freely inquired into, in order to a more certain Foundation for the Knowledge of God and our Selves, and the Clearing all Doubts and Objections that have been, or may be made concerning the LIFE and IMMORTALITY of our SOULS. In a new Me­thod. By a Gentleman. 8vo.

New Essays on Trade, wherein the present State of our Trade, its Great Decay in the Chief Branches of it, and the Fatal Consequence thereof to the Na­tion (unless timely remedy'd) is Consider'd, under the most Important Heads of Trade and Navigation. By Francis Brewster Kt. In 8vo.

Exercitations, Critical, Philosophical, Historical, and Theological. On several important Pieces in the Writings of the Old and New Testament. By John Edwards D. D. 8vo.

Theo-Politica: Or a Body of Divinity, contain­ing the Rules of the Special Government of GOD, according to which he orders the Immortal and In­tellectual Creatures, Angels, and Man, to their Fi­nal and Eternal State. Being a Method of those Laving Truths, which are contain'd in the Canon of the Holy Scripture, or abridg'd in those Words of our Saviour Jesus Christ [Go and teach all Nations, &c.] which were the Ground and Foundation of those Apostolical Creeds and Forms of Confessions, related by the Ancients; and in particular by Irenaeus and Tertullian. By that Learn­ed Divine George Lawson late Rector of More in the County of Salop. 8vo.

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