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[Hail venerable Reliques! unto whom]
1.
Hail venerable Reliques! unto whomOld and new Idolatrous Rome
Might pay devotion
Free from superstition.
Your sacred Oracles found the Sibyl's fate,
Equally divine, alike unfortunate.
Injurious time did both disperse,
Like Pompey's Ruines, through an Universe.
Whose leaves (like these) scattered were,
The burthen of the swelling Air,
Though faln, yet like their Laurels flourishing and fair.
Those sacrific'd to Tarquin's Fame,
Deriv'd their splendour from their flame.
These from Charls his name
Illustrious became.
2.
Hail Mercury's and Apollo's Son!If not by Nature, sure by Adoption.
By whose joint gift thou dost inherit
Cicero's tongue, and Virgil's spirit.
In a sacred Vatican,
Or learned Tusculan,
Worthy of Mecœnas breast.
Justly the Muses stil'd, and Cæsar's Laureate,
Since in the State
Thy pen did the sword's business anticipate.
Thy quill the Roman Eagles did outfly,
And conquering taught the Rebell Scot fidelity;
The noblest triumph, and the happiest victory.
The Caledonian Satyre scarce thine withstood;
Unto thy Laurel stoop'd the glory of his wood,
From thee Montross had learn'd to write in wounds and blood.
3.
Thou Cæsar like, for sword and book renown'd,Both in the Muses camp, and Martial crown'd;
(As if thy sacred wreath was meant
Both wits and lightnings flashes to prevent,
Both for security and ornament)
Thy no less flourishing praise
Deserves Minerva's double bayes
Who sang so sweet in troublesom, and Halcyon days;
Trent's dying Swans we see o'rcome with thy Mantuan lays.
With which you sing your own, and Countreys death.
Of Newark's, and your own sad story,
The equal grief and glory.
4.
Hail cœlestial Urn!Whose ashes like the neighbouring stars do shine & burn
And liberally dispense
To the Poetick world wit's benevolence;
Whose greater Orb the less doth influence.
Hail Reverend Bard! whose name in British story
Shall raise new Monuments of glory,
Whereon thou sublim'd shalt sit
The Genius of wit.
The winged Pegasus mounts so high,
As if to the wind the Gennet ow'd his Progeny.
The lofty Pindar stops his flight,
Avd only gazeth at, not emulates thy height.
Whom at that distance plac'd we see,
There's no parallel for thy Degree,
But thine own Climax, or Hyperbole,
Which out soars Dedalus his pitch, without his destiny.
L. T.
On Mr. Clieveland and his Poems.
Clieveland again his sacred head doth raise
Ev'n in the dust crown'd with immortal Bays,
Again with Verses arm'd, that once did fright
Lycambes's Daughters from the hated light,
Sets his bold foot on Reformations neck,
And triumphs o'r the vanquish'd Monster Smeck,
That Hydra whose proud heads did so encrease
That it deserv'd no less an Hercules.
This, this is he who in Poetick rage
With Scorpions lash'd the madness of the Age,
Who durst the fashions of the Times despise
And be a Wit when all mankind grew Wise,
When formal Beards at twenty one were seen
And Men grew Old almost as soon as Men,
Who in those days when Reason, Wit, and Sense
Were by the Zealots grave Impertinence
Ycleped Folly, and in Ve-ri-ty
Did savour rankly of Carnality,
When each notch'd Prentice might a Poet prove
For warbling through the Nose a Hymn of Love,
When Sage George Withers and Grave William Pryn
Himself might for a Poets share put in,
Yet then could write with so much art & skill
That Rome might envy his Satyrick Quill,
And crabbed Persius his hard lines give o'r,
And in disdain beat his brown Desk no more.
Ev'n in the dust crown'd with immortal Bays,
Again with Verses arm'd, that once did fright
Lycambes's Daughters from the hated light,
Sets his bold foot on Reformations neck,
And triumphs o'r the vanquish'd Monster Smeck,
That Hydra whose proud heads did so encrease
That it deserv'd no less an Hercules.
This, this is he who in Poetick rage
With Scorpions lash'd the madness of the Age,
Who durst the fashions of the Times despise
And be a Wit when all mankind grew Wise,
When formal Beards at twenty one were seen
And Men grew Old almost as soon as Men,
Who in those days when Reason, Wit, and Sense
Were by the Zealots grave Impertinence
Ycleped Folly, and in Ve-ri-ty
Did savour rankly of Carnality,
When each notch'd Prentice might a Poet prove
For warbling through the Nose a Hymn of Love,
When Sage George Withers and Grave William Pryn
Himself might for a Poets share put in,
Yet then could write with so much art & skill
That Rome might envy his Satyrick Quill,
And in disdain beat his brown Desk no more.
How I admire thee, Clieveland! when I weigh
Thy close wrought sense, and every line survey?
They are not like those things which some compose
Who in a Maze of words the wandring sense do loose,
Who spin one thought into so long a thread,
And beat their Wit too thin to make it spread;
Till 'tis too fine for our weak eyes to find
And dwindles into nothing in the end.
No; they're above the Genius of this Age
Each word of thine swells pregnant with a Page.
Then why do some Mens nicer Ears complain
Of the uneven harshness of thy strain?
Preferring to the Vigour of thy Muse
Some smooth, weak Rhymer, that so gently flows,
That Ladies may his easie strains admire
And melt like Wax before the softning fire.
Let such to Women write, you write to Men;
We study Thee, when we but Play with Them.
Thy close wrought sense, and every line survey?
They are not like those things which some compose
Who in a Maze of words the wandring sense do loose,
Who spin one thought into so long a thread,
And beat their Wit too thin to make it spread;
Till 'tis too fine for our weak eyes to find
And dwindles into nothing in the end.
No; they're above the Genius of this Age
Each word of thine swells pregnant with a Page.
Then why do some Mens nicer Ears complain
Of the uneven harshness of thy strain?
Preferring to the Vigour of thy Muse
Some smooth, weak Rhymer, that so gently flows,
That Ladies may his easie strains admire
And melt like Wax before the softning fire.
Let such to Women write, you write to Men;
We study Thee, when we but Play with Them.
By A. B.
Cleveland's Poems Digested in Order.
31
SECT. II. Containing Poems which relate to State-Affairs.
Upon The King's Return from Scotland.
Return'd; I'l ne'r believ't; first prove him hence,Kings travel by their Beams and Influence.
Who says the Soul gives out her Gests, or goes
A flitting Progress 'twixt the Head and Toes?
She rules by Omnipresence; and shall we
Deny a Prince the same Ubiquity?
Or grant he went, and 'cause the knot was slack
Girt both the Nations with his Zodiack;
Yet as the Tree at once both upward shoots,
And just as much grows downward to the Roots;
So at the same time that he posted thither
By Counter-Stages he rebounded hither.
Hither, and hence at once; thus every Sphere
Doth by a double motion interfere,
32
By the first Mover he is ravish'd West:
Have you not seen how the divided Dam
Runs to the summons of her hungry Lamb;
But when the Twin cries halves, she quits the first,
Nature's Commendum must be likewise nurst?
So were his Journeys like the Spider spun
Out of his Bowels of Compassion.
Two Realms, like Cacus, so his steps transpose,
His feet still contradict him as he goes.
England's return'd, that was a banish'd Soil,
The Bullet flying makes the Gun recoil.
Death's but a Separation, though indors'd
With Spade and Javelin, we were thus divorc'd.
Our Soul hath taken wing, while we express
The Corps returning to their Principles.
But the Crab-Tropick must not now prevail,
Islands go back, but when you're under sail:
So his Retreat hath rectified that wrong;
Backward is forward in the Hebrew Tongue.
Now the Church Militant in plenty rests,
Nor fears, like th' Amazon, to lose her Breasts.
Her means are safe, not squeez'd, until the blood
Mix with the Milk, and choak the tender Brood.
She that hath been the floating Ark, is that
She, that's now seated on Mount Ararat.
33
Now he the Counterpart comes South to us.
72
The General Eclipse.
Ladies that guild the glittering Noon,
And by Reflection mend his Ray,
Whose Beauty makes the sprightly Sun
To dance, as upon Easter-day;
What are you now the Queen's away?
And by Reflection mend his Ray,
Whose Beauty makes the sprightly Sun
To dance, as upon Easter-day;
What are you now the Queen's away?
Courageous Eagles, who have whet
Your Eyes upon Majestick Light,
And thence deriv'd such Martial heat,
That still your Looks maintain the Fight;
What are you since the King's Goodnight?
Your Eyes upon Majestick Light,
And thence deriv'd such Martial heat,
That still your Looks maintain the Fight;
What are you since the King's Goodnight?
Cavalier-buds, whom Nature teems,
As a Reserve for England's Throne,
Spirits whose double edge redeems
The last Age, and adorns your own;
What are you now the Prince is gone?
As a Reserve for England's Throne,
Spirits whose double edge redeems
The last Age, and adorns your own;
What are you now the Prince is gone?
As an obstructed Fountain's head
Cuts the Intail off from the Streams,
And Brooks are disinherited;
Honour and Beauty are mere Dreams,
Since Charles and Mary lost their Beams.
Cuts the Intail off from the Streams,
And Brooks are disinherited;
Honour and Beauty are mere Dreams,
Since Charles and Mary lost their Beams.
73
Criminal Valors! who commit
Your Gallantry, whose Pœan brings
A Psalm of Mercy after it;
In this sad Solstice of the King's,
Your Victory hath mew'd her wings.
Your Gallantry, whose Pœan brings
A Psalm of Mercy after it;
In this sad Solstice of the King's,
Your Victory hath mew'd her wings.
See how your Souldier wears his Cage
Of Iron, like the Captive Turk,
And as the Guerdon of his Rage!
See how your glimmering Peers do lurk,
Or at the best work Journey-work!
Of Iron, like the Captive Turk,
And as the Guerdon of his Rage!
See how your glimmering Peers do lurk,
Or at the best work Journey-work!
Thus 'tis a General Eclipse,
And the whole World is al-a-mort;
Only the House of Commons trips
The Stage in a Triumphant sort,
Now e'n John Lilburn take 'em for't.
And the whole World is al-a-mort;
Only the House of Commons trips
The Stage in a Triumphant sort,
Now e'n John Lilburn take 'em for't.
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