Madagascar; WITH OTHER Poems.  
BY W. DAVENANT.  
LONDON, Printed by John Haviland for Thomas Walkly, and are to be sold at his shop at the Flying Horse near York house. 1638.   

Imprimatur,  
Feb. 26. 1637. MATTH. CLAY   

IF THESE POEMS LIVE, MAY THEIR MEMORIES, BY WHOM THEY WERE cherished, END. PORTER, H. Jarmyn, LIVE WITH THEM.   

TO My worthy Friend Mr. William Davenant; upon his Poem of Madagascar, which he writ to the most Illustrions Prince RUPERT.  

I Am compelled by your commands to write  
I'th' frontispiece of this, and sure I might  
With acquaint conceirs, here to the World set forth  
The merit of the Poem, and your worth;  
Had I well fancied reasons to begin▪  
And a choice Mould, to cast good verses in:  
But wanting these, what power (alas) have I  
To write of any thing? will men rely  
On my opinion? which in Verse, or Prose,  
Hath just that credit, which we give to those  
That sagely whisper, secrets of the Court,  
Having but Lees, for Essence, from Report.  
And that's the knowledge which belongs to me;  
For by what's said, I guess at poetry:  
As when I hear them read stronglines, I cry  
theyare rare, but cannot tell you rightly why:  
And now I find this quality was it,  
That made some Poet eite me for a wit:  
Now God forgive him for that huge mistake!  
If he did know, but with what pains I make  
A Verse, he▪ l pity than my wretched case;  
For at the birth of each, I twist my Face,  
As if I drew a Tooth; I blot, and write,  
Then look as pale, as some that go to fight:  
With the whole kennel of the Alphabet,  
I hunt sometimes an hour, one rhyme to get:  
What I approved of once, I straight deny,  
Like an unconstant Prince, then give the lie  
To my own invention, which is so poor,  
As here I'd kiss your hands, and say no more;  
Had I not seen a child with sizors cut,  
A folded Paper, unto which was put  
More chance, than skill, yet when you open it,  
You'd think it had been done, by Art and Wit:  
So I (perhaps) may light upon some strain,  
Which may in this your good opinion▪ gain;  
And howsoever, if it be a plot,  
You may be certain that in this, y'have got  
A foil to set your jewel off, which comes  
From Madagascar, scenting of rich gums;  
Before the which, my lay conceits will smell,  
Like an abortive Chick, destroyed i'th' shell:  
Yet something I must say, may it prove fit;  
I'll do the best I can; and this is it.  
What lofty fancy was't possessed your brain,  
And caused you soar into so high a strain!  
Did all the Muses join, to make this piece  
Excel what we have had, from Romo, or Greece?  
Or did you strive, to leave it as a Friend  
To speak your praises, when there is an end  
Of your mortality? If you did so,  
En●y will then, scarce find you out a Foe:  
But let me tell you (Friend) the heightening came,  
From the reflection of Prince Rupert's name;  
Whose glorious Genius cast into your soul,  
Divine conceits, such as are fit t'inroule,  
In great Apollo's court, there to remain  
For future ages to transcribe again:  
For such a Poem, in so sweet a style,  
As yet, was never landed on this Isle:  
And could I speak your praises at each poor,  
'ttwere little for the work; it merits more.   
Endymion Porter.   

TO MY FRIEND Will. Davenant; upon his Poem of Madagascar.  

WHat mighty Princes Poets are? those things  
The great ones stick at, and our very Kings  
Lay down, they venture on; and with great ease,  
Discover, conquer, what, and where they please.  
Some phlegmatic sea-captain, would have stayed  
For money now, or victuals; not have weighed  
Anchor without'em; Thou (will) dost not stay  
So much as for a Wind, but go'st away,  
Land'st, View'st the Country; fightest, puttest all to rout,  
Before another could be putting out!  
And now the news in town is; dav'nants come  
From Madagascar, Fraught with laurel home,  
And welcome (will) for the first time, but prithee  
In thy next Voyage, bring the Gold too with thee.   
I. Suckling.   

On his other Poems.  

THou hast redeemed us, will; and future Times,  
Shall not account unto the Age's crimes  
Dearth of pure Wit: since the great Lord of i●  
(Donne) parted hence, no Man has ever writ  
So near him, in's own way: I would-commend  
Particulars, but then, how should I end  
Without a Volume? Every Line of thine  
Would ask (to praise it right) Twenty of mine.   
I. Suckling.   

To Will. Davenant my Friend.  

WHen I behold, by warrant from thy Pen,  
A Prince rigging our Fleets, arming our, Men,  
Conducting to remotest shores our force  
(Without a Dido to retard his course)  
And thence repelling in successful fight,  
Th'usurping Foe (whose strength was all his Right)  
By two brave Heroes, (whom we justly may  
By Homer's Ajax or Achilles lay,)  
I doubt the Author of the Tale of Troy,  
With him, that makes his Fugitive enjoy  
The Carthage Queen, and think thy Poem may  
Impose upon posterity, as they  
Have done on us: What though Romances lie  
Thus blended with more faithful history?  
We, of th'adulterate mixture not complain,  
But thence more Characters of virtue gain;  
More pregnant Patterns, of transcendent Worth,  
Than barren and insipid Truth brings forth:  
So, oft the Bastard nobler fortune meets,  
Than the dull Issue of the lawful sheets.   
Thomas Carew.   

TO MY FRIEND, Will. Davenant.  

I crowded 'mongst the first, to see the Stage  
(inspired by thee) strike wonder in our Age,  
By thy bright fancy dazzled: Where each scene  
Wrought like a charm, and forced the Audience lean  
To t'h' passion of thy Pen: Thence Ladies went  
(Whose absence Lovers sighed for) to repent  
Their unkind scorn; And Courtiers, who by art  
Made love before, with a converted hart,  
To wed those Virgins, whom they wooed t'abuse;  
Both rendered Hymen's pros'lits by thy Muse.   

But others who were proof 'gainst Love, did sit  
To learn the subtle dictates of thy Wit;  
And as each profited, took his degree,  
Master, or bachelor, in comedy.  
Who on the Stage, though since they ventured not,  
Yet on some Lord, or Lady, had their plot  
Of gain, or favour: every nimble jest  
They spoke of thine, b'ing th' entrance to a Feast,  
Or nearer whisper: Most thought fit to be  
So fare concluded Wits, as they knew thee.   

But here the Stage thy limit was▪ Kings may  
Find proud ambition humbled at the sea,  
Which bounds dominion: But the nobler flight  
Of poesy, hath a supremer right  
To Empire, and extends her large command  
Where ere th'invading Sea assaults the land.   

Even Madagascar (which so oft hath been  
Like a proud Virgin tempted, yet still seen  
Th'Enemy Court the Wind for flight) doth lie  
A trophy now of thy wit's victory:  
Nor yet disdains destruction to her state,  
Encompassed with thy laurel in her fate.   
William Habington.   

Madagascar. A Poem written to Prince RUPERT.  

MY soul, this Winter, hath been twice about  
To shift her narrow Mansion, and look out;  
To air her yet unpractised wings, and try  
Where souls are entertained when bodies die:  
For this intended journey was to clear  
Some subtle humane doubts, that vex her here,  
And for no other cause; how ere the Court  
Believe (whose cruel wits turn all to sport)  
'Twas not to better my philosophy  
That I would mount, and travel through the sky,  
As if I went, on nature's embassy;  
Whose Legate there, Religion terms a spy.  
But these sick offers to departed, they call  
A weariness of life, each Spring, and Fall:  
And this belief (though well resolved before)  
Made me so sullen, that I'll die no more  
Than old Chaldean Prophets in their sleep;  
Who still some relics of their souls, would keep,  
As gauge for the return of what they sent,  
For visions to the starry Firmament.  
Thus in a dream, I did adventure out  
Just so much soul, as Sinners given to doubt  
Of after usage, dare forgo a while:  
And this swift Pilot steered unto an Isle,  
Between the Southern Tropic and the Line;  
Which (noble Prince) my prophecy calls thine:  
There on a crystal Rock I sat, and saw  
The empire of the Winds, new kept in awe,  
By things, so large, and weighty as did press  
Waves▪ to Bubbles, or what unswelled to less:  
The Sea, for shelter hastened to the shore;  
Sought harbour for itself, not what it bore:  
So well these Ships could rule; where every sail,  
The subdued Winds, court with so mild a gale,  
As if the spacious Navy lay adrift;  
Sails swelled, to make them comely more than swift:  
And then I spied (as cause of this command)  
Thy mighty uncle's Trident in thy hand;  
By which mysterious figure I did call  
Thee chief, and universal admiral!  
For well our Northern Monarch knows; howe'er  
The Sea is dully held, the proper sphere  
Wherein that Trident sways, yet, in his hand  
●t turns straight to a sceptre when on land:  
And soon this wise assertion proved a truth;  
For when thyself, with thy adventurous Youth  
Were disimbarqued; straight with one liberal mind,  
That long-lost, scatter'd-parcell of mankind,  
Who from the first disordered throng did stray  
And then fix here, now yield unto thy sway:  
On Olive trees, their Quivers empty hung,  
Their arrows were unplumed, their bows unstrung:  
But some from far, with jealous optics trace  
Lines of thy mother's beauty in thy face:  
By which, so much thou seem'st the God of love,  
That with tumultuous haste they straight remove,  
And hide, their magazine of archery;  
Lest what was their defence, might now supply  
Thy Godhead, which is harmless yet; but know  
When thou shalt head a Shaft, and draw a Bow,  
Each than thou conquerst, must a Lover be;  
The worst estate of their captivity.   

What sound is that! whose concord makes a jar  
'Tis noise in peace, though harmony in war:  
The drum; whose doubtful music doth delight  
The willing ear, and the unwilling fright.  
Had wet Orion chosen to lament  
His griefs at Sea, on such an Instrument;  
Perhaps the martial music might incite  
The swordfish, Thrasher, and the Whale to fight,  
But not to dance; the Dolphin he should lack,  
Who to delight his ear, did load his back:  
And now as Thunder, calls ere storms do rise;  
Yet not forewarns, till just they may surprise;  
Till the assembling clouds are met, to pour  
Their long provided fury in one shower;  
Even so this little thunder of the drum,  
Foretold a danger just when it was come:  
When straight mine Eye, might ratify mine ear;  
And see that true, which heard, was but my fear:  
For in a firm well ordered body stood,  
Erected Pikes, like a young leavelesse Wood;  
And that showed dark, they were so close combined;  
And every narrow File was double lined;  
But with such nimble Ministers of fire,  
That could so quickly charge, so soon retire,  
That shot so fast; to say it lightened were  
No praise, unto a gunner's motion there;  
Nor yet to say, it lightened every where;  
Their number thence, not swiftness would appear;  
Since so incessant swift; that in mine eye,  
Lightning seemed slow, and might be taught to fly!  
'tis lawful then to say, thou didst appear  
To wonder much, although thou couldst not fear:  
Thy knowledge (Prince) were younger than thy time,  
●f not amazed; to see in such a clime,  
Where Science is so new, men so exact,  
●n Tactick Arts, both to design, and act.  
These from unwieldy Ships (the day before)  
The weary Seas disburdened on the shore:  
In envy of thy hopes they hither came;  
And Envy men in war Ambition name;  
Ambition, valour; but'tis valour's shame  
When Envy feeds it more than noble Fame:  
Straight I discerned by what their ensign wears,  
They are of those ambitious Wanderers;  
Whose avaricious thoughts would teach them run,  
As long continued journeys as the sun;  
And make the title of their strength, not right,  
As known, and universal as his light:  
For they believe their Monarch hath subdued  
Already such a spacious latitude;  
That sure, the good old Planet's business is  
Of late, only to visit what is his:  
And those fair beams, which he did think his own  
Are tribute now, and he, his subject grown;  
Yet not impaired in title, since they call  
Him kindly, his Surveyor-Generall.   

Now give me Wine! and let my fury rise,  
That what my travailed Soul's immortal eyes  
With joy, and wonder saw, I may rehearse  
To curious ears, in high, immortal verse!  
Two of this furious Squadron did advance;  
Commanded to comprise the public chance  
In their peculiar fates: Their Swords they drew;  
And two, whose large renown their Nation knew,  
Two of thy party (Prince) they called to try  
By equal duel such a victory,  
As gives the Victor's side a full command  
Of what possessed by both, is neither's landlord.  
And this to save the people's common blood;  
By whom although no cause is understood;  
Yet Princes being vexed they must take care  
To do not what they ought, but what they dare:  
Their reason on their courage must rely;  
Though they alike the quarrel justify,  
And in their Prince's kind indifferent eye  
Are duteous fools, that either kill, or die.   

This safe agreement by the general voice  
Was ratified with vows; then straight thy choice  
For the encounter (Prince) with greedy eye  
I did entirely view; and both I spy  
March to the List; whilst either's cheerful look  
foretell glad hopes, of what they undertook.  
Their looks; where forc'd-state-clouds, ne'er strive to lower,  
As if sweet feature, business could makesowre:  
Where solemn sadness of a new court face,  
Near meant to signify their power, or place.  
You may esteem them Lovers by their hair;  
The colour warns no Lady to despair;  
And Nature seemed to prove their stature such,  
As took not scantly from her, nor too much:  
So tall, we can't mis-name their stature length,  
Nor think'● less made for comeliness, than strength.  
Their hearts are more, than what we noble call,  
And still make Envy weary of her Gall.  
So gentle soft; their valours with more ease,  
Might be betrayed to suffer than displease:  
Compared to Lovers, Lovers were undone;  
Since still the best gain by comparison.  
Of these, the godlike Sidney was a Type,  
Whose fame still grows, and yet is ever ripe;  
Like fruits of Paradise, which nought could blast  
But ignorance; for a desire to taste,  
And know, produced no curse; but neut'rall will,  
When knowledge made indifferent, good, and ill.  
So whilst our judgement keeps unmixed, and pure,  
Our Sidney's full-growne Fame will still endure:  
Sidney, like whom these Champions strive to grace,  
The silenced remnant of poor Orpheus' race.  
First those, whom mighty Numbers shall inspire;  
Then those, whose easier art can touch his Lyre.  
And they protect, those who with wealthier fare,  
Old Zeuxis lucky Pen●ill imitate,  
And those, who teach Lysippus imagery;  
Forms, that if once alive, would never die!  
Which though no offices of life they taste,  
Yet, like th'Elements (life's preservers) last!  
An Art, that travails much, derived to us  
From pregnant Rome, to Rome from Ephesus!  
But whither am I fled? A poet's Song,  
When love directs his praise, is ever long.   

The Challenge was aloud; whilst every where  
Men strive to show their hopes; and hide their fear.  
They now stood opposite, and near: awhile  
Their Eyes encountered, then in scorn they smile.  
Each did disguise the fury of his heart,  
By safe, and temperate exercise of Art.  
Seemed to invite those thrusts they most decline,  
Receive and then return in one true line:  
As if, all Archymedes science were  
In duel both expressed, and bettered there.  
Each strove the others judgement to surpass;  
Stood stiff, as if their postures were in brass.  
But who can keep his cold wise temper long,  
When honours warms him, and his blood is young▪  
Those subtle figures, they in judgement chose  
As guards secure, in rage they discompose:  
Now Hazard is the play, Courage the Maine▪  
Which if it hits at first, assurs the gain:  
But honour throws at all; and in this strife,  
When honour plays, how poor a stake is life?  
Which soon (alas!) the adverse Second found;  
Made wise, by the example of a wound▪  
But gamester's wisdom ever comes too late;  
So dear 'tis bought, of that false Merchant Fate:  
For our bold Second by that wound had won▪  
The treasure of his strength; whilst quite undone,  
He shrunk from this unlucky sport: but now  
More angry wrinkles on his rival's brow  
Appeared, than hunted Lions wear; and all  
His strength, he ventures on our principal:  
Who entertained his stream of fury so  
As Seas meet Rivers whom they force to flow:  
It is repulse makes Rivers swell, and he  
Forced back, got courage from our victory:  
Rivers, that Seas do teach to rage, are tossed,  
And troubled for their pride, then quickly lost:  
So he was taught that anger, which he spent  
To make the others wrath more prevalent.  
For in the next assault he felt the best,  
First part of Man (the Monarch of his breast)  
To sicken in its warm, and narrow Throne,  
His Rivals hasty soul, to shades unknown  
Was newly fled; but his made greater haste,  
His fears had so much sense of sufferings past▪  
Such danger he discerned in's victor's eye;  
Whom he believed, so skilled in victory;  
As if his soul should near his body stay,  
The cruel heavens, would ●each him find a way  
To kill that too; by which, no pride (we see)  
Can make us so profane as misery?  
This when their camp beheld, they straight abjure  
That pity in their vow; which to secure  
The public blood, ventured their hopes, and fame,  
On Two, cause they could dye, were censured tame:  
And to exhort, such vexed, and various Minds,  
Were in a storm, to reconcile the Winds,  
With whispered precepts of philosophy;  
Arms, and Religion, seldom can comply.  
Their faith they break, and in a Body draw  
Their loser strength, to give the victor's law.   

Charge! charge! the battle is begun! and now  
I saw, thy uncle's anger in thy brow:  
Which like heaven's fire, doth seldom force assume,  
Or kindle till 'tis fit, it should consume:  
Heavens slow, unwilling fire; that would not fall,  
Till Two injurious Cities seemed to call  
With their loud sins; and when 'twas time it must  
Destroy; although it was severely just  
To those, so much perverted in their will;  
The righteous saw the fire, yet feared no ill.  
So careless safe, here all the Natives were,  
Who stood, as if too innocent to fear▪  
As if they knew, they Uncle bred thy Fate,  
And his just anger thou didst imitate.  
But thy proud Foes, who thought the morn did rise,  
For no chief cause, but to salute their eyes;  
Are now informed by Death, it may grow Night  
With them, yet others still enjoy the light:  
For straight (I thought) their perished Bodies lay  
To soil the Ground, they conquered yesterday.  
O, why is valour prized at such a rate?  
Or if a virtue, why so fooled by Fate?  
That Land, achieved with patiented toil, and might  
Of emulous encounter in the fight,  
They must not only yield, when they must die,  
But dead, it for the Victor fructify.  
And now our drums so fill each adverse ear,  
Their fellow's groans, want room to enter there;  
Like Ships near Rocks, when storms are grown so high,  
They cannot warn each other with their cry:  
Even so, not hearing what would make them fly,  
All stayed, and sunk, for sad society:  
Their wounds are such, the neighbouring Rivers need  
No Springs to make them flow, but what they bleed▪  
Where Fishes wonder at their red-dyed flood,  
And by long nourishment on humane blood,  
May grow so near a kin to men, that he  
who feeds on them hereafter, needs must be  
Esteemed as true a cannibal, as those  
Whose luscious diet is their conquered Foes.   

Sure Adam when himself he first did spy  
So singular, and only in his eye;  
Yet knew, all to that single self pertained,  
Which the sun saw, or Elements sustained;  
He not believed, a race from him might come  
So numerous, that to make new offspring room,  
Is now the best excuse of Nature, why  
Men long in growth, so easily must die.  
Eden, which God did this first Prince allow,  
But as his Privie-garden then, is now  
A spacious Country found; else we supply  
With dreams, not truth, long lost geography:  
And each high Island then (though ne'er so wide)  
Was but his Mount, by Nature fortified;  
And every Sea, wherein those Islands float,  
Most aptly then, he might have called his Moat.  
Parts, and divisions were computed small,  
When rated by his measure that had all:  
And all was adam's when the world was new;  
Then straight that all, succeeded to a few;  
Whilst men were in their size, not number strong;  
But since, each Couple is become a Throng:  
Which is the cause we busy every wind  
(That studious Pilots in their compass find)  
For Lands unknown: where those who first do come  
Are not held strangers, but arrive at home:  
Yet he that next shall make his visit there,  
Is punished for a spy and Wanderer:  
Not that Man's nature is a verse from peace;  
But all are wisely jealous of increase:  
For Eaters grow so fast, that we must drive  
Our friends away to keep ourselves alive:  
And Warr would be less needful, if to die,  
Had been as pleasant as to multiply.   

Forgive me Prince, that this aspiring flame  
(First kindled as a light, to show thy fame)  
Consumes so fast, and is misspent so long,  
Ere my chief Vision is become my Song,  
Thyself I saw, quite tired with victory;  
As weary grown to kill, as they to die:  
Whilst some at last, thy mercy did enjoy  
'Cause 'twas less pains, to pardon than destroy;  
And thy compassion did thy Army please,  
In mere belief, it gave thy Valour ease.   

Here in a calm began thy regal sway;  
Which with such cheerful hearts, all did obey,  
As if no Law, were juster than thy word;  
Thy sceptre still were safe, without a Sword.  
And here Chronologers pronounce thy style;  
The first true Monarch of the Golden Isle:  
An Isle, so seated for predominance,  
Where naval strength, its power can so advance,  
That it may tribute take, of what the East  
Shall ever send in traffic to the West.   

He that from cursed Mahomet derives  
His sinful blood: the Sophy too, that strives  
To prove, he keeps that very chair in's Throne,  
The Macedonian Youth last sat upon:  
And he, whose wilder pride, makes him abhor  
All but the sun, for his Progenitor;  
Whose Mother sure, was ravished in a dream,  
By sums o'er hot, lascivious Noone-day-beame;  
From whence, he calls himself, The wealth of sight,  
The Morn's Executor, the Heir of Light:  
And he, that thinks his rule extends so fare,  
He hopes, the former Three his vassals are:  
Compared to him, in war he rates them less,  
Than Corporals; than Constables in peace:  
And hopes the mighty presbyter stands bare  
In●rev'rence of his name, and will not dare  
To wear (though sick) his purple turban on  
Within a hundred Leagues, of his bright Throne.   

These mortal Gods, for traffic still disperse  
Their envied wealth, throughout the universe;  
In Caracks, built so wide, that they want room  
In narrow Seas; or in a junck, whose womb  
So swells, as could our wonder be so mad,  
To think that Boats, or Ships their sexes had;  
Who them beheld, would simply say; sure these  
Are near their time, and big with Pinnaces:  
Yet though so large, and populous, they all  
Must tribute pay, unto thy admiral.   

Now Wealth (the cause, and the reward of War)  
Is greedily explored: some busy are  
In virgin Mines; where shining gold they spy,  
That darkens the celestial chemics eye▪  
I wished my soul had brought my body here,  
Not as a Poet, but a pioneer.  
Some near the deepest shore are sent to dive;  
Whilst with their long retentive breath they strive  
To root up coral Trees, where Mermaids lie,  
Sighing beneath those Precious boughs, and die  
For absence of their scaly Lovers lost  
In midnight storms, about the Indian coast.  
Some find old Oysters, that lay gapeing there  
For every new, fresh flood, a hundred year;  
From these they rifle pearls whose ponderous size  
Sinks weaker Divors when they strive to rise:  
So big, on Carckonets were never scene,  
But where some well trussed giantess is Queen;  
For though theyare Orient, and designed to deck,  
Their weight would yoke a tender Lady's Neck.  
Some climb, and search the Rocks, till each have found  
A Saphyr, Ruby, and a Diamond:  
That which the Sultan's glistring Bride doth wear,  
To these would but a glow-worms eye appear:  
The Tuscan Duke's compared, shows sick, and dark;  
These living stars, and his a dying spark.   

And now I saw (what urged my wonder more)  
Black Suds of Ambar-Greece, float to the shore:  
Whilst rude'dull Mariners, who hardly can  
Distinguish buff, or Hides, from Cordovan,  
(Since gloves they never wear) this ointment use  
Not to perfume, but supple their parched shoes.  
Now others hasten to the woods, and there  
Such fruits for taste and odor, every where  
Are seen; that the Merabolan by some  
Is slighted as a course sour winter-Plumme.  
Then new temptations make them all in love  
With wandering, till invited to a Grove,  
They straight those silken little Weavers spy,  
That work so fast on leaves of mulberry:  
The Persian worm (whose weary summer toils  
So long hath been the rustling Courtiers spoils)  
Compared to these, lives ever lazily,  
And for neat spinning is a bungling fly!   

Such hopes of wealth discerned, 'tis hard to say  
How gladly reason did my faith obey;  
As if that miracle would now appear,  
Which turns a Poet to an Usurer:  
But reason soon will with our faith conspire,  
To make that easy which we much desire:  
Nor, Prince, will I despair; though all is thine,  
That pioneers now dig from every Mine;  
Though all, for which on slippery Rocks they strive,  
Or gather when in Seas they breathless dive;  
Though Poets such unlucky Prophets are,  
As still foretell more blessings than they share;  
Yet when thy noble choice appeared, that by  
Their Combat first prepared thy victory;  
Endymion, and Arigo; who delight  
In Numbers and make strong my muse's flight!  
These when I saw; my hopes could not abstain,  
To think it likely I might twirl a chain  
On a judicial Bench: learn to demur,  
And sleep out trials in a gown of fur,  
Then reconcile the rich, for Gold-fring'd-gloves,  
The poor, for godsake, or for sugarloafs!  
When I perceiaved, that cares on wealth rely;  
That I was destined for authority,  
And early gouts; my soul in a strange fright  
From this rich Isle began her hasty flight;  
And to my half dead Body did return,  
Which new inspired, rose cheerful as the morn.   

Heroic Prince, may still thy acts, and name,  
Become the wonder and discourse of Fame;  
May every laurel, every myrtle bough,  
Be stripped for Wreaths, t'adorn, and load thy brow;  
Triumphant Wreaths, which cause they never fade,  
Wise elder times, for Kings and Poets made:  
And I deserve a little sprig of Bay,  
To wear in Greece on Homer's holiday;  
Since I assume, when I thy battles write,  
That very flame, which warmed thee in the fight.   
FINIS.   

Elysium. To the Duchess of Buckingham.  
MADAM,  

SO sleeps the Anchoret on his cheap bed,  
(whose sleep wants only length to prove him dead)  
As I last night, whom the swift wings of Thought,  
Conveyed to see what our bold faith had taught;  
Elysium, where restored forms ne'er fade;  
Where growth can need no seeds, nor light a shade;  
The joys which in our flesh, through frail expense  
Of strentgh, through age, were lost t'our injured sense,  
We there do meet again; and those we taste  
Anew, which though devoured, yet ever last:  
The scattered treasure of the Spring, blown by  
Autumn's rude winds from our discovery;  
Lilies, and Roses; all that's fair and sweet,  
There reconciled to their first roots we meet:  
There, only those triumphant lover's reign,  
Whose passions knew on earth so little stain,  
Like Angels they ne'er felt what sexes meant;  
Virtue, was first their nature, than intent:  
There, toiling Victors safely are possessed,  
With servant youth, eternity, and rest;  
But they were such, who when they got the field;  
To teach the conquered, victory, could yield  
Themselves again; as if true glory were  
To bring the foe to courage, not to fear.  
There are no talking Greeks, who their blood lost,  
Not for the cause, but for a theme to boast;  
As if they strove enough for Fame, that sought  
To have their Batailes better told, than fought.  
There I a Vestal's Shadow first did spy,  
Who when a live with holy housewifry,  
Tricked up in lawn, and flowery Wreaths (each hand  
Clean as her thoughts) did'fore the Altar stand:  
So busy still, strewing her Spice, and then  
Removing coals, vexing the Fire again,  
As if some queasy goddess had professed,  
To taste no smoke that day, but what she dressed:  
This holy coil she living kept; but fare  
More busy now, with more delightful care  
Than when she watched the consecrated Flame,  
Sh'attends the Shade of gentle Buckingham;  
Who there unenvied sits, with Chaplets crowned;  
And with wise scorn, smiles on the people's wound;  
He called it so; for though it touched his heart,  
His Nation feels the rancour, and the smart.    

TO The Lord D. L. upon his marriage.  

We that are Orpheus' Sons, and can inherit  
By that great title, nought but's numerous spirit;  
His broken harp, and when weare tired with moan,  
A few small Trees of Bay to hang it on.  
We that successively can claim no more,  
From such a poor unlucky Ancestor;  
Must now (my noble Lord) take thrifty care,  
To know, what modern wealth the muse's share?  
Or how it is disposed? and straight we find  
Great, pow'rfall Love, hath bount'ously resigned  
Into your happy arms, the chief, and best,  
Of all that our ambitious hopes possessed:  
Your noble Bride; to whose eternal eyes,  
We daily offered Wreaths in Sacrifice:  
Whose warmth gave laurel growth, whose every beam  
Was first our influence, and then our theme:  
Whose breast (too narrow for her heart) was still  
Her reason's Throne, and prison to her will:  
And since, this is your willing faith; 'tis fit  
What all the kind, and wiser stars commit  
Unto your charge, be with such eager love,  
And soft endearments used, as well may prove,  
They meant, when first they taught you how to woo●,  
She should be happy, and the Muses too▪  
Live still, the pleasure of each others sight;  
To each, a new made wonder, and delight;  
Though two, yet both so much one constant mind,  
That 'twill be art, and mystery to find  
(Your thoughts and wishes, being still the same)  
From which of either's loving heart they came.    

A Journey into Worcestershire.  

THree, who (if kinder Destinies shall please)  
May all dye rich, though they love Wit, and ease;  
And I, whom some odd humorous Planet bid  
To register the doughty acts they did,  
took horse; leaving i'th' Town, ill plays, sour Wine,  
Fierce sergeants and the plague; beside of mine  
An ethnic tailor too, that was fare worse  
Than these, or what just Heaven did ever curse.  
Scarce was the busy city left behind,  
But from the South arose a busier wind;  
Which sent us so much rain, each man did wish,  
His hands and legs, were fins, his Horse, a Fish.  
Dull as a thick-skulled- justice, drunk with Sloth;  
Or Alderman (fare gone in Capon Broth)  
We all appeared; no man gave breath to thought;  
But like to silent traitors in a Vault,  
Digged on our way; or as we traitors were  
T'our selves, and jealous of each others ear:  
And as i'th' world's great shower, some that did spy  
(horsed on the plains) Rivers, and Seas draw nigh;  
Spurred on apace; in fear all lost their time,  
That could not reach a ground where they might climb;  
So we did never think us safe, until  
We had attained the Top o'th' first high Hill:  
And now it cleared: so to my travailed eye,  
Looks a round yellow Dane, when he doth spy  
near to his puissant arm, a bowl so full,  
That it may fill his Bladder, and his Skull,  
As Phoebus at this moisture fall'n; who laughed;  
To see such plenty for his morning's draught:  
But like chameleons Colours that decay  
But seemingly to give new colours way;  
So our false griefs, had not themselves outworn,  
But stepped aside, to vary in return.  
Bear witness World! for now my tired Horse stood,  
As I, a Vaulter were, and himself Wood:  
As if some Student fierce, the day before  
Had spurred his full half crown from him, and more.  
Endymion cries, away! What make we here?  
To draw a Map, or gather Juniper?  
More cruel than Shrove-Prentices, when they  
(Drunk in a brothel House) are bid to pay;  
Or than the Bawd at Sessions, to that vild  
Indicted Rout, which first her house until'de,  
Is now the captain; who laughing swore; thus,  
Each puny Poet rides his Pegasus.  
But what's the cause my Lord spurs on amain,  
As if t'outride a Tartar, not the rain;  
Some such swift Tartar as might safely say,  
To an inviting friend, that tempts his stay;  
Farewell; thou seest the sun declined long since,  
And I'm to sup a Hundred miles from hence.  
My Lord (I thought) as he had heard this same,  
Rod post, to eat that supper ere he came.  
And now, my Mule moves too; but with such speed,  
As prisoners to a psalm, that cannot read:  
Yet we reached Wickham, with the early Night:  
Which to describe to ears, or draw to Sight;  
For situation, or for form, for height,  
For strength, or magnitude, would (in good faith)  
But stolen the price o'th' Map; small credit be  
T'our Poem, less to our geography:  
Or as your riding academics use,  
To toil, and vex, a long fed mutton-Muse,  
With taking the circumference of mine Host,  
Or his wife's sumitrie, were time worse lost;  
Since nor Taurentius, nor Van-dike, have yet  
Command to draw them for the King in great.  
He that to night ruled each delighted breast,  
Gave to the palate of each ear a feast;  
With joy of pledges made our sour wine sweet,  
And nimble as the leaping juice of Crect;  
Was, the brave Endymion; whose triumphs, clear,  
From cruel tyranny, or too nice fear;  
Having wit still ready, and no huge sin  
To cause a sadness that might keep it in,  
Let fly at all; the Shafts were keen; and when  
They missed to pierce, he strongly drew again▪  
But Sleep, whom Constables obey, though they  
Have twenty Bills to keep him off till day:  
Sleep, whom th'high tuned clothworker, Weaver tall,  
Nor cobbler shrill, with Catches or his awl,  
Knows to resist, sealed up our lips, and sight;  
Making us blind, and silent as the Night.  
Our other Sallies, and th'adventures we  
Achieved, deserve new brain, new history.    

To Endymion Porter.  

I Gave, when last I was about to die;  
The Poets of this Isle a legacy;  
Each so much wealth, as a long union brings  
T'industrious States, or victory to Kings:  
So much as Hope's closed eyes, could wish to see,  
Or tall Ambition reach; I gave them thee.  
But as rich Men, who in their sickness mourn  
That they must go, and never more return,  
To be glad heirs unto themselves, to take  
Again, what they unwillingly forsake;  
As these bequeath, their treasure, when they die,  
Not out of love, but sad necessity;  
So I (they thought) did cunningly resign  
Rather than give, what could no more be mine:  
And they received thee not, from bounteous Chance,  
Or me; but as their own inheritance.  
This, when I heard, I cancelled my fond Will;  
Tempted my faith to my physician's skill;  
To purchase health, sung praises in his ear,  
More than the Living of the Dead would hear.  
For though our gifts, buy care, nought justly pays  
Physician's love, but faith, their art, but praise:  
Which I observed; now walk, as I should see  
A death of all things, save thy memory.  
But if this early Vintage shall create  
New wishes in my blood, to celebrate  
Thee Endymion, and thy Muse, thy large heart,  
Thy wisdom that hath taught the world an art  
How (not informed by Cunning,) courtship may  
Subdue the mind, and not the Man betray:  
If I (thy Priest) our curled Youth assign,  
To wash our Fleetstreet Altars with new Wine;  
I will (since 'tis to thee a Sacrifice)  
Take care, that plenty swell not into vice:  
Lest, by a fiery surfe● I be led,  
Once more to grow devout in a strange bed:  
Lest through kind weakness in decay of health,  
Or vanity to show my utmost wealth;  
I should again bequeath thee when I die,  
To haughty Poets as a legacy.    

TO THE Queen, entertained at night by the Countess of Anglesey.  

Fair as unshaded Light; or as the Day  
In its first birth, when all the year was May;  
Sweet, as the Altars smoke, or as the new  
Unfolded Bud, swelled by the early Dew;  
Smooth, as the face of Water's first appeared,  
Ere Tides began to strive, or Winds were heard;  
Kind, as the willing Saints, and calmer fare,  
Than in their sleeps forgiven Hermits are:  
You that are more, than our discreeter fear  
Dares praise, with such dull Art, what make you here?  
Here, where the summer is so little seen,  
That Leaves (her cheapest wealth) scarce reach at green;  
You come, as if the silver Planet were  
Misled a while from her much injured sphere,  
And t'ease the travails of her beams to night,  
In this small lantern would contract her light.    

In remembrance of Master William Shakespeare.  

ODE.  

(1)  
BEware (delighted Poets!) when you sing  
To welcome Nature in the early Spring;  
Your numerous Feet not tread  
The Banks of Avon; for each flower  
(As it ne'er knew a sun or shower)  
Hangs there, the pensive head.   

(2)  
Each Tree, whose thick, and spreading growth hath made,  
Rather a Night beneath the Boughs, than Shade,  
(Unwilling now to grow)  
Looks like the Plume a Captive wears,  
Whose rifled Falls are steeped i'th' rears  
Which from his last rage flow.   

(3)  
The piteous River wept itself away  
Long since (Alas!) to such a swift decay;  
That reach the Map; and look  
If you a River there can spy;  
And for a River your mocked eye,  
Will find a shallow brook.     

To the Lady Bridget Kingsmill; sent with melons after a report of my Death.  

MAdam, that Ghosts have walked; and kindly did  
Convey Men heretofore to money hid;  
That they wear chains, which rattle till they make  
More noise, than injured alewives at a Wake;  
All this is free to faith; but Sozomine,  
Nor th' Abbot Tretenheim, nor Rh●digine,  
Nor the ●ew Trip●o, though they all defend  
Such dreams, can urge one Ghost that Verses penned:  
Therefore, be pleased to think, when these are read;  
I am no Ghost, nor have been three weeks dead.  
Yet Poets that so nobly vain have been,  
To want so carelessly, till want prove sin;  
Through avarice of late, toth' Arches sent,  
To know the chief within my Testament:  
And th' Aldermen by Charter, title lay  
('Cause writ i'th' City's verge) to my new Play:  
So if, the Proclamations, kind, nice care,  
Keep you not (Madam) from our black raw air,  
Next term, you'll find it owned thus on each Wall  
Writ by the Lord mayor, acted at Guild-Hall.  
But then I must be dead; which if you will  
In courteous pity fear, and suspect still;  
These melons shall approach your pensive Eye,  
Not as a Token but a legacy.  
Would they were such, as could have reached the sense,  
To know what use they had of excellence,  
Since destined to be yours; such as would be  
(Now yours) justly ambitious of a Tree  
To grow upon; scorn a dejected birth,  
Course German Tiles, low Stalks, that lace the Earth▪  
Such, as since gladly yours, got skill, and power,  
To choose the strongest sun, and weakest shower▪  
Such, as in Groves Cecilian Lovers eat,  
To cool those wishes, that their Lady's heat.  
But if the gardener make (like Adam) all  
Our human hopes, bold, and apocryphal;  
And that my melons prove no better than  
Those lovely Pompe'ons, which in Barbican,  
Fencers, and Vaulters widows please to eat,  
Not as a salad, but cheap-filling-meat;  
Think then I'm dead indeed; and that they were  
Early bequeathed, but paid too late i'th' year:  
So the just scorns, of your loved wit, no more  
Can hazard me, but my Executor.    

To the King on new-year's day 1630.  

ODE.  

(1)  
THe joys of eager Youth, of Wine, and Wealth,  
Of Faith untroubled, and unphysicked Health;  
Of Lovers, when their Nuptials nigh,  
Of Saints forgiven when they die;  
Let this year bring  
To Charles our King:  
To Charles, who is th'example, and the Law,  
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.   

(2)  
Long proffered Peace, and that not compassed by  
Expensive Treaties but a victory;  
And Victories by Fame obtained,  
Or prayer, and not by slaughter gained;  
Let this year bring:  
To Charles our King.  
To Charles; who is th'example, and the Law,  
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.   

(3)  
A Session too, of such who can obey,  
As they were gathered to consult, not sway:  
Who not rebel, in hope to get  
Some office to reclaim their wit;  
Let this year bring  
To Charles our King;  
To Charles; who is th'example and the law,  
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.   

(4)  
Prators, who will the public cause defend,  
With timely gifts, not Speeches finely penned;  
So make the Northern victor's Fame  
No more our envy, nor our shame;  
Let this year bring  
To Charles our King:  
To Charles; who is th'example, and the law,  
By whom the good are taught, not kept in awe.     

TO THE Queen, presented with a suit, in the behalf of F. S. directed, From Orpheus' Prince of Poets, To the Queen of Light; In favour of a young listner to his harp.  

I Sing these Numbers in the shady Land,  
Where airy Princes dwell; which I command  
Some Spirit, or some wind, gently convey  
To you, whose breath is Spring, whose Eie-beames Day!  
'Gainst your arrival here, which must be late;  
(Such power the prayers of mortals have with Fate)  
Fields I have dressed, so rich in scent, and show;  
As if your influence taught our flowers to grow:  
Where still delighted you shall nobly move;  
Not like a sad Shadow, as they above  
With learned falsehood most unkindly dream  
Of every Ghost; but like a beauteous beam.  
The lily, and the Rose; which Lovers seek,  
Not on their stalks, but on their Lady's cheek;  
Shall here not dare take root; nor yet the strange  
And various Tulip; which so oft doth change  
Her amorous Colours to a different hue,  
That yearly Men believe the Species New.  
In stead of these; on every Bank I'll show  
(blithe on his stem) the nice Adonis grow;  
Who though, in's beauties warmth beloved of old;  
His transmutation only makes him cold;  
For the amazed goddess now perceives,  
Him scarce so fair in's Flesh, as in his Leaves.  
Then proud Narcissus; whose rare beauty had  
far less excuse, and cause, to make him mad,  
Then in his own Eyes, flourishing alive;  
Than since he was become a Vegative.  
With these, the jealous Crocus, and the chaste  
●emone, whose blushes ever last.  
●ow for a cooling Shade, what use have we  
●f the delightful Lydian-Platan-Tree,  
Which X●rxes so much loved, or of the Lime,  
Or the tall Pine, which spreads, as it doth climb?  
Or Lovers Sicamore, or mine own Bay?  
On which, since my Euridices sad day,  
My Harp hath silent hung: No Trees your bower  
Shall need; the slender stalk of every flower,  
When you arrive among us, and dispense  
The liberal comfort of your influence,  
Shall reach at Body, Rinde, and Boughs; then grow  
Till't yield a Shade, as well as Scent, and Show,  
For your Attendants here; Tomiris, she  
That taught her tender sex, the ways to victory;  
The Queen of Ithaca, whose precious name  
For chaste desires, is decree to us, and Fame;  
And Artimesia whom truth's best Record,  
Declared a living Tomb unto her Lord,  
Shall ever wait upon your sway; and when  
The Destinies are so much vexed with Men,  
That the just godlike Monarch of your breast,  
Is ripe, and fit to take eternal rest;  
To court his spirit here, I will not call  
The testy Pyrrhus, or malicious Hannibal;  
Nor yet the fiery Youth of Macedon,  
Shall have the dignity t'attend his Throne:  
But mighty I●lius, who had thoughts so high  
They humble seemed, when th'aimed at victory;  
And owned a soul so learned; Truth feared that she  
Might stand too naked, near his philosophy:  
In anger, valiant, gently calm, in love;  
He soared an Eagle, but he stooped a Dove!  
Know, Queen of light; he only doth appear,  
Fit to embrace your royal Lover here:  
Nor think my promise is the airy boast  
Of a dead Greek, a thinne-light-talking-Ghost:  
It shall be well performed; and all I dare  
For those just toils commend unto your care;  
Is but a Poets humble suit; who now  
With everlasting Wreaths may deck his Brow;  
Since first your Poet called; and by that style  
He is my Deputy throughout your Isle.    

To the Lord B. in performance of a vow, that night to write to him.  

MY Lord, it hath been asked, why 'mongst those few  
I singled out for Fame, I chose not you  
With early speed the first? but I, that strive  
My manners should preserve my Verse alive;  
That read Men, and myself; would not permit  
The boldness of my love, should tax my wit.  
There are degrees, that to the Altar lead;  
Where every rude, dull Sinner must not tread:  
'Tis not to bring, a swift thanksgiving Tongue,  
Or prayers made as vehement as long,  
Can privilege a zealous votary,  
To come, where the High Priest should only be:  
Then why should I (where some more skilful hand  
May offer gums, and Spice) strew Dust, and Sand  
And this (my chief of Lords) made me design▪  
Those noble flames, sprung from your nobler Wine,  
To keep my spirits warm; till I could prove  
My Numbers smooth, and mighty as my love:  
Yet such my treacherous fate, that I this night  
(Fierce with untutored heat) did vow to write:  
But happy those, who undertake no more  
Than what their stock of rage hath ruled before!  
It is a Poet's sin, that doth excel  
In love, or wine, not to resolve how well,  
But straight how much to write; for than we think  
The vast tumultuous Sea is but our Ink;  
The World, our Forest too; and that we may  
Believe each Tree, that in it grows, a Bay.  
My Vow now kept, I'm loath (my Lord) to do  
Wrong to your justice, and your mercy too;  
The last, if you vouchsafe; you will excuse  
A strong Religion here, though not a Must▪    

To Endymion Porter.  

HOw safe (Endymion) had I lived? how blessed,  
In all the silent privacies of rest?  
How might I lengthen sleeps, had I been wise  
Unto myself, and never seen thine Eyes?  
My Verse (unenvied then) had learned to move  
A slow, meek pace; like sober Hymns of love  
By some noch'd-Brownist sung; that would endear  
His holy itch, to some chaste midwife's ear:  
The pleasure of ambition than had been,  
To me lost in the danger, and the sin:  
The myrtle Sprig (that never can decay)  
● had not known, nor Wreaths of living Bay:  
In stead of these, and the wild Ivy Twine,  
(Which our wise Fathers justly did assign,  
To him that in immortal Verse exceeds)  
My Brow had worn, some homely Wreath of Weeds:  
And such low pride is safe: for though the Bay  
Lightning, nor Winds can blast, yet Envy may.  
If hidden still from thee, I should have less  
To answer now, for glory, and excess:  
My surfeits had not reached the cunning yet,  
To seek an expiation from their wit:  
For more than Village Ale, and drowsy beer,  
(Cawdles, and Broth to the dull Islander)  
I ne'er had wished; now, My Man, hot, and dry,  
With fierce transcriptions of my poesy;  
Cries, Sir, I thirst! then straight I bid him choose  
(As poet's Prentices did surely use  
Of Greece, and Rome) some clear, cheap Brook; there stay,  
And drink at nature's charge his thirst away:  
Though Fasts (more than are taught i'th' calendar)  
Had made him weak; this gave him strength to swear;  
And urge, that after H●race the divine  
Maecenas knew, his Slaves drunk ever Wine:  
So whilst Endymion lives, he vows to pierce  
Old Gascoine cask, or not transcribe a verse.  
If never known to thee, missing the skill  
How to do good, I should have found my ill  
Excused: Th'excessive charge of Ink, and oil,  
Expense of quiet sleeps, and the vain toil,  
In which the Priest of Smyrna took delight,  
(When he for knowledge changed his precious sight)  
Had scaped me then; now whilst I strive to please  
With tedious Art, I lose the lust of ease.  
And when our Poets (enviously miss-led)  
Shall find themselves out-written, and out-read;  
'Twill urge their sorrow too, that thou didst give  
To my weak Numbers, strength, and joy to live.   

But O! uneasy thoughts! what will become  
Of me, when thou retir'st into a tomb?  
The cruel, and the Envious than will say,  
Since now his Lord is dead; he that did sway  
Our public smiles, opinion, and our praise,  
Till we this child of poesy did raise  
To Fame, and love; let's drown him in our ink;  
Where like a lost dull Plummet let him sink  
From humane sight; from knowledge he was borne;  
Unless Succession find him in our scorn.  
Remembrance, never to Repentance shows,  
The wealth we gain, but what we fear to lose;  
Thou art my wealth; and more than Light ere spied,  
Than Eastern Hills bring forth, or Seas can hide:  
But thus when I rejoice, my fears divine,  
I want the fate, still to preserve thee mine:  
And Kings deposed, wish they had never known  
Delight, nor sway; which erst they toiled to own.    

jeffereidos', Or the captivity of Jeffery.  

Canto the first.  

A sail! a sail! Cried they, who did consent  
Once more to break the eighth commandment  
For a few coals; of which by theft ●o well  
theyare stored; they have enough to furnish Hell  
With penal heat; though each sad devil there  
A frozen Muscovite, or Russian were:  
The chase grew swift; whilst an old weary pink,  
Not used to fly, and somewhat loath to sink,  
Did yield unto the Foe; who boards●her straight;  
And having rifled all her precious Freight;  
A trembling Britain kneels, and did beseech  
Each composition there, of tar and Pitch,  
That they would hear him speak: 'tis not (quoth he)  
Our kind respect to wealth, or liberty,  
Begets this fear; but lest blind Fortune may  
Unto some fierce, unruly hand betray,  
The truest Servant to a State, that could  
Be given a Nation out of flesh and blood:  
And he tall Ieff'ry height! who not much used  
To fights at Sea, and loath to be abused,  
Resolved to hide him, where they sooner might  
Discover him, with smelling than with sight.   

Each Eye was now employed; no man could think  
Of any uncouth nook, or narrow chink,  
But straight they ●ought him there; in holes not deep  
But small, where slender maggots used to creep:  
At last, they found him clo●e, beneath a spick  
And almost span-new-pewter-Candlestick.  
A sapient Dicgo, that had now command  
Of Ships and victory, took him in hand:  
Peised him twice, tasted his discourse; at●ength  
Believed, that he dissembled wit, and strength:  
Quoth he, Victors, and vanquished▪ I bid  
You all give ear, to wisdom of Madrid▪  
This that appears to you, a walking-Thumbe,  
May prove, the general spy of Christendom:  
Then calls for chains, but such as fitting seem,  
For Elephants, when managed in a teem.  
Whilst puissant jeffrey begins to wish (in vain)  
He had long since contrived a truce with Spain.  
His sinews fail him now; nor doth he yield  
Much trust unto his Buckler, or his Shield;  
Yet threatens like a second Tamburlaine,  
To bring them 'fore the Queen's Lord-Chamberlaine▪  
Because without the leave, of him, or her,  
They keep her Houshold-Servant prisoner.   

Diego, that studied wrath, more than remorse,  
Commands, that they to Dunkirk steer their course:  
Whilst Captive- Ieffr'y snewes to wiser sight,  
Just like a melancholy Israelite,  
In midst of's journey unto Babylon;  
Melt marble hearts, that chance to think thereon▪  
The Winds are guilty too; for now behold  
Already landed this our Britain bold!  
The People view him round; some take their oath  
He's humane Issue, but not yet of growth:  
And others (that more sub'tly did confer)  
Think him a small, contracted Conjurer:  
Then Diego, Bred●o names! Hemskerk! and cries,  
Hans van Geulick! Derick too! place your Thighs  
On this judicial Bench; that we may sit  
T'undo, this short-Embassadour with wit.  
One, fain would thinks descent: Thou Pirat-Dogge  
(The wrathful Captive then replied) not Ogge  
(The Bashan King) was my Progenitor;  
Nor do I strive, to fetch my Ancestor  
From Anack's sons, nor from the Genitals  
Of wrestling- Cacus, who gave many falls.  
No matter for his birth, said Diego then;  
Bring hither straight the Rack! for it is Ten  
To one, this will enforce from out his Pate,  
Some secrets, that concern the English State.  
But O! true, loyal Heart! he'd not one word  
Reveal, that he had heard at Councell-bord.  
Some asked him then, his business late in France;  
What Instruments lay there concealed t'advance  
The British cause? when they perceived his heart;  
Was big, and whilst enforced, would nought impart;  
Diego arose; and said, Sir, I beseech you,  
Acquaint us if the Cardinal de Richel●eu  
Intent a war, in Italy, or no?  
(Most noble jeffrey still ●) he seems to know  
Nought of that point; though diverse think, when there;  
The Cardinal did whisper in his ear  
The Scheame of all his plots; and sought to gain  
His company along with him to Spain;  
For thither he'll march, if he can byth' way  
Sweep a few dirty Nations into th' Sea.   

A solemn monk, that silent stood close by,  
Believed this little Captive, a Church-Spie!  
Quoth he, that shriuled face, hath Schysme in it;  
And lately there's a learned volume writ,  
Wherein Ben-●harky, and Ben-Ezra too,  
And Rabin Kimky eke, a learned Jew,  
Are cited all; it labours to make good,  
That there were Protestants before the Flood;  
And thou its Author art: jeffrey swore then,  
He never knew those Hebrew Gentlemen!  
When they perceived, nor threats, nor kindness sought  
From love, could get him to discover aught;  
Diego leaves the Table; swears by his scarf;  
The thing, they doubted thus, was a mere dwarf.  
The fleetest Izeland-Shock, they then provide;  
On which they mount him straight, and bid him ride:  
He weeps a tear or two, for's jewels lost;  
And so, with heavy heart, to Brussels post.     

jeffereidos', Or the captivity of Jeffery.  

Canto the second.  

SO runs the nimble snail, in slimy tract,  
hastening with all his Tenement on's back;  
And so, on goodly Cabidge-leafe, the fleet  
Swift-Caterpiller moves with eager feet,  
As this sad Courtier now; whose mighty Steed  
May for an easy amble, or for speed,  
Compare with gentle Bull in Yoke: But O!  
Here now gins a Canticle of woe!  
Chide cruel Fate, whose business in the spheres,  
Wise Ieff'ry notes, is but to cause our tears:  
Their rule, and power (quoth he) is understood,  
More in the harm they do us, than the good:  
And this he said, because he scarce had driven  
Along that Coast, the length of Inches Seven,  
But down his Iceland fell; some Authors say  
A burly oak, lay there disguised in's way;  
Others a Rush; and some report, his Steed  
Did stumble, at the splinter of a Reed;  
And some (far more authentic) say again,  
'Twas at a hair, that dropped from humane Chin:  
But though, the sage Historians are at strife,  
How to resolve this point; his courser's life  
They hold lost in the fall; whilst the discreet  
jeffrey was forced, to wander on his Feet.  
Old wives, that saw the sorrows of this Spy,  
Their withered Lips (thinner than Lids of Eye)  
Straight opened wide; and tickled with his wrongs,  
Did laugh, as if 'twere ●ech'ry to their Lungs;  
And Diego too, whose grave, and solemn Brow,  
Was ever knit, grew loud, and wanton now:  
O for a Guard (quoth he) of Swissers here,  
To heave that Giant up! but come not near;  
For now enraged, he may perchance so toss us,  
As you would think, you touched a live Colossus!  
This jeffrey heard; and it did stir his gall,  
More than his courser's death, or his own fall.   

Sorrows, that hasten to us, are but slow  
In their departure; as the learned may know  
By this sad Story; since new cause was given;  
For which our deep Platonic questions Heaven.  
O cruel stars (quoth he) will you still so  
Officious be, to trouble us below?  
'Tis said your care doth govern us; d'ye call  
That care, to let ambassadors thus fall?  
Nay, and permit worse dangers to ensue?  
Though all your rule, and influence be true;  
I had as lief (since mortals thus you handle)  
Be governed by the influence of a Candle.  
This he had cause to say; for now behold  
A fowl of spacious wing, bloody, and bold  
In his aspect; haughty in gate, and stiff on  
His large spread claws he stood, as any Griffon;  
Though, by kind, a Turkey; whose plot that way  
Was like a subtle scout to watch for prey;  
Such as is blown about by every wind;  
But here's the dire mistake; this fowl (half blind)  
At jeffrey pecks, and with intent to eat  
Him up, in stead of a large grain of Wheat:  
jeffrey (in duel nice) ne'er thinks upon't,  
As the Turkeys hunger, but an affront.  
His sword he drew; a better none alive  
ere got from Spanish Foe, for Shillings Five.  
And now, the battle doth begin: sound high  
Your Oaten Reeds, t'encourage victory!  
Strike up the wrathful Tabor! and the Gitthern;  
The loud Jew's-trump! and Spirit-stirring-Cittherne!  
jeffrey the bold, as if he had o'erheard  
These Instruments of war, his arm upreared,  
Then cries St. George for England! and with that word  
He mischiefed (what I pray?) nought but his sword:  
Though some report, he noched the Foes left wing;  
And Poets too, who faithfully did sing  
This battle in Low-Dutch, tell of a few  
Small Feathers there, which at the first charge flew  
About the field; but do not strictly know  
That they were shed by fury of that blow.  
This they affirm; the Turkey in his look  
Expressed how much, he it unkindly taken,  
That wanting food; our jeffrey would not let him,  
Enjoy awhile the privilege to eat him:  
His tail he spreads, jets back; then turns again;  
And fought, as if, for th'honour of his Hen:  
jeffrey retorts each stroke; and then cries; maugre  
Thy strength, I will dissect thee like an augur!  
But who of mortal race, deserves to write  
The next encounter in this bloody fight?  
Wisely didst thou (O Poet of Anchusin;)  
Stay here thy Pen, and lure thy eager Muse in;  
Envoking Mars, some half an hour at least,  
To help thy fury onward with the rest:  
For jeffrey straight was thrown; whilst saint, and weak,  
The cruel Foe, assaults him with his beak.  
A Lady-Midwife now, he there by chance  
Espied, that came along with him from France:  
A heart nursed up in War; that ne'er before  
This time (quoth he) could bow, now doth implore:  
Thou that delivered haste so many, be  
So kind of nature, to deliver me!  
But stay: for though the learned Chronologer  
Of Dunkirk, doth confess him freed by her;  
The subtler Poets yet, whom we translate  
In all this epic Ode, do not relate  
The manner how; and we are loath at all  
To vary from the Dutch original.  
Deeds they report, of greater height than these;  
Wonders, and truth; which if the Court-wits please,  
A little help from Nature, less from Art,  
May happily produce in a Third part.     

For the Lady, Olivia Porter.  

A present, upon a new-year's day.  

GO! hunt the whiter Ermine! and present  
His wealthy skin, as this day's Tribute sent  
To my Endimion's Love; Though she be fare  
More gently smooth, more soft than Ermines are!  
Go! Climb that Rock! and when thou there hast found  
A star, contracted in a Diamond,  
Give it Endimion's Love; whose lasting Eyes,  
Outlook the Starry jewels of the Skies!  
Go! dive into the Southern Sea! and when  
thoust found (to trouble the nice sight of Men)  
A swelling pearl; and such whose single worth,  
Boasts all the wonders which the Seas bring forth;  
Give it Endimion's Love! whose every tear,  
Would more enrich the skilful Jeweller.  
How I command? how slowly they obey?  
The churlish Tartar, will no● hunt to day:  
Nor will that lazy, sallow- Indian strive  
To climb the Rock, nor that dull Negro dive.  
Thus Poets like to Kings▪ (by trust deceived)  
Give oftener what is heard off, than received.     

To I. C. robbed by his Man ANDREW.  

SIr, whom I now love more, than did the good  
Saint Martin, that all-naked-Flesh-and-blood,  
Whose cloak (at Plymouth spun) was crabtree wood.   

His own was Tammie sure; which made it tear  
So soon into a gift; and thou (I fear)  
Wilt beg half mine, not to bestow, but wear.   

For thy Saint- Andrew sought not out the way  
To keep thee warm, but make thee watch, and pray;  
That is, for his return; about, doomsday;   

Worse left, than blushing Adam, who withdrew  
The nakedness he feared, more than he knew,  
Not to a Mercers, but where Fig-leaves grew:   

Which sewed with strings of slender Weeds, cloth Men  
Cheaper than Silks, that must be paid for, when▪  
It pleases the chief Scribe, o'th' chamberlain.   

Though my sick Joints, cannot accompany  
Thy Hue-on-cry; though Midnight parleys be  
Silenced long since, between Constables, and me;   

Without their helps, or Suburb-Justices,  
(Upon whose justice now an impost lies,  
For with the price of beef, their Warrants rise)   

I'll find this Andrew straight. See, where the pale  
Wretch stands: Thy guiltless Robes (ne'er hanged for fale;)  
He executes, on Sundry broker's nail.   

In stead of him (chased thence by his wise fear)  
Does the mother's joy, a bold Youth appear;  
Who swaggers up to Forty marks a year!   

Sometimes he troubles Law, at th'Inns of Court;  
Now comes, to buy him Weeds of shining sort;  
And fain would have thy cloak, but'tis too short:   

Too short (neat Sir) was all thy rifled store;  
Which made those Brokers curse thy stature more,  
Than thou, Fiend- Andrew, the sad day before.   

But hark! who knocks? good troth my Muse is stayed,  
By an apothecary's Bill unpaid;  
Whose length, not strange-nam'd-Drugs, makes her afraid.    

To the Earl of Portland, Lord Treasurer; on the marriage of his son.  

MY Lord, this Night is yours! each wand'ring Star  
That was nnbusied, and irregular;  
Most gravely now, his bright Companion leads,  
To fix o'er your glad roof, their shining Heads.  
And it is said, th'exemplar King's your guest;  
And that the rich-Ey'd-Darling of his Breast,  
(To ripen all your joys) will there become  
The music, odour, Light, of every room!  
A mixture of two noble bloods, in all  
Faith, and domestic nature, union call,  
No travailed Eyes have seen, with humbler state  
Of love performed, where Princes celebrate.  
This when I heard; I know not what bold star  
My Spirits urged, but it was easier fare  
The turn, the injured Panther, to restrain  
In's hot pursuit, or struck him cool again;  
To tell the cause, why Winds do disagree,  
Divide them when in storms they mingled be;  
Straight fix them single, where they breathed before;  
Or fan them with a Plume, from Sea to Shore;  
Than bind my raging Temples, or resist  
The power that swelled me, as Apollo's Priest.  
Therefore my Robe, that on his Altar lay,  
My verge, my Wreath, I took; and thus did pray:  
That you (my Lord) with lasting memory,  
And strength of fervent youth, may live to see,  
Your name in this blessed nuptial store the Earth,  
With such a masculine, and knowing birth;  
As shall at factious counsels moderate,  
And force injurious Armies to their fate.  
Let Time be fettered, that they never may  
Increasing others, feel themselves decay.  
To you (my Lord) who with wise industry,  
Seek Virtue out, then give it strength to be;  
Where ere you shall reside, let Plenty bring,  
The pride, and expectations of the Spring;  
The wealth that loads enticing autumn grow  
Within your reach; let hasty Rivers flow  
Till on your shores, they skaly Tribute pay,  
Then ebb themselves in empty Waves away:  
Let each pale flower, that springeth there, have power  
T'invite a sunbeam, and command a shower;  
The dew that falls about you taste of Wine,  
Each abject Weed change root, and be a Vine!  
But I with this prophetic plenty grow  
Already rich, and proud; 'cause then I know  
The Poets of this Isle, in Vineyards may  
Rejoice, whilst others thirst in groves of Bay!  
Sir, let me not your wary patience move;  
And sin, with too much courage of my love!  
He that in strength of wishes, next shall try,  
T'increase your blessings with his poesy,  
May show a fiercer Wit, and cleaner Art,  
But not a more sincere, and eager Heart.    

THE Queen, returning to London after a long absence.  

HOw had you walked in Mists of Sea-coalesmoake,  
Such as your ever teeming Wives would choke,  
(Fa●●e sons of thrift!) did not her beauty's light,  
Dispel your Clouds, and quicken your dull sight?  
As when, th'illustrious Officer of Day,  
(First worshipped in the East) begins to display  
The glory of his beams; then Buds unfold  
Their chary leaves; each dew-drownd Marigold  
Insensibly doth stir itself, and spread;  
Each Violet lifts up, the pensive Head;  
So when the rays of her fair Eyes appear,  
To warm, and gild your clouded hemisphere;  
Those flowers which in your narrow Gardens grow,  
(Narrow as Turfs, which you a Lark allow  
In's wicker Cage) rejoice upon their stalks;  
Imbellishing your summer inch-broad walks:  
But she removed, what all your wearied lives,  
You plant in Germane pots, to please your Wives,  
Shall fade; scarce in your Climate shall be seen  
Enough of Spring to make your Tansies green.  
Nor shall your blew-Ey'd-Daughters more appear  
(Though in the hopefullest season of the year)  
In the dark street, where Tantlin's Temple stands,  
With Time, and Marg'rom Posies in their hands.  
We know (distrustful Bergainers!) you most  
Love sacrifice, that puts you least to cost;  
Give her your prayers then; that her looks may  
After long Nights, restore you unto Day.  
Though Ringing be some charge, and Wood grew dear;  
In troth; it will become you once a year,  
To offer Bells, and Bonfires too, alltho '  
You cozened out in Silks, next public Show.    

To I. W. upon the death of his Mistress.  

AS the great sons of War, that are raised high  
With eager heats, of frequent victory,  
Grow to such lazy pride; they take it ill  
Men still should put them to the pains to kill;  
And would, at each stern because of the Eye,  
Have the sad Foe, veil Plumes, take leave, and dye:  
So thou; as if thy sorrows had o'ercome  
Half the wise world, and struck all reason dumb;  
Criest, she is dead! and frownest, because I now  
Take not my Wreath (the treasure of my Brow)  
Then hurl myself, and it, a Sacrifice  
In hallowed flames, to her departed Eyes.  
'Cause early Men, their curtains draw, and say  
Behold the sun is risen, now'tis day;  
Knowing thy sun is set, thou swearest their sight,  
Is led by business t'a mistake of Light.  
Lovers believe, if yet th'Almighty could  
Doabt part of his so swift creation good;  
To ease him of another Fiat, they  
Can with their mistress beams, make him a day:  
To rule the Night, each Glance (they think) will fit  
Planets to largest spheres, if we admit  
Their silly Priests (the Poets) be but by,  
That love to soothe such faith t'idolatrie.  
But how have I transgressed, thus to declaim  
'Gainst sorrow I should envy more than blame?  
For what is he, though reverendly old,  
And than a mountain Muscovite more cold;  
Though he want Wit, or nature to desire;  
Though his hard heart be Ir'ne, his heartstrings Wire:  
Or what is he, though blind, and knows no good  
Of love, but by an itching faith in's blood,  
That when thy Tongue her beauty open lays  
To mental view, and her soft mind displays,  
Will think thy grief was overpaid, or yet  
Bate the world one Sigh, of so just a debt?  
But she is gone! Repine now, if you dare;  
Like heavens unlicenced fools, all punished are  
For Nature as for crimes; yet cannot choose  
But mourn for every excellence we lose;  
Though still commanded to a tame content;  
To think no good was given us, but lent:  
And a fond riddle in Philosophy,  
Persuades us too; the Virtuous never dye;  
That all the ills, which we in absence find  
Concern the eyesight only, not the mind:  
But Lovers (whose wise senses take delight  
In warm contaction, and in real sight)  
Are not with lean imagination fed,  
Or satisfied, with thinking on the Dead.  
'Tis fit we seek her then; but he that finds  
Her out, must enter friendship with the Winds;  
Inquire their dwelling, and uncertain walks;  
Wither they blow, from their forsaken Stalks  
Flowers that are gone, ere they are smelled? or how  
Dispose o'th' sweeter Blossoms of the Bough?  
For She (the Tresuresse of these) is fled,  
Not having the dull leisure to be dead;  
But t'hoord this Wealth; return, and this Wealth bring  
Still varied, and increased in every Spring.    

To Endymion Porter.  

IT is (Lord of my Muse and heart) since last  
Thy sight inspired me, many ages past▪  
In darkness thick as ill-met Clouds can make,  
In sleeps wherein the last Trump scarce could wake  
The guiltless dead, I lay; and hidden more  
Than Truth, which testy Controverts explore.  
More hid than paths of Snakes, to their deep beds,  
Or walks of Mountaine-Springs from their first Heads:  
And when my long forgotten eyes, and Mind,  
Awaked; I thought to see the sun declined  
Through age, to th' influence of a star, and Men  
So small, that they might live in wombs again.  
But now, my strength's so giantly, that were  
The great Hill-lifters once more toiling here;  
They'd choose me out, for active Back, for Bone,  
To heave at ●ae●io● first, and heave alone.  
Now by the softness of thy noble care,  
Reason, and Light, my loved Companions are;  
I may too, ere this moon be lost, refine  
My blood, and bathe my Temples with thy Wine:  
And then, know my Endymion (thou, whose name  
Toth' World example is, music to Fame)  
I'll try if Art, and Nature, able be  
From the whole strength, and stock of P●e●ie,  
To pay thee my large debts; such as the poor  
In open Blushes, hidden Hearts restore.    

Epitaph, on I. Walker.  

Envied, and loved, here lies the Prince of mirth!  
Who laughed, at the grave business of the Earth.  
Looked on ambitious statesmen with such Eyes,  
As might discern them guilty, could not wise.  
That did the noise of war, and battles hear,  
As moved to smiling pity, not to fear:  
Thought fight Princes at their dying sad;  
Believed, both Victors, and the conquered mad:  
Might have been rich, as oft as he would please,  
But ways to Wealth, are not the ways to Ease.  
The wit, and courage of his talk, now rests,  
In their impatient keeping that steal jests;  
His jests, who e'er shall Father, and repeat  
Small memory needs, but let's estate be great,  
Danger so seasoned them, each hath Salt le●t,  
Will yet undo the poor for one small theft;  
The Rich, that will own them, what e'er they pay,  
Shall find, 'tis twice a week Star-Chamber day.    

To Doctor Cademan, physician to the Queen.  

FOr thy Victorious cares, thy ready heart;  
Thy so small tyranny to so much Art;  
For visits made to my disease  
And me, (Alas) not to my Fees:  
For words, so often comforting with scope  
●●●●arned reason, not persuasive hope:  
For medicines so benign, as seem  
Cordials for Eastern Queens that team.  
For setting now my condemned Body free,  
From that no God, but devil Mercury:  
For an assurance, I ne'er shall  
A forfeit be toth' admiral;  
Like those in Hospitals, who dare presume  
To make French Cordage now of English rheum;  
Or slender Ropes, on which, in stead  
Of pearl, revolted Teeth they thread;  
For limiting my cheeks, that else had been  
Swollen like the sign, o'th' Head o'th' Saracen;  
For preservation from a long  
Concealment of my Mother-Tongue;  
Whilst speechless, sowed in Hoods, I should appear,  
An Antarminian, silenced Minister;  
Or some Turks poisoned Mute; so fret  
So foam at mouth, make signs, and spit.  
Whilst all I eat, goes down, with looks to sight  
More forced, than quails t'each full-crammed Israelite;  
Whose angry swallowing denotes  
They lay at Flux, and had sore throats.  
For these deliverances, and all the good  
My new return of Senses, strength, and blood,  
Shall bring; for all I mine can boast,  
Whilst my Endymion is not lost,  
Sy'th feeble influence of my star; or turns  
From me, to one whose Planet clearer burns;  
May (thou safe Lord of Arts) each Spring  
Ripe plenty of Diseases bring  
Unto the Rich; they still t'our Surgeons be  
Experiments, Patients alone to thee:  
Health, to the poor; lest pity should  
(That gently stirs, and rules thy blood)  
Tempt thee from wealth, to such as pay like me  
A Verse; then think, they give Eternity.    

To Endymion Porter, When my Comedy (called the Wits) was presented at Black▪ friars.  

Hear, how for want of others grief, I mourn  
My sad decay, and weep at mine own Ur●e ●  
The Hou'rs (that ne'er want Wings, when they should fly  
To hasten Death, or lead on destiny,)  
Have now fulfilled the time, when I must come  
Chained to the muse's bar, to take my doom:  
Where every term, some timorous Poet stand▪  
Condemned by whispers, e'er reprieved by hands.  
I that am told conspiracies are laid,  
To have my Muse, her Arts, and life betrayed,  
Hope for no easy Judge; though thou wert there,  
T'appease, and make their judgements less severe▪  
In this black day, like Men from thunder's rage,  
Or drowning showers, I hasten from the stage;  
And wish myself, some Spirit, hid within  
Those distant, wand'ring Winds, that yet have been  
Unknown toth' compass, or the Pilots skill;  
Or some lose Plumet, sunk so low, until  
I touch where roots of Rocks deep buried be;  
There mourn, beneath the leafless coral Tree.  
But I am grown too tame! what need I fear,  
Whilst not to passion, but thy reason clear?  
Should I perceive, thy knowledge were subdued,  
T'unkinde consent with the harsh Multitude,  
Then I had cause to weep; and at thy Gate  
(denied to enter) stand disconsolate;  
Amazed, and lost to mine own Eyes; there I  
(Scarce griev'd-for by myself) would wink and dye:  
Olivia then, may on thy pity call  
To bury me, and give me funeral.    

In celebration of the yearly Preserver of the Games at COTSWALD.  

Hear me you Men of strife! you that have been,  
Long time maintained by the dull people's sin,  
At Lion's, Furnifold's, and Cleme●t's inn!   

With huge, o're-comming Mutton, Target-Cheese,  
Beef, that the queasy stomached Guard would please,  
And limber Groats, full half a Score for Fees.   

Hear you gowned Lackeys that on both sides plead!  
Whose hollow Teeth, are stuffed with others Bread;  
Whose Tongues will live (sure) when yourselves are dead.   

Here you alcaldoes, whose stern faces look,  
Worse than your prisoner's thats denied his book;  
Than Pilate painted like a scalded cook.   

Lift all that toil for power to do Men wrong,  
With penseve ear, to my prophetic Song!  
Whose magic says, your Triumphs hold not long.   

The time is come, you on yourselves shall sit;  
Whilst Children find (if they endeavour it)  
Your learning, Chronicle; Clinches, your Wit..   

Ere you a year are dead, your sons shall watch,  
And roar all Night with Ale, in house of Thatch;  
And spend, till Swords are worn in Belts of Match.   

Whilst D●ver (that his knowledge not imploy's  
T'increase his neighbour's Quarrels, but their joys;)  
Shall in his age; get Money, girls, and boys!   

Money, at Cotswald Games shall yearly fly;  
Whilst the Precise, and Envious shall stand by,  
And see his Min'rall fountain never dry.   

His girls, shall dowr'-lesse w●d with heirs of birth;  
His boys, plough London widows up like earth:  
Whilst Cotswald Bards carol their nuptial Mirth▪   

●over (the Gentry's Darling) know this frame,  
●s but a willing tribute to thy Fam●,  
●ung by a Poet, that conceals his name.    

On the Death of the Lady marquis of WINCHESTER.  

IN care, lest some adventurous Lover may  
(T'increase his love) cast his own Stock away;  
I (that find, th'use of grief is to grow wise)  
Forbidden all trassique now between Hearts, and Eyes:  
Our remnant-love, let us discreetly save,  
Since not augment; for Love, lies in the Grave.  
Lest Men; whose patience is their senses sloth,  
That only live, t'expect the tedious growth  
Of what the following summer slowly yields;  
Whose fair Elysium, is their furrowed Fields;  
Lest these, should so much prize mortality;  
They ne'er would reach the wit, or faith to die;  
Know, Summer comes no more; to the dark bed  
Our sun is gone; the hopeful Spring is dead.  
And lest kind Poets, that delight to raise  
● With their just truths, not ecstasy of praise)  
Beauty to Fame; should rashly overthrow  
The credit of their Songs; I let them know  
Their theme is lost; so lost, that I have grieved,  
They never more can praise, and be believed.    

To Endymion Porter, upon his recovery from a long sickness.  

Just so the sun doth rise, as if last Night  
He called t'accompt the moon, for all the light  
She ever owed; now looks so full of scorn,  
And pride; as she had paid him all this morn!  
So clear a day, timely foretells; I now  
Shall scape those Clouds, that hung upon my Bro●  
Whilst I thy sickness mourned; and less did sleep  
Than faithful widows, that sincerely weep.  
A true presage! My hopes no sooner tell  
What they desired, but straight I find thee well.  
Blessed be the Stars; whose powerful influence  
Our healths, by Minerals, and herbs dispense!  
And that's their chiefest use: who thinks that Fa●●  
So many Stars did purposely create,  
And them so large, merely for show, and light;  
Concludes, it took less care, of Day, than Night.  
Since thou art safe, those Numbers will be lost,  
Which I laid up, to mourn thee as a Ghost:  
Unless I spend them on some tragic Tale,  
Which Lovers shall believe, and then bewail:  
Next term, prepare thee for the theatre!  
And until then, reserve thy skilful ear;  
For I will sing imagined tragedy,  
Till Fates repent their essence is so high  
From passion raised; 'cause they can ne'er obtain  
To taste the griefs, which gentle Poets feign.    

Upon the nuptials of Charles, Lord Herbert, and the Lady M. Villers.  

ROses till ripe, and ready to be blown,  
Their beauty hide, whilst it is yet their own;  
'Tis ours but in expectance, whilst theyare green;  
And bashfully they blush when first 'tis seen:  
As if to spread their beauty were a crime;  
A fault in them, not in all-ripening-Time.  
So stands (hidden with Vayles) in all her pride  
Of early flourishing, the bashful Bride!  
And till the Priest, with words devoutly said,  
Shall ripen her a Wife, that's yet a Maid,  
Her veil will never off: so modest still,  
And so expressed by Nature, not by skill,  
That sure she dressed her looks when she did ri●e,  
Not in her glass, but in her Mother's Eyes.  
The jolly bridegroom stands, as he had taken  
And led, Love strongly fettered in a chain:  
Forgetting when her veils are laid aside,  
Himself, is but a Captive to the Bride.  
The Priest now joins their hands, and he doth find  
(By mystery divine,) in both one mind,  
Mixed, and dispersed; his spirits straight begin  
(As they were rap't) to vex, and talk within:  
His Temples swett, whilst he stood silent by,  
Not as prepared to bless, but prophecy:  
What nee●ded more? since they must needs posses●e,  
All he foretold, though he should never bless:  
And blessing unto such, at most restores,  
Or but repeats, what was their Ancestors.    

Prologue to a revived Play of Mr Fletcher's, called The woman-hater.  

LAdies! take't as a secret in your ear,  
In stead of homage, and kind welcome here,  
I hearty could wish, you all were gone;  
For if you stay, good faith, we are undone.  
Alas! you now expect, the usual ways  
Of our address, which is, your sex's praise:  
But we to night, unluckily must speak,  
Such things, will make your Lovers heartstrings break;  
Belly your Virtues, and your beauty's stain,  
With words, contrived long since, in your disdain.  
'Tis strange you stir not yet; not all this while  
Lift up your fans, to hide a scornful smile:  
Whisper, nor jog your Lords to steal away;  
So leave us t'act, unto ourselves, our Play:  
Then sure, there may be hope, you can subdue,  
Your patience to endure, an Act, or two:  
Nay more, when you are told, our poet's rage  
Pursues but one example, which that age  
Wherein he lived produced; and we rely  
Not on the truth, but the variety.  
His Muse believed not, what she then did write;  
Her Wings, were women to make a nobler flight;  
Soared high, and to the Stars, your Sex did raise;  
For which, full Twenty years, he wore the bays.  
'Twas he reduced Evadne from her scorn,  
And taught the sad Aspasia how to mourn;  
Gave Arethusa's love, a glad relief;  
And made Panthea elegant in grief.  
If these great Trophies of his noble Muse,  
Cannot one humour 'gainst your Sex excuse  
Which we present to night; you'll find a way  
How to make good, the libel in our Play:  
So you are cruel to yourselves; whilst he  
(Safe in the fame of his integrity)  
Will be a Prophet, not a Poet thought;  
And this fine Web last long, though loosely wrought.    

To Endymion Porter, passing to Court to him, by water.  

ODE.  

(1)  
THe truth and wisdom of your compass boast  
(Dull Men of th'Sea!) when you the flow'rie Coast  
Have reached, to which you steer;  
Think then, those Clouds are shrunk again,  
That swelled, as if they hoarded rain  
For all the year.  
Think then, those ruder Winds are dumb,  
That would endeavour storms to come;  
And that the Rocks no more  
(As they were wont) shall hide themselves,  
To practise mischief on the Shelves  
So near the shore.   

(2)  
Into the Silver Flood I launched; and fraught  
My Bark with Hope, the Parasite of thought:  
To Court my voyage tends;  
But Hope grew sick, and wished me fear,  
The Bark would split, that harboured there  
To trade for Friends.  
Wise Love, that sought a noble choice,  
To tune my Harp, and raise my voice,  
Forbids my Pinnace rest;  
Till I had cured weak Hope again,  
By safely Anchoring within  
Endimion's breast.   

(3)  
Endymion! who, with Numbers sweet can move  
Souls (though untuned) to such degrees of love;  
That Men shall sooner see,  
Th'enticed Needle disobey  
The tempting Adamant, than they  
His poesy:  
And I (exalted now,) ne'er mind  
Their breath, who stormed, t'increase the wind  
By which theyare overthrown;  
Their Stock of rage, and lyric skill,  
They boast in vain; the poet's Hill  
Is all mine own.     

Elegy on B. Haselrick, slain in's youth, in a duel.  

NOw in the blind, and quiet age of Night,  
So dark, as if the funeral of Light  
Were celebrated here; whither with slow,  
Unwilling feet, sad Virgins do you go?  
Where have you left your reason, and your fear?  
What mean those Violets that downward wear  
Their heads, as grieved, since thus employed they grew?  
Lilies, scared by your looks, to their pale how?  
Roses, that lost their blushes on the Bough,  
And laurel stolen from some dead poet's Brow?  
These, and your loser hair, show that you come  
To scatter both, on that relenting tomb.  
But stay! by this moist pavement it appears,  
Some Ladies have been earli'r here with tears  
Than I, or you; and we can gue●●e no more,  
Those that succeed, by these that dropped before;  
Than by the Dew, fall'n in a cowslips womb,  
heavens treasury of showers that are to come.  
The Curtain's drawn! Look there, and you shall spy  
The faded God of your idolatry!  
Cold as the feet of Rocks, silent in shade  
As Chaos lay, before the Winds were made.  
Yet this was once the flower, on whom the Day  
So smiled, as if he never should decay:  
Soft, as the hands of Love, smooth as her brow;  
So young in show, as if he still should grow;  
Yet perfected with all the pride of strength,  
Equal in Limbs, and square unto his length:  
And though the jealous World hath understood,  
Fates only sealed, the first creation good;  
This modern work (stern Fates!) rose up to prove  
Your ancient skill retained, but not your love:  
Can you have loved, you had with careful fight  
Preserved, what you did frame with such delight.   

O, let me sum his crimes, let me relate  
Them strictly as his Judge, not Advocate;  
And yet the greatest number you shall find  
Were errors of his youth, not of his mind:  
For had his jealous courage been so wise,  
As to believe itself, not others Eyes;  
Had he not thought his little patience tame  
In suffering quiet Men, t'enjoy a Fame;  
He might have lived ●o so great use, that I  
Had writ his Acts, and not his elegy.  
Go, gentlest of your Sex! should I relate  
With bolder truth, th'unkindness of his Fate,  
(Too strict, to flesh and blood) I might infuse  
A schism in your Religion, and my Muse:  
Yet this would be excused, since all we gain  
By grief, is but the licence to complain.    

TO THE Queen, upon a new-year's day.  

YOu of the Guard make way! and you that keep  
The Presence warm, and quiet whilst you sleep,  
Permit me pass! and then (if any where  
Employed) you Angels that are busi'st here,  
And are the strongest Guard, although unseen,  
Conduct me near the Chamber of the Queen!  
Where with such reverence as Hermits use  
At richest Shrines, I may present my Muse:  
Awake! salute, and satisfy thy sight,  
Not with the fainting Sun's, but thine own Light!  
Let this Day break from thine own Silken sphere,  
This Day, the birth, and Infant of the year!  
Nor is there need of Purple, or of lawn  
To vest thee in, were but thy curtains drawn,  
Men might securely say, that it is morn,  
Thy Garments serve to hide, not to adorn!  
Now she appears, whilst every look, and smile,  
Dispenses warmth, and beauty through our Isle:  
Whilst from their wealthiest Caskets, Princes pay  
Her gifts, as the glad tribute of this Day!  
This Day; which Time shall owe to her, not Fate;  
Because her early eyes, did it create.  
But O! poor Poets! Where are you? why bring  
You not your goddess now an Offering?  
Who makes your Numbers Swift, when they moved slow,  
And when they ebbed, her influence made them flow.  
Alas! I know your wealth: The laurel bough,  
Wreathed into Circles, to adorn the Brow,  
Is all you have: But go; these strew, and spread,  
In sacrifice, where ever she shall tread,  
And ere this day grow old, know you shall see  
Each leaf become a Sprig, each Sprig a Tree.    

Elegy, On Francis, Earl of RUTLAND.  

CAll not the Winds! nor bid the Rivers stay!  
For though the sighs, the tears they could repay,  
Which injured Lovers, Mourners for the Dead,  
Captives, and Saints, have breathed away, and shed;  
Yet we should want to make our sorrow fit  
For such a cause, as now doth silence it.  
Rutland! the noble, and the just! whose name  
Already is, all History, all Fame!  
Whom like brave Ancestors in battle lost,  
We mention not in pity, but in boast!  
How didst tho● smile, to see the solemn sport,  
Which vexes busy greatness in the Court?  
T'observe their laws of faction, place, and Time,  
Their precepts how, and where, and when to climb?  
Their rules, to know if the sage meaning lies,  
In the deep Breast, i'th' shallow Brow, or Eyes?  
Though Titles, and thy blood, made thee appear,  
(Oft'gainst thy ease) where these state-Rabbins were▪  
Yet their philosophy thou knewest was fit,  
For thee to pity, more than study it.  
Safely thou valuedst Cunning, as 'thad been,  
Wisdom, long since, distempered into Sin:  
And knewest, the actions of th'Ambitious are  
But as the fal'se Al'armes in running war,  
Like forlorn Scowts (that raise the coil) they keep  
Themselves awake, to hinder others sleep:  
And all they gain, by vexed expense of breath;  
Unquietness, and guilt; is at their death,  
Wonder, and mighty noise; whilst things that be  
Most dear, and precious to mortality  
(Time, and thyself) impatient here of stay,  
With a grave silence, seem to steal away;  
Depart from us unheard, and we still mourn  
In vain (though piously) for their return.  
Thy Bounties if I name; I'll not admit,  
Kings, when they love, or woo, to equal ●●:  
It showed like Nature's self, when she doth bring  
All she can promise by an early Spring;  
Or when she pays that promise, where she best  
Makes Summers for Mankind; in the rich East.  
And as the wise sun, silently employs  
His liberal beams, and ripens without noise;  
As precious dews, do undiscovered fall,  
And growth, insensibly doth steal on all;  
So what he gave, concealed, in private came,  
(As in the dark) from one that had no name;  
Like fairies wealth, not given to restore,  
Or if revealed, it visited no more.   

If these live, and be read (as who shall dare  
Suspect, Truth, and thy Fame, immortal are?)  
What need thy noble Brother, or fair She,  
That is thyself, in purest imagery;  
Whose breath, and Eyes, the ●un'rall-spice, and flame,  
Continue still, of gentle Buckingham;  
What need they send poor pioneers to groan,  
In lower Quarries for Corinthian stone?  
To dig in Parian Hills? since Statues must,  
And Monuments, turn like ourselves to dust:  
Verse, to all ages can our deeds declare,  
Tombs, but a while, show where our Bodies are.    

To Endymion Porter.  

WOuld thou wert dead! so strictly dead to me,  
That nor my sight, nor my vexed memory  
Can reach thee more: so dead, that but to name  
Thou wert, might give the saucy▪ lie to Fame;  
That the bold sons of Honour, and the mild  
Race of Lovers (both thy disciples styled)  
Might ask; who could the first example be  
To all their good? yet none should mention thee▪  
Knocking at my breast, when this hou'r is come;  
I hope, I once shall find my heart at home.  
Say, thou art dead; yet whispered but to me;  
For should thy so well-spent mortality,  
End to the world, and that sad end be known;  
I might (perhaps) still live, but live alone:  
The better world would follow thee, and all  
That I should gain, by that large funeral,  
Would be, the wanton vanit●e to boast,  
What they enjoy, was from my plenty lost.    

To the Countess of Carlisle, on the death of the Earl her Husband.  

THis cypress folded here, in steed of lawn,  
These Tapers winking, and these curtains drawn;  
What may they mean? Unless to qualify  
And check the lustre of your Eyes, you'll try  
To honour darkness, and adorn the Night,  
So strive, thus with your Lord, to bury Light.  
Call back, your absent Beauties to your care,  
Though clouded, and concealed, we know you are  
The Morning's early'st beam, life of the Day,  
The ev'ns' last comfort, and her parting Ray!   

But why these tears, that give him no relief,  
For whom you waste the virtue of your grief?  
Such, as might be prescribed the Earth, to drink  
For cure of her old Curse; tears, you would think  
Too rich to water (if you knew their price)  
The chiefest Plant derived from Paradise.  
But O! where is a poet's faith? how fare  
We are miss-led? how false we Lords of Numbers are?  
Our Love, is passion, our Religion, rage!  
Since, to secure that mighty heritage  
Entailed upon the Bay, see, how I strive  
To keep the glory of your looks alive;  
And to persuade your gloomy Sorrows thence;  
As subtly knowing, your kind influence  
Is all the precious Stock, left us t'inspire,  
And feed the flame, of our eternal fire.   

But I recant: 'Tis fit you mourn a while,  
And wink, until you darken all this Isle;  
More fit, the Bay should whither too, and be  
Quite lost, than he deprived your obsequy:  
He that was once your Lord; who strove to get  
That title, cause nought else, could make him great;  
A style, by which his name he did prefer  
To have a day, i'th' poet's calendar.   

His youth was gentle, and disposed to win,  
Had so much courtship in't, 'twas his chief sin;  
Yet sure, although his courtship knew the way  
To conquer Beauty; it did ne'er betray.  
When wise with years, these soft affairs did cease:  
He whispered War abroad, then brought home Peace.  
He was supreme Ambassador, and went  
To be that Prince, whom Leigers but present;  
And soon with easy ceremonies got,  
What they did lose with care, and a deep plot:  
Cheerful his age; not tedious or severe,  
Like those, who being dull, would grave appear;  
Whose guilt, made them the soul of Mirth despise,  
And being sullen, hope men think them wise:   

Yet he that kept his Virtues from decay,  
Had that about him needs must wear away:  
The daily less'ning of our life, shows by  
A little dying, how outright to die:  
Observe the Morning, noon, and Evening sun:  
Then (Madam) you that saw his Hou'r-gla●●e run,  
In wiser faith, will not be more oppressed  
To see the last sand fall, than all the rest.    

Epilogue, TO LOVE and honour, A Tragicomedy.  

TRoth Gentlemen, you must vouchsafe awhile  
T'excuse my Mirth; I cannot choose but smile▪  
And'tis to think, how like a subtle spy,  
Our Poet waits, to hear his destiny:  
Just i'th' pay'd-Entry as you pass; the place  
Where first you mention your dislike, or gra●e.  
Pray whisper softly, that he may not hear;  
Or else, such words, as shall not blast his Eare.    

Epilogue, To a Vacation Play at the Globe.  

The speaker entered with a Sword drawn.  

FOr your own sakes (poor souls!) you had not best  
Believe, my fury was so much suppressed  
I'th'heat of the last Scene, as now you may  
Boldly, and safely too, cry down our Play!  
For if you dare, but murmur one false Note,  
Here in the House, or going to take Bot●;  
By heaven, I'll mow you off, with my long Sword;  
Ye●'man, and Squire, Knight, Lady, and her Lord!  
With reason too; for since my whole part lies  
I'th' Play, to Kill the King's chief Enemies;  
How can you scape? (be your own Judges) when  
You lay sad plots, to beggar the Kings-Men.     

TO THE Queen, upon a new-year's day.  

THis day, old Time, doth turn his annual glass;  
And shakes it, that the year may swiftly pass:  
This day; on which the foremost leading-sand  
Falls from that glass, shaken by his hasty Hand:  
That Sand's th'exemplar Seed, by which we know  
How th'hours of the ensuing year will grow.  
Awake, great Queen! for as you hide, or clear  
Your Eyes, we shall distrust, or like the year.  
Queen's set their dials by your beauty's light;  
By your Eyes learn, to make their own move right:  
Yet know, our expectation when you rise  
Is not entirely furnished from your Eyes;  
But wisely we provide, how to rejoice,  
In the fruition of your Breath, and voice:  
Your breath, which Nature the example meant,  
From whence our early blossoms take their scent;  
Teaching our Infant-Flow'rs how to excel  
(Ere strong upon their stalks) in fragrant smell:  
Your voice, which can allure, and charm the best  
Most gawdy-feathered chanter of the East,  
To dwell about your Palace all the Spring,  
And still preserve him silent whilst you sing.  
Rise then! for I have heard Apollo swear,  
By that first lustre, which did fill his sphere;  
He will not mount, but make eternal Night,  
Unless relieved, and cherished by your Sight▪  
Your sight; which is his warmth, now he is old,  
His Horses weary, and his Chariot cold.    

TO EDWARD Earl of Dorcet, after his sickness, and happy recovery.  
MY LORD,  

I Find the Gentry so o'erjoyed i'th' town,  
As if all Prisons (safely) were razed down:  
As if, the Judges would no more resist  
Wrongs with the Law, but each turn Duelist;  
And not with Statutes, but with rapier's fence,  
At Mason's ward to secure Innocence.  
As if some trusty Poet now had been  
Chosen with full voice City-Chamberlin;  
Their Treasure kept, and might dispose of it  
And th'Orphans Goods, as his free Muse thought fit.  
As if grave Benchers had been seen to wear  
Loud Germane spurs, tall Feathers, and long hair.  
Such wild inversions, both of Men, and laws,  
Amazed my Faith, until I knew, the cause  
Was your return to health; which did destroy  
All grief in greater Minds, and swell their joy:  
Which made me gladly vow to dedicate  
Each year, a solemn sacrifice to Fate;  
Such as should please old Esculapius too,  
More than dissected Cocks were wont to do,  
(If there be prophecy in Wine) and then  
You shall be known to Altars, as to Men.    

Written, When colonel Goring Was believed to be slain, at the siege of BREDA.  His death lamented by Endymion, ARIGO. 

The Scene, the Sea.  

ENDYMION.  
HO! Pilots change your Course! for know we are  
Not guided by the seaman's usual Star●●:  
Storme-frighted-Foole! dull, wat'ry Officer!  
Dost thou our Voyage by thy compass steer?  
In all the Circle of thy Card, no wind  
Tame, or un●uly, thou wilt ever find  
Can bring us where the meanest on the Coast  
Immortal is, and ● renowned Ghost   

ARIGO.  
Let the assembled Winds in their next war,  
Blow out the light, of thy old guiding star;  
Whilst on uncertain Waves, thy Bark is tossed,  
Until thy Card is rend, thy Rudder lost.  
Nor Star, nor Card; though with choice Winds you fill  
Your sails (subdued by Navigators skill;)  
Can teach thee rule thy helm, 'till't waft us o'er  
Pacifique Seas, to the Elysian Shore.   

ENDYMION.  
Who to that flowery Land, shall search his way,  
No mortal Pilots compass must obey;  
Nor trust Columbu● art, although he can  
Boast longer toils, than he, or Magilan:  
Though in Sea-perils, he could talk them dumb,  
And prove them lazy cripples; bred at home,  
By's travails, he could make the sun appear,  
A young, and unexperienced traveller.   

ARIGO.  
If thou wilt steer our course, thou must rely  
On some majestic, Epick-History;  
(The Poet's compass) such as the blind Priest  
In fury writ, when like an Exorcist,  
His Numbers charmed the Grecian Host; whose Pen,  
The sceptre was, which ruled the souls of Men.  
Survey his mystic Card; learn to what Coast,  
He did transport, each brave unbodyed Ghost,  
New shifted from his flesh, that valiant Crew,  
Which fierce Achilles, and bold Hector slew?   

ENDYMION.  
Inquire, where these are now? beneath what Shade,  
In dear-bought rest, their weary limbs are laid,  
That trod on rugged ways? for honour still  
Leaves the smooth plain, t'ascend the rough, steep Hill.  
There seek, the Macedonian Youth; who knew  
No work, so full of ease, as to subdue:  
Who scarce believed his Conquests worthy fame,  
Since others thought, his fortune overcame.   

ARIGO.  
Near him, the Epire-Quarreller doth lie;  
Looks, as he scorned his immortality,  
Because of too much rest; seems still at strife  
With Fate, for loss of troubles, not of life:  
Grieved that to dye, he made such certain haste,  
Since being dead, the noble Danger's passed.   

ENDYMION.  
near these, go seek (with myrtle overgrown)  
The Carthaginian Victor's shady Throne;  
Who there, with sullen thoughts, much troubled lies;  
And chides, the over-careful Destinies;  
That these Ambitious Neighbours thither sent  
So long before his birth; thus to prevent  
Dishonour at their deaths; O fond surmise,  
Of one, who when but mortal was so Wise!  
As if betimes, they hastened to a tomb,  
Lest he b'ing borne, they had been overcome.   

ARIGO.  
Near him, the wondrous Roman doth appear,  
Majestic, as if made Dictator there;  
Where now, the philosophic Lord, would heal  
The wound, he gave him for the public weal:  
Which he more strives to hide; as shamed his Eye  
Should find, that any wound could make him die.   

ENDYMION.  
If thou, by the wise poet's Card, or star,  
Canst bring us where these altered monarches are;  
Shift all thy sails, to husband every wind;  
Till by a short, swift passage we may find,  
Where Sidney's ever-blooming-Throne is spread;  
For now, since one renowned as he is dead;  
(Goring, the still lamented, and beloved!)  
He hath enlarged his bower, and fare removed  
His less heroic Neighbours, that gave place  
To him; the last of that soon numbered Race.   

ARIGO.  
Whom he must needs delight to celebrate,  
Because himself, in manners, and in Fate,  
Was his undoubted Type: Goring, whose name  
Though early up, will stay the last with Fame:   

ENDYMION.  
Though Sidney was his Type, fulfilled above  
What he foretaught, of Valour, Bounty, Love:  
Who died like him, even there, where he mistook  
The People, and the Cause he undertook:  
Betrayed by pity then, to their defence,  
Whose poverty was all their innocence:  
And sure, if to their help a Third could come,  
Beguiled by Honour, to such martyrdom;  
Sufficient like these Two, in brain, as blood;  
The World in time would think, their cause is good.   

ARIGO.  
Thus he forsook his glories being young:  
The warrior is unlucky, who lives long;  
And brings his courage in suspect; for he  
That aims at honour, i'th' supreme degree,  
Permits his Valour ' to be overbold,  
Which then, ne'er keeps him safe, till he be old.   

ENDYMION.  
His Bounty, like his Valour, unconfined;  
As if not borne to Treasure, but assigned  
The Rents of lucky war; each Day to be  
Allowed, the profits of a victory!  
Not of poor farms, but of the World the Lord!  
Heir, to intestate Nations by his Sword.   

ARIGO.  
In Valour thus, and bounty, raised above  
The vulgar height, so in designs of Love;  
For only gentle Love could him subdue;  
A noble crime, which snewed his Valour, true:  
It is the soldiers test; for just so far  
He yields to Love, he overcomes in War.   

ENDYMION.  
But why Arigo, do we strive to raise  
The Story of our l●sse, with helpless praise?  
Why to this Pilot mourn; whose ears can reach  
Nothing les●● loud, than Winds, or Water's breach?  
Or think, that he can guide us to a Coast,  
Where we may find, what all the World hath lost?   

ARIGO.  
About then! Lee the helm! Endimion ●see,  
Lose Wreaths (not of the Bay, but cypress Tree)  
Our Poet wears, and on the Shore doth mourn,  
Fearing, t' Elysium bound, we can't return.  
Steere back! his Verse may make those sorrows last  
Which here, we 'mongst unhallowed seamen waste.     

TO THE LORD carry of Lepington, upon his translation of MALVEZZI.  

SO swift is Thought; this morn I took my flight  
To ruined Babel, and returned to Night:  
So strong, that Time (whose course no power could slack)  
I have enforced some Forty ages back:  
To me, that great disorder, and decay,  
Was both begun, and consummate to Day:  
Myself, some strong Chaldean Mason there,  
Still sore, with massy Stones they made me bear:  
Just now (I thinks) I'm struck, for some command  
Mistook, in words I could not understand.  
So lasting are great griefs, we still retain  
Remembrance of them, though we lose the pain:  
And that Confusion did a grief comprise,  
Greatest, in that in most concerned the Wise:  
For these (who best deserve the care of Fate)  
The first great Curse, much less did penetrate,  
Which makes us labour for our Food so long,  
Than that which mixed, or cancelled every Tongue:  
'Cause now we toil, and sweat for knowledge more,  
Than for the Body's nourishment before.   

Knowledge; ere it did practise to control,  
No Weapon was, but Diet of the soul;  
Which as her nourishment, she might enjoy,  
Not like Controverts, others to destroy:  
And this her Food (like milk) did nourish best,  
'Cause it was safe, and easy to digest:  
Which milk, that Curse on Languages turned sour,  
For Men scarce taste, what they could erst devour:  
Since now, we are preparing to be dead,  
Ere●we can holfe interpret what we read.   

Yet he, that for our bodies took such care,  
That to each Wound, there several Me●'cins are;  
In nobler pity, surely hath assigned  
A cure, for every mischief of the mind:  
So this revenge (perhaps) was but to try  
Our patience first, and then our industry.  
Since he ordained, that beauteous Truth should still  
Be overcast, and hid from humane skill;  
Sure he affects that war, which schoolmen wage;  
When to know Truth, doth make their knowledge, rage:  
So Truth, is much more precious than our peace;  
Though some fond politics, esteem her less:  
Lazy obedience, is to them devout;  
And those rebellious, that dispute, or doubt,   

But you (my Lord) must Valiantly despise  
Their threats, that would keep Knowledge in disguise;  
And toil with Languages to make her clear;  
Which is, to be a just Interpreter.  
And this selected piece, which you translate,  
Foretells, your Studies may communicate,  
From darker Dialects of a strange Land,  
Wisdom, that here th'unlearned shall understand.   

What noble wonders may in time appear,  
When all, that's foreign, grows domestic here?  
When all the scattered World you reconcile,  
Unto the Speech, and Idiom of this Isle:  
How like a general sceptre rules that Pen,  
Which Mankind makes, one kind of countrymen?    

To Henry Jarmin.  

HOw wicked am I now? no Man can grow  
More wicked, till he swears, I am not so:  
Since Wealth, which doth authorise Men to err,  
Since Hope, (that is the lawfull'st Flatterer)  
Were never mine one hour: yet I am loath  
To have less pride, than Men possessed of both:  
Fuller of glory, than old Victors be,  
That thank themselves, not heaven for victory:  
Prouder than Kings first Mistresses, who think  
Their eyes, gazing on Stars, would make Stars wink▪  
That hope, they rule not by imperial place,  
But by some beauteous Charter in the Face.  
Yet this my pride, and glory, I think lost  
Unless declared, and heightened with a boast,  
Am I not bravely wicked then? and still  
Shall worse appear, in Nature, as in will;  
When with my Malice (the grave Wit of sin)  
T'excuse myself, I draw the whole World in;  
Prove all in pride, in trivial glory share,  
Though not so harmless in't, as Poets are.   

When battles join, alas! what is't doth move  
('Gainst all celestial harmony of Love)  
The Gallant warrior to assault his Foe?  
Whose Vices, and whose Face, he ne'er did know:  
Why would he kill? or why, for Prince's fight?  
They quarrel more for glory, than for right:  
The pride than he defends, he'd punish too,  
As if more Just in him, than in the Foe.   

Th' Ambitious statesman not himself admires  
For what he hath, but what his pride desires;  
Doth inwardly confess, he covets sway,  
Because he is too haughty to obey:  
Who yield to him, do not their reason pl●●se,  
But hope, their patience may procure them ease.  
How proudly glorious doth he then appear,  
Whom even the Proud▪ enemy, the humble, fear▪   

The Studious (that in Books so long have sought  
What our Wise Fathers did, or what they thought)  
Admit not Reason to be natural,  
But forced, harsh, and uneasy unto all:  
Well may it be so, when from our Soul's Eyes,  
With dark Schoole-Clouds, they keep it in disguise:  
They seem to know, what they are loath t'impart;  
Reason (our Nature once) is now their Art:  
And by sophistick, uselesse-science, try  
T'engage us still, to their false industry;  
T'untie that knot, which they themselves have ryed,  
And had been lose to all, but for their pride:  
Their pride; who rule as chief on Earth, because  
They only can expound, their own hard laws.   

Since thus, all that direct what others do,  
Are proud; why should not Poets be so too?  
Although not good, 'tis prosperous at least  
To imitate the greatest, not the best.  
Know then, I must be proud! but when I tell  
The cause that makes my nourished glory swell,  
I shall (like lucky pencils) have the fate  
T'exceed the Patterns, which I imitate▪  
This not implies, to be more proud than they,  
But bravely to be proud, a better way:  
And thus (Arigo) I may safely climb,  
Raised with the boast, not loaden with the crime:  
Those, with their glorious Vices taken be,  
But I (most right'ously) am proud of thee.    

To Tho: Carew.  

(1)  
Upon my conscience whenso e'rethou diest (Lent)  
(Though in the black, the mourning time of  
There will be seen, in Kings-street (where thou liest)  
Moore triumphs, than in days of parliament.   

(2)  
How glad, and gaudy then will Lovers be?  
For every Lover that can Verses read,  
Hath been so injured by thy Muse, and thee,  
Ten Thousand, Thousand times, he wished thee dead.   

(3)  
Not but thy Verses are as smooth, and high,  
As Glory, Love, or Wine, from Wit can raise;  
But now the devil take such destiny!  
What should commend them, turns to their dispraise.   

(4)  
Thy Wit's chief Virtue, is become its Vice;  
For every Beauty thou hast raised so high,  
That now course-Faces carry such a price,  
As must undo a Lover, if he buy.   

(5)  
Scarce any of the Sex, admits commerce;  
It shames me much to urge this in a Friend;  
But more, that they should so mistake thy Verse,  
Which meant to conquer, whom it did commend.    

TO Doctor Duppa, Deane of Christ-Church, and Tutor to the Prince.  

An acknowledgement for his collection, in Honour of Ben. Johnson's memory.  

HOw shall I sleep to night, that am to pay  
By a bold vow, a mighty Debt ere Day▪  
Which all the Poets of this Island owe:  
Like Palnea, neglected, it will greater grow.  
How vainly from my single Stock of Wit,  
(As small, as is my Art, to Husband it)▪  
I have adventured what they durst not do  
With strong confederate Art, and Nature too.  
This Debt hereditary is, and more  
Than can be paid for such an Ancestor;  
Who living, all the muse's Treasure spent,  
As if they him, their heir, not Steward meant.  
Forests of myrtle, he disforrested,  
That near to Helicon their shades did spread;  
Like modern Lords, weare so of Rent bereft;  
Poets, and they, have nought but Titles left:  
He wasted all in Wreaths, for's conquering Wit;  
Which was so strong, as nought could conquer it  
But's judgement's force, and that more ruled the sense  
Of what he writ, than's F●●●y's vast expense.  
Of that he still was lavishly profuse;  
For join the remnant-Wealth of every Muse,  
And 'twill not pay the Debt we own to thee,  
For honours done unto his Memory▪  
Thus then, he brought th'Estate into decay,  
With which, this Debt, we as his heirs should pay.   

As sullen heirs, when wasteful Fathers die,  
Their old Debts leave for their posterity  
To clear; and the remaining acres strive  
T'enjoy, to keep them pleasant whilst alive;  
So I (alas!) were to myself unkind,  
If from that little Wit, he left behind,  
I simply should so great a debt defray;  
I'll keep it to maintain me, not to pay.  
Yet, for my soul's last quiet when I die,  
I will commend it to posterity:  
Although 'tis feared ('cause they are left so poor)  
They'll but acknowledge, what they should restore:  
However, since I now may earn my bays,  
Without the taint of flattery in praise;  
Since I've the luck, to make my praises true.  
I'll let them know, to whom this Debt is due:   

Due unto you, whose learning can direct  
Why Faith must trust, what Reason would suspect:  
Teach Faith to rul1e, but with such temperate law,  
As Reason not destroys, yet keepsed in awe:  
Wise you; the living-Volume, which contains  
All that industrious Art, from Nature gains;  
The useful, open-Booke, to all untied;  
That knows more, than halfe-Knowers seem to hide  
And with an easy cheerfulness reveal,  
What they, through want, not sullenness conceal.  
That, to great-faithlesse-Wits, can truth dispense  
'Till't turn, their witty scorn, to reverence:  
Make them confess, their greatest error springs,  
From curious gazing on the least of Things;  
With reading smaller prints, they spoil their Sight,  
Darken themselves, then rave, for want of light:  
Show them, how full they are of subtle sin,  
When Faith's great Cable, they would nicely spin  
To Reason's slender Threads; then (falsely bold)  
When they have weakened it, cry, t'wilt not hold!   

To him, that so victorious still doth grow,  
In knowledge, and t'enforce others to know;  
Humble in's strength; not cunning, to beguile,  
Nor strong, to overcome, but reconcile:  
To Arts mild Conqueror; that is, to you,  
Our sadly mentioned Debt, is justly due:  
And now posterity is taught to know,  
Why, and to whom, this mighty sum they own,  
I safely may go sleep; for they will pay  
It all at times, although I break my Day.    
FINIS.