Thalia Rediviva The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan] |
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Thalia Rediviva.
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1
Thalia Rediviva.
The King Disguis'd.
A king and no King! Is he gone from us,
And stoln alive into his Coffin thus?
This was to ravish Death, and so prevent
The Rebells treason and their punishment.
He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he
Himself deposed his own Majesty.
Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the Ill
He wanders (Royal Saint!) in sheep-skin still.
Poor, obscure shelter! if that shelter be
Obscure, which harbours so much Majesty.
Hence prophane Eyes! the mysterie's so deep,
Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't.
And stoln alive into his Coffin thus?
This was to ravish Death, and so prevent
The Rebells treason and their punishment.
He would not have them damn'd, and therefore he
Himself deposed his own Majesty.
Wolves did pursue him, and to fly the Ill
He wanders (Royal Saint!) in sheep-skin still.
Poor, obscure shelter! if that shelter be
Obscure, which harbours so much Majesty.
Hence prophane Eyes! the mysterie's so deep,
Like Esdras books, the vulgar must not see't.
Thou flying Roll, written with tears and woe,
Not for thy Royal self, but for thy Foe:
Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend.
Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the Rebells end.
Thy robes forc'd off, like Samuel's when rent,
Do figure out anothers Punishment.
Nor grieve thou hast put off thy self a while,
To serve as Prophet to this sinful Isle;
These are our days of Purim, which oppress
The Church, and force thee to the Wilderness.
But all these Clouds cannot thy light confine,
The Sun in storms and after them, will shine.
Thy day of life cannot be yet compleat,
'Tis early sure; thy shadow is so great.
Not for thy Royal self, but for thy Foe:
Thy grief is prophecy, and doth portend.
Like sad Ezekiel's sighs, the Rebells end.
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Do figure out anothers Punishment.
Nor grieve thou hast put off thy self a while,
To serve as Prophet to this sinful Isle;
These are our days of Purim, which oppress
The Church, and force thee to the Wilderness.
But all these Clouds cannot thy light confine,
The Sun in storms and after them, will shine.
Thy day of life cannot be yet compleat,
'Tis early sure; thy shadow is so great.
But I am vex'd, that we at all can guess
This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress.
When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing,
He grac'd Plebeians, but prophan'd the King.
Like some fair Church, which Zeal to Charcoals burn'd,
Or his own Court now to an Ale-house turn'd.
This change, and trust great Charles to such a dress.
When he was first obscur'd with this coarse thing,
He grac'd Plebeians, but prophan'd the King.
Like some fair Church, which Zeal to Charcoals burn'd,
Or his own Court now to an Ale-house turn'd.
But full as well may we blame Night, and chide
His wisdom, who doth light with darkness hide:
Or deny Curtains to thy Royal Bed,
As take this sacred cov'ring from thy Head.
Secrets of State are points we must not know;
This vizard is thy privy Councel now,
His wisdom, who doth light with darkness hide:
Or deny Curtains to thy Royal Bed,
As take this sacred cov'ring from thy Head.
Secrets of State are points we must not know;
This vizard is thy privy Councel now,
Thou Royal Riddle, and in every thing
The true white Prince, our Hieroglyphic King!
Ride safely in his shade, who gives thee Light:
And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.
O may they wonder all from thee as farr
As they from peace are, and thy self from Warr!
And wheresoe're thou do'st design to be
With thy (now spotted) spottles Majestie,
Be sure to look no Sanctuary there,
Nor hope for safety in a temple, where
Buyers and Sellers trade: O strengthen not
With too much trust the Treason of a Scot!
The true white Prince, our Hieroglyphic King!
Ride safely in his shade, who gives thee Light:
And can with blindness thy pursuers smite.
O may they wonder all from thee as farr
As they from peace are, and thy self from Warr!
And wheresoe're thou do'st design to be
With thy (now spotted) spottles Majestie,
Be sure to look no Sanctuary there,
Nor hope for safety in a temple, where
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With too much trust the Treason of a Scot!
The Eagle
'Tis madness sure; And I am in the Fitt,
To dare an Eagle with my unfledg'd witt.
For what did ever Rome or Athens sing
In all their Lines, as loftie as his wing?
He that an Eagles Powers would rehearse
Should with his plumes first feather all his Verse.
To dare an Eagle with my unfledg'd witt.
For what did ever Rome or Athens sing
In all their Lines, as loftie as his wing?
He that an Eagles Powers would rehearse
Should with his plumes first feather all his Verse.
I know not, when into thee I would prie,
Which to admire, thy Wing first: or thine Eye;
Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd
More of her Fire for thee, or of her Wind.
When thou in the clear Heights and upmost Air
Do'st face the Sun, and his dispersed Hair,
Ev'n from that distance thou the Sea do'st spie
And sporting in its deep, wide Lap the Frie.
Not the least Minoe there, but thou can'st see;
Whole Seas are narrow spectacles to thee.
Which to admire, thy Wing first: or thine Eye;
Or whether Nature at thy birth design'd
More of her Fire for thee, or of her Wind.
When thou in the clear Heights and upmost Air
Do'st face the Sun, and his dispersed Hair,
Ev'n from that distance thou the Sea do'st spie
And sporting in its deep, wide Lap the Frie.
Not the least Minoe there, but thou can'st see;
Whole Seas are narrow spectacles to thee.
Nor is this Element of water here
Below, of all thy miracles the sphere.
If Poets ought may add unto thy store,
Thou hast in Heav'n of wonders many more.
For when just Jove to Earth his thunder bends
And from that bright, eternal Fortress sends
His louder vollies: strait this Bird doth fly
To Ætna, where his Magazine doth lye:
And in his active Talons brings him more
Of ammunition, and recruits his store.
Nor is't a low, or easie Lift. He soares
'Bove Wind and Fire; gets to the Moon, and pores
With scorn upon her duller face; for she
Gives him but shadows and obscurity.
Here much displeas'd, that any thing like night
Should meet him in his proud and loftie flight,
That such dull Tinctures should advance so farr,
And rival in the glories of a star:
Resolv'd he is a nobler Course to try
And measures out his voyage with his Eye.
Then with such furie he begins his flight,
As if his Wings contended with his sight.
Leaving the Moon, whose humble light doth trade
With Spotts, and deals most in the dark and shade:
To the day's Royal Planet he doth pass
With daring Eyes, and makes the Sun his glass.
Here doth he plume and dress himself, the Beams
Rushing upon him, like so many Streams;
While with direct looks he doth entertain
The thronging flames, and shoots them back again.
And thus from star to star he doth repaire
And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.
Sometimes he frights the starrie Swan, and now
Orion's fearful Hare and then the Crow.
Then with the Orbe it self he moves, to see
Which is more swift th' Intelligence or He.
Thus with his wings his body he hath brought
Where man can travell only in a thought.
Below, of all thy miracles the sphere.
If Poets ought may add unto thy store,
Thou hast in Heav'n of wonders many more.
For when just Jove to Earth his thunder bends
And from that bright, eternal Fortress sends
His louder vollies: strait this Bird doth fly
To Ætna, where his Magazine doth lye:
And in his active Talons brings him more
Of ammunition, and recruits his store.
Nor is't a low, or easie Lift. He soares
'Bove Wind and Fire; gets to the Moon, and pores
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Gives him but shadows and obscurity.
Here much displeas'd, that any thing like night
Should meet him in his proud and loftie flight,
That such dull Tinctures should advance so farr,
And rival in the glories of a star:
Resolv'd he is a nobler Course to try
And measures out his voyage with his Eye.
Then with such furie he begins his flight,
As if his Wings contended with his sight.
Leaving the Moon, whose humble light doth trade
With Spotts, and deals most in the dark and shade:
To the day's Royal Planet he doth pass
With daring Eyes, and makes the Sun his glass.
Here doth he plume and dress himself, the Beams
Rushing upon him, like so many Streams;
While with direct looks he doth entertain
The thronging flames, and shoots them back again.
And thus from star to star he doth repaire
And wantons in that pure and peaceful air.
Sometimes he frights the starrie Swan, and now
Orion's fearful Hare and then the Crow.
Then with the Orbe it self he moves, to see
Which is more swift th' Intelligence or He.
Thus with his wings his body he hath brought
Where man can travell only in a thought.
I will not seek, rare bird, what Spirit 'tis
That mounts thee thus; I'le be content with this;
To think, that Nature made thee to express
Our souls bold Heights in a material dress.
That mounts thee thus; I'le be content with this;
To think, that Nature made thee to express
Our souls bold Heights in a material dress.
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To Mr. M. L. upon his reduction of the Psalms into Method.
SIR,
You have oblig'd the Patriarch. And tis known
He is your Debtor now, though for his own.
What he wrote, is a Medley. We can see
Confusion trespass on his Piety.
Misfortunes did not only Strike at him;
They charged further, and oppress'd his pen.
For he wrote as his Crosses came, and went
By no safe Rule, but by his Punishment.
His quill mov'd by the Rod; his witts and he
Did know no Method, but their Misery.
He is your Debtor now, though for his own.
What he wrote, is a Medley. We can see
Confusion trespass on his Piety.
Misfortunes did not only Strike at him;
They charged further, and oppress'd his pen.
For he wrote as his Crosses came, and went
By no safe Rule, but by his Punishment.
His quill mov'd by the Rod; his witts and he
Did know no Method, but their Misery.
You brought his Psalms now into Tune. Nay, all
His measures thus are more than musical.
Your Method and his Aires are justly sweet,
And (what's Church-musick right) like Anthems meet.
You did so much in this, that I believe
He gave the Matter, you the form did give.
And yet I wish you were not understood,
For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!
His measures thus are more than musical.
Your Method and his Aires are justly sweet,
And (what's Church-musick right) like Anthems meet.
You did so much in this, that I believe
He gave the Matter, you the form did give.
And yet I wish you were not understood,
For now 'tis a misfortune to be good!
Why then, you'l say, all I would have, is this,
None must be good, because the time's amiss.
For since wise Nature did ordain the Night,
I would not have the Sun to give us Light.
Whereas this doth not take the Use away:
But urgeth the Necessity of day.
Proceed to make your pious work as free,
Stop not your seasonable charity.
Good works despis'd, or censur'd by bad times,
Should be sent out to aggravate their Crimes.
They should first Share and then Reject our store:
Abuse our Good, to make their Guilt the more.
'Tis Warr strikes at our Sins, but it must be
A Persecution wounds our Pietie.
None must be good, because the time's amiss.
For since wise Nature did ordain the Night,
I would not have the Sun to give us Light.
Whereas this doth not take the Use away:
But urgeth the Necessity of day.
Proceed to make your pious work as free,
Stop not your seasonable charity.
Good works despis'd, or censur'd by bad times,
Should be sent out to aggravate their Crimes.
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Abuse our Good, to make their Guilt the more.
'Tis Warr strikes at our Sins, but it must be
A Persecution wounds our Pietie.
To the pious memorie of C. W. Esquire who finished his Course here, and made his Entrance into Immortality upon the 13 of September, in the year of Redemption 1653.
Now, that the publick Sorrow doth subside,
And those slight tears which Custom Springs, are dried;
While all the rich & out-side-Mourners pass
Home from thy Dust to empty their own Glass:
I (who the throng affect not, nor their state:)
Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
And those slight tears which Custom Springs, are dried;
While all the rich & out-side-Mourners pass
Home from thy Dust to empty their own Glass:
I (who the throng affect not, nor their state:)
Steal to thy grave undress'd, to meditate
On our sad loss, accompanied by none,
An obscure mourner that would weep alone.
So when the world's great Luminary setts,
Some scarce known Star into the Zenith gets,
Twinkles and curls a weak but willing spark:
As Gloworms here do glitter in the dark.
Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there,
An humble love unto the light doth bear,
And true devotion from an Hermits Cell
Will Heav'ns kind King as soon reach and as well
As that which from rich Shrines and Altars flyes
Lead by ascending Incense to the Skies:
'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might
Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
And from my sad retirements calls me forth
The Just Recorder of thy death and worth.
Some scarce known Star into the Zenith gets,
Twinkles and curls a weak but willing spark:
As Gloworms here do glitter in the dark.
Yet, since the dimmest flame that kindles there,
An humble love unto the light doth bear,
And true devotion from an Hermits Cell
Will Heav'ns kind King as soon reach and as well
As that which from rich Shrines and Altars flyes
Lead by ascending Incense to the Skies:
'Tis no malicious rudeness, if the might
Of love makes dark things wait upon the bright,
And from my sad retirements calls me forth
The Just Recorder of thy death and worth.
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Long did'st thou live (if length be measured by
The tedious Reign of our Calamity:)
And Counter to all storms and changes still
Kept'st the same temper, and the self same will.
Though trials came as duly as the day,
And in such mists, that none could see his way:
Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw
The Sun give Clouds: and Charles give both the Law.
When private Interest did all hearts bend
And wild dissents the public peace did rend:
Thou neither won, nor worn wer't still thy self;
Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
The tedious Reign of our Calamity:)
And Counter to all storms and changes still
Kept'st the same temper, and the self same will.
Though trials came as duly as the day,
And in such mists, that none could see his way:
Yet thee I found still virtuous, and saw
The Sun give Clouds: and Charles give both the Law.
When private Interest did all hearts bend
And wild dissents the public peace did rend:
Thou neither won, nor worn wer't still thy self;
Not aw'd by force, nor basely brib'd with pelf.
What the insuperable stream of times
Did dash thee with, those Suff'rings were, not Crimes.
So the bright Sun Ecclipses bears; and we
Because then passive, blame him not, should he
For inforc'd shades, and the Moon's ruder veile
Much nearer us, than him; be Judg'd to fail?
Who traduce thee, so erre. As poisons by
Correction are made Antidotes, so thy
Just Soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to Good;
Us'd bad Laws so, they drew not Tears, nor Blood.
Heav'n was thy Aime, and thy great rare Design
Was not to Lord it here, but there to shine.
Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e're
Thou pray'dst for here, was Peace; and Glory there.
For though thy Course in times long progress fell
On a sad age, when Warr and open'd Hell
Licens'd all Artes and Sects, and made it free
To thrive by fraud and blood and blasphemy:
Yet thou thy just Inheritance di'dst by
No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply;
No rapine swell'd thy state: no bribes, nor fees
Our new oppressors best Annuities.
Such clean, pure hands had'st thou! And for thy heart
Man's secret region and his noblest part;
Since I was privy to't, and had the Key
Of that faire Room, where thy bright Spirit lay:
I must affirm, it did as much surpass
Most I have known, as the clear Sky doth glass.
Constant and kind, and plain and meek and Mild
It was, and with no new Conceits defil'd.
Busie, but sacred thoughts (like Bees) did still
Within it stirr, and strive unto that Hill,
Where redeem'd Spirits evermore alive
After their Work is done, ascend and Hive.
No outward tumults reach'd this inward place,
'Twas holy ground: where peace, and love and grace
Kept house: where the immortal restles life
In a most dutiful and pious strife
Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order, still;
The Will serv'd God, and ev'ry Sense the Will!
Did dash thee with, those Suff'rings were, not Crimes.
So the bright Sun Ecclipses bears; and we
Because then passive, blame him not, should he
For inforc'd shades, and the Moon's ruder veile
Much nearer us, than him; be Judg'd to fail?
Who traduce thee, so erre. As poisons by
Correction are made Antidotes, so thy
Just Soul did turn ev'n hurtful things to Good;
Us'd bad Laws so, they drew not Tears, nor Blood.
Heav'n was thy Aime, and thy great rare Design
Was not to Lord it here, but there to shine.
Earth nothing had, could tempt thee. All that e're
Thou pray'dst for here, was Peace; and Glory there.
For though thy Course in times long progress fell
On a sad age, when Warr and open'd Hell
Licens'd all Artes and Sects, and made it free
To thrive by fraud and blood and blasphemy:
Yet thou thy just Inheritance di'dst by
No sacrilege, nor pillage multiply;
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Our new oppressors best Annuities.
Such clean, pure hands had'st thou! And for thy heart
Man's secret region and his noblest part;
Since I was privy to't, and had the Key
Of that faire Room, where thy bright Spirit lay:
I must affirm, it did as much surpass
Most I have known, as the clear Sky doth glass.
Constant and kind, and plain and meek and Mild
It was, and with no new Conceits defil'd.
Busie, but sacred thoughts (like Bees) did still
Within it stirr, and strive unto that Hill,
Where redeem'd Spirits evermore alive
After their Work is done, ascend and Hive.
No outward tumults reach'd this inward place,
'Twas holy ground: where peace, and love and grace
Kept house: where the immortal restles life
In a most dutiful and pious strife
Like a fix'd watch, mov'd all in order, still;
The Will serv'd God, and ev'ry Sense the Will!
In this safe state death mett thee. Death which is
But a kind Usher of the good to bliss.
Therefore to Weep because thy Course is run,
Or droop like Flow'rs, which lately lost the Sun:
I cannot yield, since faith will not permitt,
A Tenure got by Conquest to the Pitt.
For the great Victour fought for us, and Hee
Counts ev'ry dust, that is lay'd up of thee.
Besides, Death now grows decrepit and hath
Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.
That thick, black night which mankind fear'd, is torn
By Troops of Stars, and the bright day's Forlorn.
The next glad news (most glad unto the Just!)
Will be the Trumpet's summons from the dust.
Then Ile not grieve; nay more, I'le not allow
My Soul should think thee absent from me now.
Some bid their Dead good night! but I will say
Good morrow to dear Charles! for it is day.
But a kind Usher of the good to bliss.
Therefore to Weep because thy Course is run,
Or droop like Flow'rs, which lately lost the Sun:
I cannot yield, since faith will not permitt,
A Tenure got by Conquest to the Pitt.
For the great Victour fought for us, and Hee
Counts ev'ry dust, that is lay'd up of thee.
Besides, Death now grows decrepit and hath
Spent the most part both of its time and wrath.
That thick, black night which mankind fear'd, is torn
By Troops of Stars, and the bright day's Forlorn.
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Will be the Trumpet's summons from the dust.
Then Ile not grieve; nay more, I'le not allow
My Soul should think thee absent from me now.
Some bid their Dead good night! but I will say
Good morrow to dear Charles! for it is day.
In Zodiacum Marcelli Palingenii.
It is perform'd! and thy great Name doth runThrough ev'ry Sign an everlasting Sun.
Not Planet-like, but fix'd; and we can see
Thy Genius stand still in his Apogie.
For how canst thou an Aux eternal miss,
Where ev'ry House thine Exaltation is?
Here's no Ecclyptic threatens thee with night,
Although the wiser, few take in thy light.
They are not at that glorious pitch, to be
In a Conjunction with Divinitie.
Could we partake some oblique Ray of thine,
Salute thee in a Sextile, or a Trine,
It were enough; but thou art flown so high,
The Telescope is turn'd a Common Eye.
Had the grave Chaldee liv'd thy Book to see,
He had known no Astrologie, but thee;
Nay more, (for I believ't,) thou shouldst have been
Tutor to all his Planets, and to him.
Thus whosoever reads thee, his charm'd sense
Proves captive to thy Zodiac's influence.
Were it not foul to erre so, I should look
Here for the Rabbins universal Book:
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When first they doted on that mystery.
Each line's a via lactea, where we may
See thy fair steps, and tread that happy way
Thy Genius lead thee in. Still I will be
Lodg'd in some Sign, some Face and some Degree
Of thy bright Zodiac, Thus I'le teach my Sense
To move by that, and thee th' Intelligence.
To Lysimachus, the Author being with him in London.
Saw not, Lysimachus, last day, when wee
Took the pure Air in its simplicity,
And our own too: how the trim'd Gallants went
Cringing, & past each step some Complement?
What strange, phantastic Diagrams they drew
With Legs and Arms; the like we never knew
In Euclid, Archimed: nor all of those
Whose learned lines are neither Verse nor Prose?
What store of Lace was there? how did the Gold
Run in rich Traces, but withall made bold
To measure the proud things, and so deride
The Fops with that, which was part of their pride?
How did they point at us, and boldly call,
As if we had been Vassals to them all,
Their poor Men-mules sent thither by hard fate
To yoke our selves for their Sedans and State?
Of all ambitions, this was not the least,
VVhose drift translated man into a beast.
VVhat blind discourse the Heroes did afford?
This Lady was their Friend, and such a Lord.
How much of Blood was in it? one could tell
He came from Bevis and his Arundel;
Morglay was yet with him, and he could do
More feats with it, than his old Grandsire too.
Took the pure Air in its simplicity,
And our own too: how the trim'd Gallants went
Cringing, & past each step some Complement?
What strange, phantastic Diagrams they drew
With Legs and Arms; the like we never knew
In Euclid, Archimed: nor all of those
Whose learned lines are neither Verse nor Prose?
What store of Lace was there? how did the Gold
Run in rich Traces, but withall made bold
To measure the proud things, and so deride
The Fops with that, which was part of their pride?
How did they point at us, and boldly call,
As if we had been Vassals to them all,
Their poor Men-mules sent thither by hard fate
To yoke our selves for their Sedans and State?
Of all ambitions, this was not the least,
VVhose drift translated man into a beast.
VVhat blind discourse the Heroes did afford?
This Lady was their Friend, and such a Lord.
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He came from Bevis and his Arundel;
Morglay was yet with him, and he could do
More feats with it, than his old Grandsire too.
Wonders my Friend at this? what is't to thee,
Who canst produce a nobler Pedigree,
And in meer truth affirm thy Soul of kin
To some bright Star, or to a Cherubin?
When these in their profuse moods spend the night
With the same sins, they drive away the light,
Thy learned thrift puts her to use; while she
Reveals her firy Volume unto thee;
And looking on the separated skies
And their clear Lamps with careful thoughts & eyes
Thou break'st through Natures upmost rooms & bars
To Heav'n, and there conversest with the Stars.
Who canst produce a nobler Pedigree,
And in meer truth affirm thy Soul of kin
To some bright Star, or to a Cherubin?
When these in their profuse moods spend the night
With the same sins, they drive away the light,
Thy learned thrift puts her to use; while she
Reveals her firy Volume unto thee;
And looking on the separated skies
And their clear Lamps with careful thoughts & eyes
Thou break'st through Natures upmost rooms & bars
To Heav'n, and there conversest with the Stars.
Well fare such harmless, happy nights that be
Obscur'd with nothing but their privacie:
And missing but the false world's glories, do
Miss all those vices, which attend them too!
Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise;
Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest dayes.
Obscur'd with nothing but their privacie:
And missing but the false world's glories, do
Miss all those vices, which attend them too!
Fret not to hear their ill-got, ill-giv'n praise;
Thy darkest nights outshine their brightest dayes.
On Sir Thomas Bodley's Library; the Author being then in Oxford.
Boast not proud Golgotha: that thou can'st show
The ruines of mankind, and let us know
How fraile a thing is flesh! though we see there
But empty Skulls, the Rabbins still live here.
They are not dead, but full of Blood again,
I mean the Sense, and ev'ry Line a Vein.
Triumph not o're their Dust; whoever looks
In here, shall find their Brains all in their Books.
The ruines of mankind, and let us know
How fraile a thing is flesh! though we see there
But empty Skulls, the Rabbins still live here.
They are not dead, but full of Blood again,
I mean the Sense, and ev'ry Line a Vein.
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In here, shall find their Brains all in their Books.
Nor is't old Palestine alone survives,
Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's lives.
The stones which sometimes danc'd unto the strain
Of Orpheus, here do lodge his muse again.
And you the Roman Spirits, learning has
Made your lives longer, than your Empire was.
Cæsar had perish'd from the World of men,
Had not his Sword been rescu'd by his pen.
Rare Seneca! how lasting is thy breath?
Though Nero did, thou could'st not bleed to Death.
How dull the expert Tyrant was, to look
For that in thee, which lived in thy Book?
Afflictions turn our Blood to Ink, and we
Commence when Writing, our Eternity.
Lucilius here I can behold, and see
His Counsels and his Life proceed from thee.
But what care I to whom thy Letters be?
I change the Name, and thou do'st write to me;
And in this Age, as sad almost as thine,
Thy stately Consolations are mine.
Poor Earth! what though thy viler dust enrouls
The frail Inclosures of these mighty Souls?
Their graves are all upon Record; not one
But is as bright, and open as the Sun.
And though some part of them obscurely fell
And perish'd in an unknown, private Cell:
Yet in their books they found a glorious way
To live unto the Resurrection-day.
Athens lives here, more than in Plutarch's lives.
The stones which sometimes danc'd unto the strain
Of Orpheus, here do lodge his muse again.
And you the Roman Spirits, learning has
Made your lives longer, than your Empire was.
Cæsar had perish'd from the World of men,
Had not his Sword been rescu'd by his pen.
Rare Seneca! how lasting is thy breath?
Though Nero did, thou could'st not bleed to Death.
How dull the expert Tyrant was, to look
For that in thee, which lived in thy Book?
Afflictions turn our Blood to Ink, and we
Commence when Writing, our Eternity.
Lucilius here I can behold, and see
His Counsels and his Life proceed from thee.
But what care I to whom thy Letters be?
I change the Name, and thou do'st write to me;
And in this Age, as sad almost as thine,
Thy stately Consolations are mine.
Poor Earth! what though thy viler dust enrouls
The frail Inclosures of these mighty Souls?
Their graves are all upon Record; not one
But is as bright, and open as the Sun.
And though some part of them obscurely fell
And perish'd in an unknown, private Cell:
Yet in their books they found a glorious way
To live unto the Resurrection-day.
Most noble Bodley! we are bound to thee
For no small part of our Eternity.
Thy treasure was not spent on Horse and Hound,
Nor that new Mode, which doth old States confound.
Thy legacies another way did go:
Nor were they left to those would spend them so.
Thy safe, discreet Expence on us did flow;
Walsam is in the mid'st of Oxford now.
Th' hast made us all thine Heirs: whatever we
Hereafter write, 'tis thy Posterity.
This is thy Monument! here thou shalt stand
Till the times fail in their last grain of Sand.
And wheresoe're thy silent Reliques keep,
This Tomb will never let thine honour sleep.
Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame
Meets here to speak one Letter of thy name.
Thou can'st not dye! here thou art more than safe
Where every Book is thy large Epitaph.
For no small part of our Eternity.
13
Nor that new Mode, which doth old States confound.
Thy legacies another way did go:
Nor were they left to those would spend them so.
Thy safe, discreet Expence on us did flow;
Walsam is in the mid'st of Oxford now.
Th' hast made us all thine Heirs: whatever we
Hereafter write, 'tis thy Posterity.
This is thy Monument! here thou shalt stand
Till the times fail in their last grain of Sand.
And wheresoe're thy silent Reliques keep,
This Tomb will never let thine honour sleep.
Still we shall think upon thee; all our fame
Meets here to speak one Letter of thy name.
Thou can'st not dye! here thou art more than safe
Where every Book is thy large Epitaph.
The importunate Fortune, written to Doctor Powel of Cantre.
For shame desist, why should'st thou seek my fall?
It cannot make thee more Monarchical.
Leave off; thy Empire is already built;
To ruine me were to inlarge thy guilt,
Not thy Prerogative. I am not he
Must be the measure to thy victory.
The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace
If in thy Annals I should make a Clause.
The future Ages will disclose such men,
Shall be the glory, and the end of them.
Nor do I flatter. So long as there be
Descents in Nature, or Posterity,
There must be Fortunes; whether they be good,
As swimming in thy Tide and plenteous Flood,
Or stuck fast in the shallow Ebb, when we
Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity.
Thus, Fortune, the great World thy period is;
Nature and you are Parallels in this.
It cannot make thee more Monarchical.
Leave off; thy Empire is already built;
To ruine me were to inlarge thy guilt,
Not thy Prerogative. I am not he
Must be the measure to thy victory.
The Fates hatch more for thee; 'twere a disgrace
If in thy Annals I should make a Clause.
The future Ages will disclose such men,
Shall be the glory, and the end of them.
Nor do I flatter. So long as there be
Descents in Nature, or Posterity,
14
As swimming in thy Tide and plenteous Flood,
Or stuck fast in the shallow Ebb, when we
Miss to deserve thy gorgeous charity.
Thus, Fortune, the great World thy period is;
Nature and you are Parallels in this.
But thou wilt urge me still. Away, be gone;
I am resolv'd, I will not be undone.
I scorn thy trash and thee: nay more, I do
Despise my self, because thy Subject too.
Name me Heir to thy malice, and I'le be;
Thy hate's the best Inheritance for me.
I care not for your wondrous Hat and Purse:
Make me a Fortunatus with thy Curse.
How careful of my self then should I be,
Were I neglected by the world and thee?
Why do'st thou tempt me with thy dirty Ore,
And with thy Riches make my Soul so poor?
My Fancy's pris'ner to thy Gold and thee,
Thy favours rob me of my liberty.
I'le to my Speculations. Is't best
To be confin'd to some dark narrow chest
And Idolize thy Stamps, when I may be
Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee?
The world's my Palace. I'le contemplate there,
And make my progress into ev'ry Sphere.
The Chambers of the Air are mine; those three
Well furnish'd Stories my possession be.
I hold them all in Capite, and stand
Propt by my Fancy there. I scorn your Land,
It lies so far below me. Here I see
How all the Sacred Stars do circle me.
Thou to the Great giv'st rich Food, and I do
VVant no Content; I feed on Manna too.
They have their Tapers; I gaze without fear
On flying Lamps, and flaming Comets here.
Their wanton flesh in Silks and Purple Shrouds,
And Fancy wraps me in a Robe of Clouds.
There some delicious beauty they may woo,
And I have Nature for my Mistris too.
I am resolv'd, I will not be undone.
I scorn thy trash and thee: nay more, I do
Despise my self, because thy Subject too.
Name me Heir to thy malice, and I'le be;
Thy hate's the best Inheritance for me.
I care not for your wondrous Hat and Purse:
Make me a Fortunatus with thy Curse.
How careful of my self then should I be,
Were I neglected by the world and thee?
Why do'st thou tempt me with thy dirty Ore,
And with thy Riches make my Soul so poor?
My Fancy's pris'ner to thy Gold and thee,
Thy favours rob me of my liberty.
I'le to my Speculations. Is't best
To be confin'd to some dark narrow chest
And Idolize thy Stamps, when I may be
Lord of all Nature, and not slave to thee?
The world's my Palace. I'le contemplate there,
And make my progress into ev'ry Sphere.
The Chambers of the Air are mine; those three
Well furnish'd Stories my possession be.
I hold them all in Capite, and stand
Propt by my Fancy there. I scorn your Land,
It lies so far below me. Here I see
How all the Sacred Stars do circle me.
15
VVant no Content; I feed on Manna too.
They have their Tapers; I gaze without fear
On flying Lamps, and flaming Comets here.
Their wanton flesh in Silks and Purple Shrouds,
And Fancy wraps me in a Robe of Clouds.
There some delicious beauty they may woo,
And I have Nature for my Mistris too.
But these are mean; the Archtype I can see,
And humbly touch the hem of Majestie.
The power of my Soul is such, I can
Expire, and so analyse all that's man.
First my dull Clay I give unto the Earth,
Our common Mother, which gives all their birth.
My growing Faculties I send as soon
VVhence first I took them, to the humid Moon.
All Subtilties and every cunning Art
To witty Mercury I do impart.
Those fond Affections which made me a slave
To handsome Faces, Venus thou shalt have.
And saucy Pride (if there was ought in me,)
Sol, I return it to thy Royalty.
My daring Rashness and Presumptions be
To Mars himself an equal Legacy.
My ill-plac'd Avarice (sure 'tis but small;)
Jove, to thy Flames I do bequeath it all.
And my false Magic, which I did believe,
And mystic Lyes to Saturn I do give.
My dark Imaginations rest you there,
This is your grave and Superstitious Sphære.
And humbly touch the hem of Majestie.
The power of my Soul is such, I can
Expire, and so analyse all that's man.
First my dull Clay I give unto the Earth,
Our common Mother, which gives all their birth.
My growing Faculties I send as soon
VVhence first I took them, to the humid Moon.
All Subtilties and every cunning Art
To witty Mercury I do impart.
Those fond Affections which made me a slave
To handsome Faces, Venus thou shalt have.
And saucy Pride (if there was ought in me,)
Sol, I return it to thy Royalty.
My daring Rashness and Presumptions be
To Mars himself an equal Legacy.
My ill-plac'd Avarice (sure 'tis but small;)
Jove, to thy Flames I do bequeath it all.
And my false Magic, which I did believe,
And mystic Lyes to Saturn I do give.
My dark Imaginations rest you there,
This is your grave and Superstitious Sphære.
Get up my dismtangled Soul, thy fire
Is now refin'd & nothing left to tire,
Or clog thy wings. Now my auspicious flight
Hath brought me to the Empyrean light.
I am a sep'rate Essence, and can see
The Emanations of the Deitie,
And how they pass the Seraphims, and run
Through ev'ry Throne and Domination.
So rushing through the Guard, the Sacred streams
Flow to the neighbour Stars, and in their beams
(A glorious Cataract!) descend to Earth
And give Impressions unto ev'ry birth.
VVith Angels now and Spirits I do dwell.
And here it is my Nature to do well,
Thus, though my Body you confined see,
My boundless thoughts have their Ubiquitie.
And shall I then forsake the Stars and Signs
To dote upon thy dark and cursed Mines?
Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy
Guiana with the loss of all the skie?
Intelligences shall I leave, and be
Familiar only with mortalitie?
Must I know nought, but thy Exchequer? shall
My purse and fancy be Symmetrical?
Are there no Objects left but one? must we
In gaining that, lose our Varietie?
Is now refin'd & nothing left to tire,
16
Hath brought me to the Empyrean light.
I am a sep'rate Essence, and can see
The Emanations of the Deitie,
And how they pass the Seraphims, and run
Through ev'ry Throne and Domination.
So rushing through the Guard, the Sacred streams
Flow to the neighbour Stars, and in their beams
(A glorious Cataract!) descend to Earth
And give Impressions unto ev'ry birth.
VVith Angels now and Spirits I do dwell.
And here it is my Nature to do well,
Thus, though my Body you confined see,
My boundless thoughts have their Ubiquitie.
And shall I then forsake the Stars and Signs
To dote upon thy dark and cursed Mines?
Unhappy, sad exchange! what, must I buy
Guiana with the loss of all the skie?
Intelligences shall I leave, and be
Familiar only with mortalitie?
Must I know nought, but thy Exchequer? shall
My purse and fancy be Symmetrical?
Are there no Objects left but one? must we
In gaining that, lose our Varietie?
Fortune, this is the reason I refuse
Thy Wealth; it puts my Books all out of use.
'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind
Is big with speculation, when I find
My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess
There is no Blessing to an Emptiness!
The Species of all things to me resort
And dwell then in my breast, as in their port.
Then leave to Court me with thy hated store,
Thou giv'st me that, to rob my Soul of more.
Thy Wealth; it puts my Books all out of use.
'Tis poverty that makes me wise; my mind
Is big with speculation, when I find
My purse as Randolph's was, and I confess
There is no Blessing to an Emptiness!
The Species of all things to me resort
And dwell then in my breast, as in their port.
17
Thou giv'st me that, to rob my Soul of more.
To I. Morgan of White-hall Esq; upon his sudden Journey and succeeding Marriage.
So from our cold, rude World, which all things tires
To his warm Indies the bright sun retires.
Where in those provinces of Gold and spice
Perfumes his progress: pleasures fill his Eyes.
Which so refresh'd in their return convey
Fire into Rubies, into Chrystalls day;
And prove, that Light in kinder Climates can
Work more on senseless Stones, than here on man.
To his warm Indies the bright sun retires.
Where in those provinces of Gold and spice
Perfumes his progress: pleasures fill his Eyes.
Which so refresh'd in their return convey
Fire into Rubies, into Chrystalls day;
And prove, that Light in kinder Climates can
Work more on senseless Stones, than here on man.
But you, like one ordain'd to shine, take in
Both Light and Heat: can Love and Wisdom spin
Into one thred, and with that firmly tye
The same bright Blessings on posterity;
Which so intail'd, like Jewels of the Crown,
Shall with your Name descend still to your own.
Both Light and Heat: can Love and Wisdom spin
Into one thred, and with that firmly tye
The same bright Blessings on posterity;
Which so intail'd, like Jewels of the Crown,
Shall with your Name descend still to your own.
When I am dead, and malice or neglect
The worst they can upon my dust reflect,
(For Poets yet have left no names, but such
As men have envied, or despis'd too much;)
You above both (and what state more excells
Since a just Fame like Health, nor wants, nor swells?)
To after ages shall remain Entire,
And shine still spottles, like your planets Fire.
No single lustre neither; the access
Of your fair Love will yours adorn and bless;
Till from that bright Conjunction, men may view
A Constellation circling her and you:
The worst they can upon my dust reflect,
(For Poets yet have left no names, but such
As men have envied, or despis'd too much;)
You above both (and what state more excells
Since a just Fame like Health, nor wants, nor swells?)
To after ages shall remain Entire,
And shine still spottles, like your planets Fire.
No single lustre neither; the access
Of your fair Love will yours adorn and bless;
Till from that bright Conjunction, men may view
A Constellation circling her and you:
18
So two sweet Rose-buds from their Virgin-beds
First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads;
Till yearly blessings so increase their store
Those two can number two and twenty more,
And the fair Bank (by heav'ns free bounty Crown'd)
With choice of Sweets and Beauties doth abound;
Till time, which Familys like Flowers far spreads;
Gives them for Garlands to the best of heads.
Then late posterity (if chance, or some
Weak Eccho, almost quite expir'd and dumb
shall tell them, who the Poet was, and how (know)
He liv'd and lov'd thee too; which thou do'st
Strait to my grave will Flowers and spices bring
With Lights and Hymns, and for an Offering
There vow this truth; That Love (which in old times
Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse Crimes
If hearts mend not; did for thy sake in me
Find both his Eyes, and all foretell and see.
First peep and blush, then kiss and couple heads;
Till yearly blessings so increase their store
Those two can number two and twenty more,
And the fair Bank (by heav'ns free bounty Crown'd)
With choice of Sweets and Beauties doth abound;
Till time, which Familys like Flowers far spreads;
Gives them for Garlands to the best of heads.
Then late posterity (if chance, or some
Weak Eccho, almost quite expir'd and dumb
shall tell them, who the Poet was, and how (know)
He liv'd and lov'd thee too; which thou do'st
Strait to my grave will Flowers and spices bring
With Lights and Hymns, and for an Offering
There vow this truth; That Love (which in old times
Was censur'd blind, and will contract worse Crimes
If hearts mend not; did for thy sake in me
Find both his Eyes, and all foretell and see.
FIDA: Or The Country-beauty: to Lysimachus.
Now I have seen her; And by Cupid
The young Medusa made me stupid!
A face, that hath no Lovers stain,
Wants forces, and is near disdain.
For every Fop will freely peep
At Majesty that is asleep.
But she (fair Tyrant!) hates to be
Gaz'd on with such impunity.
Whose prudent Rigor bravely bears
And scorns the trick of whining tears:
Or sighs, those false All-arms of grief,
Which kill not, but afford relief.
Nor is it thy hard fate to be
Alone in this Calamity,
Since I who came but to be gone,
Am plagu'd for meerly looking on.
The young Medusa made me stupid!
A face, that hath no Lovers stain,
Wants forces, and is near disdain.
For every Fop will freely peep
At Majesty that is asleep.
But she (fair Tyrant!) hates to be
Gaz'd on with such impunity.
Whose prudent Rigor bravely bears
And scorns the trick of whining tears:
19
Which kill not, but afford relief.
Nor is it thy hard fate to be
Alone in this Calamity,
Since I who came but to be gone,
Am plagu'd for meerly looking on.
Mark from her forhead to her foot
What charming Sweets are there to do't.
A Head adorn'd with all those glories
That Witt hath shadow'd in quaint stories:
Or pencill with rich colours drew
In imitation of the true.
What charming Sweets are there to do't.
A Head adorn'd with all those glories
That Witt hath shadow'd in quaint stories:
Or pencill with rich colours drew
In imitation of the true.
Her Hair lay'd out in curious Setts
And Twists, doth shew like silken Nets,
Where (since he play'd at Hitt or Miss:)
The God of Love her pris'ner is,
And fluttering with his skittish Wings
Puts all her locks in Curls and Rings.
And Twists, doth shew like silken Nets,
Where (since he play'd at Hitt or Miss:)
The God of Love her pris'ner is,
And fluttering with his skittish Wings
Puts all her locks in Curls and Rings.
Like twinkling Stars her Eyes invite
All gazers to so sweet a light,
But then two arched Clouds of brown
stand o're, and guard them with a frown.
All gazers to so sweet a light,
But then two arched Clouds of brown
stand o're, and guard them with a frown.
Beneath these rayes of her bright Eyes
Beautie's rich Bed of blushes lyes.
Blushes, which lightning-like come on,
Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon;
But leave the Lilies of her Skin
As fair as ever, and run in:
Like swift Salutes (which dull paint scorn,)
Twixt a white noon, and Crimson Morne.
Beautie's rich Bed of blushes lyes.
Blushes, which lightning-like come on,
Yet stay not to be gaz'd upon;
But leave the Lilies of her Skin
As fair as ever, and run in:
Like swift Salutes (which dull paint scorn,)
Twixt a white noon, and Crimson Morne.
What Corall can her Lips resemble?
For hers are warm, swell, melt and tremble:
And if you dare contend for Red,
This is alive, the other dead.
For hers are warm, swell, melt and tremble:
20
This is alive, the other dead.
Her equal Teeth (above, below:)
All of a Cise, and Smoothness grow.
Where under close restraint and awe
(Which is the Maiden, Tyrant law:)
Like a cag'd, sullen Linnet, dwells.
Her Tongue, the Key to potent spells.
All of a Cise, and Smoothness grow.
Where under close restraint and awe
(Which is the Maiden, Tyrant law:)
Like a cag'd, sullen Linnet, dwells.
Her Tongue, the Key to potent spells.
Her Skin, like heav'n when calm and bright,
Shews a rich azure under white,
With touch more soft than heart supposes,
And Breath as sweet as new blown Roses.
Shews a rich azure under white,
With touch more soft than heart supposes,
And Breath as sweet as new blown Roses.
Betwixt this Head-land and the Main,
Which is a rich and flowry Plain:
Lyes her fair Neck, so fine and slender
That (gently) how you please, 'twill bend her.
Which is a rich and flowry Plain:
Lyes her fair Neck, so fine and slender
That (gently) how you please, 'twill bend her.
This leads you to her Heart, which ta'ne
Pants under Sheets of whitest Lawn,
And at the first seems much distrest,
But nobly treated, lyes at rest.
Pants under Sheets of whitest Lawn,
And at the first seems much distrest,
But nobly treated, lyes at rest.
Here like two Balls of new fall'n snow,
Her Breasts, Loves native pillows grow;
And out of each a Rose-bud Peeps
Which Infant beauty sucking, sleeps.
Say now my Stoic, that mak'st soure faces
Her Breasts, Loves native pillows grow;
And out of each a Rose-bud Peeps
Which Infant beauty sucking, sleeps.
At all the Beauties and the Graces,
That criest unclean! though known thy self
To ev'ry coorse, and dirty shelfe:
Could'st thou but see a piece like this,
A piece so full of Sweets and bliss:
21
Would'st thou not swear she is a witch?
Fida forsaken.
Fool that I was! to believe blood
While swoll'n with greatness, then most good;
And the false thing, forgetful man:
To trust more than our true God, Pan,
Such swellings to a dropsie tend,
And meanest things such great ones bend.
While swoll'n with greatness, then most good;
And the false thing, forgetful man:
To trust more than our true God, Pan,
Such swellings to a dropsie tend,
And meanest things such great ones bend.
Then live deceived! and Fida by
That life destroy fidelity.
For living wrongs will make some wise,
While death chokes lowdest Injuries:
And skreens the faulty, making Blinds
To hide the most unworthy minds.
That life destroy fidelity.
For living wrongs will make some wise,
While death chokes lowdest Injuries:
And skreens the faulty, making Blinds
To hide the most unworthy minds.
And yet do what thou can'st to hide
A bad trees fruit will be describ'd.
For that foul guilt which first took place
In his dark heart, now damns his face:
And makes those Eyes, where life should dwell,
Look like the pits of Death and Hell.
A bad trees fruit will be describ'd.
For that foul guilt which first took place
In his dark heart, now damns his face:
And makes those Eyes, where life should dwell,
Look like the pits of Death and Hell.
Bloud, whose rich purple shews and seals
Their faith in Moors, in him reveals
A blackness at the heart, and is
Turn'd Inke, to write his faithlesness.
Only his lips with bloud look red,
As if asham'd of what they sed.
Their faith in Moors, in him reveals
A blackness at the heart, and is
Turn'd Inke, to write his faithlesness.
Only his lips with bloud look red,
As if asham'd of what they sed.
22
Then, since he wears in a dark skin
The shadows of his hell within,
Expose him no more to the light,
But thine own Epitaph thus write.
Here burst, and dead and unregarded
Lyes Fida's heart! O well rewarded!
The shadows of his hell within,
Expose him no more to the light,
But thine own Epitaph thus write.
Here burst, and dead and unregarded
Lyes Fida's heart! O well rewarded!
To the Editor of the matchless Orinda.
Long since great witts have left the Stage
Unto the Drollers of the age,
And noble numbers with good sense
Are like good works, grown an offence.
While much of verse (worse than old story,)
Speaks but Jack-Pudding, or John-Dory.
Such trash-admirers made us poor,
And Pyes turn'd Poets out of door.
For the nice Spirit of rich verse
Which scorns absurd and low commerce,
Although a flame from heav'n, if shed
On Rooks or Daws: warms no such head.
Or else the Poet, like bad priest,
Is seldom good, but when opprest:
And wit, as well as piety
Doth thrive best in adversity;
For since the thunder left our air
Their Laurels look not half so fair.
Unto the Drollers of the age,
And noble numbers with good sense
Are like good works, grown an offence.
While much of verse (worse than old story,)
Speaks but Jack-Pudding, or John-Dory.
Such trash-admirers made us poor,
And Pyes turn'd Poets out of door.
For the nice Spirit of rich verse
Which scorns absurd and low commerce,
Although a flame from heav'n, if shed
On Rooks or Daws: warms no such head.
Or else the Poet, like bad priest,
Is seldom good, but when opprest:
And wit, as well as piety
Doth thrive best in adversity;
For since the thunder left our air
Their Laurels look not half so fair.
However 'tis 'twere worse than rude
Not to profess our gratitude
And debts to thee, who at so low
An Ebbe do'st make us thus to flow:
And when we did a Famine fear,
Hast blest us with a fruitful year.
So while the world his absence mourns
The glorious Sun at last returns,
And with his kind and vital looks
Warms the cold Earth and frozen brooks:
Puts drowsie nature into play
And rids impediments away,
Till Flow'rs and Fruits and spices through
Her pregnant lap get up and grow.
But if among those sweet things, we
A miracle like that could see
Which nature brought but once to pass:
A Muse, such as Orinda was,
Phœbus himself won by these charms
Would give her up into thy arms;
And recondemn'd to kiss his Tree,
Yield the young Goddess unto thee.
Not to profess our gratitude
And debts to thee, who at so low
An Ebbe do'st make us thus to flow:
23
Hast blest us with a fruitful year.
So while the world his absence mourns
The glorious Sun at last returns,
And with his kind and vital looks
Warms the cold Earth and frozen brooks:
Puts drowsie nature into play
And rids impediments away,
Till Flow'rs and Fruits and spices through
Her pregnant lap get up and grow.
But if among those sweet things, we
A miracle like that could see
Which nature brought but once to pass:
A Muse, such as Orinda was,
Phœbus himself won by these charms
Would give her up into thy arms;
And recondemn'd to kiss his Tree,
Yield the young Goddess unto thee.
Upon sudden news of the much lamented death of Judge Trevers.
Learning
and Law your Day is done,
And your work too; you may be gone!
Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled:
And Right, which long lay Sick is dead.
Trever! whose rare and envied part
Was both a wise and winning heart,
Whose sweet civilitys could move
Tartars and Goths to noblest love.
And your work too; you may be gone!
Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled:
And Right, which long lay Sick is dead.
Trever! whose rare and envied part
Was both a wise and winning heart,
Whose sweet civilitys could move
Tartars and Goths to noblest love.
Bold Vice and blindness now dare act,
And (like the gray groat,) pass, though crack't;
While those sage lips lye dumb and cold,
VVhose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold.
O how much to descreet desires
Differs pure Light from foolish fires!
But nasty Dregs out last the Wine,
And after Sun-set Gloworms shine.
And (like the gray groat,) pass, though crack't;
24
VVhose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold.
O how much to descreet desires
Differs pure Light from foolish fires!
But nasty Dregs out last the Wine,
And after Sun-set Gloworms shine.
To Etesia (for Timander,) the first Sight.
What smiling Star in that fair Night,
Which gave you Birth gave me this Sight.
And with a kind Aspect tho keen
Made me the Subject: you the Queen?
That sparkling Planet is got now
Into your Eyes, and shines below;
Where nearer force, and more acute
It doth dispence, without dispute,
For I who yesterday did know
Loves fire no more, than doth cool Snow
with one bright look am since undone;
Yet must adore and seek my Sun.
Which gave you Birth gave me this Sight.
And with a kind Aspect tho keen
Made me the Subject: you the Queen?
That sparkling Planet is got now
Into your Eyes, and shines below;
Where nearer force, and more acute
It doth dispence, without dispute,
For I who yesterday did know
Loves fire no more, than doth cool Snow
with one bright look am since undone;
Yet must adore and seek my Sun.
Before I walk'd free as the wind,
And if but stay'd (like it,) unkind.
I could like daring Eagles gaze
And not be blinded by a face;
For what I saw, till I saw thee,
Was only not deformity.
Such shapes appear (compar'd with thine,)
In Arras, or a tavern-sign,
And do but mind me to explore
A fairer piece, that is in store.
So some hang Ivy to their Wine,
To signify, there is a Vine.
And if but stay'd (like it,) unkind.
I could like daring Eagles gaze
And not be blinded by a face;
For what I saw, till I saw thee,
Was only not deformity.
Such shapes appear (compar'd with thine,)
In Arras, or a tavern-sign,
And do but mind me to explore
A fairer piece, that is in store.
25
To signify, there is a Vine.
Those princely Flow'rs (by no storms vex'd,)
Which smile one day, and droop the next:
The gallant Tulip and the Rose,
Emblems which some use to disclose
Bodyed Idea's: their weak grace
Is meer imposture to thy face.
For nature in all things, but thee,
Did practise only Sophistry;
Or else she made them to express
How she could vary in her dress:
But thou wert form'd, that we might see
Perfection, not Variety.
Which smile one day, and droop the next:
The gallant Tulip and the Rose,
Emblems which some use to disclose
Bodyed Idea's: their weak grace
Is meer imposture to thy face.
For nature in all things, but thee,
Did practise only Sophistry;
Or else she made them to express
How she could vary in her dress:
But thou wert form'd, that we might see
Perfection, not Variety.
Have you observ'd how the Day-star
Sparkles and smiles and shines from far:
Then to the gazer doth convey
A silent, but a piercing Ray?
So wounds my love, but that her Eys
Are in Effects, the better Skys.
A brisk bright Agent from them Streams
Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams,
And with such stillness smites our hearts,
No noise betrays him, nor his darts.
He working on my easie Soul
Did soon persuade, and then controul;
And now he flyes (and I conspire)
Through all my blood with wings of fire,
And when I would (which will be never)
With cold despair allay the fever:
The spiteful thing Etesia names,
And that new-fuells all my flames.
Sparkles and smiles and shines from far:
Then to the gazer doth convey
A silent, but a piercing Ray?
So wounds my love, but that her Eys
Are in Effects, the better Skys.
A brisk bright Agent from them Streams
Arm'd with no arrows, but their beams,
And with such stillness smites our hearts,
No noise betrays him, nor his darts.
He working on my easie Soul
Did soon persuade, and then controul;
And now he flyes (and I conspire)
Through all my blood with wings of fire,
And when I would (which will be never)
With cold despair allay the fever:
The spiteful thing Etesia names,
And that new-fuells all my flames.
26
The Character, to Etesia
Go catch the Phœnix, and then bring
A quill drawn for me from his wing.
Give me a Maiden-beautie's Bloud,
A pure, rich Crimson, without mudd:
In whose sweet Blushes that may live,
Which a dull verse can never give.
Now for an untouch'd, spottles white,
For blackest things on paper write;
Etesia at thine own Expence
Give me the Robes of innocence.
A quill drawn for me from his wing.
Give me a Maiden-beautie's Bloud,
A pure, rich Crimson, without mudd:
In whose sweet Blushes that may live,
Which a dull verse can never give.
Now for an untouch'd, spottles white,
For blackest things on paper write;
Etesia at thine own Expence
Give me the Robes of innocence.
Could we but see a Spring to run
Pure Milk, as sometimes Springs have done,
And in the Snow-white streams it sheds
Carnations wash their bloudy heads.
While ev'ry Eddy that came down
Did (as thou do'st,) both smile and frown.
Such objects and so fresh would be
But dull Resemblances of thee.
Pure Milk, as sometimes Springs have done,
And in the Snow-white streams it sheds
Carnations wash their bloudy heads.
While ev'ry Eddy that came down
Did (as thou do'st,) both smile and frown.
Such objects and so fresh would be
But dull Resemblances of thee.
Thou art the dark worlds Morning-star,
Seen only, and seen but from far;
Where like Astronomers we gaze
Upon the glories of thy face,
But no acquaintance more can have,
Though all our lives we watch and Crave.
Thou art a world thy self alone,
Yea three great worlds refin'd to one.
Which shews all those, and in thine Eyes
The shining East, and Paradise.
Seen only, and seen but from far;
Where like Astronomers we gaze
Upon the glories of thy face,
But no acquaintance more can have,
Though all our lives we watch and Crave.
Thou art a world thy self alone,
Yea three great worlds refin'd to one.
Which shews all those, and in thine Eyes
The shining East, and Paradise.
Thy Soul (a Spark of the first Fire,)
Is like the Sun, the worlds desire;
And with a nobler influence
Works upon all, that claim to sense;
But in Summers hath no fever,
And in frosts is chearful ever.
Is like the Sun, the worlds desire;
27
Works upon all, that claim to sense;
But in Summers hath no fever,
And in frosts is chearful ever.
As Flowr's, besides their curious dress
Rich odours have, and Sweetnesses.
Which tacitely infuse desire
And ev'n oblige us to admire:
Such and so full of innocence
Are all the Charms, thou do'st dispence;
And like fair Nature, without Arts
At once they seize, and please our hearts.
O thou art such, that I could be
A lover to Idolatry!
I could, and should from heav'n stray,
But that thy life shews mine the way,
And leave a while the Diety,
To serve his Image here in thee.
Rich odours have, and Sweetnesses.
Which tacitely infuse desire
And ev'n oblige us to admire:
Such and so full of innocence
Are all the Charms, thou do'st dispence;
And like fair Nature, without Arts
At once they seize, and please our hearts.
O thou art such, that I could be
A lover to Idolatry!
I could, and should from heav'n stray,
But that thy life shews mine the way,
And leave a while the Diety,
To serve his Image here in thee.
To Etesia looking from her Casement at the full Moon.
See you that beauteous Queen, which no age tames?
Her Train is Azure, set with golden flames.
My brighter fair, fix on the East your Eyes,
And view that bed of Clouds, whence she doth rise.
Above all others in that one short hour
Which most concern'd in, she had greatest pow'r.
This made my Fortunes humorous as wind,
But fix'd Affections to my constant mind.
She fed me with the tears of Starrs, and thence
I suck'd in Sorrows with their Influence.
To some in smiles, and store of light she broke:
To me in sad Eclipses still she spoke.
She bent me with the motion of her Sphere,
And made me feel, what first I did but fear.
Her Train is Azure, set with golden flames.
My brighter fair, fix on the East your Eyes,
And view that bed of Clouds, whence she doth rise.
Above all others in that one short hour
Which most concern'd in, she had greatest pow'r.
This made my Fortunes humorous as wind,
But fix'd Affections to my constant mind.
She fed me with the tears of Starrs, and thence
I suck'd in Sorrows with their Influence.
28
To me in sad Eclipses still she spoke.
She bent me with the motion of her Sphere,
And made me feel, what first I did but fear.
But when I came to Age, and had o'regrown
Her Rules, and saw my freedom was my own,
I did reply unto the Laws of Fate,
And made my Reason, my great Advocate:
I labour'd to inherit my just right;
But then (O hear Etesia!) lest I might
Redeem my self, my unkind Starry Mother
Took my poor Heart, and gave it to another.
Her Rules, and saw my freedom was my own,
I did reply unto the Laws of Fate,
And made my Reason, my great Advocate:
I labour'd to inherit my just right;
But then (O hear Etesia!) lest I might
Redeem my self, my unkind Starry Mother
Took my poor Heart, and gave it to another.
To Etesia parted from him, and looking back.
O subtile Love! thy Peace is War;
It wounds and kills without a scar:
It works unknown to any sense,
Like the Decrees of Providence,
And with strange silence shoots me through:
The Fire of Love doth fall like Snow.
It wounds and kills without a scar:
It works unknown to any sense,
Like the Decrees of Providence,
And with strange silence shoots me through:
The Fire of Love doth fall like Snow.
Hath she no Quiver, but my Heart?
Must all her Arrows hit that part?
Beauties like Heav'n, their Gifts should deal
Not to destroy us, but to heal.
Must all her Arrows hit that part?
Beauties like Heav'n, their Gifts should deal
Not to destroy us, but to heal.
Strange Art of Love! that can make sound,
And yet exasperates the wound;
That look she lent to ease my heart,
Hath pierc't it, and improv'd the smart.
And yet exasperates the wound;
That look she lent to ease my heart,
Hath pierc't it, and improv'd the smart.
29
To Etesia going beyond Sea.
Go, if you must! but stay—and knowAnd mind before you go, my vow.
To ev'ry thing, but Heav'n and you,
With all my Heart, I bid Adieu!
Now to those happy Shades I'le go
Where first I saw my beauteous Foe.
I'le seek each silent path, where we
Did walk, and where you sate with me
I'le sit again, and never rest
Till I can find some flow'r you prest.
That near my dying Heart I'le keep,
And when it wants Dew, I will weep:
Sadly I will repeat past Joyes,
And Words, which you did sometimes voice:
I'le listen to the Woods, and hear
The Eccho answer for you there.
But famish'd with long absence I
Like Infants left, at last shall cry,
30
Until you come, and take me up.
Etesia absent.
Love, the Worlds Life! what a sad death
Thy absence is? to lose our breath
At once and dye, is but to live
Inlarg'd, without the scant reprieve
Of Pulse and Air: whose dull returns
And narrow Circles the Soul mourns.
Thy absence is? to lose our breath
At once and dye, is but to live
Inlarg'd, without the scant reprieve
Of Pulse and Air: whose dull returns
And narrow Circles the Soul mourns.
But to be dead alive, and still
To wish, but never have our will:
To be possess'd, and yet to miss;
To wed a-true but absent bliss:
Are lingring tortures, and their smart
Dissects and racks and grinds the Heart!
As Soul and Body in that state
Which unto us seems separate,
Cannot be said to live, until
Reunion; which dayes fulfill
And slow-pac'd seasons: So in vain
Through hours and minutes (Times long train,)
I look for thee, and from thy sight,
As from my Soul, for life and light.
For till thine Eyes shine solon me,
Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.
To wish, but never have our will:
To be possess'd, and yet to miss;
To wed a-true but absent bliss:
Are lingring tortures, and their smart
Dissects and racks and grinds the Heart!
As Soul and Body in that state
Which unto us seems separate,
Cannot be said to live, until
Reunion; which dayes fulfill
And slow-pac'd seasons: So in vain
Through hours and minutes (Times long train,)
I look for thee, and from thy sight,
As from my Soul, for life and light.
For till thine Eyes shine solon me,
Mine are fast-clos'd and will not see.
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