University of Virginia Library

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297

Upon his Hon. Election of Deputation for Ireland.

For Ireland, Lord! what will become of me?
For Conscience-sake looke on my Familie.
Would you receive more honour then you have;
And so relinquish those whom you may save?
Is any one more earthly-blest then you?
Firme friends, faire fates, brave Bards, corrivals few.
And who is hee that is so richly blest
Will hatch his Airy in a forraine nest?
There the best Hawkes, indeed, they say are bred,
But there High-flyers oft have perished.
Those that doe love my Lord, doe hold it fit,
As th' Country honours him, so should he it.
Admit, my Lord, that you entitled be
Yorks President, and Irelands Deputie;
Where you are five yeers onely to remaine,
Which time expir'd you'r to return againe!
Nay more then that, when ev'ry third Month ends,
You may revisit here your constant friends;

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298

What's this to me? while you at distance stand,
I'm forc'd to write my sorrows in the sand.
“It is a weeke agoe since I did dreame,
How you and I were swimming in a streame;
Rough were the Billows, for the water swell'd
While I for safety by a Willow held;
Which you catch'd at, but, 'las, it would not be,
That failed you what had supported me,
For when you strove to save your selfe from Wrack,
Rude-chattring Reeds (me thought) still held you back.
“Now such as are Expositors of Dreames
Might thus interpret it; “These troubled Streames
Betoken danger; Willowes, friends (indeede)
But such as faile us most, when most we need;
Rude chattring Reeds, such as doe make a sport
To blemish Honour with a base report.
But dreams are dreams, & such as rightly know them
Will nere give trust nor confidence unto them.
But why, my Lord, should you transplanted be,
And reave me of that hope supported me?
'Zlid, all the world knows you to be wise,
And play'd ith' Parl'ament your Master prize:
But whats all that? God knows what some will say
In heat of hate, when you are gone away
Excuse me, Lord, my zeal conceits the worst,
If I should silent be, my gall would burst.
No Sycophant am I, upon my word;
Ile speak as Servants should unto their Lord.
Then taxe not my discretion for the matter,
But praise his honesty that cannot flatter.

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299

Alas my Lord, for Ireland! many one
Have gone forth laughing, that come weeping home.
Our Modern Stories have sufficient
To shew, wee need no other President.

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300

“Nor can you there doe service to your King,
For, as I heare, there breaths no venemous thing:
What then can Justice finde it selfe to doe?
Plant rather here where there be snakes enow,
“Such as deserve a Censure: “Hee that's just
Must finde offenders, or his Sword will rust.
Some from the height of their concealed hate
Doe much maligne the fulness of your State,
And say, “One day a Parliament will come,
And then we hope Some will be payed home,
If these, while you live here, so envious be;
Judge what they'l doe when you'r beyond the Sea?
Your Presence then 's the way to make you strong,
“Just men have oft through absence suffred wrong,
“Pardon my boldness, Lord, the Case is such
Did I not love you, Ide not speak so much.
Oft to your Honor have I made resort,
Yet nere Petition'd ought unless in sport;
It was your selfe I sought, whose love I gain'd
And that was th'only marke at which I aimd.
Your choice discourse and judgement I confess,
Made mee all yours, I could be nothing less.