Poems or, A Miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c. At the Instance, and Request of Several Friends, Times, and Occasions, Composed; and now at their command Collected, and Committed to the Press. By the Author, M. Stevenson |
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Upon the Famous Sun Tavern behind the Exchange.
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Upon the Famous Sun Tavern behind the Exchange.
Behind! I'le ne'er believ't; you may as soon
Perswade me that the Sun stands behind noon;
We shou'd be then more than Cymmerian blind,
If the World's Eye, the Sun should stand behind:
Nay, rather than Heaven's Lamp should so estrange
His proper sight, the Change it self must change.
Gresham must face about, under the Rose;
The Kings themselves must go as the Sun goes.
Yet notwithstanding what is here exprest,
I am a Brownist as to East or West.
What time the Peers did the Sun's rising stay,
He found it first lookt the contrary way:
Cornhill may in her south-side still take pride;
But, where the Sun is, there's the warmer side.
Yet some Astrologers, they say, maintain
Three Suns late set, will never rise again.
Three Meteors rather, if they were three Suns?
Suns guided sure by giddy Phaetons.
Perswade me that the Sun stands behind noon;
We shou'd be then more than Cymmerian blind,
If the World's Eye, the Sun should stand behind:
Nay, rather than Heaven's Lamp should so estrange
His proper sight, the Change it self must change.
Gresham must face about, under the Rose;
The Kings themselves must go as the Sun goes.
Yet notwithstanding what is here exprest,
I am a Brownist as to East or West.
What time the Peers did the Sun's rising stay,
He found it first lookt the contrary way:
Cornhill may in her south-side still take pride;
But, where the Sun is, there's the warmer side.
51
Three Suns late set, will never rise again.
Three Meteors rather, if they were three Suns?
Suns guided sure by giddy Phaetons.
But Noble Wadlow, this a Palace is,
A Superstructure on a Base of Bliss.
When thy transcendant Arch I'm passing through,
Me thinks in Tryumph I to Tavern go:
To Tavern said? I recall it, No;
Me thinks I rather to a Temple go,
Where the great Room (and who would judg it less?)
A Church is, and the rest Chappels of ease.
At least a Presence, fit to entertain,
(As once thy Predecessor) Kings again.
So pompous, so pyramidal, as if
It wou'd on tiptoes checkmate Tenariff.
Such are the All-magnificent contrives,
Wolsie can ne'er be dead whilst Wadlow lives.
A Superstructure on a Base of Bliss.
When thy transcendant Arch I'm passing through,
Me thinks in Tryumph I to Tavern go:
To Tavern said? I recall it, No;
Me thinks I rather to a Temple go,
Where the great Room (and who would judg it less?)
A Church is, and the rest Chappels of ease.
At least a Presence, fit to entertain,
(As once thy Predecessor) Kings again.
So pompous, so pyramidal, as if
It wou'd on tiptoes checkmate Tenariff.
Such are the All-magnificent contrives,
Wolsie can ne'er be dead whilst Wadlow lives.
The Turky-work about the Dyning-Room,
Wou'd make a Sultan think himself at home.
The Chimny-Piece does Modern Art surpass,
No hand can do the like, but Phidias.
Pictures so queint, so to the Life excell,
You wou'd not think 'um hang'd, they look so well.
Cathedral Windows carry there the Bay,
Where many quarrels are, but not a fray.
I need no story of the Hangings tell,
Arras it self's sufficient Chronicle.
Wou'd make a Sultan think himself at home.
The Chimny-Piece does Modern Art surpass,
No hand can do the like, but Phidias.
Pictures so queint, so to the Life excell,
You wou'd not think 'um hang'd, they look so well.
Cathedral Windows carry there the Bay,
Where many quarrels are, but not a fray.
I need no story of the Hangings tell,
Arras it self's sufficient Chronicle.
52
As if the Sun had Fire for Water truckt.
Water as 'twere exhal'd up to Heavens shrouds,
To cool the Cups and Glasses in the Clouds;
Which having done, from the Cœlestial Towers,
Like Jove himself you send it down in showers.
For Gold and Silver, Brass and Pewter, Iron,
A Mine of each seems the whole house t'environ;
Latin and Lead, and what not? All agree,
Here the Seven Planets keep their Heptarchie.
But to the Cellar now, that happy Port,
Where Bacchus in the Arches keeps his Court.
No more of the Exchange, Let People talk;
Here's the High-German, French, and Spanish walk:
In this low Country, is high Country Wine,
Here's your old mellow Malaga, Muscadine,
Canary, Florence, and Medera's here:
Or in a word, here is Wine with one Eare.
What shall I say? in vain I further write,
Here's all that's Rare, that's Racy, Rich & Right:
Such choice of choices, none amiss can call,
'Twou'd almost fudle me to name 'um all.
But that's a task no Poet can fulfill,
Except he write with a Canary quill.
Thus, thus the Sun, as with invisible Ropes,
Draws all the Change, and makes 'um Heliotropes:
53
A Man in Pauls were but a Moat i'th' Sun.
Regia Solis ibi sublimibus alta columnis,
Clara micante auro est ------
Clara micante auro est ------
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