University of Virginia Library

An Ecloge: Spoken by Hilas and Strephon.

HILAS.
If, Strephon, yet our Sorrowes doe not presse
Too deepe; applye that Pipe, which has, ere this,
Enricht ye proudest Groves, & taught delight
To dullest Soules; that Power which vanquisht quite
The coy cold brest of Cœlia; did surprize
Fixt Galatea, to whose brow all Eyes
Pay'd their iust Homage; to all Passions cold,
Rapt by thy verse, Shee could noe longer hold;
That Power may yet availe; not Stones & Trees
May only be enliv'né Destinies
Are not inexorable to the cleare
Proportion of our Thoughts, when they appeare
In well-weighd Numbers; yet, if not too late,
Repeale the Doome of a Dire Threat'ning fate.

STREPHON.
Too late will fall our best Endeavours now;
'Twas but when easie Peace made Smooth ye Brow,
And soft Pipes might be heard; that Love and Witt
Gave Verse a Charter, soe too infinite.
The Dreams of Fancie lull'd our idle Brains
And form'd a privilidge, which but remains
A meteor now, t' Astonish weaker Eyes;
But wiser Heads admit noe prodigies.
Let rather Silence seize all Tongves, then bring
One Accent not to gratulate the King,
The Lord of All wee are; whose Equall Rule
Made Muses pleasant to the noble Soule;
And did inspire Each brest, informe each braine,
With flame, in wonders of his happie Raigne;
But now, the Time is Come All wee can Say,
Sounds like the Horrors of Departed Day.

HILAS.
Then, in this Night of Sorrow, let vs bring
Our Grones to the Disasters of the King;
Sigh out a Storie to ye pious Ears
Of Men, who when wee're dead, may read this verse.
The high-soul'd Eupathus dare now disclose
A Storie iust to Truth, in (his owne woes,)
His Maister's many Sorrowes; ye Swolne rage
Of this Rebellion, and affront the Age
With a cleare Pen; a hand by Truth led on,
White as her Brow; vnswai'd by Passion;
For 'tis a Crime noe Time shall put away
To place Affection where sole Truth should Sway;
T' insert our Interests, or wand'ring be
In Selfe-borne Hoti'es, from the Historie.

STREPHON.
Ah, Hilas, but that Qvill! what Hand but must
Erre in the Storie? manie Things of Trust,
Some byasséd by Passions, wee relate;
Some wee inforce, Some wee extenuate;
Too sensibly severe or too remisse,
Wee shall but wander; be the Glorie His.

HILAS.
Leave wee the lofty Elme & spreading Plane,
This crooked Alder better fits our Straine;
Here, in the Nettles, stung more by our owne
Still-seeding Sorrowes, wee may greive and grone.
Say, Strephon, since our Maister went, what may
Conduce to bring on this vnhappie Day?

STREPHON.
Dire, as ye Smiting Haile to new-ean'd Lambs,
Or Summer Shewers vnto their late-shorne Dams,
This Scourge has followed vs; Thunder alone
Not strikes the Cædar; Shrubs are overthrowne
In this strange Clap; Brambles & Thistles are
In the Concussion not exempt their Share.
Ill, therefore, did Antiquity discourse
Security, to this all-swallowing force;
Though, to ye Pine, a thousand Shrubs may be
Vn-valued, yet they fall, as well as Hee.
Nor may wee safely say, when winds impent,
Make Pelion tremble to Astonishment,
The minor Hills are free; their little wombes
Feele the same Collicke, pinch't in narrower rooms;
But who observes the Dazye's rise or fall?
The Royall Tulip stands ye Care of all;
And Everie Eye markes its progressive threds,
To give an Estimation as it spreads;
When Hyacinths and common Lillyes spring,
To Dye againe, as were there noe such Thing.

HILAS.
This Banke our Couch, wee may discus the sad
Event of Things. The Glories wee once had
Are witheréd: our Ioy, Anxietie;
Our empty Stalls now speake our Povertie.
Who boasts of heards or flocks? ye mazors which
Our pious Sires left, not to make vs rich,
But to remember them; these Legacies
Were counted Sacred; I, my Selfe, have twice
Recover'd ye carved Boale my grand sire left,
At a great price; yet now againe bereft.

STREPHON.
Trifles ill fitt our verse, though our verse be
It selfe a Trifle, to the Dignitie
Of what wee would report. Our humble Qvill
Our owne mishaps may vtter; but what Stile
Carries a Buskin deep enough to Sing
Royall Distresses and lament a King?
Call Suckling from his Ashes, reinspir'd
With an Elizian Trance; soe fitly fir'd
To Sing a Royall orgie. There Soules move
Without their Passions, how to feare or Love;
Enraptur'd with divine Beatitude,
Beyond our Earth. Hee, while he liv'd, pursu'd
Those noble flights, as might become the name
Of Maiestye; made greater in his flame.
Now, might he rise, earth-freed! His only Qvill
May write of this; Panacean Asphodil
And fresh Nepenthe (yet a while set by
The second Course vnto mortalitie)
Can but infuse what wee in fancie gleane
From barren mountains, horse-rais'd Hyppocrene.
Oh! he might Speake, or Ionson's numerous Soule
(Now great as Pindar's) might these Gests enroll;
But then, alas, the greife is where it lay;
They sing too high; wee know not what they Say;
For earth is dull, and may not comprehend
Those heights of wonder which they else have pen'd:
How should wee stupid be? how meerlie mud,
Below our generation? when the flood
Of devine fury, might enscale our Ears
T' astonishment! For verse there, is not verse;
'Tis more then all our fancy can attaine;
A measur'd Idiome, to make cleare and plaine
What here, in confus'd Notions, wee descrye,
By iarring Accents; a iust Harmonye.
I am but where I was, lost in my Selfe
With thought of Somewhat; I have found ye Shelfe
Still fatall to my over-haughty Qvill;
The Syrtes of my Thought confounds my will.
Noe, Hilas, wee, though happily as great
In Loyaltie, for numbers have no seat;
Farre from the Sun, & him whose rayes shoote more
True Life to numbers then all Phœbus power;
Let vs of lower things report. Who knowes
Our late-made Laureate, (constant to his vowes)
Has done what wee intend? to which our notes
Would sound more harsh then plash-full marish throats;
Or Cleveland, full in fancy (whose Sole praise
Is but his fault) to these great flights might raise
A wing, for everye eye to fixe vpon,
And breath a Note worthy Attention.
For mighty Epicks are not worthilye
By all attempted; & may rather I
Suffer to creepe, then striving how to flye,
Fall in the rise, to greatest infamye;
For every thing is happie in its first
Existence given; & only but accurst
As from its Nature it may turne or slide,
Whether above, below, too strict, or wide.
All minds have their dimensions, as all things:
Some belly-sweep the Earth, & some, have wings
To cut the purer Ayre; Some, midly move,
Scorne what's below, & envie what's above,
Though ignorant in both; & did wee know
Perhaps it were but as I thinke it now,
Each in his Station blest; & something may
Disturbe each in the progresse of his way.
Let me not fill you therefore with my owne
Strange fancies, which exceed proportion,
To what I apprehend. If a Slow Muse
May Sing her owne, 'tis well; if not, excuse
My wanderings; Let stronger pineons trye
A flight into the Sphere of Maiestie!
Me, peace-surrounded, mirtles may secure;
But thistles now my burning Browes immure.
Let, let those healthfull Temples wch maintaine
Daphne still verdant, high thoughts entertaine;
And gaine ye Glorie of a great pursuite.
Wee envie not, because wee can't doo't;
But what our Admirations may Adde,
To their Endeavours, shall be truly paid.

HILAS.
May Still his Ears be Adder-stung, who not
Attends thy Song; where man is not forgot;
For he has gain'd enough who hears thy verse;
Not selfe, not man, but All things to reherse.
This, willingly I heare, and who soe well
Can Sing his owne, I must expect can tell
Worthily, what may Adde vnto the Glorye
Of our dread Maister, in his dismall Storye.

STREPHON.
Thus, then, may Pietie enforce vs make
Expressions, where noe Tongve can rightly speake;
Soe may the Ant, by her short Steps, contrive
To scale the Summit of Mount Tenerif,
And perch within ye Clouds; as our verse send
One Accent fitt to what wee Apprehend.
How many Times deluded by our owne
Weake hopes, though careles how to bring 'em on,
Have wee expected, with too confident
A Challenge, the King's re-establishment,
From probable coniectures? When his low
And vnprovided Army made them bow
At Keinton; vndisturb'd he did posses
Himselfe of Oxford, with a faire encrease
Of many Noble Triumphs; Towns & forts
Surrendred daylie, to enlarge his Courts;
Great Battles fought, where, though noe victorie
Can be reported, yet Equallitye
Stands not against a Scepter. Rebell Powers,
Till All be vanquisht, are noe conquerours.
But the Convincing Right, which Princes bring,
Secures them victors, in not suffering.
Brought from a King to nothing, Hee, of Late,
From Nothing had attain'd his former State;
And Rebell mouths, (who speake noe truth, vnles
Evicted 'bove their Rage) did then confesse
Him master of ye feild, and seem t' encline,
(Enforc'd beyond their power) to a designe
(Which plausible enough) did more invade
Then Armes could doe; They sev'rall Treaties made:
This must subvert; for Princes, in their course
Of Victories when staied, run backe, of force.
Here once to vndertake & not proceed,
Is to retire. In Pleurisies to bleed
Gives a Recoverie; but let it rise
One very little, & the partye Dyes.
Still our great Maister, willing to compose
These fatall Iarres, accepts what they propose,
As farre as stood with honour or his oath,
Beyond his Interest. Oh the strange growth
Of Treasons! Like to Adders, hid in Brakes,
Are feeble wormes; new-clad, destroying Snakes;
They lurke, and they appeare, act, or contrive
To bring on the designe at which they drive;
And ever, in compliance, they renew
Their Scales & Strength; enabled to subdue
Th' vnwarie opposite; recovered in
These Slye advantages, againe begin
They to appear themselves, & then contemne
What they propos'd, or what Hee offer'd them.
Now, strong in Armes, they strangely iustifye
Their Actings Lawfull; and from Loyaltie
(Their first-borne plea) they now put in their owne
Interests, without Qualification.
Thus thriving Treasons still are Insolent;
Rebellion treads beyond a President;
And State-Subverting Magicke has a feate
Beyond all Rule was ever spoken yet.
The Florentine prescribes to duller fooles;
But Stronger flow from all relaxéd Soules.
What may I adde? Where force could not prevaile,
Phillip's ne'r-failing Batterie must assaile;
Honour made merchandice; & Loyaltie
Was set to price; these Bag-Granadoes flie
Still to Advantage Garrisons' Revolt;
And their feild Armies march, without a Halt.
The King, this while growne weake; his party all
Distracted, from their first and generall
Engagement of obedience; now pursue
Their private Ends; Honour & profitt drew
Some in to serve; Ambition, Place, & Power
Made others Loyall; till (alas, noe more
Wee now see left Him; then the Stragling few
Which into severall Garrisons he drew;
For nothing else is left, & ev'n the cheife
Strictly beseig'd, expecting noe releife,
Must yeild of force; where (ah), (why must I say
What I abhorre?) his sacred Person may
Be captivated theirs. Not may, but must,
Inevitably fall, to their vniust
Tirrannous wills. What then will be too small
For them to doe, when they have gotten All?
Ah, Hilas! I am full; my passions breake
Vpon my Reason, that I cannot Speake.

HILAS.
'Tis Lamentable Sad; and doth display
A certaine Ruine in Phœnomena.
Some men Sad fates attend; & to be borne
A Prince is not secure; the certaine turne
Of Destinie's darke wheele involveth All;
And Scepters, to prœordred Ends must fall.
But Strephon, yesterday Amintas told
The King's escape from Oxford, as a bold
And certaine Truth; how Hee, with other two
Whom he might trust, came out; Himselfe in low
Condition, as a Servant did attende,
To secure better what Hee did intende;
And now before beseiged Newarke, Hee
Is with the Scotts; in what Capacitie,
Hee did not Say; but vpon overture
Formerly made, he hopes to be Secure;
And to engage that Nation, who has bene
The Greatest Cloud his Glories yet has seene.
From this, Some expect wonders; others hott
Boyle out proverbiall fears—A Scott's a Scott.
What may be ye event, Time will produce;
And wee all gape to heare ye next daye's newes.

STREPHON.
Wee can expect from thence but little good;
A nation branded faithles, who have stood
Opposite ever to his rule; they first
Blew vp the Embers which wee now see burst
A flame too great to quench. Yet ere I stray
Too farre, t' asperse that Nation; by the way
Let me exempt Montrose's glorious hand,
The Loyall Gourdons, & brave Craford's band;
Mac-donnel's Puissance, which still maintain'd
The Royall Cause; and All who (never stain'd)
Have suffer'd for their master; humbly low
As I can fall, to these my selfe I bow;
Who have recall'd my enrag'd Qvill, which might
Have printed deepe to Time; for to recite
The frauds in Cambel, or the periuries
Of Hamiltons, the Lesley's Subtleties,
Might move a better temper; though noe doubt
Some of these Names not suffer in the Blot
Their Cheifs have spread vpon their families;
May they, the gverdon of their Loyalties
Have from a better Pen; and now, the King
Is pleas'd to refuge there; may ev'n these bring
The long-spred Calumnye of a loud fame,
A Sin on those who shall traduce their name;
Yet let vs feare, and I doe feare, he not
Shall be a lyar made, who has that thought.

HILAS.
'Tis but too probable their Ends may be
Their Interest. But, Strephon, certainly
Some Invitations, with assurance, must
Make the King give his Person to their trust,
Though they be false as Hell? And how a man
Of his high Reason, (once deceiv'd) ere can
Againe be brought to trust 'em, I not see;
Being insnar'd by former periurie,
To this now falling ruine; may it not
Be his too much Affection to the Scott
Enieopards him? But rather from a ground
In Iudgment he may trust 'em! Had he found
Former performances, and not a Stale
Made of things Sacred to their owne availe,
Something might move; at lest, wee more remote
(This granted) feare, what cannot be forgot.

STREPHON.
This Great King! this Good Man! For he was both,
Till Treason cropt the one, to give a growth
More visible to his more valued fruite;
And this Hee is, even in their Repute.
This Good King Saw a Sphere beyond our Sence,
His Iudgment is almost Intelligence;
And what wee, groveling, may surmise, he reads
Distinctly Acted. Why he thus proceeds
Let not vs question. In a wracke wee trust
A Sayle-yard, or a Planke of broken Chest,
To carrie vs. When ere wee put to Sea,
We'd know how kauk'd & trim'd ye Ship may be.
Extremity, one hazard, must assay,
And fate determines but the better way.
But, Hilas! ere aware, the Sun declines,
And longer Shadowes make yond Poplars, Pines;
Home let vs hast, & what remains reherse
To our Sad Pipes, in an alternate verse.

THE SONGE.

HILAS.
'Tis Sad,
What wee must Sing;
A Storie made
To pussle verse;
For (ah) what number can reherse
The Sorrowes of the King?

STREPHON.
Oh, Sing noe more,
But throw away your oaten Reeds.
What voice or Qvill
Can reach this note? the Thistle seeds
Where Roses sprung before,
And Lillyes grac'd ye Hill.

HILAS.
Then farewell Softer Layes!
This Sullen Straine
Is musicall, and worthy praise.
When wee complaine,
Wee may be loud;
And Greife disord'red is not rude.

STREPHON.
Let Love & Witt
Polish smooth Accents, & affect a Cleare
Current in Numbers; Sorrow here
Is all our Muse; & what may fitt
So deepe a Passion, wee now bring,
Tears, Grones, & Sighes, attendants to the King.

CHORUS.
Then breake our Pipes, while wee forgett All verse,
And make it out in Sighs, in grones, and Tears.