Poems to the memory of that incomparable poet Edmond Waller Esquire by several hands. 1688 Approx. 27 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 16 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. Text Creation Partnership, Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) : 2003-03 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1). A55279 Wing P2724 ESTC R17154 11931296 ocm 11931296 51142 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A55279) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 51142) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 819:14) Poems to the memory of that incomparable poet Edmond Waller Esquire by several hands. Rymer, Thomas, 1641-1713. Behn, Aphra, 1640-1689. Cotton, John, Sir, 1621-1701. [2], 27 p. Printed for Joseph Knight, and Francis Saunders ..., London : 1688. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. First poem signed: Sir John Cotton, bar., other contributors include Thomas Rymer and Aphra Behn. Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford. Re-processed by University of Nebraska-Lincoln and Northwestern, with changes to facilitate morpho-syntactic tagging. Gap elements of known extent have been transformed into placeholder characters or elements to simplify the filling in of gaps by user contributors. 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Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements). Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site . eng Waller, Edmund, 1606-1687. English poetry -- Early works to 1800. 2002-10 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2002-11 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2002-12 Chris Scherer Sampled and proofread 2002-12 Chris Scherer Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-02 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion POEMS TO THE MEMORY Of that Incomparable POET Edmond Waller Esquire . By Several Hands . LONDON , Printed for Ioseph Knight , and Francis Saunders , at the Blew Anchor , in the lower Walk of the New Exchange . 1688. To the Memory of my Noble Friend , Mr. VValler . NOT Sleep , beneath the Shade in Flow'ry Fields , To th' weary Traveller more Pleasure yeilds ; Nor , to asswage his Thirst , the living Spring , I' th' heat of Summer , more delight does bring ; Than unto me thy well Tun'd Numbers do , In which thou dost both please and profit too . Born in a Clime where Storms and Tempests grow ; Far from the Place where Helicon does flow : The Muses travel'd far to bless thy Sight , And taught thee how to Think , and how to Write . Th' * Ascraean Shepherd tells us he indeed Had seen them dancing , while his Flocks did feed . Not Petrarch's Laura , nor bright Stella's Fame , Shall longer live than Sacharissa's Name . Thou do'st not write like those , who brand the Times , And themselves most , with sharp Satyrick Rhimes : Nor does thy Muse , with smutty Verses , tear The modest Virgin 's chast and tender Ear. Free from their Faults , what e're thy Muse indites , Not Ovid , nor Tibullus softer writes . The choice of tuneful Words t' express our Thought , By thy Example we have first been taught . Our English * Virgil , and our Pindar too , In this ( 't is said ) some negligence did shew . I 'le add but this , lest while I think to raise Thy worth , I kindly injure thee with Praise ; Thy Verses have a Genius , and must Live until all things crumble into Dust. Sir John Cotton , Bar. Poems , &c. Upon my Noble Friend , Mr. Waller . THough I can add but little to his Name , Whose Muse hath giv'n him such immortal Fame ; Yet , in the Crowd of those who dress his Hearse , I come to pay the Tribute of a Verse . Athens and Rome , when Learning flourish'd most , Could never such a Finish'd Poet boast : Whose matchless softness in the English Tongue Out-does what Horace , or Anacreon Sung. Judgment does some to Reputation raise ; And for Invention others wear the Baies : He possest both , with such a Talent still . As shew'd not only force of Wit , but Skill . So faultless was his Muse , 't is hard to know If he did more to Art , or Nature owe. Read where you will , he 's Musick all along , And his Sense easie , as his Thought is strong . Some striving to be Clear , fall Flat and Low ; And when they think to mount , obscure they grow . He is not darker for his lofty Flight ; Nor does his Easiness depress his Height ; But still pespicuous , wheresoere he fly , And , like the Sun , is brightest , when he 's high . Ladies admire , and taste his gentle Vein , Which does the greatest Statesmen entertain . His Verses do all sorts of Readers warm , Philosophers instruct , and Women charm . Nor did he all Men in his Verse out-do , But gave the Law in Conversation too : He tun'd the Company where ere he came , Still leaving with them something of his Flame . He seem'd by Nature made for every thing , And could harangue , and talk , as well as sing ; Persuade in Council , and Assemblies lead ; Now make them bold , and then as much afraid : Give them his Passions , make them of his Mind ; And their Opinion change , as he inclin'd . The English he hath to Perfection brought ; And we to speak are by his Measures taught . Those very Words , which are in Fashion now , He brought in Credit half an Age ago . Thus Petrarch mended the Italian Tongue : And now they speak the Language which he sung . They both like Honour to their Countries do ; Their Saints they both inimitably woe . They both alike Eternity do give ; And Sacharissa shall with Laura live . Sir THO. HIGGONS . On Mr. Waller . WAller is dead ; and lofty Number 's lost . Now English Verse ( with nothing left to boast ) May hobble on , and vex goods Pindar's Ghost . What was it Three and Eighty Years to live ? Short is this Boon to what the Muses give : They so Insur'd his Immortality , That scarce he knew , in any kind , to dye . Two Ages he the Sacred Garland bore ; Peerless in this , and Prince of that before . Rare Genius , his ; alike their Glory made , In glittering Courts , and in the Country Shade . There , by four Kings belov'd , how high he shone ! Inseparable Jewel of the Crown ; Yet thence no borrow'd Heat , or Lustre got , Warm of himself ; and Sun he wanted not . And if the Diamond stood hard Fortunes shock , Thanks to his old Hereditary Rock . For all the Court , for all the Muses Snares ; Our Journals also tell his publick Cares . From Iames to Iames , they count him ore and ore , In four Successive Reigns , a Senator . On him , amidst the legislative Throng , Their Eyes , and Ears , and every Heart they hung . Within those Walls if we Apollo knew , Less could he warm , nor throw a Shaft so true . What Life , what Lightning blanch'd around the Chair ? ( It was no House , if Waller was not there : ) And that Respect still to his Speech , or Nods , As he had come from Councils of the Gods. How would he tune their contradicting Notes ? With ready Wit facilitate the Votes ? As in his Verse , so ev'ry where display An Air of something Great , and something Gay ? And , like Amphion , when he form'd a Town , Put Life in ev'ry Stock , and ev'ry Stone ? Oh! had he liv'd one Meeting more to Sit , How would the Times his generous Mind have hit ? What he so long contested for , in vain , Set loose from all Ecclesiastick Chain , VVith Transport he would find Religion , free , And now no longer a Monopoly . Watch Home , and Harbour ; nay , shut up the Sea : But who shall ere with Heav'n our Traffick stay ? Or there erect a Block-house in the way ? Our stubborn Body is not us'd so ill ; It must no Rack ( that foreign Engine ) feel ; And yet they bring poor Conscience to the Wheel . Error they scourge ; so Children whip their Top ; The certain only , means to keep it up . Thus would he play , and many a pointed Jest Still fling against the persecuting Beast . Easie to run in endless Histories ; Tracing a Life of one who never dyes . How he the Orbs of Courts and Councils mov'd : But , Muses , how he Sung , and how he Lov'd . VVhat Spirit fills his Verse , your Care defines ; Amongst the Stars how Sacharissa shines : How still her Altars fume with Sacrifice , VVhen gone are all the Goddesses of Greece . Language and VVit he rais'd to such an height , VVe should suspect , with him , the Empire 's Fate , Did not Auspicious Iames support the Weight . This Northern Speech refin'd to that degree , Soft France we scorn , nor envy Italy : But for a fit Comparison must seek In Virgil's Latin , or in Homer's Greek . Anger is mad ; and Choler , mere Disease : His Muse sought what was sweet , & what would please : Still led where Natures beauteous Rays entice ; Not touching vile Deformities , or Vice. Here no Chimera skips , no Goblin frights ; No Satyr's here , nor Monster else , that bites . Sweetness his very Vinegar allaid ; And all his Snakes in Ladies Bosom play'd . Nature rejoic'd beneath his charming power ; His lucky hand made every thing a Flower . So every Shrub to Iessamin improves ; And rudest Holts , to goodly Myrtle Groves . Some , from a Sprig he carelesly had thrown , Have furnish'd a whole Garden of their own . Some , by a Spark that from his Chariot came , Take Fire , and blaze , and raise a deathless Name . Others a luckless Imitation try ; And , whilst they soar , and whilst they venture high , Flutter and flounce , but have not Wing to fly . Some , in loose Words their empty Fancies bind , Which whirl about , with Chaff , before the Wind. Here , brave Conceits in the Expression fail : There , big the Words , but with no Sense at all . Still Waller's Sense might Waller's Language trust ; Both pois'd , and always bold , and always just . None ere may reach that strange Felicity , Where Thoughts are easie , Verse so sweet , and free , Yet not descend one Step from Majesty . T. RYMER . Monsieur St. Euremon . 1684. WAller , qui ne sent rien des Maux de la vieillesse . Dont la vivacité fait honte aux jeunes Gens ; S'attache â la Beauté pour vivre plus long temps , Et ce qu'on nomeroit dans un autre foiblesse , Est en ce rare Esprit une sage tendresse , Qui le fait resister à l'injure des Ans. In English , by T. R. VAin Gallants , look on Waller , and despair : He , only he , may boast the Grand Receit ; Of Fourscore Years he never feels the weight : Still in his Element , when with the Fair ; There gay , and fresh , drinks in the rosie Air : There happy , he enjoys his leisure hours ; Nor thinks of Winter , whilst amidst the Flowers . Vpon the Inimitable Mr. VValler . THE Witty , and the Brave , survive the Tomb ; Poets , and Heroes , Death it self o'recome : By what they write , or act , Immortal made , They only change their World , but are not Dead . Waller can never dye , of Life secure As long as Fame , or aged Time , endure . A Tree of Life is Sacred Poetry ; Whoe're has leave to tast , can never dye . Many Pretenders to the Fruit there be . Who , against Nature's Will do pluek the Tree ; They nibble , and are Damn'd : But only those Have Life , who are by partial Nature chose . VValler was Nature's Darling , free to tast Of all her Store ; The Master of the Feast : Not like old Adam , stinted in his Choice , But Lord of all the spatious Paradise . Mysteriously the Bounteous Gods were kind , And in his Favour Contradictions joyn'd . Honest and Just , yet Courted by the Great ; A Poet , yet a Plentiful Estate : Witty , yet Wise ; Unenvi'd , and yet Prais'd ; And shew'd the Age could be with Merit pleas'd . Malice and Spite , to Virtue certain Foes , Were dumb to him , nor durst his Fame oppose ; Those cruel VVolves he tam'd , their Rage disarm'd , And , with his tuneful Song , like Orpheus charm'd . To Love , or Business , both he was enclin'd , Could counsel Senates , or make Virgins kind ; The Factious , with persuasive Rhetorick , move , Or teach disdainful Fair ones how to love ; The stubborn of each Sex , to Reason bring : Like Cato he could Speak , like Ovid Sing . Our British Kings are rais'd above the Hearse , Immortal made , in his immortal Verse . No more are Mars and Iove Poetick Theams , But the two peaceful Charleses , and Great Iames. Iulia , and Delia , do no more delight , But Sacharissa now is only bright . Nor can the Paphian Goddess longer move ; But Gloriana is the Queen of Love. The Father of so many Gods is he , He must himself be sure some Deity . Minerva and Apollo shall submit , And VValler be the only God of VVit. This equal Rise be to his Merit given , On Earth the King , the God of Verse in Heaven . GEORGE GRANVILLE . On the Death of Mr. VValler . AH ! had thy Body lasted , as thy Name , Secure of Life , as now thou art of Fame ; Thou had'st more Ages than old Nestor seen : Nor had thy Phaebus more immortal been . To thee alone we are beholden more Than all the Poets of the Times before . Thy Muse , inspir'd with a Genteeler Rage , Did first refine the Genius of our Age. In thee a clear and female Softness shin'd , VVith Masculine Vigour , Force , and Judgment joyn'd . You , in soft Strains , for Courts and Ladies , sung , So natural your Thought , so sweet your Song , The gentle Sex did still partake your Flame , And all the Coyness of your Mistress blame ; Still mov'd with you , did the same Passions find , And vow'd that Sacharissa was unkind . Oh! may the VVorld ne're lose so brave a Flame ; May one succeed in Genius , and in Fame . May , from thy Urn , some Phoenix , VValler , rise , VVhom the admiring VVorld , like thee , may prize ; May he , in thy immortal Numbers , sing , And paint the Glories of our matchless King : Oh! may his Verse of mighty VValler taste , And mend the coming Age , as you the last . VVithin that Sacred Pile where Kings do come , Both to receive their Crowns , and find a Tomb , There is a lonely Isle ; which holy Place The lasting Monuments of Poets grace . Thither , amongst th' inspired Train , convey , And , in their Company , his Ashes lay : Let him with Spencer and great Cowley be , He , who is much the greatest of the Three . Thô there so many Crowns and Mitres lye , ( For Kings , and Saints , as well as we , must dye ) Those venerable VValls were never blest , Since their Foundation , with a nobler Guest . VVith them , great Soul , thou shalt Immortal live , And , in thy deathless Numbers Fate survive : Fresh , as thy Sacharissa's Beauty , still Thy Bays shall grow , which Time can never kill . Far as our conqu'ring British Lyon roars , Far as the Poles , or the remotest Shores , Where're is known or heard the English Name , The distant World shall hear of VValler's Fame . Thou only shalt with Natures self expire , And all the World , in the supreamest Fire ; When Horace and fam'd Virgil dye , when all That 's Great , or Noble , shall together fall . BEVILL HIGGONS . On the Death of E. Waller , Esq HOW , to thy Sacred Memory , shall I bring ( Worthy thy Fame ) a grateful Offering ? I , who by Toils of Sickness , am become Almost as near as thou art to a Tomb ? While every soft , and every tender Strain Is ruffl'd , and ill-natur'd grown with Pain . But , at thy Name , my languisht Muse revives , And a new Spark in the dull Ashes strives . I hear thy tuneful Verse , thy Song Divine ; And am Inspir'd by every charming Line . But , Oh! — What Inspiration , at the second hand , Can an Immortal Elegie Command ? Unless , like Pious Offerings , mine should be Made Sacred , being Consecrate to thee . Eternal , as thy own Almighty Verse , Should be those Trophies that adorn thy Hearse . The Thought Illustrious , and the Fancy Young ; The Wit Sublime , the Iudgment Fine , and Strong ; Soft , as thy Notes to Sacharissa sung . Whilst mine , like Transitory Flowers , decay , That come to deck thy Tomb a short-liv'd Day . Such Tributes are , like Tenures , only fit To shew from whom we hold our Right to Wit. Hail , wondrous Bard , whose Heav'n-born Genius first My Infant Muse , and Blooming Fancy Nurst . With thy soft Food of Love I first began , Then fed on nobler Panegyrick Strain , Numbers Seraphic ! and , at every View , My Soul extended , and much larger grew : Where e're I Read , new Raptures seiz'd my Blood ; Methought I heard the Language of a God. Long did the untun'd World in Ign'rance stray , Producing nothing that was Great and Gay , Till taught , by thee , the true Poetick way . Rough were the Tracts before , Dull , and Obscure ; Nor Pleasure , nor Instruction could procure . Their thoughtless Labour could no Passion move ; Sure , in that Age , the Poets knew not Love : That Charming God , like Apparitions , then Was only talk'd on , but ne're seen by Men : Darkness was o're the Muses Land displaid , And even the Chosen Tribe unguided straid . Till , by thee rescu'd from th' Egyptian Night , They now look up , and view the God of Light , That taught them how to Love , and how to Write ; And to Enhance the Blessing which Heav'n lent , When for our great Instructor thou wert sent . Large was thy Life , but yet thy Glories more ; And , like the Sun , did still dispense thy Power , Producing somthing wondrous every hour : And , in thy Circulary Course , didst see The very Life and Death of Poetry . Thou saw'st the Generous Nine neglected lie , None listning to their Heav'nly Harmony ; The VVorld being grown to that low Ebb of Sense , To disesteem the noblest Excellence ; And no Encouragement to Prophets shewn , Who in past Ages got so great Renown . Though Fortune Elevated thee above Its scanty Gratitude , or fickle Love ; Yet , sullen with the VVorld , untir'd by Age , Scorning th'unthinking Crowd , thou quit'st the Stage . A. BEHN . On the Death of Mr. VValler . THô ne're so Base , or never so Sublime , All Human things must be the Spoil of Time : Poet and Heroe with the rest must go ; Their Fame may mount , their Dust must lie as low . Thus mighty Waller is , at last , expir'd , VVith Cowley , from a vitious Age retir'd , As much Lamented , and as much Admir'd . Long we enjoy'd him ; on his tuneful Tongue All Ears and Hearts with the same Rapture hung , As his on lovely Chloris while she Sung ! His Style does so much Strength and Sweetness bear , Hear it but once , and you 'd for ever hear ! Various his Subjects , yet they joyntly warm , All Spirit , Life , and every Line a Charm : Correct throughout , so exquisitely penn'd , VVhat he had Finish'd nothing else could mend . Now , in soft Notes , like dying Swans , h'ed Sing , Now tow'r aloft , like Eagles on the Wing ; Speak of adventrous Deeds in such a Strain , As all but Milton would attempt in vain ; And only there , where his rap't Muse does tell How in th' Aetherial War th' Apostate Angels fell . His Labours , thus , peculiar Glory claim , As writ with somthing more than Mortal Flame : VVit , Judgment , Fancy , and a Heat Divine , Throughout each part , throughout the whole does shine : Th' Expression clear , the Thought sublime , and high , No flut'ring , but with even wing he glides along the Skie . Here the two bold contending Fleets are found , The mighty Rivals of the watery Round ; In Smoak and Flame involv'd , they could not Fight VVith so much Force and Fire as he does Write . Here Galatea mourns ; In such sad Strains Poor Philomel her wretched Fate complains . Here Fletcher and Immortal Iohnson shine , Deathless , preserv'd in his Immortal Line . But where , O mighty Bard , where is that He , Surviving now , to do the same for Thee ? At such a Theam my conscious Muse retires , Unable to attempt thy Praise , she silently admires . VVhether for Peaceful Charles , or Warlike Iames , His Lyre was Strung , the Muses dearest Theams : VVhether of Loves Success , when in the Eyes Of the kind Nymph the conscious Glances rise , When , blushing , she breaths short , and with constraint denies ; Whether he paint the Lover's restless Care , Or Sacharissa , the disdainful Fair ; ( Relentless Sacharissa , Deaf to Love , The only She his Verse could never move ; But sure she stopt her Ears , and shut her Eyes , He could not else have miss'd the Heav'nly Prize . ) All this is manag'd with that Strength of Wit , So Happily , So Smoothly , Courtly writ , As nothing but himself could e're have done ; And we no more must hope now he ( great King of Verse ) is gone . Nor did Old Age damp the Poetick Flame , Loaded with Fourscore Years , 't was still the same . Some we may see , who in their Youth have writ Good Sense , at Fifty take their leave of Wit , Chimaera's and incongruous Fables feign , Tedious , Insipid , Impudent , and Vain : But he knew no Decay ; the Sacred Fire , Bright to the last , did with himself expire . Such was the Man , whose Loss we now deplore , Such was the Man , but we should call him more . Immortal in himself , we need not strive To keep his Sacred Memory alive . Just , Loyal , Brave , Obliging , Gen'rous , Kind ; The English he has , to the height refin'd , And the best Standard of it leaves ( his Legacy ) behind . To Mr. Riley , Drawing Mr. VValler's Picture . NOT Flesh and Blood can Riley's Pride confine , He must be adding still some Ray Divine ; Nor is content when he true Likeness shows , Unless that Glory also Crown the Brows . This Subject , Riley , this ( for long has he Scow'rd the bright Roads of Immortality ) New Rapture wants : no human Touch can reach His Lawrels , and Poetick Triumphs pitch . On Face and Out-side stay thy bold Design ; 'T is Sacred , 't is Apollo's all within . Thou may'st slight Sketches of the Surface shew , Not vex the Mine , whence God-like Treasures flow . Came twenty Nymphs , his Muse contented all , None went away without her Golden Ball ; The Gods of old were not so liberal . How many , free from Fate , enjoy his Song , Drink Nectar , ever Gay , and ever Young ? Thô to thy Genius no Attempt is vain , Think not to draw the Poet , but the Man. Yet , Riley , thus thou endless Fame must share ; His Generous Pen thy Pencil shall prefer , It draw him Man , and he make it a Star. T. R. FINIS . Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A55279-e110 * Hesiod . * Cowley