A paraphrase upon the canticles and some select hymns of the New and Old Testament, with other occasional compositions in English verse. By Samuel Woodford |
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| OCCASIONAL RIMES. |
 | A paraphrase upon the canticles |  |
72
OCCASIONAL RIMES.
The Saying of CLEANTHES.
Επι παντος προχειρου ευκτεον ταυτα
Α Γ Ε δη με, ω Ζευ, [] συ [] Πεπρωμενη,
Οποι ποτ' υν ειμι διατεταγμενος,
Ως εψομαι σπουδαιος, ηδ' αοκνος
Εαν δε μη εθελω, ουχ' ηττον εψομαι
Epict. cap. 77.
Α Γ Ε δη με, ω Ζευ, [] συ [] Πεπρωμενη,
Οποι ποτ' υν ειμι διατεταγμενος,
Ως εψομαι σπουδαιος, ηδ' αοκνος
Εαν δε μη εθελω, ουχ' ηττον εψομαι
Epict. cap. 77.
DUC me Parens, Celsique Dominator Poli
Quocunque placuit, nulla parendi mora est,
Adsum impiger; fac nolle, comitabor gemens,
Malusque patiar, quod pati licuit bono.
Sen. Ep. 107.
Quocunque placuit, nulla parendi mora est,
Adsum impiger; fac nolle, comitabor gemens,
Malusque patiar, quod pati licuit bono.
Sen. Ep. 107.
I
Lead me, O Providence Divine,Where e're Thou hast appointed me to go;
I'll follow willingly, and show,
By my quick pace, that one design,
Tho hid to me, acts Thy unerring Will and mine.
II
Briskly I'll follow Thee; for soI shall prevent my Fate, which to decline
Beyond my Compass is, and Line;
Worse by resistance I shall grow,
And after all be driven, whether I will or no.
73
Upon a terrible Storm of Thunder, Wind, and Rain, 25 July 1670, done by Night in the midst of it.
I.
Great God of Thunder, at whose VoiceThe Earth and its Foundations shake,
And Man, whom Thou hast made its Lord, does quake,
Still the dreadful, and amazing Noise!
Lo! as Thy People Israel did of old,
By Fear surpriz'd, yet by our fear made bold,
Lord, lest we die, we beg Thou wouldst Thy Voice withhold!
II.
Yet speak, for (Lo!) Thy Servants hear!And speak Thy self, but not in Smoak, and Flame!
The mighty Storm, that by the Tishbite came,
And rent the Hills, and did the Mountains tear,
The Tishbite saw unmov'd, knowing Thou wert not there.
At length was heard an awful sound,
Whispers and murmers undistinct around,
With silence waited on profound,
And a soft Voice, in which the Thunders shouts were drownd.
The Prophet listned, and inclin'd his Head,
Fill'd with sacred and unusual Dread;
His Face did in his Mantle hide;
For Thou in triumph on the peaceful sound didst ride,
And He, who brav'd the Thunder, bow'd and worshipped
74
III.
With such another Voice Divine,Lord, speak to us, and we will hear!
Thy Thunder is too loud for our purg'd Ear,
And dreadfully Thy scorching Lightnings shine.
That voice of Fire, till the Great Day restrain,
Where to be slept out 't shall be strove in vain;
For, even the Dead by it awak'd, shall rise again.
The Nativity.
An Ode.
I.
Who would not envy, if he durst, your Grace,Blest Shepherds, to whom first the Tidings came,
That God, whom neither Time can bound, nor Space,
Th' Almighty, who upholds this rolling Frame,
Deign'd to be born, and did the Breast imbrace:
Of the Worlds Maker made himself a Child,
And wrapt in swaths, tho He whole Nature fill'd?
Too happy News this, in the City to be told,
I'th' Palace, and at Herods Court,
Where all the learned Father Jews resort;
E're it reach them, let the report grow cold!
There's too much Spleen, and Malice there,
Hypocrisie, Distrust, and servile Fear,
Intemp'rance, Lust, Extortion, Cruelty,
And, if than these there greater Vices be,
Pride, which of ills the worst, pollutes the Air.
75
(Tho not so gay,) and Men more Innocent,
To whom Hee'd show His great Descent:
And when He did Jerusalem refuse,
'Twas to recal the Ancient Time, and Use,
When He to Man in Paradise first went:
That He to Peace, and Justice, might the preference give,
And all the Graces that ith' Country safely live:
And lest the Truth should be deny'd,
Ith' Country Hee'd be Born, but in the City Dy'd.
II.
“Fear not, O Shepherds, th' Angel said!And need there was, to bid them not to fear,
Since greater Souls than theirs might be afraid,
That God, unlookt for, should approach so near,
And full Spring-tides of Light, at Midnights Ebb appear.
For Night it was, and posting tow'rds the Day,
Grown darker on a sudden, than before,
The Shepherds by their Flocks expecting lay,
Till their bright Star should ope' the Mornings Door;
When, Lo! a brighter Star brake out,
And sacred Beams Angelic Forms did show,
Fairer than thousand Suns, tho all about
They their united Flames should throw.
'Twas Gabriel, who the Message brought
To the 'ever Virgin that she should conceive;
Gabriel, who now the happy Minute taught,
When his Great Lord the Father's Throne did leave,
A Body fitted for him to receive;
Bright in His Princes glory, bright in 'His own,
All clad in Hallow'd Light came down,
Embassador of God, and Herald to His Son.
76
III.
On Heavens high Top awhile He stood,And view'd all Palestine around;
All Palestine in sleep lay drown'd,
Eve'n Jordan slumbred to the murmurs of his Flood.
Nor voice of Man, nor noise of Dogs was heard,
The bowing Mountains seem'd to nod,
And at the Presence of their God,
Who o're them wav'd his All-commanding Rod,
Inclin'd their Heads, and the great Spell rever'd.
Each Field, each Hill did rest,
And equal Night possest
The painful Labourer, and his weary Beast.
Bethle'hem alone, this Transient Death surviv'd,
And in her Plains some liv'd,
Yet whom the Sight did so surprize,
They hardly durst believe their Eyes,
Yet durst not but believe, and sent to Heav'n their cries.
IV.
So at the last Day shall there some be foundTo hear, alive, the Trumpets dreadful sound;
Amaz'd and trembling shall they stand,
Feel on themselves a Powerful Hand,
And willing, or unwilling take, the great Command.
“Be chang'd ('twill say) ye Living! and ye Dead
“Wake and arise, and to the Judgment come!
The Living, soon as e're the word is sed,
Shall feel the Terrors they did dread,
And without help of Death, or Grave, reach their Eternal Home.
The Dead with their own Bodies shall arise,
And then the Earth, and Sea, and Skies,
The scatter'd Atomes shall restore
77
To joyn with parted Souls, but never to be parted more.
No guilty Criminal his Face shall hide,
Or undiscovered the great Judg avoid,
But from his Hold, tho self-condemn'd, come and be tri'd.
V.
Nature it self shall to 'its old nothing roll;And then Heav'ns beauteous Scroll,
With all the Mistic Notes that there
(Writ by the Hand Divine)
So wondrous, and so bright appear,
Shall in one flame with Earth and Sea, more dreadful shine.
Like that, which once the Prophet sent
To Judahs stubborn King;
A while he heard the Woes, but grown impatient,
With Hands prophane the Parchment rent,
And into th' Fire the sever'd parts did fling;
And there they crackled, there did together shrink,
Till all-consum'd they were to Ashes burn'd.
Ah! sottish Prince, and vain to think
Decrees of Heav'n so easily overturn'd!
Lo! God himself resents the wrong,
Thy self shall be the subject of a longer Roll ere long!
VI.
And so he was, for by the dread Command,A larger Roll the Prophet did prepare.
By th' same Command another Heav'n more fair,
In place of this, when 'tis consum'd shall stand.
And there the Thrones shall be for Judgment set,
From which the Son with awful Majesty,
And doubled Grace shall Reign illustriously,
In his own Godhead, and th' Exalted Manhood, great.
78
The Rich, the Poor, the Simple, and the Wise,
With all who Tents inhabited, or Palaces,
Naked to the Bar shall rise,
And answer each Man to his name:
Distinctions shall aside be thrown,
Nor Kings be by their Scepters known,
Or the great Houses which they made, or whence they came.
Around the Bar shall Angels wait,
For Execution arm'd, and cloth'd for state,
Sole ministers of Wrath, who only were of Love alate.
VII.
Thither, O Muse, thither bring back my Song,From which thou wandred hast too long;
Of Gabriel, and his second Message sing,
Who now upon the Wing,
The happiest News, e're heard by mortal ears, does bring.
“Attend, he said, and those glad Tidings hear,
“Good Tidings, and of great Joy, which shall be
“Not unto you alone,
“Or from the Father to the Son,
“For one descent alone continued down,
“But unto all who are to come, or wisht this day to see.
“For Lo! to you is Born this Day,
“A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord,
“In David's Town, which long expecting lay,
“Promis'd Messiah, and th' Incarnate Word.
“To Day He's Born, and this shall be the Sign,
“By which the Mighty Infant shall be found,
“In Swadling Clothes he shall lie bound,
“And in a Manger rests the Babe Divine.
Never was Sight of equal Fame,
Not the first Man of God-like Frame,
For God himself thus Born, a Mortal Man became.
79
VIII.
He spake, and with him strait were seenMyriads of Angels, in their best Array,
Myriads of Angels, who kept Holy-day,
And all their Glories did display,
No Cloud to 'eclipse the Lustre came between.
And then they Danc'd, and then they Sang
Praises, themselves did first compose;
The Starry Vault, with the loud Eccho rang,
And the whole Concert doubled o're this close;
“Glory to God on High,
“Ith' highest great Jehovah bless,
“Good Will t'wards Men, on Earth be Peace,
“Glory to God on High!
And may this Round begun thus last Eternally!
And up they rose, with Bays and Ivy Crown'd,
Not such as Mortal Poets wear below,
But what ith' Heav'nly Tempe grow,
And with whose Wreaths the first great Makers Brows are bound.
IX.
Go! Shepherds, go! and kiss th' Eternal Son!To Bethle'hem go, and the first Tributes bring
To Israels Saviour, and Heav'ns New-born King!
To you this more than common Honour's done,
To' approach your God, and Worship at his humble Throne.
Make haste, nor by your own delay
For others to prevent your Joys give way;
Why should they first be happy, whilst you only stay?
For Kings shall come e're long, from th' East,
By a less Flame than what's your Guide,
Directed hither, to find that Rest,
Which seems not theirs, till by 'you accepted, or deny'd.
80
Who thus by Angels Summon'd are;
When they, tho Kings, and coming from afar,
Shall wait, and both to call, and lead them, only have a Star.
14 Jan. 1667–8.
The STAR.
A Carol For the Epiphany by the III Kings.
1. King.See how that Glorious Star, at Noon does rise,
And like another Sun new Guilds the Skies!
2. King.
Look how it dares the Ruler of the Light,
And in His clearest Beams appears more bright,
Calling before its time the sluggish Night!
3. King.
Rather the Conquer'd Sun to' its Rays gives way,
And but a Phospher seems to its new Day.
The Conquer'd Sun, &c.
[Chorus trium.]
2. King.
Sure 'tis no common Star, see where it goes
A daring Passage it self only knows;
1. King.
And cross the Heav'n points out to Palestine,
And as it that way leads more bright does shine:
Come let us follow, where it leads, and see
3. King.
What may the Cause of its appearing be,
Whether it set a Star, or some Divinity.
Come let us, &c.
[Chorus alter trium.]
3. King.
Some greater Power, which to direct our Way,
Has chose this borrowed Shape, and glorious Ray;
81
1. King.
Does tow'rds Judea our great Journey show:
2. King.
That way it points, that way we must along,
No fear, when Heaven's out Guide, we should go wrong.
That way, &c.
[Chorus trium tertius.]
1. King.
O're Bethle'm lo! at length the Flame does rest!
Bethle'm, that with the Prince of Peace is blest:
2. King.
Bethle'm, which must by ancient Prophecy
The Tyring-House of the Almighty be,
Where he will cloath Himself with base Humanity.
3. King.
And that's the House, where we our Gifts must bring
To the World's God, and Israel's Infant King.
Chorus Omnium.
Hither 'twas, hither the bright Star did lead,
Let's enter humbly, and approach with Fear:
The Star, which brought, will shew him us more clear,
And be a Glory round the Infants Head:
O this is He! fall down, and worship him! fall down
And kiss his Feet, whose Head ev'n Heav'n thus stoops to Crown!
23. Decemb. 1660.
82
The PASSION.
An Ode.
I.
Twice sixteen Years have almost o're Thee past,Twice sixteen more Thou mayst as fondly waste,
In expectation, Sylvius, as thou hast
The swift-wing'd Years, which in their Passage scap'd thee last.
The Kalendar is searcht, and all in vain
Wouldst Thou have this Day return
To the same Point, as when in 'it Thou wert Born,
But 'twill not be this Age, if it e're come again.
Enough 'tis that Thou once didst see
The great Conjunction:
Wait not o're long, for what may be
Too late for Thee,
And is sufficient of it self alone,
Without that Circumstance to fill Thy Song.
For grant it now what could to Thee be' apply'd
But that thy Birth fell out the Night thy Saviour Di'd.
II.
Rise then my Muse, but from a nobler Ground,And sing in Numbers mournful as the Day,
Of Natures fright, and disarray,
Which did Philosophy confound,
And scattered dismal Horrours all around.
When Heaven, and Earth, and Hell partook
In the Darkness, and the Night,
Which like a Sea o'reflow'd the plains of Light,
83
Unlike to that, which once in Egypt raign'd,
When solid Night did Rhamases invest,
But Goshen, of the Sun possest,
Over the Gleam a Prospect gain'd,
And uninvellopt saw how far the Heav'ns were stain'd.
Nor was it to the Antipodes
The Day had hastned his access;
For they unsensible of Light,
Lay buried all the while in Night,
And without Miracle could not behold it bright.
Unless Thou add'st the Prodigie to raise,
(And which none else but Thou, O Muse, dares say)
Th' Antipodes at Midnight rose to gaze,
And Night Jerusalem less admir'd, than they the Day.
III.
A thought too wild this, and extravagant,And which does all but its own airy basis want:
Say rather that the Pangs and Agonies
Of a new, and better World,
Which was thence to take its rise,
Were thus conceal'd from Mortal Eyes,
And Darkness, as at first, o're all th' Expansion hurld.
God's sacred Kingdom was that Birth,
The same New Heaven, and new Earth,
Which the belov'd Disciple saw,
In all its Beauties, as it did appear,
And to provoke Adventurers there,
A Chart thereof by Vision did exactly draw.
For on the Cross as our great Saviour hung,
And just Expiring, bow'd his Conquering Head,
From the black Skies bright beams like Lightning sprung
But as the Day, continued long,
Chasing wing'd Darkness, which before them fled.
84
By the commanding Word, which He
To Nothing, and to Chaos sed,
Making when He spake only, “Let there be,
By a no less Word this too was done,
Created by that Voice, which cry'd, “Tis Finished.
IV.
'Tis Finished the Mighty Victor cry'd,All reaking in Triumphal Gore,
Which his own Wounds, not Enemies Necks supply'd;
For tho with them He Skirmisht had before,
And oft rebated had their Power,
He could not throughly for us Conquer, till He Di'd.
Alone He did the Wine-press tread,
Of his Just Father's Wrath, alone,
Israels to raise, stoopt his own Head,
And to assist Him was there none.
So far from that, that ith' pursuit
Of Satan, Sin, and Death, when He cry'd out,
With fainting Groans, I Thirst,
His Patience some, and some his Conquest Curst,
And Gall and Vinacre of the bitter Tree, was all the Fruit.
Till having tasted of the Brook ith' way,
Anew He follow'd, till He gain'd the Day;
And to compleat his Victory,
Got thence more Aids, and strength enough to Die.
V.
Blest Saviour, who but Thou couldst Live so long,And in one Soul so many Deaths endure,
And different all, and all their Pains so strong,
That their rehearsal does fresh Griefs ensure,
And again pierce those Hearts Thou bledst to Cure?
85
Gethsemane, for ease design'd,
And safe retirements of a troubled Mind,
Purging thence all th' effects of Sin,
Which still, tho hid, remaind behind,
The dregs of what on Man in Paradise brake in.
Fatal, but happy Place that, where did grow
Midst whole Woods, no less beauteous, but one Tree,
That even, by Wilfulness alone, could be
The occasion of our Misery;
But in all else, more secret Snares than we
Till by them Caught, shall ever know!
From this to clear it, and restore
To th' Garden, what it had before,
And perfect Innocence add, one Beauty more;
As there fall'n Man his Life first forfeited,
There, to Redeem him, first the Blood of God was shed.
VI.
How grievous were his Pains there, and how great?Burning, tho in the frosty shades of Night:
Shivering with Cold, but in a Bloody Sweat;
And all dissolv'd, at his approaching Passions Sight?
Thrice did He his Disciples leave,
And thrice to his Great Father pray'd,
Thrice to himself He answer made,
And by an Angel did support receive;
But, (O!) th' Assaults that were within,
Compar'd with which his Bodies Flame,
Was temperate heat, and scarce deserv'd the Name,
When in his Soul the Burning did begin,
And Hell to 'encrease the Fire, did Mines of Brimstone bring!
A thousand Fiends about him flew,
And Coals, and bailful Firebrand; threw,
That seiz'd at length the noblest Part,
86
And unconsum'd, did only leave the Heart.
VII.
The Heart did unconsum'd remain,By the Arch-Fiend
With its own Grief to burst design'd,
When in the Judgment Hall again,
He should the Charge renew, but all in vain.
Thither betray'd by 'a Kiss the Traytors bring,
With Fetters bound, Heav'ns Sacred King;
Where being Cited, and Blasphem'd,
Flouted, Scourg'd, Spat upon,
Derided, and Contemn'd,
By them Revil'd, deny'd by 'His own,
A Reed in 'his Hand, his Head with Thorns they Crown,
And lead to Golgotha their God, whom they 'had Condemn'd:
VIII.
Follow, Muse, if thou hast the heart, and seeWhat other Torments they prepare;
I know the utmost of their Cruelty,
And from thy Mouth had rather hear,
The sad Report, than a Spectator be.
Yet, that thou mayst not stand thy self surpriz'd,
Stript off his Clothes, in Nakedness disguiz'd,
To th' Cross they'll nail his Hands, 'tis said,
And bore with Nails his tender Feet;
Then, all his Sufferings to upbraid,
“Cry, If Thou art the Son of God, let's see't,
“Now from the Tree triumphantly come down,
“Or reign thence, like Thy self alone,
“Or any other Wonder show,
“Whereby Thy De'ity may be known,
87
As if there greater Miracle could be,
Than all that Patience, which they do, but will not see.
IX.
Nor is this all, but when He's Dead,His Side they'll open with a Spear;
Approach the Wound, and look what Blood is shed,
For it Mysterious will appear,
And be another Argument for thee next Year!
A better Spring will thence arise,
Than Helicon, so Fam'd of old,
There bath thy self, if thou art wise,
Nor fear in those chast Streams to be too bold.
But see, be sure too long thou dost not stay,
For all the while Thou art away,
Tears only from these Eyes will flow,
And in my Fancy I shall double o're
All that I have told thee now before,
And all that thou return'd will'st tell again, and more,
Beside my Verse will fetter'd be, and slow,
And want both Wings to flie, and Feet to go.
10. Martii 1667–8.
EPIGRAM
When my God Di'd, I first began to Live,And Life which he refus'd Heav'n me did give
Unlike that Day, O how unlike we were!
Him dead the Cross, me 'alive the Knees did bear.
But may not I die too? This life of mine
I can as well as Thou dispise, if not like Thine.
88
A double Life, then to Thy Death I'll owe:
And sanctifi'd thus in my Birth by Thee,
A living Death, my dying Life shall be.
5. Decemb. 1668.
An Extasie of Divine Love.
Aquesta Divina Union, &c.
I
That sacred Bond of Charity,Wherein I uncorrupted Live,
Makes God the Captive Chain receive,
But my pinion'd Heart sets free,
Tho causing still such love in me,
To see Heav'ns King my Pris'ner lie,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
II
How teadious now this Life is grown,The way to Death how hard and long;
How dark the Dunge'on th' Ir'ns how strong,
With which my' unwilling Soul's kept down,
And has no trust but hope alone!
These thoughts my Troubles raise so high,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
89
III
Bitter Life, shalt thou be to me,Where I my God can ne're enjoy;
But if my Love has no alloy,
My hope as try'd and pure may be;
Ah! come my Lord, and set me free!
Take off this weight, which makes me cry,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
IV
By hope alone it is I Live,Hope that I bear the seeds of Death,
And dying once, a second Birth
Secures that Hope, and Life do's give;
O Death, I'll ne're thy coming grieve,
When Life succeeds, through hope so nigh,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
V
Who can the Charms of Love refuse?Ah Life, no more my Heart betray,
'Tis only thou stand'st in my way,
Which rather than my Love, I'll loose,
And Death for my great Champion choose;
So much alate thy Enemy,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
VI
The Life alone, that's hid above,Can of true Life the Title claim;
That Toy, which here usurps the Name,
90
And a worse Foe than Death does prove;
Death, for whose sake I Life so flie,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
VII
What can I give, frail Life, but theeTo th' God, who in me deigns to live?
Yet how can I the nothing give
Till he first grants me Liberty?
O let me die his Face to see!
But that's so distant from my Eye,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
VIII
Beside, my God, from thee away,Who would not of a Life complain,
That terrible, and full of pain,
Suffers a thousand Deaths each Day,
A Mortal, but a slow decay?
And this so swells my Misery,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
IX
All Creatures love their Element,And pleasure there enjoy and rest;
And if by Death they are disseas'd
To their first nothing they are sent:
But I'm beyond kind Death's extent,
And yet so many hardships try,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
91
X
When in the Eucharist my dull Soul,Eating thy Flesh it self would ease,
A thousand thoughts for entrance press,
And there not to enjoy Thee whole,
Whole, and alone, I a 'new condole;
For 'tis the Voice of every Sigh,
That I die, cause I cannot die.
XI
I please my self ith' Hopes, 'tis true,E're long, my God, of seeing Thee;
But fearing lest they false should be,
My Torments with my Fears renew,
And both so close my Soul pursue,
Hoping mid both so heartily,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
XII
Lord, from this Death deliver me,And Life thus beg'd at length bestow!
Why should I still be kept below?
Look how I die for love of Thee!
And since enjoy'd Thou canst not be
In this Lifes death, regard my cry,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
XII
My dying Life I'll then lament,And living Death in Tears bewail;
For my Sins sake those Foes prevail,
92
To my release at length consent,
Nor let me grieve eternally,
That I die, 'cause I cannot die.
L'Envoy.
Blest Soul! that hither couldst arrive,How do I love yet envy Thee,
Wishing my self this Extasie,
And that th' Example Thou dost give,
Would make me less afraid to live;
And to each close of Thine reply!
That I die, cause I cannot die!
20. May, 1668.
The Flight.
I
No wonder, Soul, thou so admir'st a Verse,And countst thy self in its Possession brave;
For 'tis, what e're thou canst desire to have,
On this side Heav'n, but more to make, than to rehearse.
II
'Tis th' end of Preaching, Loves best Exercise,The Quintessence of Prayer, Praises refin'd;
A Change exstatic into th' Heav'nly Mind,
And on whose soaring Wings above the World I rise.
93
III
O, could I always stay where 't first sets me!How naked looking down would th' World appear!
Its Joys how empty, and how vain its Fear;
Another flight would make me leave Mortality.
IV
For as the sealed Dove so high does towre;That i'th' pure Air at last it flying dies;
So should I mount too, and above the Skies,
Rapt to th' Etern aboads unfeel my dying Hour.
V
But I must live still, and my flight to bound,Till truly seal'd, there something, Lord, will be;
Some Work of Thine be' it, be it but a Tree,
Eve'n there I nearer Heav'n shall rest, than on the Ground.
22. Jan. 1671–2. noctu.
Exsurrexi & adhuc sum tecum
94
An Hymn and Prayer, To the Holy JESUS my Lord.
Parode.
[_]
The hint and manner of stanza taken from the last Canzone of Fr. Petrarc. lib. 11. Virgine bella.
I
Jesu, th' Eternal Sun of Righteousness,Unlike our Mortal Suns, which Rise, and Set,
Subliming this, and t'other World with Light,
Love bids me of Thy wondrous Power to Treat,
But how Thy Power, or Wonders to express,
I know not, till Thou make my Darkness bright,
And with Thy Beams dispel the shades of Night:
Therefore I beg Thy aid,
JESU, to whom I' have pray'd,
And still pray, that I worthy Thee may write;
Illustriously o're all th' Expansion shine,
And if I 'm weak to endure
A Light so pure, dart through my Verse a ray Divine.
II
JESU, the Wisdom of the Deity,In whom the Mistic Treasures are conceal'd,
Be'yond Reasons search, of the Eternal Mind,
And with whose Stripes the Afflicted World is heal'd;
Proof against Death, the Vanguishts Victory,
Under whose Standart to its God rejoyn'd,
Love for the Noblest Service is design'd,
Love that's a Rebel now,
JESU, so Great that Thou
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That I some Trophies of Thy Power may boast,
When Thou dost Conquering ride,
I'll Crowns provide, and sing Thy Triumphs through his Coast.
III
JESU, the Virgins, and the Martyr's Wreath,Who without Spot, or Wrinkle didst adorn
The fairest Soul, which in a Body all,
Of Charms was wondrously Conceiv'd, and Born;
Fought'st, and wast fought, resign'dst thy labouring Breath,
The Lost to Save, and from the Dungeon call
Hopes weary Pris'ners, and Death's Captive thrall,
To Thrones, at Thy Right Hand,
JESU, as Thou dost stand
At Thy Great Father's, in Heav'ns Judgment Hall;
Grant me the Grace, and Thou the Grace canst grant,
That when Thou shalt come next,
Tho now perplext, to attend, Thee then I nothing want.
IV
JESU, in whom the Godhead does repose,Infinites Comprehension, and the Bound
Of boundless Majesty, fathomless Deep,
With Thorns first pierc'd, and e're with Glory Crown'd,
Submitted to the Triumphs of Thy Foes,
A Man of Sorrows, and inur'd to weep;
Substantial God, and Man, who both dost keep
Unmixt, and Unconfus'd,
JESU, th' Untoucht, and Bruis'd,
Quickning the Dead, yet who ith' Grave didst sleep;
'Tis Thou hast broke our Bands, th' Uusurper hurld
Headlong into the Pit,
In whose sides sit the great Disturbers of the World.
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V
JESU, the Way, the Truth, whose Life does giveThe' exactest Method how we may direct
Our wandring Course to Thy Divine Aboad,
And whence, seduc'd to stray, is not to Live;
A Way Thy self, while here Unerring trode,
And now Exalted dost with Blessings load;
A Way, which rough at first,
JESU, appears and Curst,
But entred once proves worthy Thee and God;
Shew me Thy Way, nor take it in ill part,
Since I am blind and weak,
If I bespeak Thee' in that, whose Guide and End Thou art.
VI
JESU, Whose Cross the surest Anchor makes,Both strong and sure, entring within the Vail,
Where Passions waves, how fierce and uncontroul'd
So e're, rage not, (and yet they dare assail
The holiest Place, and Heav'n ith' Tempest shakes)
Thou seest how there I have fixt all my hold,
And am ith' midst of Storms and Floods grown bold:
Yet still there is a Shelf,
JESU, I mean my Self,
'Gainst which I am in danger to be roll'd.
I sink, O now thy saving Hand forth stretch!
Now e're my Head with th' Weeds,
Which this Sea breeds, is wrapt, and I'm below Thy reach!
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VII
JESU, how many Tears have I in vain,How many Sighs, and Prayers in vain pour'd out,
Tho by th' expence my Flame alone's encreast!
My Life from its first Stage, trac'd all about,
Unchang'd by change of Habit, 's nought but Pain,
Anguish and Torment, void of Peace and Rest;
Nay even my Soul Heav'n-born, has been opprest,
And humbled to the Grave:
JESU, make hast to save,
Nor tarry, tho of Men I 'have lov'd Thee least!
Now help, to Morrow may not be so well,
For Misery and Sin
Have me 'on the Wing, and where they 'll pitch me who can tell?
VIII
JESU, one half of me's already gone,So gone, that tho I have piec'd up the Rent,
Methinks I'm not the perfect thing I was,
Tho happy still in that I am content,
And who shall be more perfect when th' World's done,
And One made Three into' One again shall pass:
Unhappy Man, unhappy were my case,
Such doubts gave'st Thou not skill,
JESU, to Reconcile,
Thou who see'st Past and Future in one Glass!
Dear Lord, for whom too hard there nothing is,
Give all my Griefs such end,
As may intend Thy Honour first, and then my Bliss.
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IX
JESU, my Confidence, my Hope, my Fear,Able to help in time of Need, and Free,
O leave me not, when my last Hour shall come,
Not for my sake, but His, who Ransom'd me!
Merit crys, No. But th' Image which I bear
Pleads hard, and would for Ancient Love make room;
Tho I have been betray'd by Errors doom,
To a Fairy Wood, and Brook,
JESU, my Shepherd, look,
Find Thy lost Sheep, and bring the Stragler home!
Of Streams so troubled, may I drink no more,
Or having found my Way,
Any more stray, or wander as I did before!
X
JESU, My God, who far off seest the Proud,And hatest him, let Thy Blood some pity move,
An Heart all bruis'd, and contrite to regard,
That does at length bewail its sottish love;
And which, if once it can get free, has vowd,
'Twill that and all things else for Thee discard,
Twill more than ever eye th' ador'd Reward,
And purg'd with sacred Flame,
JESU, to Thy great Name,
No cost of Wit, or Verse being basely spar'd,
Its Life, and Hymns, and Service dedicate,
To Thee own its chang'd desires,
Kiss the soft Fires, and blame it self that 'twas so late.
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XI
JESU, to whom that Name, as the Prize is given,Of all Thou didst and sufferedst without measure,
The mighty Dowry, which Thou broughtst Thy Wife,
Deaths plague, Hells spoil, but whose exstatic Pleasure
Is for the Marriage Feast reserv'd, in Heav'n,
Whither I haste, to be than hope more rife,
And plentiful; (Lo!) the short Day of Life
Posts swiftly on, and flies;
JESU, in my Agonies,
Tho now with Death and Hell I am at strife,
Let me experience this Names healthful ease,
And after a long War,
With Truces rare, in 'it Conquer, and depart in Peace.
Comiato.
Thus, tho with different heat of Spirit, and Verse,What Petrarch sang to another,
JESU, Thy Virgin Mother,
The stops in part chang'd, I to Thee rehearse:
I chang'd the stops, (for under Thy Broad Seal,
Thou givest us no Commission,
Her to Petition) and from her to Thee appeal.
Altro Comiato.
And now be pleas'd to accept this humble Praise,Other, and better Fruit,
JESU, of all my Suit,
I dare not beg; eve'n Pardon here is Bays.
And for the Prayers, dropt more from my Heart than Pen,
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And words, which chime, say, as I to them say, AMEN.
I'l Terzo.
When I sent it to Sir Kingsmil Lucy.
At London, Song, Thy Russet, and Thy Freeze,Will seem, I fear, but course;
Jesu, they'll cry, or worse,
See! the dull fleghm of Solitude and Trees.
Thus will the Fops treat Thee, those Wits by Rote;
Yet one Thou 'lt know, e're long,
Who will own Thee, Song, and see Thy Beauties through Thy Coat.
An HYMN for Vespers.
Φως ιλαρον αγιας δοξης
Th' Immortal Fathers chearful shine,
Ray of Glory, all Divine,
Equally with Him fair, and bright;
When we see the Day decline,
Calling the sluggish Evening on,
We praise the Father and the Son,
And in our Lauds the Spirit joyn,
“Worthy art Thou, O God, we say,
“Worthy, O Son of God, art Thou,
“And Thou, of Life the Lord and Giver,
“Worthy to be Prais'd for ever,
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“And with th' whole World thus Crown each Day!
LENT.
Sestina al' Italiana Convertimento a Dio.
I
Welcome, great Queen of Fasts, thrice welcome Lent,With solemn Penance, and Devotion crownd,
Sweet Abstinence, clean thoughts, and chaste desires,
The Wings, whereby th' unpinion'd Soul does rise
Above this lower Circle, and exchange
Substantial Cares, for Joys unmixt and pure.
II
I well remember, when with thoughts less pure,Nor more to Piety a Friend, than Lent,
Pleas'd I could well have been ne're to exchange
My course of Living, no, tho to be Crown'd
With Bays Immortal, and Exalted rise,
In hopes as large, as are my chang'd desires.
III
But that time's gone, and with it those desires,Which held me down, and in their stead a pure
Ethereal Flame, which upward still does rise;
Kind thoughts of what's esteem'd severe in Lent,
My Soul (the Victim) has for the Alter Crownd
And ee'n burnt up, nor would I 'again exchange.
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IV
This was Thy Work, Lord, Thou 'twas didst exchangeWhat was beyond my power to curb, stubborn desires,
Making them subject to the Head Thou 'hadst Crownd;
And now I'm Victor, with Robes clean, and pure,
(Pure to what once I wore) and this new Lent,
To 'attend the Triumph, rich in Spoils does rise.
V
And as that rises, such hope I to rise,When on the Fasts great close I shall exchange
For Easters Sun, the dewy Pearls of Lent;
Bathing, like Oar, with frequent Tears, desires,
Which only such a Flame can render pure,
Fin'd from all Dross, and worthy to be Crown'd.
VI
Hast Thee, blest Day, wherein with Glory crownd,The Worlds great Saviour from the Grave did rise;
And credence gives His Spouse, that like Him pure,
She shall rise too, and all her Spots exchange,
For Glories, larger than her vast desires,
And the' Pious Resveries of an holy Lent.
Were Lent, and Primitive Institutes thus Crown'd
With purgd Desires, and Lives, their Fame would rise,
And none the Church exchange, to be more Pure.
With purgd Desires, and Lives, their Fame would rise,
And none the Church exchange, to be more Pure.
Sent to my Excellent Patron, Sir Nicholas
Stuart, Baronet, 1672–3.
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The Song of the ANGELS,
At the Fall of Lucifer.
I
Son of the Morning, First-born of the Light,The once bright Phospher of the Day Divine,
How art Thou hurld into eternal Night,
And hid in Flames, who didst with Glory shine!
The bold Usurper of th' Almighty's Crown,
Proud Lucifer, to Hell is thrown,
And sing'd the Heav'ns, as he from thence fell headlong down.
II
“Above the Heav'ns, he said, I will ascend“And there above the Stars exalt my Throne,
“My Conquests in the North I will extend,
“And God a parted Rule shall have, or none:
“Above the heights ne're reacht before I'll flie,
“And equal made with the Most High,
“Or gain an honourable Fall, or Victory.
III
Scarce said, a pointed Thunderbolt was sentFrom th' Hand Divine, which pierc'd him to the heart.
In vain he sought the Vengeance to prevent,
And to Almighty Strength oppos'd his Art.
But down he sank, and down the Monster fell,
The stroke, nor bore, nor could repel,
And exil'd once the Heav'ns, the next descent was Hell.
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IV
Hell from beneath to meet him rais'd its Head,“And now no longer shall we empty be,
“Since Thou art come, the pale Abyssus said,
Look! How we dress our Flames to welcome Thee!
And all with Flames they Circled him around,
With Flames their Princes Temples bound,
An Heav'n of Flames they made him, strewd with Flames the Ground.
V
Rejoyce, O Heav'ns, for your Oppressor 's ceast,And tho e're long there shall from Earth ascend,
An unknown Race, which shall disturb your rest;
Rejoyce, and their Triumphant Arms attend,
For when by these you shall invaded be,
With Tears, and Importunity,
Thus to be Conquer'd is to gain the Victory.
VI
Son of the Morning, First-born of the Light,The once bright Phospher of the Day Divine,
How art Thou hurld into eternal Night,
And hid in Flames, who didst with Glory shine:
The bold Usurper of th' Almighty's Crown,
Proud Lucifer to Hell is thrown,
And sing'd the Heav'ns, as he from thence fell headlong down.
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L'Envoy.
SONG, that long since wert finished,And for another Place design'd,
Than what Thou here dost find,
In a long Work, and long since promised;
Say that (the Piles Foundations laid)
The 'unwary Builder all his Charge has lost;
For till begun
As a Wise Man should first have done,
He did not, as was fit, sit down;
Throughly the Ground had not survey'd
His Friends, or Strength had tri'd, or reckned up the cost.
Convertimento á Dio.
Lord, my First-fruits should have been brought to thee,
Whose due I am, and all that's mine,
By Birth-right Thou a Title hast to me,
And by Command those Fruits are Thine;
But Thine, or mine, neither have bin
Offered before to Sin.
Whose due I am, and all that's mine,
By Birth-right Thou a Title hast to me,
And by Command those Fruits are Thine;
But Thine, or mine, neither have bin
Offered before to Sin.
Sin came, and first conceal'd my right in Thee,
And then usurpt what e're was mine,
But let Redemption clear Thy Right to me,
And then both shall again be Thine,
Both Thine and mine, tho they have bin,
Offered before to Sin,
And then usurpt what e're was mine,
But let Redemption clear Thy Right to me,
And then both shall again be Thine,
Both Thine and mine, tho they have bin,
Offered before to Sin,
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Instead of First-fruits, Lord, I bring to Thee,
Th' whole Harvest, which yet is not mine,
Thou in return shalt give Thy self to me
And make it so, because 'tis Thine:
Both Thine and mine, as if 't had bin,
Neve'r offered up to Sin.
Th' whole Harvest, which yet is not mine,
Thou in return shalt give Thy self to me
And make it so, because 'tis Thine:
Both Thine and mine, as if 't had bin,
Neve'r offered up to Sin.
Deo Opt. Max. S.
Qui huc usque auxiliatus est & in futurum mihi Providebit.
This Altar to Thy Name, Great God, I raise,
The Pious Labour of my too late Praise:
With Stones from Thine own sacred Quarry brought,
Tho by my Artless Hand but rudely wrought.
Artless and rude, tho its Traces be,
Methinks I by it clearly see,
My Past Supports, and Future care,
And what of both 'is my present share,
The Guidance of the Love Divine,
Making me call his Pleasure mine.
O let it in Thy Presence stand,
Inviolable from any Hand.
And when on it thou deignst to look,
Write down the Votary in Thy Book.
Who at its Foot, has his Dependance set,
And in th' Inscription thus proclaimes Thee Great;
To God, who hitherto has helpt; my only Trust,
And for the Future will provide, for He is Just.
Ad Psalmos, 1667.
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[_]
The following Compositions and Translations are therefore here Printed by the Authors consent and allowance (suitable enough to the general Title of RIMES, and he hopes not unbecoming his Habit, tho done the most of them long before his Admission into Holy Orders) because they have (as to such of them at least, which he could much rather have wished lost and forgotten) by some too curious Collector of such Trifles against his will and knowledg, been already from very false Copies very falsly Published, and he is not wholly out of danger for the rest, as neither was he till now for a good number of those above, whose Copies he doubts are in many Hands.
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ODE.
Ad Passagium inducendum.
I.
O aspettata in ciel Beata, &c.
Blest Soul, in Heaven expected long,
(And long in Heav'n mayst Thou expected be,
Who 'art cloath'd, not loaded with Humanity,
Like others, but more Resolute, and Strong,
Of God belove'd, those briny Paths to tread,
Which from our unjoyn'd World, unto his Kingdom lead)
Look how a Western Gale,
Do's on Thy Barques spred Canvass blow,
Loos'd from the Shore long since, with hoys'd up Sail,
A better Port than what Thou leav'st to know!
The Wind is to Thy Service prest,
And from this gloomy Vale, where we complain,
Both of our own, and others Wrongs in vain,
Of Thy first Innocence possest,
In a strait Line will drive Thee to Thy Rest,
And, whether now thou 'art bound, to the true East.
II.
Forse I devoti, &c.
'Twas, that or now the fervent Prayers
Of holy Men, re'inforced by their Tears,
Had on th' Eternal Goodness wrought;
Or if both Prayers, and Tears were weak,
And useless Arms to stop th' Almighty Justice thought,
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Twas that of His meer Love alone,
Heav'ns Sacred King, again deny'd,
Again by 'His Murdr'ous Enemies defi'd,
Ith' place where He in triumph Di'd,
In pity thither did at length look down.
He lookt, and in the generous Brest,
Of holy Charles revenge inspir'd;
Revenge, which was too long desir'd,
Revenge, whose lingring Europe did infest,
But only to be greater was a while deferr'd.
Thus would He help his Spouse belov'd,
And of a War just Heav'n approv'd,
The bare report found Babylon thoughtful, left her mov'd.
III.
Chiunque alberga 'tra Garonna, &c.
All, who between the Alps and Garoone dwell,
Twixt Rhodanus, and Rhene, and the salt Sea,
The Christian Armies with their Banners swell;
Whole Spain, that Jealous ever us'd to be
Of others Honour, to the Camp does come,
Leaving the Pirenes behind, to guard its empty Home.
Britain, and all the Isles that lie,
From th' Orcades extremity,
To where the Straits do Afric bound,
With all where e're is found
But the first Traces of the Gospels sound,
Various in Garb, various in Arms and Speech,
Chari'ty does to th' high Impress provoke, or else beseech.
And worthier her, what could be ever done,
Or who has e're so just a War begun?
Not Menelaus for his Wife, nor Minos for his Son.
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IV.
Una parte del mondo è, &c.
Up in the North midst Winter, and thick Snow,
Beyond the Suns auspicious Ray,
Where Clouds and Storms mete out the short liv'd Day,
Is bred a Nation, which did never know
Peace, and her Charms, or if it did, but as a Foe;
Who ne're were heard, or Wounds to flie, or Pain,
Or of Deaths Icy Fetters to complain,
That were their Country to upbraid, and Birth to stain.
These, more devout grown than of old,
With German rage, have of the Sword tane hold.
Turks, Arabs, Saracens, and the shame
They go against of Heathen Deities,
Only to know were to despise,
As fit but with their Blood, their bordring Sea anew to name.
A People naked, timo'rous, ignorant of War,
That ne're strook blow, but from a far,
And only with their Arrows wound the bloodless Air.
V.
Dunque hora è 'l tempo, &c.
Now is the time, from our too patient Neck,
That ancient Yoke, wherewith we' are gall'd, to break,
And from our Eyes the Vail to lay aside,
Which both the Ene'mies weakness, and our strength does hide.
And now, my Friend, is an occasion seen,
Wherein you may those Virtues show,
Which part from Heav'n you have, and part have gaind below;
The Trophies of your Tongue, and learned Pen
Nor will it longer any Wonder be,
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Whose Songs tam'd Beasts, and Stones did lead,
When of your own a greater Miracle you see,
And Men more Deaf, and Salvager than they,
Led by your Skill, go where you point the Way.
When Italy, awak'ned by the sound
Of your loud Voice, and all her Sons around,
Rise from their sleep, expecting that bright Day,
When they' may get him Laurels, who with Thorns was Crownd.
Ne're had that Aged Mother yet,
An opportunity so fair, her Sons a cause more great.
VI.
Tu c' hai per arrichir, &c.
Thou, who to' enrich the Treasure of thy Brain,
Hast many a flying Roll turnd o're,
Of th' present Times, and those that went before,
And on those Wings to Heav'n aloft dost soar,
Seeing the Fates of Empires all beneath Thee plain;
Full well Thou knowst how in the Roman State,
From the first Day that Mars his Son,
In Blood laid its Foundation,
Till great Augustus, who thrice entred the triumphal Gate,
Rome of her Blood was ever free,
And for the Wrongs her Alleys bore,
Without regret that Sacrifice could see:
And shall she now more sparing be,
When stricter Bands, and sacred Piety,
Expect, and challenge more,
Her Saviour to revenge, and Sepul'cher to restore?
What help can Nature yield, or Art,
Or what faint hopes inforce the Enemies part,
When from Christ's Hand is thrown the first & fatal Dart?
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VII.
Pon mente al temerario, &c.
Think of Proud Xerxes bold design,
Who to approach and tread our Shore
Europe and Asia, with a Bridg did joyn,
And Seas an Outrage bore,
Which Rivers only felt unwillingly before.
The Persian Dames, who thought to Greet
Their Husbands Victo'ries, and their Conquests meet,
At their o're-throw confounded stood,
In Black they Mourn'd, and th' Hellespont triumph'd in Blood.
Nor is't this Naval Victory alone,
Which like Success does promise you;
But the unlucky Marathon,
To th' Father so, as Thermopyle was to the Son,
When brave Leonidas, with but a few,
Maintain'd those Straits, and like a Lion flew,
Or Eagle on the Prey, and did more than Subdue.
With thousand Histories more,
Which you'my Friend, have heard and read, and treasur'd up in store.
Wherefore the least which you can do,
Devoutly is that God to Praise,
Who for such haypy Times, and hopes has cast your Days.
Comiato.
To Rome long since, and Tybers Streams,Petrarch this Ode, when his, did recommend;
To London now, and the more honour'd Thames,
Since thus made mine, I it abroad will send,
(Where more judicious Spi'rits its numbers will attend,)
113
All other Wars being thrown aside,
In vain 'twixt Brethren for false Glory often tri'd,
In an Eternal League to' unite,
And where the true may be 'easier gain'd, with Infidels to fight.
1668.
ODE.
To the Right Reverend Father in God GEORGE Lord Bishop of Winton, my very good Lord.
I.
Una Donna piu bella.
A fair, and Vertuous Dame,
Bright as the Mid-day Sun, but more Divine,
My tender Age first overcame,
And made me to her part my Fortunes joyn.
With thoughts uncommon she my Mind inspir'd,
Then gave me Words their Image to express,
Whilst the dull World judg'd me to sloth retir'd,
Or piti'd, (which was worse) my Unhappiness,
(For such it counts those gifts, which Heav'n-born Souls possess.)
Through thousand ways she was my guide,
And changing still from what I was,
Tho her fair Eyes she with a Vail did hide,
I felt their Influence through my Liver pass;
So that for love of her I 'have undergone
Such Hardships, and such Risques have run,
That if at last I shall arrive
114
Beyond the power of Death, an Age, which She can give.
II.
Questa mia Donna.
'Twas many a Year, that thus She led me on,
Big with Conceit, and Youthful Fire;
For trial, as I since have known,
If I'd prove constant to my first desire,
Shewing me now her Mantle, Shade, or Vest,
But to my Fancy leaving all the rest:
With which yet well enough content,
My Youth I in her Service spent
So pleasantly, that I can scarce the Time repent.
At length, prevail'd on by my Prayers,
My Importunity, and Tears,
Her Glories She was pleas'd to show;
But then how little was't that I before did know?
“'Twas midnight with me sure, I said, till now.
And with the sight there rose a storm of Cares,
Amaz'd I at the Vision stood,
Wisht in my Arms, what yet I fear'd too good,
A Flame was in my Heart, and Ice was in my Blood.
III.
Ma non me'l tolse la paura.
In this Surprize the heat I felt within
Gave me new Courage, and did make me bold;
Whilst the chil Fetters, which did hold
My Captive Powers, to loosen did begin,
And nearer I approacht to 'admire her Beauties yet unseen.
I came, and gazing stood, when she
115
“Now, Friend, that I am Fair, said, you may see,
“Possibly Fairer than you ghest I was,
“I'm sure more Powerful, for what ever now
“Befits your Years but ask, and I'll bestow.
“'Tis a long time, Fair One, I said,
“That on you only have I placed my love,
“The Joys of which I here most truly prove,
“With Air before, and empty Shadows fed;
“But now so strangely smitte'n, that to require
“Ought but your Pleasure, were my' own ruine to desire.
With a Voice then, and look Divine,
Which chase'd my Fears, and did my Hope refine,
In this most gracious Speech, she answer'd mine.
IV.
Rado fu al mondo, &c.
“In your mad World, and its Impertinence,
“'Tis rare, but when my Worth is heard,
“The veriest Stock has felt some little sense,
“And my just Service for a time preferr'd:
“In love to me, and my rewards would burn;
“Only my cruel Enemy,
“That seeks what e're I build to overturn,
“Quenches the Flames I kindle with mine Eye,
“And makes all Vertue die;
“Promising largely, what he ne're can grant,
“Those Pleasures, and that ease he crys my Subjects want.
“But Love, my Friend, has said so much of you,
“And all he said I find so true,
“That you henceforth my Charge shall be,
“Unsought for Honours both to Gain, and Merit too.
“One of my choicest Friends I'll stile you now,
116
“Than me you 'admire, where you more richly may your Love bestow.
V.
I 'volea dir, &c.
That can ne're be, I was about to say,
“When look she added to that Gallery,
('Twas a large Balcone rais'd on High)
“And if you can my words deny!
“Such Beauties are not seen by all, nor every Day.
I lookt, but strait inclin'd my Head,
With Wonder struck, and sacred Dread;
I lookt again, and felt within,
A new, and greater Flame begin:
Which as she saw her Railliery thus she drest,
“I well enough know where-about you are,
“And as the Sun, when he doth first appear,
“Makes every Star its twinkling ray devest,
“Perceive my Eyes now seem less bright,
“Since thus obscur'd by 'a greater Light;
“Tho to be hers, you need not me to leave,
“For to us both one Seed and Birth did being give,
“She as the Elder first, then I did mine receive.
VI.
Ruppesi in tanto, &c.
A Strain so sweet my Tongue unloos'd,
And fearing now no more the Shame
I had conceiv'd, upon my hasty Flame,
Least my first Love should deem her self abus'd,
Thus I repli'd: “If this be true
(“And who dare doubt it once, since said by you)
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“In which you two into the World were brought!
“And such from hence shall all that time be thought,
“Which others tell I' have fondly thrown away.
“'Tis now my Trouble more,
“Than e're it was my Joy before,
“That I reacht here so late, or did no sooner stray.
“But if I'm worthy, and 'tis fit to show
“Of your Condition more than what I know,
“A greater Honour you to none can ever do.
Looking me then to th' very Heart,
And with her Eye engraving there,
What e're she spake, in a deep Character,
Fixt and Compos'd she thus resum'd her part.
VII.
Si come piacque, &c.
“Know then, 'twas our Eternal Father's Will,
“That we, like Him, should both Immortal be;
“But what's all that to you the while?
“Wretches enamour'd of your Slavery,
“For whom 'twere better, that the fault were ours,
“Of all the disrespect we find, than that 'tis only yours.
“Courted and Lov'd we were of Old,
“But now to such a Pass reduc'd,
“That she to Heav'n, and Contemplation us'd,
“Has taken Flight to reach her ancient hold:
“I stay'd behind a while, but have been so abus'd,
“That thither too I'll 'scape e're long,
“And only where she gives the ground, inspire the Song:
“For of my self I'm but her empty shade.
Then turning as about to go,
“But first receive as both our Gift, she said,
“This Wreath, which we for you together made!
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Immortal Bays, my Temples all around.
Comiato.
To FERNHAM, Song, I'd have thee go,Where thy great Patron at first sight will know
Both what's thy Sense, and Mystery;
Nor need'st thou Him, as thou must others show,
When they ask who these Virgins be,
That one is sacred POESY,
Th' other the Heav'nly Maid, THEOLOGY:
With whom thy Master long since deep in Love,
And destitute of Friends,
The fair One in his Suit to move,
Thee on the Message to his Palace sends.
Only remember thou his Leisure wait,
And nor intrude too soon, nor stay too late!
If He says thou art none of mine,
And so to Petrarch more incline,
Tell him our Thoughts were equal, as our Fate;
And that there lacks one Spirit to Write, and to Translate.
1668.
Sonnet of the same.
Ad promotionem in S. S. Ordines.
Prepare thy Chariot, Love, and heaviest Chain,That for my Muses Sister, this for me,
For I at length have got the Victory,
And loaded thus must grace her pompous Train!
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The mighty Spoil, were Importunity,
Freedom renounc'd, and sacred Vows to be
Her Slave, o're whom I should the Victory gain.
Mysterious War! yet since thou dost delight,
Great Love, thy Sov'raignty to exercise
In such unheard of Contrarieties,
Lo! how I suit my entrance to the Fight:
The Victor is in Chains led Captive Home,
And she in Triumph Rides, who was o'recome.
ODE.
The Apology.
I
Quel antiquo mio, &c.
Citing my old, and cruel Master, Love,
Before that Queen, which holds our part Divine,
And first descending from the Seats above,
Ith' Brain enthron'd with Heavenly Light does shine,
I shew'd my self like Gold, by Flames made fine.
Loaded I came, with Horrour, Grief, and Fear,
Those heavy Chains my Jaylor on me laid,
And as a Wretch, who begs his Judg to hear,
Tho Self-condemn'd, and of pale Death afraid,
I bow'd to th' Bar, and all in Tears thus said:
“In an ill Hour, Great Queen, I toucht the Land
“Of this false Prince, where Rage, and Pride command;
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“Such different Torments, that with Pain quite spent,
“My Life seem'd more a burden than delight,
“And Patience was o'recome, tho next to Infinite.
II
Cosi 'l mia tempo, &c
“In Pains, and Anguish, spending thus my Age,
“How many Seasons did I, Fool, despise,
“My self in Noble Studies to engage,
“Whereby in Wealth I might, and Honour rise,
“Deceiv'd of both by empty Flatteries?
“But where's the Wit that can such Words command,
“And at its pleasure fit Expressions call,
“That others may my Miseries understand,
“And how I'm just to implead this Criminal?
“How little Hony has Love, and how much Gall!
“I tasted both, but both were temper'd so,
“The sweet above, the bitter lay below;
“Seducing to fond Amours by surprize,
“A Soul, if I mistake not, made to rise,
“And up in Heav'n Exalted look more fair:
“Nor did Love only break my Peace, but rais'd new War.
III
Questi m' ha fatto, &c.
“My God, I'm sure, He less has made me love,
“Ten thousand times less than a Creature ought;
“Nor could I to my self more faithful prove,
“While for a Mistress I by him was brought,
“To slight compar'd with her all other thought.
“Love was my Counsellor, that Enemy,
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“Whilst all in vain I for Repose did cry,
“Permitted me no leisure to respire,
“But to asswage the burning brought more Fire.
“(Alas!) what profit's it to have a mind
“By Heav'ns best Gifts, and purest Flame refin'd,
“Since tho my Hairs, through Age I'm changing still,
“I ne're, O, ne're can change my' unruly Will;
“Become to this fierce One so much a Slave,
“By use, that it were Death my Liberty to have!
IV
Cercar m' ba fatto, &c.
“Strange Coasts he' has made me seek, and Forraign Lands,
“And thousand Perils blindly undergo;
“Sometime by Robbers, sometime rolling Sands,
“Ready to be devour'd, rude Manners know,
“And Pilgrim like no Guide my way to show.
“Mountains I 'have past, and Vales, rough Storms, and Seas,
“Treading on Snares, too close to be descry'd;
“And in my wandrings, stranger than all these,
“Have Winter seen on th' Wings of Summer ride,
“With Dangers only running by my side.
“But nor him, nor my other Enemy,
“Could I by flight escape, or secresie;
“So that with Death if I unconquer'd strove,
“The thanks are Heav'ns, and none belong to Love.
“This tyran Love, who by my Grief revives,
“Feeds on my Pain, and by my Torment only lives.
122
V
Poi che suo fui.
“Not one free Hour, since his, have I enjoy'd,
“Nor hope to 'enjoy; eve'n sleep from the sad Night
“Is bannisht, and my former rest destroy'd;
“In vain by Herbs, or Charms, I seek my right,
“For what by Fraud he 'has got, he keeps by Might.
“Usurping Tyran! and he knows 'tis true,
“When I add further, my just Charge to swell,
“The Darkness only did my Pain renew,
“Nor wanted I, oft heard, times Passing-Bell,
“Who by my Groans the weary Hours could tell.
“What more? Gnawing he in my Brest does lie,
“And long sought Death, does to th' assault defie;
“Hence flow my Tears, and hence my Flames arise,
“Hence my Complaints, and all those dolorous Sighs,
“With which my self I tire, and others too,
“Great Queen, who knowst us both, between us Justice do!
VI
Il mio Adversario.
I spake—but Love all in a rage reply'd,
“Now t'other part, Great Queen, be pleas'd to hear!
“The Truths which this Ingrate has sought to hide,
“I to your Clemency will make appear,
“And Sentence, till I 'have spoken too, forbear!
“Know then this Wretch, with Mercenary Breath,
“Not Words alone, but Lyes had learnt to sell;
“Till I his Youth reclaim'd, and from that Death,
“Whither he was hasting, brought him sound, and well,
“In pure Delights, sore 'against his Will to dwell.
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“At th' happy Port, where he has safely liv'd;
“And this he grieves, this he calls Misery,
“And all those unsought Favours shown by me;
“A Fame, which by his Birth he ne're had gain'd,
“Till I who rais'd his Wit, that Honour too obtain'd.
VII
Ei sa che'l grande Atride.
“He knows that Menelaus, and Achilles too,
“And Anibal, and a greater than all these,
“The mighty Scipio I did once subdue,
“And after all their Wars, enslav'd in Peace,
“Giving them Waiting-Maids for Mistresses.
“But for him Wretch, a Love so sacred chose,
“And of a Million so beyond compare,
“That Heav'n alone such sublim'd Beauties knows,
“This World has nothing half so bright, or fair,
“Not Rome it self, tho its Lucrece were there.
“Nor was this all, but gave withal a Voice,
“And of Harmonious Numbers so great choice,
“Such skill to Sing, that nothing base, or low,
“E're reacht his Thoughts, except his Malice now.
“These my Deceits were, these my Flatteries,
“For which I'm charg'd, which others would as Honours prize.
VIII
Questo fu il fel, &c.
“This was the Gall, these the Disdains and Ire,
(“Favours too great to be so soon forgot)
“By which I kindled the most sacred Fire;
124
“Who for a thankless Man thus long have wrought.
“If under me he has the Skill attain'd,
“To Ravish all, who do his Numbers hear,
“If with the Good, he such Respect has gain'd,
“And with the Great, that to' him they Deference bear,
“How high so e're he Soar'd, I fixt him there.
“Till now perchance some servile Wretch he' had been,
“A Brawler at some Bar, without esteem;
“But I first rais'd him, made him first be known,
“Nor were those Arts he Riots in, his own,
“But in my School he first procur'd the Grace,
“And then from her, who next me his great Mistris was.
IX
E per dir al extremo, &c.
“Yet last of all, hear his grand Slavery,
“And you will think he' has reason to complain:
“From thousand Chains of Vice I set him free,
“By Her, whose Favour he could never gain
“By any Act, which had the smallest stain.
“Temp'rate, and Modest in design and deed,
“Since a Liege Man of hers, he still has been;
“Who with great thoughts his abject Soul did feed,
“And of her self ith' Cure threw so much in,
“That to be like her he did strait begin.
“What e're he boasts then, worthy Praise or Fame,
“From us the Spoilers of his Fortune came;
“But ne're was Dream so wild, or humorous,
“To itself so strange, as he has been to us;
“For tho by us he's known to God, and Man,
“The Happiness he or repents, or does disdain.
125
X
Anchor & questo è qual, &c.
“There's one thing more, which all the rest out-does,
“I gave him Plumes to mount above the Skies,
“By Mortal things, which, to the Man who knows
“The Learning, like a Towring Pyramis,
“To the first Maker by degrees arise;
“For seeing well how great, and wondrous fair,
“Vertue in her, whom he ador'd did shine,
“From thence he might to' himself present the Air,
“By Heav'nly Vision, of the Cause Divine,
“As himself sings, and proves this Charge of mine.
“But I'm forgot now, and with me that Dame
“I gave him, to support his Life, and Fame.
Whereat I shriekt, and answer'd, tho in pain:
“Well might he give, who took her soon again.
“Not I, but God, from whom She first did come,
“He smartly turn'd, with him would have her live at Home.
1667.
XI
Al fin ambo, &c.
—Then pressing both to th' Bar,
I trembling, clamorous he, and over rude,
Both of us did in one Request conclude:
“Great Queen, we wait what Sentence you will give.
On both she smil'd, but did us both deceive;
“Pleas'd with your Pleadings are we, she reply'd,
“But it requires more time your Difference to decide.
126
BALLAD.
Prophane Love.
Love is a Net, and Love's a Snare,
A Thief disguis'd is Love;
Poyson below, Honey above,
A Serpent under Flowers most fair,
Fatal as Death, whose bitings are:
A Whirl-pool sounded ne're to be,
And a foul Sea from Tempests never free.
A Thief disguis'd is Love;
Poyson below, Honey above,
A Serpent under Flowers most fair,
Fatal as Death, whose bitings are:
A Whirl-pool sounded ne're to be,
And a foul Sea from Tempests never free.
Love is a Lion robb'd of his Prey,
A Wolf with Famin pin'd;
Love is a Fortress undermin'd,
A Fire, whose flames no Floods allay;
Flattery, which does our Life betray;
A Labrinth pleasant to the Eye,
But without Clew to guide the Wanderer by.
A Wolf with Famin pin'd;
Love is a Fortress undermin'd,
A Fire, whose flames no Floods allay;
Flattery, which does our Life betray;
A Labrinth pleasant to the Eye,
But without Clew to guide the Wanderer by.
Love is a Rock of Ambushments,
A weeping Crocodile;
A Syrene us'd to Sing, and Spoil,
And all the Lovers false Contents,
Are Frauds which he too late repents:
Love's an incurable Disease,
And War eternal mid vain boasts of Peace.
A weeping Crocodile;
A Syrene us'd to Sing, and Spoil,
And all the Lovers false Contents,
Are Frauds which he too late repents:
Love's an incurable Disease,
And War eternal mid vain boasts of Peace.
Dirupisti, Domine, vincula mea,
Tibi bostiam landis Sacrificabo!
Tibi bostiam landis Sacrificabo!
127
SONNET.
Loves Exaltation.
Enlarge Thy flight, Love, said I, and on highRaise my dull Soul, those Beauties to admire,
Which in the Heav'nly Treasuries do lie,
And Mortal Brests with holy Flame inspire!
Shew me the Spring of that Celestial Fire,
Design'd our Earthy Dross to purifie,
But after which in vain below we' enquire,
Who sit down ith' warm Sun of a fair Eye!
So up he rais'd me, but no Tongue can tell,
What I in Rapturous Vision did behold:
My Love I found was Pure, and made me bold:
This only I remember very well,
So high we soar'd, till on an Arch above,
I saw inscrib'd, SACRED TO HEAVENLY LOVE.
128
ODE.
The Thoughts.
I.
I'vo pensando, &c.
Full of strange Thoughts, and pensive as I go,
A tenderness, which to my self I owe,
So strongly does my Mind assail,
And so insensibly prevail,
That all in Tears I flow,
But for my own misfortune now,
And not anothers Cruelty, as I was wont to do.
For seeing every Day my end draw nigh,
A thousand times of God I've begg'd those Wings,
With which from this lewd World, and Mortal things,
Th' unpinion'd Soul to Heav'n does flie;
And beg still, but he does the Grace deny.
And tho I Sigh, and Grieve, and Pray,
That Happiness does countermand;
But reason 'tis, that he, who will not upright stand,
When 'tis in his own Power, or wilfully must stray,
Low as the Earth should lie, and never find his way.
I see, 'tis true, th' Eternal Arms extended wide,
But my own Fear, and others Fate,
Who have deferr'd till 'twas too late,
Make me tremble at my present state.
Another Tyran too beside,
Whom oft to throw, in vain I oft have try'd,
Furiously spurs me on. (Ah!) Whither will he ride?
129
II.
L'un pensier parla, &c.
But, (Lo!) what thoughts my mind assault,
And how to it thus One roundly says;
“Why, foolish Thing, why these delays?
“What lookt-for Succour causes such an Alt?
“Seest thou not how the winged Minutes pass,
“And add more Years to thy Disgrace,
“And yet thy help as far to seek, as e're it was?
“Take, rather take thy last Farewel,
“And do it quickly; every Root destroy
“Of fruitless Pleasure, which couldst thou enjoy
“In its Perfection, for it thou must sell
“Thy Soul, and Liberty, and in an hurry dwell.
“But since thou ne're canst that expect,
“And in the toilsome quest art tir'd,
“Of what's so much admired,
“Yet which the glozing World, when it does thee neglect,
“May to an He as ill deserving give,
“Why as fixt here dost thou live,
“And midst rude Wars, and giddy Vanity,
“Hope for Peace and Constancy?
“Now while thou mayst dare to be Wise!
“In thine own hand keep fast the Rein!
“And since thou must begin again,
“Stop, and turn back, the Road behind thee lies.
“Tis hazardous thou knowst too long to stay,
“And till to Morrow leave, what's better done to Day.
130
III.
Gia sai tu ben, &c.
“Long since Thou hast been taught, nor art thou now
“To learn, what Happiness, and Content,
“From the fairest Eyes are sent
“To 'n Heart, that does the Charms of Beauty know.
“But what think'st Thou both had been,
“What Thy Content, and Happiness,
“The greater Glory, and the less,
“If those fair Eyes had ne're been seen,
“And in their stead another Flame had entred in?
“Thou well remembrest, (and 'tis well thou dost)
“How their Image seiz'd thee first,
“And thy Heart like Lightning pierc'd,
“Where it was so much Lord of all the Coast,
“So fatally did overcome,
“That none for other Loves it left, scarce for it self had room.
“With that thou first wert set on fire,
“And if its wild fallacious heat,
“Has held thee many Years with vain desire,
“And expectation of what ne're was yet,
“Nor e're may come, (that joyful Day
“Which should thy Mise'ries end, and largely for thy waiting pay,)
“For none so silily themselves undo
“As Lovers, and so thanklesly if Poets too.)
“Why dost thou not to a better hope thy Soul advance,
“And Heav'ns Immortal Glories view?
“For if one Smile, one pleasing Glance,
“A Song dear purchas'd, one kind word or two,
“The price of Love can here enhance,
“What will those Heavenly Beauties do;
“And how great must the Pleasure be above,
“Where they do ever Sing, and where they ever Love!
131
IV.
Da l' altra parte.
On tother side, a different thought,
With a sharp, but pleasing pain,
Of Hope and Fear together wrought,
Makes me love it, but complain.
For while with Hope it feeds my Heart,
And profers Fame to crown desert,
The Fear I can despise, and dare the cruel smart.
Insensible it almost renders me,
Of all but its dear self insensible,
The effects of Study I ne're feel
How hot or cold, how pale so e're I be;
Nor will one Death to kill 't suffice,
One Death to end its Tyrannies,
Since throughly slain, it does with greater vigor only rise.
When but a Child, as a Child with me it plaid,
Just like my self, and as I grew encreast;
Nor will 't I fear permit me any rest,
Till in one Tomb we be together laid.
Dead with my Body, there 'twill lie,
Nor any further with me go;
And then what signifies this Fame, if I
Its best Report can never know?
Since there must once a parting be,
And away the Shade will flee
For the true substance I'll leave it, e're that leave me.
132
V.
Ma quel' altro voler.
But (Oh!) that Passion like my Soul,
Which in each part is all, and all ith' whole,
And as a great, and spreading Root,
To' it self the moisture draws, and starves the Ground about,
How does it Vex, and Torture me,
When I my Pride, and Folly see,
My Ignorance, and Vanity,
Of others writing still, so mindless of my self to be!
Those Eyes I mean, whose heavy Chain,
My captive Will does so restrain,
That Art and Force to break it I employ in vain.
What then, tho my spread Sails are fill'd,
And that prepar'd I for the Voyage am,
If yet my Barque midst Rocks is held,
By two such Cables, Love, and Fame?
But Thou, my God, who from those other Bands,
With which the sottish World's held fast,
Long since my freedom Ransom'd hast;
Why hear not these Thy great Commands,
And loose the Pris'ner, who with shame confounded stands?
Abasht I stand, and like a Man at Night,
Assaulted in his Dreams, with Deaths grim sight,
Fain would resist, but want both words to speak, and Arms to fight.
VI.
Quel ch' i' fo veggio, &c.
I well enough know what I ought to do,
Nor does the Ignorance of what is true,
At all deceive me; but this Love,
133
Tho all his, and my 'own Follies I reprove,
Too much, and much too long of me possest,
Permits me not one step to move,
And the true Honours shiny Path intend above.
Yet now and then there does begin,
Something, I know not what, to strive within;
A cruel and severe Disdain,
Thus for ever to remain,
And where of all it may be read again,
This secret thought writes in my Forehead plain.
“What can more unmorthy be,
“The Man, who does to th' fairest Prize aspire,
“Than towards Mortal things to be on fire,
“With the same Flame that only fits the Deity?
Nor does it thus alone, but crys aloud
To my Reason, drawn aside,
And behind my Senses hid;
Reason obeys, and strait condemns what it allowd.
But as I'm thinking back to go,
Custome does, or make me stay,
Or leads me to some other way;
I gaze, and that does show
The brightest Eyes, e're shon below,
But born alass for my incurable Disease,
For too much me, too much their cruel selves they please
VII.
Ne so che spatio mi, &c.
How long, or short the space may be,
Which when into this World I first came down,
By Heav'ns Arrest was granted me,
To undergo Wars misery,
And all those pains, which from my self have grown,
134
When this wretched Life shall end;
For both are Mysteries too sublime,
And Mortal knowledg far transcend.
But this I know, and daily find,
That all without, and all within
My Body 's chang'd, and so 's my Mind.
Gray Hairs appear, nor is th' End far behind
When to approach these Harbingers begin.
Like a Man therefore, who much Ground and Day has lost
But wiser made at length by his cost.
I'm thinking oft to take the Right Hand way,
Where I see my Journey lay,
And which when first I left, I first began to stray:
But Grief and Shame to have truanted so long,
Hold my one half, Pleasure does t'other seize,
Pleasure through Custome grown so strong,
That it with Death dare stand on terms for War or Peace.
Comiato.
SONG, thou seest me as I am,And me more than thou Petrarch sawst of old,
With an Heart than Ice more cold,
Ne're to be thaw'd I fear by any Flame,
But that which in 'its embrace the Universe shall hold.
Yet (Lo!) I am resolv'd again,
Once more the great Experiment to try,
Tho ne're liv'd Man in so much pain,
With Death, or in his Heart, or Eye.
But this my Trouble does renew,
That what I would, I cannot do,
And what I hate and would not, that I vigorously pursue.
1668.
135
SONNET.
Convertimento á Dio.
Io son sistanco sotto 'l, &c.
Tir'd, and almost or'ecome with th' heavy weight,
Of my old Sins, by Custome grown so strong,
I'm fearful, lest Lifes way being rough and long,
I from it turn, by my own, or Foes deceit.
I have a Friend 'tis true, that from Heav'ns height,
Came down to free me, and redress my Wrong,
Of love he came, but quickly 'amidst the throng
I lost him, whose return in vain I wait;
Upwards he flew, and flying thus did cry,
“Burd'ned and weary Souls, behold your Way
“Hither, come hither to me, and find Rest!
What Grace, what Love, my Lord, what Destiny,
Will give me a Doves wings, on which I may
Mount from this Earth, and be of Heav'n possest?
SONNET, To the same Purpose.
Poi che voi & io piu volte, &c.
How false our Hopes, and full of Vanity,
To that best Good at length thy Heart apply,
Which still the more 'tis known, the more 'tis lov'd!
136
In which midst Flowers an hidden Snake does lie,
And tho its Verdure please the wanton Eye,
Death from th' unwary Foot 's not far remov'd.
Would you then have a Mind at last secure,
And endless Joys, in which thou mayst persever,
Follow the Few, to them thy Steps inure,
And all thou canst to leave the most endeavour!
Brother, you teach well, but yourself first sure,
Who oft have stray'd, yet more of late than ever.
SONNET.
To the now Mrs. M. W. under the feigned Name of Iärma, with the Parable of the Pilgrim.
A tedious Age, I like this Pilgrim spent,In search of that fair Place, where Heav'n design'd,
I should an end of all my Travels find;
But still I stray'd the more, the more I went,
I stray'd till Clelia in a Vision sent
Illustrious Rays, diffus'd o're all my Mind,
And made me see the Way lay far behind,
Whose entrance was my Wandrings to Repent,
She told me what Companions I should take,
How Resolution and Humility,
And Faith and Charity I should provide,
If I a prosperous Journey hope'd to make.
But where dear Clelia do these Graces lie?
Iärma has them all, make her your Guide.
1666.
137
SONNET.
To the Reverend Mr. J. G.
To GOD, it is, my Friend, and you I owe,What I have been the twenty Years that last,
In various Changes o're my Head have past,
And forty more, if Heav'n shall on me throw;
How good so e're I by that time may grow,
(For Great I wish not, and who makes less haste?)
To your account shall be at th' Audit plac'd,
Who Virtues Path by few trod, made me know,
And timely did my wandring Youth reclaim,
By Grave Advice, tho not so reckoned then,
(The more my Folly) how e're it has been since;
But when the Spirit Divine to blow begins,
What Boys we scorn'd, we follow close grown Men,
And the kind Warner have in greatest Fame.
SONNET.
On the Picture of our LORD, represented on the Cross as Dead.
Pietoso quanto accorto, &c.
That Thou the Pencils Wonders to express,
And therein Thy more wonderous Hands address,
Tookst my Dead Lord, the Colours to advance.
138
And (having in Thy Pious Brest design'd,
To shew how rude the Jews, Thy Self how kind)
His Pale and Lifeless Form resolve to take,
'Twas nobly done; for hadst Thou made him breathe,
Ever in Torment he had seem'd to live,
And from Thy Hands a greater Wound receive.
Than all their Cruelty contriv'd in his Death,
For such Thy Picture is, now he enclines his Head,
That he would Groan, and Speak, but that he's Dead.
St. Paul done by Titian.
A Madrigal.
Dead to the World, and far from Heav'n remov'd,Long'd for by him so much, and so much lov'd
The blessed Paul, while here,
Did really as Dead appear,
But in Thy Colours, Titian, looks so warm and clear:
So Mortifi'd, and yet so full of Life,
That the most curious need not be at strife,
But confidently swear,
If they could both together see,
The true with this design'd by Thee:
(Such breathing Strokes do from Thy Pencil fall)
Live Paul's the Draught, Thy Draught the living Paul.
1668.
139
SONNET.
The Vanity of thinking to get Fame by Riming.
What dost Thou, Man, what thinkst Thou, to what endOf old Bards emulous, and their ancient Praise,
In Riming spendst Thou all Thy Strength and Days,
Nor ever what's of more concern intend?
Fame which Thou courtest never did commend
Of true Desert, or if she does, delays
Till 'it be too late; no Monument does raise
But to along since dead, or dying Friend.
And Thou, if Thou desir'st that Friend to be,
What art the better for it in the Grave,
Thither Thy Fame will never follow Thee,
Nor with the Dead shalt Thou more Honour have
For Verse, than if Thou Verse hadst never known,
The Living will not, Dead can give Thee none.
SONNET.
To give o're Riming, and fall to Business.
As I one Day did of my Fate complain,And to Loves Charge the great Occasion laid,
Recounting all the Ways I had assay'd
A Name, or Fortune in the World to gain,
And still to' obtain it strive, but all in vain.
Ah! sottish Wretch, with Rage and Scorn, he said,
140
When Thou alone art cause of all Thy Pain.
Go, and to Business, Man Thy self present,
Business, the noblest Mistress tho 'it be late,
Who many Servants has, and more will take,
Riming and Modesty ne're got Estate,
Or Name, or Fortune, 'tis the Confident
And Busie carry' all.—Love I did mistake.
ODE.
To the Right Reverend Father in God JOHN, late Lord Bishop of Chester, upon his Promotion thither.
I.
Fair Seminary of the Flourishing Arts,Great Wadhams bounteous Legacy,
The last result of Heav'n-born Charity,
Who mounting thither from these Frozen parts,
Design'd Thee with an high intent,
To be both Hers, and Thy own Pious Founders Monument,
Thee, WADHAM, first of all I sing,
Where in soft Verse I learnt the early Skill,
(Ah! that one so well Disciplin'd should rehearse so ill,
And have for all Thy care no better Strains to bring!)
Thee, sacred Colledg, who dost rise,
Like a new Sion, to the North
Of th' Muses City, with Thy Wings stretcht forth,
And in their Kingdom hast her Royalties,
(OXFORD, the brightest City' and Kingdom, which the Muses have)
Small as thou art, but wondrous brave,
141
And send abroad Thy Fathers through our Land,
Thee, I, tho far unworthy, Greet,
And at Thy Gates, as does a Son befit,
To lead him to his Stall with Songs, Thy late great Guardian meet.
II.
With Thee, my Song, in Thee this happy Man,Whilst only Thine, a bold Attempt began,
Whose Fame Posterity shall ne're let die,
But thence it self instructed how to live,
Due Honours to the first Discoverer give,
And Consecrate his Name to Vast Eternity.
A bold Attempt it was, worthy this Age,
And Him, whom Heaven did with the thought Inspire,
(Yet which this Age can ne're enough Admire,
How full so e're of Art, and Learned Rage,)
In Natures search alone, and bravely to engage.
At Home he sought, but there
Only some Traces of her Footsteps were.
For tho with Him she long Inhabited,
And lay in his Retreats secure,
Seen but of few, once urg'd, could not endure
A public Scrutiny, and at the News away she fled.
He follow'd close, and lodg'd her in the Town;
LONDON, that was so big, and populous grown,
She hop'd, or there to hide, or there to pass unknown,
And midst the Multitude,
The Noise, the Hurry, and the Crowd,
As safely breath, as in a Solitude.
142
III.
But all in vain, He quickly found Her out,And having Summond to his Aid,
The Wise, the Learned, and the Stout,
(All noted Champions, and in Wars assaid)
What was before a search to Arms Decision brought.
Levies on both Hands listed were,
And Nature, then Attaqu't, began to fear;
But like a Conqueror, and ne're known to yield,
To be Obey'd, and not Compell'd,
Led up her Self her Troops into the Field.
A mighty Host they made, Encamped wide,
And with their Wings toucht Heav'n on either side.
'Gainst which a little Party, reinforc'd
By Reason, and Experience,
Approved Arms, for Battery, and Defence,
Both often Try'd, and not alone Discours'd,
Came boldly forth, and did Defiance bid;
But in the others shouts were drownd, and in the other Numbers hid
IV.
And now both Sides had joyn'd the Fight,One to maintain, t'other their Conquests to extend;
When, (look!) between the Camps, a glorious sight,
The British Gardian-Angel cloath'd in Light,
Did on an Azure Cloud descend,
And to the baleful Quarrel with his Presence put an end.
He came, but not ith' Shape he takes above,
For that 's a Form too subtile, and too great,
With its excessive Lustre Mortal Eyes did threat,
And in his Fellow Spirits dreadful Wonder move,
But like the Warriers to whom he was sent,
And suiting th' Embassy, on which he went,
143
In Rings of Polisht Jet, so shon his Hair,
A Colour that in Heav'n is rare,
But yet in Heav'n admir'd, for such the Almighty Son does wear.
Over his glittering Arm was thrown,
A Military Crim'som Vest;
Close by his Brest his Sword hung down,
And did in his Embroidered Scabard rest.
His Left Hand held a Silver Shield,
Charg'd with three Leopards, in a Canton of the Field.
Two shiny Talbots in his Right he led,
Such as are in the Heav'nly Forrests bred,
And o're his Godlike Head,
An Eagle her extended Wings auspiciously did spread.
V.
“Give o're, He said, give o're your Rage,“A better Fortune both your Arms attends;
“Nor let it be reported, ith' next Age,
“That furious Zeal, and unknown Ends,
“In Civil Wars destroy'd the best and dearest Friends!
“For such you are, and by the High Decree,
“Shall with united force those Trophies raise,
“Over Mankinds common Enemy,
“Proud Ignorance, and blind Credulity,
“As shall gain both deserved Praise,
“And fetch from Worlds as yet unknown for both Immortal Bays.
“You NATURE, and 'tis Gods Command, not mine,
“To these shall all your Store submit;
“Whose Industry, with Skill shall joyn,
“To search, Improve, and Husband it.
“Together Reconcil'd you shall abide,
“My CHARLES shall of his Goodness so provide,
“Who will your FOUNDER, and your PATRON be,
“Call you the ROYAL, and his own SOCIETY:
144
“With you his rich Hereditary Coat divide,
(“As on this Shield:) If any Doubt arise
“In your Inquests, Lo! Heav'ns and my Supplies,
“These TALBOTS scent, that EAGLES Wings, and Eyes.
VI.
But whither Muse, Ah! whither wilt thou rove?Already thou hast stray'd enough,
And in thy wild unruly Flight,
Forgot thy Reverend Prelate quite,
And lost of thy first Theam the sight.
He's gone, but if thou haste dost make,
And haste thou oughtst, for my sake, and thine own,
And in his Learned Train make one,
His Learned Train, thou quickly mayst o'retake:
And e're he Chester reach, so slow,
So heavily his Wheels do go,
(Yet not from His, but Friends delay,
Who wish him there, but yet with them would have him stay)
Be ready with the Ancient Dee,
(Dee in praise will joyn with Thee)
His Entrance to attend, and Installation see.
VII.
Hail! Sacred Stream, Prophetic Flood,Who couldst of Old the Fates of Nations tell;
The Fates of Nations now Thou skill'st as well,
As when Thy Channel leaving Thou didst bode
Their Misery, 'or their Happiness e're either fell.
For this 'twas that thou gotst the Name
Of Dee the Holy, and Divine,
And amongst Rivers of the loudest Fame,
As rich in Wonders, and illustriously dost Shine.
145
And with Genial Honours Crown'd,
Or for their pleasant Banks, or Waters pride,
And little Mysteries, which they're said to hide,
All but the Starry Thames, above
Eridan falsly call'd, their Places yield:
And in the Oceans boundless Field,
Where every Night they meet, in a long Row behind thee move.
Worthy thou art, thrice worthy of my Song;
And worthy Thee, in all Thy Glory,
The Man we both admire, of both expected long,
My Numbers to advance, and to revive Thy Story.
VIII.
Till He was Thine, something there was did want,To render Thee compleat:
The Colony Rome on thy Banks did Plant,
Made Thee not half so great,
Nor is it self so famous for Agricola's, as his Seat.
His happy River, whose vast Spring
Of Real Goodness, and of Learned Arts the best,
A new increase shall to Thy Waters bring;
Joyning with which they ne're shall rest,
Till they those Triumphs end, which EDGAR on thee did begin.
“Well row'd my Braves, the British Monarch cry'd,
As at the Helm Victoriously He stood,
His Tributary Kings on either side,
(Eight Tributary Kings at th' Oar then ply'd)
Tugging to waft him down the Flood.
Tiber did never Day so glorious see,
Nor could Augustus, in such State,
After his Alexandrian Victory,
Enter Romes Triumphal Gate;
He the Effigies had to show
But of one Queen, and her tane, when Dead too.
146
All in their Robes, on him to wait,
And all with Crowns upon their Heads his Barge to row.
L'Envoy.
At Chester, Song, Thou wilt beholdThe Wonders, which Thou here hast told;
But let not all Thy Time be spent,
In a search too inquisitive;
Find out the Rev'rend Father there, to whom thou'rt sent,
And humbly at his Knees receive
That Blessing, which return'd thou mayst thy Master give!
So shalt Thou into Credit grow,
And have from him that Honour, Verse on others must bestow
To the Honourable Sir JOHN DENHAM, upon his New Version of the Psalms.
I
Twas but of late, that in our Northern Clime,Verse, which had many Ages been a Slave,
Regain'd its freedom, and tho bound to Rime,
The Tyrans, which had humbled it, did Brave.
II
Fetter'd before in gross Impertinence,And by strange Monsters forc'd, it Pris'ner lay;
147
And all the Cheats, which Ignorance betray.
III
To make Vile Anagrams, was its best Art,And lewdly then to descant on the Text;
Whose Gloss was evermore the dullest part,
And all the Wit to seem, and be perplext.
IV
Then motly Metaphors at length stole in,And that the Poet might his Treasures boast;
Rubies and Pearls were in each couplet seen,
And a poor Sonnet would an Empire cost.
V
But still the Sun to th' hardest Task was prest,And wearied with his Journey all Day long,
I'th' Sea at Night enjoy'd but confus'd rest,
For less the World could want him than a Song.
VI
These were the Vices captive Verse obey'd,With thousand worse, to which it did submit;
Till you the Enemies weakness open laid,
And to its ancient Grandure ransom'd it.
VII
'Twas you, great Sir, who like the Redcross Knight,To save the Damsel Poesy, arose;
148
And made her Reign a Queen, amidst her Foes.
VIII
Wit from your Pen, was quite another thing,Than what the Ignorant imagin'd it;
And in your manner skilfully to Sing,
More than to make rich Rimes, and Noises hit.
IX
Twas Manly, Grave, and full of sprit'ely Fire,The same that it was sixteen Centuries past;
Able the very Reader to inspire,
And whose fixt Monument shall ever last.
X
But sacred Poesy lay all this whileScorn'd, or Neglected, as it was before;
As if it were no Sacriledg to spoil,
But what from God was once Robb'd, to restore.
XI
Any thing for the Temple would suffice,No matter how ill drest the Service were;
To th' Institution it did nearer rise,
More like th' unpolisht Altar, and Goats Hair.
XII
Waiting your help it lay, who to redeemThe Credit, which it long unjustly lost;
Have rais'd it to a more enlarg'd esteem,
Lov'd of the best, and Courted by the most.
149
XIII
From you the Jewish Psalmist has receiv'dThe latest Glory, which he could expect;
And all, who at his barbarous Sufferings griev'd,
With Pleasure on them thus expir'd reflect.
XIV
You were that Worthy, for whom all did look,To' attempt, and execute this bold Design;
Nor was there other Way, than what you took,
By Humane Poesy, to restore Divine.
XV
For as ith' Revolutions of Great States,Civility Religion did produce;
The Muses Kingdoms too have born like Fates,
By' you first made Civil, then Religious.
L'Envoy.
Full often, Song, I've griev'd, thou staydst at Home,Nor kiss'dst those Hands for which thou wert design'd;
Sure hadst Thou ever to His Presence come,
The known He 'had lov'd, who to th' unknown was kind
1668.
150
ODE.
To Mr. Isaac Walton, Publishing the Life of Mr. George Herbert.
I.
Heav'ns youngest Son, its Benjamin,Divinities next Brother, Sacred Poesy,
No longer shall a Virgin reck'ned be,
(What e're with others 'tis, how e're call'd so by me)
A Female Muse, as were the Nine,
But full of Vigor Masculine,
An Essence Male, with Angels in shar'd Glories joyn
With Angels first the Heav'nly Child was bred,
And, while a Child, instructed them to Sing
The Praises of th' Immortal King,
Who Lucifer in Triumph led.
For as in Chains the Monster sank to Hell,
And tumbling Headlong down the Precipice fell,
By Him well thew'd and tutor'd well,
“How art Thou fallen, Morning Star, they said!
Too fondly then we 'have fanci'd him a Maid,
We the vain Brethren of the Riming Trade,
A Female Angel less would Rafaels skill upbraid.
II.
Thus 'twas in Heav'n, this Poesies Sex and Age,And when He thence to 'our lower World came down,
He chose a Form most like his own,
And Jesses youngest Son inspir'd with holy Rage;
The sprightly Shepherd felt unusual Fire,
151
He took it up and strook 'it, and 'his own soft touches did admire.
Thou Po'esy on Him didst bestow,
An Honour shew'd before to none;
And to prepare his Way to th' Hebrew Throne,
Gave'st him Thy Empire, and Dominion:
The happy Land of Verse, where flow
Rivers of Milk, and Groves of Laurel grow;
Wherewith Thou didst adorn his Brow,
And madst his first most flourishing, & Triumphal Crown.
Assist me Thy great Prophets Praise to Sing;
David the Poets, and blest Israels King,
And with the dancing Eccho let the Mountains ring!
Then on the Wings of some auspicious Wind,
Let His great Name from Earth be rais'd on High,
And in the Starry Volume of the Skie,
A lasting Record find;
Be with His mighty Psaltery joyn'd,
Which taken up long since into the Air,
And call'd the Harp, makes a bright Constellation there!
III.
Worthy it was to be Translated hence,And there in view of all Exalted hang,
To which so oft the Princely Prophet sang,
And sacred Ora'cles did dispence;
Tho had it still remain'd below,
More Wonders of it, we e're now had seen,
How great the mighty Herberts Skill had been:
Herbert, who could so much without it do,
Herbert who perfectly its Chords did know,
More perfectly than any Child of Verse does now.
Ah! had we known him half so well!
But then, my Friend, there had been left for you,
Nothing so fair, and worthy Praise to undergo,
152
That, tho we envy not his Bays,
Nor all the Piramids Verse can raise,
Your Hand, and Pen we do, that eternize his Praise.
Herbert, and Donn again are joyn'd,
Here below, as they 'are above;
The Friends are in their old Embraces twin'd:
And since by you that Enterview 's design'd,
Too weak to part them Death does prove,
But in one Book they greet again, as in one Heav'n they love.
L'Envoy.
To Wotton too, my Song,A kind remembrance Thou dost owe,
With my Friends Name, who made Thee know
This great Triumvirate of Verse; but long
Too long, I fear, Thou then wouldst be,
If not o're-born, with th' mighty subjects Dignity.
153
ODE.
To the same Mr. Is. Wa. upon the Publication of the Reverend Mr. Richard Hooker's Life.
I.
Hail, Sacred Mother, British Church, all hail!From whose fruitful Loyns have sprung,
Of Pious Sons so great a throng,
That Heav'n to 'oppose their force of Strength does fail,
And lets the mighty Victors, o're Almighty Arms prevail.
How art Thou chang'd from what Thou wert of late,
When destitute, and quite forlorn,
And scarce a Child of thousands with Thee left to mourn,
Thy Vail all rent, and all Thy Garments torn,
With Tears Thou didst bewail Thine own, and Childrens Fate?
Too much (alas!) Thou didst resemble then,
Sion Thy Type, Sion in Ashes laid,
Despis'd, forsaken, and betray'd.
Sion Thou dost resemble once again,
And rais'd like her, the Glory of the World art made.
Threnes to Thee only could that time belong,
But now Thou art the happy subject of my Song.
II.
Begin, my Song, and where the doleful Mother sat,(As it in Vision was the Prophet shown)
Lamenting with the rest her dearest Son,
Blest CHARLES, who his Fore-fathers has out-run,
154
Let a new City rise, with beauteous State,
And beauteous let its Temple be, and beautiful the Gate!
See! how the sacred Fabrique up does rise,
The Architects so Skilful all,
So Grave, so Humble, and so Wise,
The Axes, and the Hammers noise,
Is drownd in Silence, or in Numbers Musical.
'Tis up, and at the Altar stand
The Reverend Fathers, as of old,
With Harps, and Incense in their Hand,
Nor let the Pious Service grow, or Dumb, or Cold.
Th' Inferiour Priests, the while,
To Praise continually employ'd, or Pray,
Need not the weary Hours beguile,
Enough 's the single duty of each Day;
Thou thy Self, Woodford, on thy humbler Pipe mayst play:
And tho but lately 'admitted there,
So gracious those Thou Honour'st all appear,
So ready, and attent to hear,
An easie part, proportion'd to Thy Skill may'st bear.
III.
But where (alas!) where wilt Thou fix Thy choice?The Subjects are so noble all,
So great their Glories, and Thy Art so small,
They 'll judg, I fear, themselves disparag'd by Thy voice.
Yet try; and since Thou canst not take
A Name, so dispicably low,
But 'twill exceed what Thou canst do,
Tho Thou thy' whole Mite away at once shouldst throw,
Thy Poverty a Vertue make,
And that Thou may'st Immortal live,
(Since Immortality Thou canst not give)
From one, who has to spare be 'ambitious to receive!
155
Hooker does to the Church belong,
The Church and Hooker claim Thy Song,
And inexhausted Riches to Thy Verse will bring;
So far beyond it self will make it grow,
That Life his Gift to Thee, thou shalt again on him bestow.
IV.
How great, blest Soul! must needs Thy Glory be,Thy Joys how perfect, and Thy Crown how fair,
Who mad'st the Church thy chiefest care,
This Church, who owes so much to Thee,
That all her Sons must Sacrifice unto Thy Memory.
'Twas a bold Work the Captive to redeem,
But bolder the Opprest to raise,
(Our Aged Mother) to that due esteem,
She had and merited in her younger Days;
When Primitive Zeal, and Piety,
Were her best Laws, and Policy,
And decent Worship kept the mean,
Its too wide-stretcht extreams between,
The rudely scrupulous, and too wanton vain.
This was the Work of Hookers Pen,
With Judgment, Candour, and such Learning writ,
Matter, and Words so' exactly fit,
That were it to be done agen,
Expected 'twould be, as its Answer hitherto has been.
Retornata.
To Chelsey, Song, and tell thy Masters Friend,The Church is Hooker's Debtor, Hooker his;
And strange 'twould be, if he should Glory miss,
For whom two such most powerfully contend.
156
And he can never Die,
Who after Seventy 's past and gone,
Can all th' assaults of Age defie;
Is Master still of so much Youthful heat,
A Child so perfect, and so spirit'ous to beget.
The Metamorphosis
CLELIA [chang'd into] A BAIE.
To the Memory of Mrs. A. W. who died in Childbed,
14 January, 1663–4.
Down in a Vale, between two shady Groves,
Whose Trees in sighs bewail'd their distant Loves,
And o're a Stream, which gently glid below;
Stretcht their long Arms, and leafy Heads did bow,
As if each others Necks they would embrace,
And murmuring chid the interrupting space;
Sylvius the wretched Shepherd chose to lay,
Clelias remains, and his own Vows to pay.
The Tomb nor Marble was, nor glitterant Brass,
No weighty Pile, but Bank of Turfy Grass,
Which he himself cast up, and all around,
With Winter Roses strewd the sacred Ground.
Close by a mournful Tablet hung, whose Verse
Was thus engrav'd—
Kind Earth, where I securely trust
My Dearest half, in Peace to sleep;
Be sure thou safely guard her Dust,
And undisturb'd the still lov'd Ashes keep:
But look thou lightly on them fall,
And as in thine own Center have no weight at all!
My Dearest half, in Peace to sleep;
157
And undisturb'd the still lov'd Ashes keep:
But look thou lightly on them fall,
And as in thine own Center have no weight at all!
So shalt thou be with Roses Crown'd,
And all those Flowers, which now I strow,
Again, as in their Native Ground,
Only more fair, shall in thy Bosom grow;
Maintain'd by an Eternal Spring,
Which with my constant Tears, I to these Banks will bring.
And all those Flowers, which now I strow,
Again, as in their Native Ground,
Only more fair, shall in thy Bosom grow;
Maintain'd by an Eternal Spring,
Which with my constant Tears, I to these Banks will bring.
Witness ye Floods, which deeper run,
By them encreast than heretofore;
And as you purling roll along,
Those ancient bounds you seldom toucht, run o're;
At my request yet higher swell,
And what's their power, tho in your broken numbers, tell.
By them encreast than heretofore;
And as you purling roll along,
Those ancient bounds you seldom toucht, run o're;
At my request yet higher swell,
And what's their power, tho in your broken numbers, tell.
With you my Tears, but here's my Fire,
Preserv'd alive in Clelias Urn;
Never to Languish, or Expire,
But in the next Age to break forth and burn:
When it to Verse a Theam shall give,
And by the Flames it shall inspire, be known to live.
Preserv'd alive in Clelias Urn;
Never to Languish, or Expire,
But in the next Age to break forth and burn:
When it to Verse a Theam shall give,
And by the Flames it shall inspire, be known to live.
Retir'd the Valley was from common View,
By none frequented, known but to a few,
Sylvio's best Friends, who thither us'd to go,
Sometimes with him, and there joynt-Tears bestow.
Belisa, and her Swain, who claim'd a share,
By Love, and Friendship in the Pious Care,
Were all his Company, and who alone,
Best knew, and judg'd his Sorrow by their own.
Yet for their own, tho they some ease could find,
In vain they sought it for his troubled Mind.
For still more restless that, and stubborn grew,
And with the Day his Griefs did still renew.
Clelia was all his thought, and with her Name,
He so stirr'd up the yet encreasing Flame,
That the thick Sighs, which from his Brest did go,
Were but as Wind the glowing Coals to blow;
And his exhausted Tears too late did prove,
That Love alone, not they, could quench his love.
By none frequented, known but to a few,
Sylvio's best Friends, who thither us'd to go,
Sometimes with him, and there joynt-Tears bestow.
Belisa, and her Swain, who claim'd a share,
By Love, and Friendship in the Pious Care,
Were all his Company, and who alone,
Best knew, and judg'd his Sorrow by their own.
Yet for their own, tho they some ease could find,
In vain they sought it for his troubled Mind.
158
And with the Day his Griefs did still renew.
Clelia was all his thought, and with her Name,
He so stirr'd up the yet encreasing Flame,
That the thick Sighs, which from his Brest did go,
Were but as Wind the glowing Coals to blow;
And his exhausted Tears too late did prove,
That Love alone, not they, could quench his love.
And so he liv'd (if one a Life may call
What was indeed but a long Funeral)
Till as one Morning to the Grove he went,
And to conclude the Ceremony meant,
The Grove he found by a new Tree encreast,
Whose sleeping Root seem'd laid in Clelias Brest.
The sight amaz'd him, but when he drew near,
And saw the Plant, how gay it did appear,
His Clelia in the Plant the Shepherd spi'd,
Nor could the strange disguise her Beauties hide.
What was indeed but a long Funeral)
Till as one Morning to the Grove he went,
And to conclude the Ceremony meant,
The Grove he found by a new Tree encreast,
Whose sleeping Root seem'd laid in Clelias Brest.
The sight amaz'd him, but when he drew near,
And saw the Plant, how gay it did appear,
His Clelia in the Plant the Shepherd spi'd,
Nor could the strange disguise her Beauties hide.
'Twas a fair Bay, but so exactly shap'd,
That it the perfect Form of Woman kept.
Not as Philosophers feign'd Man to be,
In their wild Resve'rys, an inverted Tree,
But standing on its Root, and whose strait bole,
Shew'd how great once, and gentile was her Soul.
For if Souls can by th' Bodies frame be ghest,
Of great the greatest she' had, of good the best.
The beauties of her Bosom did appear,
In swelling Knots that balmy perfumes bear.
To Leaves her Hair was chang'd, to Boughs her Arms,
Yet both retain'd their ancient Force and Charms.
A jollier Tree than ever Daphne was,
And much more worthy bright Apollos grace.
For whatsoe're in Woman is admir'd,
When in a Lovers chaste embrace retir'd,
Was found in her, who did nor coyly flee,
Nor court that Love, t'other was proud of when a Tree.
Laura the Thuscan Poets brightest Flame,
Laura, whom Verse has given a lasting Name,
Which all but her own Vertues shall survive,
Laura to be her Emblem does in Numbers live.
That it the perfect Form of Woman kept.
Not as Philosophers feign'd Man to be,
In their wild Resve'rys, an inverted Tree,
But standing on its Root, and whose strait bole,
Shew'd how great once, and gentile was her Soul.
For if Souls can by th' Bodies frame be ghest,
Of great the greatest she' had, of good the best.
The beauties of her Bosom did appear,
In swelling Knots that balmy perfumes bear.
To Leaves her Hair was chang'd, to Boughs her Arms,
Yet both retain'd their ancient Force and Charms.
A jollier Tree than ever Daphne was,
And much more worthy bright Apollos grace.
For whatsoe're in Woman is admir'd,
When in a Lovers chaste embrace retir'd,
Was found in her, who did nor coyly flee,
Nor court that Love, t'other was proud of when a Tree.
159
Laura, whom Verse has given a lasting Name,
Which all but her own Vertues shall survive,
Laura to be her Emblem does in Numbers live.
Which as the mournful Sylvius view'd, he said,
(Gathering some Leaves to bind about his Head,
The Leaves to bind his Head bow'd gently down,
And form'd themselves into a Laurel Crown)
“Daphne, Apollos, Clelia was my Love,
“Tho both turn'd Trees, with Fates unequal strove.
“Unlike in Life, alike in Change they were,
“A Mother this, a Virgin that severe:
“O're whom till Plant, Phebus could not prevail,
(Python He did with more Success assail.)
“Yet as to her he did his Harp resign,
“Clelia with no less Passion shall have mine.
“Grow sacred Plant, the better Daphne be,
“Iärmas and my Consecrated Tree!
(Gathering some Leaves to bind about his Head,
The Leaves to bind his Head bow'd gently down,
And form'd themselves into a Laurel Crown)
“Daphne, Apollos, Clelia was my Love,
“Tho both turn'd Trees, with Fates unequal strove.
“Unlike in Life, alike in Change they were,
“A Mother this, a Virgin that severe:
“O're whom till Plant, Phebus could not prevail,
(Python He did with more Success assail.)
“Yet as to her he did his Harp resign,
“Clelia with no less Passion shall have mine.
“Grow sacred Plant, the better Daphne be,
“Iärmas and my Consecrated Tree!
L'Envoy.
Poor Pastoral, for simple Shepherd fit,Without or much of Art contriv'd, or Wit;
Do as Thou mayst, the Curious City flie;
Or if Thou thither chance to come,
Conceal'd as the' Ashes, which Thou herriest lie,
For whose dear sake alone, Thou dost thy Fortune try;
Tho, like thy Master, Thou might'st safer be at Home.
160
ODE.
To Posthumus.
Mortem Vitari non posse.
Hor. l. 2. Ode 14.
Time
Posthu'mus scuds it with full Sail,
Nor can thine honest Heart avail,
A furrow'd Brow, Old Age at hand,
Or Death unconquer'd to withstand;
One long Night
Shall hide this Light,
From all our sight,
And equal Death,
Shall few Days hence stop every Breath.
Nor can thine honest Heart avail,
A furrow'd Brow, Old Age at hand,
Or Death unconquer'd to withstand;
One long Night
Shall hide this Light,
From all our sight,
And equal Death,
Shall few Days hence stop every Breath.
Tho thou whole Hecatombs shouldst bring.
To' attone the' inexorable King,
Who Geryon, and Tytius bold,
In Chains of Stygian Waves does hold;
He' ll not prize,
But despise,
Thy Sacrifice;
Death thou must feel,
'Tis so decreed by th' fatal Wheel.
To' attone the' inexorable King,
Who Geryon, and Tytius bold,
In Chains of Stygian Waves does hold;
He' ll not prize,
But despise,
Thy Sacrifice;
Death thou must feel,
'Tis so decreed by th' fatal Wheel.
The numerous Off-spring of the Earth,
That feed on Her, who gave them Birth,
Must have, each Birth its Funeral,
The Womb, and Urn 's alike to all;
Kings must Die,
And as low lie,
As thou and I;
And though they have
Atchievements here, there 's none ith' Grave.
That feed on Her, who gave them Birth,
Must have, each Birth its Funeral,
The Womb, and Urn 's alike to all;
Kings must Die,
And as low lie,
161
And though they have
Atchievements here, there 's none ith' Grave.
In vain we bloody Battels fly,
And fear to sail, when Seas are high;
Fear Plagues, or an Infectious Breath,
When every Hour brings a new Death:
Time will Mow
What e're we Sow;
Weal or Wo,
Shall have an end;
And this, tho' unwilling, Fates must send.
And fear to sail, when Seas are high;
Fear Plagues, or an Infectious Breath,
When every Hour brings a new Death:
Time will Mow
What e're we Sow;
Weal or Wo,
Shall have an end;
And this, tho' unwilling, Fates must send.
Cocytus Lake thou must waft o're,
Thy tattred Boat shall touch that Shore;
Thou Sisyphus e're long must know,
And into new Acquaintance grow:
Shalt, with Life,
Leave House and Wife,
Thy Loves and Strife;
And have no Tree,
But the sad Cypress follow Thee.
Thy tattred Boat shall touch that Shore;
Thou Sisyphus e're long must know,
And into new Acquaintance grow:
Shalt, with Life,
Leave House and Wife,
Thy Loves and Strife;
And have no Tree,
But the sad Cypress follow Thee.
Mean while thine Heir shall nobly quaff,
What thou with hundred Locks kepst safe;
Cæcuban Wines, and wash the Floor,
With Juice would make an Emperor poor:
Doubt it not,
'Twill be thy lot,
To be forgot,
With all thy Deeds,
E're he puts on his Mourning Weeds.
What thou with hundred Locks kepst safe;
Cæcuban Wines, and wash the Floor,
With Juice would make an Emperor poor:
Doubt it not,
'Twill be thy lot,
To be forgot,
With all thy Deeds,
E're he puts on his Mourning Weeds.
[_]
Tho the Publisher has several Translations of his own, of some of the Moral Odes, &c. of Horace so falsly
162
To Belisa.
The Excellent Mrs. Mary Beal, upon her own Picture, done by her Self, like Pallas, but without any Arms, except Head-piece and Corselet.
Such would the Learned Pallas chuse to be,With all the Charms of Nature and of Art,
Tho she had neither Shield nor Dart:
For if the mighty Pallas were like Thee,
Without those, she to Conquer, need but come, and see.
But here (alas!) the Goddess nothing can espy,
Except the Garb to own her Figure by;
The Warlike Dress, and that 's so Gay,
Such Terror, and such Softness does display,
That that as little as the Face she seems to know;
Wishing that her own Greece had drawn her so:
Says Fabulous Antiquity;
Ne're gave her half that Grace or Majesty:
That she was never half so Fair,
In her own Beauties, or what'ere they feign'd,
163
As in your Draught, Belisa, she's design'd:
And were she to be Born again,
Would from your Hand desire it rather than Joves Brain.
1664.
To Clelia.
On his own Picture done in Water-Colours, by the Learned Poet and Limner, Mr. Thomas Flatman, Fellow-Student with him, and Chamber-Fellow at the Inner Temple.
Proof against Time, and Age,And Fortunes Batteries, and Wars out-rage;
Able to Triumph o're the' Affright
Of an Eternal Night,
Of maigre Sickness, and the rotting Grave,
When no Embalments else can save,
But in themselves their own Consumption have.
When Tombs and Epitaphs shall die,
And in an heap as undistinguisht lie
From the dry Bones, and Dust,
Committed to their trust,
In hopes of Immortality,
As if they were themselves a Portion of the Rust;
This Shadow, Clelia, shall preserve intire
Those Reliques incorrupted, and unmixt;
The very Air, and Fire,
The active Youth your presence did inspire,
And that bright Image of your Self it on me fixt.
And tho one common Urn may possibly contain,
(Tho not dispairing of return again)
164
Of such as shall be, or have gone before,
Here's that will almost give Eternity,
And next his Verse, who made the Draught ne're let me die.
1661.
SOLITUDE.
Rura laudamus merito, &c.
The Country, as 'tis fit, we Poets praise,
And there alone, like our gay Laurels thrive;
Laurels, which in the Dust great Cities raise,
And from their Sun conceal'd seem scarce to live.
And there alone, like our gay Laurels thrive;
Laurels, which in the Dust great Cities raise,
And from their Sun conceal'd seem scarce to live.
For Corn ith' Strand, or Cheap, will sooner grow,
And self-rais'd Flowers throng'd Market-places Crown;
Even Grass will sooner all its Lands forego,
To become Burger in some Flint-pav'd Town:
And self-rais'd Flowers throng'd Market-places Crown;
Even Grass will sooner all its Lands forego,
To become Burger in some Flint-pav'd Town:
Than in the City midst its confus'd cries,
A future Harvest of good Verse e're spring;
Verse, that did ever hate the Cities Noise,
And which few Soils to its just growth can bring.
A future Harvest of good Verse e're spring;
Verse, that did ever hate the Cities Noise,
And which few Soils to its just growth can bring.
Rather my Life ith' Country let me spend,
Thither withdrawn Dioclesian like in state;
To th' Town my Envoy'e an Ode I'll send,
And that's enough to' observe, and to relate.
Thither withdrawn Dioclesian like in state;
To th' Town my Envoy'e an Ode I'll send,
And that's enough to' observe, and to relate.
Hail! Beauteous City of the Winged Quire,
Fair Trees, sweet Bowers, inviolable Woods;
The Muses Kingdom, and where they retire,
The Hampton Court of th' happy Gods.
Fair Trees, sweet Bowers, inviolable Woods;
165
The Hampton Court of th' happy Gods.
Let me repos'd within your hallow'd Shade,
The Dances of soft-footed Zephyrs hear;
And tir'd with the Disputes the Schools have made,
Hark how by Leaves and Winds they manag'd are.
The Dances of soft-footed Zephyrs hear;
And tir'd with the Disputes the Schools have made,
Hark how by Leaves and Winds they manag'd are.
View but the lusty Year, how 'it smiles and plays,
When vigorous heat, through the gross matter hurld,
Provokes to love, and the swell'd Womb does raise,
Of the Adult and Marriageable World.
When vigorous heat, through the gross matter hurld,
Provokes to love, and the swell'd Womb does raise,
Of the Adult and Marriageable World.
A Summer-House here let me ever find,
Where Nature the wise Architect may be;
And who 'would prefer, that is in his right Mind,
A smooth dead Beam to a rough living Tree?
Where Nature the wise Architect may be;
And who 'would prefer, that is in his right Mind,
A smooth dead Beam to a rough living Tree?
On an Hills flowry Bed, as there I lie,
I'd listen how some Floods new married Streams,
Laugh, and tell o're their Loves as they run by,
Glittering in Light, and flam'd with liquid Gems.
I'd listen how some Floods new married Streams,
Laugh, and tell o're their Loves as they run by,
Glittering in Light, and flam'd with liquid Gems.
He, tho alone, who wants Employment here,
With Life but labours, as an ill Disease;
Or Prodigal of what most buy too dear,
His Hours puts out to none, or the' worst increase.
With Life but labours, as an ill Disease;
Or Prodigal of what most buy too dear,
His Hours puts out to none, or the' worst increase.
Blest Solitude! sacred Companion,
Of God, and even Mankind, till Numbers tree,
Rank springing up, and thick from the' Trunk of One,
Still as in Arms, increast in Misery.
Of God, and even Mankind, till Numbers tree,
Rank springing up, and thick from the' Trunk of One,
Still as in Arms, increast in Misery.
'Tis Thou, who like a skilful Chariotteer,
The Minds wild Passions dextrously dost rein;
Make'st them the Curb receive, approach more near,
And in a straiter Tour their Course confine.
The Minds wild Passions dextrously dost rein;
166
And in a straiter Tour their Course confine.
'Tis Thou its languid Heats, and fluid Rays,
When by expansion ready to exspire,
Collect'st again, as with a Burning-Glass,
And hatchest to a new and brisker Fire.
When by expansion ready to exspire,
Collect'st again, as with a Burning-Glass,
And hatchest to a new and brisker Fire.
In vain, fond London, thy Eternal Spring,
From whence a living Thames of People flows;
London, in vain Thou dost Thy Pageants bring,
And to my envy Thy rais'd Towers expose.
From whence a living Thames of People flows;
London, in vain Thou dost Thy Pageants bring,
And to my envy Thy rais'd Towers expose.
For take but all Thy Gaudy Fools away
And Vices large extended Family;
A Village scarce of those, who after stay,
Almost a Solitude Thou too wouldst be.
And Vices large extended Family;
A Village scarce of those, who after stay,
Almost a Solitude Thou too wouldst be.
1668.
The Voyage.
ODE.
I.
As one, that's from a tedious Voyage come,And safe, through thousand Storms arriv'd at Home,
Resolves to put to Sea no more,
Or boldly tempt the flattering Main,
How smooth so e're it lie, or plain,
But having drawn his broken Hull ashore,
To some kind Saint hangs up his Consecrated Oar:
I, who as foul a Sea had past,
167
Where there so many Shipwrackt be,
Or on the Rocks, or on the Quick-sand cast;
Recounting what my self had seen,
And in how many Deaths I 'had been,
Where scarce an empty wish or hope could come between;
With almost as confirm'd a Vow,
Resolv'd no less to Consecrate
Some votive Table, which might show
The Labours I did undergo;
And at a far more easie rate,
Than I them bore a'-late,
Give others the delight to view on Land my dangerous Fate.
II.
Already was the Sacred Plank design'd,And in it how I first assay'd the Deep;
When thinking only near the Shores to keep,
There rose a sudden, and tempestuous Wind,
Which made me leave the unsaluted Land behind.
The Sea before was calm, and still,
And gentle Airs did with my Streamers play;
Scarce strong enough my half struck Sail to fill,
And through the yielding Chrystal force my way.
Close by did many a Vessel Ride,
Whose Pilots all, with Bays were Crown'd,
And to the murmurs of the Tide,
Voices and Mirth were heard around;
My self made there Anacreon's Harp resound,
Which, sprightly seem'd, and wondrous brave,
And its old killing Notes to have, (which I gave.
But from the Waters more, than those rough touches,
'Twould still of nothing sound but Love,
Tho I the various stops did often prove;
Wherefore new Loves I did begin,
168
Which took fresh vigour from the String,
And o're the Dancing Floods were quickly blown.
The Carthaginian Queen, I sang, and stolen Joys,
And of his Flames, who 'scapt at Troys:
And as the Thracian Orpheus by his Skill,
To Ransom his Euridice is sed,
And from the Shades bring back the Dead;
My Song as great a Miracle did tell,
And thither chain'd in Verse, alive Proserpina did lead.
III.
Such was my Song, but when the Storm arose,Voices, and Mirth were heard no more;
But every Man fell stoutly to his Oar,
And to the Floods all did their Strength oppose,
Hoping to reach some Harbour, but in vain,
They were with greater fury hurri'd back into the Main.
No lays resounded, which might please,
But dying Shrieks of such as Shipwrackt were;
And those proud Galleys, which before, at ease,
Plough'd up the Deep, no longer did appear;
But to the Waves become a Prey,
Some downright sank, some broken lay,
And by the Billows were in Triumph born away.
My Keell so many Leaks did spring,
That all the Hold, with Water was flow'd o're;
And a Sea no less dangerous rag'd within,
Than that which strove abroad the Tempest to outroar.
So Over-board my Lading straight I cast,
With some faint hopes my Barque to save;
But on the Wind away they quickly past,
And my best Safety was no hopes to have.
Yet by me still the great Jessean Lyre I kept,
Which down I from my Bed did take,
169
And all its numerous Chords I did awake;
Thinking, since I the Waves must try,
Them and the Sea-gods with a Song to pacifie.
IV.
I plaid, and boldly then plung'd down,Holding my Harp still in my Hand,
My dear Companion in those Paths unknown,
But hopeless with it e're to reach the Land;
When lo! the Sage Eüarna (in my Song
Iärma rightli'er stiled) with Nymphs and Tritons waited on,
As she by chance there past along,
Drove up her Chariot to my side;
And in requital for my humble Song,
Invited me with her to Ride,
And fearless of the Way, with them my Course to guide.
So down she reacht her Pearly Hand,
And from the Floods me gently rais'd;
Whilst all the Crowd upon me gaz'd,
And waited, e're they further went, some new Command,
Which straight She gave, and at Her Word the Wind,
Backward did scour, before us smooth and plain
The Ocean lay, Storms only rag'd behind;
And to my Harp I turn'd again,
No longer was I of the Deep afraid,
But bolder grown, some Anthems plaid,
And on them put my Chains, who theirs upon the Waves had laid.
Till having many a Country past,
And Coasting the whole Earth around,
(The North-west passage Navigable found)
I on my Native Shore was cast,
And safely toucht the British Isle at last.
170
V.
This Table as in Colours 'twas exprest,And with Belisas curious Pencil wrought,
With Ivy Garlands and Sea-holm I drest,
And to my Muses sacred Temple brought,
Hoping it would accepted be,
And surely gain my Liberty,
From future Service, and declare me free.
But as I waiting in the Court did stand,
Into a sudden Extasie I fell;
And led by an Immortal Hand,
Which entrance for me did Command,
Approacht the Fanes most private Cell,
By none e're seen before, where awful Dread, and Reverence dwell.
'Twas not like those strait Oratories here,
Which we by that Name call,
But a Magnifi'cent, and Stupendous Hall,
The Roof with Paintings garnisht all,
And where in Niches, on the Wall,
There did the lively Forms appear,
Of such who for their Verse the Laurel Sert did wear.
Greece and old Rome possest the chiefest place,
And all the upper Square on th' East their Quarter was.
The sides were into several Coasts design'd,
And by their Country you each Name might find.
The Thuscan, French, and Spanish Band,
And others more, as they did with their Titles stand.
Britain as fair a space as any had,
(The' whole Western Square) and tho the lowest laid,
Had no less Honours to her, than to Rome and Athens paid.
171
VI.
Thither I turn'd mine Eye, and in the ThrongOf Crowned Heads, translated there,
Whose very Names to count would be too long,
From Chaucer downwards, (tho some Ancienter there were)
The fair Orinda did appear,
And tho come thither last of all,
Made the most Beauteous Figure on the sacred Wall.
Aside her several Niches were prepar'd
For those, who after her should come;
(The mighty Cowley since has there obtain'd a Room,
And Davenant as with her they in the Muses service shar'd)
With other Names, which there I saw Enroll'd,
And in bright Characters enchast;
But who they were must not be told,
Till they the fatal Stream have past,
And after Death have here their Breathing Statues plac'd.
My Muse alone those Worthys did out-shine,
As she approacht me there in shape Divine,
Her Golden Hair was all unbound
With careless Art, and wantonly did play,
Mov'd by her Strings harmonious sound,
As on her Shoulders the loose Tresses lay.
A wondrous Mantle on her Back was thrown,
And her gay Mystic Vest below,
In Royal State traild all adown;
An Harp was in her Hand, and on her Head a Crown.
VII.
Amaz'd I at her Feet did fall,And Prostrate lay, till up she bid me stand,
Saying, “For this I Thee did never call,
“But boldly to receive my great Command.
“Arise, for (Lo!) a better Fate
172
“Than what Thou in the Deep hast tri'd of late;
“Not but that all thy Labours there,
“To Thine own Wish shall amply be repaid,
(“How ever for a while delay'd)
“For I, by whom enroll'd they are,
“Second to none but Heav'n in that great care,
“Which of Thy Verse and Thee I ever had,
“Will look so large allowance for them shall be made,
“And all the time Thou hast, or shalt have staid,
“That the whole Damage, which Thou didst sustain,
“Shall not compare with Thy Immortal Gain.
VIII.
“Witness Thy Table which I here accept,“Worthy for the' Hand design'd it to be kept,
“Within my Archives a fair Room to have,
“And Thy mean Name from dark Oblivion save;
“Till to another Temple, that's above,
“Thy Souls true Image I hereafter shall remove.
“Where several, whom Thou here dost know,
“Ambitious at their very Names to bow,
“Leaving their wanton Strains behind,
“And from all base alloy refin'd,
“More to resemble the Eternal Mind,
“With several, who were never here,
(“So Godlike all their Numbers were)
“As Heman, Ethan, Moises, and the Quire,
“Of Jewish Psalmists, whom Heaven did inspire,
“And Jesses Son, whose Harp thou late didst bear,
“In Glory with the first Great Maker live,
“And for your Mortal Bays, a Starry Diadem receive.
173
IX.
“But first, my Son, Thou 'again to Sea must go,“And many Towns, and Men, and Countries know,
“In the new World of Heav'nly Poesy,
“Part of which long since was design'd to be
“The happy Fruits of thy Discovery;
“Where none of all Thy Nation has been yet,
“The Way so dangerous, and the Task so great;
“Nor doubt, but it shall recompense thy cost,
“And, were it more, that Age they cry thou hast lost,
“When Thou didst Tibers City fly,
“The dusty ruines of Antiquity,
“And for my Service thy old Love to 'her Stones deny:
“And later, since didst Laws, and the' Bar forsake,
“And for the long Robe th' Ivy Garland take,
“As that which would Thy Name Immortal make.
“Much, I confess, much that alone can do,
“Very much I,
“But more my Elder Sister, Sage Theology,
“Whom thou e're long shalt know,
“And from my Service to attend her go:
“Her to attend, but not renounce me utterly.
“For I have Honours to bestow,
“And endless Treasures, tho I rarely show
“The happy Country where they grow.
“And tho some Wretch the Plague endure,
“Of Ridiculous Poverty,
“The fault's his own, and not in me:
“Not that he is my Votary,
“But under that disguse to her an Enemy.
“Not I, but they who count and make me so, are poor.
174
X.
“Try me this once, and once more tempt the Main!“Thou shalt not unattended go,
“For when thou next putst forth to Sea again,
“I'll be Thy Pilot, and the Passage show.
“Nay, wonder not, for 'tis no more
“Than what I several times have done before,
“When Tasso I through unknown Straits did guide,
“And made my Bartas o're the Surges ride,
“And Collins sacred Mulla deifi'd.
“Those Admi'rals of my Seas, which did extend
“Their Countrys Bounds, and Savage Nations made attend
“'Twas I Conducted them those Lands to find,
“Where each did plant his Nations Colonies;
“All spreading less their Sails than Victories,
“And there are yet more Lands for thee behind,
“Or to Discover, or Improve by a nobler kind.
“Let's go, my Son, and all the way rehearse
“The Birth of things, as they from Nothing rose,
“By that Almighty Word, which shall inspire thy Verse,
“And help Thee all its Wonders to disclose.
“No Storm upon Thy Mast shall rest,
“Nor any Blasts, but Vernal, blow;
“The Sea it self to my great Service prest,
“In plains of Liquid Diamond shall lie below,
“And its obedience to my Rule in dancing Billows show.
“And when thou Home return'd shalt be
“And of thy Native Earth once more take hold,
“My self thy Barque will Consecrated see,
“And for this New World thus found out by Thee,
“Make it an Heav'nly Sign, next that which sav'd the Old.
“Or if this pleases not
“Too long laid by, too long forgot,
175
“Thy own be the free choice, the Conduct shall be mine.
Made first 1666, and some time after review'd.
Comiato.
Song, that thou shouldst of all be understood,I little hope, and less design;
Tho few there be who wish thy Masters good,
And know him, but they something will divine:
That Verse so early he began,
Scarce will the Poet die before the Man.
And that the boasts he makes of Bays,
(The most that almost any of the Trade e're got,
And happy he if this be his Lot)
Is the thin Diet of an Airy Praise,
On which he, like his Brethren, lives his Verse to raise.
1677.
| A paraphrase upon the canticles | |