University of Virginia Library

POEMS Upon several Emergent Occasions.

The Progress of the Human Soul:

OR, The whole History of Man.

Man is that great Amphibium, which enrouls
Within himself a Trinity of Souls:
He runs through all Creations by degrees;
First, he is onely Matter on the Lees;
Whence he proceeds to be a Vegetal;
Next Sensitive; (and so Organical.)
Then, by Divine Infusion, a third Soul,
The Rational doth the two first controul:
But when this Soul comes in, and where she dwells,
Distinct from th' other, no Dissector tells.
Now, which no Creture els can say, that state
Makes her (by Grace) to be Regenerate.
She then becomes a Spirit: so at last
A Devil, or a Saint, when She hath cast
That clog of Flesh, which yet she takes again,
To perfect her Felicity or Pain.
Thus Man from first to last, is kin to all
Cretures, in Heav'n, in Earth, and Hells Black Hall.

A Speculation.

Of some Pious Meditations, when Prisoner for the King in the Fleet.

As Roses 'mong sharp Prickles grow,
As Crystal's got of Ice and Snow;
As Perls in muddy Muscels breed,
As Gold on barren'st earth doth feed;
As Diamonds in Craggs and Rocks,
As Ambar cruds 'twixt Neptune's shocks:
So 'mong those bleak Fleet-blasts which Fortune blew,
These calm mild strains of Meditations grew.

A Contemplation upon the shortness and shallowness of Human Knowledg.

A Prophetic Poem (partly accomplished) to his present Majesty then Prince, 1640.

A Parallel 'twixt his Highness and the Black Prince.

SIR,

Wales had one glorious Prince, for hair and hue
(Which colour sticks unto him still) like You.
He travell'd far; he won his Spurs in France;
And took the King, the King, O mighty chance!
Then his victorious Troops afresh he gethers;
And with the Gray-Goose wing his shafts new fethers.
He beats a march up the Pyreney Hills,
And the Cantabrian Clime with terror fills,
To re-inthrone Don Pedro Castills King;
Of which Heroick Act all Stories ring.
Your Royal Sire travell'd so far, and thay
Of all our Princes onely made that way.
Who knows, great Sir, but by just Destiny,
Your Bunch of youthful Plumes may further fly:
But, Faucon-like, you may with full summ'd wing
The Eagle cuff, and from his Talons wring
The Prey, or in exchange seize on his Ore,
And fix your Standard on the Indian Shore.
'Twas by a Charles, France once the Empire got:
'Twas by a Charles, Spain also drew that lot:
Why may not Britain challenge the next Call,
And by a Charles be made Imperial?

A Rapture upon Delia.

Of the tru Observation of Lent.

Now Lent is come, let us refrain
From Carnal Cretures quick or slain:
Let's curb, and macerat the Flesh;
Impound, and keep it in distress
For forty days, and then we shall
Have a Replevin from the thrall
By that bless'd Prince, who for this Fast
Will give us Angels food at last.
But to abstain from Beef, Hog, Goose,
And let our Appetites go loose
To Lobsters, Crabs, Prawns, or such Fish,
We do not Fast, but Feast in this.
Not to let down Lamb, Kid, or Veal;
Hen, Plover, Turkicock or Teal,
And eat Botargo, Caviar,
Anchoves, Oisters, and like fare:
Or to forbear from Flesh, Fowl, Fish,
And eat Potatoes in a Dish
Done o'er with Ambar, or a Mess
Of Ringos in a Spanish Dress:
Or to refrain from each hot thing
Which Water, Earth, or Air, doth bring;
And play a hundred pounds at Gleek;
Or be at Saunt when we shold sleep:
Or to leave play with all high Dishes,
And feed our thoughts with Wanton Wishes;
Making the Soul, like a Light Wench,
VVear Patches of Concupiscence.
This is not to keep Lent aright,
But play the Juggling Hypocrit.
He keeps Lent more, who tames the inward Man,
Then he, who makes the outward feed on Bran.

Before the History of Lewis the 13. (with his Cardinal Richlieu) called Lustra Ludovici.

HISTORIÆ SACRUM.

Before LONDINOPOLIS:

OR, A new History of London:

Parallell'd with the greatest Cities on Earth.

Of London-Bridge.

When Neptun from his Billows London spyde,
Brought proudly thither by a High spring Tyde,
As through a Floating Wood, he steer'd along,
And Dancing Castles cluster'd in a throng:
When he beheld a mighty Bridge give Law
Unto his Surges, and their fury aw:
When such a shelf of Cataracts did roar,
As if the Thames with Nile had chang'd her shoar:
VVhen he such massy Walls, such Tow'rs did eye,
Such Posts, such Irons upon his back to lye;
When such vast Arches he observ'd, that might
Nineteen Rialto's make for depth and height:
When the Cærulean God these things survay'd,
He shook his Trident, and astonish'd, said,
Let the whole Earth now all her Wonders count,
This Bridge of Wonders is the Paramount.

Before Bishop Andrews most holy Meditations and Prayers.

If ever any merited to be
The Universal Bishop, this was He.
Great Andrews, who the whole vast SEA did drain
Of Learning, and Distill'd it in his Brain.
These pious Drops are of the purest kind
That trickled from the Limbeck of his Mind.

Before that large and elaborat Work, called, The German Diet

Which, in many Princely Orations, displays
The Power and Weakness,
The Plenty and VVant,
The Antiquity and Modernness,
The Advantages and Defects,
The Glory and Reproche,
The Vertues and Vices,
of all the Countries of Christendome.

AXIOMA.

Black sidelong put, or standing opposite,
Doth use to add more lustre unto White.
A Perl shines brighter in a Negro's Ear:
Some Ladies look more fair who Patches wear:
So Vice, if counterplac'd, or seated near,
Makes Vertu show more lovely, strong, and clear.
This Book hath Vice and Vertu, White and Black:
'Tis like a Crystal-Glass foyld on the back:
'Tis like a Chessboard, (or an Ermins Skin)
Checker'd with two Extreams, both out and in.
It weighs and winnows good from bad, which any
Of Europes Kingdoms have, (and they have many.)
Now, if those purer Regions of the Sky,
Where ev'ry Star's a perfect Monarchy;
If the bright Moon, and glorious Sun above
Have Spots and Motes, as Optick Glasses prove;
How then can these gross earthly Regions be,
And We that peeple them, from taintures free?
This were for us to arrogat that Bliss
Which Adam could not keep in Paradis.

Before my Lord of Cherberry's History of King Hen. 8.

OF TRANSLATIONS, Upon rendring into English a choice Venetian Romance, called, EROMENA,

By Mr. James Howard.

Some hold Translations not unlike to be
The wrong-side of a Turky Tapistry,
Or Wines drawn off the Lees, which fill'd in flask,
Loose somewhat of the taste they had in Cask.
Tis tru, each Language hath an Idiome,
Which in another couch'd comes not so home.
Yet I nere saw a piece from Venice come
Had fewer Thrums set on our Country Lome.
This Wine is still one-ear'd, and brisk, though put
Out of Italian Cask, in English Butt.

Another.

[Fair Eromena in Italian tire]

Fair Eromena in Italian tire
I view'd, and lik'd her fashion wondrous well;
But in this English habit I admire
That still in Her the same good Grace doth dwell.
So have I seen Trans-Alpin Cions grow,
And bear rare fruit, remov'd to Thames from

The Dedication To Great Britain, of that Voluminous Work, Lexicon Tetraglotton:

OR, An English-French-Italian-Spanish DICTIONARY.

Renowned Albion, Natures choice delight,
Neptunes chief care, and Arsenal of might;
Who in thy Watry Orb dost sparkling lie,
As Cynthia shines in the Cærulean Skie:
Or, as a Tortoise in her Circling Shell,
Dost live secure within thy Rocky Cell
A World within thy self, fit to defend
Thine own, and fit no further to extend.
Yet with thy winged Coursers dost give Law
Unto the Ocean, and his Surges aw.
The Baltick Waves, and Hyperborean,
The vast Atlantik, Euxin, Indian;
The Adriatik, Tyrrhen, Hellespont,
The White, the Black, the Red, all Seas are wont
To do thee homage, and rich tributes bring
Unto thy Thames by way of Offering:
Which makes Civilians hold, That thy Sea-bound;
Reach to the Shores of all thy Neighbours round.
To Thee, Triumphant Isle, I do address
This Work of Oyl and Toyl: be Patroness
Of thy own Tongue, which here twixt Columns strong,
Throughout a massy Fabrick all along
Goes in the Van of Europes noblest Toungs,
Though they want somewhat of her Nerves and Lungs.

Of the Original of the English Toung, And her Association With the Italian, Spanish, and French, &c.

France , Italy and Spain, ye Sisters Three,
Whose Toungs are branches of the Latian Tree
To perfect your odd number be not shy
To take a Fourth to your Society
The high Teutonik Dialect, which bold
Hengistus with his Saxons brought of old
Among the Britains, when by Knife and Sword,
Of England he did first create the VVord.
Nor is 't a small advantage to admit
So Male a Speech to mix with You, and knit:
Who by her Consonants and tougher strains,
VVill bring more Arteries 'twixt your soft Vains:
For of all Toungs, Dutch hath most Nerves and Bones,
Except the Pole, who hurls his VVords like Stones.
Some fain, that when our Protoplastick Sire
Lost Paradis by a just kindled ire,
He in Italian tempted was, in French
He fell a begging Pardon, but from thence
He was thrust out in the high Teuton Toung
VVhence English, though much polish'd since, is sprung.
This Book is then an inlay'd Piece of Art;
English the Knots which strengthen ev'ry part.
Four Languages are here together fix'd:
Our Lemsters Ore with Naples Silk is mix'd.
The Loire, the Po, the Thames, and Tagus glide
All in one Bed, and kiss each others side.
The Alps and Pyrenean Mountains meet:
The Rose and Fowrdeluce hang in one street.
Nay, Spain &c Redcapt France a League here strike.
If 'twixt their Kings and Crowns there were the like,
Poor Europe should not bleed so fast, and call
Turbans at last unto her Funeral.

Before a great Volume of PROVERBS, In Five Languages.

The Peeples Voice, the Voice of God we call;
And what are Proverbs but the Peeples Voice
Coyn'd first, and current made by common choice:
Then sure they must have weight and truth withal.
They are a Publick Heritage, entail'd
On ev'ry Nation, or like Hirelomes nail'd,
VVhich pass from Sire to Son, and so from Son
Down to the Grandchild till the world be done.
They are Free-denizons by long descent,
VVithout the Grace of Prince or Parlement:
The truest Commoners, and inmate Guests;
We fetch them from the Nurse and Mothers breasts
They can Prescription plead 'gainst King or Crown,
And need no Affidavit but their own.
We thought it then well worth the pains and cost
To muster up these Ancients in one Host:
Which here like furbish'd Medals we present
To all that breathe in Christendom and Kent.

Of the strange vertu of VVords, Before The Great NOMENCLATURA;

Wherein are the proper Terms in four Languages belonging to Arts Mechanical and Liberal:

Upon the great Drammatical Work of B. and Fletcher, publish'd 1646.

What? Now the Stage is down, dar'st thou appear,
Bold Fletcher, on this tott'ring Hemisphear?
Yes; Poets are like Palms, which the more weight
One casts upon them, grow more strong & streight
'Tis not Joves Thunderbolt, or Mavors Spear,
Nor roaring Neptunes Trident Poets fear.
Had now Grim Ben been breathing, with what rage,
And high-swoln fury had he lash'd this Age?
Shakespear with Chapman had grown mad, and torn
The gentle Soc, and lofty Buskins worn
To make their Muse welter up to the Chin
In blood: Of fained Scœnes no need had bin
England, like Lucians Eagle, with an Arrow
Of her own Plumes piercing her heart quite thorow
Had been the Tragic Scœne, and subject fit
To exercise in real Truths their wit.
Yet, none like high-wing'd Fletcher had bin found
This Eagles dismal Destiny to sound:
Rare Fletchers Quill had soar'd up to the Sky,
And drawn down Gods to see the Tragedy.
Live, famous Drammatist, let evry Spring
Make thy Bay flourish, and fresh Bourgeons bring:
And since we cannot have Thee tread the Stage,
VVe will applaud Thee in thy silent Page.

To his late Majesty, at the Dedication unto Him of DODONAS GROVE,

OR The VOCAL FOREST:

Wherein there were many Prophetical Passages.

In times of yore, when Earth was yet but Clods,
Trees for their Gardians had no less then Gods:
Jove did protect the Oke, Bacchus the Vine;
Minerva said, The Olive shall be mine:
Venus the Myrtle for her Minion took;
Apollo would the Laurel overlook.
My Trees need no such Patrons; one mild glance
Of Cæsars eye, will best their Buds advance.

To Prince Charles, (now King.)

To correspond now with the Verdant Spring,
And your Green yeers, the Top-branch of a King,
A Bud shot from the Rose and Flower-de-Luce,
The best of stems Earth yet did e'er produce;
VVhat Present can I bring that more agrees
Both with the season, and your yeers, then Trees
They soon will cast their leafs, and Autumn find,
But may You shed nor leafs, nor blooms, nor rind,
Till muff'd with hoary Moss, you do behold
Fair Cions from your self grow tall and old.

Before the VOCAL FOREST, To the knowing Reader, Touching the Progress of Learning.

To the Common Reader.

To the Critical Reader.

If Satyres here you find, think it not strange;
'Tis proper Satyres in the Woods should range:
And for free Speech, why may not Verse or Prose
Sit under Trees as safely as the Rose?
Yet here is nothing, though a Grand Inquest
You should Empannel, but may bide the Test:
For Petty Juries, let the Reader know,
Composures of this kind stoop not so low.

Touching the Vertu and Use Of Familiar Letters.

To the Sagacious Reader.

As Keys do open Chests,
So Letters open Brests.

Upon a Rare and Recent Persian TRAGY-HISTORY.

1655.

Nor is it Europe onely that doth breed
Such Monsters, but the Asian Regions feed
As bad; witness this Persian Tragedy,
Compil'd with so much Art and Energy:
As if the Soul of Ben, of Pond'rous Ben,
Did move in you, and guide both Brain and Pen:
You make the Actors with such passion speak,
As if the very Lines with Blood did reak.
Go on, brave Spark, improve thy Talent still,
And gain more ground on the Pierian Hill.

An Elegie upon EDWARD late Earl of Dorset, 1651.

Who died about the time of voting down the House of PEERS.

An EPITHALAMIUM Upon the Nuptials of that Princely Pair, Henry Lo. Marquiss of Dorchester, And the Lady Katherine, Daughter to the late Heroik Earl of Darby:

In a Dialog Twixt Philemon and Sylvius.

Philemon.

Sylvius.
She is a Princess and a Bride
Goes to the Temple to be tide
In Nuptial Bonds; Her Stars will not permit
That at the Vestal fires she longer sit.
She's Derby's Royal Blood, Derby le Gran,
And now she travels to the Ile of Man.
She of the Princely Orenge is a Branch,
Imp'd on the high Trimouillan stem of France,
Two of the fairest Kingdoms strove, and tride
Their utmost to compleat this lovely Bride.
'Tis She which makes 'twixt Gems and Gold
That Constellation you behold.

Philemon.
But who's that comely Sanguin Peer
Which on her heart-side walks so neer?
He likewise makes all Argent as he goes:
Look at his feet how thick the Cinqfoyl grows.

Sylvius.
'Tis wise and wealthy Pierrpoint, who renowns
With Titles three of Englands chiefest Towns:
A precious Pond'rous Lord, whose sole Estate
A Jury of new Barons might create,
Patron of Vertu, Chivalry and Arts,
Cause he himself excels in all these parts.
'Tis he who by the hand doth hold
That Demi-Goddess you behold.

Philemon.
Is't so? then my Autumnal Muse shall sing
An Hymenæum, and fetch back her Spring
This subject a fresh vigor doth inspire,
And heats my brain with an unusual fire.

An HYMENÆUM,

Or Bridal-Sonet:

Consisting of four Stanzas, and to be sung by three Voyces, according to a choice Air set thereupon, By Mr. Will. Webb.

A Poem Heroique,

Presented to his late Majesty for a New-years-Gift.

The Worlds All-lightning Ey had now begun
Through watry Capricorn his course to run:
Old Janus hastned on, his Temples bound
With Ivy, his gray hairs with Holly crown'd,
When in a serious quest my Thoughts did muse
What Gift, as best becoming, I should chuse
To Britains Monarch (my dread Soveraign)
Which might supply a New-years Offering;
I rummag'd all my stores, search'd all my Cells,
Where nought appear'd, God wot, but Bagatelles,
No far-fetch'd Indian Gem cut out of Rock,
Or fish'd in shells were trusted under lock:
No piece which Angelo's strong fancy hit,
Or Titians Pensil, or rare Hylliards Wit:
No Ermins, or black Sables, no such skins
As the grim Tartar hunts, or takes in gins;
No Medals, or rich stuff of Tyrian Dy;
No costly Bowls of frosted Argentry:
No curious Land-skip, or some Marble Piece
Digg'd up in Delphos, or els-where in Greece.
No Roman Perfumes, Buffs or Cordovans
Suppled with Amber by Moreno's hands:
No Arras or rich Carpets freighted ore
The Surging Seas from Asia's doubtful shore.
No Lyons Cub, or Beast of strange Aspect,
Which in Numidia's fiery Womb had slept.
No old Toledo Blades, or Damaskins;
No Pistols, or some rare-spring'd Carrabins.
No Spanish Ginet, or choice Stallion sent
From Naples, or hot Africs Continent.
In fine, I nothing found I could descry
Worthy the hands of Cæsar or his Ey.
My Wits were at a stand, when lo, my Muse
(None of the Quire, but such as they do use
For Laundresses or Handmaids of mean rank,
I knew sometimes on Po and Isis Bank)
Did softly Buz,—
Muse.
—Then let Me something bring
May hansel the New-year to Charles my King,
May usher in bifronted Janus.

Poet.
Thou fond fool-hardy Muse, thou silly thing
Which 'mongst the Shrubs & Reeds dost use to sing,
Dar'st thou perk up, and the tall Cedar clime,
And venture on a King with gingling Rime?
Though all thy Words wer Perls, and Letters Gold,
And cut in Rubies, or cast in a mould
Of Diamonds, yet still thy Lines would be
Too mean a Gift for such a Majesty.

Muse.

Poet.

Before The History of NAPLES, Called, PARTHENOPE,

Or, The Virgin-City.

Of the most curious Gardens, Groves, Mounts, Arbours, &c. Contriv'd, and lately made by The Lord Vicount Killmorry, At Dutton-Hall in Cheshire.

A Prosopopœia to Cheshire.

Before that Exquisit large Peece, A Survay Of the City and Signory of Venice.

A Fit of MORTIFICATION.

A Lovers Protestation.

First shall the Heavens bright Lamp forget to shine,
The Stars shall from the Azur'd Sky decline:
First shall the Orient with the West shake hand,
The Centre of the World shall cease to stand:
First Wolves shall ligue with Lambs, the Dolphins fly,
The Lawyer and Physitian Fees deny:
The Thames with Tagus shall exchange her bed,
My Mistriss locks with mine shall first turn red:
First Heaven shall lie below, and Hell above,
Ere I inconstant to my Delia prove.

Upon Himself, having been buried alive for many years in the Prison of the Fleet,

By the State or Long Parliament For his Loyalty.

Here lies intomb'd a Walking Thing,
Whom Fortune, with the State did fling
Between these Walls. Why? Ask not that;
They both being blind, know not for what.

A Gradual Hymn of a double cadence, tending to the Honour of the Holy Name of God.

Upon a Beutiful Valentine.

A Sonnet.

Upon Black Eyes, and Becoming Frowns.

A Sonnet.

Upon Clorinda's Mask.

So have I seen the Sun in his full pride
Ore-cast with sullen Clouds, and loose his light:
So have I seen the brightest Stars denide
To shew their lustre in some gloomy Night:
So Angels pictures have I seen vail'd ore,
That more devoutly men should them adore:
So with a Mask I saw Clorinda hide
Her face more bright then was the Lemnian Bride.

Upon Dr. Davies British-Grammar.

Upon Christmas-Day.

Upon my Honoured Friend and F. Mr. Ben. Johnson.

For the admitting Mistriss Anne King to be the tenth Muse.

Ladies of Helicon, do not repine
I add one more unto your Number Nine
To make it even: I among you bring
No meaner then the Daughter of a King;
Fair Basil-Ana: quickly pass your voice,
I know Apollo will approve the choice,
And gladly her install, for I could name
Some of less merit Goddesses became.

A Hymn to the Blessed Trinity.

A short Ejaculation.

A Hymn of Mortification.

A Holy RAPTURE.

An EJACULATION To my CREATOR.

Upon a Fit of DISCONSOLATION, or Despondency of Spirit.

Upon the most Noble Work of the Lo. Mar. of Winchester,

By rendring the French Gallery of Ladies into English.

Upon the untimely Death of the Lord Fra. Villars,

Kill'd neer Kingston upon Thames.

Here lies a Noble Posthumus inhum'd,
VVhose youthful breath that Sanguin Field perfum'd
Where while his heart with Martial flames did swell,
Among a Cru of Cannibals he fell.
Such a hard Destiny did post from hence
His gallant Sire, yet with this difference:
One Assassin fell'd him, but this brave Spray
Base Rebels in whole throngs did rend away.

Upon the Holy Sacrament.

A Divine EJACULATION.

Of the Scene, and ingenious Composure of a Florentine Tragi-Comedy.

Florence 'mong Cities bears the name of Fair
For Streets and stately Structures, Site & Air:
A City, as a late Historian says,
Fit onely to be seen on Holy-days.
She breeds great Wits for high attempts and trust,
Though often bent on black Revenge and Lust,
We know the purest Streams have woose and slime,
So Vices mix with Vertu in this Clime;
And there are store of Stories in that kind,
Which as I write, come crowding to my mind:
But this of yours will serve for all, which is
Compil'd with so much Art, that doubtful 'tis
VVhether the Toscan Actors shew'd more Wit
In plotting, as You did in penning it.

Upon the Poems of Dr. Aylet,

An Ancient Master of the Chancery.

The Description of a Morning Expergefaction,

After an unusual Dream or Vision.
1656.

So Rest to Motion, Night to Day doth yeild,
Silence to Noise, the Stars do quit the Field,
My Cinq Ports all fly ope, the Phantasie
Gives way to outward Objects, Ear and Eye
Resume their Office, so doth Hand and Lip;
I hear the Carmans Wheel, the Coachmans Whip.
The Prentice (with my sense) his Shop unlocks,
The Milk-maid seeks her Pail, Porters their frocks;
All cries and sounds return, except one thing
I hear no Bell for Mattins Toll or Ring.
Being thus awak'd, and staring on the light
Which silver'd all my face and glaring sight,
I clos'd my eyes again, to recollect
What I had dreamt, and make my thoughts reflect
Upon themselves, which here I do expose
To evry knowing Soul: and may all those
(Whose Brains Apollo with his gentle Ray
Hath moulded of a more refined Clay)
That read this Dream, thereby such Profit reap
As I did Plesure; Then they have It cheap.

To Mrs. E. B. Upon a sudden SURPRISAL.

A Pelles , Prince of Painters, did
All others in that Art exceed:
But You surpass him, for He took
Some Pains and Time to draw a Look;
You in a trice and moments space,
Have Pourtray'd in my Heart your Face.

Upon the Nativity of our Saviour, Christmas-Day.

To my Dear Mother, The University of Oxford,

Before Mr. Cartwrights Poems Of CHRIST-CHURCH.

1650.

Alma Mater,

Upon a Cupboard of Venice-Glasses, sent for a New-years-gift to a choice Lady.

Madame,

A Passionat ELEGIE Upon His Long-endeared Friend, Daniel Caldwal Esq

An ELEGIE Upon his Tomb in Horndon-Hill Church, Erected by his Wife, Who speaks

Take , Gentle Marble to thy trust,
And keep untouch'd this sacred Dust:
Grow moist sometimes, that I may see
Thou weep'st in sympathy with Me;
And when by Him I here shall sleep,
My Ashes also safely keep,
And from rude Hands preserve Us Both, until
We rise to Sion Mount from Horndon-Hill.

Sent with a Prayer-Book to a Pious Lady.

Madame,

What I by way of Token send, you may
By way of Sacrifice to Heav'n convay,
And to an Off'ring turn my Gift, more dear
To God then Piles of Frankincense and Myrr.
But when for Others you to Him direct
Your Prayers, let your thoughts sometimes reflect

To DELIA.

About the light as the poor Fly
Doth flutter and approach so nigh,
Till up and down as she still skips,
Her Lawny Wings with fire she clips:
So my Affection bout the Eyes
Of Heart-inflaming Delia flyes;
Till Phœnix-like they into Ashes burn,
And new Affections still rise from their Urn.

A sudden SPECULATION Beyond the Seas.

Although my Body many thousand mile
Be distant from sweet Albions Woolly Ile,
Yet neither Land nor Sea, nor Air nor Wind,
Nor Heav'n it self, can keep from thence my Mind;
But that each moment of the fleeting day,
My Thoughts to England may Themselfs convay.

Of Female Hypocrisie, In a short Dialog twixt Dion and Thyrsis.

Dion.
Thyrsis , I stand amaz'd how Nature could
Compose a Fabrick of so rich a mould,
That outwardly looks like a Seraphin,
But a Megera if you pry within.

Thyrsis.
Whom mean you, Dion, that you thus descry
By such gross taintures of Hypocrisie?
For hence you must infer that Nature's blind,
Or els she must be partial in her kind.

Dion.

Thyrsis.
Is't possible so fair a Bark shold hide
So black a Trunk, or so much Ill shold bide
In such Seraphik Beuties? Shells of Gold,
Can they within such rotten Kernels hold?
Can in smooth gliding streams Carybdies dwell?
Or in one place cohabit Heav'n and Hell?
Can Livia be so beuteous to th' Eyes,
And lodg within such foul deformities?

Dion.
'Tis so: whence I infer how tru I find,
No trust is to be put in Woman-kind.

Of some, Who blending their Brains together, plotted how to bespatter one of the Muses choicest Sons and Servants,

Sir Will. Davenant, Knight and Poet.

Poets like Princes may denounce a War,
They may like Common Mortals clash and jar,
Turn privat Feuds to publick, and asperse
(Justly sometimes) each others Muse and Verse.
But whoso blurs Davenants Heroick strains
Do shew more Gall in Brest, then Wit in Brains:
Their Sculls are like a Siringe cramm'd with Dirt,
Which as they on some Marble Pillar spirt,
Bounds on their grinning Faces back again,
So doth Themselfs more then the Marble stain.

Upon Mr. Cleveland.

Upon Dr. Howel, Lord Bishop of Bristol, Who died a little after the putting down of Episcopacy.

Before the Second Part Of DODONAS GROVE.

From the pure Air of Greece, the ancient Nource
Of Learning, and Philosophy's chief Source,
Dodona sends her Trees to re-salute
The Queen of Iles; they all this while stood mute,
And muffled in a close unlucky Fog,
That the whole Grove appear'd like one great Log.
VVhen a fresh Breeze did Blow, and re-inspire
Their Leafs with Language like an Orphean Lyre,
To tell the gazing world what a dire stroke,
Or fatal clap of Thunder crush'd the Oke;
How all the Shrubs grew Wood, and strangely mad,
As if some Hemlock them intoxed had:
And how the Thistle that Blue round-top'd Weed
Did by his prickles all these mischiefs breed.
If in this Bleaker Air Dodona finds
To nip her Buds any Malignant Winds,
She quickly can transplant without despair,
To shoot Her blossoms in some gentler Air.

The Conclusion of the Second Part Of DODONAS GROVE.

Thus far have we pursu'd the doubtful Fate
Of the Druinian Oke, and tott'ring State,
When the first Northern Blasts upon him blew,
Which such a world of mischiefs with them drew.
Dodona next shall trembling tell
VVhat a sad period Him befel;
How, to Mankinds eternal wonder,
His Trunk from top was cleft asunder.
VVhence Kings may learn, that by this Blow,
They are made All Plebeans now.

To my most Endeared R. Altham, Esq

Rare Youth, I stand astonish'd at thy wit,
So quaint, so pregnant, and so full of sp'rit;
As if the Thespian Dames for a new Mate,
Another young Apollo would create.
Those few Castalian drops which once I drank
At Aganippes honey-suckled bank,
Are now exhausted much by long disuse;
By cares and cumbers, Travels far, my Muse
Is dull'd, but yours more ripe, and perfect grows,
Now yours doth Knot, now your Invention flows.
O how those Golden days did sweetly shine,
VVhen Contubernal Love did us combine!
VVhen with encircling Arms I fast would keep,
And with old Stories lull us both asleep.
But that tim's past, and passeth still, that Time
VVold scarce permit Me to make up my Rime.

Upon A New-fashion'd Table-Book, Sent Him for a Token from Amsterdam.

Suppose this Book the Table be
Of a cleer Heart engag'd to Thee,
Wherein could I so pithy prove,
As write the story of our Love;
Within each Leaf I wold infold
The brightest Characters of Gold.
But how can such large Matter be
Couch'd in so streight a room by Me?
Unless I had His Art who put
Great Honters Iliads in a Nut.

Upon EASTER-DAY.

Hail, Holy Morn, the Morn that made appear
Two Suns at once above this Hemisphear:
One, the Great Eye of the low world, so bright,
That it gives evry thing both Heat and Light;
Th' Other transcending Him in Light so far
As He excels any inferior Star:
The Sun of Righteousness; He who displays
Upon the inward man his Heav'nly Rays.
O that those Rays wold on my Soul reflect
By the bless'd influence of his Aspect,
To penetrate the centre of my Heart,
And thence exhale all the Terrestrial Part.

A PARALLEL Twixt Angels and Men.

To my choice, and most endeared Friend, Mr. R. A.

In answer to a Poem of His.

Upon this rare Erotique Subject, The Master-piece of Love,

As Perl mong Gems, so mong the Passions Love
Excels, and in the highest Orb doth move,
Her Sisters Faith and Hope attend us here,
While through frail Elements our course we steer:
But Love soars with the Soul beyond the Sky,
Being Imp'd in Her to all Eternity.
But what was here a Passion that did burn,
And cool by fits, shall there be fix'd, and turn
To an Angelik Nature ever free
From all such humours of inconstancy.
This Author doth that Passion so display,
And in such high Ideas, that He may
Stand to be Chair-man, and so sit above
The Common Masters in the School of Love.

To his worthy Friend, Mr. Wallan,

Upon the View of his ASTRÆA.

May great Apollo, and his charming Quire
Of Girls nere more my Brain inspire:
May I nere fetch more Naps on Parnasse Mount,
Or drink one drop of the Castalian Fount,
If with Astræa I am not so grown
In love, that I could wish she were mine own.

A Pregnant Vow For a safe and seasonable Delivery To The Excellent Lady, the Lady KATHERINE, Marchioness of Dorchester.

To Lucina.

Upon his Majesties Return, With the Dukes of York and Glocester.

Before ΟΗΡΟΑΟΓΙΑ.

Or, The Parly of Beasts. 1658.

An Eucharistical Rapture, With A Gradual Hymn to the Heavenly Hierarchy.

Upon the Exquisit Romance of the Bishop of Bellay, Made English out of the French, By Serjeant-Major John Wright

My Wit lay fallow, and my teeming Brain
Thought to repose a while from any strain
Of Poetizing, till the Air of France
Rowz'd up my Fancy by this new Romance;
Which for variety, for substance, sence,
For rich Invention, and neat Eloquence,
And now in point of Version may compare
With any of this kind though nere so rare.
Original and Coppy co-excel,
The Prelat and the Souldier share the Bell:
In Toung they differ, but for Mind and Will
They faithful are to one another still.
By this I find, which men do seldome see,
The Mitre with the Helmet may agree.

To Mr. Math. Johnson,

Upon his Version of Pyrander.

If this Trage-Comedy in England chance
To find such welcome as it did in France,
Twill highly be esteem'd; nor do I see
But it may look for like Civility:
For, neither Prose nor Verse have lost, but won
In point of strength by this Traduction.
So have I known brisk Gascon wines brought ore,
And drink far better on our English shore.

Upon Mr. Benlowes Divine Theophila.

Poets have diffring Fires, some spend their stock
On the grave Buskin, or the merry Sock:
Others by Lyrik feet do gently steal
Into a Ladies bosome: Others deal
With Wars, and sing of stout adventrous Knights,
Of their high Trophies, hardy Feats and Fights:
Some feed their Fancies on th' Arcadian Plains,
And prostitut their Muse to silly Swains,
All these do creep on Earth and if perchance
They for to Sea, further they not advance.
But thy Diviner Muse mounts to the Skies,
And Heaven fills with holy Rapsodies,
Fit to make Hymns for the Cœlestial Quire,
And Angels with their Melody inspire.

On Doctor Charletons learned Piece, by proving that Stone-henge is a Danish-Monument,

In his New Survay.

Tis hard to cleer Old Truths, but to unmask
An Old-grown Errour, is a greater Task:
This You have done, and undeceiv'd Mankind
Of an Opinion kept us long so blind.
Wherefore in this Survay by just Extent
You have made Stone-benge your own Monument.

Of Mrs. Diana Bill,

Born and Baptiz'd lately in Cane-wood, hard by High-gate.

Upon Her Majesties 31 days sayling from Lisbon to England.

Great Britains Queen launching into the Deep,
From Tagus to the Thames her Court to keep,
Neptun and Eolus, as they joyntly strove
To do Her Homage, fell so far in love
VVith Her Seraphic countenance and grace,
That They so long kept Her in their Embrace.
Another Cause might be why Heav'n did please
She shold so long stay steering on the Seas,
That coming to be Queen of that great King
To whom so many Seas Allegeance bring,
She might some skill in Navigation gain,
And learn with Him how to command the Main.

Upon the Posthume-Poems of Mr. Lovelace.

The Rose with other fragrant flowrs smell best
VVhen they are pluck'd, and worn in Hand or Brest;
So this fair Flowr of Vertu, this rare Bud
Of Wit, smells now as fresh as when he stood,
And in these Posthume-Poems lets us know
That he upon the banks of Helicon did grow,
The beuty of his Soul did correspond
With his fair outside, if not go beyond.
Lovelace the Minion of the Thespian Dames,
Apollo's Darling born with Enthean flames,
VVhich in his Numbers wave, and shine so cleer,
As sparks refracted from rich Gems appeer
Such sparks that with their Atoms may inspire
The Reader with a pure Poetik fire.

Upon the Gran Climacterik Year—63.

He who nine seven in seven nine years
Upon his stooping sholders bears,
When ore his head the glorious Sun
About the world his course hath run
Sixty three times, and on that score
Hath felt eight hundred Moons and more;
'Tis time, high time that He shold ply
The Art of Learning how to Die,
And think all Sounds his Passing-Bell,
To bid the Lower World Farewel.

[_]

Alia Desunt.