University of Virginia Library

POEMS On several Occasions.

Eternity.

What is Eternity? A thing
That's round in fashion, like a Ring,
It is a NOW, that endeth never.
It is a LINE, that lasteth ever.
'Tis semper Idem still the same.
An Abstract, only known by name.
A Point that cannot be decided;
Substracted, Added, nor Divided.
It is a round, long, endless Sphere,
And sister-twins with Every-where.
'Tis Non ens, clad in something's dress,
It laughs the Arts, and Sciences,
None can this clew of threed untwine,
Or it In terminis define.
'Tis absent still, yet In Præsentia.
No Genus, but all Differentia.
I trac'd it (by a Demonstration)
'Twixt Vacuum, and Penitration,
And though I did exactly mind it,
I lost my self, but could not find it.
I did conclude it once to call
A Forme, though not substantial:
But when I laid it to mine Eye,
It was a meer Absurdity.
I clad it with supposed Fictions,
And run my self in Contradictions:
For when my Phancie made a stand,
Thinking to catch it in my Hand;
I cast mine Eye, but could not see
Such Fruit, upon Porphyreu's Tree.
I can perceive some twi-light sky,
Of all our new Philosophy:
But this the Object of Objection,
Know not by first, nor last conception:
Only I think I hear it cry,
I'm Endless, Long, Eternity.
Some Philosophs it sue, and chase,
To know it's height, and see it's face.
But it no Parley, but Defie
Sounds unto such μωροσοφι.
'Tis still at Hand, and yet it flyes
Beyond the Horizon of Eyes.
I bent my Soul, and shot my Wit,
Thinking this Center-Mark to hit;
But it (like Arrows, shot in vain)
As Immanent turn'd back again.
I seriously did once design,
It to describe, but not define;
Yet got no further but to IT,
Which of no limits doth admit;
Of no Non ultra, or Non plus,
No Prius, nor Posterius.
It Time survives, and yet I'm told,
It self was ne'er a Minute old.
It is a VERB, that doth commence
No further, then the present Tense,
A NOUN abounding, yet doth fall
Objected, to no sense at all.
A PRONOUN sure, it needs must be,
For it includes Him, Thee, and Me,
A PARTICIPLE, that gives and takes,
Yet Less, or More it never makes.
And for an ADVERB it may pass,
Because it is an endless Cras.
A PREPOSITION, out of doubt,
For Circacircum's round about.
'Tis a Conjunction that doth draw
Forth endless long et cætera.
It needs must be an INTERJECTION,
Branched forth in Passion, and Perfection,
Because it hath, still to throw in
Evax, and Heu, and e'r begin.
The moment of our short time is,
ETERNITY'S Parenthisis.
Yet the Duration that's called time,
In it's own proper sense and clime,
Is all one with Eternity:
But 'cause all Mortals here must dye,
We change the Name, but not the Nature;
Terming our measure like the Creature.
It, none that lives but one doth know,
And can make it our Friend, or Foe.
Whom we alone can fully call
Heter, and Homogeniall.
A Parte ante, and a Post,
Whom chance, or change doth not accost,
Who did us save, when we were lost.
By whom, let Reader Thee, and Me,
And all true hearted Christians be
Bless'd, unto all ETERNITIE.

THE WORLD'S Unworthiness.

Moses a Shephard, and the Man of God,
Feeding his Flocks, in Horeb Mount abode:
And as he sought some wandering Sheep to spy,
A Non-such Object did surprise his eye.
A Bush, (which is Hyperbole to say)
Did burn a-pace, but not consume away.
Therefore amaz'd, he thither made his flight,
To see that strange, and unexpected sight.
But 'ere he knew, he forc'd was to retire;
For him whose Name is A Consuming Fire,
The King of Kings from Heaven to Earth was come,
To give the Law, Per postliminium.
The Great Jehovah Lord, descended had,
To do the work, th' Almighty promised.
But neither Plagues, nor Wrath, nor any Act,
Or Miracle of Mercy, could bring back
The chosen Israel, to pay the score
In workes, his great Grandfather run before.
The heavenly Herauld both in smoak, & fire,
To pay their debt, all Mortals did require.
God's Majesty, made Earth's Foundations shake:
Mount Sinai tremble, and the people quake.
A fiery Law went out, made Jacob mourn,
It gave a light; but every spark did burn,
No deb't was paid, for Moses could no more
But quake, and tremble, further on the score.
And all the World could only but confess,
God's holiness, and their Unrighteousness.
Therefore the Lord (to keep us free from harm)
Lay'd up the Bond, and gave a longer term.
God only good (as our case did require)
Turn'd flame of love, from a consuming fire.
And likewise veil'd (his great love to express)
The burning Bush, within a Humaine dress.
Which Mortals boldly might approach unto,
Which not the meekest man before durst do.

THE WORLD'S Ingratitude.

O Thankless Globe! of thrice adulterate clay,
Whose Sin, and Ignorance eclips'd that day,
Wherein thy Maker (Mask'd with Mortal dress,)
Vail'd his bright light, in humaine lowliness.
To reconcile, and ransome thee again,
From endless Death, from Sorrow, Grief, & Pain.
He left his Fathers Court, to visit thee,
And Flesh became, to set thee Prison-free.
The King of Kings, the Lord of all things, he
Came in a Servants form, to suit for thee.
Power, Wisdom, Goodness, Beauty, Life & Love
With light, did all discend from heaven above,
To reunite, espouse, and bring again
The wretched world, from the old Serpents bane.
When Adam's race was dead, and sunk in sin,
Whom none could bring to life, nor once begin
A Remedy, sufficient to heal
Poor Apostates, nor could find any bail
In Heaven, or Earth, who worthy was and just,
To whom the God of truth could give in trust
His Power, and Sp'rit, to fight, & put to chase
The Host of Hell, and world of Wickedness.
When neither Man nor Angel this durst dare,
The God of peace became a Man of War.
He made the world: but when he came therein,
To purifie, and make it clean from sin,
They turned him out of doors, and did deny
Him Bed, or Pillow, whereupon to lye:
They would not give him lodging, one poor Night;
Though unto him belong'd the whole World's right.
Both Beasts, & Fowls, had whereupon to rest;
The Fox had holes, the Sparrow had a nest:
And yet the Son here was so humble made,
He had not whereupon to lay his Head.
O Great Ingratitude! he did lay by
His Royal Robes, and Glorious Majesty;
And took our Nature, that he might restore
Us to the Righteousness, we lost before:
But when he came unto his dearest own;
He (like a stranger) was to them unknown.
They took his Life, and they by him did live,
He (by his Death) Life unto them did give.
They Murthered him: But he Reviv'd agen;
And his delight is with the Sons of Men.
Here's a Misterious Love, and no Man knows it;
But he, to whom the Father of Spirits showes it.

The Stedfast-Christian

Suspirium Regale:

OR A Royal Sigh of King CHARLES the First, On His Arreignment.

A Reflection, on the Arreignment OF King Charles the First.

Here lyes Treason in a Trap,
Rebellion did commit a rape
On Loyalty, and Traytours bring
The Brat of Treason, to the King:
To Father the Hop-gobling Elf,
Of Treachery, against Himself.
Then Sophister you plainly lie,
Quæ malum cannot appeti;
But it is true (as it is said)
A Crown is of a Cob-web made.

In memoriam Caroli primi docollati, Regis Magnæ Brittanniæ, Franciæ, et Hiberniæ, &c.

When Charles did fall,
And brake us all,
Struck through with fatal Sorrow;
He said, I see,
That I shall be,
A Star, in Heaven to morrow.

An Elegy, On the Murther and Martyrdome of CHARLES the First: King of Great Brittain, &c.

'Tis said late times, and Ages could but bring
Two names of good Kings graven in a Ring.
But CHARLES the Great, and Good, augments them three,
And leaves the World, a new TRIUMVIRI.
A Black Swan sure: a KING! that did excel
All Learned Subjects: under him did dwell
In his Dominions; what could be the cause?
'Gainst Wisdom, Knowledge, Reason, Natur's Laws;
Great Brittain slew it self, and Murthered
It's greatest Honour, and cut off it's Head.
Religion kill'd the CHURCH; and LAW did fall;
And LOYALTY did tax the Crown for all.
Great Brittain's Blush, rigidity of Fate!
Revenge, without the meanest cause of hate!
A Pious King, and Master of such Reason!
And Murthered Martyr, guilty of High Treason!
'Gainst whom? I cannot tell; in Love, or Hate,
Nor no Man else, but say it was his Fate.
What Contradictions, and Enigmaes lye
Within the Riddle of this Cruelty!
But by past Ages, tell me if ye saw
KINGS clear'd by Justice, and condemn'd by Law.
What Law? Rebellion only, that dare bring
Objections in, against a Lawful KING.
But ther's no need (in such Self-murdering Treason)
To knock down Contradictions, by sound Reason.

On the same.

[Here lyes Ashes pure, and just]

On the same.

[Could Ashes speak, or Dust prove Eloquent.]

Could Ashes speak, or Dust prove Eloquent.
Dead Bones would cry, and Martyrs would lament
This dismal Darkness, which did blind our Eyes;
Which Law conceals, and History denies.
This doleful Tragedy may let us see,
That God's Permissive (sometimes) in decree.
That Men may know, that he can bring to pass
Wisely his work, from Satan's Wickedness:
E'en so, he from this Super-Treason brings,
True Loyalty, to all succeeding Kings.
This Bloody, Brutish blow may well detect,
What Treason is, and break Rebellion's Neck.
For (though 'tis mask'd up, in a smiling dress)
This turns it up, and showes it's Nakedness.
A Babel's Brat, Engraven with disgrace,
A Regicide, with a Religious face.
Here's REPUGNANTIA real, or at least
Hirco-Cervus, or such another beast.
A show of Law, which such fine tricks contains,
Can cut off Kings, and break the hearts of Queens.
Great Brittain's MONARCH speechless here doth lye;
But cryes aloud the Nation's Treachery.
His very Name foretold his future state,
By Anagram, Cras ero Lux; by Fate.
Which Divine Providence to him foretold,
The day before he Suffer'd, to uphold
Him in his Death; though some ambitious Men
Usurp the Glory, to their pedling Pen.
His Kingdom was his Cross which now doth burn,
And melts all Loyal hearts, to Sigh, and Mourn.
He famous was in Life, and Death: yet I
Could wish his Life to live, his Death to die.

CHARLES STUART.

Anagram.

Thus A CLEAR STAR, did only set, not die:
Parenthisiz'd, not ended Monarchy.

King CHARLES the Second, in the Oak.

Pretending Salus Populi,
To be Suprema LEX;
Here CAROLUS was forc'd to fly,
When Murdered was REX.

[Behold and See]

On the Return of CHARLES the Second King of Great Brittain, France, and Ireland, &c.

When I cast up our by past Miseries,
And set our Floods of Blood, before mine eyes:
And then behold our now-returning King;
I'm ready both (at once) to Weep and Sing.
But Melancholly, hold; for why should I
My smile of gladness, from this joy deny?
Since Providence dispenseth us, a-pace
Such Miracles of Mercy, Acts of Grace.
As lately would have forc'd a States-man say,
Such things may be, but per possibile.
Our Lawful King, whom we had lost before,
No Host of Men; but Angels doth restore.
Who's Royal Peace-portending Scepter showes,
What Love he to his Loyal Subjects owes:
His flaming Sword of Justice doth discry,
All Traytours ought, but Regicides must die.
Justice and Mercy, sets us up on high:
Not as an Object of a new envy;
But that (with Int'rest) they may us restore
All that we lost, in Civil-War before.
Thus 'tis most true, what (commonly) is said,
A Morning clear, succeeds an Evening red.

A Mournful Elegy, ON The Deplorable Death, of the Thrice Vertuous, Religious, and Renowned MARY, Queen to CHARLES the First, King of Great Brittain, &c.

Here lyes she that up did rear,
By stooping to a higher Sphere
Of Vertue; where her Memory
Shall ever live, and never die.
She was our Queen, but we ingrate,
Threw fewel to her frowning Fate:
Who both by Birth, Worth, and Renown,
Deserv'd a Kingdom, both, and Crown:
Yet she by Fate (or Fortune rather)
Had both, and yet possessed neither.
She was a Mary by her Grace,
An Angel by her comely Face,
Who's Parts, and Person, I may call
(In most respects) Reciprocal,
She with her King, our CHARLES the good,
Was almost sunk in Seas of Blood.
But both endur'd the Tempests rage,
And swam a patient Pilgrimage.
Then MARY (since you overcame)
Take ARMY for your Anagram.

CAROLISMUS.

Or, The Loyal Patient, on the Sovereign touch.

Mount Divine Muse, with Loyal Wings, and fly
Above the Sphere of common Poetry.
Touch the Cœlestial Orbs, and sweetly sing,
And celebrate the praises of a King:
A King who's Race (unless experience lie)
Doth bear the Tincture, of a Diety:
Who from his Cradle upward, bore his Cross
Through Seas of Blood; who's Billows did him toss
From Kingdom, (both, and Crown; but (all in vain)
The King of Kings restor'd them both again.
Yet (though the Crown be purifi'd from dross)
The Kingdom (sometimes) makes him bear his Cross.
But Providence, Iscariot-Plots detects;
And turns them round upon the Traytour's necks.
Then Babel's brood, smell (Pope-adoreing band).
A Sweaty Toe: I'll Kiss a Sacred Hand,
Who's Health-restoring Faculty is such,
It cures Diseases, by a Soveraign Touch.
Not by your Romith hocus, hear-say tricks:
Nor Babilonian, Holy-water bricks.
Nor is't a vain sophisticate Relation,
Of Pro, or Con, but real Demonstration.
Hence then hood-wink'd Impostors; get ye gone,
Church-Mountebanks, stain of Religion;
Who Controversie end, but in Contention:
And work your Miracles, by Apprehension.

[One's Name, and Fate, do oft agree]

To His Royal Highness JAMES Duke of York.

JAMES STEWART: anagram: I: MASTER AT SEA.

JAMES Duke of York.

Anagram: Fa. Jes. do my Work.

What need I care what Mortal men can say,
Whil'st Great JEHOUAH doth a Scepter sway?

Meditatio Regalis De Curiæ Conjurationibus.

Ejaculatio Spiritualis In Curiæ Conjurationes.

Bellum Intestinum: A Battle 'twixt, Nature, and Grace:

Or, A Conference between the Watchful Shephard, and the Sleepy Soul.

Shephard.

Soul.

Shepherd.

Soul.

Shepherd.

Soul.

Shepherd.

Soul.
Put I'm afraid my Faith decay.
And if I faint, and fall away;
Then ther's no after-time to Pray.

Shepherd.

Soul.

PROMOTION.

Promotion is the Pinacle, from whence
Pride breakes the neck of a good Conscience.
A tot'ring Piramid of guilded Sorrow,
That's built to day, & thrown quite down to morrow:
For 'tis th' ambitious Man's Eye-soar to see
One great; and himself unadvanc'd to be,
Then leave the Court, and learn at home to dwell;
Lest that you end like wise Achitophel.

To a great Oppressour.

If I should a METEMYU/XWSIS hold,
(As did Pithagoras) I likewise would
(By Consequence) affirm, and prove it too:
That Nero's Ghost inhabited in you.
Except (in this) you differ much from him;
That he was good in his Quinquennium.
But you are Ill, and ever have been so,
A Basilisk when in your Embrio.
Poor Men, and Beggars, you may freely kill;
Because you make as many as you will.

On the Q. M.

Religion in a twilight-skie,
Of wandering dark Apostacy,
The Universe survey'd; to find
Devotion in a sincere mind.
And with a serious look did spy,
Our Queen's unspotted Majesty:
Whose Orb of Vertue up did rear,
Above a Vicious Hymisphere.
And coming near unto her Face,
To add a gale unto her Grace;
She from the World (secure in Sin)
Rose up, and took Religion in.
Where (like a Lamp, in flaming Zeal)
It burns without a parallel.
For if a blemish Faith admit,
A Pious Life can cover it.
Could Bodies but: as Souls be priz'd,
And mater be spiratualiz'd,
I should determine her to be
Angelical, in Pedegree.
She is so pure, that sure she must
Be Transubstantiate, out of Dust.
She's free'd from, Passion, Hate, and Spite:
For Innocence, an Adamite:
Then learned Reader, tell (I pray)
If Angels can be made of Clay.

On the D. Y.

You half compleated Ladyes all,
Whose Parts, and Vertues are but small:
Would you Perfection's pattern see?
For Wisdom, and for Gravitie.
This Lady's Idæa take, and place
As't were a Glass; before your Face:
That when you cast your Eye upon her,
You mind your Vertue, both and Honour.
And (tracing her) your Fame may rear,
And fly up, to a higher Sphere.
Her Name, her Fame, and real Grace
Make up a Consort, in her Face.
Which (Musick like) without disguise,
Doth charm, not cheat beholders eyes.
Her praises no Man can rehearse
Enough; in prose, nor yet in verse.
Believe, or not, then choose you whether,
But England shew me such another.

On a Beautiful Young Lady.

Once Beauty, Vertue, Wisdom, Grace,
Conveined in a certain place.
And altogether did combine,
To make a Feminine Divine:
And flying swiftly on a-pace,
Did light upon this Lady's face:
And having all they stood in need,
They to the Work did thus proceed.
BEAUTY (to make her all delight)
Did bring a Rose, was red, and white:
And in a smiling Blush did skip,
From Cherry Cheek, to Scarlet Lip.
Then VERTUE laugh'd at Beauty's weed,
As needful but Secundum quid.
And (with a gentle flame) refin'd
Her eye, the Index of her mind.
Then WISDOME Vertue gave a check,
And did her oversight detect;
In over-sparkling of her Eye,
To tempt to Vite, or breed envy.
Then having (with a pierceing flash)
Made Vertue proof, of Beauty's dash.
The one she ballenc'd with the other;
That both might live, and die together.
Then GRACE came in a gentle gale,
And set her Soul all under sail.
And (nimbly) flew a modest race,
With all the three, and gain'd her face:
And from her Mouth, and sparkling Eye;
O'rspread her whole Physiognomy.
Yet she no Critick did commence,
To Reason slight, or banish Sense,
Or set at nought the other three;
Because of her precedencie.
But granted them a dwelling place,
Within the Suburbs of her Face:
Subjecting only them to pay
Devotion's Tribute, every day.

A Divine Poem, on the Unparallel'd and Religious Mrs. M. F.

On Mrs. S. G.

I love a comely Maid, whose face
Doth promise Vertue, Wisdom, Grace,
And in her smiling blush, and eye,
The Summe of all Perfections lye.
She's none of those spends half the day,
In pinning fine, and goes to play.
But in a plain, (yet comely) dress;
Looks smartly after business.
This is the Pearl which I do prize;
The spotless Object, of mine eyes.

To Mrs. S. G.

Thy comely face, and stedfast eye,
Thy Wisdom, Vertue, Chastity,
Did (with a blushing flash divine)
Subdue this little World of mine.
Subjecting humbly me, to pay
My sighes for Tribute, every day.
'Tis quite against the Law of War,
To murther any Prisoner:
And chiefly me, who did surrender
To thee, a Feminine Commander,
Then let me dwell (though live or die)
Under the Sun-shine of your eye.
For if your frown of Life deprive,
Your smiling look can make alive.
Then Phillis dear it is my will
That I remain in Prison still:
For if thy Heart my Prison be,
My Thraldome shall be more than free.

An Acrostick on Mrs. J. H.

On Mrs. E. F.

Grave Beauty, Wisdome, Chastity,
Flew up into Perfection's sky:
T' espy a Virgin, did excel,
With which they could both live and dwell.
And as they seriously did view
The Latitude of fifty two:
On London's Change, they there did see
A Lady FRANK, but nothing free.
And as they view'd her ore and ore,
They lik'd her still the more and more.
Yea when they had severely prov'd her,
In all respects, the more they lov'd her.
And did determine her to be
Of Maids, the sole Monopolie.
Erected in a publick place,
To serve them for a Looking-Glass.
Therefore they flew into her Face,
Possessing each their proper place;
Concluding all to keep her sure,
As long as Life-time should endure.
Then Love-sick Lovers, all in fire,
That's almost ready to expire,
Draw the Effiges of her face;
So comely, and so full of Grace.
She'll cure you of your vain disease,
And set your Languish't Soul at ease:
Unless you with a wanton eye,
Commit a Rape on Chastity:
And force her frown, (instead of smile)
To cause you Pennance do a while;
'Mongst those who strive (although in vain)
To gain Affection, by a stain.
For though at first she seem to be
United, to Complaisancie:
To shun Extreams, she well doth know,
That Vertue in a midst doth goe.
Her Face says Come; Heart, Get ye gone:
The Torrid, and the Frozen-Zone,
Are so well plac'd within her Sphere,
That one can with another bear.
Yet he that would his bold Armes make,
This little World's, proud Zodiack
Of all the Signes. must admit none,
But purest Virgo all alone.

A Passionate Love-Complement TO Mrs. R. G.

The Luke-warm Lover:

OR A Poem sent by J. F. to his Slighting Mrs.

Poor simple Girle, think'st thou that I
Am so Love-sick for thee to die.
Or that my Reason can not rear,
Above a Female Hemisphere.
Or that my Intellects came so rash on.
T' enslave my Soul, to Lov's sweet passion.
No no to think be not so vaini
That I'm all Liver, and no Spleen:
And that my Phancy's bound in Duty,
Only to dote upon your Beauty.
The superfices of a face,
If destitute of inward Grace,
Is but a Hedge-Hogg, in disguise,
To cheat, and charm Beholder's eyes.
Then speak your Mind, and be not Mute:
I'm down-right, be you absolute.
As Love that's Lazie towards Marriage,
Breaks off, and endeth in Miscarriage.
And (for the most part) it is seen,
That Maids (in age) about sixteen,
Have more Sweet-hearts, to suit and wooe them;
Then ever after do come to them.
Then stand not out, but take advice:
A Maid strait-lac'd yields little price.
For she that's of a slighting mind,
And laughs at Suitors, oft doth find
The Rase and Lilly of her May,
To fade and wither quite away.
When Nature cryes, Thru Fool give place
To Hoary Hairs, and wrinkly face,
She'll Sigh and Sing, that dismal Song;
I have remain'd a Maid too long:
And wish to have (although in vain)
A slighted Suiter back again
In fine fair Maid, forbear to scoff:
I do draw near, stand you not off:
If you slight me as heretofore,
I'll never henceforth love you more.

Love's Valedictory:

OR J. G. His Farewel to his Mrs.

λογομαχια

OR A Word-fight betwixt an English Man, a Dane, and a Dutch.

Apage Satan:

OR A Poem on the Turk's defeat at Vienna.

Rejoyce in Triumph:

OR A Plaudite on the Ottoman's defeat at Vienna.

A Song, Sung by the Greenwich-Green-coats, to shew their thankfulness, to their adopted Father, and Entertainer; The Right Honourable, Sr. William Boreman, Knight.

A PROLOGUE To a play entituled, The Indian Empress.

A TRAGEDY acted by some young Ladyes at Green-wich.

EPILOGUE.

We bring no after claps to soure your sweet,
As when good fellows at a Tavern meet:
Who having sung, and drunk their sorrows down;
The Land-Lord sings the dismall Reckoning Tune,
We cure not Melancholy by disease;
We crave no coyn, nor thanks, unless you please,
The tender buds of our young smiling spring
We did present, a free-will offering.
Thus if your Dishes have been badly drest;
Your Pockets are not with rewards opprest.
And yet this play no Prentise is in sport;
It serv'd it's time (in Confidence) at Court.
And what is more, (without a trembling fear)
Found welcome access, to his Sacred Ear.
I hope it may then with your credit stand,
To tast his Dishes, though at second hand.
For (though they be set in another frame.)
The substance of the play is still the same.
Yet all at first we profered was this,
Y'are welcome (if ye please) to share with us
But if ye have not found a recreation,
Agreeing to your Amorous expectation.
W'are not to blame, nor was it ever known,
A Tree to bear; the Blossom yet unblown.
Then pray accept (for all that is your due)
This earnest of respects, we owe to you:
And we shall pay (when witt accutely bears,)
Your sum of Service, in our riper years.

Another PROLOGUE To Criticks Auditors and Spectators.

Wee'r not come here, to please your Pallats;
By singing Tuns, and Ryming Ballads:
As if w' had nothing else to doe,
But cut out curious knacks for you:
And as our actions did depend
Upon a not concerned hand;
No sure; we Act this Tragick play,
No Master-piece, but an Essay
Of our fresh wits; and not of sense:
To learn a Modest confidence.
All wanton words we doe defy,
Our Tongues are tip'd with Modesty;
And all vain objects we despize;
Behold us then with pure, chast Eyes.
And if your expectation finde
A Passage, pleasing to your minde,
Thrice Noble Sirs, and Ladyes grave,
We humbly your acceptance crave.
And this is all that we require,
We shall fulfill our whole desire.
But if it be your hardened will
To Carp, and play the Critick still:
The Garter-Gamball we will dance,
Call'd, Honi soit qui Mal y pense.

The A-B. C. On the slow building of St. Pauls Church.

I Blush for shame, and sigh as I pass by;
To see God's house, thus like a Dung-hill ly.
When City, and the Suburbs both are done,
And built in querpo-cut, with Brick, and Stone.
This Demonstration is enough, to prove
Us froze in Zeal, and but luck-warm in Love.
Our Saviour went, us Mansiones to prepair,
And shall not we this one Hou's ruins rear,
I'll say no more, but sigh, and pray, that we,
May our King CHARLES the Zerobabel see.

AN ELOGIUM, On D. C. Minister of Marget, in the Isle of Thannet.

This is the Pearl-like-Porch, through which first came
The Gospel-light, to our Jerusalem:
Which with a gracious Gale, or splendent ray,
Did blow, and banish Atheism away.
The Divine Porter of this Sacred gate
Is one, whom Church, and State Homologate.
No Wolf, nor Hireling, nor the World's Slave.
But left the Fleece, that he the Flock might save.
No private malice, nor Hypocricy,
Doth choak his word, 'ere it can Fructifie.
No legall Warr, compulsion, nor constraint,
Doth force his Flock (in frowns) to pay him rent.
He cares to feed the old, with divine truth;
And in good learning, educate their youth.
His fervent pray'rs prevail at Sea and Land;
With him who made the Sand, a swadling band.
He prayes his People safe, and they doe bring
A gratis gift, or free-will offering.
Thrice happy Preacher, yea and hearers all;
Where both embrace, in Love reciprocal.
O Divine Saint! in all respects compleat;
Who in the fall of Years sends forth such fruit.
The Island I In terminis appeal,
To show another, that's his Parellel.

His R. H. D. Y. to S. G. G. H. When he was made Chancellour of S.

Deserving Subject, of a Loyal Name;
Which to our Race, hath ever prov'd the same
The Chanc'lor's place we do confer on you,
As earnest, of your summe of merits due.
Till Death, not fault; that cannot be suppos'd
In you, we have such confidence repos'd.
It were a the's well worthy of the Press,
If Loyalty such can take more or less.
Then grudge not envy; though I dearly prize
His Son, who died Rebellion's Sacrifice,
For him—But hold my Passion I'll refrain,
Lest I discover Brittain's blot again.
Thrice Loyal then, mind (and I'll add no more)
What Phæbus said to Phaeton before.

The London-folly.

In London, as I walk'd up Fish-street Hill,
I saw a Tow'r or Alter (which ye will)
Whose lofty top was elevate so high,
It touch'd the Clouds I thought, and pierc'd the Skie.
I had concluded (but I saw it Stone)
That it had been the Tow'r of Babylon.
I could not read th' Inscription, which it had;
But meeting with a Passenger, I said;
Pray Sir, what means this Phancie, and what need
Is there of such a stately Pyramid.
“My Friend (said he) our City hath been burn'd
“Of late, and unto dust and ashes turn'd.
“Therefore we built this Tow'r of hewen Stone:
“A Monument thereof, to watch upon,
“And this our case at present doth require,
“Lest that we perish from the Earth, by Fire.
I answer'd, it had been more Christian,
T' have built a Church, where first the Fire began;
A place convenient both for Pray'r and Praising,
And not an Object only fit for gazing.
Though Night & Day, you keep by Might & Main,
Unless God watch the City; al's in vain.
But I admire the Phancie, and can tell,
I saw a Statue-Steeple without a Bell;
And 'tis Devotions Paradox, to see
A Chimney set up, where a Church should be.

The French Tropick-bird

Or Madam Travalzie's Train.

A POEM presented to one whose Loyalty was Suspected.

A Reply to a Pasquil:

OR A sound Advice to the Unknown Author of the Ironical Rhyme, or Satyr written on his Grace, the D. of M Entituled Jemmy Returned.

Peace Poetaster, parasite of time;
Thou flattering Sycophant, disgrace of ryme:
Who with Ironic jeers, dost strive to sport,
And fawn thy self, in favour with the Court.
Think'st thou His Royal Highness, or the KING,
Desires 'timist protæus, to bring
A Coward's quill, that's diped in disgrace:
T' offront his Son, and stain the Royal Race.
The great Apostate Julian, taught thee this,
To Murther Monmouth, with a Judas-Kiss.
Pedantick Rymer, thy Muse is a Mine:
Thy quil's the Arrow of a Porcupine.
Which will at last turn Immanent, and dart
The sqint-ey'd Archer, deeply to the Heart.
Turn ore the leaf, but of this present age,
Bring Bo-peep's Pasquils back upon the stage.
Thoul't find such Lybels (more than any thing)
Bred Civil War; which murthered our King.
Mind him who said: Insipid Wretch of Nature,
I love the Treason, but I hate the Traytour.

Perillu's Bull: OR A Blow to the Hang-Man.

Thou Homo-brutus (out of doubt)
That's Beast within, and Man without;
Whose Name's enough to over vex
Thee Hang-man, or thee Carnifex.
Presum'st thou that thoul't never die,
But live to all Eternity:
To shun the wages, of thy trade:
Which Justice surely will have pay'd.
Thou Wicked Wretch dost thou not fear,
That thou'rt the Scape-goat, that dost bear
The guilt of guiltless Blood that's shed,
By False Accusers; and art made
The Rod, of God's great Indignation:
To Plague, and Punish every Nation.
Know then thou Beast with Humane Face,
As God to Man, gives Grace for Grace.
So he from him that hath not, takes
That little which he hath; and makes
Him Execute his Just Decrees,
Of Vengeance: as to this agrees
Proud Pharoah, whom he did obdure,
To show his Justice and his Power;
And set him up, that he might be
A Caveat, to Posteritie.
Then (to conclude) O Poor Man know,
Offences sure must come; but woe
To him, by whom: O thrice forlorn!
It had been good he'd ne'r been born.

On the Memory Of the Right Honourable, the Earl of OSSORY.

Rebels hold off, and Traytours come not nigh
These Sacred ashes, of pure Loyalty.
'Tis Ossory lyes here, Good, Just, and Wise,
Who stop'd the Flood-gate of your Villanies;
Of noble Race, and of a Loyal Line;
Politique States-man, and a grave Divine,
Courage in Heart, and victory in Hand:
A brave Commander, both at Sea and Land.
Had he but liv'd like others of his Race;
And to his Inward joyn'd his outward Grace.
He from base Plots had clear'd the Kingdom's sky;
And freed the State from Clouds of Treachery;
He'd turn'd the Chase; and forc'd (within a while)
Grim-look'd Rebellion blush into a smile.
Great Brittain sighes, and Ireland loud doth cry;
The States of Holland wipe a wat'ry Eye.
The love of all he had, of none the Hate;
The Church Companion, and a Friend to State.
I think I hear his mourning eccho cry,
Religion, Wisdom, Valour, Loyalty.

An ELEGY, ON Mr. John Forbes, late Sheriff of Aberdeen in Scotland.

Here lyes his dust, who did himself behave
In all respects, both Loving, Wise, and Grave.
A Man of Learning, Knowledge, and such Grace;
As did become his Pedegree, and place.
In Righteous Causes, he did never grudge,
To play the part of Advocate and Judge.
He all his life time, kept before his Eye,
The Principle, of real Piety.
He starv'd the mouth of Envy, and did gain
The love of those once had him in disdain.
A man of Courage, yet base broils abhor'd;
And brought all discords unto Bon-accord.
Now Oratrie, and all the Muses nine,
Are not enough his person to define.
For when the King of Terrours took him hence,
He stop'd the Mouth of purest Eloquence.
Had he not liv'd within a Northen mist,
Tost 'twixt the Waves of Pope and Calvenist.
He might have to his Nation been a fame,
And eterniz'd Admirable by name.
Then rest in hope (Dear Saint) and quiet lye,
Till he return who 'scended up on high.

A Mournful ELEGY. ON Mr. I. K. who Died in KENT in ENGLAND.

The World's a trifle, and the life of Man
A hand in bredth, in Longitude a span.
Our Pleasures are but Pain; our Joyes relent,
Before the Morning of our dayes be spent.
I've seen a Dunce, prefer'd before a Wit,
Base Beggars ride, when Princes walk'd a foot.
To swift or strong, by chance, no prize at all:
But God doth send, what ever doth befal.
Then why should I repine, my Heart reply'd,
The finest Gold is often purified.
This Object of our present Grief and Woe,
What I affirm without debate may show;
Whose Partes and Person, readiness of Wit,
Did of no Blot, or Blemish base admit.
Religion's root ne'r wither'd nor decay'd
In him: till he Lif's utmost minute pay'd.
Oft Satan snatch'd; but he could only roar;
The God of Truth had muzzl'd him before.
Then (charitable Reader) write me down,
A Christian cros'd doth wear an endless Crown.

On the Memory of a Married Maid.

Within this Coffin here doth lye,
A Pattern of pure Chastity.
A Non such-sight (as it is said)
A Wife, a Widow, and a Maid.
Whose Modesty did her restrain,
A Marrie'd-Virgin to remain.
Who willingly, not by constraint,
Was pleas'd to live by Complement.
Her Youth and Beauty still did plead
Divorcement, from her Maiden-head.
Yet Chastity did gain the cause:
The civil beat down Natur's Laws.
I could speak more here to her praise,
And force beholders all, to gaze.
But that I think her Ashes cry,
Hold Gentle Muse for Modesty.

On the death of a hopeful young Boy.

Within this little Box doth ly
Ripe wisdome, yet in Infancy.
Like Homer's Iliads in a Nut,
Full four score and ten here are shut
In single five, a Childe, whose years
Are written down in Characters.
Then Reader gaze not, but behold
This young old Childe, as Esay told.

AN EPITAPH On the Brother of Heliogabolus.

Within this Tombe lyes one, I can
Scarce nominate a Brute, or Man
But yet the veritatem loqui,
He borrow'd partem, ab utroque.
His Definition was a Stipes,
Or animal implume bipes.
He spent his time here in a mist,
A Papist, yet no Atheist.
He liv'd by robries, and oppression;
Whereof (at Death) he made Confession.
His fame still cry'd he liveth ill:
And now he's dead, against his will.

REGICIDA Or AN EPITAPH; On the first Death, and second Burial, of the great Traytour, and Usurper; OLIVER CROMWELL

ANAGRAM. O Vile, Cruell Worm.

ON DEATH, Mors ultima linia rerum.

Death is lif's exit, and the Porch whereby
All men doe enter long Æternity:
Upon the left the half-gat's open wide;
On right the Wicket's only lay'd aside.
Then stoope down low, when young; & boldlywenter,
For truckling thou mayst fall, before thou enter.
By all espoused it is still confest,
That the first proffer's (commonly) the best;
There are no Suiters for thy Soul but one,
And thou may'st dye a Foole, when he's once gone.
Ther's no contentment in our Worldly joyes;
They puff to pride, which but the Soul destroyes;
Then wast not time, for thy time is not long;
Lest Death prevent thy lovely Marriage-Song.
He's blest who Sings back from Mount-Zion high,
Death, wher's thy Sting? Grave, wher's thy Victory?

A POEM On The STATUE ROYAL, Erected in the Center of the EXCHANGE of LONDON.

Tell me no more how Memnon's Statue stood,
Which (but by hear-say) sounded forth aloud.
Nor of that Golden, Artificial Head,
Which prattl'd Nonsense, by Albertus made.
Nor of that fluttering Dove that flew amain,
To welcome Julius; and rerurn'd again.
These are but Fopp'ries, here's a Demonstration
Which to a greater Cæsar hath Relation.
A stately Statue, elivate on high,
T' immortalize our CHARLES his Memory.
This, is a Merchant's Mite, which doth but show
What Faithful Summe this City doth him owe.
Then Loyal London, keep before thine eye,
This as the Center, of thy Gravity.
That frowning Tempests from the Royal Skie,
May neither beat, nor break thy Loyalty
From him, this represents: but still endure
Like Marble, and like Alablaster pure
Unspotted: that all Forreigners may see
This Chirogliphick of Fidelitie.