The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Works of Mr Abraham Cowley

Consisting of Those which were formerly Printed: And Those which he Design'd for the Press, Now Published out of the Authors Original Copies ... The Text Edited by A. R. Waller

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667)

A DISCOURSE By way of VISION, Concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell.

Several Discourses by way of Essays, in Verse and Prose.

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APPENDIX.

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—fit surculus Arbor.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE AND RIGHT REVEREND FATHER IN GOD, JOHN LORD BISHOP OF LINCOLNE AND DEANE OF WESTMINSTER

To his deare Friend and Schoole-fellow Abraham Cowley, on his flourishing and hopefull Blossomes.

Nature we say decayes, because our Age
Is worse then were the Times of old: The Stage
And Histories the former times declare:
In these our latter Dayes what defects are
Experience teacheth, What then? shall wee blame
Nature for this? Not so; let us declame
Rather against our Selves: 'tis we Decay,
Not She: Shee is the same every way
She was at first. Cowley, thou prov'st this truth.
Could ever former Age brag of a Youth
So forward at these yeeres? Could Naso write
Thus young such wittie Poems? Tulli's mite
Of Eloquence, at this age was not seene.
Nor yet was Cato's Judgement, at Thirteene
So great as thine. Suppose it were so; yet
He Cic'ro's Eloquence, Tully the Wit
Of Ovid wanted: Ovid too came farre
In Judgement behind Cato. Therefore are
None of all equall unto Thee, so pretty,
So Eloquent, Judicious, and Witty.
Let the world's spring time but produce and show
Such Blossomes as thy Writings are, and know,
Then (not till then) shall my opinion be,
That it is Nature faileth, and not wee.

Ben. Masters.

To his Friend and Schoole-fellow Abraham Cowley, on his Poeticall Blossomes.

Many , when Youths of tender Age they see
Expressing Cato, in their Gravity,
Judgement, and Wit, will oftentimes report,
They thinke their thread of Life exceeding short.
But my opinion is not so of Thee,
For thou shalt live, to all Posterity.
These gifts will never let thee dye, for Death
Can not bereave thee of thy fame, though breath.
Let snarling Criticks spend their braines to find
A fault, though there be none; This is my mind;
Let him that carpeth with his vipers Tongue,
Thinke with himselfe what he could doe as young.
But if the Springing Blossomes, thus rare bee,
What ripen'd Fruit shall we bereafter see?

Rob. Meade, Condiscipulus.

To the Reader.

I

I call'd the buskin'd Muse Melpomene,
And told her what sad Story I would write:
Shee wept at hearing such a Tragedie,
Though wont in mournefull Ditties to delight.
If thou dislike these sorrowfull lines; Then know
My Muse with teares, not with Conceits did flow.

II

And as shee my unabler quill did guide,
Her briny teares did on the paper fall,
If then unequall numbers bee espied,
Oh Reader! doe not that my error call,
But thinke her teares defac't it, and blame then
My Muses griefe, and not my missing Pen.

Abraham Cowley.

CONSTANTIA AND PHILETUS.

1

I sing two constant Lovers various fate,
The hopes, and feares which equally attend
Their loves: Their rivals envie, Parents hate;
I sing their sorrowfull life, and tragicke end.
Assist me this sad story to rehearse
You Gods, and be propitious to my verse.

2

In Florence, for her stately buildings fam'd,
And lofty roofes that emulate the skie;
There dwelt a lovely Mayd Constantia nam'd
Renown'd, as mirrour of all Italy.
Her lavish nature did at first adorne,
With Pallas soule in Cytherea's forme.

3

And framing her attractive eyes so bright,
Spent all her wit in studie, that they might
Keepe th'earth from Chaos, and eternall night;
But envious Death destroy'd their glorious light.
Expect not beauty then, since shee did part;
For in her Nature wasted all her Art.

4

Her hayre was brighter then the beams which are
A Crowne to Phœbus, and her breath so sweet,
It did transcend Arabian odours farre,
Or th'smelling Flowers, wherewith the Spring doth greet
Approaching Summer, teeth like falling snow
For white, were placed in a double row.

5

Her wit excell'd all praise, all admiration,
And speech was so attractive it might be
A meanes to cause great Pallas indignation,
And raise an envie from that Deity.
The mayden Lillyes at her lovely sight
Waxt pale with envie, and from thence grew white.

6

She was in birth and parentage as high
As in her fortune great, or beauty rare,
And to her vertuous mindes nobility
The gifts of Fate and Nature doubled were;
That in her spotlesse Soule, and lovely Face
Thou might'st have seene each Deity and grace.

7

The scornefull Boy Adonis viewing her
Would Venus still despise, yet her desire,
Each who but saw, was a Competitor
And rivall, scorcht alike with Cupid's fire.
The glorious beames of her fayre Eyes did move,
And light beholders on their way to Love.

8

Amongst her many Sutors a young Knight
Bove others wounded with the Majesty
Of her faire presence, presseth most in sight;
Yet seldome his desire can satisfie
With that blest object, or her rarenesse see;
For Beauties guard, is watchfull Jealousie.

9

Oft-times that he might see his Dearest-faire,
Vpon his stately Jennet he in th'way
Rides by her house, who neigh's, as if he were
Proud to be view'd by bright Constantia.
But his poore Master though to see her move
His joy, dares show no looke betraying love.

10

Soone as the morne peep'd from her rosie bed
And all Heavens smaller lights expulsed were:
She by her friends and neere acquaintance led
Like other Maids oft walk't to take the ayre;
Aurora blusht at such a sight unknowne,
To see those cheekes were redder then her owne.

11

Th'obsequious Lover follows still her traine
And where they goe, that way his journey feines.
Should they turne backe, he would turne backe againe;
For where his Love, his businesse there remaines.
Nor is it strange hee should be loath to part
From her, since shee had stolne away his heart.

12

Philetus hee was call'd sprung from a race
Of Noble ancestors; But greedy Time
And envious Fate had labour'd to deface
The glory which in his great Stocke did shine;
His state but small, so Fortune did decree,
But Love being blind, hee that could never see.

13

Yet he by chance had hit his heart aright,
And on Constantia's eye his Arrow whet,
Had blowne the Fire, that would destroy him quite,
Unlesse his flames might like in her beget:
But yet he feares, because he blinded is,
Though he have shot him right, her heart hee'l misse.

14

Unto Loves Altar therefore hee repayers,
And offers there a pleasing Sacrifice;
Intreating Cupid with inducing Prayers,
To looke upon, and ease his Miseries:
Where having wept, recovering breath againe,
Thus to immortall Love he did complaine:

15

Oh Cupid! thou whose uncontrolled sway,
Hath oft-times rul'd the Olympian Thunderer,
Whom all Cœlestiall Deities obey,
Whom Men and Gods both reverence and feare!
Oh force Constantias heart to yeeld to Love,
Of all thy Workes the Master piece 'twill prove.

16

And let me not Affection vainely spend,
But kindle flames in her, like those in me;
Yet if that guift my Fortune doth transcend,
Grant that her charming Beauty I may see:
And view those Eyes which with their ravishing light,
Doe onely give contentment to my sight.

17

Those who contemne thy sacred Deity,
And mocke thy power, let them thine anger know,
I faultlesse am, nor can't an honour be
To wound your slave alone, and spare your Foe.
Here teares and sighes speake his imperfect mone,
In language farre more dolorous than his owne.

18

Home he retyr'd, his Soule he brought not home,
Just like a Ship whil'st every mounting wave
Tost by enraged Boreas up and downe,
Threatens the Mariner with a gaping grave;
Such did his case, such did his state appeare,
Alike distracted betweene hope and feare.

19

Thinking her love hee never shall obtaine,
One morne he goes to th'Woods, and doth complaine
Of his unhappy Fate, but all in vaine,
And thus fond Eccho, answers him againe.
So that it seemes Aurora wept to heare,
For th'verdant grasse was dew'd with many a teare.

THE ECCHO.

1

Oh! what hath caus'd my killing miseries?
Eyes, Eccho said, What hath detain'd my ease?
Ease, straight the resonable Nymph replyes,
That nothing can my troubled minde appease:
Peace, Eccho answers. What, is any nigh?
Quoth be: at which, she quickly utters, I.

2

Is't Eccho answers? tell mee then thy will:
I will, shee said. What shall I get (quoth he)
By loving still? to which she answers, ill.
Ill? shall I void of wisht for pleasure dye?
I; shall not I who toyle in ceaselesse paine,
Some pleasure know? no, she replyes againe.

3

False and inconstant Nymph, thou lyest (quoth he)
Thou lyest, shee said, And I deserv'd her hate,
If I should thee beleeve; beleeve, (saith shee)
For why thy idle words are of no weight.
Weigh it (shee replyes) I therefore will depart.
To which, resounding Eccho answers; part.

20

Then from the Woods with wounded heart he goes,
Filling with legions of fresh thoughts his minde.
He quarrels with himselfe because his woes
Spring from himselfe, yet can no medicine finde:
Hee weepes to quench the fires that burn in him,
But teares doe fall to th'earth, flames are within.

21

No morning banisht darkenesse, nor blacke night
By her alternate course expuls'd the day,
Which in Philetus by a constant rite
At Cupids Altars did not weepe and pray;
And yet had reaped nought for all his paine
But Care and Sorrow, that was all his gaine.

22

But now at last the pitying God, o'recome
By's constant votes and teares, fixt in her heart
A golden shaft, and she is now become
A suppliant to Love that with like Dart
Hee'd wound Philetus, and doth now implore
With teares, ayde from that power she scorn'd before.

23

Little she thinkes she kept Philetus heart
In her schortcht breast, because her owne she gave
To him. Since either suffers equall smart,
And alike measure in their torments have:
His Soule, his griefe, his fires, now hers are growne:
Her heart, her minde, her love is his alone.

24

Whilst thoughts 'gainst thoughts rise up in mutinie,
Shee took a Lute (being farre from any eares)
And tun'd this Song, posing that harmony
Which Poets wit attributes to the Sphears:
Whose ravishing Notes, if when her Love was slaine
She had sung; from Styx t'had cald him backe againe.

The Song.

1

To whom shall I my Sorrowes show?
Not to Love, for he is blinde:
And my Philetus doth not know
The inward sorrow of my minde.
And all the senceless walls which are
Now round about me, cannot heare.

2

For if they could, they sure would weepe,
And with my griefes relent:
Unlesse their willing teares they keepe,
Till I from th'earth am sent.
Then I beleeve they'l all deplore
My fate, since I them taught before.

3

I willingly would weepe my store,
If the'floud would land thy Love,
My deare Philetus on the shoare
Of my heart; but shouldst thou prove
Afeard of flames, know the fires are
But bonefires for thy comming there.

25

Then teares in envie of her speech did flow
From her faire eyes, as if it seem'd that there
Her burning flame had melted hills of snow,
And so dissol'vd them into many a teare;
Which Nilus like, did quickly over-flow,
And caused soone new serpent griefes to grow.

26

Heere stay my Muse, for if I should recite,
Her mournefull Language, I should make you weepe
Like her a floud, and so not see to write,
Such lines as I and th'age requires to keepe
Mee from sterne death, or with victorious rime,
Revenge their Masters death, and conquer time.

27

By this time, chance and his owne industry
Had helpt Philetus forward, that he grew
Acquainted with her Brother, so that he,
Might by this meanes, his bright Constantia view:
And as time serv'd shew her his miserie:
And this was the first Act in's Tragedie.

28

Thus to himselfe sooth'd by his flattering state,
He said; How shall I thanke thee for this gaine,
O Cupid, or reward my helping Fate,
Which sweetens all my sorrowes, all my paine;
What Husband-man would any sweet refuse,
To reape at last such fruit, his labours use?

29

But waighing straight his doubtfull state aright,
Seeing his griefes linkt like an endlesse chaine
To following woes, he could despaire delight,
Quench his hot flames, and empty love disdaine.
But Cupid when his heart was set on fire,
Had burnt his wings, and could not then retyre.

30

The wounded youth, and kinde Philocrates
(So was her Brother call'd) grew soone so deare,
So true, and constant, in their Amities,
And in that league so strictly joyned were;
That Death it selfe could not their friendship sever.
But as they liv'd in love, they dyde together.

31

If one be melancholy, th'other's sad;
If one be sicke, the other he is ill,
And if Philetus any sorrow had,
Philocrates was partner in it still:
Pylades soule and mad Orestes was
In these, if wee beleeve Pythagoras.

32

Oft in the Woods Philetus walkes, and there
Exclaimes against his fate, fate too unkind.
With speaking teares his griefes he doth declare,
And with sad sighes teacheth the angrie Wind,
To sigh, and though it nere so cruell were,
It roar'd to heare Philetus tell his care.

33

The Christall Brookes which gently runne betweene
The shadowing Trees, and as they through them passe
Water the Earth, and keepe the Medowes greene,
Giving a colour to the verdant Grasse:
Hearing Philetus tell his wofull state,
In shew of griefe runne murmuring at his Fate.

34

Philomel answeres him againe and shewes
In her best language, her sad Historie,
And in a mournfull sweetnesse tels her woes,
Denying to be pos'd in miserie:
Constantia he, she Tereus, Tereus cryes,
With him both griefe, and griefes expression vies.

35

Philocrates must needes his sadnesse know,
Willing in ills, aswell as joyes to share,
Nor will on them the name of friends bestow,
Who in sport, not in sorrowes partners are.
Who leaves to guide the Ship when stormes arise,
Is guilty both of sinne, and cowardise.

36

But when his noble Friend perceiv'd that he
Yeelded to tyrant Passion more and more,
Desirous to partake his malady,
He watches him in hope to cure his sore
By counsell, and recall the poysonous Dart,
When it alas was fixed in his heart.

37

When in the Woods, places best fit for care,
Hee to himselfe did his past griefes recite,
The 'obsequious friend straight followes him, and there
Doth hide himselfe from sad Philetus sight.
Who thus exclaimes; for a swolne heart would breake,
If it for vent of sorrow might not speake.

38

Oh! I am lost, not in this Desart Wood,
But in loves pathlesse Labyrinth, there I
My health, each joy and pleasure counted good
Have lost, and which is more, my liberty,
And now am forc't to let him sacrifice
My heart, for rash beleeving of my eyes.

39

Long have I stayed, but yet have no reliefe,
Long have I lov'd, yet have no favour showne,
Because she knowes not of my killing griefe,
And I have feard, to make my sorrowes knowne.
For why alas, if shee should once but dart
At me disdaine, 'twould kill my subject heart.

40

But how should shee, ere I impart my Love,
Reward my ardent flame with like desire?
But when I speake, if shee should angry prove,
Laugh at my flowing teares, and scorne my fire?
Why, he who hath all sorrowes borne before,
Needeth not feare to be opprest with more.

41

Philocrates no longer can forbeare,
But running to his lov'd Friend; Oh (said he)
My deare Philetus be thy selfe, and sweare
To rule that Passion which now masters Thee,
And all thy faculties; but if't may not be,
Give to thy Love but eyes that it may see.

42

Amazement strikes him dumbe, what shall he doe?
Should he reveale his Love, he feares twould prove,
A hindrance; which should he deny to show,
It might perhaps his deare friends anger move:
These doubts like Scylla and Charibdis stand,
Whilst Cupid a blind Pilot doth command.

43

At last resolv'd; how shall I seeke, said hee,
To excuse my selfe, dearest Philocrates;
That I from thee have hid this secrecie?
Yet censure not, give me first leave to ease
My case with words, my griefe you should have known
Ere this, if that my heart had beene my owne.

44

I am all Love, my heart was burnt with fire
From two bright Sunnes which doe all light disclose;
First kindling in my breast the flame desire,
But like the rare Arabian Bird, there rose
From my hearts ashes never quenched Love,
Which now this torment in my soule doth move.

45

Oh! let not then my Passion cause your hate,
Nor let my choise offend you, or detayne
Your ancient Friendship; 'tis alas too late
To call my firme affection backe againe:
No Physicke can recure my weakn'd state,
The wound is growne too great, too desperate.

46

But Counsell sayd his Friend, a remedy
Which never fayles the Patient, may at least
If not quite heale your mindes infirmity,
Asswage your torment, and procure some rest.
But there is no Physitian can apply
A medicine, ere he know the Malady.

47

Then heare me, said Philetus; but why? Stay,
I will not toyle thee with my history,
For to remember Sorrowes past away,
Is to renew an old Calamity.
Hee who acquainteth others with his mone,
Addes to his friends griefe, but not cures his owne.

48

But said Philocrates, 'tis best in woe,
To have a faithfull partner of their care;
That burthen may be undergone by two,
Which is perhaps too great for one to beare.
I should mistrust your love to hide from me
Your thoughts, and taxe you of Inconstancy.

49

What shall he doe? or with what language frame
Excuse? He must resolve not to deny,
But open his close thoughts, and inward flame,
With that, as prologue to his Tragedy.
Hee sigh'd, as if they'd coole his torments ire,
When they alas, did blow the raging fire.

50

When yeeres first styl'd me Twenty, I began
To sport with catching snares that love had set,
Like birds that flutter 'bout the gyn, till tane,
Or the poore Fly caught in Arachnes net:
Even so I sported with her Beauties light,
Till I at last grew blind with too much sight.

51

First it came stealing on me, whil'st I thought,
'Twas easie to expulse it, but as fire,
Though but a sparke, soone into flames is brought,
So mine grew great, and quickly mounted higher;
Which so have scorcht my love-strucke soule, that I
Still live in torment, though each minute dye.

52

Who is it, said Philocrates, can move
With charming eyes such deep affection?
I may perhaps assist you in your love,
Two can effect more than your selfe alone.
My counsell this thy error may reclaime,
Or my salt teares quench thy annoying flame.

53

Nay said Philetus, oft my eyes doe flow
Like Nilus, when it scornes th'opposed shore:
Yet all the watery plenty I bestow,
Is to my flame an oyle, which feedes it more.
So fame reports of the Dodonean spring,
That lights a torch the which is put therein.

54

But being you desire to know her, she
Is call'd (with that his eyes let fall a shower
As if they faine would drowne the memory
Of his life keepers name,) Constantia; more
Griefe would not let him utter; Teares the best
Expressers of true sorrow, spoke the rest.

55

To which his noble friend did thus reply:
And was this all? What ere your griefe would ease
Though a farre greater taske, beleev't for thee
It should be soone done by Philocrates;
Thinke all you wish perform'd, but see, the day
Tyr'd with its heate is hasting now away.

56

Home from the silent Woods, night bids them goe,
But sad Philetus can no comfort finde,
What in the day he feares of future woe,
At night in dreames, like truth, affrights his mind.
Why do'st thou vex him, Love? Hadst eyes (I say)
Thou wouldst thy selfe have lov'd Constantia.

57

Philocrates pittying his dolefull mone,
And wounded with the Sorrowes of his friend,
Brings him to fayre Constantia; where alone
Hee might impart his love, and eyther end
His fruitlesse hopes, cropt by her coy disdaine,
Or by her liking, his wish't Joyes attaine.

58

Fairest (quoth he) whom the bright Heavens doe cover,
Doe not these teares, these speaking teares, despise,
And dolorous sighes, of a submissive Lover,
Thus strucke to th'earth by your all dazeling Eyes.
And doe not you contemne that ardent flame,
Which from your selfe, Your owne faire Beauty came.

59

Trust me, I long have hid my love, but now
Am forc't to show't, such is my inward smart,
And you alone (sweet faire) the meanes do know
To heale the wound of my consuming heart.
Then since it onely in your power doth lie
To kill, or save, Oh helpe! or else I dye.

60

His gently cruell Love, did thus reply;
I for your paine am grieved, and would doe
Without impeachme[n]t to my Chastity
And honour, any thing might pleasure you.
But if beyond those limits you demand,
I must not answer, (Sir) nor understand.

61

Beleeve me vertuous maiden, my desire
Is chast and pious, as thy Virgin thought,
No flash of lust, 'tis no dishonest fire
Which goes as soone as it was quickly brought:
But as thy beauty pure, which let not bee
Eclipsed by disdaine, and cruelty.

62

Oh! how shall I reply (quoth shee) thou'ast won
My soule, and therefore take thy victory:
Thy eyes and speaches have my heart o'recome,
And if I should deny thee love, then I
Should bee a Tyrant to my selfe; that fire
Which is kept close, burnes with the greatest ire.

63

Yet doe not count my yeelding, lightnesse in mee,
Impute it rather to my ardent love,
Thy pleasing carriage long agoe did win me,
And pleading beauty did my liking move.
Thy eyes which draw like loadstones with their might
The hardest hearts, won mine to leave me quite.

64

Oh! I am rapt above the reach, said hee,
Of thought, my soule already feeles the blisse
Of heaven, when (sweet) my thoughts once tax but thee
With any crime, may I lose all happinesse
Is wisht for: both your favour here, and dead,
May the just Gods [pour] vengeance on my head.

65

Whilst he was speaking this (behold their fate)
Constantia's father entred in the roome,
When glad Philetus ignorant of his state,
Kisses her cheekes, more red then setting Sun,
Or else, the morne, blushing through clouds of water,
To see ascending Sol congratulate her.

66

Just as the guilty prisoner fearefull stands
Reading his fatall Theta in the browes
Of him, who both his life and death commands,
Ere from his mouth he the sad sentence knowes,
Such was his state to see her father come,
Nor wisht for, nor expected to the roome.

67

The inrag'd old man bids him no more to dare
Such bold intrudence in that house, nor be
At any time with his lov'd daughter there
Till he had given him such authority,
But to depart, since she her love did shew him
Was living death, with lingring torments to him.

68

This being knowne to kind Philocrates,
He cheares his friend, bidding him banish feare,
And by some letter his griev'd minde appease,
And shew her that which to her friendly eare,
Tyme gave no leave to tell, and thus his quill
Declares to her, the absent lovers will.

THE LETTER.

PHILETUS TO CONSTANTIA.

I trust (deare Soule) my absence cannot move
You to forget, or doubt my ardent love;
For were there any meanes to see you, I
Would runne through Death, and all the miserie
Fate could inflict, that so the world might say,
In Life and Death I lov'd Constantia.
Then let not (dearest Sweet) our absence sever
Our loves, let them join'd closely still together
Give warmth to one another, till there rise
From all our labours, and our industries
The long expected fruits; have patience (Sweet)
There's no man whom the Summer pleasures greet
Before he tast the Winter, none can say,
Ere night was gone, he saw the rising Day.
So when we once have wasted Sorrowes night,
The sunne of Comfort then shall give us light.

Philetus.

69

This when Constantia read, shee thought her state
Most happy by Philetus Constancie,
And perfect Love: she thankes her flattering Fate,
Kisses the paper, till with kissing she
The welcome Characters doth dull and stayne,
Then thus with inke and teares writes backe againe.

CONSTANTIA TO PHILETUS.

Your absence (Sir) though it be long, yet I
Neither forget, nor doubt your Constancie.
Nor need you feare, that I should yeeld unto
Another, what to your true Love is due.
My heart is yours, it is not in my claime,
Nor have I power to giv't away againe.
There's nought but death can part our soules, no time
Or angry Friends, shall make my Love decline:
But for the harvest of our hopes I'le stay,
U[n]lesse Death cut it, ere't be ripe, away.

Constantia.

70

Oh! how this Letter did exalt his pride!
More proud was he of this, then Phaeton;
When Phœbus flaming Chariot he did guide,
Before he knew the danger was to come.
Or else then Jason, when from Colchos hee
Returned, with the Fleeces victory.

71

But ere the Autumne which faire Ceres crown'd,
Had paid the sweating Plow-mans greediest prayer;
And by the Fall disrob'd the gawdy ground
Of all her Summer ornaments, they were
By kind Philocrates together brought,
Where they this means t'enjoy their freedome wrought.

72

Sweet Mistresse, said Philetus, since the time
Propitious to our votes, now gives us leave
To enjoy our loves, let us not deare resigne
His long'd for favour, nor our selves bereave
Of what we wisht for, opportunitie;
That may too soon the wings of Love out-flie.

73

For when your Father, as his custome is,
For pleasure, doth pursue the timerous Hare;
If you'l resort but thither, I'le not misse
To be in those Woods ready for you, where
We may depart in safety, and no more
With Dreames of pleasure onely, heale our sore.

74

This both the Lovers soon agreed upon,
But ere they parted, he desires that she
Would blesse his greedy hearing, with a Song
From her harmonious voyce, she doth agree
To his request, and doth this Ditty sing,
Whose ravishing Notes new fires to's old doe bring.

The Song.

1

Time flye with greater speed away,
Adde feathers to thy wings,
Till thy hast in flying brings
That wisht for, and expected Day.

2

Comforts sunne, we then shall see,
Though at first it darkned bee,
With dangers, yet those Clouds being gone,
Our Day will put his lustre on.

3

Then though Deaths sad night doe come,
And we in silence sleepe,
'Lasting Day agen will greet
Our ravisht Soules, and then there's none

4

Can part us more, no Death, nor Friends,
Being dead, their power o're us ends.
Thus there's nothing can dissever,
Hearts which Love hath joyn'd together.

75

Feare of being seen, Philetus homeward drove,
But ere they part she willingly doth give
As faithfull pledges of her constant love
Many a kisse, and then each other leave
In griefe, though rapt with joy that they have found
A way to heale the torment of their wound.

76

But ere the Sun through many dayes had run,
Constantia's charming beauty had o'recome
Guiscardo's heart, and's scorn'd affection won,
Her eyes, they conquered all they shone upon,
Shot through his eyes such hot desire,
As nothing but her love could quench the fire.

77

In roofes which Gold and Parian stone adorn,
Proud as their Landlords minde, he did abound,
In fields so fertile for their yeerly corne,
As might contend with scorcht Calabria's ground;
But in his soule where should be the best store
Of surest riches, he was base and poore.

78

Him was Constantia urg'd continually
By her friends to love, sometimes they did intreat
With gentle speeches, and mild courtesie,
Which when they see despis'd by her, they threat,
But love too deep was seated in her heart,
To be worn out with thought of any smart.

79

Her father shortly went unto the Wood
To hunt, his friend Guiscardo being there,
With others who by friendship and by blood
Unto Constantia's aged Father were
Allyed neere, there likewise were with these,
His beautious Daughter, and Philocrates.

80

Being entred in the pathlesse woods, whilst they
Pursue their game, Philetus which was late
Hid in a thicket, carries straight away
His Love, and hastens his owne hastie fate.
Which came too soone upon him, and his Sunne
Eclipsed was, before it fully shone.

81

For when Constantia's missed, in a maze,
Each takes a severall course, and by curst fate
Guiscardo runs, with a love-carried pace
Towards them, who little knew their sorrowfull state:
So hee like bold Icarus soaring hye
To Honours, fell to th'depth of misery.

82

For when Guiscardo sees his Rivall there,
Swelling with envious rage, hee comes behind
Philetus, who such fortune did not feare,
And with his flaming sword a way doth find
To his heart, who ere that death possest him quite,
In these few words gaspt out his flying sprite.

83

O see Constantia, my short race is runne,
See how my blood the thirsty ground doth dye,
But live thou happier then thy love hath done,
And when I'm dead, thinke sometime upon me.
More my short time permits me not to tell,
For now death ceizeth me, ob my deare farewell.

84

As soon as he had spoke these words, life fled
From's wounded body, whil'st Constantia shee
Kisses his cheekes which lose their lively red,
And become pale, and wan, and now each eye
Which was so bright, is like, when life was done
A fallen starre, or an eclipsed Sunne.

85

Thither Philocrates by's fate being drove
To accompany Philetus Tragedy,
Seeing his friend was dead, and's sorrowfull love
Sate weeping o're his bleeding body, I
Will now revenge thy death (best friend) said he,
Or in thy murther beare thee company.

86

I am by Jove sent to revenge this fate,
Nay, stay Guiscardo, thinke not heaven in jest,
'Tis vaine to hope flight can secure thy state.
Then thrusting's sword into the Villaines brest:
Here, said Philocrates, thy life I send
A sacrifice, t'appease my slaughter'd friend.

87

But he falls: here take a reward said he
For this thy victory, with that he flung
His killing Rapier at his enemy,
Which hit his head, and in his brain-pan hung.
With that he falls, but lifting up his eyes,
Farewell Constantia, that word said, he dyes.

88

What shall she doe? she to her brother runnes
And's cold, and livelesse body doth imbrace,
She calls to him, he cannot heare her moanes:
And with her kisses warmes his clammy face.
My deare Philocrates, shee weeping cryes,
Speake to thy Sister: but no voyce replyes.

89

Then running to her Love, with many a teare,
Thus her minds fervent passion she express't,
O stay (blest Soule) stay but a little here,
And we will both hast to a lasting rest.
Then to Elisiums Mansions both together
Wee'l journey, and be marryed there for ever.

90

But when she saw they both were dead, quoth she,
Oh my Philetus, for thy sake will I
Make up a full and perfect Tragedy,
Since 'twas for me (Deare Love) that thou didst dye;
Ile follow thee, and not thy losse deplore,
These eyes that saw thee kill'd, shall see no more.

91

It shall not sure be said that thou didst dye,
And thy Constantia live since thou wast slaine:
No, no, deare Soule, I will not stay from thee,
But constant be in act, as well as Name.
Then piercing her sad brest, I come, she cryes,
And Death for ever clos'd her weeping eyes.

92

Her Soule being fled to its eternall rest,
Her Father comes, who seeing this, he falls
To th'earth, with griefe too great to be exprest:
Whose dolefull words my tyred Muse me calls
T' o'repasse, which I most gladly doe, for feare
That I should toyle too much, the Readers eare.

FINIS.

To the Right Worshipfull, my very loving Master, Master Lambert Osbolston, chiefe Schoolmaster of Westminster-Schoole.

Sir,

My childish Muse is in her Spring, and yet
Can onely shew some budding of her Wit.
One frowne upon her Worke (learn'd Sir) from you,
Like some unkinder storme shot from your brow,
Would turn her Spring to withering Autumn's time,
And make her Blossomes perish, ere their Prime.
But if you smile, if in your gracious Eye
Shee an auspicious Alpha can descrie:
How soone will they grow Fruit? How will they flourish,
That had such beames their infancie to nourish?
Which being sprung to ripenesse, expect then
The best, and first fruits of her gratefull Pen.

Your most dutifull Scholler, Abra. Cowley.

THE TRAGICALL HISTORY OF Pyramus and Thisbe.

1

Where Babylons high Walls erected were
By mighty Ninus wife; two houses joyn'd.
One Thisbe liv'd in, Pyramus the faire
In th'other: Earth nere boasted such a paire.
The very sencelesse walls themselves combin'd,
And grew in one; just like their Masters mind.

2

Thisbe all other women did excell,
The Queene of Love, lesse lovely was than she:
And Pyramus more sweet than tongue can tell,
Nature grew proud in framing them so well.
But Venus envying they so faire should be,
Bids her sonne Cupid shew his crueltie.

3

The all-subduing God his Bow doth bend,
And doth prepare his most remorselesse Dart,
Which he unseene unto their hearts did send,
And so was Love the cause of Beauties end.
But could he see, he had not wrought their smart:
For pittie sure would have o'recome his heart.

4

Like as a Bird which in a Net is tane,
By strugling more entangles in the ginne;
So they who in Loves Labyrinth remaine,
With striving never can a freedome gaine.
The way to enter's broad; but being in,
No art, no labour, can an exit win.

5

These Lovers, though their Parents did reprove
Their fires, and watch'd their deeds with jealousie,
Though in these stormes no comfort could remove
The various doubts, and feares that coole hot love:
Though he nor hers, nor she his face could see,
Yet this did not abolish Loves Decree.

6

For age had crack'd the wall which did them part,
This the unanimate couple soone did spie,
And here their inward sorrowes did impart,
Unlading the sad burthen of their heart.
Though Love be blinde, this shewes he can descry
A way to lessen his owne misery.

7

Oft to the friendly Crannie they resort,
And feede themselves with the cœlestiall ayre
Of odoriferous breath; no other sport
They could enjoy, yet thinke the time but short:
And wish that it againe renewed were,
To sucke each others breath for ever there.

8

Sometimes they did exclaime against their fate,
And sometimes they accus'd imperiall Jove;
Sometimes repent their flames: but all too late;
The Arrow could not be recall'd: their state
Ordained was by Jupiter above,
And Cupid had appointed they should love.

9

They curst the wall which did their kisses part,
And to the stones their dolorous words they sent,
As if they saw the sorrow of their heart,
And by their teares could understand their smart:
But it was hard, and knew not what they meant,
Nor with their sighs (alas) would it relent.

10

This in effect they said; Curs'd wall, O why
Wilt thou our bodies sever, whose true love
Breakes thorow all thy flintie crueltie:
For both our soules so closely joyned lye,
That nought but angry Death can them remove,
And though he part them, yet they'l meet above.

11

Abortive teares from their faire eyes straight flow'd,
And damm'd the lovely splendour of their [si]ght,
Which seem'd like Titan, whilst some watry Cloud
O'respreads his face, and his bright beames doth shrowd.
Till Vesper chas'd away the conquered light,
And forceth them (though loth) to bid Good-night.

12

But ere Aurora, Usher to the Day,
Began with welcome lustre to appeare,
The Lovers rise, and at that crannie they
Thus to each other, their thoughts open lay,
With many a Sigh, many a speaking Teare,
Whose griefe the pitying Morning blusht to heare.

13

Deare Love (quoth Pyramus) how long shall wee
Like fairest Flowers, not gathered in their prime,
Waste precious youth, and let advantage flee,
Till wee bewaile (at last) our crueltie
Upon our selves, for Beautie though it shine
Like day, will quickly finde an Evening time.

14

Therefore (sweet Thisbe) let us meet this night
At Ninus Tombe, without the Citie wall,
Under the Mulberry-Tree, with Berries white
Abounding, there t'enjoy our wisht delight.
For mounting Love stopt in his course, doth fall,
And long'd for, yet untasted Joy, kills all.

15

What though our cruell parents angry bee?
What though our friends (alas) are too unkinde?
Time now propitious, may anon deny,
And soone hold backe, fit opportunity.
Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never finde.
Occasion once pass'd by, is balde behinde.

16

Shee soone agreed to that which hee requir'd,
For little Wooing needs, where both consent;
What hee so long had pleaded, shee desir'd:
Which Venus seeing, with blinde Chance conspir'd,
And many a charming accent to her sent,
That shee (at last) would frustrate their intent.

17

Thus Beautie is by Beauties meanes undone,
Striving to close these eyes that make her bright;
Just like the Moone, which seekes t'eclipse the Sun,
Whence all her splendour, all her beames doe come:
So shee, who fetcheth lustre from their sight,
Doth purpose to destroy their glorious light.

18

Unto the Mulberry-tree, sweet Thisbe came;
Where having rested long, at last shee gan
Against her Pyramus for to exclaime,
Whil'st various thoughts turmoile her troubled braine:
And imitating thus the Silver Swan,
A little while before her Death shee sang.

The Song.

1

Come Love, why stayest thou? The night
Will vanish ere wee taste delight:
The Moone obscures her selfe from sight,
Thou absent, whose eyes give her light.

2

Come quickly, Deare, be briefe as Time,
Or wee by Morne shall be o'retane,
Loves Joy's thine owne as well as mine,
Spend not therefore the time in vaine.

19

Here doubtfull thoughts broke off her pleasant Song,
Against her love for staying shee gan crie;
Her Pyramus shee thought did tarry long,
And that his absence did her too much wrong.
Then betwixt longing hope, and jealousie,
Shee feares, yet's loth, to tax his loyaltie.

20

Sometimes shee thinkes, that hee hath her forsaken;
Sometimes, that danger hath befallen to him;
Shee feares that hee another love hath taken:
Which being but imagin'd, soone doth waken
Numberlesse thoughts, which on her heart doe fling
Feares, that her future fate too truely sing.

21

Whil'st shee thus musing sate, ranne from the Wood
An angry Lyon, to the cristall Springs
Neere to that place; who comming from his food,
His chaps were all besmear'd with crimson bloud:
Swifter then thought, sweet Thisbe straight begins
To flye from him, feare gave her Swallowes wings.

22

As shee avoids the Lion, her desire
Bids her to stay, lest Pyramus should come,
And be devour'd by the sterne Lions ire,
So shee for ever burne in unquencht fire:
But feare expells all reasons, shee doth runne
Into a darksome Cave, ne'r seene by Sunne.

23

With haste shee let her looser Mantle fall:
Which when th'enraged Lion did espie,
With bloudy teeth, he tore't in pieces small,
Whil'st Thisbe ran and lookt not backe at all.
For could the sencelesse beast her face descrie,
It had not done her such an injurie.

24

The night halfe wasted, Pyramus did come;
Who seeing printed in the subtill sand
The Lions paw, and by the fountaine some
Of Thisbes garment, sorrow strucke him dumbe:
Just like a Marble Statue did he stand,
Cut by some skilfull Gravers cunning hand.

25

Recovering breath, 'gainst Fate he gan t'exclaime,
Washing with teares the torne and bloudy weed:
I may, said he, my selfe for her death blame;
Therefore my bloud shall wash away that shame:
Since shee is dead, whose Beautie doth exceed
All that fraile man can either heare or reade.

26

This speaking, hee his sharpe Sword drew, and said;
Receive thou my red bloud, as a due debt
Unto thy constant Love, to which 'tis paid:
I straight will meete thee in the pleasant shade
Of coole Elysium; where wee being met,
Shall taste the Joyes, that here wee could not yet.

27

Then thorow his brest thrusting his Sword, Life hies
From him, and hee makes haste to seeke his faire.
And as upon the crimsond ground hee lies,
His bloud spirt'd up upon the Mulberries:
With which th'unspotted berries stained were,
And ever since with Red they coloured are.

28

At last, came Thisbe from the Den, for feare
Of disappointing Pyramus, being shee
Was bound by promise, for to meete him there:
But when shee saw the Berries changed were
From white to blacke, shee knew not certainely
It was the place where they agreed to be.

29

With what delight from the darke Cave shee came,
Thinking to tell how shee escap'd the Beast;
But when shee saw her Pyramus lie slaine,
In what perplexitie shee did remaine!
Shee teares her Golden haire, and beates her brest,
All signes of raging sorrow shee exprest.

30

Shee cries 'gainst mighty Jove, and then doth take
His bleeding body from the moistned ground.
Shee kisses his pale face, till shee doth make
It red with kissing, and then seekes to wake
His parting soule with mournfull words, and's wound
Washeth with teares, which her sweet speech confound.

31

But afterwards recovering breath, quoth shee,
(Alas) what chance hath parted thee and I?
O tell what evill hath befallen to thee,
That of thy Death I may a Partner bee:
Tell Thisbe, what hath caus'd this Tragedie.
He hearing Thisbe's name, lift up his eye,

32

And on his Love he rais'd his dying head:
Where striving long for breath, at last, said hee;
O Thisbe, I am hasting to the dead,
And cannot heale that Wound my feare hath bred:
Farewell, sweet Thisbe, wee must parted bee,
For angry Death will force me goe from Thee.

33

Life did from him, hee from his Mistris part,
Leaving his Love to languish here in woe.
What shall shee doe? How shall shee ease her heart?
Or with what language speake her inward smart?
Usuring passion reason doth o'reflow,
Shee sweares that with her Pyramus shee'l goe.

34

Then takes the Sword wherewith her Love was slaine,
With Pyramus his crimson blood warme still;
And said, Oh stay (blest Soule) that so wee twaine
May goe together, where wee shall remaine
In endlesse Joyes, and never feare the ill
Of grudging Friends: Then she her selfe did kill.

35

To tell what griefe their Parents did sustaine,
Were more than my rude Quill can overcome.
Many a teare they spent, but all in vaine,
For weeping calls not backe the Dead againe.
They both were layed in one Grave, life done,
And these few words were writ upon the Tombe.

Epitaph.

1

Underneath this Marble Stone,
Lye two Beauties joyn'd in one.

2

Two whose loves Death could not sever,
For both liv'd, both dy'd together.

3

Two whose Soules, being too divine
For earth, in their owne Spheare now shine.

4

Who have left their Loves to Fame,
And their earth to earth againe.

FINIS.

An Elegie on the Death of the Right Honourable, Dudley Lord Carleton, Viscount Dorchester, late Principall Secretary of State.

The infernall Sisters, did a Counsell call
Of all the fiends, to the black Stygian Hall;
The dire Tartarean Monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismall Erebus, and Night.
Wheresoe're dispers'd abroad, hearing the Fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came
Revenge, whose greedy mind no Blood can fill,
And Envie, never satisfied with ill.
Thither blind Boldnesse, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour envious Age,
And Messengers diseases, wheresoe're
Then wandring, at the Senate present were:
Whom to oppresse the Earth, the Furies sent
To spare the Guilty, vex the innocent.
The Councell thus dissolv'd, an angry fever,
Whose quenchlesse thirst, by blood was sated never:
Envying the Riches, Honour, Greatnesse, Love,
And Vertue (Loadstone, which all these did move)
Of Noble Carleton, him she tooke away,
And like a greedy Vulture seis'd her prey:
Weep with me each who either reades or heares,
And know his losse, deserves his Countries teares:
The Muses lost a Patron by his Fate,
Vertue a Husband, and a Prop the State,
Sol's Chorus weepes, and to adorne his Herse
Calliope would sing a Tragicke Verse.
And had there been before no Spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with teares.

Abra. Cowley.

An Elegie on the death of my loving Friend and Cousen, Master Richard Clerke, late of Lincolns Inne, Gent.

It was decreed by stedfast Destinie,
(The world from Chaos turn'd) that all should die.
Hee who durst fearelesse passe blacke Acheron
And dangers of the infernall Region,
Leading Hells triple Porter captivate,
Was overcome himselfe, by conquering Fate.
The Roman Tullie's pleasing Eloquence,
Which in the Eares did locke up every Sence
Of the rapt hearer, his mellifluous breath
Could not at all charme unremorselesse Death,
Nor Solon so by Greece admir'd, could save
Himselfe with all his Wisdome, from the Grave.
Sterne Fate brought Maro to his Funerall flame,
And would have ended in that fire his Fame;
Burning those lofty Lines, which now shall be
Times conquerers, and out-last Eternity.
Even so lov'd Clerk from death no scape could find,
Though arm'd with great Alcides valiant mind.
He was adorn'd in yeeres though farre more young,
With learned Cicero's, or a sweeter Tongue.
And could dead Virgil heare his lofty straine,
He would condemne his owne to fire againe.
His youth a Solons wisdome did presage,
Had envious Time but given him Solons age.
Who would not therefore now, if Learnings friend,
Bewaile his fatall and untimely end:
Who hath such hard, such unrelenting Eyes,
As would not weep when so much Vertue dyes?
The God of Poets doth in darknesse shrowd
His glorious face, and weepes behind a Cloud.
The dolefull Muses thinking now to write
Sad Elegies, their teares confound their sight:
But him to Elysiums lasting Joyes they bring,
Where winged Angels his sad Requiems sing.

A. C.

A DREAME OF ELYSIUM.

Phœbus expuls'd by the a[pp]roaching Night
Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashfull light;
Whilst I with leaden Morpheus overcome,
The Muse, whom I adore, enterd the roome.
Her hayre with looser curiositie,
Did on her comely backe dishevel'd lye.
Her Eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have wak'd sleeping Endymion.
She bid me rise, and promis'd I should see
Those Fields, those Mansions of Felicity,
Wee mortalls so admire at: Speaking thus,
She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus.
On whom I rid: knowing where ever she
Did goe, that place must needs a Tempe be.

No sooner was my flying Courser come
To the blest dwellings of Elysium:
When straight a thousand unknowne joyes resort,
And hemm'd me round: Chast loves innocuous sport.
A thousand sweets, bought with no following Gall,
Joyes, not like ours, short, but perpetuall.
How many objects charme my wandring eye,
And bid my soule gaze there eternally?
Here in full streames, Bacchus thy liquor flowes,
Nor knowes to ebbe: here Joves broad Tree bestowes
Distilling hony, heere doth Nectar passe
With copious current through the verdant Grasse.
Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his lookes,
And thou Narcissus loving still the Brookes,

Once lovely boyes; and Acis now a Flower,
Are nourisht, with that rarer herbe, whose power
Created thee, Warres potent God, here growes
The spotlesse Lillie, and the blushing Rose.
And all those divers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gawdy ground.
No Willow, sorrowes Garland, there hath roome,
Nor Cypresse, sad attendant of a Tombe.
None but Apollo's Tree, and th'Ivie Twine
Imbracing the stout Oake, the fruitfull Vine,
And Trees with golden Apples loaded downe,
On whose faire toppes sweet Philomel alone,
Unmindfull of her former miserie,
Tunes with her voyce a ravishing Harmonie.
Whilst all the murmuring Brookes that glide along,
Make up a burthen to her pleasing Song.
No Scritchowle, sad companion of the Night,
Or hideous Raven with prodigious flight
Presaging future ill. Nor, Progne, thee
Yet spotted with young Itis Tragedie,
Those Sacred Bowers receive. There's nothing there,
That is not pure, immaculate, and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Under a row of storme-contemning Bay,
I saw the Thracian Singer with his lyre
Teach the deafe stones to heare him, and admire.
Him the whole Poets Chorus compass'd round,
All whom the Oake, all whom the Lawrell crown'd.
There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home,
Better than thou couldst give ingratefull Rome;
And Lucan (spight of Nero) in each veine
Had every drop of his spilt bloud againe:
Homer, Sol's first borne, was not poore or blinde,
But saw as well in body as in minde.
Tullie, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd Wisemen, here possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gaine
A life, as everlasting as their Fame.

By these, the valiant Heroes take their place,
All who sterne Death and perils did imbrace

For Vertues cause. Great Alexander there
Laughing at the Earth's small Empire, did weare
A Nobler Crowne, than the whole world could give.
There did Horatius Cocles, Sceva, live,
And valiant Decius, who now freely cease
From Warre, and purchase an eternall peace.

Next them, beneath a Mirtle Bowre, where Doves,
And gall-lesse Pidgeons build their nests, all Loves
Faithfull perseverers, with amorous kisses,
And soft imbraces, taste their greediest wishes.
Leander with his beauteous Hero playes,
Nor are they parted with dividing Seas.
Porcia injoyes her Brutus, Death no more
Can now divorce their Wedding, as before.
Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe hee
Embrac'd, each blest with th'others company.
And every couple alwayes dancing, sing
Eternall Ditties to Elysiums King.
But see how soone these pleasures fade away,
How neere to Evening is delights short Day?
For th'watching Bird, true Nuncius of the Light
Straight crowd: and all these vanisht from my sight.
My very Muse her selfe forsooke mee too.
Me griefe and wonder wak'd: What should I doe?
Oh! let me follow thee (said I) and goe
From life, that I may Dreame for ever so.
With that my flying Muse I thought to claspe
Within my armes, but did a shadow graspe.

Thus chiefest Joyes glide with the swiftest streame,

And all our greatest pleasure's but a Dreame.

A. C.

FINIS.

SYLVA,

OR, DIVERS COPIES OF VERSES, Made upon sundry occasions by A. C.

On his Majesties returne out of Scotland.

Great Charles : there stop you Trumpeters of Fame,
(For he who speakes his Titles, his great Name
Must have a breathing time,) Our King: stay there,
Tel't by degrees, let the inquisitive eare
Be held in doubt, and ere you say, Is come,
Let every heart prepare a spatious roome
For ample joyes: then Iö sing as loud
As thunder shot from the divided cloud.

Let Cygnus plucke from the Arabian waves
The ruby of the rocke, the pearle that paves
Great Neptunes Court, let every sparrow beare
From the three Sisters weeping barke a teare.
Let spotted Lynces their sharpe tallons fill
With chrystall fetch'd from the Promethean hill.
Let Cythereas birds fresh wreathes compose,
Knitting the pale fac't Lillie with the Rose.
Let the selfe-gotten Phœnix rob his nest,
Spoile his owne funerall pile, and all his best
Of Myrrhe, of Frankincense, of Cassia bring,
To strew the way for our returned King.

Let every post a Panegyricke weare,
Each wall, each pillar gratulations beare:
And yet let no man invocate a Muse;
The very matter will it selfe infuse
A sacred fury. Let the merry Bells
(For unknowne joyes worke unknowne miracles)
Ring without helpe of Sexton, and presage
A new-made holy-day for future age.

And if the Ancients us'd to dedicate
A golden Temple to propitious fate,
At the returne of any Noble men,
Of Heroes, or of Emperours, wee must then
Raise up a double Trophee, for their fame
Was but the shadow of our CHARLES his name.
Who is there where all vertues mingled flow?
Where no defects, no imperfections grow?

Whose head is alwayes crown'd with victory,
Snatch'd from Bellonas hand, him luxury
In peace debilitates, whose tongue can win,
Tullies owne Garland, to him pride creeps in.
On whom (like Atlas shoulders) the propt state
(As he were Primum Mobile of fate)
Solely, relies, him blind ambition moves,
His tyranny the bridled subject proves.
But all those vertues which they all possest
Divided, are collected in thy brest,
Great Charles; Let Cœsar boast P[ha]rsalias fight,
Honorius praise the Parthians unfeyn'd fight.
Let Alexander call himself Joves peere,
And place his Image next the Thunderer,
Yet whilst our Charles with equall ballance reignes
'Twixt Mercy and Astrea, and maintaines
A noble peace, 'tis he, 'tis onely he
Who is most neere, most like the Deitie.

A Song on the same.

Hence clouded lookes, hence briny teares
Hence eye, that sorrows livery weares.
What though a while Apollo please
To visit the Antipodes?
Yet he returnes, and with his light
Expels, what he hath caus'd, the night.
What though the spring vanish away,
And with it the earths forme decay?
Yet at's new birth it will restore
What it's departure tooke before.
What though we mist our absent King
Erewhile? Great Charles is come agin,
And, with his presence makes us know,
The gratitude to Heaven wee owe.
So doth a cruell storme impart
And teach us Palinurus art.
So from salt flouds, wept by our eyes,
A joyfull Venus doth arise.

A Vote.

1

Lest the misconstring world should chance to say,
I durst not but in secret murmurs pray,
To whisper in Joves eare,
How much I wish that funerall,
Or gape at such a great ones fall,
This let all ages heare,
And future times in my soules picture see
What I abhorre, what I desire to bee.

2

I would not be a Puritan, though he
Can preach two houres, and yet his Sermon be
But halfe a quarter long,
Though from his old mechanicke trade
By vision hee's a Pastor made,
His faith was growne so strong.
Nay though he thinke to gaine salvation,
By calling th'Pope the Whore of Babylon.

3

I would not be a School-master, though he
His Rods no lesse than Fasces deemes to be,
Though he in many a place,
Turnes Lilly oftner than his gownes,
Till at the last hee make the Nownes,
Fight with the Verbes apace.
Nay though he can in a Poeticke heat,
Figures, borne since, out of poore Virgill beat.

4

I would not be Justice of Peace, though he
Can with equality divide the Fee,
And stakes with his Clarke draw.
Nay though he sit upon the place
Of Judgement with a learned face
Intricate as the Law.
And whilst he mulcts enormities demurely,
Breaks Priscians head with sentences securely.

5

I would not be a Courtier, though he
Makes his whole life the truest Comedy:
Although he be a man
In whom the Taylors forming Art,
And nimble Barber claime more part
Than Nature her selfe can.
Though, as he uses men, 'tis his intent
To put off death too, with a Complement.

6

From Lawyers tongues, though they can spin with ease
The shortest cause into a Paraphrase,
From Usurers conscience
(For swallowing up young Heyres so fast
Without all doubt, they'l choakt at last)
Make me all innocence
Good Heaven; and from thy eyes, ô Justice keepe,
For though they be not blind, they're oft asleepe.

7

From Singing-mens Religion; who are
Alwayes at Church just like the Crowes, 'cause there
They build themselves a nest.
From too much Poetry, which shines
With gold in nothing but its lines,
Free, ô you powers, my brest.
And from Astronomy within the skies
Finds fish, and bulls, yet doth but Tantalize.

8

From your Court-Madams beauty, which doth carry
At morning May, at night a January.
From the grave City brow
(For though it want an R, it has
The letter of Pythagoras)
Keepe me ô Fortune now,
And chines of beefe innumerable send me,
Or from the stomacke of the Guard defend me.

9

This onely grant me: that my meanes may lye
Too low for envie, for contempt too high.
Some honour I would have,
Not from great deeds, but good alone,
Th'ignote are better than ill knowne
R[u]mor can ope the grave.
Acquaintance I would hug, but when't depends
Not from the number, but the choyse of friends.

10

Bookes should, not businesse, entertaine the light,
And sleepe, as undisturb'd as death the night.
My house a cottage more
Then palace, and should fitting be
For all my use, no luxurie.
My garden painted ore
With natures hand, not arts and pleasures yield,
Horace might envie in his Sabine field.

11

Thus would I double my lifes fading space,
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, and happy state,
I would nor feare, nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,
To morrow let my Sunne his beames display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to day.

A Poeticall Revenge.

Westminster-Hall a friend and I agreed
To meet in; hee (some busines 'twas did breed
His absence) came not there; I up did goe,
To the next Court for though I could not know
Much what they meant, yet I might see and heare
(As most spectators doe at Theater)
Things very strange; Fortune did seeme to grace
My comming there, and helpt me to a place.

But being newly setled at the sport,
A semi-gentleman of th'Innes of Court,
In a Sattin suite, redeem'd but yesterday;
One who is ravisht with a Cock-pit Play,
Who prayes God to deliver him from no evill
Besides a Taylors bill, and feares no Devill
Besides a Serjeant, thrust me from my seat:
At which I gan to quarrell, till a neat
Man in a ruffe (whom therefore I did take
For Barrister) open'd his mouth and spake;
Boy, get you gone, this is no Schoole: Oh no;
For if it were, all you gown'd-men would goe
Up for false Latin: they grew straight to be
Incenst, I fear'd they would have brought on me
An Action of Trespas, till th'young man
Aforesaid, in the Sattin suit, began
To strike me: doubtlesse there had beene a fray,
Had not I providently skipp'd away,
Without replying; for to scould is ill,
Where every tongue's the clapper of a Mill,
And can out-sound Homers Gradivus; so
Away got I: but ere I farre did goe,
I flung (the Darts of wounding Poetrie)
These two or three sharpe curses backe: May hee
Be by his Father in his Study tooke
At Shakespeares Playes, in stead of my L. Cooke.
May hee (though all his Writings grow as soone
As Butters out of estimation)
Get him a Poets name, and so ne'r come
Into a Sergeants, or dead Judges roome.
May hee (for 'tis sinne in a Lawyer)
True Latin use to speake, even at the Barre.
May hee become some poore Physicians prey,
Who keepes men with that conscience in delay
As he his Clyents doth, till his health bee
As farre fetch'd as a Greeke Nownes pedigree.
Nay, for all that, may the disease be gone
Never but in the long Vacation.
May Neighbours use all Quarrels to decide;
But if for Law any to London ride,

Of all those Clyents may no one be his,
Unlesse he come in Forma Pauperis.

Grant this you Gods, that favour Poetry,
That so at last these ceaselesse tongues may be
Brought into reformation, and not dare
To quarrell with a thredbare Black; but spare

Them who beare Scholars names, lest some one take

Spleene, and another Ignoramus make.

To the Duchesse of Buckingham.

If I should say, that in your face were seene
Natures best Picture of the Cyprian Queene;
If I should sweare under Minerva's Name,
Poets (who Prophets are) fore-told your fame,
The future age would thinke it flatterie,
But to the present which can witnesse be,
'Twould seeme beneath your high deserts, as farre,
As you above the rest of Women are.

When Mannors name with Villiers joyn'd I see,
How doe I reverence your Nobilitie!
But when the vertues of your Stock I view,
(Envi'd in your dead Lord, admir'd in you)
I halfe adore them: for what woman can
Besides your selfe (nay I might say what man)
Both Sexe, and Birth, and Fate, and yeeres excell
In minde, in fame, in worth, in living well?

Oh, how had this begot Idolatrie,
If you had liv'd in the Worlds infancie,
When mans too much Religion, made the best
Or Deities, or Semi-gods at least?
But wee, forbidden this by pietie,
Or, if wee were not, by your modestie,
Will make our hearts an Altar, and there pray
Not to, but for you, nor that England may
Enjoy your equall, when you once are gone,
But what's more possible, t'enjoy you long.

To his very much honoured Godfather, Master A. B.

I love (for that upon the wings of Fame
Shall perhaps mock Death or times Darts) my Name.
I love it more, because 'twas given by you;
I love it most, because 'twas your name too.
For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame
Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.

I'm glad that Citie t'whom I ow'd before,
(But ah me! Fate hath crost that willing Score)
A Father, gave me a Godfather too,
And I'm more glad, because it gave me you;
Whom I may rightly thinke, and terme to be
Of the whole Citie an Epitomie.

I thanke my carefull Fate, which found out one
(When Nature had not licenced my tongue
Farther then cryes) who should my office doe;
I thanke her more, because shee found out you:
In whose each looke, I may a sentence see;
In whose each deed, a teaching Homily.

How shall I pay this debt to you? My Fate
Denyes me Indian Pearle or Persian Plate.
Which though it did not, to requite you thus,
Were to send Apples to Alcinoüs,
And sell the cunning'st way: No, when I can
In every Leafe, in every Verse write Man,
When my Quill relisheth a Schoole no more,
When my pen-feather'd Muse hath learnt to soare,
And gotten wings as well as feet; looke then
For equall thankes from my unwearied Pen:
Till future ages say; 'twas you did give
A name to me, and I made yours to live.

An Elegie on the Death of Mris Anne Whitfield.

Shee 's dead, and like the houre that stole her hence,
With as much quietnesse and innocence.
And 'tis as difficult a taske to winne
Her travelling soule backe to its former Inne,
As force that houre, fled without tract away,
To turne, and stop the current of the day.

What, shall we weepe for this? and cloath our eye
With sorrow, the Graves mourning Liverie?
Or shall we sigh? and with that pious winde
Drive faster on what we alreadie finde
Too swift for us, her soule? No; shee who dy'de
Like the sicke Sunne, when Night entombes his pride;
Or Trees in Autumne, when unseene decay
And slow consumption steales the leaves away,
Without one murmur, shewes that she did see
Death as a good, not as a miserie.

And so she went to undiscovered Fields,
From whence no path hope of returning yeelds
To any Traveller, and it must be
Our solace now to court her memorie.
Wee'l tell how love was dandled in her eye,
Yet curb'd with a beseeming gravitie.
And how (beleeve it you that heare or reade)
Beautie and Chastitie met and agreed
In her, although a Courtier: Wee will tell
How farre her noble spirit did excell
Hers, nay our Sexe: wee will repeat her Name,
And force the Letters to an Anagram.
Whitfield wee'l cry, and amorous windes shall be
Ready to snatch that words sweet harmonie
Ere 'tis spoke out: Thus wee must dull griefes sting,
And cheat the sorrow that her losse would bring:
Thus in our hearts wee'l bury her, and there
Wee'l write, Here lyes Whitfield the chast, and faire.

Art may no doubt a statelier Tombe invent,

But not like this, a living Monument.

An Elegie on the Death of John Littleton Esquire, Sonne and Heire to Sir Thomas Littleton, who was drowned leaping into the water to save his younger Brother.

And must these waters smile againe? and play
About the shore, as they did yesterday?
Will the Sun court them still? and shall they show
No conscious wrinckle furrowed on their brow,
That to the thirsty Travellor may say,
I am accurst, goe turne some other way?

It is unjust; black floud, thy guilt is more,
Sprung from his losse, then all thy watry store
Can give thee teares to mourne for: Birds shall bee
And Beasts henceforth afraid to drinke of thee.

What have I said? my pious rage hath beene
Too hot, and acts whilst it accuseth sinne.
Thou'rt innocent I know, still cleare, and bright,
Fit whence so pure a soule should take it's flight.
How is my angry zeale confin'd? for hee
Must quarrell with his love and pietie,
That would revenge his death. Oh I shall sinne,
And wish anon he had lesse vertuous beene.
For when his Brother (teares for him I'de spill,
But they're all challeng'd by the greater ill)
Strugled for life with the rude waves, he too
Leapt in, and when hope no faint beame could show,
His charitie shone most; thou shalt, said hee,
Live with me, Brother, or Ile dye with thee;
And so he did: had he beene thine, ô Rome,
Thou wouldst have call'd this death a Martyrdome,
And Saynted him; my conscience give me leave,
Ile doe so too: if fate will us bereave
Of him we honour'd living, there must be
A kinde of reverence to his memorie,

After his death: and where more just then here,
Where life and end were both so singuler?
Of which th'one griefe, the other imitation
Of all men vindicates, both admiration.
He that had onely talkt with him, might finde
A little Academie in his minde;
Where Wisedome, Master was, and Fellowes all
Which we can good, which we can vertuous call.
Reason and Holy Feare the Proctors were,
To apprehend those words, those thoughts that erre.
His learning had out-run the rest of heyres,
Stolne Beard from time, and leapt to twentie yeares.
And as the Sunne, though in full glorie bright,
Shines upon all men with impartiall light,
And a good morrow to the begger brings
With as full rayes as to the mightiest Kings:
So he, although his worth just state might claime,
And give to pride an honourable name,
With curtesie to all, cloath'd vertue so,
That 'twas not higher then his thoughts were low.
In's body too, no Critique eye could finde
The smallest blemish, to belye his minde;
He was all purenesse, and his outward part
The looking-glasse and picture of his heart.
When waters swallow'd mankinde, and did cheat
The hungry Worme of its expected meat;
When gemmes, pluckt from the shore by ruder hands,
Return'd againe unto their native sands;
'Mongst all those spoyles, there was not any prey
Could equall what this Brooke hath stolne away.

Weepe then, sad Floud; and though thou'rt innocent,
Weepe because fate made thee her instrument:
And when long griefe hath drunke up all thy store,
Come to our eyes, and we will lend thee more.

A translation of Verses upon the B. Virgin, written in Latine by the right Worshipfull Dr. A.

Ave Maria.

Once thou rejoycedst, and rejoyce for ever,
Whose time of joy shall be expired never:
Who in her wombe the Hive of Comfort beares,
Let her drinke Comforts Honey with her eares.
You brought the word of joy, which did impart
An Haile to all, let us An Haile redart.
From you God save into the World there came;
Our Eccho Haile is but an empty name.

Gratia Plena.

How loaded Hives are with their Honie fill'd,
From diverse Flowres by Chimicke Bees distill'd:
How full the Collet with his Jewell is,
Which, that it cannot take, by love doth kisse:
How full the Moone is with her Brothers ray,
When shee drinks up with thirsty orbe the day,
How full of Grace the Graces dances are,
So full doth Mary of Gods light appeare.
It is no wonder if with Graces she
Be full, who was full with the Deitie.

Dominus tecum.

The fall of mankind under deaths extent
The quire of blessed Angels did lament,
And wisht a reparation to see
By him, who manhood joyn'd with Deitie.
How gratefull should Mans safety then appeare
T'himselfe, whose safety can the Angels cheare?

Benedicta tu in mulieribus.

Death came, and troopes of sad diseases led
To th'earth, by womans hand solicited.
Life came so too, and troopes of Graces led
To th'earth, by womans faith solicited.
As our lifes spring came from thy blessed wombe,
So from our mouthes springs of thy praise shall come.
Who did lifes blessing give, 'tis fit that she
Above all women should thrice blessed be.

Et benedictus fructus ventris tui.

With mouth divine the Father doth protest,
Hee a good word sent from his stored brest,
'Twas Christ: which Mary without carnall thought,
From the unfathom'd depth of goodnesse brought,
The word of blessing a just cause affoords,
To be oft blessed with redoubled words.

Spiritus Sanctus superveniet in te.

As when soft West winds strooke the Garden Rose,
A showre of sweeter ayre salutes the Nose.
The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with powre
Unlocks the Virgin bosome of the Flowre.
So th'Holy Spirit upon Mary blow'd,
And from her sacred Box whole rivers flow'd.
Yet loos'd not thine eternall chastity,
Thy Roses folds doe still entangled lye.
Beleeve Christ borne from an unbruised wombe,
So from unbruised Barke the Odors come.

Et virtus altissimi obumbrabit tibi.

God his great Sonne begot ere time begunne,
Mary in time brought forth her little Sonne.
Of double substance, one, life hee began,
God without Mother, without Father Man.
Great is this birth, and 'tis a stranger deed,
That shee no man, then God no wife should need.

A shade delighted the Child-bearing Maid,
And God himselfe became to her a shade.
O strange descent! who is lights Author, hec
Will to his creature thus a shadow bee.
As unseene light did from the Father flow,
So did seene light from Virgin Marie grow.
When Moses sought God in a shade to see,
The Fathers shade was, Christ the Deitie.
Let's seeke for day we darknesse, whil'st our sight
In light findes darknesse, and in darknesse light.

ODE I. On the praise of Poetry.

'Tis not a Pyramide of Marble stone,
Though high as our ambition,
'Tis not a Tombe cut out in Brasse, which can
Give life to th'ashes of a man,
But Verses onely; they shall fresh appeare,
Whil'st there are men to reade, or heare.
When Time shall make the lasting Brasse decay,
And eate the Pyramide away,
Turning that Monument wherein men trust
Their names, to what it keepes, poore dust:
Then shall the Epitaph remaine, and be
New graven in Eternitie.
Poets by death are conquered, but the wit
Of Poets triumph over it.
What cannot Verse? When Thracian Orpheus tooke
His Lyre, and gently on it strooke,
The learned stones came dancing all along,
And kept time to the charming song.
With artificiall pace the Warlike Pine,
Th'Elme, and his Wife the Ivy twine,
With all the better trees, which erst had stood
Unmov'd, forsooke their native Wood.

The Lawrell to the Poets hand did bow,
Craving the honour of his brow:
And every loving arme embrac'd, and made
With their officious leaves a shade.
The beasts too strove his auditors to be,
Forgetting their old Tyrannie.
The fearefull Hart next to the Lion came,
And Wolfe was Shepheard to the Lambe.
Nightingales, harmlesse Syrens of the ayre,
And Muses of the place, were there.
Who when their little windpipes they had found
Unequall to so strange a sound,
O'recome by art and griefe they did expire,
And fell upon the conquering Lyre.
Happy, ô happy they, whose Tombe might be,
Mausolus, envied by thee!

ODE II. That a pleasant Poverty is to be preferred before discontented Riches.

1

Why ô doth gaudy Tagus ravish thee,
Though Neptunes Treasure-house it be?
Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch,
Infected yet with Midas glorious Itch?

2

Their dull and sleepie streames are not at all
Like other Flouds, Poeticall,
They have no dance, no wanton sport,
No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court.

3

No Fish inhabite the adulterate Floud,
Nor can it feed the neighbouring Wood,
No Flower or Herbe is neere it found,
But a perpetuall Winter sterves the ground.

4

Give me a River which doth scorne to shew
An added beauty, whose cleere brow
May be my looking-glasse, to see
What my face is, and what my mind should be.

5

Here waves call waves, and glide along in ranke,
And prattle to the smiling banke.
Here sad King fishers tell their tales,
And fish enrich the Brooke with silver scales.

6

Dasyes the first borne of the teeming Spring,
On each side their embrodery bring,
Here Lillies wash, and grow more white,
And Daffadills to see themselves delight.

7

Here a fresh Arbor gives her amorous shade,
Which Nature, the best Gard'ner made.
Here I would set, and sing rude layes,
Such as the Nimphs and me my selfe should please.

8

Thus I would waste, thus end my carelesse dayes,
And Robin-red-brests whom men praise
For pious birds, should when I dye,
Make both my Monument and Elegie.

ODE III. To his Mistris.

1

Tyrian dye why doe you weare
You whose cheekes best scarlet are?
Why doe you fondly pin
Pure linnens ore your skin,
Your skin that's whiter farre,
Casting a duskie cloud before a Starre?

2

Why beares your necke a golden chayne?
Did Nature make your haire in vaine,
Of Gold most pure and fine?
With gemmes why doe you shine?
They, neighbours to your eyes,
Shew but like Phosphor, when the Sunne doth rise.

3

I would have all my Mistris parts,
Owe more to Nature then to Arts,
I would not woe the dresse,
Or one whose nights give lesse
Contentment, then the day.
Shee's faire, whose beauty onely makes her gay.

4

For 'tis not buildings make a Court
Or pompe, but 'tis the Kings resort:
If Jupiter downe powre
Himselfe, and in a showre
Hide such bright Majestie
Lesse then a golden one it cannot be.

ODE IV. On the uncertainty of Fortune. A Translation.

Leave off unfit complaints, and cleere
From sighs your brest, and from black clouds your brow,
When the Sunne shines not with his wonted cheere,
And Fortune throwes an adverse cast for you.
That Sea which vext with Notus is,
The merry Eastwinds will to morrow kisse.

The Sunne to day rides drousily,
To morrow 'twill put on a looke more faire,
Laughter and groaning doe alternately
Returne, and teares sports neerest neighbours are.
'Tis by the Gods appointed so
That good fate should with mingled dangers flow.

Who drave his Oxen yesterday,
Doth now over the Noblest Romanes reigne.
And on the Gabii, and the Cures lay
The yoake which from his Oxen he had tane.
Whom Hesperus saw poore and low,
The mornings eye beholds him greatest now.

If Fortune knit amongst her play
But seriousnesse; he shall againe goe home
To his old Country Farme of yesterday,
To scoffing people no meane jest become.
And with the crowned Axe, which he
Had rul'd the World, goe backe and prune some Tree.
Nay if he want the fuell cold requires,
With his owne Fasces he shall make him fires.

ODE V. In commendation of the time we live under the Reign of our gracious K. Charles.

1

Curst be that wretch (Deaths Factor sure) who brought
Dire Swords into the peacefull world, and taught
Smiths, who before could onely make
The Spade, the Plowshare, and the Rake;
Arts, in most cruell wise
Mans life t'epitomize.

2

Then men (fond men alas) rid post to th'grave,
And cut those threads, which yet the Fates would save.
Then Charon sweated at his trade,
And had a bigger Ferry made,
Then, then the silver hayre,
Frequent before, grew rare.

3

Then Revenge married to Ambition,
Begat blacke Warre, then Avarice crept on.
Then limits to each field were strain'd,
And Terminus a Godhead gain'd.
To men before was found,
Besides the Sea, no bound.

4

In what Playne or what River hath not beene
Warres story, writ in blood (sad story) seene?
This truth too well our England knowes,
'Twas civill slaughter dy'd her Rose:
Nay then her Lillie too,
With bloods losse paler grew.

5

Such griefes, nay worse than these, we now should feele,
Did not just Charles silence the rage of steele;
He to our Land blest peace doth bring,
All Neighbour Countries envying.
Happy who did remaine
Unborne till Charles his reigne!

6

Where dreaming Chimicks is you[r] paine and cost?
How is your oyle, how is your labour lost?
Our Charles, blest Alchymist (though strange,
Beleeve it future times) did change
The Iron age of old,
Into an age of Gold.

ODE VI. Upon the shortnesse of Mans life.

Marke that swift Arrow how it cuts the ayre,
How it out-runnes thy hunting eye,
Use all perswasions now, and try
If thou canst call it backe, or stay it there.
That way it went, but thou shalt find
No tract of 't left behind.
Foole 'tis thy life, and the fond Archer, thou,
Of all the time thou'st shot away
Ile bid thee fetch but yesterday,
And it shall be too hard a taske to doe.
Besides repentance, what canst find
That it hath left behind?
Our life is carried with too strong a tyde,
A doubtfull Cloud our substance beares,
And is the Horse of all our yeares.
Each day doth on a winged whirle-wind ride.
Wee and our Glasse run out, and must
Both render up our dust.
But his past life who without griefe can see,
Who never thinkes his end too neere,
But sayes to Fame, thou art mine Heire.
That man extends lifes naturall brevity,
This is, this is the onely way
T' out-live Nestor in a day.

An Answer to an Invitation to Cambridge.

1

Nichols , my better selfe, forbeare,
For if thou telst what Cambridge pleasures are,
The Schoole-boyes sinne will light on me,
I shall in mind at least a Truant be.
Tell me not how you feed your minde
With dainties of Philosophy,
In Ovids Nut I shall not finde,
The taste once pleased me.
O tell me not of Logicks diverse cheare,
I shall begin to loath our Crambe here.

2

Tell me not how the waves appeare
Of Cam, or how it cuts the learned shiere,
I shall contemne the troubled Thames,
On her chiefe Holiday, even when her streames,
Are with rich folly guilded, when
The quondam Dungboat is made gay,
Just like the bravery of the men,
And graces with fresh paint that day:
When th' Citie shines with Flagges and Pageants there,
And Sattin Doublets, seen not twice a yeere.

3

Why doe I stay then? I would meet
Thee there, but plummets hang upon my feet:
'Tis my chiefe wish to live with thee,
But not till I deserve thy company:
Till then wee'l scorne to let that toy,
Some forty miles, divide our hearts:
Write to me, and I shall enjoy,
Friendship, and wit, thy better parts.
Though envious Fortune larger hindrance brings,
Wee'l easely see each other, Love hath wings.

The three-volume edition of Cowley's works published in 1711 contains, at the end of Sylva, the following verses:

To a Lady who desired a Song of Mr. Cowley, he presented this following.

Come, Poetry, and with you bring along
A rich and painted Throng
Of noblest Words into my Song.
Into my Numbers let them gently flow,
Soft and pure, and thick as Snow,
And turn thy Numbers still to prove
Smooth as the smoothest Sphere above,
And like a Sphere, like a Sphere, harmoniously move.
Little dost thou, vain Song, thy Fortune know,
What thou art destin'd to,
And what the Stars intend to do.
Among a thousand Songs but few can be
Born to the Honour promis'd thee.
Eliza's self shall thee receive,
And a blest Being to thee give,
Thou on her sweet and tuneful Voice shalt live.
Her warbling Tongue shall freely with thee play,
Thou on her Lips shalt stray,
And dance upon the rosie Way.
No Prince alive that would not envy thee,
And count thee happier far than he.
And how shalt thou thy Author crown!
When fair Eliza shall be known
To sing thy Praise, when she but speaks her own.

FINIS.

LOVES RIDDLE.

A PASTORALL COMÆDIE;

[_]

Written, At the time of his being Kings Scholler in Westminster Schoole, by A. Cowley.

148

Epilogue

Spoken by
Alupis.
The Author bid me tell you—'faith, I have
Forgot what 'twas; and I'me a very slave
If I know what to say; but only this,
Bee merry, that my counsell alwayes is.
Let no grave man knit up his brow, and say,
'Tis foolish: why? 'twas a Boy made the Play.
Nor any yet of those that sit behind,
Because he goes in Plush, be of his mind.
Let none his Time, or his spent money grieve,
Bee merry; Give me your hands, and I'le believe.
Or if you will not, I'le goe in, and see,
If I can turne the Authors mind, with mee
To sing away the day,
For 'tis but a folly
To bee melancholy
Since that can't mend the Play.

149

A SATYRE. THE PURITAN AND THE PAPIST.

150

So two rude waves, by stormes together throwne,
Roare at each other, fight, and then grow one.
Religion is a Circle; men contend,
And runne the round in dispute without end.
Now in a Circle who goe contrary,
Must at the last meet of necessity.
The Roman to advance the Catholicke cause
Allowes a Lie, and calls it Pia Fraus.
The Puritan approves and does the same,
Dislikes nought in it but the Latin name.
He flowes with these devises, and dares ly
In very deed, in truth, and verity.
He whines, and sighes out Lies, with so much ruth,
As if he griev'd, 'cause he could ne're speake truth.
Lies have possest the Presse so, as their due,
'Twill scarcely, 'I feare, henceforth print Bibles true.
Lies for their next strong Fort ha'th' Pulpit chose,
There throng out at the Preachers mouth, and nose.
And how e're grosse, are certaine to beguile
The poore Booke-turners of the middle Isle.
Nay to th' Almighty's selfe they have beene bold
To ly, and their blasphemous Minister told
They might say false to God, for if they were
Beaten, he knew't not, for he was not there.
But God, who their great thankefulnesse did see,
Rewards them straight with another Victorie,
Just such another at Brainceford; and san's doubt
Will weary er't be long their gratitude out.

151

Not all the Legends of the Saints of old,
Not vast Baronius, nor sly Surius hold
Such plenty of apparent Lies, as are
In your one Author, Jo. Browne Cleric. Par.
Besides what your small Poets have said, or writ,
Brookes, Strode, and the Baron of the Saw-pit:
With many a Mentall Reservation,
You'le maintaine Liberty, Reserv'd [your owne.]
For th' publique good the summes rais'd you'le disburse;
Reserv'd, [The greater part for your owne purse.]
You'le root the Cavaliers out, every man;
Faith, let it be reserv'd here; [If yee can.]
You'le make our gracious Charles, a glorious King;
Reserv'd [in Heaven,] for thither ye would bring
His Royall Head; the onely secure roome
For glorious Kings, whither you'le never come.
To keepe the estates o'th' Subjects you pretend;
Reserv'd [in your owne Trunkes;] you will defend
The Church of England, 'tis your Protestation;
But that's New-England, by'a small Reservation.

Power of dispensing Oaths the Papists claime;
Case hath got leave o' God, to doe the same.
For you doe hate all swearing so, that when
You have sworne an Oath, ye breake it streight agen.
A Curse upon you! which hurts most these Nations,
Cavaliers swearing, or your Protestations?
Nay, though Oaths by you be so much abhorr'd,
Ye allow God damne me in the Puritan Lord.

They keepe the Bible from Lay-men, but ye
Avoid this, for ye have no Laytie.
They in a forraigne, and unknowne tongue pray,
You in an unknowne sence your prayers say:
So that this difference 'twixt ye does ensue,
Fooles understand not them, nor Wise men you.

They an unprofitable zeale have got,
Of invocating Saints that heare them not.
'Twere well you did so; nought may more be fear'd
In your fond prayers, then that they should be heard.
To them your Non-sence well enough might passe,
They'd ne're see that i'th' Divine Looking-glasse:

152

Nay, whether you'de worship Saints is not yet knowne,
For ye'have as yet of your Religion none.

They by good-workes thinke to be justified,
You into the same errour deeper slide;
You thinke by workes too justified to be,
And those ill workes, Lies, Treason, Perjurie.
But oh your faith is mighty, that hath beene,
As true faith ought to be, of things unseene.
At Worc'ster, Brainceford, and Edge hill, we see,
Onely by faith you'have gotten victory.
Such is your faith, and some such unseene way
The publique faith at last your debts will pay.

They hold free-will (that nought their soules may bind)
As the great Priviledge of all mankind.
You're here more moderate, for 'tis your intent,
To make't a Priv'ledge but of Parliament.
They forbid Priests to marry; you worse doe,
Their Marriage you allow, yet punish too:
For you'de make Priests so poore, that upon all
Who marry, scorne and beggery must fall.

They a bold power o're sacred Scriptures take,
Blot out some Clauses, and some new ones make.
Your great Lord Jesuite Brookes publiquely said,
(Brookes whom too little learning hath made mad)
That to correct the Creed ye should doe well,
And blot out Christs descending into Hell.
Repent wild man, or you'le ne're change, I feare,
The sentence of your owne descending there.

Yet modestly they use the Creed, for they
Would take the Lords prayer Root and Branch away.
And wisely said a Levit of our nation,
The Lords Prayer was a Popish Innovation.
Take heed, you'le grant ere long it should be said,
An't be but to desire your daily Bread.

They keepe the people ignorant, and you
Keepe both the People, and yourselves so too.
They blind obedience and blind duty teach;
You blind Rebellion and blind faction preach.
Nor can I blame you much, that yee advance
That which can onely save yee, Ignorance;

153

Though Heaven be praysed, t'has oft beene proved well
Your Ignorance is not Invincible.
Nay such bold lies to God him selfe yee vaunt,
As if you'd faine keepe him too ignorant.

Limbus and Purgatory they beleive
For lesser sinners, that is, I conceive,
Malignants onely; you this Tricke does please,
For the same Cause ye'have made new Limbuses,
Where we may ly imprison'd long ere we
A day of Judgement in your Courts shall see.
But Pym can, like the Pope with this dispence;
And for a Bribe deliver Soules from thence.

Their Councels claime Infallibility,
Such must your Conventicle-synod be;
And Teachers from all Parts of th' Earth yee call,
To mak't a Councell Oecumenicall.

They sev'rall times appoint from meats t'abstaine;
You now for th' Irish warres a Fast ordaine;
And that that Kingdome might be sure to fast
Yee take a Course to sterve them all at last.
Nay though yee keepe no Eves, Fridayes, nor Lent,
Not to dresse meate on Sundayes you're Content;
Then you repeat, repeat, and pray, and pray;
Your Teeth keepe Sabboth, and Tongues working day.

They preserve Reliques; you have few or none,
Unlesse the Clout sent to John Pym be one.
And Hollises rich Widow, Shee who carryed
A Relique in her wombe before she married.

They in succeeding Peter take a Pride;
So doe you; for your Master ye'have denyed.
But cheifely Peters Priviledge yee choose,
At your own wills to bind and to unloose.
He was a Fisherman; you may be so too,
When nothing but your ships are left to you.
He went to Rome, to Rome you Backward ride,
(Though both your goings are by some denyed.)
Nor i'st a Contradiction, if we say,
You goe to Rome the quite Contrary way;
He dy'd o'the Crosse; that death's unusuall now;
The Gallowes is most like't, and that's for you.

154

They musicke love i'th Church; it offends your sence,
And therefore yee have sung it out from thence,
Which shewes, if right your mind be understood,
You hate it not as Musicke, but as Good.
Your madnesse makes you sing, as much as they
Dance, who are bit with a Tarantula.
But do not to your selves (alas) appeare
The most Religious Traitors that ere were,
Because your Troopes singing of Psalmes do goe;
Ther's many a Traytor has marcht Holbourn so.
Nor was't your wit this holy project bore;
Tweed and the Tyne has seene those Trickes before.

They of strange Miracles and wonders tell,
You are your selves a kind of Miracle;
Even such a miracle as in writ divine
We read o'th Devills hurrying downe the Swine.
They have made Images to speake, 'tis said,
You a dull Image have your Speaker made;
And that your bounty in offerings might abound,
Y'have to that Idoll giv'n six thousand pound.
They drive out Devills, they say; here yee begin
To differ, I confesse; you let them in.

They maintaine Transubstantiation;
You by a Contrary Philosophers stone,
To Transubstantiate Mettalls, have the skill;
And turne the Kingdomes Gold to I'ron and Steele.
I'th' Sacrament yee agree not, but 'tis noted,
Bread must be Flesh, Wine Bloud, if ere't be voted.

They make the Pope their Head, you'exalt for him
Primate and Metropolitane, Master Pym;
Nay, White, who sits in the Infallible Chaire,
And most Infallibly speakes Non-sence there:
Nay Cromwell, Pury, Whistler, Sir John Wray,
He who does say, and say, and say, and say.
Nay Lowry, who does new Church-Gover'ment wish,
And Prophesies, like Jonas, midst the Fish.
Who can such various businesse wisely sway,
And handle Herrings, and Bishops in one day.
Nay all your Preachers, Women, Boyes, or Men,
From Master Calamy, to Mistresse Ven,

155

Are perfect Popes in their owne Parish growne;
For to outdoe the story of Pope Jone:
Your Women preach too, and are like to bee
The Whores of Babylon, as much as Shee.

They depose Kings by force; by force you'de doe it,
But first use faire meanes to perswade them to it.
They dare kill Kings; now 'twixt ye here's the strife,
That you dare shoot at Kings, to save their life.
And what's the difference, 'pray, whether he fall
By the Popes Bull or your Oxe Generall?
Three Kingdomes thus ye strive to make your owne;
And, like the Pope, usurpe a Triple Crowne.

Such is your Faith, such your Religion;
Let's view your manners now, and then I ha' done.
Your Covetousnesse let gasping Ireland tell,
Where first the Irish Lands, and next ye sell
The English Bloud; and raise Rebellion here,
With that which should suppresse, and quench it there.
What mighty summes have ye squeez'd out o'th' City?
Enough to make 'em poore, and something witty.
Excise, Loanes, Contributions, Pole-moneys,
Bribes, Plunder, and such Parliament Priviledges,
Are words which you'le ne're learne in holy Writ,
'Till the Spirit and your Synod ha's mended it.
Where's all the Twentieth part now, which hath beene
Paid you by some, to forfeit the Nineteene?
Where's all the Goods distrain'd, and Plunders past?
For you're growne wretched, pilfering knaves at last;
Descend to Brasse and Pewter; till of late,
Like Midas, all ye toucht, must needs be Plate.

By what vast hopes is your Ambition fed?
'Tis writ in bloud, and may be plainly read.
You must have Places, and the Kingdome sway;
The King must be a Ward to your Lord Say.
Your innocent Speaker to the Rolles must rise,
Six thousand pound hath made him proud and wise.
Kimbolton for his Fathers place doth call;
Would be like him; would he were, face and all.
Isaack would alwayes be Lord Mayor, and so
May alwayes be, as much as he is now.

156

For the Five Members, they so richly thrive,
They'le but continue alwayes Members Five.
Onely Pym doth his naturall right enforce,
By the Mothers side he's Master of the Horse.
Most shall have Places by these popular tricks,
The rest must be content with Bishopricks.

For 'tis 'gainst Superstition your intent,
First to root out that great Church Ornament,
Money and Lands; your swords, alas, are drawne,
Against the Bishop, not his Cap, or Lawne.

O let not such loud Sacriledge begin,
Tempted by Henries rich successefull sinne.
Henry the Monster King of all that age;
Wilde in his Lust, and wilder in his Rage.
Expect not you his Fate, though Hotham thrives
In imitating Henries tricke for Wives,
Nor fewer Churches hopes then Wives to see
Buried, and then their Lands his owne to bee.

Ye boundlesse Tyr[a]nts, how doe you outvy
Th' Athenian Thirty, Romes Decemviri?
In Rage, Injustice, Cruelty as farre
Above those men, as you in number are.
What Mysteries of Iniquity doe we see?
New Prisons made to defend Libertie;
Where without cause, some are undone, some dy,
Like men bewitcht, they know not how, nor why.
Our Goods forc'd from us for Propriety's sake;
And all the Reall Non-sence which ye make.
Ship-money was unjustly ta'ne, ye say;
Unjustlier farre you take the Ships away.
The High-Commission you calld Tyrannie,
Ye did; Good God! what is the High-Committee?
Ye said that gifts and bribes Preferments bought,
By Money and Bloud too, they now are sought.
To the Kings will the Lawes men strove to draw;
The Subjects will is now become the Law.
'Twas fear'd a New Religion would begin;
All new Religions now are entred in.
The King Delinquents to protect did strive;
What Clubs, Pikes, Halberts, Lighters, sav'd the Five?

157

You thinke the Parliament, like your State of Grace,
What ever sinnes men doe, they keepe their place.
Invasions then were fear'd against the State,
And Strode swore that last yeare would be 'Eighty-Eight.
You bring in Forraine aid to your designes;
First those great Forraine Forces of Divines,
With which Ships from America were fraught;
Rather may stinking Tobacco still be brought
From thence, I say; next ye the Scots invite,
Which ye terme Brotherly Assistants right;
For with them you intend England to share:
They, who, alas, but younger Brothers are,
Must have the Monies for their Portion;
The Houses and the Lands will be your owne.
We thanke ye for the wounds which we endure,
Whil'st scratches and slight pricks ye seeke to cure.
We thanke ye for true reall feares at last,
Which free us from so ma[n]y false ones past.
We thanke ye for the Bloud which fats our Coast,
(That fatall debt paid to great Straffords Ghost.)
We thanke ye for the ills receiv'd, and all
Which by your diligence in good time we shall.
We thanke ye, and our gratitude's as great
As yours, when you thank'd God for being beat.

A. C.

FINIS.

342

A DISCOURSE By way of VISION, Concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

343

[Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst]

1

Ah, happy Isle, how art thou chang'd and curst,
Since I was born, and knew thee first!
When Peace, which had forsook the World around,
(Frighted with noise, and the shrill Trumpets sound)
Thee for a private place of rest,
And a secure retirement chose
Wherein to build her Halcyon Nest;
No wind durst stir abroad the Air to discompose.

2

When all the riches of the Globe beside
Flow'd in to Thee with every Tide;
When all that Nature did thy Soil deny,
The Growth was of thy fruitfull Industry,

344

When all the proud and dreadfull Sea,
And all his Tributary-streams,
A constant Tribute paid to Thee.
When all the liquid World was one extended Thames.

3

When Plenty in each Village did appear,
And Bounty was it's Steward there;
When Gold walkt free about in open view,
Ere it one Conquering parties Prisoner grew;
When the Religion of our State
Had Face and Substance with her Voice,
Ere she by 'er foolish Loves of late,
Like Eccho (once a Nymph) turn'd onely into Noise.

4

When Men to Men respect and friendship bore,
And God with Reverence did adore;
When upon Earth no Kingdom could have shown
A happier Monarch to us than our own,
And yet his Subjects by him were
(Which is a Truth will hardly be
Receiv'd by any vulgar Ear,
A secret known to few) made happi'r ev'n than He.

5

Thou doest a Chaos, and Confusion now,
A Babel, and a Bedlam grow,
And like a Frantick person thou doest tear
The Ornaments and Cloaths which thou shouldst wear,
And cut thy Limbs; and if we see
(Just as thy Barbarous Britons did)
Thy Body with Hypocrisie
Painted all o're, thou think'st, Thy naked shame is hid.

6

The Nations, which envied thee erewhile,
Now laugh (too little 'tis to smile)
They laugh, and would have pitty'd thee (alas!)
But that thy Faults all Pity do surpass.

345

Art thou the Country which didst hate,
And mock the French Inconstancy?
And have we, have we seen of late
Less change of Habits there, than Governments in Thee?

7

Unhappy Isle! No ship of thine at Sea,
Was ever tost and torn like thee.
Thy naked Hulk loose on the Waves does beat,
The Rocks and Banks around her ruin threat;
What did thy foolish Pilots ail,
To lay the Compass quite aside?
Without a Law or Rule to sail,
And rather take the winds, then Heavens to be their Guide?

8

Yet, mighty God, yet, yet, we humbly crave,
This floating Isle from shipwrack save;
And though to wash that Bloud which does it stain,
It well deserves to sink into the Main;
Yet for the Royal Martyr's prayer
(The Royal Martyr pray's we know)
This guilty, perishing Vessel spare;
Hear but his Soul above, and not his bloud below.

351

[Curst be the Man (what do I wish? as though]

1

Curst be the Man (what do I wish? as though
The wretch already were not so;
But curst on let him be) who thinks it brave
And great, his Countrey to enslave.
Who seeks to overpoise alone
The Balance of a Nation;
Against the whole but naked State,
Who in his own light Scale makes up with Arms the weight.

2

Who of his Nation loves to be the first,
Though at the rate of being worst.
Who would be rather a great Monster, than
A well-proportion'd Man.
The Son of Earth with hundred hands
Upon his three-pil'd Mountain stands,
Till Thunder strikes him from the sky;
The Son of Earth again in his Earths womb does lie.

352

3

What Bloud, Confusion, Ruine, to obtain
A short and miserable Reign?
In what oblique and humble creeping wise
Does the mischievous Serpent rise?
But even his forked Tongue strikes dead,
When h'as rear'd up his wicked Head,
He murders with his mortal frown,
A Basilisk he grows if once he get a Crown.

4

But no Guards can oppose assaulting Ears,
Or undermining Tears.
No more than doors, or close-drawn Curtains keep
The swarming Dreams out when we sleep.
That bloudy Conscience too of his
(For, oh, a Rebel Red-Coat 'tis)
Does here his early Hell begin,
He sees his Slaves without, his Tyrant feels within.

5

Let, Gracious God, let never more thine hand
Lift up this rod against our Land.
A Tyrant is a Rod and Serpent too,
And brings worse Plagues than Egypt knew.
What Rivers stain'd with blood have been?
What Storm and Hail-shot have we seen?
What Sores deform'd the Ulcerous State?
What darkness to be felt has buried us of late?

6

How has it snatcht our Flocks and Herds away?
And made even of our Sons a prey?
What croaking Sects and Vermin has it sent
The restless Nation to torment?
What greedy Troups, what armed power
Of Flies and Locusts to devour
The Land which every where they fill?
Nor flie they, Lord, away; no, they devour it still.

353

7

Come the eleventh Plague, rather than this should be;
Come sink us rather in the Sea.
Come rather Pestilence and reap us down;
Come Gods sword rather than our own.
Let rather Roman come again,
Or Saxon, Norman, or the Dane,
In all the bonds we ever bore,
We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blusht before.

8

If by our sins the Divine Justice be
Call'd to this last extremity,
Let some denouncing Jonas first be sent,
To try if England can repent.
Methinks at least some Prodigy,
Some dreadful Comet from on high,
Should terribly forewarn the Earth,
As of good Princes Deaths, so of a Tyrants birth.

373

[It is a Truth so certain, and so clear]

It is a Truth so certain, and so clear,
That to the first-born Man it did appear;
Did not, the mighty Heir, the noble Cain,
By the fresh Laws of Nature taught, disdain
That (though a Brother) any one should be
A greater Favourite to God than He?
He strook him down; and, so (said He) so fell
The Sheep which thou didst Sacrifice so well.
Since all the fullest Sheaves which I could bring,
Since all were Blasted in the Offering,
Lest God should my next Victime too despise,
The acceptable Priest I'le Sacrifice.
Hence Coward Fears; for the first Blood so spilt
As a Reward, He the first City built.

374

'Twas a beginning generous and high,
Fit for a Grand-Child of the Deity.
So well advanc'd, 'twas pity there he staid;
One step of Glory more he should have made,
And to the utmost bounds of Greatness gone;
Had Adam too been kill'd, He might have Reign'd Alone.
One Brother's death, What do I mean to name,
A small Oblation to Revenge and Fame?
The mighty-soul'd Abimelec to shew
What for high place a higher Spirit can do,
A Hecatomb almost of Brethren slew,
And seventy times in nearest blood he dy'd
(To make it hold) his Royal Purple Pride.
Why do I name the Lordly Creature Man?
The weak, the mild, the Coward Woman, can,
When to a Crown she cuts her sacred way,
All that oppose with Manlike Courage slay.
So Athaliah, when she saw her Son,
And with his Life her dearer Greatness gone,
With a Majestique fury slaughter'd all
Whom high birth might to high pretences call.
Since he was dead who all her power sustain'd,
Resolv'd to reign alone; Resolv'd, and Reign'd.
In vain her Sex, in vain the Laws withstood,
In vain the sacred plea of David's Blood,
A noble, and a bold contention, She,
(One Woman) undertook with Destiny.
She to pluck down, Destiny to uphold
(Oblig'd by holy Oracles of old)
The great Jessœan race on Juda's Throne;
Till 'twas at last an equal Wager grown,
Scarce Fate, with much adoe, the Better got by One.
Tell me not she her self at last was slain;
Did she not first seven years (a Life-time) reign?
Seven royal years t' a publick spirit will seem
More than the private Life of a Methusalem.
'Tis Godlike to be Great; and as they say
A thousand years to God are but a day:
So to a Man, when once a Crown he wears,
The Coronation Days more than a thousand years.

375

[When, Lo, e're the last words were fully spoke]

When, Lo, e're the last words were fully spoke,
From a fair Cloud, which rather ope'd, than broke,
A flash of Light rather than Lightning came,
So swift, and yet so gentle was the Flame.
Upon it rode, and in his full Career,
Seem'd to my Eyes no sooner There than Here,
The comliest Youth of all th' Angelique Race;
Lovely his shape, ineffable his Face.
The Frowns with which he strook the trembling Fiend,
All smiles of Humane Beauty did transcend,
His Beams of Locks fell part dishevel'd down,
Part upwards curld, and form'd a nat'ral Crown,
Such as the Brittish Monarchs us'd to wear;
If Gold might be compar'd with Angels Hair.
His Coat and flowing Mantle were so bright,
They seem'd both made of woven Silver Light:
Across his Breast an azure Ruban went,
At which a Medal hung that did present

376

In wondrous living figures to the sight,
The mystick Champions, and old Dragon's fight,
And from his Mantles side there shone afar,
A fixt, and, I believe, a real Star.
In his fair hand (what need was there of more?)
No Arms but th' English bloody Cross he bore,
Which when he towards th' affrighted Tyrant bent,
And some few words pronounc'd (but what they meant,
Or were, could not, alas, by me be known,
Only I well perceiv'd Jesus was one)
He trembled, and he roar'd, and fled away;
Mad to quit thus his more than hop'd-for prey.
Such Rage inflames the Wolves wild heart and eyes
(Rob'd as he thinks unjustly of his prize)
Whom unawares the Shepherd spies, and draws
The bleating Lamb from out his ravenous jaws.
The Shepherd fain himself would he assail,
But Fear above his Hunger does prevail,
He knows his Foe too strong, and must be gone;
He grins as he looks back, and howls as he goes on.

377

Several Discourses by way of Essays, in Verse and Prose.

1. Of Liberty.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

385

[Who governs his own course with steddy hand]

Who governs his own course with steddy hand,
Who does Himself with Sovereign Pow'r command;
Whom neither Death, nor Poverty does fright,
Who stands not aukwardly in his own light
Against the Truth: who can when Pleasures knock
Loud at his door, keep firm the bolt and lock.
Who can though Honour at his gate should stay
In all her Masking Cloaths, send her away,
And cry, be gone, I have no mind to Play.

386

[Magne Deus, quod ad has vitœ brevis attinet horas]

Magne Deus, quod ad has vitœ brevis attinet horas,
Da mihi, da Panem Libertatemque, nec ultrà
Sollicitas effundo preces, siquid datur ultrà
Accipiam gratus; si non, Contentus abibo.

For the few Houres of Life allotted me,
Give me (great God) but Bread and Liberty,
I'le beg no more; if more thou'rt pleas'd to give,
I'le thankfully that Overplus receive:
If beyond this no more be freely sent,
I'le thank for this, and go away content.

Martial. Lib. 2.

Vota tui breviter, &c.

Well then, Sir, you shall know how far extend
The Prayers and Hopes of your Poetick Friend;
He does not Palaces nor Manors crave,
Would be no Lord, but less a Lord would have.
The ground he holds, if he his own, can call,
He quarrels not with Heaven because 'tis small:

387

Let gay and toilsome Greatness others please,
He loves of homely Littleness the Ease.
Can any Man in guilded rooms attend,
And his dear houres in humble visits spend;
When in the fresh and beauteous Fields he may
With various healthful pleasures fill the day?
If there be Man (ye Gods) I ought to Hate
Dependance and Attendance be his Fate.
Still let him Busie be, and in a crowd,
And very much a Slave, and very Proud:
Thus he perhaps Pow'rful and Rich may grow;
No matter, O ye Gods! that I'le allow.
But let him Peace and Freedome never see;
Let him not love this Life, who loves not Me.

Martial. L. [2.]

Vis fieri Liber? &c.

Would you be Free? 'Tis your chief wish, you say,
Come on; I'le shew thee, Friend, the certain way,
If to no Feasts abroad thou lov'st to go,
Whilst bounteous God does Bread at home bestow,
If thou the goodness of thy Cloaths dost prize
By thine own Use, and not by others Eyes.
(If onely safe from Weathers) thou can'st dwell,
I[n] a small House, but a convenient Shell,
If thou without a Sigh, or Golden wish,
Canst look upon thy Beechen Bowl, and Dish;
If in thy Mind such power and greatness be,
The Persian King's a Slave compar'd with Thee.

Mart. L. 2.

Quod te nomine? &c.

That I do you with humble Bowes no more,
And danger of my naked Head adore.
That I who Lord and Master cry'd erewhile,
Salute you in a new and different Stile,

388

By your own Name, a scandal to you now,
Think not that I forget my self or you:
By loss of all things by all others sought
This Freedome, and the Freemans Hat is bought.
A Lord and Master no man wants but He
Who o're Himself has no Autoritie.
Who does for Honours and for Riches strive,
And Follies, without which Lords cannot Live.
If thou from Fortune dost no Servant crave,
Believe it, thou no Master need'st to have.

Ode.

Upon Liberty.

1.

Freedome with Virtue takes her seat,
Her proper place, her onely Scene,
Is in the Golden Mean,
She lives not with the Poor, nor with the Great.
The Wings of those Necessity has clipt,
And they'r in Fortunes Bridewell whipt,
To the laborious task of Bread;
These are by various Tyrants Captive lead.
Now wild Ambition with imperious force
Rides, raines, and spurs them like th' unruly Horse.
And servile Avarice yoakes them now
Like toilsome Oxen to the Plow.
And sometimes Lust, like the Misguiding Light,
Drawes them through all the Labyrinths of Night.
If any Few among the Great there be
From these insulting Passions free,
Yet we ev'n those too fetter'd see
By Custom, Business, Crowds, and formal Decency.
And whereso'ere they stay, and whereso'ere they go,
Impertinencies round them flow:
These are the small uneasie things
Which about Greatness still are found,
And rather it Molest then Wound:

389

Like Gnats which too much heat of summer brings;
But Cares do swarm there too, and those have stings:
As when the Honey does too open lie,
A thousand Wasps about it fly:
Nor will the Master ev'n to share admit;
The Master stands aloof, and dares not Tast of it.

2.

'Tis Morning; well; I fain would yet sleep on;
You cannot now; you must be gone
To Court, or to the noisy Hall:
Besides, the Rooms without are crowded all;
The st[r]eam of Business does begin,
And a Spring-Tide of Clients is come in.
Ah cruel Guards, which this poor Prisoner keep!
Will they not suffer him to sleep?
Make an Escape; out at the Postern flee,
And get some blessed Houres of Libertie,
With a few Friends, and a few Dishes dine,
And much of Mirth and moderate Wine.
To thy bent Mind some relaxation give,
And steal one day out of thy Life to Live.
Oh happy man (he cries) to whom kind Heaven
Has such a Freedome alwayes given!
Why, mighty Madman, what should hinder thee
From being every day as Free?

3.

In all the Freeborn Nations of the Air,
Never did Bird a spirit so mean and sordid bear,
As to exchange his Native Liberty
Of soaring boldly up into the sky,
His Liberty to Sing, to Perch, or Fly,
When, and where'ver he thought good,
And all his innocent pleasures of the Wood,
For a more plentiful or constant Food.
Nor ever did Ambitious rage
Make him into a painted Cage;
Or the false Forest of a well-hung Room,
For Honour and Preferment come.

390

Now, Blessings on ye all, ye Heroick Race,
Who keep their Primitive powers and rights so well
Though Men and Angels fell.
Of all Material Lives the highest place,
To you is justly given;
And wayes and walkes the neerest Heaven.
Whilst wretched we, yet vain and proud, think fit
To boast, That we look up to it.
Even to the Universal Tyrant Love,
You Homage pay but once a year:
None so degenerous and unbirdly prove,
As his perpetual yoke to bear.
None but a few unhappy Houshold Foul,
Whom human Lordship does controul;
Who from their birth corrupted were
By Bondage, and by mans Example here.

He's no small Prince who every day
Thus to himself can say,
Now will I sleep, now eat, now sit, now walk,
Now meditate alone, now with Acquaintance talk.
This I will do, here I will stay,
Or if my Fancy call me away,
My Man and I will presently go ride;
(For we before have nothing to provide,
Nor after are to render an account)
To Dover, Barwick, or the Cornish Mount.
If thou but a short journey take,
As if thy last thou wert to make,
Business must be dispatch'd e're thou canst part,
Nor canst thou stirr unless there be
A hundred Horse and Men to wait on thee,
And many a Mule, and many a Cart;
What an [unwieldy] man thou art?
The Rhodian Colossus so
A Journey too might go.

5

Where Honour or where Conscience does not bind
No other Law shall shackle me,
Slave to my self I will not be,

391

Nor shall my future Actions be confin'd
By my own present Mind.
Who by Resolves and Vows engag'd does stand
For days that yet belong to Fate,
Does like an unthrift Mor[t]gage his Estate
Before it falls into his Hand,
The Bondman of the Cloister so
All that he does receive does always owe.
And still as Time comes in, it goes away
Not to Enjoy, but Debts to pay.
Unhappy Slave, and Pupil to a Bell!
Which his hours work as well as hours does tell!
Unhappy till the last, the kind releasing Knell.

6.

If Life should a well-order'd Poem be
(In which he only hits the white
Who joyns true Profit with the best Delight)
The more Heroique strain let others take,
Mine the Pindarique way I'le make.
The Matter shall be Grave, the Numbers loose and free.
It shall not keep one setled pace of Time,
In the same Tune it shall not always Chime,
Nor shall each day just to his Neighbour Rhime,
A thousand Liberties it shall dispense,
And yet shall mannage all without offence;
Or to the sweetness of the Sound, or greatness of the Sence,
Nor shall it never from one Subject start,
Nor seek Transitions to depart,
Nor its set way o're Stiles and Bridges make,
Nor thorough Lanes a Compass take
As if it fear'd some trespass to commit,
When the wide Air's a Road for it.
So the Imperial Eagle does not stay
Till the whole Carkass he devour
That's fallen into its power.
As if his generous Hunger understood
That he can never want plenty of Food,
He only sucks the tastful Blood.
And to fresh Game flies cheerfully away;
To Kites and meaner Birds he leaves the mangled Prey.

392

[2.] Of Solitude.

[_]

The following verse has bean extracted from the prose of this discourse.

395

[Hail, old Patrician Trees, so great and good!]

1

Hail, old Patrician Trees, so great and good!
Hail ye Plebeian under wood!
Where the Poetique Birds rejoyce,
And for their quiet Nests and plentious Food,
Pay with their grateful voice.

2

Hail, the poor Muses richest Mannor Seat!
Ye Countrey Houses and Retreat,
Which all the happy Gods so Love,
That for you oft they quit their Bright and Great
Metropolis above.

3

Here Nature does a House for me erect,
Nature the wisest Architect,
Who those fond Artists does despise
That can the fair and living Trees neglect;
Yet the Dead Timber prize.

4

Here let me careless and unthoughtful lying,
Hear the soft winds above me flying,
With all their wanton Boughs dispute,
And the more tuneful Birds to both replying
Nor be my self too Mute.

5

A Silver stream shall roul his waters neer,
Guilt with the Sun-beams here and there
On whose enamel'd Bank I'll walk,
And see how prettily they Smile, and hear
How prettily they Talk.

396

6

Ah wretched, and too Solitary Hee
Who loves not his own Company!
He'l feel the weight of't many a day
Unless he call in Sin or Vanity
To help to bear't away.

7

Oh Solitude, first state of Human-kind!
Which blest remain'd till man did find
Even his own helpers Company.
As soon as two (alas!) together joyn'd,
The Serpent made up Three.

8

Though God himself, through countless Ages Thee
His sole Companion chose to be,
Thee, Sacred Solitude alone,
Before the Branchy head of Numbers Tree
Sprang from the Trunk of One.

9

Thou (though men think thine an unactive part)
Dost break and tame th'unruly heart,
Which else would know no setled pace,
Making it move, well mannag'd by thy Art,
With Swiftness and with Grace.

10

Thou the faint beams of Reasons scatter'd Light,
Dost like a Burning-glass unite,
Dost multiply the feeble Heat,
And fortifie the strength, till thou dost bright
And noble Fires beget.

11

Whilst this hard Truth I teach, methinks, I see
The Monster London laugh at me,
I should at thee too, foolish City,
If it were fit to laugh at Misery,
But thy Estate I pity.

397

12

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the Fools that crowd the[e] so,
Even thou who dost thy Millions boast,
A Village less then Islington wilt grow,
A Solitude almost.

3. Of Obscurity.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

399

Seneca, ex Thyeste, Act. 2. Chor.

Stet quicunque volet, potens Aulæ culmine lubrico, &c.

Upon the slippery tops of humane State,
The guilded Pinnacles of Fate,

400

Let others proudly stand, and for a while
The giddy danger to beguile,
With Joy, and with disdain look down on all,
Till their Heads turn, and down they, fall.
Me, O ye Gods, on Earth, or else so near
That I no Fall to Earth may fear,
And, O ye gods, at a good distance seat
From the long Ruines of the Great.
Here wrapt in th' Arms of Quiet let me ly;
Quiet, Companion of Obscurity.
Here let my Life, with as much silence slide,
As Time that measures it does glide.
Nor let the Breath of Infamy or Fame,
From town to town Eccho about my Name.
Nor let my homely Death embroidered be
With Scutcheon or with Elegie.
An old Plebean let me Dy,
Alas, all then are such as well as I.
To him, alas, to him, I fear,
The face of Death will terrible appear:
Who in his life flattering his senceless pride
By being known to all the world beside,
Does not himself, when he is Dying know
Nor what he is, nor Whither hee's to go.

4. Of Agriculture.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

409

Virg. Georg.

O fortunatus nimium, &c.

[_]

A Translation out of Virgil.

Oh happy, (if his Happiness he knows)
The Country Swain, on whom kind Heav'n bestows
At home all Riches that wise Nature needs;
Whom the just earth with easie plenty feeds.
'Tis true, no morning Tide of Clients comes,
And fills the painted Chanels of his rooms,
Adoring the rich Figures, as they pass,
In Tap'stry wrought, or cut in living brass;
Nor is his Wooll superfluously dy'd
With the dear Poyson of Assyrian pride:
Nor do Arabian Perfumes vainly spoil
The Native Use, and Sweetness of his Oyl.
Instead of these, his calm and harmless life
Free from th' Alarms of Fear, and storms of Strife,
Does with substantial blessedness abound,
And the soft wings of Peace cover him round:
Through artless Grots the murmuring waters glide;
Thick Trees both against Heat and Cold provide,
From whence the Birds salute him; and his ground
With lowing Herds, and bleeting Sheep does sound;
And all the Rivers, and the Forests nigh,
Both Food and Game, and Exercise supply.
Here a well hard'ned active youth we see,
Taught the great Art of chearful Poverty.
Here, in this place alone, there still do shine
Some streaks of Love, both humane and Divine;
From hence Astræa took her flight, and here
Still her last Foot-steps upon Earth appear.
'Tis true, the first desire which does controul
All the inferiour wheels that move my Soul,
Is, that the Muse me her high Priest would make;
Into her holyest Scenes of Myst'ry take,

410

And open there to my mind's purged eye
Those wonders which to Sense the Gods deny;
How in the Moon such change of shapes is found:
The Moon, the changing Worlds eternal bound.
What shakes the solid Earth, what strong disease
Dares trouble the firm Centre's antient ease;
What makes the Sea retreat, and what advance:
Varieties too regular for chance.
What drives the Chariot on of Winters light,
And stops the lazy Waggon of the night.
But if my dull and frozen Blood deny,
To send forth Sp'rits that raise a Soul so high;
In the next place, let Woods and Rivers be
My quiet, though unglorious destiny.
In Life's cool vale let my low Scene be laid;
Cover me Gods, with Tempe's thickest shade.
Happy the Man, I grant, thrice happy he
Who can through gross effects their causes see:
Whose courage from the deeps of knowledg springs,
Nor vainly fears inevitable things;
But does his walk of virtue calmly go,
Through all th' allarms of Death and Hell below.
Happy! but next such Conquerours, happy they,
Whose humble Life lies not in fortunes way.
They unconcern'd from their safe distant seat,
Behold the Rods and Scepters of the great.
The quarrels of the mighty without fear,
And the descent of forein Troops they hear.
Nor can even Rome their steddy course misguide,
With all the lustre of her perishing Pride.
Them never yet did strife or avarice draw,
Into the noisy markets of the Law,
The Camps of Gowned War, nor do they live
By rules or forms that many mad men give.
Duty for Natures Bounty they repay,
And her sole Laws religiously obey.

Some with bold Labour plow the faithless main,
Some rougher storms in Princes Courts sustain.
Some swell up their sleight sails with pop'ular fame,
Charm'd with the foolish whistlings of a Name.

411

Some their vain wealth to Earth again commit;
With endless cares some brooding o're it sit.
Country and Friends are by some Wretches sold,
To lie on Tyrian Beds and drink in Gold;
No price too high for profit can be shown;
Not Brothers blood, nor hazards of their own.
Around the World in search of it they roam,
It makes ev'n their Antipodes their home;
Mean while, the prudent Husbandman is found,
In mutual duties striving with his ground,
And half the year he care of that does take,
That half the year grateful returns does make.
Each fertil moneth does some new gifts present,
And with new work his industry content.
This, the young Lamb, that the soft Fleece doth yield,
This, loads with Hay, and that, with Corn the Field:
All sorts of Fruit crown the rich Autumns Pride:
And on a swelling Hill's warm stony side,
The powerful Princely Purple of the Vine,
Twice dy'd with the redoubled Sun, does shine.
In th' Evening to a fair ensuing day,
With joy he sees his Flocks and Kids to play;
And loaded Kyne about his Cottage stand,
Inviting with known sound the Milkers hand;
And when from wholsom labour he doth come,
With wishes to be there, and wish't for home,
He meets at door the softest humane blisses,
His chast Wives welcom, and dear Childrens kisses.
When any Rural Holy dayes invite
His Genius forth to innocent delight,
On Earth's fair bed beneath some sacred shade,
Amidst his equal friends carelesly laid,
He sings thee Bacchus Patron of the Vine,
The Beechen Boul fomes with a floud of Wine,
Not to the loss of reason or of strength:
To active games and manly sport at length,
Their mirth ascends, and with fill'd veins they see,
Who can the best at better trials be.
Such was the Life the prudent Sabins chose,
From such the old Hetrurian virtue rose.

412

Such, Remus and the God his Brother led,
From such firm footing Rome grew the World's head.
Such was the Life that ev'n till now does raise
The honour of poor Saturns golden dayes:
Before Men born of Earth and buried there,
Let in the Sea their mortal fate to share.
Before new wayes of perishing were sought,
Before unskilful Death on Anvils wrought.
Before those Beasts which humane Life sustain,
By Men, unless to the Gods use were slain.

Horat. Epodon.

Beatus ille qui procul, &c.

Happy the Man whom bounteous Gods allow
With his own Hands Paternal Grounds to plough!
Like the first golden Mortals Happy he
From Business and the cares of Money free!
No humane storms break off at Land his sleep.
No loud Alarms of Nature on the Deep,
From all the cheats of Law he lives secure,
Nor does th' affronts of Palaces endure;
Sometimes the beauteous Marriagable Vine
He to the lusty Bridegroom Elm does joyn;
Sometimes he lops the barren Trees around,
And grafts new Life into the fruitful wound;
Sometimes he sheers his Flock, and sometimes he
Stores up the Golden Treasures of the Bee.
He sees his lowing Herds walk o're the Plain,
Whilst neighbouring Hills low back to them again:
And when the Season Rich as well as Gay,
All her Autumnal Bounty does display.
How is he pleas'd th' encreasing Use to see,
Of his well trusted Labours bend the tree?
Of which large shares, on the glad sacred daies
He gives to Friends, and to the Gods repays.
With how much joy do's he beneath some shade
By aged trees rev'rend embraces made,

413

His careless head on the fresh Green recline,
His head uncharg'd with Fear or with Design.
By him a River constantly complaines,
The Birds above rejoyce with various strains
And in the solemn Scene their Orgies keep
Like Dreams mixt with the Gravity of sleep,
Sleep which does alwaies there for entrance wait
And nought within against it shuts the gate.

Nor does the roughest season of the sky,
Or sullen Jove all sports to him deny,
He runs the Mazes of the nimble Hare,
His well-mouth'd Dogs glad concert rends the air,
Or with game bolder, and rewarded more,
He drives into a Toil, the foaming Bore,
Here flies the Hawk t' assault, and there the Net
To intercept the travailing foul is set.
And all his malice, all his craft is shown
In innocent wars, on beasts and birds alone.
This is the life from all misfortunes free,
From thee the Great one, Tyrant Love, from Thee;
And if a chaste and clean, though homely wife
Be added to the blessings of this Life,
Such as the antient Sun-burnt Sabins were,
Such as Apulia, frugal still, does bear,
Who makes her Children and the house her care,
And joyfully the work of Life does share,
Nor thinks herself too noble or too fine
To pin the sheepfold or to milch the Kine,
Who waits at door against her Husband come
From rural duties, late, and wearied home,
Where she receives him with a kind embrace,
A chearful Fire, and a more chearful Face:
And fills the Boul up to her homely Lord,
And with domestique plenty loads the board.
Not all the lustful shel-fish of the Sea,
Drest by the wanton hand of Luxurie,
Nor Ortalans nor Godwits nor the rest
Of costly names that glorify a Feast,
Are at the Princely tables better cheer,
Then Lamb and Kid, Lettice and Olives here.

414

The Country Mouse.

A Paraphrase upon Horace 2 Book, Satyr. 6.

At the large foot of a fair hollow tree,
Close to plow'd ground, seated commodiously,
His antient and Hereditary House,
There dwelt a good substantial Country-Mouse:
Frugal, and grave, and careful of the main,
Yet, one, who once did nobly entertain
A City Mouse well coated, sleek, and gay,
A Mouse of high degree, which lost his way,
Wantonly walking forth to take the Air,
And arriv'd early, and belighted there,
For a days lodging: the good hearty Hoast,
(The antient plenty of his hall to boast)
Did all the stores produce, that might excite,
With various tasts, the Courtiers appetite.
Fitches and Beans, Peason, and Oats, and Wheat,
And a large Chesnut, the delicious meat
Which Jove himself, were he a Mouse, would eat.
And for a Haut goust there was mixt with these
The swerd of Bacon, and the coat of Cheese.
The precious Reliques, which at Harvest, he
Had gather'd from the Reapers luxurie.
Freely (said he) fall on and never spare,
The bounteous Gods will for to morrow care.
And thus at ease on beds of straw they lay,
And to their Genius sacrific'd the day.
Yet the nice guest's Epicurean mind,
(Though breeding made him civil seem and kind)
Despis'd this Country feast, and still his thought
Upon the Cakes and Pies of London wrought.
Your bounty and civility (said he)
Which I'm surpriz'd in these rude parts to see,
Shews that the Gods have given you a mind,
Too noble for the fate which here you find.

415

Why should a Soul, so virtuous and so great,
Lose it self thus in an Obscure retreat?
Let savage Beasts lodg in a Country Den,
You should see Towns, and Manners know, and men:
And taste the generous Lux'ury of the Court,
Where all the Mice of quality resort;
Where thousand beauteous shees about you move,
And by high fare, are plyant made to love.
We all e're long must render up our breath,
No cave or hole can shelter us from death.

Since Life is so uncertain, and so short,
Let's spend it all in feasting and in sport.
Come, worthy Sir, come with me, and partake,
All the great things that mortals happy make.

Alas, what virtue hath sufficient Arms,
T'oppose bright Honour, and soft Pleasures charms?
What wisdom can their magick force repel?
It draws this reverend Hermit from his Cel.
It was the time, when witty Poets tell,
That Phœbus into Thetis bosom fell:
She blusht at first, and then put out the light,
And drew the modest Curtains of the night.
Plainly, the troth to tell, the Sun was set,
When to the Town our wearied Travellers get,
To a Lords house, as Lordly as can be
Made for the use of Pride and Luxury,
They come; the gentle Courtier at the door
Stops and will hardly enter in before.
But 'tis, Sir, your command, and being so,
I'm sworn t' obedience, and so in they go.
Behind a hanging in a spacious room,
(The richest work of Mortclakes noble Loom)
They wait awhile their wearied limbs to rest,
Till silence should invite them to their feast.
About the hour that Cynthia's Silver light,
Had touch'd the pale Meridies of the night;
At last the various Supper being done,
It happened that the Company was gone,
Into a room remote, Servants and all,
To please their nobles fancies with a Ball.

416

Our host leads forth his stranger, and do's find,
All fitted to the bounties of his mind.
Still on the Table half fill'd dishes stood,
And with delicious bits the floor was strow'd.
The courteous mouse presents him with the best,
And both with fat varieties are blest,
Th' industrious Peasant every where does range,
And thanks the gods for his Life's happy change.
Loe, in the midst of a well fraited Pye,
They both at last glutted and wanton lye.
When see the sad Reverse of prosperous fate,
And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait.
With hideous noise, down the rude servants come,
Six dogs before run barking into th' room;
The wretched gluttons fly with wild affright,
And hate the fulness which retards their flight.
Our trembling Peasant wishes now in vain,
That Rocks and Mountains cover'd him again.
Oh how the change of his poor life he curst!
This, of all lives (said he) is sure the worst.
Give me again, ye gods, my Cave and wood;
With peace, let tares and acorns be my food.

A Paraphrase upon the 10th Epistle of the first Book of Horace.

Horace to Fuscus Aristius.
Health, from the lover of the Country me,
Health, to the lover of the City thee,
A difference in our souls, this only proves,
In all things else, w' agree like marryed doves.
But the warm nest, and crowded dove-house thou
Dost like; I loosly fly from bough to bough,
And Rivers drink, and all the shining day,
Upon fair Trees, or mossy Rocks I play;

417

In fine, I live and reign when I retire
From all that you equal with Heaven admire.
Like one at last from the Priests service fled,
Loathing the honie'd Cakes, I long for Bread.
Would I a house for happines erect,
Nature alone should be the Architect.
She'd build it more convenient, then great,
And doubtless in the Country choose her seat.
Is there a place, doth better helps supply,
Against the wounds of Winters cruelty?
Is there an Ayr that gentl'er does asswage
The mad Celestial Dogs, or Lyons rage?
Is it not there that sleep (and only there)
Nor noise without, nor cares within does fear?
Does art through pipes, a purer water bring,
Then that which nature straines into a spring?
Can all your Tap'stries, or your Pictures show
More beauties then in herbs and flowers do grow?
Fountains and trees our wearied Pride do please,
Even in the midst of gilded Palaces.
And in your towns that prospect gives delight,
Which opens round the country to our sight.
Men to the good, from which they rashly fly,
Return at last, and their wild Luxury
Does but in vain with those true joyes contend,
Which Nature did to mankind recommend.
The man who changes gold for burnisht Brass,
Or small right Gems, for larger ones of glass:
Is not, at length, more certain to be made
Ridiculous, and wretched by the trade,
Than he, who sells a solid good, to buy
The painted goods of Pride and Vanity.
If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose,
Which 'tis but pain to keep, yet grief to loose.
For, when we place even trifles, in the heart,
With trifles too, unwillingly we part.
An humble Roof, plain bed, and homely board,
More clear, untainted pleasures do afford,
Then all the Tumult of vain greatness brings
To Kings, or to the favorites of Kings.

418

The horned Deer by Nature arm'd so well,
Did with the Horse in common pasture dwell;
And when they fought, the field it alwayes wan,
Till the ambitious Horse begg'd help of Man,
And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign
Bravely alone, as Lord of all the plain:
But never after could the Rider get
From off his back, or from his mouth the bit.
So they, who poverty too much do fear,
T' avoid that weight, a greater burden bear;
That they might Pow'r above their equals have,
To cruel Masters they themselves enslave.
For Gold, their Liberty exchang'd we see,
That fairest flow'r, which crowns Humanity.
And all this mischief does upon them light,
Only, because they know not how, aright,
That great, but secret, happiness to prize,
That's laid up in a Little, for the Wise:
That is the best, and easiest Estate,
Which to a man sits close, but not too strait;
'Tis like a shooe; it pinches, and it burns,
Too narrow; and too large it overturns.
My dearest friend, stop thy desires at last,
And chearfully enjoy the wealth thou hast.
And, if me still seeking for more you see,
Chide, and reproach, despise and laugh at me.
Money was made, not to command our will,
But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil.
Shame and wo to us, if we' our wealth obey;
The Horse doth with the Horse-man run away.

419

The Country Life.

Libr. 4. Plantarum.

Blest be the man (and blest he is) whom [e're]
(Plac'd far out of the roads of Hope or Fear)
A little Field, and little Garden feeds;
The Field gives all that Frugal Nature needs,
The wealthy Garden liberally bestows
All she can ask, when she luxurious grows.
The specious inconveniences that wait
Upon a life of Business, and of State,
He sees (nor does the sight disturb his rest)
By Fools described, by wicked men possest.
Thus, thus (and this deserv'd great Virgils praise)
The old Corycian Yeom[a]n past his daies,
Thus his wise life Abdolonymus spent:
Th' Ambassadours which the great Emp'rour sent
To offer him a Crown, with wonder found
The reverend Gard'ner howing of his Ground,
Unwillingly and slow and discontent,
From his lov'd Cottage, to a Throne he went?
And oft he stopt in his tryumphant way,
And oft lookt back, and oft was heard to say
Not without sighs, Alas, I there forsake
A happier Kingdom then I go to take.
Thus Aglaüs (a man unknown to men,
But the gods knew and therefore lov'd him Then)
Thus liv'd obscurely then without a Name,
Aglaüs now consign'd t' eternal Fame.
For Gyges, the rich King, wicked and great,
Presum'd at wise Apollos Delphick seat
Presum'd to ask, Oh thou, the whole Worlds Eye,
See'st thou a Man, that Happier is then I?
The God, who scorn'd to flatter Man, reply'd,
Aglaüs Happier is. But Gyges cry'd,
In a proud rage, Who can that Aglaüs be?
We have heard as yet of no such King as Hee.

420

And true it was through the whole Earth around
No King of such a Name was to be found.
Is some old Hero of that name alive,
Who his high race does from the Gods derive?
Is it some mighty General that has done,
Wonders in fight, and God-like honours wone?
Is it some m[a]n of endless wealth, said he?
None, none of these; who can this Aglaüs bee?
After long search and vain inquiries past,
In an obscure Arcadian Vale at last,
(The Arcadian life has always shady been.
Near Sopho's Town (which he but once had seen)
This Aglaüs who Monarchs Envy drew,
Whose Happiness the Gods stood witness too,
This mighty Aglaüs was labouring found,
With his own Hands in his own little ground.

So, gracious God, (if it may lawful be,
Among those foolish gods to mention Thee)
So let me act, on such a private stage,
The last dull Scenes of my declining Age;
After long toiles and Voyages in vain,
This quiet Port let my tost Vessel gain,
Of Heavenly rest, this Earnest to me lend,
Let my Life sleep, and learn to love her End.

The Garden.

To J. Evelyn Esquire.

422

1.

Happy art Thou, whom God does bless
With the full choice of thine own Happiness;
And happier yet, because thou'rt blest
With prudence, how to choose the best:
In Books and Gardens thou hast plac'd aright
(Things which thou well dost understand;
And both dost make with thy laborious hand)
Thy noble, innocent delight:
And in thy virtuous Wife, where thou again dost meet
Both pleasures more refin'd and sweet:
The fairest Garden in her Looks,
And in her Mind the wisest Books.
Oh, Who would change these soft, yet solid joys,
For empty shows and senceless noys;
And all which rank Ambition breeds,
Which seem such beauteous Flowers, and are such poisonous Weeds?

2.

When God did Man to his own Likeness make,
As much as Clay, though of the purest kind,
By the great Potters art refin'd;
Could the Divine Impression take,
He thought it fit to place him, where
A kind of Heaven too did appear,
As far as Earth could such a Likeness bear:
That man no happiness might want,
Which Earth to her first Master could afford;
He did a Garden for him plant
By the quick Hand of his Omnipotent Word.
As the chief Help and Joy of human life,
He gave him the first Gift; first, ev'n before a Wife.

423

3.

For God, the universal Architect,
'Thad been as easie to erect
A Louvre or Escurial, or a Tower
That might with Heav'n communication hold,
As Babel vainly thought to do of old:
He wanted not the skill or power,
In the Worlds Fabrick those were shown,
And the Materials were all his own.
But well he knew what place would best agree
With Innocence, and with Felicity:
And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain,
If any part of either yet remain;
If any part of either we expect,
This may our Judgment in the search direct;
God the first Garden made, and the first City, Cain.

4.

Oh blessed shades! O gentle cool retreat
From all th' immoderate Heat,
In which the frantick World does Burn and Sweat!
This does the Lion-Star, Ambitions rage;
This Avarice, the Dogstars Thirst asswage;
Every where else their fatal power we see,
They make and rule Mans wretched Destiny:
They neither Set, nor Disappear,
But tyrannize o're all the Year;
Whilst we ne're feel their Flame or Influence here.
The Birds that dance from Bough to Bough,
And Sing above in every Tree,
Are not from Fears and Cares more free,
Then we who Lie, or Sit, or Walk below,
And should by right be Singers too.
What Princes Quire of Musick can excell
That which within this shade does dwell?
To which we nothing Pay or Give,
They like all other Poets live,
Without reward, or thanks for their obliging pains;
'Tis well if they become not Prey:

424

The whis[t]ling Winds add their less artfull strains,
And a grave Base the murmuring Fountains play;
Nature does all this Harmony bestow,
But to our Plants, Arts Musick too,
The Pipe, Theorbo, and Guitarr we owe;
The Lute it self, which once was Green and Mute,
When Orpheus strook th' inspired Lute,
The Trees danc'd round, and understood
By Sympathy the Voice of Wood.

5.

These are the Spels that to kind Sleep invite,
And nothing does within resistance make,
Which yet we moderately take;
Who would not choose to be awake,
While he's encompast round with such delight,
To th' Ear, the Nose, the Touch, the Tast & Sight?
When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep
A Prisoner in the Downy Bands of Sleep,
She Od'rous Herbs and Flowers beneath him spread
As the most soft and sweetest Bed;
Not her own Lap would more have charm'd his Head.
Who, that has Reason, and his Smell,
Would not among Roses and Jasmin dwell,
Rather then all his Spirits choak
With Exhalations of Durt and Smoak?
And all th' uncleanness which does drown
In Pestilential Clouds a populous Town?
The Earth it self breaths better Perfumes here,
Then all the Femal Men or Women there,
Not without cause, about them bear.

6.

When Epicurus to the World had taught,
That Pleasure was the chiefest Good,
(And was perhaps i'th' right, if rightly understood)
His Life he to his Doctrine brought,
And in a Gardens shade that Sovereign Pleasure sought:
Whoever a true Epicure would be,
May there find cheap and virtuous Luxurie.

425

Vitellius his Table, which did hold
As many Creatures as the Ark of old:
That Fiscal Table, to which every day
All Countries did a constant Tribute pay,
Could nothing more delicious afford,
Then Natures Liberalitie,
Helpt with a little Art and Industry,
Allows the meanest Gard'ners board.
The wanton Tast no Fish, or Fowl can choose,
For which the Grape or Melon she would lose,
Though all th' Inhabitants of Sea and Air
Be listed in the Gluttons bill of Fare;
Yet still the Fruits of Earth we see
Plac'd the Third Story high in all her Luxury.

7.

But with no Sence the Garden does comply;
None courts, or flatters, as it does the Eye:
When the great Hebrew King did almost strain
The wond'rous Treasures of his Wealth and Brain,
His Royal Southern Guest to entertain;
Though she on Silver Floores did tread,
With bright Assyrian Carpets on them spread,
To hide the Metals Poverty.
Though she look'd up to Roofs of Gold,
And nought around her could behold
But Silk and rich Embrodery,
And Babylonian Tapestry,
And wealthy Hirams Princely Dy:
Though Ophirs Starry Stones met every where her Eye;
Though She her self, and her gay Host were drest
With all the shining glories of the East;
When lavish Art her costly work had done,
The honour and the Prize of Bravery
Was by the Garden from the Palace won;
And every Rose and Lilly there did stand
Better attir'd by Natures hand:
The case thus judg'd against the King we see,
By one that would not be so Rich, though Wiser far then He.

426

8.

Nor does this happy place onely dispence
Such various Pleasures to the Sence;
Here Health it self does live,
That Salt of Life, which does to all a relish give,
Its standing Pleasure, and Intrinsick Wealth,
The Bodies Virtue, and the Souls good Fortune Health.
The Tree of Life, when it in Eden stood,
Did its immortal Head to Heaven rear;
It lasted a tall Cedar till the Flood;
Now a small thorny Shrub it does appear;
Nor will it thrive too every where:
It alwayes here is freshest seen;
'Tis onely here an Ever-green.
If through the strong and beauteous Fence
Of Temperance and Innocence,
And wholsome Labours, and a quiet Mind,
Any Diseases passage find,
They must not think here to assail
A Land unarm'd, or without a Guard;
They must fight for it, and dispute it hard,
Before they can prevail:
Scarce any Plant is growing here
Which against Death some Weapon does not bear.
Let Cities boast, That they provide
For Life the Ornaments of Pride;
But 'tis the Country and the Field,
That furnish it with Staffe and Shield.

9.

Where does the Wisdom and the Power Divine
In a more bright and sweet Reflection shine?
Where do we finer strokes and colours see
Of the Creators Real Poetry,
Then when we with attention look
Upon the Third Dayes Volume of the Book?
If we could open and intend our Eye,
We all like Moses should espy
Ev'n in a Bush the radiant Deitie.

427

But we despise these his Inferiour wayes,
(Though no less full of Miracle and Praise)
Upon the Flowers of Heaven we gaze;
The Stars of Earth no wonder in us raise,
Though these perhaps do more then they,
The life of Mankind sway.
Although no part of mighty Nature be
More stor'd with Beauty, Power, and Mysterie;
Yet to encourage human Industrie,
God has so ordered, that no other part
Such Space, and such Dominion leaves for Art.

10.

We no where Art do so triumphant see,
As when it Grafs or Buds the Tree:
In other things we count it to excell,
If it a Docile Schollar can appear
To Nature, and but imitate her well;
It over-rules, and is her Master here.
It imitates her Makers Power Divine,
And changes her sometimes, and sometimes does refine:
It does, like Grace, the Fallen Tree restore
To its blest state of Paradise before:
Who would not joy to see his conquering hand
Ore all the Vegetable World command?
And the wild Giants of the Wood receive
What Law he's pleas'd to give?
He bids th' il-natur'd Crab produce
The gentler Apples Winy Juice;
The golden fruit that worthy is
Of Galatea's purple kiss;
He does the savage Hawthorn teach
To bear the Medlar and the Pear,
He bids the rustick Plum to rear
A noble Trunk, and be a Peach.
Even Daphnes coyness he does mock,
And weds the Cherry to her stock,
Though she refus'd Apolloes suit;
Even she, that chast and Virgin Tree,
Now wonders at her self, to see
That she's a mother made, and blushes in her fruit.

428

11.

Methinks I see great Dioclesian walk
In the Salonian Gardens noble shade,
Which by his own Imperial hands was made:
I see him smile (methinks) as he does talk
With the Ambassadors, who come in vain,
T' entice him to a throne again.
If I, my Friends (said he) should to you show
All the delights, which in these Gardens grow;
'Tis likelier much, that you should with me stay,
Than 'tis that you should carry me away:
And trust me not, my Friends, if every day,
I walk not here with more delight,
Then ever after the most happy fight,
In Triumph, to the Capitol, I rod,
To thank the gods, & to be thought, my self almost a god.

6. Of Greatness.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

434

Horace. L. 3. Ode 1.

Odi profanum vulgus, &c.

1.

Hence, ye Profane; I hate ye all;
Both the Great, Vulgar, and the small.
To Virgin Minds, which yet their Native whiteness hold,
Not yet Discolour'd with the Love of Gold,
(That Jaundice of the Soul,
Which makes it look so Guilded and so Foul)
To you, ye very Few, these truths I tell;
The Muse inspires my Song, Heark, and observe it well.

435

2.

We look on Men, and wonder at such odds
'Twixt things that were the same by Birth;
We look on Kings as Giants of the Earth,
These Giants are but Pigmeys to the Gods.
The humblest Bush and proudest Oak,
Are but of equal proof against the Thunder-stroke.
Beauty, and Strength, and Wit, and Wealth, and Power
Have their short flourishing hour;
And love to see themselves, and smile,
And joy in their Preeminence a while;
Even so in the same Land,
Poor Weeds, rich Corn, gay Flowers together stand;
Alas, Death Mowes down all with an impartial Hand.

3.

And all you Men, whom Greatness does so please,
Ye feast (I fear) like Damocles:
If you your eyes could upwards move,
(But you (I fear) think nothing is above)
You would perceive by what a little thread
The Sword still hangs over your head.
No Title of Wine would drown your cares;
No Mirth or Musick over-noise your feares.
The fear of Death would you so watchfull keep,
As not t' admit the Image of it, sleep.

4.

Sleep is a God too proud to wait in Palaces
And yet so humble too as not to scorn
The meanest Country Cottages;
His Poppey grows among the Corn.
The Halcyon sleep will never build his nest
In any stormy breast.
'Tis not enough that he does find
Clouds and Darkness in their Mind;
Darkness but half his work will do.
'Tis not enough; he must find Quiet too.

436

5.

The man, who in all wishes he does make,
Does onely Natures Counsel take.
That wise and happy man will never fear
The evil Aspects of the Year;
Nor tremble, though two Comets should appear;
He does not look in Almanacks to see,
Whether he Fortunate shall be;
Let Mars and Saturn in th' Heavens conjoyn,
And what they please against the World design,
So Jupiter within him shine.

6.

If of your pleasures and desires no end be found,
God to your Cares and Fears will set no bound.
What would content you? Who can tell?
Ye fear so much to lose what you have got,
As if you lik'd it well.
Ye strive for more, as if ye lik'd it not.
Go, level Hills, and fill up Seas,
Spare nought that may your wanton Fancy please
But trust Me, when you 'have done all this,
Much will be Missing still, and much will be Amiss.

7. Of Avarice.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

438

[I'dmire, Mecænas, how it comes to pass]

I'dmire, Mecænas, how it comes to pass,
That no man ever yet contented was,
Nor is, nor perhaps will be with that state
In which his own choice plants him or his Fate
Happy their Merchant, the old Soldier cries;
The Merchant beaten with tempestuous skies,
Happy the Soldier one half hour to thee
Gives speedy Death or Glorious victory.
The Lawyer, knockt up early from his rest
By restless Clyents, calls the Peasant blest,
The Peasant when his Labours ill succeed,
Envys the Mouth which only Talk does feed,
'Tis not (I think you'l say) that I want store
Of Instances, if here I add no more,
They are enough to reach at least a mile
Beyond long Orator Fabias his Stile,
But, hold, you whom no Fortune e're endears
Gentlemen, Malecontents, and Mutineers,
Who bounteous Jove so often cruel call,
Behold, Jove's now resolv'd to please you all.
Thou Souldier be a Merchant, Merchant, Thou
A Souldier be; and, Lawyer, to the Plow.
Change all their stations strait, why do they stay?
The Devil a man will change, now when he may,
Were I in General Jove's abused case,
By Jove I'de cudgel this rebellious race:
But he's too good; Be all then as you were,
However make the best of what you are,
And in that state be chearful and rejoyce,
Which either was your Fate, or was your Choice.

439

No, they must labour yet, and sweat and toil,
And very miserable be a while.
But 'tis with a Design only to gain
What may their Age with plenteous ease maintain.
The prudent Pismire does this Lesson teach
And industry to Lazy Mankind preach.
The little Drudge does trot about and sweat,
Nor does he strait devour all he can get,
But in his temperate Mouth carries it home
A stock for Winter which he knows must come.
And when the rowling World to Creatures here
Turns up the deform'd wrong side of the Year,
And shuts him in, with storms, and cold, and wet,
He chearfully does his past labours eat:
O, does he so? your wise example, th' Ant,
Does not at all times Rest, and Plenty want.
But weighing justly 'a mortal Ants condition
Divides his Life 'twixt Labour and Fruition.
Thee neither heat, nor storms, nor wet, nor cold
From thy unnatural diligence can withhold,
To th' Indies thou wouldst run rather then see
Another, though a Friend, Richer then Thee.
Fond man! what Good or Beauty can be found
In heaps of Treasure buried under ground?
Which rather then diminisht e're to see
Thou wouldst thy self too buried with them be:
And what's the difference, is't not quite as bad
Never to Use, as never to have Had?
In thy vast Barns millions of Quarters store,
Thy Belly for all that will hold no more
Then Mine does; every Baker makes much Bread,
What then? He's with no more then others fed.
Do you within the bounds of Nature Live,
And to augment your own you need not strive,
One hundred Acres will no less for you
Your Life's whole business then ten thousand do.
But pleasant'tis to take from a great store;
What, Man? though you'r resolv'd to take no more
Then I do from a small one? if your Will
Be but a Pitcher or a Pot to fill,

440

To some great River for it must you go,
When a clear spring just at your feet does flow?
Give me the Spring which does to humane use
Safe, easie, and untroubled stores produce,
He who scorns these, and needs will drink at Nile
Must run the danger of the Crocodile,
And of the rapid stream it self which may
At unawares bear him perhaps away.
In a full Flood Tantalus stands, his skin
Washt o're in vain, for ever, dry within;
He catches at the Stream with greedy lips,
From his toucht Mouth the wanton Torment slips:
You laugh now, and expand your careful brow;
Tis finely said, but what's all this to you?
Change but the Name, this Fable is thy story,
Thou in a Flood of useless Wealth dost Glory,
Which thou canst only touch but never taste;
Th' abundance still, and still the want does last.
The Treasures of the Gods thou wouldst not spare,
But when they'r made thine own, they Sacred are,
And must be kept with reverence, as if thou
No other use of precious Gold didst know,
But that of curious Pictures to delight
With the fair stamp thy Virtuoso sight.
The only true, and genuine use is this,
To buy the things which Nature cannot miss
Without discomfort, Oyl, and vital Bread,
And Wine by which the Life of Life is fed.
And all those few things else by which we live;
All that remains is Giv'n for thee to Give;
If Cares and Troubles, Envy, Grief and Fear,
The bitter Fruits be, which fair Riches bear,
If a new Poverty grow out of store;
The old plain way, ye Gods, let me be Poor.

441

A Paraphrase on an Ode in Horace's third Book, beginning thus, Inclusam Danaen turris ahenea.

A tower of Brass, one would have said,
And Locks, and Bolts, and Iron bars,
And Guards, as strict as in the heat of wars,
Might have preserv'd one Innocent Maiden-head.
The jealous Father thought he well might spare,
All further jealous Care,
And as he walkt, t' himself alone he smil'd,
To think how Venus Arts he had beguil'd;
And when he slept, his rest was deep,
But Venus laugh'd to see and hear him sleep.
She taught the Amorous Jove
A Magical receit in Love,
Which arm'd him stronger, and which help'd him more,
Than all his Thunder did, and his Almighty-ship before.

2.

She taught him Loves Elixar, by which Art,
His Godhead into Gold he did convert,
No Guards did then his passage stay,
He pass'd with ease; Gold was the Word;
Subtle as Lightning, bright and quick and fierce,
Gold through Doors and Walls did pierce;
And as that works sometimes upon the sword,
Melted the Maiden-head away,
Even in the secret scabbard where it lay.
The prudent Macedonian King,
To blow up Towns, a Golden Mine did spring.
He broke through Gates with this Petar,
'Tis the great Art of Peace, the Engine 'tis of War;
And Fleets and Armies follow it afar,
The Ensign 'tis at Land, and 'tis the Seamans Star.

442

3.

Let all the World, slave to this Tyrant be,
Creature to this Disguised Deitie,
Yet it shall never conquer me.
A Guard of Virtues will not let it pass,
And wisdom is a Tower of stronger brass.
The Muses Lawrel round my Temples spread,
'T does from this Lightnings force secure my head.
Nor will I lift it up so high,
As in the violent Meteors way to lye.
Wealth for its power do we honour and adore?
The things we hate, ill Fate, and Death, have more.

4.

From Towns and Courts, Camps of the Rich and Great,
The vast Xerxean Army I retreat,
And to the small Laconick forces fly,
Which hold the straights of Poverty.
Sellars and Granaries in vain we fill,
With all the bounteous Summers store,
If the Mind thirst and hunger still.
The poor rich Man's emphatically poor.
Slaves to the things we too much prize,
We Masters grow of all that we despise.

5.

A Field of Corn, a Fountain and a Wood,
Is all the Wealth by Nature understood,
The Monarch on whom fertile Nile bestows
All which that grateful Earth can bear,
Deceives himse[l]f, if he suppose
That more than this falls to his share.
Whatever an Estate does beyond this afford,
Is not a rent paid to the Lord;
But is a Tax illegal and unjust,
Exacted from it by the Tyrant Lust.
Much will always wanting be,
To him who much desires. Thrice happy He
To whom the wise indulgency of Heaven,
With sparing hand, but just enough has given.

443

[8.] The dangers of an Honest man in much Company.

447

Claudian's Old Man of Verona.

Happy the Man, who his whole time doth bound
Within th' enclosure of his little ground.
Happy the Man, whom the same humble place,
(Th' hereditary Cottage of his Race)
From his first rising infancy has known,
And by degrees sees gently bending down,
With natural propension to that Earth
Which both preserv'd his Life, and gave him birth.
Him no false distant lights by fortune set,
Could ever into foolish wandrings get.
He never dangers either saw, or fear'd:
The dreadful stormes at Sea he never heard.
He never heard the shrill allarms of War,
Or the worse noises of the Lawyers Bar.

448

No change of Consuls marks to him the year,
The change of seasons is his Calendar.
The Cold and Heat, Winter and Summer shows,
Autumn by Fruits, and Spring by Flow'rs he knows.
He measures Time by Land-marks, and has found
For the whole day the Dial of his ground.
A neighbouring Wood born with himself he sees,
And loves his old contemporary Trees.
H'as only heard of near Verona's Name,
And knows it like the Indies, but by Fame.
Does with a like concernment notice take
Of the Red-Sea, and of Benacus Lake.
Thus Health and Strength he to' a third age enjoyes,
And sees a long Posterity of Boys.
About the spacious World let others roam,
The Voyage Life is longest made at home.

9. The shortness of Life and uncertainty of Riches.

450

[Why dost thou heap up Wealth, which thou must quit]

1

Why dost thou heap up Wealth, which thou must quit,
Or, what is worse, be left by it?
Why dost thou load thy self, when thou.'rt to flie,
Oh Man ordain'd to die?

2

Why dost thou build up stately Rooms on high,
Thou who art under Ground to lie?
Thou Sow'st and Plantest, but no Fruit must see,
For Death, alas! is sowing Thee.

3

Suppose, thou Fortune couldst to tameness bring,
And clip or pinion her wing;
Suppose thou couldst on Fate so far prevail
As not to cut off thy Entail.

451

4

Yet Death at all that subtilty will laugh,
Death will that foolish Gardner mock,
Who does a slight and annual Plant engraff,
Upon a lasting stock.

5

Thou dost thy self Wise and Industrious deem;
A mighty Husband thou wouldst seem;
Fond Man! like a bought slave, thou all the while
Dost but for others Sweat and Toil.

6

Officious Fool! that needs must medling be
In business that concerns not thee!
For when to Future years thou' extendst thy cares
Thou deal'st in other mens affairs.

7

Even aged men, as if they truly were
Children again, for Age prepare,
Provisions for long travail they design,
In the last point of their short Line.

8

Wisely the Ant against poor Winter hoords
The stock which Summers wealth affords,
In Grashoppers that must at Autumn die,
How vain were such an Industry?

9

Of Power and Honour the deceitful Light
Might halfe excuse our cheated sight,
If it of Life the whole small time would stay,
And be our Sun-shine all the day,

10

Like Lightning that, begot but in a Cloud
(Though shining bright, and speaking loud)
Whilst it begins, concludes its violent Race,
And where it Guilds, it wounds the place.

452

11

Oh Scene of Fortune, which dost fair appear,
Only to men that stand not near!
Proud Poverty, that Tinsel brav'ry wears!
And, like a Rainbow, Painted Tears!

12

Be prudent, and the shore in prospect keep,
In a weak Boat trust not the deep.
Plac'd beneath Envy, above envying rise;
Pity Great Men, Great Things despise.

13

The wise example of the Heavenly Lark,
Thy Fellow-Poet, Cowley mark,
Above the Clouds let thy proud Musique sound,
Thy humble Nest build on the Ground.

10. The danger of Procrastination.

[_]

The following verse has been extracted from the prose of this discourse.

454

Mart. Lib. 5. Epigr. 59.

To morrow you will Live, you always cry;
In what far Country does this morrow lye,
That 'tis so mighty long 'ere it arrive?
Beyond the Indies does this Morrow live?

455

'Tis so far fetcht this Morrow, that I fear
'Twill be both very Old and very Dear.
To morrow I will live, the Fool does say;
To Day it self's too Late, the wise liv'd Yesterday.

Mart. Lib. 2. Ep. 90.

Wonder not, Sir (you who instruct the Town
In the true Wisdom of the Sacred Gown)
That I make haste to live, and cannot hold
Patiently out, till I grow Rich and Old.
Life for Delays and Doubts no time does give,
None ever yet, made Haste enough to Live.
Let him defer it, whose preposterous care
Omits himself, and reaches to his Heir.
Who does his Fathers bounded stores despise,
And whom his own too never can suffice:
My humble thoughts no glittering roofs require,
Or Rooms that shine with ought but constant Fire.
I well content the Avarice of my sight
With the fair guildings of reflected Light:
Pleasures abroad, the sport of Nature yeilds
Her living Fountains, and her smiling Fields:
And then at home, wha[t] pleasure is't to see
A little cleanly chearful Familie?
Which if a chast Wife crown, no less in Her
Then Fortune, I the Golden Mean prefer.
Too noble, nor too wise, she should not be,
No, not too Rich, too Fair, too fond of me.
Thus let my life slide silently away,
With Sleep all Night, and Quiet all the Day.

11. Of My self.

456

[This only grant me, that my means may lye]

9

This only grant me, that my means may lye
Too low for Envy, for Contempt too high.
Some Honor I would have
Not from great deeds, but good alone.
The unknown are better than ill known.
Rumour can ope' the Grave,
Acquaintance I would have, but when't depends
Not on the number, but the choice of Friends.M

457

10

Books should, not business entertain the Light,
And sleep, as undisturb'd as Death, the Night.
My House a Cottage, more
Then Palace, and should fitting be
For all my Use, no Luxury.
My Garden painted o're
With Natures hand, not Arts; and pleasures yeild,
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

11

Thus would I double my Lifes fading space,
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race.
And in this true delight,
These unbought sports, this happy State,
I would not fear nor wish my fate,
But boldly say each night,
To morrow let my Sun his beams display,
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to Day.

460

Martial. L. 10. Ep. 47.

Vitam quæ faciunt beatio[r]em, &c.
Since, dearest Friend, 'tis your desire to see
A true Receipt of Happiness from Me;
These are the chief Ingredients, if not all;
Take an Estate neither too great nor small,
Which Quantum Sufficit the Doctors call.
Let this Estate from Parents care descend;
The getting it too much of Life does spend.
Take such a Ground, whose gratitude may be
A fair Encouragement for Industry.
Let constant Fires the Winters fury tame;
And let thy Kitchens be a Vestal Flame.
Thee to the Town let never Suit at Law;
And rarely, very rarely Business draw.
Thy active Mind in equal Temper keep,
In undisturbed Peace, yet not in sleep.
Let Exercise a vigorous Health maintain,
Without which all the Composition's vain.
In the same weight Prudence and Innocence take,
And of each does the just mixture make.
But a few Friendships wear, and let them be
By Nature and by Fortune fit for thee.
In stead of Art and Luxury in food,
Let Mirth and Freedome make thy Table good.
If any cares into thy Day-time creep,
At night, without Wines Opium, let them sleep.
Let rest, which Nature does to Darkness wed,
And not Lust, recommend to thee thy Bed,
Be satisfi'd, and pleas'd with what thou art;
Act chearfully and well th' alotted part,
Enjoy the present Hour, be thankful for the Past,
And neither fear, nor wish th' approaches of the last.

461

Martial Book 10. Epigram 96.

Me who have liv'd so long among the great,
You wonder to hear talk of a Retreat:
And a retreat so distant, as may show
No thoughts of a return when once I go.
Give me a Country, how remote so e're,
Where happiness a mod'rate rate does bear,
Where poverty it self in plenty flowes,
And all the solid use of Riches knowes.
The ground about the house maintains it there,
The House maintains the ground about it here.
Here even Hunger's dear, and a full board,
Devours the vital substance of the Lord.
The Land it self does there the feast bestow,
The Land it self must here to Market go.
Three or four suits one Winter here does wast,
One suit does there three or four winters last.
Here every frugal Man must oft be cold,
And little Luke-warm-fires are to you sold.
There Fire's an Element as cheap and free,
Almost as any of the other Three.
Stay you then here, and live among the Great,
Attend their sports, and at their tables eat.
When all the bounties here of Men you score:
The Places bounty there, shall give me more.

462

To the Duke of Buckingham, upon his Marriage with the Lord Fairfax his Daughter.

1.

Beauty and strength together came,
Even from the Birth with Buckingham;
The little active Seeds which since are grown
So fair, so large and high,
With Life it self were in him sown;
Honour and wealth stood like the Midwifes by,
To take the Birth into their happy Hands,
And wrapt him warme in their rich swaddling Bands:
To the great Stock the thriving Infant soon
Made greater Acquisitions of his own;
With Beauty generous Goodness he Combin'd,
Courage to Strength, Judgment to Wit he joyn'd;
He pair'd, and match'd his Native Virtues right,
Both to improve their use, and their Delight.

2.

O blest Conjunction of the fairest Stars,
That Shine in Humane Natures Sphere!
But O! what envious Cloud your Influence bars,
Ill fortune, what dost thou do there?
Hadst thou the least of Modesty,
Thou'dst be asham'd that we should see

463

Thy deform'd Looks, and Dress, in such a Company:
Thou wert deceiv'd, rash Goddess, in thy hate,
If thou dist foolishly believe
That thou could'st him of ought deprive,
But, what men hold of thee, a great Estate.
And here indeed thou to the full did shew
All that thy Tyrant Deity could do,
His Virtues never did thy power obey,
In dissipating Storms, and routed Battles they
Did close and constant with their Captain stay;
They with him into Exile went,
And kept their Home in Banishment.
The Noble Youth was often forc'd to flee
From the insatiate Rage of thee,
Disguised, and Unknown;
In all His shap'es they always kept their own,
Nay, with the Foil of darkness, brighter shone,
And might Unwillingly have don,
But, that just Heaven thy wicked Will abhor'd,
What Virtues most detest, might have betrayd their Lord.

3.

Ah slothful Love, could'st thou with patience see
Fortune usurp that flowry Spring from thee;
And nip thy rosy Season with a Cold,
That comes too soon, when Life's short year grows old,
Love his gross Error saw at last,
And promis'd large amends for what was past,
He promis'd, and has don it, which is more
Than I, who knew him long, e'er knew him do before.
H' has done it Nobly, and we must confess
Could do no more, though h' ought to do no less.
What has he don? he has repair'd
The Ruines which a luckless War did make,
And added to it a Reward
Greater than Conquest for its share could take.
His whole Estate could not such gain produce,
Had it layd out a hundred years at use.

464

4.

Now blessings to thy Noble choice betide,
Happy, and Happy-making Bride.
Though thou art born of a Victorious Race,
And all their rougher Victorie dost grace
With gentle Triumphs of thy Face,
Permit us in this milder War to prize
No less thy yeilding Heart, than thy Victorious Eyes.
Nor doubt the honour of that field,
Where thou didst first overcome, e'er thou didst yield.
And tho' thy Father's Martial Name
Has fill'd the Trumpets and the Drums of Fame,
Thy Husband triumphs now no less than He,
And it may justly question'd be,
Which was the Happiest Conqueror of the Three.

5.

There is in Fate (which none but Poets see)
There is in Fate the noblest Poetry,
And she has shown, Great Duke, her utmost Art in Thee;
For after all the troubles of thy Scene,
Which so confus'd, and intricate have been,
She has ended with this Match thy Tragicomedy;
We all admire it, for the truth to tell,
Our Poet Fate ends not all Plays so well;
But this she as her Master-piece does boast,
And so indeed She may;
For in the middle Acts, and turnings of the Play,
Alas! we gave our Hero up for lost.
All men, I see, this with Applause receive,
And now let me have leave,
A Servant of the Person, and the Art,
To Speak this Prologue to the second part.

467

A POEM On the late CIVIL WAR.

What Rage does England from it self divide,
More than the Seas from all the World beside.
From every part the roaring Cannons play,
From every part Blood roars as loud as they.
What English Ground but still some Moisture bears,
Of Young Mens Blood, and more of Mothers Tears!
What Airs unthickened with the Sighs of Wives,
Tho' more of Maids for their dear Lovers Lives.
Alas, what Triumphs can this Victory shew,
That dies us Red in Blood and Blushes too!
How can we wish that Conquest, which bestows
Cypress, not Bays, upon the Conquering Brows,
It was not so when Henry's dreadful Name,
Not Sword, nor Cause, whole Nations overcame.
To farthest West did his swift Conquests run,
Nor did his Glory set but with the Sun.
In vain did Roderic to his Hold retreat,
In vain had wretched Ireland call'd him Great.
Ireland! which now most basely we begin
To labour more to lose than he to win,
It was not so when in the happy East,
Richard our Mars, Venus's Isle possest.
'Gainst the proud Moon, he the English Cross display'd,
Ecclips'd one Horn, and the other paler made.
When our dear Lives we ventured bravely there,
And digg'd our own to gain Christs Sepulchre.
That sacred Tomb which should we now enjoy,
We should with as much zeal fight to destroy.

468

The precious Signs of our dead Lord we scorn,
And see his Cross worse than his Body torn.
We hate it now both for the Greek and Jew,
To us 'tis Fo[o]lishness and Scandal to[o].
To what with Worship the fond Papist falls,
That the fond Zealot a cursed Idol calls.
So, 'twixt their double Madness here's the odds,
One makes false Devils, t'other makes false Gods.

It was not so when Edward prov'd his Cause,
By a Sword stronger than the Salique Laws.
Tho fetched from Pharamond, when the French did fight,
With Womens Hearts against the Womens Right.
The afflicted Ocean his first Conquest bore,
And drove Red Waves to the sad Gallique Shore:
As if he had Angry with that Element been,
Which his wide Soul bound with an Island in.
Where's now that spirit with which at Cressey we,
And Poictiers forced from fate a Victory?
Two Kings at once we brought sad Captives home,
A Triumph scarcely known to ancient Rome;
Two Foreign Kings, but now alas we strive,
Our own, our own good Soveraign to Captive!

It was not so when Agincourt was won,
Under great Henry served the Rain and Sun,
A Nobler Fight the Sun himself ne'r knew,
Not when he stop'd his Course a Fight to view!
Then Death's old Archer did more skilful grow,
And learned to shoot more sure from th' English bow;
Then France was her own story sadly taught,
And felt how Cæsar and how Edward fought.

It was not so when that vast Fleet of Spain,
Lay torn and scatter'd on the English Main;
Through the proud World, a Virgin, terror struck,
The Austrian Crowns and Rome's seven hills she shook:
To her great Neptune Homaged all his Streams
And all the wide-stretched Ocean was her Thames.
Thus our Fore-Fathers Fought, Thus bravely bled,
Thus still they live, whil'st we alive are dead;
Such Acts they did that Rome and Cæsar too,
Might Envy those, whom once they did subdue.

469

We're not their off-spring, sure our Heralds Lie,
But Born we know not how, as now we Die;
Their precious Blood we could not venture thus:
Some Cadmus sure sow'd Serpents teeth for us;
We could not else by mutual Fury fall,
Whilst Rhine and Sequan for our Armies call:
Chuse War or Peace, you have a Prince you know,
As fit for both, as both are fit for you.
Furious as Lightning when Wars Tempest came,
But Calm in Peace, Calm as a Lambent Flame.

Have you forgot those happy years of late,
That saw nought ill, but us that were Ingrate;
Such years, as if Earths youth Return'd had been,
And that old Serpent Time had Cast his Skin:
As Gloriously, and Gently did they move,
As the bright Sun that Measures them above;
Then onely in Books the Learn'd could misery see,
And the Unlearned ne're heard of Misery.
Then happy James with as deep Quiet Reigned,
As in His heavenly Throne, by Death, he gained.
And least this blessing with his Life should Cease,
He left us Charles the Pledge of future Peace.
Charles under whom, with much ado, no less
Than sixteen years, we endur'd our happiness;
Till in a Moment, in the North we find,
A Tempest Conjured up without a Wind.
As soon the North her Kindness did Repent,
First the Peace-Maker, and next War she sent:
Just Tweed that now had with long Peace forgot
On which side dwelt the English, which the Scot:
Saw glittering Arms shine sadly on his face;
Whil'st all the affrighted Fish sank down apace;
No blood did then from this dark Quarrel grow,
It gave blunt wounds, that bled not out till now!
For Jove, who might have us'd his thundring power,
Chose to fall calmly in a Golden showre!
A way we found to Conquer, which by none
Of all our thrifty Ancestors was known;
So strangly Prodigal of late we are,
We there buy Peace, and here at home buy War.

470

How could a war so sad and barbarous please,
But first by slandring those blest days of Peace?
Through all the Excrements of State they pry,
Like Emp'ricks to find out a Malady;
And then with Desperate boldness they endeavor,
Th' Ague to cure by bringing in a Feavor:
The way is sure to expel some ill no doubt,
The Plague we know, drives all Diseases out.
What strange wild fears did every Morning breed,
Till a strange fancy made us sick indeed?
And Cowardise did Valours place supply,
Like those that kill themselves for fear to die!
What frantick Diligence in these Men appears,
That fear all Ills, and act o'r all their Fears?
Thus into War we scared ourselves; and who
But Aaron's Sons, that the first Trumpet blew.
Fond Men! who knew not that they were to keep
For God, and not for Sacrifice, their Sheep.
The Churches first this Murderous Doctrine sow,
And learn to Kill as well as Bury now.
The Marble Tombs where our Fore-fathers lie,
Sweated with dread of too much company:
And all their sleeping Ashes shook for fear,
Least thousand Ghosts should come and shroud them there.

Petitions next from every Town they frame,
To be restored to them from whom they came.
The same stile all, and the same sense does pen,
Alas, they allow set Forms of Prayer to Men.
Oh happy we, if Men would neither hear
Their studied Form, nor God their sudden Prayer.
They will be heard, and in unjustest wise,
The many-Headed Rout for Justice cries.
They call for Blood, which now I fear does call
For Blood again, much louder than they all.
In sensless Clamours, and confused Noise,
We lost that rare, and yet unconquer'd Voice:
So when the sacred Thracian Lyre was drown'd,
In the Bistonian Womens mixed sound.
The wondring Stones, that came before to hear,
Forgot themselves, and turn'd his Murderers there.

471

The same loud Storm, blew the Grave Mitre down;
It blew down that, and with it shook the Crown.
Then first a State, without a Church begun;
Comfort thy self dear Church, for then 'twas done.
The same great Storm, to Sea great Mary drove,
The Sea could not such dangerous Tempests move.
The same drove Charles into the North, and then
Would Readilier far have driven him back agen.
To fly from noise of Tumults is no shame,
Ne'r will their Armies force them to the same:
They all his Castles, all his Towns invade,
He's a large Prisoner in all England made!
He must not pass to Irelands weeping Shore,
The Wounds these Surgeons make must yield them more:
He must not conquer his lewd Rebels there,
Least he should learn by that to do it here.
The Sea they subject next to their command,
The Sea that Crowns our Kings and all their Land.
Thus poor they leave him, their base Pride and Scorn,
As poor as these, now mighty Men, were born.
When straight whole Armies meet in Charle[s]'s Right,
How no Man knows, but here they are and Fight.
A Man would swear that saw this altered State,
Kings were called Gods, because they could Create
Vain Men; 'tis Heaven this first Assistance brings,
The same is Lord of Hosts, that's King of Kings.
Had Men forsook him, Angels from above,
(The Assyrian did less their Justice move.)
Would all have mustered in his Righteous Aid,
And Thunder against your Cannon would have play'd.
It needs not so, for Man desires to right
Abused Mankind, and wretches you must fight.

Worster first saw't, and trembled at the view,
Too well the Ills of Civil War she knew.
Twice did the Flames of old her Towers invade,
Twice call'd she in vain for her own Severn's Aid.
Here first the Rebel Winds began to roar,
Brake loose from the just Fetters which they bore.
Here Mutinous Waves above their shore did swell,
And the first Storm of that Dire Winter fell.

472

But when the two great Brethren once appeared,
And their bright Heads like Leda's off-spring rear'd,
When those Sea-calming Sons, from Jove were spied,
The Winds all fled, the Waves all sunk and died!
How fought great Rupert, with what Rage and Skill?
Enough to have Conquered had his Cause been ill!
Comely Young Man; and yet his dreadful sight,
The Rebels Blood to their faint Hearts does fright.
In vain alas it seeks so weak defence;
For his keen Sword brings it again from thence:
Yet grieves he at the Lawrels thence he bore;
Alas poor Prince, they'll fight with him no more.
His Vertue will be eclipsed with too much Fame,
Henceforth he will not Conquer, but his Name:
Here — with tainted Blood the Field did stain,
By his own Sacriledge, and's Countrys Curses slain.
The first Commander did Heavens Vengeance shew,
And led the Rebels Van to shades below.

On two fair Hills both Armies next are seen,
The affrighted Valley sighs and sweats between;
Here Angels did, with fair Expectance stay,
And wish'd good things to a King as mild as they;
There Fiends with hunger waiting did abide,
And Cursed both, but spurr'd on the guilty side.
Here stood Religion, her looks gently sage,
Aged, but much more comely for her Age!
There Schism Old Hagg, tho' seeming young appears,
As Snakes by casting skins, Renew their years;
Undecent Rags of several Dies she wore,
And in her hand torn Liturgies she bore.
Here Loyalty an humble Cross display'd,
And still as Charles pass'd by, she bow'd and pray'd.
Sedition there her Crimson Banner spreads,
Shakes all her Hands, and roars with all her Heads.
Her knotty Hairs were with dire Serpents twist,
And every Serpent at each other hist.
Here stood White Truth, and her own Host does bless,
Clad with those Armes of Proof her Nakedness.
There Perjuries like Cannons roar aloud,
And Lies flew thick, like Cannons smoaky Cloud.

473

Here Learning and th' Arts met, as much they fear'd
As when the Hunns of old and Goths appear'd.
What should they do, unapt themselves to fight,
They promised noble Pens the Acts to write.
There Ignorance advanced, and joy'd to spy
So many that durst fight they know not why.
From those, who most the slow-soul'd Monks disdain,
From those she hopes the Monks dull Age again,
Here Mercy waits with sad but gentle look,
Never alass had she her Charles forsook!
For Mercy on her Friends, to Heaven she cries,
Whilst Justice pulls down Vengeance from the Skies.
Oppression there, Rapine and Murder stood
Ready as was the Field to drink their Blood.
A thousand wronged Spirits amongst them moan'd,
And thrice the Ghost of mighty Strafford groan'd.

Now flew their Cannon thick through wounded Air,
Sent to defend, and kill their Soveraign there.
More than he them, the Bullets feared his Head,
And at his Feet lay innocently Dead.
They knew not what those Men that sent them meant,
And acted their pretence not their intent.

This was the Day, this the first Day that shew'd
How much to Charles for our long Peace we ow'd:
By his Skill here, and Spirit we understood,
From War naught kept him but his Countries good.
In his great Looks, what chearful Anger shone,
Sad War, and joyful Triumphs mixed in one.
In the same Beams of his Majestick Eye,
His own Men Life, his Foes did Death espy.
Great Rupert this, that Wing great Willmott leads,
White-feathered Conquest, flies o'r both their Heads.
They charge, as if alone, they'd beat the Foe;
Whether their Troops followed them up or no.
They follow close and haste into the fight,
As swift as strait the Rebels made their flight.
So swift the Miscreants fly, as if each fear
And jealousie they framed, had met them there.
They heard Wars Musick, and away they flew,
The Trumpets fright worse than the Organs do.

474

Their Souls which still, new by-ways do invent,
Out at their wounded Backs perversly went.
Pursue no more, ye Noble Victors stay,
Least too much Conquest lose so brave a day:
For still the Battail sounds behind, and Fate
Will not give all; but sets us here a Rate:
Too dear a rate she sets, and we must pay
One honest Man, for ten such Knaves as they.
Streams of Black tainted Blood the Field besmear,
But pure well coloured drops shine here and there:
They scorn to mix with flouds of baser veines,
Just as the nobler moisture, Oyl disdains.
Thus fearless Lindsey, thus bold Aubigny,
Amid'st the Corps of slaughtered Rebels lie:
More honourably than --- --- e'r was found,
With troops of living Traytors circled round.
Rest valiant Souls in peace, ye sacred pair,
And all whose Deaths attended on you there:
You'r kindly welcomed to Heavens peaceful coast,
By all the reverend Martyrs Noble Host.
Your soaring Souls they meet with triumph, all
Led by great Stephen their old General.
Go --- --- now prefer thy flourishing State,
Above those murdered Heroes doleful fate.
Enjoy that life which thou durst basely save,
And thought'st a Saw-pit nobler than a Grave,
Thus many saved themselves, and Night the rest,
Night that agrees with their dark Actions best.
A dismal shade did Heavens sad Face o'r flow,
Dark as the night, slain Rebels found below.
No gentle Stars their chearful Glories rear'd,
Ashamed they were at what was done, and fear'd
Least wicked Men their bold excuse should frame
From some strange Influence, and so vail their shame.
To Duty thus, Order and Law incline,
They who ne'r Err from one eternal Line.
As just the Ruin of these Men they thought,
As Sisera's was, 'gainst whom themselves had fought.
Still they Rebellions ends remember well
Since Lucifer the Great, their shining Captain fell.

475

For this the Bells they ring, and not in vain,
Well might they all ring out for thousands slain.
For this the Bonefires, their glad Lightness spread,
When Funeral Flames might more befit their dead.
For this with solemn thanks they tire their God,
And whilst they feel it, mock th' Almighties Rod.
They proudly now abuse his Justice more,
Than his long Mercies they abu'sd before.
Yet these the Men that true Religion boast,
The Pure and Holy, Holy, Holy, Host!
What great reward for so much Zeal is given?
Why, Heaven has thank'd them since as they thank'd Heaven.

Witness thou Brainford, say thou Ancient Town,
How many in thy Streets fell grovelling down.
Witness the Red Coats weltering in their Gore,
And died anew into the Name they bore.
Witness their Men blowed up into the Air,
All Elements their Ruins joyed to share.
In the wide Air quick Flames their Bodies tore,
Then drown'd in Waves, thei'r tost by Waves to shore.
Witness thou Thames, thou wast amazed to see
Men madly run to save themselves in thee.
In vain, for Rebels Lives thou woul[d]st not save,
And down they sunk beneath thy conquering Wave.
Good reverend Thames, the best beloved of all
Those noble Blood, that meet at Neptune's Hall;
London's proud Towers, which do thy Head adorn,
Are not thy Glory now, but Grief and Scorn.
Thou grievest to see the White named Palace shine,
Without the Beams of it's own Lord and thine:
Thy Lord which is to all as good and free,
As thou kind Flood to thine own Banks can be.
How does thy peaceful Back disdain to bear
The Rebels busie Pride at Westminster.
Thou who thy self doest without murmuring pay
Eternal Tribute to thy Prince the Sea.

To Oxford next Great Charles in Triumph came,
Oxford the British Muses second Fame.
Here Learning with some State and Reverence looks,
And dwells in Buildings lasting as her Books;

476

Both now Eternal, but they had Ashes been,
Had these Religious Vandals once got in.
Not Bodley's Noble Work their Rage would spare,
For Books they know the chief Malignants are.
In vain they silence every Age before,
For Pens of Time to come will wound them more.
The Temples decent Wealth, and modest State,
Had suffered, this their Avarice, that their Hate.
Beggary and Scorn into the Church they'd bring,
And make God Glorious, as they made the King.
O happy Town, that to Lov'd Charles's Sight,
In those sad Times givest Safety and Delight.
The Fate which Civil War it self doth bless,
Scarce wouldst thou change; for Peace this happiness.
Amidst all Joys which Heaven allows thee here,
Think on thy Sister, and then shed a tear.

What Fights did this sad Winter see each day,
Her Winds and Storms came not so thick as they!
Yet nought these far lost Rebels could recall,
Not Marlborough's nor Cirencester's fall.
Yet still for Peace the Gentle Conqueror sues,
By his Wrath they Perish, yet his Love refuse.
Nor yet is the plain Lesson understood,
Writ by kind Heaven, in B--- and H---'s Blood.
Chad and his Church saw where their Enemy lay,
And with just Red, new marked their Holy day.
Fond Men, this Blow the injured Crosier strook,
Naught was more fit to perish but thy Book.
Such fatal Vengeance did wronged Charlegrove shew,
Where --- --- both begun and ended to[o].
His cursed Rebellion, where his Soul's repaid
With separation, great as that he made.
--- --- Whose Spirit moved o'r this mighty Frame,
O' th Brittish Isle, and out this Chaos came.
— The Man that taught Confusions Art,
His Treasons restless and yet noisless Heart.
His Active Brain, like Ætna's Top appear'd,
Where Treason's forged, yet no noise outward heard.
'Twas he continued what e'r bold M--- said,
And all the popular noise that P--- has made.

477

'Twas he that taught the Zealous Rout to rise,
And be his Slaves for some feigned Liberties.
Him for this Black Design, Hell thought most fit,
Ah! wretched Man, cursed by too good a Wit.

If not all this your stubborn Hearts can fright,
Think on the West, think on the Cornish might:
The Saxon Fury, to that far stretch'd place,
Drove the torn Reliques of great Brutus Race.
Here they of old, did in long safety lie,
Compassed with Seas, and a worse Enemy.
Ne'r till this time, ne'r did they meet with Foes
More Cruel and more Barbarous than those.
Ye noble Brittains, who so oft with Blood
Of Pagan Hosts, have died old Tamar's Flood,
If any drop of mighty Uther still,
Or Uther's mighty'r Son your Veins does fill,
Shew then that Spirit, till all Men think by you
The doubtful Tales of your great Arthur true.
You have shewn it Britains, and have often done
Things that have cheared the weary setting Sun.
Again did Tamar your dread Arms behold,
As just and as successful as the Old:
It kissed the Cornish Banks, and vow'd to bring
His richest Waves to feed the ensuing Spring;
But murmur'd sadly, and almost deny'd
All fruitful Moisture to the Devon side.
Ye Sons of War, by whose bold Acts we see
How great a thing exalted Man may be;
The World remains your Debtor, that as yet
Ye have not all gone forth and conquerd it.
I knew that Fate some wonders for you meant,
When matchless Hopton to your Coasts she sent.
Hopton! so wise, he needs not Fortunes Aid,
So fortunate his Wisdom's useless made.
Should his so often tryed Companions fail,
His Spirit, alone, and Courage would prevail.
Miraculous Man! how would I sing thy praise,
Had any Muse crowned me with half the Bays
Conquest hath given to thee; and next thy Name
Should Berkly, Stanning, Digby press to Fame.

478

Godolphin thee, thee Greenvil I'd rehearse,
But Tears break off my Verse,
How oft has vanquished Stamford backward fled,
Swift as the parted Souls of those he led!
How few did his huge Multitudes defeat,
For most are Ciphers when the Number's great.
Numbers alass of Men, that made no more,
Than he himself Ten Thousand times told o'r.
Who hears of Stratton Fight, but must confess
All that he heard or read before was less.
Sad Germany can no such Trophy boast,
For all the Blood these twenty years sh' has lost.
Vast was their Army, and their Arms were more
Than th' Host of Hundred-handed Gyants bore.
So strong their Arms, it did almost appear
Secure, had neither Arms nor Men been there.
In Hopton breaks, in break the Cornish Powers,
Few and scarce Arm'd, yet was the advantage ours.
What doubts could be, their outward strength to win,
When we bore Arms and Magazine within.
The violent Swords out-did the Muskets ire,
It strook the Bones, and there gave dreadful fire:
We scorned their Thunder and the reaking Blade,
A thicker Smoak than all their Cannon made.
Death and loud Tumults fill'd the place around;
With fruitless rage; fallen Rebels bite the Ground,
The Arms we gain'd, were Wealth, Bodies, of the Foe,
All that a full fraught Victory can bestow.
Yet stays not Hopton thus, but still proceeds,
Pursues himself through all his glorious deeds.
With Hertford, and the Prince, he joyns his fate,
The Belgian Trophies on their journey wait.
The Prince who oft had check'd proud W--- fame.
And fool'd that flying Conquerours empty name:
Till by his loss that fertile Monster thriv'd,
This Serpent cut in parts rejoyn'd and liv'd.
It liv'd and would have stung us deeper yet,
But that bold Greenvil its whole fury met.
He sold like Decius his devoted Breath,
And left the Common-Wealth Heir to his Death.

479

Hail mighty Ghost! look from on high and see
How much our Hands and Swords remember thee.
At Roundway Heath, our Rage at thy great fall,
Whet all our Spirits, and made us Greenvils all.
One thousand Horse beat all their numerous power;
Bless me! and where was then their Conqueror!
Coward of Fame, he flies in haste away,
Men, Arms, and Name leaves us the Victors Prey.
What meant those Iron Regiments which he brought,
That moving Statues seemd and so they fought.
No way for Death but by Disease appear'd,
Cannon and Mines a Siege they scarcely feared:
Till 'gainst all hopes they prov'd in this sad sight,
Too weak to stand, and yet too slow for fight.
The Furies houl'd aloud through trembling Air,
Th' astonish'd Snakes fell sadly from their Hair,
To Lud's proud Town their hasty flight they took,
The Towers and Temples at their entrance shook:
In vain their Loss the' attempted to disguise,
And mustred up new Troops of fruitless lies:
God fought himself, nor could th' event be less,
Bright Conquest walks the Fields in all her dress.
Could this white day a Gift more grateful bring?
Oh yes! it brought bless'd Mary to the King!
In Keynton Field they met, at once they view
Their former Victory and enjoy a new.
Keynton the Place that Fortune did approve,
To be the noblest Scene of War and Love;
Through the Glad vail, Ten thousand Cupids fled
And Chas'd the wandring spirits of Rebels dead,
Still the lewd scent of Powder did they fear,
And scatter'd Eastern smells through all the Air.
Look happy Mount, look well, for this is she,
That Toyl'd and Travel'd for thy Victory,
Thy flourishing Head to her with reverence bow,
To her thou owest that Fame which Crowns thee now.
From far stretcht Shores they felt her spirit, and might:
Princes and God at any distance fight.
At her return well might sh'a Conquest have,
Whose very absence such a Conquest gave.

480

This in the West, nor did the North bestow
Less Cause their usual gratitude to show;
With much of state brave Cavendish led them forth,
As swift and fierce as tempest from the North.
Cavendish whom every Grace and every Muse,
Kiss'd at his Birth; and for their own did chuse:
So good a Wit they meant not should excel
In Arms, but now they see't and like it well:
So large is that rich Empire of his heart,
Well may they rest contented with a Part;
How soon he forc'd the Northern Clouds to flight,
And struck Confusion into Form and Light!
Scarce did the Power Divine in fewer days,
A peaceful World out of a Chaos raise.
Bradford and Leeds propt up their sinking fame,
They bragg'd of Hosts, and Fairfax was a name.
Leeds, Bradford, Fairfax Powers are strait their own,
As quickly as they vote Men overthrown.
Bootes from his Wain look'd down below,
And saw our Victory move not half so slow.
I see the Gallant Earl break through the Foes,
In Dust and Sweat how gloriously he shows.
I see him lead the Pikes; What will he do?
Defend him Heaven, Oh whither will he go?
Up to the Cannons mouth he leads! in vain
They speak loud Death and threaten till they'r ta'ne.
So Capaneu's two Armies fill'd with Wonder,
When he charged Jove and grappled with his Thunder.
Both Hosts with silence, and with terror shook,
As if not he, but they were thunder-strook:
The Courage here, and Boldness was no less,
Onely the Cause was better and Success.
Heaven will let naught be by their Cannon done,
Since at Edghil they sin'd and Burlington.
Go now your silly Calumnies repeat,
And make all Papists whom you cannot beat.
Let the World know some way, with whom you are vext,
And vote'em Turks when they overthrow you next.
Why will you die fond Men, why will you buy,
At this fond rate, your Countreys slavery?

481

Is't liberty! what are those threats we hear,
Why do you thus th' Old and New Prison fill?
When that's the onely why; because you will?
Fain would you make God too thus tyranous be,
And damn poor Men by such a stiff Decree:
Is't property? why do such numbers then,
From God beg Vengeance and Relief from Men?
Why are the Estates and Good's seiz'd on of all
Whom Covetous or Malicious Men miscall?
What's more our own than our own Lives? But oh
Could Yeoman's, or could Bourchier find it so?
The Barbarous Coward alway's used to fly,
Did know no other way to see men die.
Or is't Religion? What then mean your Lies
Your Sacriledges and Pulpit Blasphemies,
Why are all Sect's let loose, that ere had Birth,
Since Luther's noise wak'd the Lethargick Earth,

[_]

The Author went no further.

483

APPENDIX.

Coolyes verses uppon my Lady Elisabeth birth on Christmass even 1635. (From Harleian MSS. 6383: first printed by Dr Grosart in his Edition of Cowley.)

Your picture mighty P. ingrav'd in gould
whiche from your picture doth more lustre hould
men to their frends for gratulation send
when Janus doth beginn the yeard and end:
Nature wch muche from your large hand receaves
for new-years-guift to thee thyne image gives
of farr more worth then thy goulds lovely print
both for the graver mettall and the mint:
what better auspice could the year beginn?
what richer crown for Janus head to beare?
well may we know yr spring time forward creeps
from th' fertile roote a new frenche lilly peeps:
go on wise nature, and with equall care
eache twelvemonth suche a new-years guift prepare.
Thou, whom 4. kingdomes for their father know,
art father only of 4. children now.
Oh lett the number of thy of-spring mount
till we thy children by thy citties count:
leave thy self with us diversly, or we
at the fear'd day shall envy heav'n to thee,
whiche mayst thou late enjoy and Nestor be
in years, as now thou art in prudency.
And when ould age that over Princes raignes,
hath scatterd could, and fayntnes through thy veyns,
and made thee weake such travaile to sustayn,
mayst thou be carried there in thine owne wayn.

A. COWLEY.

Upon the happie Birth of the Duke. From Voces Votivae ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus etc. MDCXL.

Whilst the rude North Charles his slow wrath doth call,
Whilst warre is fear'd, and conquest hop'd by all,
The severall shires their various forces lend,
And some do men, some gallant horses send,
Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold.
These warlike contributions are but old:

484

That countrey learn'd a new and better way,
Which did this royall Prince for Tribute pay.
Who shall henceforth be with such rage possest,
To rouze our English Lion from his rest?
When a new Sonne doth his blest stock adorn,
Then to great Charles is a new Armie born.
In private births Hopes challenge the first place:
There's Certaintie at first in the Kings race;
And we may say, Such will his glories be,
Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesie.
I see in him his Father's boundlesse sprite,
Powerfull as flame, yet gentle as the light.
I see him through an adverse battel thrust,
Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust.
I see the pietie of the day appeare,
Joyn'd with the heate and valour of the yeare,
Which happie Fate did to this birth allow:
I see all this; for sure't is present now.
Leave off then, London, to accuse the starres
For adding a worse terrour to the warres;
Nor quarrel with the heavens, 'cause they beginne
To send the worst effect and scourge of sinne,
That dreadful plague, which, wheresoe're't abide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And's Female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the earth,
To make more room for a great Princes birth.
So when the sunne, after his watrie rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the East,
A thousand pettie lamps spread ore the skie,
Shrink in their doubtfull beams; then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes in stead of Elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournfull drops, beginne to smile.
The losse of many why should they bemone,
Who for them more then many have in one?

How blest must thou thy self, bright Mary, be,
Who by thy wombe canst blesse our miserie?
May't still be fruitfull. May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do.
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
Its own sonnes, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the Year (though sure it weari'd be
With often revolutions) when't shall see
The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into it self again.

A. Cowley, A.B.T.C.