The poems of George Daniel :: :: University of Virginia Library

The poems of George Daniel

... From the original mss. in the British Museum: Hitherto unprinted. Edited, with introduction, notes, and illustrations, portrait, &c. By the Rev. Alexander B. Grosart: In four volumes

Daniel, George (1616-1657)

VOL. I.

II.

VOL. II.

III, IV.

The severall Raignes of Richard the Second Henrie the Fourth, & Henrie the Fifth

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II. VOL. II.

Scattered Fancies;

Formerlie Written, in severall loose papers, now drawne vp in a Liricke Poesie; 1645.

By the Same Author:

------ me tantum dicere Mea
Nunc iuuat: ------

Carmen Protrepticon; Lectori

Men looke on Poems, but they doe not reade
Them to the Sence; which makes the Fancie deade,
And circumscribes the Author in a fewe
Smooth running Words. But if you passe a Due
Censure on Writer's ayme, at iudging well;
Weigh everie word and everie Sillable:
And though you read 'em twice, and something find
To strike your Fancie, thinke there is behind
Another Sence, worth all that you have knowne;
The Poet made 'em Such, and that's His owne.

ODE I

[When I am gone, and these of mine remaine]

When I am gone, and these of mine remaine,
If these, or ought which I call mine, shall Stay;
Read over what I leave, and you againe
Adde to the Sand of Time; and give my Day
As glorious Life as when I stood to breath:
Hee Dyes not, who Survives his Dust in Death.

I doe not Beg a Life beyond my Fate,
Or aske the Courtesie you would not give;
'Tis neither You nor I can set a Date
To written Numbers, if a Muse bid live;
And these may Live; who knowes, when winds disperse
My Earth in Atomes, Men shall read this verse?

ODE II

[How much a verse deceives]

1

How much a verse deceives
Vnhappie man! who weaves

His hopes vpon it?
Thinking to gaine a grace
From some light wanton's face,
With lighter Sonnet;
His Thoughts, his Hope, his Fate hang all vpon it.

2

To Titles, or great Name,
One brings an Epigram,
Yet scarce knowes why;
Another, comes too late,
Deploreing humane ffate,
In Elegie;
Praising a Name, to Raise his owne more high.

3

Some, Souce in bitter Inke,
The venome which they thinke,
To taxe the Times;
Write Satire, to betray
Selfe-gvilt, whilst they display
The Age's Crimes;
And vindicate their owne with biting Rhimes.

4

Some, in a higher Straine,
Must Annalize the Raigne,
Of Cæsar's Glorie;
Breath big, and thunder State,

Lest he Extenuate,
And dimme the Storie;
Which, his Muse tells him, is not Transitorie.

5

Another, doth prefer
To the full Theater,
His giddie verse;
Now, in a Comicke Stile,
Hee wantons; in a while,
Growne big and feirce,
The buskin'd Muse comes out, in Blood and Tears.

6

How much the verse deceives
Our hopes! Like Autumne leaves,
They blow away;
The time wee spent, is lost,
And onlie Time can boast,
In our Decay;
Our verse forgot, not one Line, left to Say.

7

Great Monster! Shall wee gaine
Our Labour for our paine?
And noe more wage?
I'le bring, to stop thy Iawes,
And Cancell all thy Lawes
Of Right or Rage;
A Verse too Stronge for Envie or for Age.

ODE III.

[Give me the Sober Muse and Simple Thought]

1

Give me the Sober Muse and Simple Thought,
To furnish out my Loome;
Let others come,
As they affect, in finer garments Clad;
Happilie farder fett and dearer bought.
If I had sought such, Such I could have had,
At the same rate,
But I decline that State;
Give me the Sober Muse, and Simple Thought.

2

Expect noe fine Thing here, noe gaudie knacke;
But Course and Common Things.
Our Larum rings
Not to the giddie Eare who seekes the Chime
Of Scurril Langvage; or affects the Smacke
Of Brothel-feats, laid Centinel in Rime,
How to betray
Soules to a Sad Decay;
Expect noe fine Thing here, noe gaudie knacke.

3

Oft have I bene deceived; but ofter you
Whose Ioy, in firéd blood
You make your good;
And pant, to see a Fancie Set to light,

That may blow vp old fire, or adde a New
Vnmanlie itching, to the feeble Spright.
Let your thoughts move,
To somewhat worthie of your Love;
Oft have I bene deceived, but ofter you.

4

Repent it, ere too late, Repent in Time,
The Error of your witt;
Thinke it vnfitt
For high-borne Man, soe poorlie to decline;
Scorne sordid Earth, and Ioy, in the Sublime
Raptures of Truth, clad in the liveing Shine
Of modest Fire;
And hate your old Desire:
Repent it, ere too late, Repent in time.

5

Goe, learne the better Arts of Innocence;
Which will instruct you how
To scorne, what now
You sought with Eagernes; and to your Soule,
Propose a richer prize, at lesse expence;
Where the true pleasure lives, without controule
Of doubt or Feare;
One other Step will bring you there:
Goe, learne the better Arts of Innocence.

6

Error has many waies t' entrap a Soule;
A thousand more
Then wee Account her Store;
Changing to everie Sence, with what they please.
Now Light, now fixed, Sometime seeming foule
Vnto the Sence; when She the Sence doth seize
With greater might,
And with as great Delight;
Error has many waies t' entrap a Soule.

7

Depart, false seeming-Ioyes. fond Mirth, Depart;
Treachers of old,
Growne in our Age more bold;
Light hopes and feirce Affections, quit the place;
Lay by your Tirant Scepter; for my heart
Is free to Truth, disdaining Servile waies
Of blinded Sence,
And Passions' large pretence:
Depart, false seeming-Ioyes, fond Mirth, depart.

8

Am I not Sworne a Denizon to Truth?
A free Associate,
Within that State,
Where heaven-bred Peace is Qveene? Onlie to her
I vow the remnant of my halfe-Spent youth;
And never lend false Smiles, an Eye nor Eare;

Noe more Suggest
Your pleasures to my brest;
Am I not Sworne a Denizon to Truth?

9

Nere may my Thoughts Swerve from their fixéd home;
But here in Raptures dwell,
Which none can tell,
Who, blind with Error, run in Sensuall waies;
And though the blood-fired Ruffian, rageing come
With Scorne against my verse; and Spend his praise
In Balladrie,
Defending Luxurie;
Nere may my Thoughts Swerve from their fixéd home.

10

Iust now he frownes, to Strike the Poet dead,
If Eyes could wound, or kill;
And calls them Ill,
The verses he has read; and Sweats, and Swears
A brain-sicke Frensie, overburdenéd,
Has run a Larum to abuse his Eares;
And bring a Cold
Ere years, to make him old;
Iust now he frownes, to Strike the Poet dead.

11

Erect that drowsie head, and yet see Day.
See, the bright Skies

Would Shoot into thy Eyes,
With Glorie, to informe misgvided Sence.
Yet be a Man, and heare what all men Say.
There is a way of Truth and Excellence,
Where Ioy and love,
Will teach the Soule to move:
Erect that drousie head, and yet see Day.

12

Let others Sing of Love and loose delights;
My sober Qvill has vowed
(Though vnderstood
Perhaps by few) to vse her Inke, in praise
Of glorious vertue; this, the irksome nights
Shall melt; and be the labour of my Dayes;
This Sacred Straine,
My howers shall entertaine;
Let others Sing of Love and loose Delights.

ODE IV.

[Our Muses, not exiled, with Sober Feet]

1

Our Muses, not exiled, with Sober Feet,
Draw forth Sad numbers, to a heavie Straine;
And entertaine
Some Sparke of hope, they may renew the heat,
Of Rapture yet.
Though frequent Sorrowes from Iust Causes spring;

Some little Ayre raises my numméd wing;
And Nature, not yet old in Years,
Would Stop the torrent of my fears,
To strike the Liricke String.

2

The thick Ayre hangs in Fogs about my head,
And many Thoughts make my Sad Heart as Dull;
My brest is full
Of mists and Clouds; my Fancie cannot Spread,
(Ore-burdenéd.)
Her features, to the Life, I did intend:
When I begin, it dyes, and makes an End;
In broken grones, abruptly closing,
A Thousand of her beauties loosing;
Beauties which none can lend.

3

Come, yet a little; let our Thoughts forgett
Theire torture; and some pettie Solace find.
If a sad Mind
Can but a little calme her Sorrowes, let
The Muses' heat
Breath gentle Rapture, interposing Fears,
And Sing our deep Cares, vnto patient Ears;
Who wounded, will not scorne our End,
Well-leveil'd; though (ill Shott) it bend
In a Distracted verse.

ODE V.

[Where, where resides content?]

1.

Where, where resides content?
The ioy which mortalls faigne:
'Tis neither in Extent
Of Power, nor full-mouth'd gaine;
Nor in the Emptie Shade
Of honour; nor in Trade,
Nor in vast riot, nor in Swelling boules;
Nor what wee pleasure call,
Diversified. The wall
Of Pallaces are emptie as the holes
Of Scornéd Peasants. Wee may looke
The universe, in everie nooke;
And Cherish giddie Fancie, that wee shall
Find, what is not at all.

2.

For wee may apprehend
Full ioy, in the pursuit
Of our desires; which End,
Before they come to fruit.
Soe doe I often borrow
My pleasures from the morrow;
It comes, and yet my Ioy has noe more Life;
For what can Time produce,
But moveing? Never thus

Will I be Slave to Transitorie Strife;
I will propose vnto my Soule,
A Pleasure beyond Time's controule;
A Path, where Innocence shall teach my Muse
The Raptures she would Chuse.

3.

And there find out, what mortalls, with their Sweat,
Could never gett;
And in the Sober heights of vertue, Clime
To goodlie ravishment;
Vntouch't by Envie, vnimpaired by Time;
For to be free, with a heart Innocent,
Is onlie true Content.

ODE VI.

[Noe more!]

1

Noe more!
Let me awhile be free,
To my dear Muses; exercise your power
On other men, not me;
I am a freeman; know,
I am my Selfe; and you
Can but pretend, (at best) for what you fight;
Long vsurpation cannot give you right.

2

'Tis mine,
The heart you would Subdue,

And Challenge, by prescription, in a twine
Of many years, to you;
I will, in the high Court
Of Iustice, make report,
Of my Sad Case, and beg, on bended knees,
I may have right, from Him who all wrong Sees.

3

'Tis true,
You entred by a sleight,
Vpon my simple nonage; for you drew
A faire pretext of right;
Few freinds (God wot) I had,
To give advice or ayde;
But I must yeild my Earlie years, to those
Who strangers were, and were, indeed, my foes.

4

Now, Man,
Shall I be Slavéd Still?
And kept a Child, with Trifles? Noe, I can
Not Soe forget the Skill
By nature lent; my years
Are now past Childish fears,
And my free Spirrit scornes to obey your power:
Goe seeke an orphan, I am yours noe more.

ODE VII.

[Loe, where Hee comes! the Monarch of the Earth]

1

Loe, where Hee comes! the Monarch of the Earth,
In Royall Scarlet Clad;
Such obiects make me Sad;
Is this a Time for Glorie, or for Mirth?

2

With azure wings, and golden Diadem,
A thousand vassalls waite
Vpon his goodlie State;
And giddilie, the Rout, his Shadowes hemme!

3

Who this Should be, the Iudging Reader knowes;
Ah, sadlie I dare say,
Hee did attend, this Day,
Vpon the Monster, if he bend his browes.

4

For in the front of his Retinue Stands
Bold Ignorance, the first;
And Ostentation nurst
By the same brest, and swathed in the same bands.

5

These misinforme the gaping Multitude,
And Chatter out his Praise

To them, a thousand waies;
What Scepters he has won, what Lands Subdued.

6

For doubtles, great Hee is; though greater farre
Hee be, in their report,
Who limitt out his Court,
To the wide Gire of Heaven's still-moveing Carre.

7

Let not their golden Sonnets Credit gaine,
In your Iudicious Eyes;
He has, in shamefull wise,
Bene baffled oft, and may be soe againe.

8

A Shepheard's Boy, who heard him proudlie boast,
Bearded the Monster late;
(And triumpt in his Fate)
Whose lookes, erewhile, had Cowed a mightie Hoast.

9

Yet Still he lives; for he can never Dye,
Till Time and motion Cease;
Till then, he shall increase,
In all the Glories of his Tirrannie.

10

A thousand, thousand Times, Hee has bene foyled;
And where he most doth raigne,

Hee formerlie was slaine,
By weaker hands, of a small Infant Child.

11

This, this is hee, of whom old Poets sung;
Who, more then once, was slaine,
And still revived againe;
Nor could Hee dye, vpon his Mother flung.

12

There is an Art taught, where true Arts are taught;
(For 'tis not strength alone
Prevailes against his bone)
Will foyle him soone, and bring his strength to naught.

13

Then be not danted, my amazéd Soule;
The Giant, (were Hee more
Then his owne vants) were poore,
To Cope with Boyes, instructed in this Schoole.

14

Thither will I betake me, and there trye
What Sleights will most prevaile,
To make his Footing faile;
Till I be perfect in the Misterye.

15

Then Muster vp, Collossus, to affright
Stupid and retchles Men;

Who know nor how nor when
Nor why, they yeild their exercise, thy might.

16

And I will Sing away my common Cares,
With everie Sand of Time;
Where Rapture shall Sublime
My new-borne Soule in an immortall verse.

ODE VIII.

[Oh, how I wander, oh, where shall, at last]

1

Oh, how I wander, oh, where shall, at last,
My wearied feet have rest? My mind repast?
Where shall I find the wishéd Port of rest,
To Strike away the Fears which have opprest
My wounded Brest?

2

Long Dayes I travell; bitter nights I wake;
Till Heart and Head, with over-watching ake;
I count the Atomes of Time's running Glasse;
And thinke the Howers, (which once did fleetly passe;)
Slow as an Asse.

3

I wonder Time can be soe patient;
My bowells burne till all his glass be spent.
The night brings horror, day gives noe releife,

To my Affliction; one continued greife
Weares out my Life.

4

Some pious Hand direct me! I have gone
From Pole to Pole, and left where I begun.
I tooke the wings which for the Day were drest,
Survaied the orient, to the vtmost west;
But found noe Rest.

5

Yet, yet, at length, let my spent Bodie find
A short repose. Oh, would you be soe kind,
You who can onlie perfect Man's desire,
And give that Rest to which I now Aspire;
A Rest entire.

6

Then should my Soule in mightie Raptures move:
Where Sacred Rapture fires it all in Love;
And ioyne my String to that Celestiall Qvire
Whose Harmonie is one vnited Lire,
Of Sacred Fire.

7

There Centred, Rest in all her Ioyes doth Rest;
Full in her Peace; with Ioy and Glorie Blest;
Still may wee travell out our Age, in Feare,
To find that vpon Earth, which is noe where;
But onlie there.

ODE IX.

[Goe, dote, fond Lover; Seeke]

1

Goe, dote, fond Lover; Seeke
(To smooth lascivious Rhime)
Some beautie, where Sublime
Graces adorne the Cheeke;
Court Lips, or Eyes,
Or what you prise,
With most Affection, as you can devise.

2

And see how long they please
The flitting Sence, with Ioy;
Either they kill or Cloy,
And aggravate Disease;
Noe reall good
Is vnderstood,
Where the maine obiect is but Flesh and Blood.

3

But if you would behold
A Beautie to Entice;
Revert your pur-blind Eyes;
Too blind, and yet too bold.
I'le Shew you here,
In her true Sphere,
Perfection, crownéd in a golden Chaire.

4

'Gainst which the Rage of Time
Could never yet prevaile;
Nor doth She want the Haile
Of Poets, in a Rhime;
Remaining yonge,
Although she sprunge
Ere Time, the Chaos into Forme had flung.

5

Nor Shall you need to bring
Attributes to her praise;
For her Aspect will raise
A Store too vast to Singe;
Such as would pose
Art to disclose
In any verse, and fill a Rheme of Prose.

6

This is that Beautie which
Strikes dead all humane Sence;
From whose sole Influence,
All Creatures are made rich;
And what wee praise,
Soe manie waies,
Are but light Sparkes, shot from these liveing raies.

7

Bring, bring the loftie verse,
And Sonnet out your Dayes;
Let everie word be praise,
And everie Accent peirce
The Ears of Men
With wonder; when
You faile, goe to this Source and fill your Pen.

8

Here, never Ending Love,
Runns in a liveing Streame;
Peace sitts vnder the Beame
Of Glorie; all that move
Is holie here:
Pale Doubt and ffeare
Exiléd are, and Envie comes not neare.

9

The witts who sung of old
Their feilds of lasting pleasure,
Meant this; though in some measure,
(Perhaps) it would not hold;
For humane witt
Can onlie ffitt,
The Sence with Ioy; Soe much they failed of it.

10

Bring in fresh Chaplets: Crowne
Her, worthy all your praise;
And mightie Rapture raise
To sing her Name; lay downe
Your brittle Theame,
Caught in a Dreame,
And raise a Character, in her great name.

ODE X.

[The Day was Darke, and Heaven his bright face Shrouds]

1

The Day was Darke, and Heaven his bright face Shrouds,
In Sable Clouds;
The gaudie Sun, in his Meridian Light,
Was darke as Night;
And horrid Stormes came rolling on the Skye.
The Thunder Strucke, the Lightning feirce did flye;
The Ayre incenséd, all her Streames let fall;
The Cataracts of Heaven theire Doores set ope;
Whose gushing Torrents call
Fresh ffloods, to crosse the avaritious Hope
Of men, to looke it should be faire at all.

2

My Sober Muse can say how it did wound
My Sinnew-bound

Vnvsefull Members; how my Sence was dull,
And my Soule full
Of horror and amazement; I had lost
The nearest faculties that life could boast;
Strucke with the Feare, into an Extasie
Of Feare, like Death; indeed halfe dead with Feare;
Yet knew noe reason why:
I summond all my Sences in, to beare;
But they were Dead, with my Soule's Agonie.

3

When loe! a glance of heaven's Immortall ray,
Found out a way,
(Through the vast mure of Night, into my Soule;
And did controule
My Stupid Sences, putt away my Feare,
Made stronge my frailtie, and my doubts made cleare;
That recollecting all my Thoughts made new,
And weighing the late cause of this Affright;
Vntroubled Heavens I veiwe;
The Sun vnclouded, and the Welkin bright;
Onlie the Storme was in my bosome true.

For vnto him that hath a troubled Spright,
Time has noe Ioy, nor Heaven's bright fface noe Light.

ODE XI.

[And now 'tis Faire; how shall wee Spend the Day?]

1

And now 'tis Faire; how shall wee Spend the Day?
Manage the lustie Steed?
Or see the Eager Hounds pursue the pray;
And laugh to see him bleed?
How shall wee run the ling'ring howers away?

2

Goe see the Gallant Falcon, from her wings,
The Qvarrie Strike?
Or stay to heare Hermogenes, who Sings
Soe Angel-like?
Or see the ffouler lay his treacherous Strings?

3

Or with the baited Hooke, in Deviae's Streame,
Begvile the simple Trout?
Or rather take a Gun, and warre proclaime
To all the Birds about?
Or Sitt and talke, and make the Times our Theame?

4

And where wee faile, the pleasures of the House
Shall our Discourse supplie.
Plumpe Bacchus makes the heart glad, when he flowes
In Cups not niggardlie:
Or shall wee wage, what wee fear not to loose?

5

Some toy at Dice or Cards? Or will you tosse
A Ball att Tenis? Or
Let's boule an hower or two, with the same losse;
Our Time wee loose, noe more.
Or Billiards? or what Else you will propose?

6

Come, shall wee wanton with a Ladie's Eye,
And Appetite provoke?
Or keep the Round of good Societie,
In high-pris'd Indian Smoke?
And let the novice breake the Pipes, lye by?

7

Let's this, or any these; which you like best
Pursue. The Day growes old:
The Sun is halfe his Iourney to the west;
But if to-morrow hold,
With better Pleasures wee will be refresht.

8

Were we but now made dull with Stormie Ayre?
And shall wee use it thus?
That Day which (Doubtles) heaven did prepare,
To fitt vs, in an vse
More Noble; which wee Loose, ere wee'are aware.

9

Come, take thy Qvill along, my Sober Muse,
And wee will find a place
Where wee may freelie Sing, and shade our Browes,
Vnder some Mirtle base;
Such humble Shrubs my Thoughts doe rather Chuse.

10

Or shall wee, vnder crooked Hawthorne Sitt,
And our Sad ffancies dresse?
Or rather chuse our lovéd Elme, and fitt
Notes to our heavinesse?
Not Emulous of ffame, nor Glorious of witt.

11

However, where wee Sitt, or what wee Sing,
The Day shall be made short,
In sober recreations; when the wing
Of ffancie flyes to sport,
Heaven, Ayre, Earth, Water, all their beauties bring.

12

And be the Day or Clear or cloudie Dull,
Our pleasure is the Same;
To-morrowe's Expectation cannot gull
Our Thoughts, in their true Ayme;
Nor take from what wee seeke, in obiects full.

13

Thus then, he pleasure only doth enioy,
Whose pleasure is not tyed,
In change of time, to quicken or destroy;
But, more securely ride,
All winds and weathers, with a Constant Ioye.

Him, nor the Angrie Heavens can Affright,
Nor Serene Skies please, with a better Light.

ODE XII.

[Contented I to frame a rurall ode]

1

Contented I to frame a rurall ode,
In humble Shades;
Admire those Swains who in bright Southerne Glades
Doe make abode;
And Caroll high to Fame, with mounting Qvill:
My obscure Groves best suit my humble Skill.

2

Let me vnto the fameles Deviae's Shore,
Low Accents frame;
Vnenvied in my ffate, or in my ffame;
And raise my Store
ffrom noe man's Harvest; but a Stocke produce
ffrom native bounties, to enrich my Muse.

3

And run, with changing Chords, as ffancie gvides,
To everie new
Obiect of Chance; which wee will more pursue,
The more it slides;
And gather a fresh Stocke, from all wee see;
Our numbers Chargéd in varietie.

4

My Temples bound, not in a wreath of bay;
(For be it farre
From my free Thought, soe high Attempt to dare)
But humble Hay;
May rest secure; and if I be content
My ffate is better, ffame as Eminent.

5

There will I sing, vast Nature in her Store;
And sing the Power
Which gives to Nature all her wealth; the bower
Of All (and more)
Perfection; where all fullnes doth remaine;
Parent to Nature, who doth All sustaine.

6

Nature, made faire in all her best Attire,
Brings it from hence;
Her weakest Ray, her beames of Excellence,

Shoot from one fire;
And not her lest production but doth Stand
A powerfull wittnes of his mightie Hand.

7

As Life and fforme did from his breath proceed,
In the same way
Comes Sence-depriveing Death, and Sharpe Decay.
Wee doe not tread
But a fresh wonder rises, to display
Its beauties; Sparkes from the Eternall Ray.

8

A thousand Times I contemplate his Store,
In earthlie Things;
I yet rise higher, and my Iudgment brings
A Thousand more;
Yet treebled, and I looke vpon the Sun
To gather new, and end where I begun.

9

There is noe Day soe Sad, noe night soe Dull,
But I can meet
Ten miriads of wonder; and forget
That I am full;
From nothing (be it scorned) but I can gather,
A Praise vnto this vniversall Father.

10

Hee rules the ruleing Monarchs of the Earth,
And Peasants poore;
The crawling Emmets have from him their Store;
Lions their Birth;
The Royall Eagle flyes but by his might;
And Hee secures the Sillie Sparrowe's flight.

11

The mightie Cedar getts from him his Sap;
And Shrubs their Iuice;
The Rose and Lillie flourish by his Deawes;
Nettles, by hap,
Come not to seed, but by the Influence
Which He, to everie Creature, doth dispence.

ODE XIII.

[Soe powerfull Nature, doth in Things appeare]

1

Soe powerfull Nature, doth in Things appeare,
To this Great Rector's will;
Some things live but a Day, and some a yeare;
Some, many yeares fullfill;
Some, which in Nature were thought strong enough,
Doe soone Decaye;
And the weake Spray
Which yeilds to everie wind, is sometimes tough.

2

The long-lived Raven sometime knowes a Date
Short as the Sparrowe's Life;
The Stagge and Sheepe may be co-terminate,
In Nature's finall Strife;
The mightie Elephant and Mouse may run
An Equall race;
And in this case,
The Heliotrope may live with the last Sun.

3

That wonder; is it Nature's? that a Flower
Observing all his path,
Should change the Station with Him everie Howre,
And feele a kind of Death,
When his Flame quencht, to westerne waves doth fall;
Againe inspired,
When he is fired;
When in his South he rides, spred most of All.

4

Or, be it Nature's worke, who gave her Power?
The word is the mistake;
You call it Nature, but I call it more;
That which did Nature make.
For what is Nature? but the Creature All
Sealed by his hand;
And cannot Stand
Without his ayde, nor yet without Him fall.

5

For not the Elements whereby we live,
Can Challenge ought in this;
Hee made them Strong, or wasting; he did give
The breath, which still is His,
To everie Creature; Soe that wee can find
Noe Shape at all;
For what wee call
Nature, but his Impression in the Kind.

6

Thus I agree, and thus I dare avow
Nature our Strongest Light;
For the Thing men call Art, I doe not know
A Thing more Sleight;
For what bold Impudence dare boast a Trade?
Or vndertake
More strong to make,
The Creature, the Creator perfect made?

7

This mightie Idoll, which fond men adore,
Is but a Shadow vaine;
Boasting of Knowledge, knoweing nere the more;
But makes an Easie plaine
Path, intricate and rugged; to invite
By silken Clue
Such as pursue
Her winding Steps, to an Eternall night.

8

The Knowledge men would know, if they could tell
What their own thoughts/Soules would know,
Is Nature's Patent, Stampt with Heaven's Great Seale;
Which, well surveigh'd, will Show
Large Misterie, and Misterie vnfold:
Then doe not Strive
(Fond men,) to give
Your ffreedome to a Zanie, blind and bold.

9

It is the great Imposture of the world;
A Snare to ruine Sence;
A pitt where glorious witts have often hurl'd
Their brightest Excellence;
Where Sober Knowledge and the Light of Truth
Were never heard;
But Hee who rear'd
His ffollie loudest, with a high-rais'd mouth.

10

And doubtles, thus the Earth with Iove made warre:
When man shall vndertake
To Circle mightie Nature in the Sphere
Which groveling Fancies make;
What is it This, but to their power, to raise
A mound, to Scale

The Olimpicke wall,
And deprive the Creator of his praise?

11

But mightie Nature, (provident in All)
Did this of old foresee;
And sett before the Face of Truth a wall,
Beyond Discoverie;
Lest Man, too bold in veiwing her bright Shine,
Might proudlie vant
Hee did not want
Of the Perfection iustly call'd Devine.

12

Soe fell the Angells; soe did Man, at first,
And soe doth often fall;
For soe bold Crime how iustlie was Hee curst;
Who seeking, lost it All.
And if there be a parcell of that Fire
Not yet put out;
It is, noe doubt,
From the first Flame, who gave it first entire.

ODE XIV.

[Nothing in Nature can be certaine fixt]

1

Nothing in Nature can be certaine fixt,
But to the mover's will;

All varie, in their Motions strangelie mixt;
Nothing but changeth Still.
And what wee 'count in Nature monstrous,
Is nothing lesse;
It is to vs;
But is a true production, to expresse
The Maker infinite, to noe rules Tyed;
And 'tis his Power to be Diversifyed.

2

Is there a certaine growth in any Tree?
Or Shrub, or humble plant?
Are wee made Iudges which most perfect be,
Or which perfection want?
Shall wee assume vnto the giddie Sence,
What is beyond
All the pretence
Of humane Reason, certainlie to find?
Perhaps the crooked Hawthorne (to the Eye
Of Nature) is as right as Cedars high.

3

'Tis the same hand which clad the blushing Rose,
Which did the Henbane dresse;
The fragrant violet by his bountie growes,
And loathsome weeds noe lesse;
Hee makes the various Tulip please the Eye;
And yet his Care

Doth not denye
To the poore Dazie, happilie as deare;
And sure the vulgar marigold may Cope,
In Nature, with the faméd Heliotrope.

4

Nor did he bid, what wee account most faire,
The Apple, Plumme, or Grape,
Be cherisht more, in Nature's equall Care,
Then her less-valued Heape.
The Crab and Sloae, he doth alike protect;
Nor brambles base
Doth he neglect;
But as the supreme Rector in Each place,
Doth the whole Creature with his bountie fill:
Thus Nature is Expression of his will.

5

How is a Camel better in his Shape
Then the despiséd Gnat?
Why doe wee wonder at the Mimicke Ape?
Or the Rude Parrot's chat?
The Squirrel is as worthy, and the wren
A better note:
Is not the Hen
And her brave Husband, in his golden Coat,
Fair as the Phasiant? or in Nature's Eyes
Perhaps as dear as Birds of Paradice.

6

The Sea, of Water cannot onlie boast;
Nor doth his hand Sustaine
Onlie great Rivers, or the great ones most;
For Hee who gvides the maine,
Is the same Providence to the least Spring;
Not only Thames,
But where I sing,
The fameles Devia, equall bountie claimes:
There will I shade my browes, and bring a Store
Of better verse, to Sing his wonders ore.

ODE XV.

[Vnsatisfyed with Earth]

1

Vnsatisfyed with Earth
(Where Greife and thousand Troubles intermixe
With some poor seeming Mirth)
I put on wings, and mounting higher, fixe
On fairer obiects. See the great
Rector of nature and the vniverse
His gifts disperse,
In everie kind; and all his bounties meet,
To make a Harmonie compleat.

2

This Power, which Nature rules,
And the whole world, is the great God of Power;

The God, which antique Schooles
Have aymed at; the God which wee Adore;
Whose Misterie, Stupendious height,
Includes the obiect of our Faith alone;
For he were none,
If Reason could vnfold him to our Sight;
And to fraile Sence display that Light.

3

Oh Infinite! beyond the Qvill
Of Nature, or her Servant, to display:
Whose Power is but to will;
To whom, the Earth, the Sea, and Heavens obay;
How shall I dare to bring a verse
Before thy Throne of Glorie? Oh, despise
Not what shall rise
From a full Soule; though Sinfull Lips reherse
The Tenor, doe not shut thy Ears.

4

Oh, doe not shut thy Ears,
Offended with my Song; but let my Zeale
Thy Anger and my Fears
Prevent; let thy indulgent Mercie heale
The boyling vlcer of my Sin.
And yet in Time, repaire the Soon-decay
Of thy wrought Clay;
A despised Shred of mankind, who has bin
Made clean before; oh cleanse agin.

5

Then will I bring to thee
My Himnes of Praise; and Celebrate thy Name,
In the best Poesie,
My humble Thoughts, or Zealous fires can frame;
This, all the Tribute I can bring;
And though it be above all Taske of verse,
I must reherse
Something to thee. The widdow can but fling
Her Mites; nor I, alas, but Sing.

6

Naught have I else to give,
Nor can I give it; onlie thine repay,
Whose breath first made me Live,
And gave me Being, in noe obscure way;
Noe vegetable, Plant, nor Beast,
But noblest of thy Creatures, made me man,
And Christian;
Borne in the Light of Truth, where glories feast
The Soule, in Sempiternall Rest.

7

Thou hast redeeméd Mee
From double Death; and the Strict covenant
Is cancelléd by thee;
Wee have a freedome which old Times did want;
Thou hast secured me from the wombe
Vnto this minute; that I now may praise

For all the Dayes
I have compleated, and the Time to come,
Thy mercie, to the Tombe.

8

Then let my Qvill Aspire
In mightie Numbers, and thy Mercies Sing;
A Himn, the Soule to fire
In ioyfull Rapture. Oh! could frailtie bring
Those liveing heights of Poesie,
Which Fancie faine would flatter witt into;
Here they might flow;
But wee are Silent; all our Streames are Drye;
Our Qvills are Stopt, or Idlye Lye.

9

Yet, will I once assay,
To honour thee, in Straines of humble Rhime.
Suffice it, if I pay
A gratefull Tribute. Hee, who gvides the Time
Expects from Man, some howers t' applye
His worke; indeed his owne. For what wee give
To Him, shall live,
Our richest Store; when our fraile Bodies Dye,
And in the Grave, forgotten lye.

ODE XVI.

[Now faire and Cleare, the Heavens are pleas'd to Smile]

1

Now faire and Cleare, the Heavens are pleas'd to Smile;
The purgéd Ayre doth rise,
Full, in her Balme and Spice;
Spiknard and Cassia breath, to reconcile
Opposéd Elements; Aurora faire
Spreads all the Treasure of her haire,
T' envite the Active Phebus more away,
And glad the Creatures in a well-come day.

2

The night is fled, and Daye's best Chorister
Kickes his feild-Bed with Scorne;
In livelie Rapture, borne
To those Etheriall Courts of wonder, where
His Liricke notes, left fyled,
Preservéd are, vnsoyled;
The Royall Eagle, in the welkin towers,
And for his prey, with mightie pineon Scowers.

3

The manly Cocke, has long his Bugle shrilled;
And thriftie villagers
Have long since shaked their Ears;
Each busie in the Labour he is Skill'd;
Their frugall wives Assay
The offices of Day;

The night-pent flockes vnbound, spread ore the Hills,
And Coridon, their Swaine, his loud Pipe Shrills.

4

Only I slug it, with a careles Head;
And my free Genius Steepe
In the wide Gulph of Sleep;
And loose my Spirrits in a tempting Bed.
My Limbes, vnapt to vse,
And all my Ioyes, my Muse,
Forgot in Slumbers; and my heavie Eyes
Invite fresh Dreames; I have noe will to rise.

5

Yet let not vertue leave me; I will Shake
Those fetters into Ayre;
And my quick Thought prepare,
For free and active Rapture. I will make
Rich Nature open All
Her treasures; which shall fall
A harvest, to enrich my sober Qvill;
And purgéd Ears, with gratefull Accents fill.

6

Forsake me, you dull ministers of Sleepe,
And let me Raise my Qvill,
To Court th' Olimpicke Hill,
With Earlie praises; and Survay the Heape

Of Nature's bounties. Then
If I (soe bold) may Pen
Something to praise Him, whom I most admire
My God, my Glorie; I have my Desire.

ODE XVII.

[When I would bring]

1

When I would bring
One verse, to Sing
Thy Name, how Dull am I!
Should I reherse
Some toy in verse,
My giddie Fancie then would flye;
Wretch that I am! How glad
I am of this poore trade,
This Sillye Rime!
Yet when I would endeavour
To Celebrate the giver,
In a well-weigh'd
Iudicious Poesie, how lesse Sublime
My numbers move then ever.

2

When I my Clod
Would kicke, oh God,
How am I fetteréd;
At either heele,
Me think's I feele

A plummet, heavier far then Lead;
Or like the Falcon, knit
Vnto the Perch, I flitt,
And make a bayte;
I picke my Iesses; and assay
For Libertie, in everie way;
But cannot hitt.
I toyle and flutter; faine would breake the grate,
Where I am mewed, of Clay.

3

I may, Sometime,
In halfe a Rime,
Hop from the Turfe; but when
I would attempt
A raveshment,
T' enrich my drye and drousie pen;
Check'd by my bonds, I fall,
And lime my Selfe, in all
The muite and Slime.
The more I would Aspire,
The more (Alas) I tire;
Enforc'd to call
My Clog, to be my Stay; and pant a Time
Vpon my Bed of mire.

4

Poore helples Man,
What number Can

Expresse thy weaknesse? Had
All Qvills bene bent,
To this intent,
How were it more then yet a Shade?
There is a Dismall Screene
Of Earth and Sin betweene
Vs and the bright
Obiects wee would discerne.
How farre are wee to learne
The yet vnknowne
Beauties of Truth? and onlie hope a Light
For which our Bowells yerne.

5

Leave me awhile,
Officious Qvill;
For I have a great Thought
Vnforméd yet;
Nor can I fitt
It to the better Formes I ought.
Let me awhile retire,
Till warmed with Sacred Fire,
My Active nerves
Secure a stronger flight,
To gather (from that Light
Which I admire)
Some ray; (alas) till then the Sinner Sterves,
In a Sad winter's night.

ODE XVIII.

[Thus wee deceive our selves, and Everie Day]

1

Thus wee deceive our selves, and Everie Day
Creates another hope: as wee might Say
Time is not ripe, when our Time flyes away.

2

Were but to-morrow come or next Day here,
Wee should be happie; or some seaven yeare
Hence, wee'le have Peace, and dwell noe more in Feare.

3

How hardly are wee pleas'd, how less content
In present fortunes? And wee still prevent
Our Ioyes, in Expectation of Event.

4

One Day's too long, another is too Short;
Winter is Cold, Summer vnfitt for Sport;
The Spring is bitter, and the Autumne Smart.

5

But for the frost, (God knowes) what wee'd ha' done;
Now wee crye out of Raine; and now the Sun
Shines too too hot, when other fault is none.

6

What wee'd have done! if this Thing had not bene;
Still one mischance or other comes betweene
Vs and our Hopes; or else, the world had seene

7

A Trophie, to convince Posteritie
Of our great Diligence and Industrie;
Our Prudence, Iustice, and our Pietie.

8

But ah! wee are not happie; never since
Some Day of ffate, (as we would make pretence)
Has the same Starre had his owne Influence.

9

Oh God! how mad are men! and I not lesse
Then he the maddest; in the emptines
Of Hope I loose my Youth, I must confesse.

10

And Delatorie Causes still invent,
To my owne preiudice; in the intent
I would pursue most to my owne content.

11

Else why should I, this Day, my Qvill forbeare?
Noe Day noe Line; but in the Kalender
This is a Day, though shortest in the yeare.

12

And am I therfore tyed, (because the Sun
Is not with vs Eight howers,) to leave vndone
The Daye's worke? for a morne or Afternoone.

13

Such students are too regular, and make
A Toyle of their Endeavours; let them take
Their nine for bed-time, and their five to wake.

14

Such method, yet I know not: though I be
A-bed at Ten, I tarrie vp till three,
Next morning; then I watch as much as Hee.

15

For 'tis nor Day, nor night, nor any Time
That can Deterre a Muse, in the sublime
Raptures of Fancie. Had I now a Rhime

16

Of worth and price; this short December Day,
It would spin out, to make my Readers say,
Long Barnabie was never halfe soe Gay.

ODE XIX.

[I doe not feele the Storme]

1

I doe not feele the Storme
Which vexes you in the too soone Decay
Of your fair garden's verdure; where noe Spray
Lookes green, noe Flower
But run into his root.
Your fruit trees lower;
You cannot set your foot
In all your Garden on a liveing worme.

2

The glorie of your Toyle,
The high-pris'd Tulip, has noe Colour now;
The Gilly-flowers are dead; the Rose can show
Nor Red nor Smell,
T' envite the willing Sence.
Who now can tell
The violet's residence?
The Sweet-briar drye, the Lillie has noe foyle.

3

When I, beyond the Rage
Of Time, or winter's malice, now can Show
A liveing Paradice, and lead you through
Greene Alleys, set
With ever-verdant flowers;

The violet
Wants odour to the worst of ours;
Trim Nature stands here in firme Equipage.

4

I have a Rose, will keepe
Its Secret and beautie to another Spring;
(Nor wonder that I say it) I can bring,
This verie Day,
(Dead winter haveing nipt
Yours into Clay)
A goodly Tulip, Stript
In Gold and Purple; Nature not asleepe.

5

How doe they drop away!
Your flowers and Ioyes together? Goe with me
Into Apolloe's Garden, you shall see
To mocke at yours,
And frustrate all your Thought,
A bed of Flowers,
Into quaint Mazes wrought;
The Muses' bower, vnder the liveing Bay.

ODE XX.

[What mad men are wee of the versing trade!]

1

What mad men are wee of the versing trade!
To give our witt

To Everie Censure! And, noe doubt,
A Thousand to the Common Eye has Strayed,
Ere one has hit;
And vs, the workmen, fooles, they flout.

2

An Epicke is too grave, a Satire Sharpe;
Sonnet is Light,
Elegie Dull; in Epigram
Wee want our Salt; and Ignorance will carpe,
Although we write
A Region beyond All they claime.

3

Yet Silly men are wee; and here I should
Desist from all
My Exercise of witt, if sure
I knew an able Iudge to read, that could
But Errors call,
Which Errors were; and know what's pure.

4

I durst not put my witt vnto the Test
Of such a Man;
I find a gvilt, with my owne Eyes,
A partiall Father; yet not soe possest
Of my owne braine
But I can see Deformities,

5

Perhaps a fault, where the good Reader huggs
My verie Name.
And let him Ioy in all he found;
Where I am proud of witt, perhaps he Shruggs;
And Sighes, 'tis Lame;
Soe 'twer, if I to him were bound.

6

But let me give Advice. Doe not pretend
To iudge of witt;
It is an Emmett in a Cloud;
And you have but dimme Eyes, my honest freind.
If wee Submitt,
Your Sence may make this Ant a Toade.

7

Then will I not sitt downe with this Rebuke;
But once againe
Ioy with the Muses; innocent
In my designe; adventuring to looke
In noe man's braine
For witt, beyond his Argument.

ODE XXI.

[When Ease and Sleepe, the busye world has husht]

1

When Ease and Sleepe, the busye world has husht;
And Sixe howers cold, the Sun, our Hemisphere

Has left in Darke;
I with the Muses Ioy, and freely there
Expostulate my Fancies, to the Iust
Ayme of their marke.

2

A Thousand obiects flitt within my braine;
Some slip, as Shadowes; some like Columnes stand
To fixe vpon;
Which I survay, and with a serious hand
Delineate; cheiflie to entertaine
My selfe alone.

3

And though my Body hardly well allowes
These frequent watchings, I am soe much wed
To my Delight,
When Ease and Health would move me to my bed;
And (free from gvilt) with vnperplexéd browes,
Might sleepe the night;

4

Yet rather Chuse I, to my Health's impaire,
With gentle Muses, to bestow my Time,
In the weake blaze
Of a Sad Lampe; and free from greater Crime,
Sing to my selfe the Fancies I prepare,
A Thousand waies.

5

And I will Sing great Things; perhaps to please
The Iudging Reader, and to pussle those
Who pretend more.
But Stay! my carefull Leech noe more allowes;
Checks my Disorder; and has stay'd, to dresse
Mee, a long Hower.

6

For, I must now observe Him; but when Time
M'imposthum'd Members shall againe make light;
I will be free,
In midnight Revels to the Appetite
Of my owne Genius, in the purest Rhime
And Poesie.

ODE XXII.

[Cleare, as vntroubled waters from their Spring]

1

Cleare, as vntroubled waters from their Spring,
And pure, as Innocence her Selfe can Sing;
Modest, as virgin Brides,
Whose gentle blushings hides
What they expresse; Sweet as the blooming Rose;
Faire, as the Earlie Morning, when she Showes
Her golden fface, and Deawie Lockes doth tye
In azure Fillets; Such be my Poesie,

2

Not bound to flatter Titles, or let loose
To vulgar passions, in the Times' abuse;
Not limited, not Free,
Further then modestie
Can warrant, in Each Syllable; not led
To Sooth opinion, neither soe much wed
To my owne Sence, but I all formes may See
In proper orbes; Such be my Poesie.

3

Such be my Poesie, that Number may
In Clear expressions, all my Thoughts display;
Such Rapture fill my Thought,
As I may vtter nought,
Beneath the dignitie of a free Muse;
And gvided by my Genius, Chuse
Obiects sublime; adoreing God, the high
Author of Truth; Such be my Poesie.

ODE XXIII.

[Poore bird! I doe not envie thee]

1

Poore bird! I doe not envie thee;
Pleas'd in the gentle Melodie
Of thy owne Song.
Let crabbéd winter Silence all

The wingéd Qvire; he never shall
Chaine vp thy Tongve:
Poore Innocent!
When I would please my selfe, I looke on thee;
And gvess some sparkes of that Felicitie,
That Selfe-Content.

2

When the bleake Face of winter Spreads
The Earth, and violates the Meads
Of all their Pride;
When Saples Trees and Flowers are fled,
Backe to their Causes, and lye dead
To all beside;
I see thee Sett,
Bidding defiance to the bitter Ayre,
Vpon a wither'd Spray; by cold made bare,
And drooping yet.

3

There, full in notes, to ravish all
My Earth, I wonder what to call
My dullnes; when
I heare thee, prettye Creature, bring
Thy better odes of Praise, and Sing,
To pussle men:
Poore pious Elfe!
I am instructed by thy harmonie,

To sing the Time's vncertaintie,
Safe in my Selfe.

4

Poore Redbrest, caroll out thy Laye,
And teach vs mortalls what to saye.
Here cease the Qvire
Of ayerie Choristers; noe more
Mingle your notes; but catch a Store
From her Sweet Lire;
You are but weake,
Meere summer Chanters; you have neither wing
Nor voice, in winter. Prettie Redbrest, Sing,
What I would speake.

ODE XXIV.

[It is Enough to me]

1

It is Enough to me,
If I her Face may see;
Let others boast her Favours, and pretend
Huge Interests; whilst I
Adore her Modestie;
Which Tongves cannot deprave, nor Swords defend.

2

For could She ffall,
To what we call

Censure; how weake and vulgar were her Fame!
Not Ignorance would hold
Till his long Tale were told;
Though scarcelie he has ever heard her Name.

3

If wee might read
Her truly Charactred:
It were enough, Error to vindicate,
To warme the Stupid wretch,
(Who onlie lives to stretch
His frozen nerves) with Rapture, 'bove his Fate.

4

But while I bring
My verse to Sing
Her Glories, I am strucke with wonder, more;
And all the Formes I see,
But Emptie Shadowes bee,
Of that Perfection which I adore.

5

Be silent then,
All Tongves of Men,
To Celebrate the Sex; for if you fall
To other Faces, you
Wander, and but pursue
Inferior obiects, weake and partiall.

ODE XXV.

[My Dear Pudora, though the greedie Flame]

1

My Dear Pudora, though the greedie Flame
Has Swallowed all the Inke
Which I (the weake Adorer of thy name)
Once lavisht out; yet thinke
A second Store,
Tooke from thy Graces, may to better Light
Celebrate thee; I am not ban'rupt Qvite;
And were I poore
To the Extreame of Ignorance, that Fire
Still liveing in your Eyes, would Heat inspire.

2

Doe not, oh doe not, (Goddes of my Muse)
Thinke I have lost that Zeale
My former Qvill profest; nor thinke I chuse
Of lower Things to tell;
Forbid it, all
My better Fate! noe, rather may I pine
In my owne Ioy,—my verse,—if my designe
Did ever fall
Vnto another obiect; but I still
Steer'd by your Eyes; Starrs to direct my Qvill.

3

Nor blame some looser Sheets, if (when I lackt
Your Light) my verse might Stray

From the precise Path, which your Steps had track't;
I cannot, dare not Say;
But I have gone
Sometimes aside; yet take, in leiu of All
My follies, this Acknowledgment; 'tis small
The wrong I ha' done;
Pardon, where I Nicotiana Sung;
And I dare say, I never did you wrong.

4

For though, in Silvia, I my selfe might please;
'Twas but at once to bring,
Vnder that name, a double Species;
And where I loudest Sing,
With all my Praise,
To honour Her, I but derive a Sparke
From your more radiant Flame, which is the marke
Of all my Bayes;
But Shee, revolted like her Selfe, can claime
Nothing in all my Poesie but Name.

5

This may Suffice; Great Rectres of my Thought,
Daigne once againe to smile
On my Endeavours; and I will not doubt
To vindicate our Ile
From all the blast
Of Envie or Detraction; I will raise
Huge Monuments of wonder, manye-wayes;

Which shall outlast
The rage of Time, and stand the Boast of Fame;
My verse Eternized, in Pudorae's name.

ODE XXVI.

[How am I lost! though some are pleased to say]

1

How am I lost! though some are pleased to say
My mossy Chops estrange
All former Knowledge; and my Brother may,
At distance interchange
Discourse, as to a man he nere had knowne;
It cannot be, perswade
Your Selves; for when you made
Me take a Glass, I knew my Face my owne.

2

The verie Same I had three years agoe;
My Eye, my Lip, and nose,
Little, and great, as then; my high-slick't Brow,
Not bald, as you suppose;
For though I have made riddance of that Haire,
Which full enough did grow,
Cropt in a Zealous bow,
Above each Eare; these but small changes are.

3

For wer't my worke, I need not farre goe seeke
The Face I had last yeare;

The growing Frindge but swept from either Cheeke,
And I as fresh appeare,
As at nineteene; my Perru'ke is as neat
An Equipage as might
Become a wooer, light
In thoughts as in his Dresse; but I forget;

4

Or rather I neglect this Trim of Art;
And have a Care soe small
To what I am in any outward part,
I scarce know one of All;
'Tis not that Forme I looke at. Could I find
My inward Man, compleat
In his Dimensions! let
Mee glorie Truth, the better part's behind.

ODE XXVII.

[Soe should you have my Picture, would it change]

1

Soe should you have my Picture, would it change
And varie to the Time;
But when I see
Art permanent and Nature fade, how Strange
Would it appear to me!
And twitt my Slime
As weake Materialls, to the Painter's stuffe.
There youthfull Still, in my Selfe bald or rough,
With Age and Time enough.

2

'Twould trouble me, when I, with frosted hairs,
Should looke at what I was,
And see my selfe
Sangvine and fresh, my Eyes there quicke and Cleare;
And I, a Sordid Elfe.
What a sweet Glasse
Were this to make me mad! and love againe
My youthfull Follies, and but change the Straine;
Doating, for Light and vaine.

3

Noe, would you see me better, you who presse
To have my Picture tooke,
Beyond all Art;
I leave it here, my selfe; it will expresse
More then the formall looke
Or outward part.
A better draught I leave you; doe not Strike
My Feature to the Cunning of Vandyke;
This, this is farre more like.

4

Here looke vpon Me, as I am in Truth;
Let everie Leafe present
Some severall part;
And draw 'em into forme, to the iust growth
Of my intendement;
To pussle Art,

In her loud boast, and something leave behind
Vnto my Freinds; that whosoe lookes, may find
The Effigies of my Mind.

5

And though, perhaps, the Colours are but poore,
And some defects appeare
To the strict Eye;
You will not Censure want of Cunning more,
To pourtray Truth, if I
Have bristlie haire,
Or my head bald, or beard in Cop'ses grow;
Will Art soe trim me, that they must not show?
Who then my Face could know?

6

Had I bene more exact, I had bene lesse;
And though I might have put
More varnish on;
It had bene Time ill spent, and might expresse
More fine proportion;
But, without doubt,
Lesse to the Life; and I would now appeare
In my Iust Symmetrie: though plaine, yet Cleare;
Soe, may you see me here.

ODE XXVIII.

[What a Strange Thing is Man!]

1

What a Strange Thing is Man!
How weake in his Designe,
His Wisedome! For I can
See others now in mine;
How Dull! how lost!
To what he Studied most.

2

Wee cannot looke vpon
Our inwarde selves, but find
Man generall; for one
Is all and everie Mind,
In some Degree;
Seeing our Selves, wee others see.

3

The same our Common Cares;
Our Passions are alike;
Our causeles Hopes and Fears
At the same obiects strike;
And all our Store
Of Follies, less or more.

4

Our Frailties, our desires,
Our Policies, our Plots,

Are fed from Common Fires:
Not wisedome, in her knots,
But cunning hands,
May, by his owne, loose others' bands.

5

This Image. which wee reare
Vnto our Selves, is not
Soe radiant and Clear
As wee suppose; the lot
Is free to All:
And diverse things, by the same name, we call.

ODE XXIX.

[This Dullnes is improper to the Day]

1

This Dullnes is improper to the Day;
And I am Sad, not in a common way;
My Fancie, Darke as night,
And fixéd; all the Light
Of Reason fled;
And I am dead
Vnto my selfe; I seeke
A Thousand waies to breake
The Cloud which doth involve me, and invade
With a strange Mist, the little light I had.

2

I cannot speake what I would strive to say,
And what I most would doe, I most delay;

I doe not know my Thought;
Or rather I thinke nought
Which can be knowne;
I'me not my owne
Disposer to the poore
Follies of everie howre;
And common Things I can noe more intend,
Then grave Designes; but from all purpose bend.

3

How am I Stupid? How below my thought?
Am I to Sottishnes and nothing brought?
I doe not breath as once,
But closed in Ignorance
I seeme to dwell,
As in a Shell;
Where my close-breathing tires
My Lungs, in oft respires;
And fainting, all my Spirrits loose their vse:
Why am I choack'd? why am I stifled thus?

ODE XXX.

[The Sprightlie Larke, vpon yond Easterne Hill]

1

The Sprightlie Larke, vpon yond Easterne Hill,
His early vowes
Has payed; and summons vp my Lazy Qvill,
Againe to rouse,

And in Cleare notes, like her owne Harmonie,
Salute the Day;
But I, Dull Sinner, Stay,
And her third Himne performed: How dull am I!

2

The golden beames of bright Apollo long
Has warmed the Earth,
And got his morning draught. I have a Tongve,
And noe such Dearth
Of ffancie, to be meerlie silent, when
All Creatures bring
Somewhat for offering;
Why should I sleepe? or not enlarge my Pen?

3

It were but soe, had still the Power of Ice
In Ebon walls,
It Pris'ner kept; I will awake, arise,
When Vertue calls.
Shame were it to prefer a Pillow, soft
With Ease and Sin;
To her resplendent Shine:
I better Feathers take, and mount aloft.

4

Emu'lous of the Larke, in her vprise,
And in her Song,

I quitt this dunghill Earth; let it suffice,
If I, among
The other Creatures, a small Tribute bring;
One verse or note,
Though from a harsher throte:
The poore wren Cherups what the Larke doth Sing.

5

In a Consort of Praise all Creatures ioyne;
The Squallid owle
Twitters a midnight note; though not soe fine,
Yet with a Soule
As gratefull as the nightingale's cleare Song;
The vniverse
Doth the great Himne reherse;
I only bear my part the rest among.

6

Then, with fresh Pineons drest, I will assay
My part to raise;
And celebrate his Name, who to this Day,
Hath many waies
Preserved me. Oh, God! I have a Qvill,
Muddled and lame,
To magnifie thy Name;
Asham'd, I lay it by, I've done soe much soe ill.

ODE XXXI.

[Welcome, my Lampe! awhile]

1

Welcome, my Lampe! awhile,
I may enioy thy oyle,
Without Disturbance; and allay
The foule distempers of the Day,
With sober recreations of the night;
All Eyes are closed, of Ignorance and Spight;
For it is late;
My watch doth prate
Of twelve or one. Deare Muses, wee may yet
Solace an howre. For ever may he gett
The name of Sluggard, who doth grutch
A midnight hower for witt, too much.
For me, I would allow
All time, one Day to you.

2

Yet rather let vs keepe
Our howers, and mocke at Sleepe.
For safest, when the Sun is downe,
From noise and Croud wee are our owne;
Nor yet auspicious Phebus can produce
Effects more glorious from the lab'ring Muse,
Then Luna pale;
Noe idle tale
Of giddie wits perplex her serious howers;
Noe loud day-noises, when the Cittie doores

Are all lockt vp; but onlie such
As ever have a Key too much.
Shee takes her wing. But stay,
The Cocke has summon'd Day.

ODE XXXII.

[Are onlie Poets mad?]

1

Are onlie Poets mad?
'Tis an vnluckie trade;
Our moderne, and the old Democritus,
Saw all the world were Lunatickes with vs;
And if I (partiall) may
The present Age survay;
I am afraide
Wee are not onlie, or not the most mad.

2

See to the Politicke
Is not Hee partly Sicke?
Are his Designes vnmixt with Drosse and Loame?
Has he not some respects he brought from home?
Are all his Counsells weigh'd?
His Actions ballancéd
Within the right
Skale of cleare Iudgment, and not one found light?

3

See all the world vnfram'd,
Strangelie disioynted, lamed;

And Common Men, (who have noe proiect to
Advance their Fortunes,) run a-madding too;
Sneake in their ffollies; prye
At Madnes, Misterie;
And wee may See
The infection spread to All, in some degree.

4

Not least, where often most
Sound Faculties they boast:
This saw, of old, much-seeing Lucian;
And 'tis but now the same; for everie Man
Is bound to his owne heart;
Not blanching any part
Of his owne Sence;
And strives to gvild all Follie with pretence.

5

The learning of the time
Is sicke; and the Sublime
Notions of Men are sunke; our Industrye
Not meerlie simple) has its Subtletye;
All Men have in their waies
Distraction; Pride and Praise,
Makes the world Mad;
The Poet sings, the Polititian's Sad.

ODE XXXIII.

[Oh, doe not breath too loud; though greife sometimes]

1

Oh, doe not breath too loud; though greife sometimes
In rude Expressions, and disordred Rhimes
Appeare;
It is not safe to sigh, too loud, when wee
Deplore, such tender Cases; Poesie
Must here
Curbe her free Qvill, and couch a big intent
In the darke folds of a faigned Argument.

2

But Danger onlie gvilt attends; I bring
White Thoughts, and never learnéd how to sing
Of more
Then Truth and Iustice in each Line might seale;
Vnbyasséd with Spleene, or too much Zeale.
How poore
Should I my selfe account! Had I bene swaied,
By these fraile Passions, this or that t' have said!

3

Then may I boldly vtter my free Thought;
And to the Age, poure all my Bosome out.
I will
Noe longer Swell and pinch my throbbing brest,
With ffears and Fancies, to my owne vnrest.
Poor Qvill!

Yet thou art free, and Iust to all my Care;
I am befreinded Still to have thee neare.

4

And though, perhaps, I privilie expresse
The summe of all my Thoughts, when nothing lesse
Is read;
I write what I intend, and rather Chuse
Such Intricacies; though not soe abstruse
As need
An Index to informe me what the Ayme
Was, when I laied the plott or raised the frame.

ODE XXXIV.

[It is not worth your Care]

It is not worth your Care:
My better Poems, which the greedie Flame
Devour'd; 'tis true, they might have kept my name
More glorious and faire
Vnto Posteritie, then I can hope
From these remaining Trifles; and perhaps
Have given a Light to those who can but grope
The way, and Stumble; or surprised in Trapps
Of Cunning, fall to Ruine. This, and more,
They might have done;
But I am one,
Who value nothing of my private Store.
Who knowes, but they determin'd were, to fall
Part of a greater Ruine? and vnfitt

To give such Light to future Times as shall
Brand our owne Age in witt, for want of witt?
I doe not yet despaire,
When silver-wingéd Peace againe shall Shine,
To raise a Poesie in everie Line,
As high, as full, as faire.

ODE XXXV.

[Poor Clod of Earth, Despise]

1

Poor Clod of Earth, Despise
Thy Slime, and yet be wise.
Thou art vnable to attaine
That Pitch,
And knowing it, not to refraine
Were madnes; yet desist;
Though with a greedy fist
And Itch,
Thou covet it. Leave of to clime
That Hill which will vpbraid thy Time.

2

Though fired with glorie; all
Motives of Honour call
Thee vp to this sublime Endeavour;
Yet know
The golden Anadem is never

Designéd for thy head.
A Thousand, thousand, led
As thou,
With selfe-surmises, yet appeare
Examples, others to deterre.

3

And though the Goale were won
Thou dost propose, vndone
Were yet the greater worke: it is
Beyond
Thy manage, were it taught; to this
My feeble Lampe, as much
Might fire Heaven's greatest Brouch;
And find
Perpetuall Fuell, to Adorne
Th' Horizon better than the Morne.

4

Away, presumptuous wretch!
'Tis set beyond thy reach.
With humble Admiration fall,
And kisse
Thy mother Earth; farewell to all
Thy follies bid; and see
Its state, and thy degree;
Soe misse
Thy certaine ruine. Soe the Sun
Wee see best, in reflection.

5

Invert thy Eyes and see
Its State, and thy degree;
Where many formes appeare, and all
The hid
Causes in Nature rise or fall,
To what wee apprehend,
Which is not true; vnbend
That thred
Of Fancie, knit before; and See,
Truth onlie meets Humilitie.

ODE XXXVI.

[Huge weight of Earth and Sin]

1

Huge weight of Earth and Sin,
Which clogs my lab'ring Thoughts in their vprise;
I am not wise
Enough, to breake my Chaine, or cast my Skin,
With prudent Adders. Could I slip
From my old Slime, how would I skip!
In my new Robes of Innocence, and veiwe
Things in their Causes, absolute and true.

2

Then, in a scornfull heat
And brave Disdaine, enfranchis'd would I flye,
To kisse that Skye,
Wee now admire; and find a fixéd Seat

Above the lower Region; where
Th' attractive Earth, I need not feare;
But move without my Load, and, at one Step,
As eas'ly mount the orbe as downward leape.

3

There could I see and scorne
The busie toyle of Mankind in their waies:
Their Nights and Dayes
How fruitles to the End; as were they borne
To satisfye their Lust and Pride,
To their owne Sence diversifyed;
And added nothing to the gen'rall frame,
But a meer thing, put in, to have a name.

4

How everie other Thing
Applies its part, and has a Motion!
Which (though vnknowne)
Doubtles, it doth aright performe; and bring
Its little to maintaine the whole:
Man onlie, who should have a Soule
More noble and refin'd, by Nature made
Surveiour of the worke, doth nothing Adde.

5

Diverted from the charge,
Entrusted to him meerly, as beyond,
In face and mind,

The other Creatures; with a Thought as large
As all the orbes, and wider too;
Truth (whose vast Circle none can know)
Was onlie bigger; and the Light of Truth,
Met full and radiant here, from North to South.

6

Thus once; but now, alas,
The most despiséd obiect of the world;
From all this hurl'd;
A Slave to Passion and his owne disgrace;
Baited by Follie, and Surprised
In the great Snare, which Hee devised,
Of pleasant vanitie; and all the boast
Hee had of Dignitie and worth is lost.

7

Poor Sand of Earth! how lost
To thy owne ruine, art thou, in thy will;
And plotting Still
Further destruction! as though all were lost
Of thy Creation, in thy Selfe;
Now made a wracke, vpon the Shelfe
Of Ignorance. Hopest there thy selfe to Save
From vtter Death, and the devouring wave?

ODE XXXVII.

[Looke above, and see thy wonder]

Looke above, and see thy wonder;
Downward looke, and see it vnder;
Vpon thy Right hand, see it shine;
And meet thy Left, in the same Line;
Survay the Earth, and sound the deepe;
From those that flye, to those that Creepe,
In everie Creature: and behold,
From the base Mirtle, to the old
Maiesticke oke; veiwe everie plant,
Herbe, root, or flower; none wonder want.
Consider Springs, and as you passe,
Meet wonder in the smallest grasse.
Let even Dust and Atomes rise,
To strike new wonder in thy Eyes.
Observe the rapid orbes, and see
A Cloud beyond Discoverie.
See all about thee, and display
Thy vnderstanding to the ray
Of this combinéd Flame. This tongve
Of vniversall praise has sung
To a Deafe Eare. All obiects stand
To teach, but wee not vnderstand.
Are these obscure? or too remote?
Beyond thy notion, or thy note?
Looke at thy selfe, and wonder more;
Nature contracted in her Store.

ODE XXXVIII.

[Rapt by my better Genius, beyond]

1

Rapt by my better Genius, beyond
The power of Earth; I sitt,
And see all humaine follye in its kind.
Not what wee fancie witt,
But has its blemish there; or Arrogance,
Or selfe-opinion,
Or Impudence, or Flatterie, or Chance,
Or blind Affection,
Support the maine. These set away,
What common Things wee doe or Say.

2

Poor crauling Emmetts! in what busie toyle
Wee slip away our Time?
Our glorious Daylight and our midnight oyle
Spent to enlarge our Crime.
What a prodigious Spectacle I veiwe!
When I from hence looke downe
Vpon the Common Earth, which once I knew,
And made my proper owne!
With as much Zeale, as were my Fate
Chained to the whirle of her Estate.

3

Now got above the mist of flesh and blood,
I am inform'd aright,

In all the Misterie of Bad and Good:
A never-fadeing Light
Surrounds me, that to Iudge I cannot erre.
What have I rashly said?
Arrogant foole! my Taper went out here,
And left me halfe-dismaied,
To thinke how it a Tipe might be
Of the great Light put out in Mee.

ODE XXXIX.

[Never to be at Ease, never to rest]

1

Never to be at Ease, never to rest;
What brest
Is strong enough? What braine, if it were double,
Could beare vnmoved, the assaults of soe much trouble?
Tost on the wave of Chance,
I loose my better Selfe;
Where Ignorance
Cast vp a Shelfe,
To ruine all my vertue; I forgot
My manhood, and the Treasure which I putt
A Sure
And constant rescue from all hands impure.

2

Taught by Example, and the precepts which
From rich

Antiquitie I gathered; I was made
Fortune-proofe in her malice; not afraide
To cope with Danger, in
All Formes She could put on.
But lost within
Opinion,
I was surprised; and ere I could collect
Disperséd Notions, by an indirect
Strange way,
Passion prevailed; I knew not what to Say.

3

Fortified in my Reason, once I thought
(But nought
Availes our owne Surmises) that the power
Of fortune could not Storme me. Ah! noe more
Let woman's Son be proud
In his owne brest or braine.
For soe I stood
To entertaine
All hazard vnappall'd; and had within
As great a Force, as full a Magazin,
As might
Have flattered you to the Same oversight.

Man is not Strong at all; nor wise, nor Fitt,
His owne to manage with his proper witt;
Then least, when borne by Selfe-opinion,
Hee Stops the Light, and wanders in his owne

Darke Principles and notions; hee attains
Nearest Perfection, who his owne restrains.

ODE XL.

[I cannot dwell in Sorrow, neither please]

1

I cannot dwell in Sorrow, neither please
My Selfe with Shadowes. Though I live at Ease,
I cannot laugh away
The trouble of the Day;
Nor yet soe much oppress my Spright,
In Tears to linger out the Night.
I cannot make my Case
Discourse for everie place;
Nor meerlie rest,
In my owne brest,
Silent. I am not proud in Miserie
Nor Sordid in my Hope's vncertaintie.

2

I cannot breake into an Extasie
Of Passion, Danted with my Miserie;
Nor make my owne Cares more
Then Some have bene before.
My Sufferings are noe greater then
The feelings of a Thousand Men,
Perhaps as Innocent;
Why then should I lament

The pettie losse
Of goods or Drosse?
Shall these, which are but casuall, subiect all
My better Treasures to their Rise or Fall?

3

I cannot fall soe low; though I sometimes
May looke into the glasse of these Sad Times;
And 'mongst those Shadowes, See
One that resembles me;
Naked, and nere to ruine, in
His Fortune. Yet I cannot Sin
Soe much to Providence,
As for the pangve of Sence,
Exclaime and rave,
Or wish the Grave
Might end him, with his Sorrowes, or invent
Fears to him, for a further punishment.

4

I cannot safelie looke at my owne Sore,
Nor search too deepe, lest I should make it more.
Soe, the vnknowing Leech
Tortures the bleeding wretch
Vnder his Cure. I am not blind
To my owne Danger; neither find
Soe great a Burthen in
This miserie of mine;

But I may Stand,
And vnderstand
It as the Common Lot, by my owne Share;
Soe prevent Fortune, ere She be aware.

ODE XLI.

[I doe not glorie in my Fate.]

1

I doe not glorie in my Fate.
Nor prise it at an vnder rate.
I doe not boast
Anything I possesse. I am not tyed
Against my Iudgement, vnto any Syde;
Nor am I lost
Soe much to reason, that I chuse
Supported Error, and refuse
Neglected Truth;
Contented to abide
Her votarie, against the vulgar mouth.

2

Let the full Pens of vanitie Contend
In what they please;
And gaine the Ende
Of their owne seeking, humane Praise;
Lost, with the Breath wherein it straies.
I cannot fall
To flatter Pride and Follie in her Ease;

But speake my knowledge, though it should displease
The common-Hall
Of Ignorance; and if I meet
Death, I have found my winding Sheet.

3

I am a Man; in everie Step
Of Life I tread, and cannot leape
Above that name;
Nor can I grovell, in a bruitish way,
Lost to my nature. This is all. I say
I am that Same
Vnsteddye thing wee call a man;
Limited in my Selfe; and can
Neither deface
Nor yet array
That Image; 'Tis my Glorie, my Disgrace.

ODE XLII.

[Goe, make a Rape on Fancie; and bring downe]

1

Goe, make a Rape on Fancie; and bring downe
All formes disperséd in that Region,
Vnto our Common Light;
Then, with a cunning Hand, collect the Parts,
And make a Bodie, to astonish Arts.
Draw your owne Face aright;
Give common Man his Symmetrie, in all

Dimensions of the mind;
This were a worke to bind
The indebted world, a Slave perpetuall.

2

But what thin Shadowes flitt within the Braine?
What obscure notions move to entertaine
Men in their owne Conceite?
Wee looke at Passions through the Subtill glasse
Of Selfe-conceit; and follow them, in chase,
With the loud noise of witt.
Wee run our Selves aground vpon that Shelfe
Our Reason bids vs Shun:
How soone is man vndone,
Who carries his owne Ruine in Himselfe!

3

I cannot reach nor Span my Selfe within
My owne Dimensions. I have often bin
Busie to draw my owne
To my owne Power; and with all Diligence
The dispers'd Fragments of Intelligence
I gladlie would have knowne;
And vs'd, as in my Power, the Facultie
Of everie Sence. The Reach
Of Reason I would fetch
Into the Circle of Capacitie.

4

I would have seen my Selfe, as in a Sheath,
Within my Selfe; and, as my owne, bequeath
Each part to proper use;
My conquer'd Reason, to submit her Power.
My Sence, corrected in Exterior
Obiects, alone, to chuse
What I propose; then doe not aske, what part
I would have gvide the rest;
I would have everie brest
Capable of the rule of his owne Heart.

5

Thus could wee Draw our Selves, the worke were done;
Knowledge were perfected, and truth were won.
Then all our toyle had End,
Our Parts reduc'd Each to his Station;
And wee might live, in re-Creation.
But who shall yet ascend
That great Scientiall orbe, and bring away
The wreath of victorie?
What humane Industrie
Knowes how to Doe? What witt knowes what to Say?

ODE XLIII.

[Walke noe more in those Sweet Shades]

1

Walke noe more in those Sweet Shades,
Where Roses canopie your Heads;

And the fragrant violet spreads,
A purple Tapistrie;
Where all the Qvire had wont to Sing
Their earlie notes; and everie thing
Was pleasure to entrance a King,
Beyond his Destinie.
Ah! now noe more,
Frequent those Shades, you knew or loved before.

2

Goe to the horrid vale of Care,
And tread the Maze of your owne Feare;
There grow noe Bayes nor mirtles there,
But the Sad dismall Yeiugh.
Day birds are banishéd this grove,
The monstrous Batt alone doth rove;
And the dire Screich-owle, percht above
Your over-clouded Brow;
Shall make you Sad
Beyond the Cause of Sorrow which you had.

3

There, horrid Croakings sound; and sad
Accents of Death,—vntimelie made,—
Rend humane Eares; oh! Dismall Shade,
Why am I curst to Chuse
In thy Sad Alleyes to weare out
My Youth? in all my Ioyes forgot.
To thy vnhappie walkes I brought

A more vnhappie Muse;
But a Muse fitt
To ioyne with thy Inhabitants, and Sitt

4

Vpon the Bankes of thy Sad Poole,
Where Frogs and loathsome Toads doe houle;
Where all their Spaune, with yellings foule,
Fill the corrupted Ayre.
To these, my Accents well may Suite;
My harsher grones will strike 'em mute;
And teach 'em to draw ruder out,
Deeper, and worse by farre;
For they are free
Of that ranke venome which imposthumes Mee.

5

With these, then, will I ioyne my verse;
And everie Accent vnto theirs
Shall double grones. Let me reherse
Noe more the tunéd Lay,
To liveing waters; bid Farewell
To all the Silver birds, which dwell
Vpon their Streams: and never tell
Of my owne Devia.
Farewell to all
Wee Ioy, or Peace, or Light, or Pleasure call.

ODE XLIV.

[Away!]

Away!
Fond man, thy braine is Sicke, thy Qvill doth stray;
There is noe Cause of Discontent,
Soe farre should move thee to lament.
Distresséd Fancie doth obscure
Thy Reason, in the Calenture
Of Passion.
Erect thy vnderstanding to
The Cause imagined of thy woe;
Which is noe cause, but a pretence;
Which Reason Sicke, vnto the Sence
Doth Fashion.
In Sober numbers, sing away
Thy Sorrowes; or at lest allay
The Apprehension of thy Ill.
Take, take againe, thy modest Qvill;
And yet retaine the Libertie thy Muse
Would Chuse.

ODE XLV.

[Each Day another Man, another mind]

1

Each Day another Man, another mind;
And wee our Selves forget.
Chang'd in opinion, all wee left behind
Is lost. What once was witt

To our owne tast,
Wee relish not; but in each newer find
More Ioy; and gladlie hast
Through Follie's Zodiacke, from the first to th' Last.

2

Wearie in everie Action, wee pursue,
Ere wee can perfect anye;
Sicke of the old, vnsatisfyed with new,
And greedie after manye;
Never at Ease,
To our owne Thoughts; and what wee ought t' eschew,
With Scorne and Bitternes,
Wee hug, our Glorie; and grow fat in these.

3

Glad in all present madnes; and can looke
Noe further then the Time
Enioyed to the purpose. Let the booke
Of Conscience babble Crime
To the gray haire,
Whose blood is cold, and Sinnewes palsey-strooke;
Let him grow Dead with Feare,
And langvish minutes till he meet the Beere.

4

But wee are yonge; and though wee doe not Love
To hear our Follies read;

Wee yet Act what wee please, and freely move
In everie Step wee tread;
Wee will not See
Backe, to Committed ones; nor yet reprove
Our owne Debilitie;
In the pursuit of a fresh vanitie.

5

Though I confes, when I with Iudgment scan
My Actions, and pervse
My Selfe, in all the frailtyes of a Man;
I doe not much refuse
To see the past
Errors of youth, and Iudge 'em, as I can;
Some please, and some distast,
Some I am proud of, Some away I cast.

6

Though, in a rigid Sence, I must confesse
All humane Actions are
Madnes and Follie; yet this foolishnes
Has made me to appeare,
To my owne Eyes,
My owne full Image; where without all dresse
Of ornamentall Lyes,
I am not blind to my Deformityes.

ODE XLVI.

[I grovell Still, and cannot gaine]

1

I grovell Still, and cannot gaine
The orbe I flutter at in vaine.
My Thought is narrow, and my Langvage weake,
To give my Smaller Comprehensions plaine.
Something it is, I faine would speake,
But as my Fancies rise, they breake.

2

Wrapt in my native weed of Sin,
I cannot cast; but search within
The folds, and would a better raiment find;
Starved in the old Mantle, now worne thin;
This beggar's Coat deiects my mind,
In all Attempts I have designed.

3

Raggs doe not fitt a Court; nor can
Man, in this Motley, meerlie man,
Stand in the privie Chamber of his heart;
Where Knowledge keeps the doore; and Truth doth raigne,
Empresse of all; and everie part
Bound to noe Rule, nor forme of Art.

4

When I (encouragéd by Some
Waiters at large) would nearer come,

To wonder at the Glorie of her State;
I sneak'd, abash'd, into another Roome;
And like Court-gazers, I can prate
Of something seen, but know not what.

5

Thus, Silly man! I am content
To get a Sight, although I went,
Never, beyond the Threshold of her Court;
Enough, I thought I saw her, in her Tent;
And gvest the greatness of her Port,
By what some others did report.

6

But who can tell aright her State?
Forbid to humane Eyes. Of late
I heard one of her nearest Servants Say,
These bold Intruders sate without the Gate,
Ignorant gazers, and did Stay
For Almes, there given, everie Day.

7

Then, with the rest, why may not I,
Talke of gay Sights and braverie,
To make the world esteeme me wise and brave?
But I am Conscious, and well-pleas'd to see
The greatest Priviledge I have,
An equall Man, an Earth-borne Slave.

ODE XLVII.

[Be not too Zealous. I, ere this, have seene]

1

Be not too Zealous. I, ere this, have seene
A Pangve as hot, a votarie as keene,
Dye in its height of Flame;
Where everie word has beene
A Panegericke; all Addresses came
To Celebrate the Glorie of one name.

2

A Qvill, inspiréd with noe vulgar heat,
Made great in Numbers; in his ayme more great;
Supported in his choice;
And honoréd to meete
Acceptance, in a Patron; now in noyse
Of the litigious Rout, has lost his voice.

3

His Zeale is now noe more. His frequent vowes
Are all forgott. The honour of his browes,
His Laurel, witheréd;
His Qvill, perfidious,
Dabbles in common Cisternes; ruinéd
To his first vertue, calls backe what he sed.

4

And runs a-madding, with the vulgar Crew,
Retracting his old Principles, for new

And vndetermin'd things.
Poor man! I sett to veiwe
Thy common frailties, in his waverings.
Be calme! for Passion tires, on her owne wings,

5

And falls in Dirt; a Spectacle of Scorne
To other men. Be constant; but not borne
With a blind violence,
To stand noe more then turne,
To the Suggestions of imperfect Sence:
Who builds on Sands, has noe safe residence.

ODE XLVIII.

[Soe am I slaved by Time]

1

Soe am I slaved by Time,
I modulate my Rhime,
To the soft Liricke; though I rather Chuse,
Had I the ancient Libertie, my Muse
Has seen and knowne;
To breath in bigger notes, and raise a Stile
To the Heroicke Number; but my Qvill
Is not my owne.

2

I once had to produce
A wittnes, that my Muse

100

Was noble in her Choice, and had a wing
Worthy the Subiect; but, alas! I bring
This to my Shame,
My Poems are noe more, noe more to boast;
For in the heape of Ruine they were lost,
Lost, to my name.

3

Let me confesse a Truth;
The honour of my Youth
Was in those leaves; and if I had a Pride,
It was in them, more then in All beside.
And I may Say
(Retaining modestie) they were not in
The Common Ranke; few of this Age have bin
Soe pure as they.

4

I would not be my owne
Herald; but this is knowne
To many of cleare Iudgment, who have bene
Passionate in the losse. Pardon the keene
And tender Zeale
Of an indulgent Father; if it rise
To Frensie, blame not water in my Eyes:
It suits me well.

5

Abortives doe not lacke
Their Tears; and dismall blacke

101

Attends the Funerall; and may not I,
Obliged, in a Paternall Pietie,
To my best Child,
Vtter a Truth vntax'd? Noe matter tho'
Ignorance blatter Follie, it shall goe
As it was Stiled.

6

Sleepe in thy Ashes; live,
Beyond all I could give;
Live in thy Fate, and everie Eye shall pay
Its Tribute to thy vrne, and sadlie Say,
Here is interr'd
A Father's Ioy; who cannot want a Teare
From anie Eye, who sees this Sepulchre
Which Ruin reared.

7

This Storie of thy Fate,
These Tears shall vindicate;
And yet I doubt not but againe to bring
Numbers of weight, and mightie Epicks Sing;
When Time shall raise
Industrious Qvills to meritt. I, till then,
Weare out my Time, with an vnsteddye Pen,
A thousand waies.

8

My better Hopes here fixe,
That I shall intermixe,

102

One Day, when Peace againe our Feilds shall tread,
Something of worth, for all the world to read.
How farre the reach
Of Poesie, enfranchised in her Ayme,
May (iustlie warranted by vertue) claime!
What high things teach!

9

Till when, my numméd Feet,
In ragged Sockes, forget
Those statelie measures; and contented, I
Draw Slender Odes, to the varietie,
Of Chance and Time.
With these I please my selfe, and sing away
My weight of Cares, to linger out the Day,
In Liricke Rhime.

ODE XLIX.

[I am not limited to a precise]

1

I am not limited to a precise
Number, in what I write;
Nor curbe my owne delight
Of Freedome, to be thought more formall wife.
Nor doe I meerlie Strive
To change; but take the next
Which falls to Sence. The Live
Formes of an honest text
Seekes little to Illustrate its intent,
And wrests in Nothing from the Argument.

103

2

Though in these Scattered Fancies I can boast
Noe proper Treatise; for
I catch at everie hower,
And onlie glance at things; I am not lost
To Studies of more weight;
But Shadow out, by these,
What I would chuse to write,
Were I secure in Ease.
And often touch the String I would Applye,
Would Time allow, to its full Harmonye.

3

I cannot Subiect my Designe to Rhime;
That is, I cannot fall
Meerlie to Rhime, and all
My notions hang to any certaine Chime;
But to the nearest Sence
I take a Number fitt,
And hardlie, for pretence
Of finer, loose my witt;
For who that has his Passions subdued,
Can bind his Reason to that Servitude?

4

Man (Lord of Langvage, great Distingvisher
Of Forme, to what is fitt)
Looseth, if he submitt
To Custome, his Prerogative; may cleare

104

All Scruple, and dispose
Of them, by Edict, to
What ever heele propose.
They loose their title, who
Necessite a Forme, or dwell in words;
Soe are they vassalls made, who were borne Lords.

5

Some (who pretend to witt), (Some, I have knowne)
Imagine all the height
Of witt in the Conceipt
Of formall Trifles; these are often Showne
To common Eyes; who, for
It pussles them, admire,
And get a Copie; more
To sooth, then to Desire
Anything tasting witt. These frequent are,
In this witt-venting Age, where none want Share.

6

How some racke all their Faculties, and Squeese
The Iuice of all their Braine!
In a fastidious Straine
Of words, to pussle men; and can but please
Them selves, with a thin Ayre.
What trifle can wee name,
Soe barren, or soe bare?
Be it an Anagram,
To stifle all the Life of common witt;
But busies some Men to be proud in it?

105

7

Of these, not three I ever saw has hit
Within the roade of Sence.
Nay give 'em their pretence,
The Latitude they aske. How below witt
They Stand, I dare not Say;
Lest I be challengéd
Vncapable, that way.
For I am soe indeed;
And 'tis a Qvalitie I not admitt
Within the Region of a noble witt.

ODE L.

[Oh! Doe not warrant Sin in your Applause.]

1

Oh! Doe not warrant Sin in your Applause.
Indeed, I saw your Heart;
And you abhorred the Face on't. Her witt was
Beyond a woman's part;
You hardlie had an Art
To keepe backe blushes, Conscious in her Cause.

2

Fye! doe not Say you love that Spirrit in
The Sex; your heart saies noe;
You cannot valuet as a Common Sin;
It is a monster; though
You would a vizard throw
Vpon such Gestures, as more Masculine.

106

3

What Man but hates a woman bold and proud?
The vertues which beseeme
That Sex, and makes the few good, that are good;
Are Silence, Disesteeme
Of their owne witt, in them;
And Modestie, where All is vnderstoode.

4

Such Petulancies as you would Contend
Are pittifull; more then
Prais-meriting (alas!) and you discend
Below your Iudgement, when
You did applaud it. Men
Sometimes praise ill, where reproofe will not mend.

Oh! Doe not Flatter Her, to her owne Sence;
Custome will make her Errors Impudence.

ODE LI.

[The Coopéd Lion has broke through his Grate]

1

The Coopéd Lion has broke through his Grate,
And forages abroad;
Whilst frighted villagers of Danger prate,
In their amazement woode.
Consider, what
Annoyance may succeed; Hee thirsts for Blood.

107

2

Soe doth the Ruffian, (fetteréd in the Brow
Of awfull modestie)
Pursue his Lusts, when women but allow
Familiaritie.
You hardly know
What Mischeife followes, in his Libertie.

3

Make Short his Fetters, by your powerfull Eye,
And keepe him yet a Slave;
Chained by (your Beautie's Honour) Modestie;
Your Tirrannie is Brave;
Ladies, I doe not see
How he can iniure you without your Leave.

4

For Modestie keeps still, inviolate,
The Honour of a Name;
And who dare presse vpon that prettye State
Which Innocence doth frame?
Noe Tongve dares prate
To wrong your Honour or traduce your Fame.

5

Forgett the Fashion of the Times, and Chuse
Waies proper to your Sex;
Avoid those franticke Habits which abuse

108

Your Creditts, and perplex
You in the vse;
For Fame, will strangelie Glosse vpon the Text.

And 'tis too much Presumption of your Shame
That you are falne, to be Iudged in Fame.

ODE LII.

[Ill suits that froward Scorne]

1

Ill suits that froward Scorne
Your Sexe; I am not tyed
To woman, in a Forme,
Or a Face mortifyed;
Though I confesse
Some things are ornament, Some nothing lesse.

2

Your Silence doe not Change
By vowel, to the worse;
Be free, butt doe not range
In the frequented Course,
Of Appetite;
And rather trust your vertue then your Witt.

3

Something within you knowes
How to informe you best;

109

Conforme your outward browes,
Vnto your inward Brest;
And then appeare,
To informe Men, beyond all Character.

ODE LIII.

[Be not Deceived; I know it by my owne]

1

Be not Deceived; I know it by my owne:
Great Bodies are great Burdens, and incline
More to the Earth; participating in
A larger Measure, what proportion
Soever please your Sence;
Bignes extenuates
Its proper Faculties, with weights;
And Smaller Bodies have more Excellence.

2

Like to the Servile Drudge, some noble man,
Has placed in a great Castle; and you come
To see the Building, and find everie Roome
Vseles to Him; an end is All he can
Manage; or some remote
Parlour his Familye
May comprehend; whilest others lye
Vnswept till the States come, and wast and rott.

110

3

Soe am I, in my Selfe; whilst I admire
Lesse Bodies, where a man is sett soe near
In all his Parts, contracted, as it were,
To a Conveniencie; and the Entire
House he keeps warme and Full,
With his owne proper Store;
Each office, Hee, with Ease, lookes ore;
And lives to vse it All; in noe Roome Dull.

4

Reallie, (it may be my owne Disgrace,
But) I am Confident, wee bigger men
Have Faculties lesse knitt, lesse able, then
Weaker Appearances. I doe not praise
Meer Littlenes, nor from
All Larger derogate;
But by my owne I see, and say't,
I could Lye warmer in a lesser Roome.

ODE LIV.

[Soe flitts the trembling Needle round about]

1

Soe flitts the trembling Needle round about
The Compasse, till it fall
Into its lovéd North; soe clings vnto't,
And will not move at all;
Then with a Mutuall Force these Lovers meet,

111

In a Magneticke Chaine.
Strange Simpathie! and though wee doe not see't,
'Tis in our Selves as plaine.
Nor let vs wonder why,
The Attractive Power should fixe
The Iron to its point; soe may wee vexe
Our Selves perpetuallye.
Rather see everie Creature pointing forth
Its proper obiect, as this meets the North.

2

'Tis seene by everie Eye, in Common things,
How apt and Eagerlie
They ioyne themselves; Everie occasion brings
Proofe to this Propertie.
'Tis not alone the Adamant can boast
This strange Affinitie;
Not Flowers, nor Trees, nor Birds, nor Beasts are lost;
But Each, respectivelie,
Have hidden Flames, and move
By a strange innate Cause,
To its cheife End; insensible what drawes
Soe neare a tye of Love;
But loose all Choice, and their Cheife Sence devour
In the strange force of this magneticke Power.

3

These secret workings in all Bodies are;
And All, at once, are mett

112

In Man, whose motion, more irregular
To all the points doth flitt;
Yet as Affection's obiects still propose,
Hee bends vnto the Point;
And though he varie much, and oft, in those,
Some Qvalitie of Constraint,
Vrges him to incline,
Hee knowes not how, nor why;
But Hee must bend to that darke Simpathie,
Which, yet vnseen, doth shine
Vpon his Heart; and passionat'lie move
Him to behold, or Seeke, desire, or Love.

ODE LV.

[Slip on, Sad Infants, of a groneing Time]

1

Slip on, Sad Infants, of a groneing Time,
Till all your Sand be Spent;
Poor Minutes! flye,
And yet be innocent;
Or man will Apprehend you to his Crime,
And filthilye,
Abuse you, to the lust of his intent.

2

Or might your carefull Mother rather ioy
In an Abortive brood;
Then have you live

113

Gviltye of Tears and Blood
In your first Light; and live but to destroy
What you should give;
Order, in all the Creature, as it Stood.

3

Rather pull in your fearfull Heads, and shrinke,
Nameles, backe to her wombe,
Then breath this Light;
Let Chaos be a Tombe
To close you, yet vnknowne; let Motion winke;
And all the bright
Glories of Day run backe from whence they come.

4

Ah man, vnhappie man! the Infant Day
Peepes with a blubber'd Eye,
To looke vpon
The Night's dire Tragedie;
Sad for our Sins. The Night, in Darke dismay,
Puts mourning on
For our Day Crimes; more Sensible then wee.

5

How many Tears for vs fall everie night!
Besides those of the Day.
If Pittye faile,

114

Terror might vs Affray;
Correcting winds, and Thunder's horrid Light.
But these availe
Not man to Stop, one foot, in his owne way.

ODE LVI.

['Tis not to make a Partie, or to ioyne]

1

'Tis not to make a Partie, or to ioyne
With any Side, that I am what I am.
All Faction I abhorre, all Sects disclaime;
And meerly Love of Truth, vnto the Shyne
Of Reason, which I have,
Gvides me; for had I sought to other Ends,
I could have bene as popular, as brave,
And had as many freinds,
To support all I vndertooke, as they,
Who move beyond me now, and more display.

2

For Hee who setts a valew on his Heart,
May what he lists Atcheive; I am as free
To either Side, or Anie, as I see
Truth to the Skale incline. I have noe part
Beyond the Naturall
Free vse of Reason; and I cannot bend

115

To any blast of Time; nor Stoop, nor fall
To a sinister End;
But must encounter where my Reason gvides,
The Puissance of Any, Either Side.

3

And I am fixt, but yet not rooted in
Opinion, to the hazard of a haire.
I am not limited to anie Square,
But free to any better; I have bin,
Perhaps, not ever thus;
And am as Apt, if a Cleare Motive draw
My Reason, yet to Change. I'me free to chuse,
And doe not care a Straw
How others Censure; for I must incline
To Truth, as my Faith gvides, in her best Shine.

4

And as I stand, all Reason I yet know
Warrants the Path I tread in; all I heare
In controverted Causes, makes it cleare;
For 'tis not Force of Argument can bow
Mee to another forme;
But a cleare Evidence of Truth, which must
Shoot liveing raies, to qvicken and informe
The Soule; and wee may trust
Her secret workings. If wee loose this mind,
She doth not faile to worke; but wee are blind.

116

5

How cleare I stand to Truth! and doe not breath
To any purpose, if I let her goe;
Had I ben Mercenarie, there was no
Second respect, but stood to tempt my faith.
I might have sitt vpon
The wheele of Action, high and Eminent.
I am not meerlie Dull; I could have done,
By a safe President,
As well as other Men; and had I made
But that my End, it had bene noe ill trade.

6

Had Politicke respects invited mee,
You cannot thinke I would have gon this way.
I am derided; and you will not say,
I can grow wealthy. Scorne and Povertie
Attends each Step I tread;
Yet am I fixt. I doe not value Life,
Nor name, nor Fortune; neither am I led
By a Demonstrative
Rule in the Case; nor willinglie admitt
Humane Devices, Subtletye of witt.

7

Though further be it from me to Affect
That obstinacie, which I must confesse,
Is not in nature void; that frowardnes
Many assume, meerlye to contradict

117

I am not in the List,
Truth be my wittnes; but I looke on things
With a cleare Eye, a Iudgment not possest;
For preiudice still brings
A Moat for Either; but I doe my part,
To all I am; with a Clear single Heart.

8

If Single Love of Truth, if Innocence,
If to neglect opinion, not to Strive
For popular Applause; if to beleive,
From principles which in themselves convince,
Be to be factious; if
To labour for an inward Peace, and Sitt
A sad Spectator of the common greife;
If to renounce my witt,
And looke on Qviet meerlie, be a Crime!
I am not wise Enough to observe the Time.

ODE LVII.

['Tis noe new thing, but a worne Maxime in]

1

'Tis noe new thing, but a worne Maxime in
The Schoole of Politickes;
A Subtle opposition; wee have seene
Many of these state trickes.
Oh! 'tis the way to rise!
And wee contemne all morall obstacles:

118

Give me but Power, I looke at nothing else;
I'me iust, and wise:
Let the dull honest Christian labour in
His Tracke of vertue; 'tis a Noble Sin.

2

Stay, whither am I gone? the Time's abuse
Wee never made our Theame;
The Misteries in State concerne not vs.
Alas, I did but dreame.
Mee, Innocence and Truth
Gvide in cleare Paths, without all preiudice
Or rancour. Fancie erring! how it flyes!
And takes a growth,
To a strange height. I should have ravill'd out
A loome of this, had I not lookt into't.

3

Alas! our Sober numbers never knew
To taxe men in their Crimes;
Our Muse (vnapt to Censure) ever flew
A pitch below the Times.
Wee are vncapable
To sound a Misterie, or dive into
The ocean for a Pearle; a Peeble, too,
Suits vs as well.
These, yeild the common feilds: these wee may gather
Without offence; and these, would I chuse rather.

119

4

Let me be free, though in a meane Estate;
And live to vse my owne,
Vnenvied in my Fortune; rather waite,
Then meet a Ioy too soone;
Direct and true in all
My purposes; Safe in the brazen tower
Of my owne brest; let Fortune laugh or loure,
I cannot fall.
Iealous of my owne Passions, free to Truth,
And Swayed by nothing, or to sleight, or Sooth.

5

But pleased in my retire, my Selfe survay,
And Studie my owne Heart;
Turne over a new leafe for everie Day,
And many things impart,
Which Common Sence and Eyes
Oft see not. 'Tis a Speculation
More pleasant then all else I yet have knowne;
And Hee that tryes
With a Discerning Light, shall weare the Spoyles
Of a Selfe-Conquest, fitt to crowne his Toyles.

6

Then kicke the world, and all Selfe-Interest;
Reiect all Hopes and Fears;
Abandon humane witt; and doe not rest

120

In the thin Characters,
Of weake and emptie words.
Beare vp and resigne all, to re-assume
A greater Libertie. Oh! Let me come!
My will accords
To gaine that freedome; I will loose Each part
Of Man, to see my Selfe, in my owne Heart.

ODE LVIII.

[Poore Man! I am as Dull as dull can be]

Poore Man! I am as Dull as dull can be;
Dull in my Selfe, with Sin;
For Sin is heavie. I am darke within,
And cannot see
My selfe. Poor Man! a Cloud has Spred vpon
My Soule, and I am lost; I am vndone.
Huge vapour flyes
Betwixt me and my selfe; all Light is gon.
I am a Chaos growne:
Rise! Sun of Glorie, yet at length arise!

Dispell these Mists, that I, at once, may See
My selfe, in my owne Heart; and All, in Thee.

ODE LIX.

[Not though wee keepe a Soft]

1

Not though wee keepe a Soft
Low number; scorne to read our verse.

121

Strong Pineons flye aloft,
And haughtie Qvills high Things reherse.
Mee better suits to Creepe,
Then with Icarian winge,
Contrive a scornéd Ruine. To the Cheape
Ayre of opinion will I never Singe.
I cannot weepe,
Nor Laugh to Please; I can doe noe such Thinge.

2

Shall I soe farre Submitt
My Reason, perhaps to one lesse?
Or prostitute my witt,
To a more Customarie Dresse?
I am not borne a Slave;
If Fortune worse contrive,
Nature intended better. Yet I have
Somewhat She cannot take, She did not give.
There am I brave:
A Monarch free, though I in fetters Live.

3

Ah! but I must resigne;
For I am not my owne, to Say,
Or Doe. Nothing of mine
But I submitt, to the worne way
Of Custome; I will write
Full Panegerickes to

122

Celebrate Iustice in our Age; make white
Foule Crimes; and tell Posteritie, wee owe
To those that fight
Soe good a Cause, all wee can Say or Doe.

4

Yes, I will say it! and
Put off my Nature, for a while;
My witt, to anie hand
Entrust; and sing, for a State Smile,
Or potent Countenance!
'Tis wisedome to forgett,
Sometimes, our Interests; wise men make Chance
A Deitie. 'Tis madnes to love witt;
May disadvance
A further reach; I'me taught; and I submitt.

5

Were I an Atome, in
The Age's Glasse, I must run free,
Or stop the passage. Men
Are Sands, and run Successivelie,
Each in his way and Place.
If any make a Stop,
The rest want Motion; Each graine, to the Masse
Contributes, to the consummating vp
Of the full Glasse;
And, as the lowest Slide, soe sinkes the Toppe.

123

6

But thus I trifle out,
In weake Surmises, all my Inke;
And loose my better thought,
Whilest I of Time, or customes thinke.
My Numbers not Enthralled,
I will noe longer Span,
By that vncertaine Measure; I have fail'd
And let some better Liricke, if he can,
Prove it Entailed,
From Theban Lire, and Sweet Dircean Swan.

Goe from me now, for many Daies; perchance
Ere I expect, my Qvill and I may meet
On safer Termes, with Honour to advance
Raptures of wonder, to the Royall Seat.
Goe from me far, till then; which if my Song
Erre not with Time, shall not be absent Long.

Deare Muses, wee must part; yet let me give
A verse to Time, in charge of my Desire.
Noe hand, if I am Dead, and these shall live,
Iniure a Line, or word, I you require.
Enioy with Freedome, all your owne conceit,
Let mine not be infring'd, but Equall Great:

124

For Poets sometimes Fancies bring,
When Readers nothing can discerne;
And they, perhaps, may find something
Shall sett him, in his owne, to learne.
And, happilie, a hidden Flame
Of Honour rests, which never came
Within the Reach of Either; yet more true
Then both, to Iudgement. Neither I nor You
Must Iudge our owne.

Adieu.

The Ende.

A Postscript.

These Poems are the onlie remaining Testimonie of some howers which the Author gave vp to the muses; many others from the same Pen, of more consideration, are lost. Hee invites noe man to the expence of his monie or Time, vpon these Fragments; which were intended not to the publike Eye, but his owne retired Fancies, to make Light that burthen which some grone vnder; and had not the request of an endeared Freind prevailed, they had not Exceeded his intention; nor the world (perhaps) in anie Sence pittyed Him. Iuly 17, 1647.

125

FURTHER POEMS.

127

To Mr. Ogilby:

Vpon his Accurate Translation of incomparable Virgil.

Bee it without offence, that I may give
My humble Verse, with Virgil's name to live;
My verse, which but in Northerne Groves yet sung,
(Cold as the Climate) falters on the Tongve.
Those who enrichéd are with brighter flame,
May Sing a louder Note; I have noe Name,
Nor facultie in Numbers, but what Sad
Thoughts now may vrge, within a private Shade.
Yet, may I say, I was not borne soe dull,
Nor soe Disloyall am; Soe without Soule;
But if my hand be calléd, by this Prince
Of Poets, 'Tis my Witt's Allegiance.
For be Hee Rebel ever to the Chaire
Of Sacred Muses, who can see appeare
His Maister, (long an Exulate) come in,
To claime his proper Right, and doth not bring
His Hand t' assist, and Seat Him in his owne.
All Langvage is but witt's Dominion;

128

And Virgil doth as gloriouslye advance
To Brittain's now, as to the Romans once.
This to the Conduct of learn'd Ogilby
Wee must Ascribe, who fix'd him happilye

In his prædestin'd Chaire. Now Troians All,
Wee know Æneas, and Him Father call.
If I have err'd, Sr; 'tis but to admire
Virgil, as radiant in this Attire
As in his Romane garbe; and (might I give
Freely my owne) I thinke Hee did not Live
Happie in English Letters, whose Swift fate
Call'd, ere This Poet had attain'd This State.

G. Daniel. June 29th, 1.6.4.9.

129

The Author;

Scriptorum chorus omnis, amat nemus, et fugit vrbe's.

Thus calmly did the Antique Poets frame
Felicitie, and gloried in the name
Of Grove-frequenters; thus old Orpheus sate
By fatall Hebrus, when his suddaine fate
(Convai'd by franticke women) did Surprize
Him, in the flight of Sacred Extasies.
How much vnsafe is Solitude! what Ioye
Has Groves or Cities? but Each Equallye
Capable in Idea. Not the Lire
Which Phebus strung (Phebus was Orpheus' Sire,)
And gave it him, nor his owne verse, nor voice—
Sweet as his Mother's—(for noe other choice
Might ever equall't,) could at all deterre
These possest Beldams, from the Massacre.
That voice which taught disperséd Trees to move
Into an orderlie and well-pitch'd Grove;
Stopt headie Currents, and made them run sweet;
Gave centred Rocks a Life, & mountains feet;
Not voice, nor Harpe, which brought againe to Life
From Hell, Euridice, his ravisht wife;

130

And did soe Charme Hell's treeple-headed Hound,
Hee could not vse one tongve or tooth, to wound,
Or wonder, at our Poet; what nor Hell
Nor Furies durst Attempt, (I Shame to tell,)
Women must Act; but Women none durst doe
A crime soe impious, soe vnequall too;
But Lust & wine in women can produce
Such monsters onlie; be it their excuse.
The water (yet proud) Sings, (if Fame not Lye,)
And runs to him, a Constant Elegie.
Such was the fate of Orpheus.—Calme my verse
And softer Numbers Spin, whilst I reherse
Titirus sitting vnder Beechie Shade,
Pleasing his Fancie, in the Ioy he made.
For soe he made it his; as what might want
There to delight or please, his verse did plant.
Here, oft (more pleas'd then in Augustus Shine)
Hee did enioy himselfe, and here vntwine
The Clewe he twisted there: thus Hee in groves.
Next, see in-imitable Colin, moves
Our Admiration; Hee, poore Swaine, in bare
And thin-Set Shades did Sing; whil'st (ah) noe care
Was had of all his Numbers; numbers which
Had they bene sung of old, who knowes how rich
A Fame had Crown'd him? Had he livéd when.
Phillip's Great Son (that prodigie of men)
Spread like Aurora in the Easterne light;
Hee had not wish'd a Homer for to write

131

His Storie; but ev'n Peleus' Son had sate
A step below in Fame as well as Fate.
But Hee, poor Man! in an vngratefull Age
Neglected lived; still borne downe by the Rage
Of Ignorance. For 'tis an Easier Thing
To make Trees Leape, and Stones selfe-burthens bring
(As once Amphion to the walls of Thæbes,)
Then Stop the giddie Clamouring of Plebs;
Hee poorlie Dyéd, (but vertue cannot Dye)
And scarce had got a Bed, in Death to lye;
Had not a noble Heroe made a Roome,
Hee'd bene an Epitaph without a Tombe.
For that Hee could not want, whilst verse or witt
Could move a wing, they'd bene obliged to it;
Or Say, the bankrupt Age could none Afford:
Hee left a Stocke sufficient, on Record.

Let me, then, vnder my owne Shades content,
Admire their Flights. Hee who lives Innocent
Is wise Enough. Where Innocence and Witt
Combine, what wonders in that brest are mett?
The Trumpet's Clangor, nor the ratling drum,
Noises of warre, nor the more troublesome
Rage of the Souldier, nor the Golden Spundge,
Where Harpies licke the Iuice, nor all the plundge
Of Apprehension; shakes or enters on
The temper of that true Complexion.
Vertue is ever Safe, and wee may See

132

Loyaltie prizéd, and depress'd Maiestie
Enthroned, as glorious as wee whilome have.
These, wee may see; if not, the well-met grave
Will shew vs more. Hee who considers that
A Losse, is ignorant to value Fate.

Bring out the Engine quicklie, to vndoe
The Partie; triumph in the overthrow
Of Truth and Iustice. You the seamles Coat
Have torne; and dipt the Fleece without a Spott,
In Cisternes of Profanesse. Ring the Bells!
Y'have done, y'have done the worke. Hee happie dwells,
Who more remote may looke vpon the Age
As his owne Mirror, and applye the Rage
Of Tumults to his Passions; Rebells all
To monarch Reason. These things when I call
Vnto my private, then I easilie See
Monarchs are Men; each Man's one Monarchie.

Phlegme, my Complexion, here has plunged me in
A Qvick-sand, to disorder the Designe
Of my first Thoughts; and all what I have said
Is but a Ramble, from a Running head:
Perhaps a Rheugme. For 'tis vnnaturall
In the most Sangvine, nere to run at All.
Who knowes Witt, knowes somewhat of Madnes Still
(Distempers not, but) tempers the best Qvill.
Man in his little world, is more, by much,

133

Then the great world; who knowes Him, knowes him Such;
A Composition of the same mixt Stuffe,
Which who can temper but is Wise Enough.

1.6.4.7.

134

[Portrait of the Author.]

------ nobis placeant, ante omnia Silva.

Wee are deceived, and Francie is not fitt
To frame a happines, nor humane witt
To Iudge at all. You looke vpon Mee now
Retired and Calme, and thinke (perhaps) I doe
Enioy all you Imagine; that I, here,
Nothing of Earth doe hope, & much lesse feare:
That Noise and Busines doe not press vpon
My thoughts; but thus composed, I'me All my own;
That I Philosophise, or Something higher,
Which Wise men Envie, and which fooles admire;
And Scorne, or Pitty, Equall Natures, who
Run the tumultuous Gire of humane woe.

I must be free; that Shade has nought of Coole,
Nor the Ayre pleasure, to a greivéd Soule;
The purling Streame, wch: you imagine may
Wash my Feet, cannot wash my Cares away;
My mantle is not weather-proofe; yet farre
Safer than my owne Resolutions are.
All the varietie of this Retire
Is nothing to vnsatisfyed Desire.
Something wee would arrive at; but wee All
Trifle in Dust to Dotage; and but call
Things by the Name our Fancie makes appeare;
Which if it be Soe, I am HAPPYE here.

135

ΙΙΟΛΥΛΟΓΙΑ;

OR, Several Ecloges:

The first revived; from some Papers formerlie written, 1.6.3.8.

The rest, Written by the same Author; .1.6.4.8.

------ nec Devia 'tantum
Regi-vorus Abus nunc, (fama, et flumine Maior)
Me tenet invitè;—non mutant Litora, Musas;
Litera, Litoribus; Verba, numerentur arenis.
Apud Brantingham:

137

An Ecloge Spoken by Amintas and Strephon.

------ nec erubuit Silvas, habitare Thalia.

AMINTAS.
And why, my Strephon, are thy Thoughts soe wed
To the dull Country? whose free Lustie-hed
Might challenge higher place to raise thy Name;
Leave it, for shame; and wanton on the Thame.

STREPHON.
'Tis well, Amintas; wherein were I more
Or good, or happie, then I was before?
I doe admire your Thames; but let my mind
And bodie to the Countrie be confin'd.
Here safelie can I sitt vnder a Hill,
Tending my flocke, and take my Pipe, at will;
My Pipe, which pleases me, and gives to none
Matter of grudge or Emulation.

AMINTAS.
Alas! that matters not; what thing can be
(If it deserve soe much) from Envie free?

138

Envie (Selfe-poison) hurts the brest from whence
It doth proceed; Wee gaine fresh Courage thence.
What best, but Envy strikes it? Envy brings
Her Bodie,—Toade; but Eagle, Eye and Wings;
Aymes at the highest, fixeth on the Sun:
Give me a Verse, for Emulation.

STREPHON.
'Tis true; but yet it better pleaseth Mee
To sing in Shades, from Spight and Envy free;
Not that I feare the Monster; I despise
Her Spurious Bratts, Slander and Calumnies;
But (my Amintas) I desire to rest
Private at Home, in a poor Qviet blest.

AMINTAS.
Ah, doe not say soe; thou art then ingrate
Not more to Nature then thou art to fate.
Why should not what Heaven gives (a gift devine;
And given to vse) in a full glorie shine?
See to the City once againe, and trye
(If a meere doltishnes not bleare thy Eye,)
What odds!—Oh, heaven! let me be patient,
In all things but this Madnes—if Content
Be in abundant Pleasures; if the Springe
Want Sweet in Yours, to what our Autumnes bring;
If to All this, and All wee can Adde more,
(If there may be Addition to that Store
Which Nature, prodigall, hath here layed out,)

139

You put your Iudgment; let me never doubt,
You can forsake the Citye to Converse
With Earth and Iuments.—

STREPHON.
—Be not yet too feirce,
My deare Amintas; though I doe admire
To what you say, the Cittie, perhaps higher
Then you have meant to; yet, I must be free
To my owne private; for, felicitie
Wee bound to our Conceptions; this you call
Pleasure or Happines; which I doe fall
To see our owne securitie; I more
Value my want then what you 'count your Store;
For I am rich, not you; though Gemms or Coyne
I doe not boast; I need 'em not; all mine
A narrow Roome contains—

AMINTAS.
—Narrow, indeed;
I almost blush to feare my freind should reade
Some punie Stoicism's; dear Strephon, give
Thy nobler Nature wing to flye; and Live
To that Intention. Wee converse with Men,
Which setts new Edge on witt; the richest Pen
Of fancie here finds Inke; the glorious Names
Of Ionson, Beaumont, Fletcher, live with Thames,
And shall outlive his waters. Had they crept
In mudled remote Streams, their worth had slept;

140

And those great Fancies which all men Admire
Had flowen, but in the Smoake of their owne fire.
'Tis Fame gives Life; Iudgment gives Life to Fame;
Iudgment moves here; then be noe longer Shame
Vnto thy Genius; wast noe more thy witt
With Hinds, whose palats cannot relish it.

STREPHON.
Had I what you are pleas'd to say; could I
Flatter my Selfe into a facultie
I love but have not; could I truelie boast
A flame attendant to those names I most
Admire; I should not seeke beyond the Sphere,
I move in now. Are there noe Iudges here?
'Tis true, wee doe not stretch Hyperbolees
To Crowne our Names, but give a modest praise.
Modest is Iust; and if noe praise it gaine,
Wee rest contented well, to Entertaine
Our Selves with our owne Thoughts. Who writes to please
Or get a Name, flyes lowe; yet some of these,
Wee see how forc'd, are thrust vpon the Stage
Of your great Theatre, where witts engage.
Write what I will or where, 'tis but my owne,
Perhaps my Shame, not worthy to be knowne;
If more it merit, Fame and Time are Iust;
Soe some are dead, Alive; Some Live in Dust.
Must only names live with the nobler Streames?
Are wee All tyed to the ingrossing Thames?

141

Swans Sing in shallow waters. Avon, Trent,
And Medway have bene heard. One Eminent
To cope with its devourer, and, perchance,
Poor Devia, fameles now, may yet Advance
Something to memorie, and create some new
Glorie vnto her Current; knowne by fewe.
Soe to his native Mincius, Maro vowed
His Qvill, though by Imperiall Tiber wooed.

AMINTAS.
Too much to blame; yet rather I'le perswade,
Then chide from Error. Reason may invade
Where Passion moves not. Doe you thinke the low
Water which slides into the more fam'd Po,
Or Po it Selfe, had bene enough to reare
That verse which pleas'd the greatest Cæsar's Eare?
That verse which Tiber claimes, more glorious
Then Po, constellated Eridanus.
Verses are Insects, which the common Sun
Makes craule or flutter; but to move and run
On steddie feet, needs a particular
Influence: for such, our severall Poems are;
Like nobler Creatures, from the Imperiall Eye
Witt takes a growth, and getts full wings to flye;
Whilst grosser heads bring forth their dunghill brood,
Vnform'd, to dye againe, in Earth and mud.
I wonder, Strephon, you, (who have a Mind
Able to manage all you have design'd;

142

Who know Great Things, and may arrive at more
Then narrow Soules can fathome:) thus should Soare.
With Kites and lazie Puttocks; when wee know
You have a wing of Strength, might toure into
The purest Region fancie breaths, and Scorne
These Shamble-seeking birds. Wee can but mourne,
Perswade, and pittye you. A man may speake
Stronge Reason to himselfe, which seemes but weake
Where it should worke; and sometimes it may fall,
Where wee intend not wee move most of All.
If what I spoke have moved! if, what I meant
(For freinds, may often see a freind's intent,)
Were Love and Zeale, (to have my Strephon live
Worthy himselfe, and his Endeavours give
A Sacrifise to Honour, or his Name
Stand to all Time, in an vnblemisht Fame,)
Hee will not blame Mee; let me read Consent
To my perswasion, and thy owne Content.

STREPHON.
Doe you ioyne these as one? which I can never,
But like the Poles, at vtmost distance Sever.
If you perswade to see the Court, the Towne;
Feast me with nothing, garnisht with my owne
Content; you say A word, and perhaps All
Your Selfe has found yet. Oh! why should I fall
From the bright Region where I move and Live,
To any lower flight? Court-glasses give

143

False Light, and take the foolish bird (that dares
At painted Shadowes,) often vnawares.
The nobler Larke flyes high, himselfe to veiwe
In the Celestiall Mirror, where all true
Reflections are. Amintas, 'twere as good
From fier, heat to sever, Life from blood,
As ioy to mee, from what my selfe propose;
A private Countrie Life. I blame not those
Who (more Ambitious) Citties doe frequent;
Bee it their Ioy; it were my punishment.
I rather here with Silvia chuse to sitt,
And Sing of harmles Love and Sober witt;
Of Innocence, of Truth, of Peace, or what
Calme fancie moves; then chatter to the rate
Of my Lord's bountie; wildlie ramping downe
Hideous Chimara's, to affright the moone.
Did not, of old, Great Orpheus and the rest
Of Citie-builders love the Countrie best?
Soe through all Times; what is't they All admire?
A mind and bodie sound, in safe retire.
'Tis true, there is noe ioy but to the Mind;
You, yours in Citties; I, mine here doe find.

AMINTAS.
You are too bent, and I but pitty can
The Losse of such a Mind, of such a Man;
When happie Names shall fill the mouth of fame,
Noe breath shall move to thee; but in thy name

144

Dye, like a thing vnborne; thy verse may creepe
To Chimneyes, or watch-women till they sleepe;
Or please, when drinkings' done, the Countrie Squire;
Who least can Iudge, though happilie Admire.
This be thy fate, though farre below thy verse,
Meriting better Author, better Ears.
I could be Angry, but our freindship shall
Not breake vpon the Circumstantiall
Ayre of opinion. Cast yet backe an Eye
Vnto the Cities full varietie;
I pitty thy retire, and doubly greive,
That thou wilt here, and I must from thee Live.
I cannot move, fetteréd in the Eye
Of bright Vrbanae's powerfull Maiestie.
Vrbana, She whose glories may envite
Monarchs to wooe, and everie muse to write.

STREPHON.
Such Splendor might Astonish my weake Sence;
My Silvia pleases me; her Innocence
Is all her praise. Alas! She singlie sitts
Vpon some humble Hillocke, and there fitts
Grasse to her Strephon's browes; and, to make fine,
Puts in a Dasie or an Eglantine;
A Sprig of Mirtle, or, perhaps, a Rose,
On festivalls; for wee observe still those:
Though daies with you are Equall. These, though poore,
Are high enough for him who seeks noe more.

145

My deare Amintas, doe not thinke the bright
Zenith of London carries onlye Light.
Let Yorkshire have some ray from the great flame,
Which warmes you there. What doe wee want to name,
That you abound with, needfull? Perhaps more
And better wee might bring, accounted poore.

AMINTAS.
Noe longer, Strephon: I have heard too much,
And blame thee, partiall, to Compare or touch
Our Southerne Ayre with Yorkshire clouds. What heat,
But moves from vs to you? How weather-beat
Your meadowes are! Your feilds halfe bare appeare;
Your fruit-trees scarcelie bloome, when ours ripe here;
Noe winter chills our Earth, when you lye bound
Vnder the frozen Circle, or else drown'd
In Swelling waters; such as might perswade
A Second Deluge, 'gainst the promise made.

STREPHON.
Well, 'tis enough; yet looke vpon our feilds,
As faire as yours; indeed our Season yeilds
To you somewhat in Time; our loadned trees
Beare equall Burthens; but noe more of these;
These, the full hand of Providence has spred
Largelie to all the Ile. Yet, if I did
Waver in Choice, and tooke the whole Survay
Of North and South, noe Countrie everie way
More pleases me; and I am glad you fall

146

To allow the Countrie pleasant is at all.
Amintas, 'tis; (if humane nature can
Arrive at what may make a happie man)
The Summe of All; to enioy, without feare,
What heaven layes out to blesse vs every yeare;
In such abundance, such varietie,
That were wee Blind to it, the Motts would see
To praise the giver; were wee mute, the Stones
Would sing to him; and All the Hills at once
Leape like yonge Kidds. What need wee witt or Skill,
When these informe our brains, and leade our Qvill,
Beyond all Conversation? Men and Bookes
But trouble Him who at the Creature lookes.

AMINTAS.
'Tis a new doctrine, and perhaps may sound
Well to your Selfe; but shall wee then be bound
To frustrate Providence? Who made man fitt,
Communicative; not like owles, to sitt
And pore out day-light, in a silent Muse;
They see the Creature, and their organs vse
To praise this maker; and they know the end
Of Nature, in themselves; and may extend
Further then our Philosophie allowes,
In Contemplation; for, Alas! who knowes?
The Age is full of new; and to contend,
In this, what boot, when Strephon is my freind?
And being fix'd, I will not now dehort
Thy setled Mind; but must be sorrie for't.

147

Mayest thou enioy thy Thoughts; secure and free,
Silvia; and if noe trouble, thinke of mee.
Soe freinds may Live together, whilest I beare
Thy memorie, and Muses equall Deare.

STREPHON.
Dearest Amintas, be thou happie in
Vrbanae's Love, whilst Silvia is mine;
And when Vrbana shines in all her State,
Prize not my Silvia at an vnder-rate
Oh doe not thinke but She may be as faire,
In nature's bounties, with vnborrowed haire;
As wise, as happie, in an innocent Heart,
As thine with all the Complements of Art.
Wee, in our Selves, are Happie; Fate shall be
Emulous of our Ioy; and when you see,
From the scorch't South, our pleasures; then yow'l say
Noe Life to this, noe Paire soe blest as They.

AMINTAS.
May it be soe; whilest in Vrbanae's Lap
I sing of thee; and let no hower escape
To gratulate thy Ioye; which to my owne
I shall prefer. Farewell: let me be knowne
Worthy thy Verse; and sometimes daigne a Line
To thy Amintas: Farewell.—

STREPHON.
What of mine
Is worthy to record a Freind soe Deare?

148

Soe much himselfe, yet to his Freind soe neare.
Wee will not be devided; once again,
Let me hope, oft weele meet; and entertaine
Our Selves with what wee fancy, to the full
Of all our Thought. Farewell: if I be dull
'Tis to leave thee. To thy Vrbana goe,
Whilst I, with Silvia, my Time bestow.
Maiest thou be happie ever; may what all
Good wishes tend to, in thy bosome fall:
At thy loved London, may thy Ashes lye;
In Yorkeshire may I Live, in Yorkshire Dye.

THE SONGE.

Happie the Life of Sheapheard Swaine,
Who lives in All contented;
With his loved Phere, a vertuous Dame,
From Scorne and Pride exempted.

She spinns him russet for his weare,
Whilst Hee, on downes is singing;
'Neath Mirtle Shade, by River cleare,
The Eccho sweetlie ringing.

Here, Cutt his Dog, vpon a Hill,
Brings in the Sheepe that Straye;
And with his Eye or hand, at will,
The Curre doth him obeye.

149

The Muses are his constant freinds,
And Hee, doth sweetlie vse them,
To his Delight, noe second End;
His thoughts dare not abuse them.

Thus all the Day, he spends his Time,
Amongst his Equall Swains;
Where Consort Sweet, they keep in Rhime,
And intermingle Strains.

At Even-tide, he homeward wends,
And finds a loveing Wife;
Most-equall-loveing-happie Freinds;
Which crowns the Shepheard's Life.

Happie in All, poore Shepheards are;
At home, they Qviet sleepe;
Abroad, they know nor Court nor Care;
But Love and tend their Sheepe.

Thus doe they Live, thus doe they dye,
Beloved of all their Peers;
Who pay their last rites, Elegie,
In their vnfaignéd Tears.

Their Corps are Covered with green Peats,
The place full sett with flowers;
And then have Shepheards equall Seats,
With Kings and Emperours.

The End.

150

An Ecloge: Spoken by Mælibeus and Dorilus.

Pastorem ------ pingves
Pascere oportet oves, deductum dicere Carmen.

MELIBEUS.
The North lookes grisly blacke; our Ewes new-Shorne,
Hast to the Covert of yond' thick-set Thorne;
Presage of Storme: goe wee, while angrie clouds
Threaten our flocks, into the well-made Shrouds
Of the neare Grove. Lambs, sooner wise then wee,
Have got the Hedge, and now stand Weather-free.

DORILUS.
Poore Innocents! who take noe further Care
Then to prevent distemperatures of Ayre;
Happie beyond our Envie; I have oft,
Deare Melibæus, in a serious thought,
Bene pleas'd to see our flocks, how gladlie they
Live in their Nature, pleas'd (as wee may say)
With Providence; and lesson to vs men,
In their faint bleatings, precepts, which the pen

151

Of Schooles is not soe cleare in. I can see
More resignation, more humilitie,
In this poore Lambe, and practise by Him, farre
Beyond the highest Lectures that I heare.

MELIBEUS.
Ah Dorilus! 'tis Soe: our retchles Swains
Are idle All, and have Lethargicke Brains;
Nature inverted, Starts to see the Change;
And man the onlie Ideot, in a Strange
Posture of Dreaming. Whether tends this dull
Stupiditie vnto? May wee not pull
The Syllie-Hoe (which binds vp our best Eye
From its deare obiect of Tranquillitye)
Away? but tarrie Infants, in the wombe
Of Ignorance, till it become our Tombe?

DORILUS.
Men are but Children ever; what wee know,
Or what wee say wee know, wee doe not Soe;
Wee may intend at Something, and arrive
In Ken of the faire Port at which wee drive;
But there the Sands immure vs. If wee seeke
By force to tugge her in, wee either leake,
(Fraile vessels can noe more) or hemm'd about,
Wee're lost; not to get in, nor can get out.

MELIBEUS.
Wee seeke Destruction with a willing hast,
And boast to be vndone. How madlie fast

152

Wee run into Selfe-ruine! All our Pride
Is to out-foole our Selves! Some few are tyed
To the dull precepts of Antiquitie;
I call 'em dull, as dull to them who see
Not to the force, but trifle in the word;
Which to the height they tend to but afford,
A Glimpse of Light. Hee in a mist doth stray
To Knowledge, who by words would find his way.
Yet Somewhat must be Spoke; and much is said,
By which the riper Intellect is made
Able to know its obiect by the Sight;
This but to few, though All pretend to Light.
And bad men, in our bold Age, now dare boast
New knowledges to vs; and bring the lost
Exploded errors of all former Ages,
Iustified, to the world, in their full Pages.
Now, nothing from the peasant, Groome is heard,
But Subtle Doubts, & Selfe-sprung doctrines rear'd.
Who has not heard lewd Blotos in a fitt,
Defame All wee thinke Truth? And make it witt
To laugh things Sacred into all Contempt;
Not even Divinitie itselfe exempt.
Vnheard of Arrogance, to question All
Wee move by, from our Earth's originall.
The ranke Impieties of mortalls rise
From burning Entrails, sulphurous Blasphemies;
And to convince themselves they ever beare
Their Hell with them, which they seem not to feare.

153

Oh! the Anxietie of such a Soule!
Beleive it, Dorilus, the Furies houle
Still in that Bosome; all imagin'd fears
And reall feinds, vnto that Eye appears;
And though Hee (blushles false) seeme to perswade
Nothing of Heaven or Hell, his Thoughts invade;
Hee dare doe All, or neglect, as he List,
Pietie or Profaneness; and persist
Incorrigible; Laugh at all beside,
The follie of the world; and his owne pride,
Is Reason; Reason, God; Or what wee call
Divinitie; and Hee to Himselfe is All.
I tremble to repeat it; yet I've knowne
Him Stupid in his fears, and oft, alone,
Afrighted Start, and Stare, and broken Speake
To the darke Goblins his owne fancies make;
Yet still impenitent, had rather dye
Rack'd by his fears and foule impietie,
Then seeme to retract any of his will;
Obstinate Miscreant to his Error still.
These, the Contagion, not of families,
But Commonwealths, and humane Policies;
What Thought abhors not? Hammers to beat downe
All bonds of Peace, of Love, Religion.

DORILUS.
These, Melibæus, now soe frequent are,
Hee sitts a Dizzard to the world that dare

154

Not impious be, and with a saucy taunt
Affront Divinitie; as 't wer a want
Of witt or Courage, not to be profane.
Man should dare anything; Shall the inane
Terrors of Death and Hell, the forgéd dreame
Of Heaven, be made a bridle vnto them?
I cannot, dare not, Speake, what even this Eare,
From such foule Mouths, has gvilty bene to heare.
Sence pleasing fallacies! But wherefore should
Wee wander in these waies? Vnles wee could
Reduce them stray'd; a Thing in vaine to trye:
Leave we to speake what None can remedie.

MELIBEUS.
Leave wee't to Him who made and can restore
All Hearts; Him, th' only Maker, to Adore.
That obiect only worthy our desires,
To whom noe Thought can reach; nor the Enquires
Of humane Industrie can ever gaine;
Leave it to Him. It fitts the humble Swaine
Better to see himselfe, or Sing his owne
Notion of things, or ravill out th' vnknowne
Series of naturall Causes; and be free
With fellow-Creatures. Here, can nothing be
Obstructive to our faith; and if wee misse,
'Tis but in Iudgment, which no Error is.

DORILUS.
That, wee can scarce Allow; though it may hitt,
Perhaps, with some new Meta-phisicke witt.

155

Philosophie and Reason have their Sphœre,
Though in a lower orbe, and Truth is there.
A firme and setled Being doth not move
Or floate with humane fancies, as they rove;
Some thing is Truth; and though the diverse head
Of man, from One, has manie seeming made;
Wee may not grant; for then, might everie braine
Boast its validitie, though nere soe vaine;
And those strange Pseudo-doxal fancies be
Which Maladolon gives Philosophie.
Thinke not, by this, I to old principles
Am meerly tyed, and blow away what else,
By latter Qvills, has worthilie bene taught.
Where pregnant proofes and Reasons have bene brought.
To vindicate their Teachings, there I'me free,
And at my owne Election left to be;
Though 'twer a Thesis by the Stagerite
Left as inviolable. If I might
Put in my humble Iudgment, to the high
Flyings of others in Philosophie;
And give my Approbation, (though alas
I know soe little, yet all Praise will pass).
Lately, a noble Shepheard made appeare
Philosophie, in Garments fitt to weare;
Which I admire, and truelie must allow
It weight and Current; though, perhaps, I know,
The Schooles, and Some who would Schoole-learning vant,
Explode it, false, defective, Arrogant.
Truly, with those Heads shall I never ioyne;

156

But kisse that honoréd Hand, in everie Line
Of his elaborate Treatise, and confesse
Hee has taught more to me, then I could gvesse
By all I knew before—

MELIBEUS.
that learned Knight
Has left a worke of price, worthy the Spight
Of such an Ignorance as vndertooke
To cavill it, and the most worthy Booke
Now extant; where, me thinks, I read againe
Man from his Principles, to perfect Man.
But let such Impudence discover what
Malice would doe, if 'twer within his fate;
A Qvill soe low, soe yet vndipt, to cope
With these well-mention'd worthyes. What mad Hope
Could soe encourage Him! Ill may his Inke
Run, to revile him. I dare hardlie thinke
Madnes it selfe could hope to merit fame
From such light Pasquills; if not with the name
Of his great opposites Hee thought to find
Some soon-caught Reader, for their Sakes, soe kind.

DORILUS.
You can be bitter; as indeed, I blame
Not much your Zeale to vindicate the name
Of honour, from the Envious breath of those
Who detract Truth, and run with Saucie Nose
To everie neighbour feast; and gather All

157

The Qvelq-chose or the Scraps, which are let fall
Perhaps to that End. Give the Curre a bit
Or bone, to stay his Canine Appetite.
But, Melibæus, Some, who would appeare
Sober and Solid, iudge that Booke, I heare,
And passe it, in a Character, which sounds
Frightfull to Sence; and weaker Iudgment wounds.

MELIBEUS.
Some, who put on grave Browes, have shallow Brains;
Whose face, their Stocke of wisedome still maintains.
These are Austere, and put a sullen brow
Of Censure to all freedome they not know;
Seeme startled (they confin'd) at fuller ayres,
Which from Enlargéd Minds expression bears:
Where, to name Providence, were to denie
Our faith, and raise some heathen Deitie.
Though higher Soules, full with Cœlestiall fruits,
See God and know Him by his Attributes.
Love, Peace, Truth, Light, and Fire; (expressions, which
Hee daigns;) to them, sounds nothing but an itch
And levitie in words; weake Soules may feare;
And 'tis a vertue, in them, to forbeare.
Though, doubtles, Some minds may expatiate
With as much Innocence, to all the height
Their Notions are made Capable: they, free
In their owne Thoughts, may vse this Libertie.
For still shall Man be foole? or soe much Slave
To words? whose worth or weight, (if ought they have)

158

Hee gives; and may not Hee vse to his owne
Idea, the most apt expression?
Some words are flat and low, and halt to bring
Forth great intentions; want the relishing
Which fluent Qvills and full Thoughts ever give;
Somewhat beyond the words, which makes 'em Live.

DORILUS.
And in that Hee is Happie; all his Sence
Soe poinant is, soe vnstrain'd his Eloquence,
Hee steales vpon the Soule, and apts the Mind
To all the Proiect which he has design'd;
His words are soe Himselfe; so everie man
That will but speake Himselfe; as nothing can
Be clearer to an Eye not meerlie led
By its owne Meteors. Let the swimming Head
Floate in a Sea of Phlegme, whilst Knowledge towers,
With wings vncurb'd, to ioyne with its great Source;
There lives a flame combin'd, never to fall,
Made one, whence first it had originall.
How diversly the mind of Man may frame
Its owne Beatitude, vnder the Name
Of Knowledge! Each, within himselfe possest,
Hee has the ray, still liveing in his brest.
And sure Each has Enough to his owne End;
What Providence did equallie intend,
Nature, ill organized, may faile to spread;
Or parts, by Accident enfeebled,
May hinder it, to the exterior Sence:

159

But in its Light, its Seat of Excellence,
The Soule is cleare and perfect; when wee shall
Move Intellects meere in-organicall.

MELIBEUS.
What Strange wild Paradoxes, humane Witt
Oft teem's with! and dare boldlie vtter it,
Strong Reason! Doe you thinke that all Soules be
Equall in their first Cause? or Equallie
Move to the End? Are vessels of one Size,
Or in proportion? or in dignities?
And but the interposure of our flesh,
Doth difference, to make it more or lesse,
Active or cleare? Pardon, if I dissent,
Or if I say 'tis not yet evident,
This Same-proportion; though the Arteries,
And organizéd flesh may faculties
Perhaps obstruct; or sometimes mure the way,
Where Reason should make Sallye. But you say
All minds are forméd Equall, and that All
Shall equall move, One with th' originall.
I doe beleive and know the flesh a weight;
And duller organs hinder the great flight
Our vnderstanding tends to, that Wee now
Not apprehend the least, what wee shall know.
And ev'n that Mind which wee see drench't in mire,
Shall looke at Glorie, freed from its attire
Of Earth; but with a differencéd Light
To those, who liveing saw that flame more bright.

160

Else, to the Ideot better portion falls
Then to the wise; and what all Wisedome calls
A Blessing, is not soe; but soe much worse;
A Torture, a Disease, perhaps a Curse.

DORILUS.
I cannot yet retract: my Reason must
Vse her owne wing, in this, rather then trust
The borrowed feathers from another's braine;
And what I have said once, must speake againe.
Soules equall are, and Equallye doe move,
In Glorie, to the height of Knowledge, Love.
This, if it be a Paradox to you,
I blame not; to my Iudgment it sounds true;
And truelie, could wee speake our owne thoughts cleare,
Or make full-form'd Conceptions appeare
To others in the Light to vs they Stand,
Wee should not differ; for wee vnderstand
Things now by halfes, and hardlie see the End
Propos'd, or whether the Discourses tend;
Things in their Causes hid, and set beyond
The vtmost fathome of the extended Mind;
Noe wonder if in words they darke appeare,
Hard to Another's Intellect and Eare.
For, what wee know and See, what Sence perswades
Is not well ever told; how lesse, the Shades
Of our Imaginations sett to veiwe?
How least, of faith? which noe man ever knew,
Or could display, beyond the fixéd Light

161

Resident in him; to informe his Spright.
The brightest Notions which our Reason heav's
From Fancie's hindge, imperfectlie wee leave
To the then forme of words; the beautie rests
Still hid, perhaps; but what, to our owne brests
Was borne within vs, pleases still the mind;
Though hearers nought of Satisfaction find.
But, Melibæus, see, the Storme is ore,
Our flocks now fall to feeding, as before;
Cease wee of this, till further time; and keepe
Committed trust; Love wee, and tend our Sheepe.

MELIBEUS.
The great Cloud breaks, and Titan, with his ray
Obliquelie glanc'd, seems to revive the day;
A merrie wind whistles through all the Grove,
And clears the Ayre; the welkin Smiles above;
Our glad flocks Spread the Hill; the Lambs, made bold
In warmer Ayre, forget the Storme and Cold.

DORILUS.
Then goe wee to the Hill, and lead 'em out
To fresher Herbage, ere the evening Shutt:
The Sun declines, to lave his fierie Carr
In westerne Seas, and rouse the Evening Starr.
Shepheard, applie thy Pipe, whilst Sober Layes
Begvile our Steps, in these oft-trodden waies.

162

THE SONGE.

Welcome to Shepheards, Shades of night;
As welcome as the more-prais'd Light;
And thou pale Taper, whose weake ray
Calme thoughts delight in, more then day;
Now Sober fancie takes her flight,
Welcome to Shepherds, Shades of night.

Drye braines burne out the glorious Day,
In weake and emptie fumes away;
But high and Contemplative Soules
Can find a Light beneath the Poles;
And with firme feathers rise to see
That Light which makes the Sun to bee.

Day is not cleare nor Night obscure,
But to the Mind, bright or impure;
They raise but Shadowes of distrust
To gvilty thoughts of fears vniust;
Innocence safely treads her way,
In blackest night as brightest Day.

The End.

163

An Ecloge: Spoken by Halon and Eudœmon

At madidus Baccho sua festa Palilia pastor Concinet.
Tibb: 2 lib: Eleg: 5: 100. li.

HALON.
The rageing wolfe, which made our flocks his Prey,
Hath bled his Last; Eudœmon, yesterday
Five iolly Swains, with dogs to that End bred,
Hunted him ore the Hills, with eager Speed;
Though Long, at last he fell; noe longer wee
Need feare our foldes should broke or frighted bee.

EUDŒMON.
Ill fitts that word the mouth of any Swaine;
Are wee secure because the wolfe is Slaine?
There may be moe; or were there none but Hee,
What Spell have wee from foxes to be free?
Are not our Lambs to Badgers yet a prey,
Perhaps were we but Absent halfe a day?
Noe, Halon, were these all removed, the Swaine
That loves his flocke doth still his care retaine.

HALON.
'Tis an vnnecessarie precept, wee
Derive from worne Leavs of Antiquitie;

164

But wiser Shepheards now have better Taught;
Danger removed, why should wee care for Naught?
Wee loose our Selves in a perpetuall Toyle,
And are made Slaves to what's not worth the while.

EUDŒMON,
Fye, Halon, doe not say soe; if you knew
The value of your Chardge, or had the true
Vsing of flockes, which everie Shepheard ought;
It were a Care, even worthy all your Thought.
But (ah) the Libertie of this leud Age
Spreads as a deluge, even to engage
All in the Gulph; and newer pleasures now
Shepheards enthrall, which Shepheards did not know.
The Simple Merrie-make of older Swains
Was Innocent, and rurall Entertains
Had noe ill-meanings. Halon, I have bene
In either Age, and both their Customes seene.

HALON.
Eudœmon, noe; your Age of lesse then mine
May speake, for time; and may my best Ramme pine,
If ere I knew it otherwise then now,
Good frolicke Sportings vsed; alas, I know
Our carefull Sires would tell a Time of old,
When all was good; such as Eudœmon would
Now fancie to himselfe; but, Swaine, I know
Thow think'st the times were ever as they're now.

EUDŒMON.
Indeed! I thinke our fancies doe gvild ore,

165

Somewhat, the face of Ages gon before;
But certaine, Halon, better then wee now
Live in to see, your selfe and I did know.

HALON.
To me, 'twas ever thus; but I not came
To talke of Times or Customes; they're the Same.
My errand was my first; tomorrow shall
A day of Mirth be kept. Eudœmon, All
Expect your Companie; the rest did make
Mee now their Messenger, to come and Speake.

EUDŒMON.
Though, Halon, noe man then my Selfe, more Ioyes
At others Happines, or in this prize,
The luckie Swains brought home; I must refuse
To meet, to-morrow: Carrie my Excuse.

HALON.
Excuse you! now I doubt ther's something more
Troubles Eudœmon, then I thought before.
Are wee not All Concern'd? You must appeare;
You will be thought on stranglie, if not there.

EUDŒMON.
Noe: they will pardon it.—

HALON.
Noe pardon can
Fall vnto such a Crime. Eudœmon, man,
Whither away! How art thou dully Lost
From thy once Selfe, and what thou lovedst most?

166

Not meet! Wee must be merry; Cups shall Crowne
Our Ioyes, and make the Conquest full our owne.
'Tis not a Life, our Dayes wee but vntwine;
Save Time a Labour, and our Genius pine
In Silent Musings, to noe good, which wee
Our Selves intend, or other Men can See.
Societie! the Best of All, our Boast;
Without which, Life it Selfe were not ill-Lost.
What need I more perswade? To Him who once
Could bring a Thousand motives to advance
Designes of Drinking; which, forsooth wee Name
Modestlie, meetings. Fye vpon this Shame!

EUDŒMON.
Why, Halon, thou art almost rapt to thinke
Of this great meeting. Let them goe to drinke,
Whose Last night's Surfet call fresh Cups, t' allay
The Stomacke-Stretchings of the former Day;
I am resolved: for, Halon, I have seene
Enough of Madnes; and too often bene
A franticke Actor in the foolish rites
Of bloat-fac'd Bacchus; now noe more delights
But Tortures to my Thought; to see how deepe
My better part was shrunke into the heape
Of follie and forgetfullnes.—

HALON.
—And now
A Satire feirce! How long? I prithee, how

167

Many, or dayes or howres? For weekes! who can
(That has a Throat,) one Single weeke abstaine?
How long hast thou pin'd in this dolefull plight
Of Sobernes? Or how long shall wee see't
Continue? Dearest, tell me, some fond vow!
And limited, I warrent! Faith say how.

EUDŒMON.
Noe vow it is, nor yet a vulgar Tye,
Made ore a Posset, for the Maladie
Of many Cups; nor a Conversion, made
From Crop-Sicke Qvalms or Giddines of Head;
But a well-made Resolve; which Dayes nor Howers,
(But Time alone when Hee my Selfe devours)
Shall ever forfeit. Prithee, Halon, tell
The ioy thou takest (for thou lovest Drinking well)
In the strange Swilling of vnnumbred Cups?
By whole-Sale Flaggons, or retailing Supps!
What is the End to which your proiects drive?
To make you Longer, Merrier, Better Live?
For one or All of these I cannot see
(Soe sordid now doth it appeare to me,)
What any man can Say; I have forgot
What 't was my Selfe would Say, when I, a Sott,
Durst vindicate my ill-spent howers; or please
My fancy in such franticke mirths as these.

HALON.
Holla, Eudœmon! Yet I hope to see

168

Your reconversion for Cup-Libertie;
Which I prefer as Conscience; and had rather
Then seale vp Lips, they'd Sowe my Soule together.
I recke not what they make of forme or faith;
Nor would I be a Martir, vnles death
Were to be drunke; in that, let Law be free,
And make Religion what they list, for mee.

EUDŒMON.
Indeed, such expectations, such desires
May fitlie suite; how happie are the fires
Which Sober Fancie kindles in ye Mind!
How strange these Fumes appeare! of wine and wind!

HALON.
Yet, let my little Reason,—for in troth
I doe not boast of much; I should be loath
To vse it, if I had, as words, ill Spent
T' enforce this All-convincing Argument:
Let me, (I say) perswade a little; once
Pledge a full Glasse; suppose it may advance
The Health of him wee honour; to denie
Such a Request were want of Loyaltie;
To morrow, This the widest Goblet swells;
Such as refuse it, meerlie Infidells,
Can hardlie hope Salvation; not vnlesse
They fill three bigger, and their Zeale expresse
To Mirabella; or, with bended knee,
Swoope of a vessel bigger then all three.

169

To our bright Hopes, the riseing Shepheard's Starre,
What Loyall Heart can drinking these forbeare?
And here the frolicke seems but to begin;
Our Mistresses are call'd, and they come in;
Number the letters in her name, by Boules;
Old Martial lives againe; Wee have our rules,
And keepe a due Decorum; firéd thus,
Each Brain becomes his proper Pegasus.

EUDŒMON.
Poor Halon, how I pitty thee; and then,
Your reeling God is Chariot-drawne, by Men
Transform'd to Tigers, and to Panthers; bruit,
As ounce, or Pard'; and well the Chariot Suit.
The Women in the house, (for women must
Still close the Draught; wine ever ends in Lust,)
Like yauling Mœnades, their Iooes send
To the full-fraught, lest drinking there should End.
There my once sung Nicotiana keeps
Still the hearth warme, till panch-swolne Bromius sleeps;
And her Health-giveing odours madlie wasts,
To scalded palats, who have lost their tasts.
Iocosa there, the light-heel'd giddie Dame,
Must be another, or your mirth were Lame.
Poore drenched, drowned Soules; hardly to hope
That Eye (drinke-closéd still) can ever ope.
Have you said All, Halon? or you intend
Another Panegyricke? I attend;

170

For Since I was my selfe, I dare let out
My Ears to any thinge, yet keepe my Thought.

HALON.
Eudœmon, you mistake; the frantick rites
Of Bacchus were soe kept, in the dull nights
Of Ignorance; but drinking now, emproved,
Is growne an Art: and orgies, which behoov'd
A Thing soe necessarie, added are;
The old Abolisht and the new made cleare.
Fitt Ceremonies vsed, of Cap & knee,
That drinking now devotion seems to be;
Whilst (a new rite) Nicotiana's bound,
From purgéd Censers, to throw incense round;
Spreading her roabes, like many-folded Skyes,
Whilst all men busie are to sacrifize
Vnto the Ivie-crown'd; and wishes breath
Vpon his Altars, to bring Life or Death;
Courage and Witt, inspir'd by hidden means,
From his bright Flame, the Head and Heart attains.
Nothing soe difficult, or soe abstruse
Can be to Man, but easie is to vs;
And all the Subtle Knotts, which crabbéd Heads
Have twist, fall loose before vs into threds;
The Heavens make all things hard to thirsty Soules,
And only wine, encroaching Care controules.

EUDŒMON.
Soe the mad Roman, who to make more fine
His Platan Trees, drencht them in Shewers of wine;

171

Or as the late-past Summer, whose excesse
Of wett ruin'd those fruits calme deawes refresh;
You soake your soules, and by too large a flood,
Thistles and weeds grow, where the corne had Stood.
I will not say but wine may sometimes adde
Vnto the Genius of a Sober Head,
In Cups not lavish, by the well-made vse
Of Creatures, to that End, bestowed on vs;
Yet would you say? for I dare safely heare
All you can Adde of frenzy to this Eare;
Vnmoved, I sitt happie now, to see
My freedome to my fore-past vanitie;
Now, now I move; as whilome, in the bud
Of Innocence; and glide vpon the Flood
Of Life, with Pleasure; noe rude Stormes affright
My new-rigg'd vessel; noe distemper'd night
Now tears my brains; noe morning penitence
Belches the folly of my last offence;
But when the morning Spreads her dewey wings,
My Larke dare rise, to pay her offerings;
For now I live, to vse my selfe, and find
My Constitution to Health inclin'd;
A constant Temper dwells within my blood,
And I am all my owne, beyond the woo'd
Temptations you can bring; I now, possest
With calme Thoughts, boldly open all my brest:
What hinders Sober man to speake his heart?
And even the Secrets of his Soule, impart?
But drunkards, certaine none dare impious be;

172

They fatt themselves in their impietie,
And dare with horrid Arrogance pronounce
The glorie of their Sin; not wicked once,
But leudlie boasting it from time to time,
Make even theire Many, one-continued Crime.
I have bene gviltye, and he lives not free,
Who sold to his owne Lust and Infamie,
Dare goe a little further; even from thence
Cups come to Custome; Custome, Impudence.
Let me abhorre the Stupor of this Sin;
Which were enough, if nothing else came in,
To make it hated to a Soule that loves
Its owne felicitie, a mind that moves,
Worthy of its Creation, in the Light
Of Sober Reason, not bruit Appetite.

HALON.
These two, to me are one, or interchang'd,
Either is other; by the fancie rang'd
To the proportion and worth they seeme
To carry, in our varied esteeme.
What you in me call Appetite, Desire,
Is all my Reason; I see nothing higher;
That I submit to as my gviding Light,
And call it Reason, you call Appetite.
Whether shall wee appeale? the Iudgment binds
But from the Selfe-Tribunall of our Minds.

EUDŒMON.
Such Taverne-teachings please the wine-sprung mind

173

And giddie fancie roves about, to find
Excuses and evasions, to secure
Our dearling faults, though never soe impure.
What profuse wast and profane wishes rend
Immortall Ears! and sober minds offend
In lavish Cups! noe memorie retaining
Of what wee are; or ought of man remaining;
The Soule surpris'd in all its faculties;
Iudgment is Error; Witt, Velleities;
The vnderstanding, nothing but a Thin
Shadow of what wee once were happie in;
All the prærogative which Nature gave
Is swallowed in a Hogshead, now the grave
Of that immortall fire, which might be knowne
A Light to all the world, if kept our owne.

HALON.
Eudœmon, still you measure by the Square
Of your owne fancie, and in Small-beer ayre
Flutter with feeble wings; for who will thinke
You can be witty, that have left to drinke?
Bacchus, the great inspirer of our Soules
Has thus decreed All Water-Drinkers fooles.
'Tis wine, the Ioy of Life, the Strength of witt,
The fire of fancie, Edge of all Conceipt;
And Hypocrene it Selfe is but a Tale
To countenance dull Soules who drinke not Ale;
Our Brittish Bacchus; the true fountaine which
The Muses Love, and makes the fancie rich,

174

The Horse-hoofe never rais'd; but humane heeles
Make spring, when full-Swolne grapes their burthen feele;
Here will I sip, and to the Sacred Hest
Of Bacchus, offer with a gratefull brest,
The Tribute due; for All I have or know,
Or can desire, from his bright fountains flow.

EUDŒMON.
Dulnes it selfe might now ashaméd sitt,
To vtter such a follie; and is witt
Then drawne from Spiggots? or the Sacred flame
Of Rapture, set a Candle, to the Steame
Of drinke-washt tables. Let me rather pine
Witles and water-drinking, then love wine,
To make me seeme what I know I am lest,
A Witt. Oh, heaven! how happie doe I rest,
Free from the Clamour or Applause of such,
Who cannot praise Witt, and yet praise too much.
What things passe there for Witt! Scurrilitie
Runs there; the Mirth and Iest, Impietie;
Such heats I envie not. My water still
Affords me Health, and gives a readie Qvill
To vtter my free thoughts; though meanly clad,
My Genius suits; to which wine cannot Adde.

HALON.
Eudœmon, these faint pleasures cannot fire,
My Sangvine inclinations to desire
The happines you speake on. I almost
Misknow my selfe, to see how thou art lost.

175

May not a Beard appeare but still to preach?
I Apprehend it now, thou hopest to hatch
The goodlie Egge of Temperance, within
The full growne feathers of thy Cheekes and Chin;
And it may prove a Chicke worth all thy Care.
Keepe thy selfe warme with holines and Haire;
I know a fitter raiment to my backe;
The Misterie of all-Sufficing Sacke.

EUDŒMON.
Soe please thy follie-drenchéd Soule, to sitt
In drinke still warme, and never-wanting witt;
Nurse there a Sacke-sprung Basiliske, to slay
The foole which foster'd it, another day;
Then, all too late, the Ideot sees, his owne
Glorie, his Shame; his Ioy, destruction.
But trulie, Halon, if a Serious heart
Be worthy to advise, in time depart
From the bewitching Sottishnes of Sin.
That Follie, of the rest, if words might win
I could perswade; or if example might
Informe another, I have done thee right.

HALON.
Dost hope I may be recreant to my first
Dear principle of Drinking? I was nurst,
I thinke, begot, with wine; on Nisa bred,
And with the noble Bacchus fosteréd;
Shall I then be Apostata to all
My Education? Or the naturall

176

Instincts still pressing? 'Tis a good dull way
The posture you are in; but never may
I live to tread it. 'Twas an ill begun
Discourse of ours; for neither yet has won
Vpon the other; though I am afraid
Were not tomorrow next, thy words have made
Some fond Impression. Deare Eudœmon, see,
The Sun growes low; let not my coming be
Meerlie in vaine; to morrow you will meet;
And then thy Power, oh Bacchus! Let me see 't.

EUDŒMON.
Say to the Swains, Eudœmon is become
Himselfe againe; and means to stay at home;
Not Envie to the glorie of the preye,
But stricter Resolutions make him Stay;
For Hee, who such full meetings doth frequent;
Though he be free, can scarce be Innocent.

HALON.
Morall Philosophie! Come, let vs goe
Homeward apace; the night begins to grow
Vpon that Hill, and spreads an Eager arme
To involve vs all, by necessarie Charme.
Yet let vs not walke Silent; give your Song,
Eudœmon now, (or else you doe me wrong)
To vindicate your absence; whilst I bring
My verse to Bacchus; and his praises sing.

EUDŒMON.
Halon, if that be all, I dare excuse

177

Retirement, with a warrantable Muse;
Then lead wee out our flocks, and homeward wend,
Whilst the refracted West some Lights yet lend.

Eudœmon's Songe.

1

Goe to the Cristall Streame and quench thy thirst,
Poor Shepheard, goe;
And tast of Nature's bounties, which at first
She intended Soe;
This with noe raging fires,
Intemperate Desires,
Our brains doth fill;
But calme and chast, as it is cold,
Our fancies rise, in manifold
Ideaes Still;
And nothing wants to fitt a willing Qvill.

2

Witt is Enough, where wee have witt to see
Our selves aright;
And live a part of Nature's Harmonie,
Is true delight.
To value nought beyond
A free and quiet mind;
And make that ours,
Is all wee happie call, or good;
A Ioy some few have vnderstood,

178

Whose abler powers
Could maister flesh; a Ioy noe Time devours.

3

For Time is not within the Sphere of Peace,
And Peace wee seeke;
But fondlie shape a Coate the moone to please;
So everie weeke
Our obiect is a new
Something wee never knew,
But ayme at ever.
Only retiréd thoughts may See
The rayes of such felicitie;
And by the giver
Of All Peace, make his owne, if Hee persever.

Halon's Songe.

1

Dull Shepheards, who in water, Seeke
To wash your Shallow brains;
Your fancyes, Phlegmaticke and weake,
Run coldly in their Strains.
Pittifull Poets! such as bring
Their verses from the mountaine spring,
And with false muses cozen
Themselves into a trance,
Of selfe-sought ignorance;
Poor fooles, alas, your Helicon is frozen.

179

2

Wee, in a better Age, have found
The true Pierian Spring;
Which all the Muses circle round,
And there delight to Sing.
Here the plumpe God doth smiling sitt,
The Light of Ioy, the Life of witt,
And all true flame infuses;
Had I but now, one boule,
To rince my thirsty Soule,
Ide rise in notes to ravish all the Muses.

3

Dear fountaine, Sacke, whose liveing Streame
Sad Spirrits doth revive;
Health to the Sicke, Strength to the Lame,
Doth in an instant give;
Can Ideots with witt inspire,
And carrie witt three Stories higher
Then what it ever aymed!
This be the liveing Well
To make all fancye Swell,
The Source of Witt, weele have noe other named.

The End.

180

An Ecloge: Spoken by Damon and Amintas.

Non canimus Surdis, respondent omnia Silvæ.

DAMON.
Amintas! (who our northerne feilds makest proud;
Whose Eye, then Phœbus more prevents that cloud,
Now, from the Southeast threatning,) ah, how long?
How many Summers since thy glorious Songe
Our Ayre enricht! growne foggie, since the time
Strephon contending, in an humble Rhime,
His Silvia prais'd, to thy Vrbanae's Eyes.
Deare Shepheard, now, (if our Societies
Seeme not vnworthy thee) that pipe assaye,
Which has made Short even the Longest Daye.

AMINTAS.
Damon, that Pipe is broke, and Numbers now
Amintas can noe more; my Braine and Brow
Is but one Cloud; if, Damon, I may heare
Thy better Notes, I lend a willing Eare.

DAMON.
My deare Amintas, Say what may it be,
(If a freind may partake) that troubles thee?

181

Are thy flockes faint? or doth Alexis faile
In freindships to thee? or (more Sad then All)
Is thy Vrbana false? a feare I durst
Scarce feare! but Love is Apt to feare the worst.
Say, Shepheard, to thy freind, what Torture may
Soe scorch thy Soule, to wash thy Eyes away.

AMINTAS.
If, Damon, my weake Spirrits may not beare
Soe great a Burthen, doe not blame a Teare;
Your feare, alas, is but too safe, too Iust;
Vrbana is,—is false, and strangelie Lost
To her first vowes; a prostitute or more,
To the Grand Paillard, proud to be his whore.
This but a part, though, ah! too much by this;
The rest I cannot Speake; for, Damon, 'tis
Soe beyond wonder, such a Prodigie,
It starts a Horror, everie Thought in Mee.

DAMON.
May it not Adde Affliction, to lay out
All thy mishap, my deare Amintas doe't;
Whilest I, with open Ears, thy Sorrowes gather
Into my brest; wee better suit together;
Let me (at lest in this) thy Rivall prove;
'Tis fitt, hee Share thy greife, whom thou dost Love.

AMINTAS.
The Storie's Long and Sad, but may Appeare
Perhaps, not tedious to a tender Eare:

182

You, Damon, are concern'd; your Loyaltie
Makes you a partner in the miserie;
And the strict tye of freindship 'twixt vs two
Emboldens me to vtter what I know.
Thus then it is; our folds and flocks, whileere
To Pan made Sacred; and his Steward here,
Next vnder Him wee honour; and noe knee
But vnto him did bend in fealtie;
His Ivorie Hooke; (made glorious by his Hand)
More then a Scepter, shinéd ore the Lande;
And wee inferiour Swains were taught to bring
Our Tribute-Lambes, and our fleece-offering
To this Great Shepherd; part of the increase
Which Hee preserved soe many yeare in Peace;
This was: but, Damon! now, wee may noe more
Performe or paye the Duties vs'd to fore.

DAMON.
Is Pietie a Sin? or Loyaltie
Now made a Crime? vnriddle it to mee;
For since I can remember, I was taught
To honour the Great Shepheard; and have brought
My frequent Tributes, with a willing Hand;
Who now soe bold, dare his iust rights withstand?

AMINTAS.
Ah Damon! latelie to another, Hee
Imparted Somewhat of his Roialtie;
A Cozen of the Blood, of Sex vnfitt
For Soveraigntie; yet Hee allow'd her Sitt

183

Next to his Throne; vnheeding what, too Late
Hee now repents; her ill-bestowéd State.
For when She now, by favour of his Eye,
Seem'd to the world a part of maiestie;
The giddie Heads who still delight in Change,
Fixe vpon Her the Light, and put a Strange
Glorie vpon Her; yet, it was but Ayre
And her owne Pride, made her appeare so faire;
For all the Nobler Shepherds were afraid
Her Rule might ruine what the other made;
Still our Great Shepherd, to him selfe Secure,
Is pleas'd with new Addresses made vnto Her:
From everie corner of this Iland flye
Papers, to establish her yonge Maiestie;
Hee, all the while remisse, is well content
To see how she can manage Government;
Lulled by her Sugred Sayings and the oft
Repeated vowes, which (ah) She never thought;
Hee from his owne Hand gives his Ivorie hooke,
Which even His Father and Himselfe had tooke
Of Pan, with Solemne vow; and now begins
Proud Zephirina to augment her Sins;
For what She only wisht, and durst not Act,
Power gives her Right, and Iustifyes the fact:
Now, by himselfe forsaken, many Swains
Leave him (alas) whom kind Shee entertains;
Still her power Spreads; the Axe is now put downe
Vnto the Roote; the ruine falls,—a Crowne:
Now those who were freinds, or in favour high,

184

To the Great Sheapherd, fall; for Royaltie
Admitts noe Rivall; and Supreme Estate
Nothing Approves but what it did Create.
What need I tell, Philarchus lost his Head?
Or Mirabella, strangelie banishéd?
Or how Penandro, now her Minion growne,
Must not by him be call'd in Qvestion
For highest Crimes? To offer it, were more
Then Regicide it Selfe had bene before;
And even those few which did attend Him then,
Rebells denounc't; Himselfe the worst of Men;
That now (alas!) he's forc'd (Soe powerles left)
In this remoter Countrie, thus to Shift.

DAMON.
Oh the Sad Day! Amintas, wee have seene
The former Glories of a King and Qveene;
Then Zephirina hardly had a Name;
At most, below any pretence of Claime;
Alas! what Safetie can our feilds Afforde
To Him, they must acknowledge yet their Lord?
Hee thinlie fenced with Loyall Hearts, may Stand,
But they (alas) want Armes to the strong Hand
Of Zephirina now. Our Townes are weake,
Our Numbers few, and farre away to seeke.
This Sought in Time, might have some Refuge bene,
When His owne Troopes were full amongst vs seene;
When noe Power visible could animate
Aspiring Treasons; now it is too late;

185

Now Matho, with an Iron yoake, has prest
Our Loyall Shoulders; now, Hee stands possest
Of that strong Towne, which by a King once rear'd,
May be another's Ruine to be fear'd:
What can his Hopes Suggest vnto Him here?
Wee All are Cowed, even Stupifyed with feare.

AMINTAS.
Soe is the Nation all; or rather lost,
In his neglect. They Careles are, almost,
And let the Threat'ning Billow over-run
Their fortunes, willing soe to be vndone;
A retchlesnes has now Seiz'd everie Mind,
Or a strange Tumor, newer things to find:
For never greater Disproportion dwell'd
Amongst Minds; All are Sunke, or overswell'd.
Hither our Maister, confident of Some
Yet Loyall Hearts, encourag'd was to come;
Far from the Reach of Zephirina's power,
Which everie day encreases more, and more;
Her late imperious Summons She hath sent,
And if it fayle, by force She will Attempt
His Sacred Person; 'tis alreadie done.
Her 'Complices in this Sedition,
Bring in their willing Armes, their Purses ope,
T' exasperate her Rage, and vrge a Hope
Of her Establishment. Leavies are made,
And Voluntarie Troopes goe to Her Ayde;

186

That now her forces in the feild Appeare
A formidable Armie; and Wee heare
Cornigerus, the Generall of the rout,
Must bring that Proiect speedilye about.

DAMON.
Alas! what Counsels may our Maister have
To avoyd this Torrent, and his Honour save?
Our Numbers are too weake, our wealth exhaust,
To Cope with such a numerous and vast
Army, as they are made to vs by fame;
Amintas, Say! what Succours can Hee frame?

AMINTAS.
'Tis (ah) but Small yet all Hee can pursue;
Necessitated thus, Hee, with the fewe
Willing to serve him, Westward now intend;
Where they perswade Hee will have many a freind;
However, he resolves at once to run
The hazard of his Life, with Losse of Crowne.
There, his Imperiall Standard will he place,
(If yet it be soe powerfull as it was,)
To call in everie Heart, and everie Hand,
T' assist his Right, and her rude force withstand:
This, his last Refuge, a wan hope, to bring
Himselfe to former Glories of a Kinge.

DAMON.
I doe not See what Succours can be brought,
Worthy of his Necessities or Thought;

187

For Zephirina everie Countie awes
With Edicts Strange, and never heard of Lawes;
Her Ministers, throughout the Kingdome spred,
Are Active to advance her late-rais'd Head;
All Mouths are full of Her; and everie Tongve
In her Name's Priviledge, can not speake wrong;
When our Great Maister but a By-word Stands,
And Groomes dare make a Iest of his Commands.
But Say, Amintas, for the Evening calls,
How comes thy bright Vrbana, to be false?

AMINTAS.
That, as a part of Sorrow, to the rest
Then may I adde, and poure out all my brest;
When Zephirina, in her obscure Cell
Livéd erewhile, Vrbana loved her well;
And though She cunning kept it from my Eare,
She wish'd her ever, what wee All now see her;
And her Ambitions did foment to all
Strange vndertakings; that I doe not Call
'Em worse, for worst they are. Noe sooner was
This Zephirina in the Royall place,
But false Vrbana, all her vowes made Light;
Her many former vowes, which Shee had plight,
And with new Oaths seal'd, for the single Sway
Of this Vsurper ioynes; and everie day
Adds to her rule. Vrbana Sweeps the round
Of all her Streets, for Ruffians to be found;
And all the Dregs of Men, by numerous Polls,

188

Swarme in, to fill vp Zephirinae's Rolls;
These Polymorphus leads in, to assist
The new-rais'd Tirranie of What they List;
And thus Vrbana, (not to her owne Lust
But Zephirinae's Baud,) has quitt her Trust.
What shall I more? What you imagine more,
Vrbana is of wicked. Thus the Sore
You now have seen, which wounds Amintas' brest:
What else remains can never be exprest.

DAMON.
Though further Wee removed, not lesse concern'd
As some have taught; a Dictate never learn'd
By loyall Minds; who know noe Limit to
Their Zeale, or a proportion to their vow;
My brest is full as thine, with the same fire,
And what I can not vtter, I admire;
With Horror wounded, a darke Extacie
Runs through my Soule, in everie facultie.

AMINTAS.
Ah, Damon! though wee bleed, yet thinke, how more
The Arrow wounds our Maister. Wee are poore;
And though our Indyviduall Selves may seeme
Near in our Eyes, wee are of noe Esteeme;
Poore Shepherds may be ruin'd everie Day,
Without a Noyse, and noe Man left to Say
'Twas pittye; for their narrow Motions are
But in the Sphære of a Particular.
Princes are set a Step beyond their fates;

189

They never suffer Single; forméd States,
The Structurs of well-setled Polities,
And changéd Government; their Exequies
Are ever made; and not the meanest Hee
But falls a Part in ruin'd Monarchye.

DAMON.
What may wee doe? the Shepheard is not free
To Sing his Thoughts, vnder the Tirranie
Of this expected Rage; our humble verse
Now carries Danger to still Iealous Ears;
Wee must retract what wee have sung before,
And Numbers raise (which Muses all abhorre)
To Celebrate the Glories of a late
Vsurpéd Power, and most deforméd State.
Sing let me never, Phœbus, if I raise
To thriving Treasons any note of Praise.

AMINTAS.
Noe matter, Swaine, Apolloe's Harpe vnstrunge,
Was seen the other Day, and careles hung
Vpon the Willowes. Pan, his Syrinx made
A pipe, has throwne away, and left the Trade.
The Muses Silent, everie Swain strucke mute,
And Verses now fall, like vntimely fruite;
For what is left to Sing? Our Glorie's gon,
Our Loves are Lost, or not worth thinking on.

DAMON.
More happines have wee: (though Miserie
Surround vs All) yet in our Loves wee're free;

190

And Shepheard's humble Loves wee not the least
Of happines determine, if not Best.

AMINTAS.
Had Such bene mine, Soe had I happie lived,
My flocks still kept their fold, and I had greived
Noe Strumpet's loosenes; then my Pipe had Still
Bene pleasant; now, a worne and wearied Qvill:
Damon, noe more, for longer Shadowes fall
From Westerne Hills, and Shepheards homeward call.

THE SONGE.

1

Vnshorne Apollo, throw away
That wreath thy Tresses crowning;
Thy Daphne withers from a Bay
To some poore Shrub; not owning
Her former verdure; Wee now bring
A Chaplet of our gathering.

2

The Bramble and the wood-bine (lived
Not halfe a day,) are twisted,
Some nettles mixt; as who beleived
Thy Glorie still existed;
Or, to make finer, wee will trim
With Marigolds, thy Anadem.

191

3

For Ioy is Dead, and Glorie faint;
Witt's banishéd our feilds;
Say, Great Protector! if wee may n't
Give as the Season yeilds?
Or, wouldst thow still Bay-crownéd Sitt?
Restore vs Ours; weele give thee it.

The End.

192

An Ecloge: Spoken by Hilas and Strephon.

Quis, talia fando?
temperet a lachrimis?

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

193

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.

194

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

195

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

196

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.

197

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

198

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

199

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

200

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

201

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.

202

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;

203

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,

204

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;

205

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.

The End.

207

Eclesiasticus:

OR, The Wisedome of Iesus, the son of Syrach; Paraphrased.

A te Principium, tibi desinet, accipe iussis
Carmina cœpta tuis, atque hanc sine tempore Circum
Inter victrices hederam tibi serpere Lauros.

XI Ianij: Anno Domini CIC.ICC.XXXIX.

By G: D:

209

The Induction to the worke.

Loe, this the Muse who variously did sing
And soar'd at Randome, with an Idle wing;
Told younger yeares the Passions of Love,
In broken Accents, as sick thoughts did prove;
First the disdaine, then sung the Solemne rites
To Himen's tryumph,—nuptiall delights.
Who now (transform'd) put on a Satyr's brow,
And touch't the vices which the Times did know.
Sometimes, with better Thoughts, has sung a storie,
In holy Rapture, of Cœlestiall glory;
Of worldly vanities, brought somewhat lower,
Has sung the beauties of devine Pudore;
His second Love, the Darling of his soule,
Charginge the waters Neighbouring as they roule,
To sound her Name vnto the After-times,
Least she might be forgotten in weake rimes;
Rimes far vnworthy to record her Name,
But they shall Live, & she surviue to Fame.

210

Hath wept the Funeralls of Buckingham,
And Herbert's Death, with some of lower Name,
Recorded vertuous; & hath paid a verse
To Iohnson's vrne, & wept vpon his Herse;
Ioyn'd with the Muses, Strongly to defend
The force of Numbers; wth a select freind,
Worthy Amintas, in an easie strife;
This for the Citty, That a Country Life.
Lastly, (as Tribute) to Great Brittaine's King,
Did as his vertues, soe his Glories sing;
With his faire Queene, our hopes, their happie Ioyes;
In English Roses, and the French De-Liz.
Now fixeth here: and as a Pilgrim sent
A holy voyage, wh devout intent
I tread these Steps; & ere I fall to write
Am Ceis'd wh admiration and delight;
I am afraid of shadowes in the Land,
Where I a Pilgrim and a stranger stand;
I looke to this, & see, on th' other side,
A diverse way; alas, I want a Gvide!
The Morneing calls mee early from my Rest,
I see the sun, I fix vpon the East;
Yonder I thinke to goe to; but ere I,
A while haue gone, I am led diversly;
I wander with the sun, at Night return,
(With fruitles Labour) where I was at Morne.

O Lead mee, Lord! in this soe anxious Maze,
Revert my feet into the perfect waies;
And be my Conduct in a Land Remote,

211

Where men are Monsters, People know mee not;
To the sweet Hills, the Hills of Solima',
Where the bright morneing doth her wings display;
Soe to the Holy Cittie, which doth now
(Ingratefull Citie) lye like ruines low;
To thy belovéd Sion, where of Old
Thy Prophets have their Revelations told;
Where Ishai's son did to thy Musique frame
Loud songs of Praise, to Celebrate thy Name;
Vnto the doore of that fal'n Temple which
His son erected, beautifiéd with rich
And curious workemanship; where that wise King,
(Wise in the Misterie of every Thing;
Who had tried all the waies to give content
Follye could prompt, or wisedome could Invent,)
Re-call'd Himselfe. O what, what haue I done?
What new thing is there to the King vnknowne?
What Mundane thing? What? but the King did trie,
Yet all is vanitie, meere vanitie.
Where Syrach's son, (a second Solomon
For teaching vertue & Instruction)
Did vtter these. Oh, thither bring mee once,
That I, with Ioy, may kisse the sacred stones,
That I may know to Render in our tongue
The Lessons which he to the Hebrewes sung;
Vnfold darke sayings, Hidden things recall
Vnto our Light, from the Originall.

Ah! deare, I faint: can only this vnsolve,
The sentences which wisedome doth involve?

212

Noe other way must I needs Syon see?
Lord, thou art Sion; thou art all to Mee!
Thou art all Language, every tongue is thine;
Shed in my Soule thy Rayes; a Heart Divine
Into my fancye, soe apt euerie word,
It may be vsefull, and with Truth accord.
Let my Imperfect Accents Strike the Eares
Of Men who scorne the Harmony of verse;
Let them confess that verse may Comprehend
Fullnes of Matter; and not, Madly Blind,
Persist in Error; that there cannot be
Those heights of Wisedome seene in Poesie;
Not that I seeke a Glory in the Thing;
Far be it from Mee, but that I may bring
More honour to thy Name. Oh, let mee Call
It noe more Mine, I would Resigne it all;
May I not thinke it, as the Thing I did
But as a Stranger, soe fall to & read;
Not looke vpon it wth the Partiall Eye
Of blind Affection or Proprietie;
Quash my Affections, & Subdue my thought,
That I may value all my owne as nought.

Be it enough, 'tis done to Glorifie
Thy Name, & reinforme Posteritie
The way to Goodnes; I can aske noe more,
But lay an humble offering at the doore.

Seale I my vowes then, and depart in Peace;
For though I vtter more, I might Speak less.

213

I. Cap. i.

God only wise, Wise Ever; and shall be
Full in his Wisedome, to Eternitie.
Who can account with nice Arithmeticke
The Sands which floore the Sea? or who can seeke,
With curious Inquisition, eyther what
Drops fall in showers? or give the world a Date?
Or what more subtle Art can rightly give
The height of Heaven? or more then vainly strive
To Specifie the Earth? how must it be
Or in the breadth, or the Profunditie?
The wisedome of the Lord who can attaine,
Wch hath beene Ever, and shall Ever shine?
When nothing was, then Wisedome only was,
And only there where yet she is in place.
The Spring of Wisedome and the source of All
Is in the word of God Misteriall;
And the Eternall Pandicts which he writt,
Stand as the Gate or Entrance vnto it.
Who knowes the Root of wisedome? Or who can
Catch at the Raies of Knowledge? Or what Man

214

Can apprehend the Sacred Misteries
Of Wisedome? Or but where the Entrace is?
There is One Wise, and there is only one,
Ev'n the Most High, who sitts vpon the Throne,
The Almighty King of Power; He is the Lord,
Who did create her by his mighty word.
Hee, only Hee, hath seene her; and survayed
Her true dimensions, and her Light displaied
In all his worke. How much resplendent She!
How lucent in all flesh! and graciously,
In an aboundant Measure, he doth store
All such as love him, and his Name Adore!

The feare of God is glory and Content,
Filling a Soule with Sacred Ravishment;
It is a Crowne of Honour, & doth give
Felicitye & Ioy to Attend Long Life.
Thrice happie Hee, and more than happy thrice,
Who feares the Lord; him will not he despise,
But Bless, and favour, when the time shall come,
With a mild Sentence, and a gracious Doome.

The Love of God doth dignifie a Name
With Wisdome, to a never-dying Fame.
The Iust are seasonéd with a Holie feare
Of God, ev'n in the wombe; which, as it were,
Gives them Admittance to the Notion
Of Misteries in Knowledge; it is on
Selected Woemen; and is ever knowne,
With the Iust Man to Admiration.

The Feare of God is holy knowledge; which

215

Shall not preserve but Iustifie as much;
Adds comfort to the Heart, and maketh whole
A contrite Spirit, & a wounded Soule:
Prosperitie, his Life shall ever Blesse;
And when he dyes, he shall depart in Peace.

The Feare of God is full fruition
Of Wisedome, and it is in that alone;
She fills the house with Ioy, and she doth Blesse
The Garners with a full & large encrease;
Which both are gifts of Heaven. It is the Crowne
Of Wisedome, and a true Perfection,
To feare the Lord; it giueth health and Peace.
Hee numbred hath and seene her, what she is;
She showers downe knowledge, and doth apt the Mind
For vnderstanding, in the fullest kind;
Honour attends her Steps: and Honour must
(Soe Heaven is pleaséd) gratifie the Iust.

The root of Wisedome is to feare the Lord,
And her Spred branches shall long Life afford;
Wisedome gives perfect knowledge, and doth bring
Right vnderstanding; truly seasoning
And purgeing minds from Error's filthy blot;
Thus is she Faire, but Sinners love her not.

Where a true feare of God is, there shall Sin
Vanish away, nor ever enter in;
When she is present, Wrath and Anger shall
Noe more be seene, but glide away and fall;
For 't cannot Stand with Anger to be wise,
And Death Attends where wrath doth Tyrranize.

216

But loe, the patient Man endures a Time
And the Reward of Ioy shall fall to Him;
His Lips are Sealed to Anger, and his Name
Shall stand vnspotted in an Ample Fame.
In Wisedome, hidden secrets and darke things
Are seene and knowne; but yet the Sinner brings
Opprobious taunts t' obscure (if it might be)
Her Light, and hates th' Immortal Dietye.

If Wisdome thou desire, and seeke her waies,
Observe the Law; he is not Wise that Straies;
Keepe the Cōmandments, and she shall be,
In a full Measure, giv'n by God to thee;
For to feare God is full fruition
Of Wisedome; Him whose pleasure is alone
In faith and Meekeness: Be not then to Him
Rebellious, nor obstinate in Crime;
Nor come vnto Him with a double Heart,
Who knowes thy Zeale, a vaine fantastick Art;
Dissemble not with God, nor feigne a Zeale
To Him, from whom thou canst not ought conceale;
Thence may come Scandall to the world, and then,
As th' art despis'd by God, th' art scorn'd by Men.
Doe not alledge thy merit, nor Exalt
Thy selfe to God, least for that only fault
Thy Soule fall to dishonour, and Hee, wroth,
Discover secret Sins, which thy owne Sloth
Or arrogance forgotten had; and thou
Refuseing Mercy, fall in Iustice now,
A Spectacle of Scorne and Miserye;
Neglecting God, and loveing vanitie.

217

II. Chap. ii.

If thou would'st serve the God of Heaven (my Son)
Love Righteousnes; with resolution
Prepare thy selfe t' endure the strong Assaults
Of slye Temptation; scorne the poore Revolts
Of humane frailtye; Let thy Passions be
Subdu'd and Conquer'd by thy Constancy.

Be still attent to wisedome, and when ere
Sorrowes assaile thee, Hope in God, with Feare;
Expect from Him, and patiently attend,
That thou mayest be rewarded at thy End;
Abide what happen shall, with Fortitude,
And though Afflictions Change & be renew'd,
Let not thy Soule be troubled; for as 't is
To Gold and Silver, in hot furnaces,
An exact way of tryall, and doth render
The Mettall pure, giveing it worth and Splendor;
Soe Man is tryed and valu'd, as he can
Resist the Batteries of Affliction;
Adversitie the Manners doth refine,
And Adds to Vertue an Immortall Shine.

Be constant in the God of Heau'n, confide,
Hee will assist thee, and thy footsteps gvide:
Continue firme in thy Resolues of feare,
And let it Shine vpon thy Silver Haire.
You that Feare him, wait, and expect with Ioy,
For Mercy; neither waver, lest you dye:
Trust in him, you that feare him, and you may

218

Expect a blessing, which he vowes to pay.
Oh, you that trust in him, let your desires
Be purged in the bright & holy fires
Of Innocence and Vertue, and your Eyes
Fixt on his Mercye and Eternall Ioyes;
And you that Feare him, Love him; which shall give
Ioy to the Heart, in fullnes, whil'st you live.

Looke backe to former Ages, and then stay,
T' examine well, and seriously Survay
If thou was ever one, Iust and vpright,
Of Life vnblemish't, and of humble Spright,
Zealous to God-ward; If ere such a One:
Know Death at all, or saw Confusion:
Whom, whom, hath he forsaken, that but hath
Trusted in him? Or on whom ha's this wrath
Of Heav'n falne, if he to God haue beene
Devout in soule, in hands vnspotted, Cleene?
For God is gratious, and doth looke vpon
The offence of Mankind with Compassion;
Preserveth Sinners in Temptation;
Is a Support and true Salvation.

Woe vnto Them, they many woes shall find,
Who haue a Devious and a froward Mind;
To those of Lying Lips and bloodie Hands,
And to the Sinner that 'twixt two waies stands.

Woe to the Reprobate! whose timerous soule
Vpon the Waves of Doubts and Passions roule;
Hee not beleiveth, therfore shall he be,
(Renouncing Heav'n) vext with Impietye.

219

Woe vnto you, perverse in Manners, and
You of a bitter Soule, who tott'ring stand,
In a darke Slippery way; what will you doe,
When God in Iustice comes to visit you?

They will not be repugnant, nor Dissent,
Who feare the Lord, from his Commandement;
And such as him Adore, Sin cannot move
Them, in the Waies of Ioy, of Peace, of Love.
Those that feare him will bend their faculties
To doe the things are pleasing in his Eies;
And those that Love him, and in Truth abide,
Shall stand before him and be Iustified.
They that feare him, will, with Sobrietye
Prepare their hearts, and in Humilitye
New vest their Soules; before him they will be
Constant in faith with true Integritye;
And wait his pleasure; Saying, if wee shall
For Sin be impenitent, we doe not fall
Into the Hands of Men, but God shall see,
And wee must fall to his Severitie;
Yet as he is in Iustice, soe he can
Have mercy, and be gratious to Man.

III. Chap. iii.

The Iust are full in wisedome, and doe move
With Sober steps of Dutie and of Love.
Children, Submit your Wills t' Antiquitie,
And let your Actions show Conformitie
To the Instructions which your fathers have

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Declar'd to you, that soe you may be safe;
For it is that which God expects to see,
That by their Children Fathers honored be;
And to their Mothers humble; for to him
That gives the Father Reverence shall Sin
Not be imputed; neither shall he fall
To vice, but see felicitye in All;
And he yt feares his Mother, waits her Pleasure,
Shall have a blessing in an Ample Measure;
As he his Father honored, soe shall
His Children with Ioy vnto him fall,
And when he Prayes, it shall not be in vaine;
Hee shall be heard, and heard, he shall obtaine.
Who honoreth his Father, in his waies,
Shall see felicitie and length of daies;
His mother shall be blest in him, and see
Ioy Crowne her Daies, and Prosperitie.
He that feares God, will give a Reverence
To Parents, and a true Obedience;
Nor Doe, nor Say, t' offend them; nor in thought
Grudge at their pleasure, or repine at ought:
Soe shall the dew of Heaven fall on thy haires,
And Bless with ioy and Plenty all thy yeares;
For 'tis the Father's blessing that shall be
Vpon the House, to all Posteritie;
Shall give it strength, and Life; Strength to Endure,
And Life to flourish in the Successour;
Thus to the Iust. But where the fatall curse
Of the Dead Mother hangs, it shall goe worse;

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The Walls shall Drop to Dust, and he shall be
Scorn'd in himselfe; Curst in his Progenie.
Make not a laughter of thy Father's Shame,
For it can be noe honour to thy Name;
Being that the Son has glory in the Thing
His Father did of honour; and the Sting
Of Shame and Infamie shall his soule vex,
Whose Mother had not vertues to her Sex.

When feeble Limnes shall speake thy Father old,
Be pious to his Moods; Let not the Cold
Blood in his shallow veines against thee burne;
Let not the cause of Anger on thee turne;
And if the Imperfections of Old Age
Shall be in him, (as testy Passion, Rage,
Weake Memory, or Dullnes, incident
To venerable Eld,) be thou content,
Nor scorne his weakenes; tho' in strength thou be,
He was as thou art, thou maiest be as Hee;
He is thy Father; and his praiers have
Obtain'd a Blessing for thee, which Shall Save
Thy Soule from Damage; and thy Mother's crime
Shall not be laied to thee, at any Time;
And when Affliction is, God from on Hye,
Shall see, and Save thy Soule, from Ieopardie.
As doth the Ice melt, 'fore the Sun's keene raye,
Soe shall thy Sins vanish and fall away.
But Hee that leaves his Father, 'tis a Crime
Shame shall Attend, and Death follow him;

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And the Iust Anger of a Mother shall
Bring down a curse, which heavily must fall.

My son, fly Arrogance, and doe not boast
Thy Actions worthy, least the worth be lost;
But leave its estimation to the vote
Of a cleare ffame, which cannot be forgott.
Let thy Humilitie, in all things be
The more, the more thou art in dignitie;
Many Renown'd and Noble wee may veiw,
But secrets are reveal'd to th' humbler few;
For Great the Power of God is, and his Feare
Is precious to those that humble are.

Be not inquisitive, nor too high wise,
Nor seeke to Discerne things beyond thy Eyes;
But what thou art Capable, what God has bid,
That thinke vpon, with Reverence and Heed.
Prye not into his secrets; 'tis a nice
And foolish Itch, to Curiosities,
To dispute Misteries and things forbid;
Which, for they are not needfull, they are hid.

In an aboundant knowledge be not vain;
For many things may be beyond thy Braine
And reach of frailtie; Many have fal'n thus,
Into a Laberinth contiguous
Of Doubts and fears, and have Perishéd.
With hasty steps, by their owne Error led.
Without thy Eyes, though Heaven's Glorie be
At full displaied, yet it is darke to thee;
Therfore be wise, in Modest Silence, and

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Speake not of what thou dost not vnderstand;
A Stubborne Heart shall know he has done ill,
And the nice Scepticke, his owne feares shall kill.
A Double Heart seekes to a Double way,
And finding neither, wanders still astray;
And the perverse and obstinate shall be
His owne destruction, prest with Miserie.
The wicked Man takes pleasure in his Crime,
And adds continually to ruine him.
The scornefull Proud shall find as proud a Scorne,
And Die forgot, as had he not beene borne;
For Sin is deepe in him, and he shall be,
Or never Nam'd, or Nam'd with Infamie.

The wise Man shall be seene in Misteries,
And neare Attent to Sacred Knowledges;
A Wise Man will not sin; soe shall he be
Blest in his Actions with Prosperitie.
Soe water quenceth fire as Almes well done,
Take away Sin, as if there had beene none;
And hee that Sees the Heart, and knowes it, will
Reward the Act, as it is good or ill;
That in the day of Tribulation, hee
Shall find a Harbour of Securitie.

IV. Chap. iv.

Doe not extort from Povertie, nor stay
The Needie, with a frivolous delay;
Vex not a Soule perplexéd, with thy Taunts,
Nor make a scorne of any Man in wants.

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Doe not exasperate a greivéd mind,
Nor Mocke Necessitie in any kind;
Scorne not the praier of one in Miserie,
Nor turne away thy face from Povertie;
Let not thy Anger at the needy burne,
Least thy owne fury to a curse returne
Vpon thy selfe; for if he iustly shall
Pronounce a curse, sent from the very Gall
Of a greiv'd Spirit, certainly his praier
Shall have access to the Creator's Eare.
Contemne not Povertie, and let thy will
Submit to a more venerable Skill;
Honour the Magistrate, and let him claime
Respect from thee who has a Noble Name;
Be patient to the nedy-man's complaint,
And pay thy Debt with freindly Complement;
Protect the Innocent from the Strong Clawes
Of Black Oppression and Subverted Lawes;
Iudge not at all; but Iudge with sound advice,
And let not Trifles move thy sentence twice;
Releive the Orphan; Pitty Widdowes' Teares,
Redress her wrongs, Support her, in her Feares;
Soe God shall be thy Father: he will be
More tender then thy Mother over thee.

Wisedome Inspireth Life, and fills the Mind
With holy Rapture, and doth goe beyond
Error's foule mist, to the aboundant Raies
Of Knowledge, where she doth prescribe her waies:
Hee that loves wisedome, loveth Life as much;

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And hee that loveth Life shall never touch
Death's dismall threshold, but be in full ioy;
Who keepeth her, envy shall not destroy
The glory of his Name, but he shall be
Consideréd and blest aboundantlye.
They that esteeme her shall not serve in vaine,
But God shall be the gverdon of their paine;
They shall be servants to the Lord aboue;
For such as love her, them he vowes to love.
The wise shall Live, and Nations shall Submit
To what he thinketh Iust, and Iudgeth fitt:
Hee shall inhabite in the Tents of Ioy,
And in his Seed be blest aboundantlye;
For she will lead him by Ambiguous waies,
And through the corners of a Dismall Place,
Where feare lurkes privilye, and doth assay,
With a strict discipline and every way,
To prove his Soule; which being now found true,
She brings him to the direct Path, to show
Him now deepe Misteries and holy things;
And to attaine true Knowledge, she gives wings
Of perfect vnderstanding: but if Hee
(Carried by Humor, Will, & Vanitie,)
Wander in the darke waies of Doubt and Error,
She leaves him to his Shame and Soule's Terror.

Lavish not out thy dayes nor let Sin Court
Thy easie Soule; (she dyes, without support
From thy owne Will) erect a Cheerfull face,

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To Witnes Truth, though in the Doubtfull Case
Of thy own Life; for 'tis a greater Shame
To Spurne at God, and Reprobate thy Name
To his Eternall Truth, then to be thought
Worthless by Men: the Shame of ffeare has brought
Sin to attend; the other though he died,—
A word, to Men,—he shall be Iustified.

Let thy owne Conscience gvide thee, 'bove the strong
And quaint perswasions of another's tongue;
Let not his Art betray thee, lest it be
Perhaps a trap to take thee privilye,
And point out thy Ruine; soe thou fall
A prey to tirrany, a Scorne to All.

Give thy advice, and let it be in time,
To prevent, or recall a Man from Crime;
Doe not withold thy wisedome, when 't may be,
For others vse, or honour vnto thee;
Wisedome is seene in words, and Actions crowne
A perfect wisedome, in a full renowne;
Dare not at all, a Truth to contradict,
But Blush to see and know thy owne defect.

Gladly Confesse thy Sins; and doe not Strive
Against the Current of the Streame to strive;
Hate a foole's Government, and be not tooke,
(Soe fooles are taken) by a lofty looke;
Love Truth with fervency, and let thy blood
Be shed for Iustice; in a Cause soe good,
God is Accounteable, and vowes to be
To thy foes vengeance, Honour vnto thee.

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Let not thy Tongue demonstrate thy owne worth,
But doe the thing for others to set forth;
Insult not vpon Weaknes; doe not seeke
To Tyrranise vpon the humble Necke
Of Servitude; Seeke not a Glorie in
Soe poore a Conquest; let thy Bountye shine
In all thy Actions, and the iust Equallitye
Of thy desires shall Crowne thy Liberallitye.

V. Chap. v.

Trust not in Riches, with a vaine Ostent
Of Fullnes, for 'twill not be prevalent
In the Sad Day; let thy Affections be
Restrain'd by Reason, Curb'd by Pietye.

Boast not thy strength or Power, in the Progresse
Of ill-spent Dayes, to live in wickednesse,
Secure or irresponsable. Noe! know
God will have vengeance, though he suffer now.
Say not I Live, and ravill out my daies
In Libertie; I trye the many waies
Of Sin, to Death, and yet I cannot see,
In this, nor that, but I'me as blest as Hee
That followes vertue and observes the law:
(Thus vtter fooles) but though thy Maker draw
Awhile his Anger back, at last he shall
Showre downe his wrath, to crush thee in the fall.
Expect the wage of Sin for what is done,
And let thy care prevent Addition.
Say not, the Mercy of our God is great,

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He can forgive My Sins, and expiate
My Manifold transgressions. Oh! beware
Of such presumption, for they equall are
In him, Mercy and Wrath; and Sinners must
Fall in his Fury; for he will be Iust.
Præfix noe time to Goodnes; let the Day
Of Reformation hang in noe delay;
For he will come in thy securitye,
And Iudge the Soule in its Impuritie.
Trust not in wicked Riches; they shall be,
When the Day cometh, of noe vse to thee.
Be fixt, and swerve not to a doubtfull way;
For soe the finner doth himselfe betray.
Let thy Resolves be firme in holy waies
Of Knowledg, loveing Righteousness and Peace;
Heare, and submit to what the learnéd say,
In holy Misteries, that thy heart May
Have satisfaction; rectifie thy word,
Strictly to say what may with truth accord.
Be prompt and Sedulous, good things to heare,
Thy Life vnspotted, and thy Manners cleare.
Satisfye Questions, if thou vnderstand,
If Ignorant, let Reason countermand
Silence to thy desires, lest thou maiest fall
In thy owne Errour,—made a scorne to all.
Honour & shame attends on what wee say,
And oft the Tongue brings to a sad Decay.
Make not thy Name a scandall to thy Mouth,
Of a darke ffame; for Levitie, love Truth,

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And wait not for another's Preiudice,
To thy advantage; for such evill is
Never vnpunish't; hee shall fall to shame,
The Subtle Teacher, and his spotted Name
Survive with Infamie, and be a scorne
To those that are, and those that are not borne.
Be Circumspect and Iust, let nothing sway
Thee, more or lesse on this or th' other way
Beyond Integritie; to great & small
Alike Enclin'd, severely Iust to All.

VI. Chap. vi.

Where once thou wast a freind, let nothing move
Thee to desist, or turne away thy Love;
For shame attends such falsehood; it shall be
A foule reproach to all Posteritye.

Glory not in the strength of thy owne Mind,
Least as a Bull of feirce and savage Kind,
Thy Soule fall on thee, and eate vp thy prime,
Destroy thy fruit; and thou, in little time,
Be as a wither'd stocke or saples tree;
For soe the wicked perish,—foolishlie;
Trusting his owne strength, a scorne to his foes,
To himselfe Horror, and Eternall woes.

A Good word gaineth freinds and keepeth peace,
And words well-ordered in discourse, doe please;
Be freind to All, but one thy bosome-freind,
Familiar to thy thoughts, as thy owne Mind;
But rashly credit not; first try him sure,

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By circumstance; ffor some noe more endure
Then they have vse; and when thy needs shall fall,
Leave thee to want, Shame, Miserie, & All;
And some are seeming friends, who privilie
Betraies thy secrets to thy Enimie;
Plots thy destruction, and in thy disgrace,
Will blushles tell thy Follies to thy face.

Another, for his Belly, is thy freind,
And on thy Smileing fortunes doth attend;
Is what thou art, and takes a Libertie
Over thy servants, as himselfe shall See;
But if the bright Sun of thy Plenty be
Choak'd in the fogs of want and Miserie,
His vowes are Cancell'd; he noe longer can
Attend on want, or serve a needy man.

Converse not with thy Foes, beware thy freind:
For many seeme who nothing doe intend;
A prouéd freind is firme at all assaies,
Of precious worth, and Iust in all his waies
Beyond all paritie; vnto his faith
Iewels want lustre, Treasure wanteth weight.
A faithfull freind is a preservative
'Gainst Fate or Envy; and the Lord shall give
To those that feare him, himselfe for a freind:
Such Love, Chance changeth not, nor shall death end.
Attend Instruction from thy tender yeares,
Soe maiest thou find in it thy frostie haires;
Attend with diligence; with greater Ease,
She soe is gotten, and wth more encrease;

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How is she bitter to the ignorant,
Nor can he keepe her that doth iudgment want.
Shee only proves him, as the stone doth Gold,
And he flings her away he cannot hold;
For many, many, have the Ayerie Name
Of Wisedome, in a full and swelling fame;
But few, and very few, (if any one,)
Have seene her Beauties and her secrets knowne.
With those that know her she shall be of price,
And stand an obiect to Eternall Eyes.

Attend, (my Son) my discipline receive,
And listen to the Counsell which I give;
Submit thy wild affections to her thrall,
And let thy head-strong will to councell fall;
Be patient to sustaine her, not despise
Her yoke, nor quit thee from Captivities;
Let thy heart Ioy to meet her, and her waies
Be the example how to gvide thy Daies;
Be diligent to seeke her, she shall be
Reveal'd and open'd what she is, to thee;
And when thou hast her, swerve not from her waies,
For at the last, she will adde many Ioyes;
And then her fetters will be a defence,
And in her Chaines, thou shalt have Excellence;
For in her, there is precious Ornament,
Her bands are Easie Laws, with the Ostent,
Of a rich Dye; in her, thou art arraied
As in a Robe which honour hath displaied;

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She will bring health, and dignifie thy Name,
And Crowne thee with a Ioyfull Diadem.

My Son, if willing, thou shalt have advice,
And if thou seeke Knowledge thou shalt be wise;
Attend and treasure vp what thou shalt heare,
Wisedome is best attainéd by the Eare;
Converse with Learnéd Men, and doe not thou
Dissent from what Antiquitie doth know;
Let thy discourse be holy, and thy Heart
Glad to receiue what Knowledge doth impart;
Hast to a Man of Knowledge, and frequent
Often his doores; let thy thoughts be intent
Vpon God's Law; soe shall thy Heart be blest,
And thy desires with Wisedome full Possest.

VII. Chap. vii.

Fly Sin, and live secure; performe thy part,
Sin not remaines, but with a willing heart;
Let not thy good fall to the pregnant Slime
Of wickednes, least thou reape seven times;
Covet not too high Dignities, nor bring
Important suits, to beg it of the King;
Adde not to Merit, nor Extenuate
Thy Crime to heav'n, fondly to vindicate
Thy conscious Soule; for God doth know & see
Thy heart, thy sin, thy sin of Secresie.
Boast not thy wisedome to a Royall Eare,
Nor seeke to sitt in Iudgment, least thou Erre;
Sway'd or by faction; or the sullen frowne

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Of some great Man deterre thee from thy owne
Integritie. Let not the vulgar be
Thy malice, nor admit Communitie,
But at a distance. Let not double Crime
Defile thy Soule; for in one there is shame.
Say not I'le repeat my offence to heauen,
With my oblations, and what I have given,
God will accept. Be fervent in thy praier,
Frequent in Almes, and full in pious care.
Deride not Miserie; for God doth see,
And he can exalt him, and ruine thee.
Let not thy brother suffer in a Lye,
To staine thy soule, and raise him Infamie:
Forbeare to Lye at all, not in a thing
Indifferent; falshood can never bring
Ioy to thy Soule, or honour to thy Name,
But growes to Coustome, ends to thy owne shame.

Vse Modestie in speech, let not the vaine
Ostent of words swell thee to vrge againe
Thy once repeated praier; doe not despise
An honest labour, nor with haughtie Eyes
Disdaine a Rustick lownesse. Doe not vant
Thy selfe familiar and Conversant
With the wild Crew; nor Glory in thy witt,
To thinke how rarely thou hast compass'd it.
Let not the Memory of a darling Sin
Please thy gray haires, nor let wishes in;

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But thinke, oh thinke, there once will be a time
When thou must satisfie for all thy crime.

Be of an humble soule; for to the proud,
Fire, and the gall of Conscience is allow'd.
Value thy freind 'bove all, and let the gold
Of Ophir, for thy Brother's love be Cold.

Cleave to the vertuous Woeman; she is given
Thee as a portion, by the hand of Heaven:
Her vertue is full Dower, and Modestie
Adornes her more than wealth or Dignitye.
Let a good servant have a due respect
Of Love from thee; let not supine neglect
Creepe in to his deservings; let him find
Thy Care & bountie, as he was inclin'd
To doe thy pleasure; now grant his desire,
And satisfie the Labourer with hire.
If thou hast Cattle, tend them with a care,
Keepe or forgoe, as to thy vse they are.
If blest with sons let not the blessing die,
Give them Instruction from their Infancye;
Let them know rule: if Daughters, let them be
In thy owne keep, admit noe libertie:
Be strict, and curbe them wth an austere brow,
Nor let them ever thy Indulgence know.
Marry thy Daughter, by discreet advice;
For it a Matter much Important is,
Redundant to thy glorie & her good.
Let him be wise, and of vntainted blood,
Whom thy choice makes a son. If (happy thou)

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To thy soule's Ioy, & thy owne wish, haue now
A Wife; be fixt there, let not lewdnes smile
To tempt thy frailty, & thy soule beguile.

Honour thy father wth a pious feare,
And pay thy dutie to a mother's care;
But thinke from them thou wert, & but for Them,
Where hadst thou beene, in being or in Name?
What can requite? what's thy obedience?
Thy Love, feare, Honour? a poore recompence.

Feare God in Soule, & let his preists from thee
Have honour due vnto their Dignitie;
Love thy Creator, with thy Strength, thy Life,
And let thy eare be to the Iust man's greife;
With all thy Soule fear God, & venerate
His owne anointed, & his Consecrate,
His holy Preists; give them their Due, thy Debts,
Thy first-borne fruits, Purgings, & to Expiate
Thy Sin with Sacrifice. To God be these,
Erected hands, pure heart, with humbled knees;
These be the Offerings, the sacrifice,
And first-fruits of value in his Eyes.
Give to the poore, soe God the state will bless;
And in their Praier, thou shalt expire in Peace.

Charitie is of worth in all men's eyes;
And let the Dead not want for Obsequies;
Comfort the Sad; Mourne with a troubled Mind;
Visit the Sicke; thy gverdon thou shalt find;
In all thy vndertakings, weigh the End,
Soe shalt thou neuer vnto Death Offend.

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VIII. Chap. viii.

Neuer contend with power, least hee, too strong,
Oppress thee; weaknes cannot suffer long;
Differ not with the Rich, whose treasure can
Compose or rule the Law, 'gainst any Man;
For Golden Sizzors clip Astrea's wings,
And hath subverted ev'n the hearts of Kings.

Be not in strife, nor have at all to doe
With Men who vtter much, and little know.
Converse not with the foole, lest it may be
To thy dishonour in Posteritie.
Despise not him who now reformes his waies,
Nor Speake it to his Shame, what is his praise.
Mock not at Eld, wth Scurrill taunts & vaine,
'Tis that which wee can but hope to Attaine.
Let not thy foe's Death thee Exhilirate,
For to all Mortall, 'tis an Equall Fate.
Attend the Iudgments of Antiquitie;
And prize her wisedome as the Nurserie
Of Knowledge how to rectifie thy waies
In vnderstanding, and to live with Praise.
Goe not from what they teach, for 'tis to them
Tradition, which from their Fathers came;
They shall give knowledge in the fullest kind,
And thou, their sayings in thy need shalt find.

Rebuke a Sinner, doe not Arrogate
His Crime; Sin vrg'd, not Seldome bringeth hate;
Stand vp to accuse noe Man, Lest he may
Returne it Backe, in somewhat thou shalt say.

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Lend not to Men in State or Dignitie
Above thy selfe; or if thou gloriouslye
Wilt soe court greatnes, let thy second thought
Repent thy follye, and esteeme it nought.
Be bond but to thy power; for if thou say,
I will be bond, make full account to pay.
Differ not with the Iudge in point of Law;
For to himselfe the Honour he will draw.
Admit with rash Men noe Societie;
Rashnes presumeth on Sobrietie,
To give offence; for he knowes only Will;
And through his folly, thou art sure of ill.
Contend not with the furious, neither be
Vrg'd by his Scorne, to admit privacie;
For blood he valews not, & thou shall fall
To his good Arme, haveing noe help at all.
Advise not with the foole, he will betray
Thy Secrets, in what ever thou shalt say.

Let not a Stranger privacies attend;
Hee sees & knowes, but thou not knowst his end.
Make not the Vulgar privy to thy Mind;
(For Popularitie is Still inclin'd
To freedome) soe, thy secrets are betraide,
And thou a Scandall to the world art made.

IX. Chap. ix.

Harbour noe Iealous feares against thy Wife,
Nor give to her suspition, by thy Life.
Let not a Woeman too much Captivate

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Thy life, lest she betray thee to the hate
Of enemies. Avoid the Company
Of blushles Woemen, lest thou fall and Die.
Let not a voice, nor exact Motion
Betray thee to thy owne Confusion.
Detract not from a Virgin's Modestie,
To fixe vpon her with a fervent Eye.
Fall not a Prey to wantons, nor be tooke
By a lasciuious Iest, or winning looke;
Lest it, perhaps, redound to thy Shame,
And leave a blott vpon thy house & Name.
Walke not to looke on Beauties, nor enquire
After faire Woemen, to provoke desire;
Reverse thy burning Eye from the desir'd
Obiect of Beautie, though to be admir'd;
For many have fall'n soe; 'tis by thy Eye,
The fire is kindled to vnchastity.
A sinfull Woeman shall be trod as dung,
And have a bitter Scorne from every tongue;
Many have fal'n to Sin, in a Strange looke,
Fixt on her Eyes, taken with what she spoke.

Allow not freedome with another's Spouse,
Vse not with too much frequency her house;
Let, Let, the curbe of Modestie restraine
Her bed to thee, though in an Entertaine,
Intended Civill; and the needless stay
Of Banquetting admit not; lest there may
In vaine protractions, such occasions be
As may entice thy will and ruine thee.

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Leave not a provéd freind; for an Ignote
Comes but at hazard, seldome proves in ought
Like him who was; but as in Wine new-prest,
Time proves it good, and then wee drinke it best.

Ayme not at Honours, nor in thought Aspire,
To be as yon'd full Man; he shall expire
But ev'n as thou, Charg'd with a greater debt;
And what he is, nor you nor he knowes yet.

Affect not wickednes, as Sinners doe,
But thinke, thy Account needs must greater grow.
Keepe from the Man of Blood; soe shalt thou be
Safe from the feare of Death or Iniurie;
But if thou happen soe, give noe offence
To stir his fury; thinke, without defence,
Thou art Surround in danger; every Side
Snares to entrap thee; & thou dost bestride
Horror in every space; thou maiest fall downe
To certaine Ruine, ignorant how soone.

Be ware thy Neighbour's malice, and enquire
Counsell of Wise men; quicken thy desire
To have converse with Men who can afford
Sacred Instructions, how to serve the Lord.
Let Iust Men be thy Guests, let thy Ioy
Be only in the feare of the Most High.
Artists are pris'd and prais'd by what they doe;
And the Wise Prince, in his owne word shall know
The Gen'rall suffrage. Wise Men valued are
Not for fine words, but for the Sence they beare.

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A Man of many words doth breed debate,
And hee that bolts at all, the World shall Hate.

X. Chap. x.

An vnwise King the People shall Lament,
But where there is a goodly government,
Where vpright Men sit in Authoritie,
Then, shall the Cittie see Prosperitie.
God doth dispose of Rule, and in his Eyes
How despicable are Iniquities;
And though he suffer now, at his good time,
The Rulers shall be Iust, & free from Crime.
The fate of Man is in th' all-gvidinge hand,
He makes the learnéd in his honour stand.
Forgive thy Neighbour's trespass, and let not
Thy thoughts be busie in a wicked Plott.

Pride before God and to an Equall Man,
Is in both Sin; hate all, in Each as One.
Crownes are dispos'd, and often have translation
From this to that, from that to th' other Nation;
Because of wrongs, Iniustice, wrested lawes,
Oppressions, Tyrrannies, or some such cause.

Nothing less worthy, in the highest eyes,
Then Man, besotted on his avarice.
Why art thou proud? oh! thou of humane birth!
Thou art but Ashes, or at the best, but Earth;
There is not, cannot be, a viler thing,
Then to love Money; such a Man would bring

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His Soule to Mercate; for his Life, his Name
Are gone, in being Slave to his owne shame.

Tyrrany raigns not long: as the disease
Pussles the Doctor, difficult to Ease,
Hee tries a desperate Cure in such a need;
Soe, hee, to-Day a King, to-Morrow, Dead;
Why (Dust), then, art thou Proud? when Man doth fall,
Hee falls to Serpents, Beasts, to Wormes; and All
The beginning of Man's Pride is to decline
ffrom God, and make a Iest of things devine;
Pride is the fount, but rises at the streame,
And still growes higher, till in the Extreame
It overflowes, &, like a Torrent's vent,
Doth ruine such as stand to try the Event.
Smear'd in the foulnes of his Sin, the advice
Of wicked Men shall perish in a trice.

God hath cast downe the thrones of Maiestie
And haughty Kings, t' advance humilitye;
The Proud of Nations he doth Contemne,
And gives the lowly to inhabite them;
He hath subverted where the Heathen lurke,
And vtterly demolishéd their worke;
They wither in his sight and fall away,
Nor shall their Memorye any longer stay.
The Proud Man's soule shall perish, only he
Of humble Soule shall shine in Dignitie.
In Men Pride was not ever, neither hath
The weaker Sex beene still accite to Wrath.

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Children that feare God shall haue honour in
Their Daies; & such shall suffer in their Sin,
As doe reiect his Lawes; for as the place
Conferreth Honour, soe doth ever Grace.

Crownes flourish in the feare of God, Decline
Where Pride and Tyrranny doe madly Ioyne.
His feare is Glory to the Greatest Name,
Not less then to a Man of Obscure ffame.
Shall Povertie obscure an able Mind?
Or 'cause another's wealthy, shall he find
Honour and praise of Wisedome? he, a foole?
This can not stand to an Indifferent Soule.

The King, the Iudge, and the Gown'd Magistrate,
Are honourable, but there's none more Greate
Then he that fears God, Vnto Servitude.
Free-men, attend, if Gracious & Endued
With Knowledge. Hee who knowes will not disdaine
Councell; but fooles noe honour can attaine.
Necessity admits of noe delay,
Be resolute, though in a cumbrous way.
Better the Drudge, who in his Plenty stood,
Then the Gay man that wanteth for his food.
Let thy humility adorne thy Browes,
And thinke thy selfe noe better then thou knowes.
Who will account him iust that wrongs him selfe?
Or honour him who thrusts his Soule on Shelfe
Of Preiudice? The Poore, 'cause he is wise
Is honor'd; & the rich, Men will despise,
For what he has. How more then worthy hee

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Whose honour Shineth in his Povertie,
When he shall be of State! & how much more
Shall he be Abiect, when he is but Poore,
Whose wealth was all his vertue! Then his Name
Dyes with his story, perisheth as it came.

XI. Chap. xi.

Wisedome exalts the humble, gives him place
With Men of Honour. For the outward face
Let not a Man be praiséd, nor despise
A Man deforméd; for he may be wise;
For loe, the Bee, a despicable thing,
Almost the least of Creatures haveing wing,
Yet in her fruit most faithfull. Bee not thou
Proud of gay Rags, nor beare a haughty Brow,
When th' art in Place of honour; for alone
The workes of God are Glorious and vnknowne.
Tirants haue fal'n, & to possess the Throne,
Hee, from obscuritie, hath chosen One.
Great Men have fal'n to Shame, & he of Note
Hath beene deliver'd to a Stranger's vote.

Rashly blame noe man; but with mature heed,
Iudge and reforme it. Be not blindly led
To give thy vote ere the cause be full told;
And patiently heare both, nor hott, nor Cold;
Intrude not for a faction, or to raise
Vnheard of Doubts. What boots a sinfull praise?
Intend not diverse things. Shun busines
Almost at all; at least, hate the Excesse;

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For if thou profit, all thy gaines not gott,
Thou art corrupted, or at least soe thought;
Thou shalt not keepe thy Reputation free,
In Eyther way, to follow or to flee.

Those come of God, Attend vpon his breath:
Prosperous or adverse fortunes, Life or Death;
Riches & Povertie; Wisedome is his,
And the right vse of Sacred Knowledges.
Love & good-Workes of him are precedent,
Error & Darknes Sinners circumvent;
And they that Magnifie their follies done
Wax Gray in Sin, past all recurement gone.
The Iust inherite blessings, which shall be
Vpon thy house, to all Posteritye.
Some Man is rich by his owne Miserie,
And that's the wages he shall ever see;
In that he wanteth it his owne acquist,
Nor thinketh further; ffond Man! whither is't
Sin drives thy Soule? Behold the Time is nere,
That thou must leave it All; thou knowest not where,
Nor less, to whom. Feare God, & entertaine
Thy Age in a good Worke, nor have a vaine
Inquisitive Eye to others; what they Doe
'Tis not at all to thee; but Iustly goe
In thy owne way. By the full hand of Heaven
Wealth to the needy suddainly is given.
The Iust shall prosper and shall live in Peace,
With an aboundant Store & large encrease.

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Be not then you too wise, in [vanitye]
With heaven to say, what either shall it be,
Profit or Pleasure? what shall I expect,
Another day, gverdon to my respect?
I swim in Pleasure, I have wealth at will,
'Tis not in ffate, that I can suffer ill.

Ah, ffoole! collect thy selfe, & thinke there may
Darke Clouds of want invelope the bright Day.
Be not deiect in Miserie, for know
God can give succour, & can give it now.
In greatest need, the small time of an houre,
To Man, if but his fortunes seeme to lowre,
Is tedious; he falls beneath the Load,
But 'tis the End that Crown's the Labour Good.

Iudge noe Man happie till he be declin'd,
Then see and Iudge as he hath left behind;
In them he shall suruiue. Be Hospitable
But not to All; some Man is sociable
To get advantage on thee; in his breath
Rise many vapours, Noxious to the Death.
As secure Innocence, not dreading harme,
The Silly Partridge run's into the Charme
The fouler sett; or as the Hind is ta'ne
In the strong Toyle, soe waits the sinfull Man
To see thy fall; and laies his Machine at
Thy fame; and from thy worth doth derogate,
With feirce invectives. Sparkes ingender fire
And Shame encreaseth, thoe rais'd by a Lyar;
And he still aggravates. O, Son! beware

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And Shun the Wicked Man, who setts a snare
How to surprise thee; if too intimate
Thou with an Alien be, repent it late;
In his Seditions, in thy owne vnrest
And greife, to See him of thy state Possest.

XII. Chap. xii.

In Almes respect to whom, that a reward
May waite thy Charity. Be still prepar'd
To Succour the Iust Man; this shall accrue
To treble recompence, & find it's due;
Though not perhaps from him, it shall be giv'n,
(Heaven being engaged) by the hand of Heav'n.

What can of good come to the Waiward Man,
Practis'd in Mischeife? or what evill can
Be absent in Oppression? Let thy hand
Be stretcht to assist vertue; but withstand
The vrgencyes of Sinners. Help the Meeke;
And let the impious want of what they seeke.
Draw back thy willing hand, fraught wth an Almes,
Withold thy Charitie; (lost in the Calmes
Of Secure Innocence, thou safely rideing;
The gust of Sin, may Stir a Surly tiding,
In Seas pacificke) he will lye in waite,
For thy destruction; Quiet thy love with hate.

Give to the Good (such Almes are never vaine)
But let the Wicked aske, & not obtaine.
In the bright day of Plenty, every Man
Will be a freind; 'tis difficult to Scan

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Who truly are soe; but in the darke Cloud,
Of Adverse ffortunes' when as wants doe shrow'd
Men in the Mists of Povertie, 'twill be
Apparent Who's a freind, who Enimie.
For when a Man in Plenty is, then those
Maligne & grudge his fortune who are foes;
And in the Day, the black & Dismall Day,
Of Want and Miserie, hardly freinds will stay.

Be circumspect & Cautele to thy foe;
For like as Iron rusteth, Ev'n soe
His Soule is tainted, though he carry faire
In all deportments; yet (My Son) beware;
Be not too free to him, least he supplant
Thy Iust designes; let not him, Arrogant,
Sit on thy Right Hand, as pre-eminence;
And he, soe bladder'd, doe not spare offence,
To thy preiudice, & vsurpe what's thine;
And thou (too late) recall these words of mine,
Into thy Memory; & thy vext Soule
Find torture in thy rashnes. For what foole
Soe tender pitties, if the Charmer be
Stung by a Serpent? or the temer'tie
Of Such as, willing, will assault the Wild
Of furious Bruits, Although he should be kill'd?
Ev'n such a one is he, who doth attend
The Sinner in his waies; & shall he find
A Pittie more? Sinners south thee in Sin,
But they fall off, if ever thou begin
To shrinke the least. As Honey, or more sweet

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And melting, Are the words of ffraud & Spight,
But inwardly as Gall: his Eyes shall be
Stor'd wth false tears, in remorse of thee;
But if he find (what cannot Malice find!)
His opportunity to goe beyond
Thy honest reach, ought to thy preiudice;
Then, then, he falls, & blood will not Suffice.
Happ'ly in adverse fortunes, he will be
Pretending help, but plotting treacherie;
Then, in derision, will he shake his head,
And Clap his hands, Applauding what he did;
Whisper to thy dishonour, & his face
fforméd to revile thee, in thy owne disgrace.

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END OF VOL. II.