Cooper's HILL.  
A poem.  
Printed in the year M.DC.XLIII.   

Cooper's Hill.  
SUre we have poets, that did never dream  
Upon Parnassus, nor did taste the stream  
Of Helicon, and therefore I suppose  
Those made not poets, but the poets those.  
And as Courts make not Kings, but Kings the Court;  
So where the Muses, and their troops resort,  
Parnassus stands; if I can be to thee  
A poet, thou Parnassus art to me.  
Nor wonder, if (Advantaged in my flight,  
By taking wing from thy auspicious height)  
Through untraced ways, and airy paths I fly,  
More boundless in my fancy, than my eye.  
Exalted to this height, I first look down  
On Paul's, as men from thence upon the town. 
Paul's.   
Paul's, the late Theme of such a Muse, whose flight 
Mr Waller.   
Hath bravely reached and soared above thy height:  
Now shalt thou stand, though Time, or Sword, or Fire,  
Or zeal (more fierce than they) thy fall conspire,  
Secure, while thee the best of Poets sings,  
Preserved from ruin by the best of Kings.  
As those who raised in body, or in thought  
Above the Earth, or the airs middle Vault,  
Behold how winds, and storms, and Meteors grow.  
How clouds condense to rain, congeal to snow,  
And see the Thunder formed, before it tear  
The air, secure from danger and from fear;  
So raised above the tumult and the crowd  
I see the City in a thicker cloud 
London.   
Of business, then of smoke; where men like aunt's  
Toil to prevent imaginary wants;  
Yet all in vain, increasing with their store,  
Their vast desires, but make their wants the more.  
As food to unsound bodies, though it please  
The Appetite, feeds only the disease;  
Where with like haste, though several ways they run:  
Some to undo, and some to be undone:  
While luxury, and wealth, like war and Peace,  
Are each the others ruin, and increase,  
As Rivers lost in Seas some secret vein  
Thence reconveies, there to be lost again.  
Some study plots, and some those plots t'undo,  
Others to make 'em, and undo 'em too,  
False to their hopes, afraid to be secure,  
Those mischiefs only which they make, endure,  
Blinded with light, and sick of being well,  
In tumults seek their peace, their heaven in hell.  
Oh happiness of sweet retired content!  
To be at once secure, and innocent.  
Windsor the next (where Mars with Venus dwells,  
Beauty with strength) above the valley swells  
Into my eye, as the late married Dame,  
(Who proud, yet seems to make that pride her shame)  
When Nature quickens in her pregnant womb  
Her wishes past, and now her hopes to come:  
With such an easy, and unforced Ascent,  
Windsor her gentle bosom doth present:  
Where no stupendious cliff, no threatning heights  
Access deny, no horrid steep aftrights,  
But such a Rise, as doth at once invite  
A pleasure, and a reverence from the sight.  
Thy Master's emblem, in whose face I saw  
A friend-like sweetness, and a kinglike awe;  
Where majesty and love so mixed appear,  
Both gently kind, both royally severe.  
So Windsor, humble in itself, seems proud  
To be the Base of that majestic load.  
Than which no hill a nobler burden bears,  
But Atlas only, that supports the spheres.  
Nature this mount so fitly did advance,  
We might conclude, that nothing is by chance,  
So placed, as if she did on purpose raise  
The Hill, to rob the builder of his praise;  
For none commends his judgement, that doth choose  
That which a blind man only could refuse;  
Such are the Towers which th'hoary Temples graced  
Of Cibele, when all her heavenly race 
The Mother of the gods.   
Do homage to her, yet she cannot boast  
Amongst that Numerous, and celestial host  
More heroes, then can Windsor, nor doth fame's  
Immortal book record more noble Names.  
Not to look back so far, to whom this isle  
Must owe the glory of so brave a Pile;  
Whether to Caesar, Albanact, or Brute,  
The British Arthur, or the Danish Knute,  
(Though this of old no less contest did move,  
Then when for Homer's birth seven Cities strove)  
(Like him in birth, thou shouldst be like in Fame,  
As thine his fate, if mine had been his Flame.)  
But whosoe'er it was, Nature designed  
First a brave place, and then as brave a mind;  
Nor to recount those several Kings, to whom  
It gave a Cradle, or to whom a tomb;  
But thee (great Edward) and thy greater son,  
He that the lilies wore, and he that won, 
Edward the third, and the black Prince.   
And thy Bellona, who deserves her share  
In all thy glories; Of that royal pair  
Which waited on thy triumph, she brought one, 
Queen Philip.   
Thy son the other brought, and she that son;  
Nor of less hopes could her great off spring prove, 
The Kings of France & Scotland.   
A royal Eagle cannot breed a Dove.  
Then didst thou found that Order: whether love  
Or victory thy royal thoughts did move, 
The Garter.   
Each was a Noble cause, nor was it less  
I'th' institution, than the great success,  
Whilst every part conspires to give it grace,  
The King, the Cause, the Patron, and the place,  
Which foreign Kings, and Emperors esteem  
The second honour to their diadem.  
Had thy great destiny but given thee skill  
To know as well, as power to act her will,  
That from those Kings, who then thy captives were,  
In aftertimes should spring a royal pair,  
Who should possess all that thy mighty power,  
Or thy desires more mighty did devour;  
To whom their better fate reserves what ere  
The Victor hopes for, or the vanquished fear;  
That blood, which thou, and thy great Grandsire shed,  
And all that since these sister Nations bled,  
Had been unspilled, had happy Edward known  
That all the blood he spilt, had been his own;  
Thou hadst extended through the conquered East,  
Thine and the Christian name, and made them blessed  
To serve thee, while that loss this gain would bring,  
Christ for their God, and Edward for their King;  
When thou that Saint thy Patron didst design, 
St George.   
In whom the Martyr, and the soldier join;  
And when thou didst within the Azure round  
(Who evil thinks may evil him confound)  
The English arms encircle, thou didst seem  
But to foretell, and prophecy of him,  
Who has within that Azure round confined  
These realms, which Nature for their bound designed.  
That bound which to the world's extremest ends,  
Endless herself, her liquid arms extends;  
In whose heroic face I see the Saint  
Better expressed, then in the liveliest paint;  
That fortitude which made him famous here,  
That heavenly piety, which saints him there,  
Who when this Order he forsakes, may he  
Companion of that sacred Order be.  
Here could I fix my wonder, but our eyes,  
Nice as our tastes, affect varieties;  
And though one please him most, the hungry guest  
Tastes every dish, and runs through all the feast;  
So having tasted Windsor, casting round  
My wandering eye, an emulous Hill doth bound 
St Anne's Hill   
My more contracted sight, whose top of late  
A chapel crowned, till in the common fate 
Chertsey Abbey.   
The neighbouring Abbey fell, (may no such storm  
Fall on our times, where ruin must reform.)  
Tell me (my Muse) what monstrous dire offence,  
What crime could any Christian King incense  
To such a rage? was't luxury, or Lust?  
Was he so temperate, so chaste, so just?  
Were these their crimes? they were his own, much more.  
But they (alas) were rich, and he was poor;  
And having spent the treasures of his crown,  
Condemns their luxury, to feed his own;  
And yet this act, to varnish o'er the shame  
Of sacrilege, must bear devotions name;  
And he might think it just, the cause, and time  
Considered well; for none commits a crime,  
Appearing such, but as 'tis understood,  
A real, or at least a seeming good.  
While for the Church his learned Pen disputes,  
His much more learned sword his Pen confutes;  
Thus to the Ages passed he makes amends,  
Their charity destroys, their faith defends.  
Then did Religion in a lazy Cell,  
In empty, airy contemplations dwell;  
And like the block unmoved lay, but ours  
As much too active like the stork devours.  
Is there no temperate Region can be known,  
Betwixt their frigid, and our Torrid Zone?  
Could we not wake from that lethargic dream,  
But to be restless in a worse extreme?  
And for that Lethargy was there no cure,  
But to be cast into a Calenture?  
Can knowledge have no bound, but must advance  
So far, to make us wish for ignorance?  
And rather in the dark to grope our way,  
Then led by a false guide to err by day?  
Parting from thence twixt anger, shame, and fear  
Those for what's past, and this for what's too near:  
My eye descending from the Hill surveys  
Where Thames amongst the wanton valleys strays;  
Thames the most loved of all the ocean's sons,  
By his old sire to his embraces runs,  
Hasting to pay his tribute to the Sea,  
Like mortal life to meet Eternity:  
And though his clearer sand no golden veins,  
Like Tagus and Pactolus streams contains,  
His genuine, and less guilty wealth t'explore,  
Search not his bottom, but behold his shore;  
O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,  
And hatches plenty for th'ensuing Spring,  
Nor with a furious, and unruly wave,  
Like profuse Kings, resumes the wealth he gave:  
No unexpected Inundations spoil  
The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil:  
Then like a Lover he forsakes his shores,  
Whose stay with jealous eyes his spouse implores,  
Till with a parting kiss he saves her tears,  
And promising return, secures her fears;  
As a wise King first settles fruitful peace  
In his own realms, and with their rich increase  
Seeks war abroad, and then in triumph brings  
The spoils of kingdoms, and the crowns of Kings:  
So Thames to London doth at sirst present  
Those tributes, which the neighbouring countriss sent;  
But at his second visit from the East,  
Spices he brings, and treasures from the West;  
Finds wealth where 'tis, and gives it where it wants,  
Cities in deserts, woods in Cities plants,  
Rounds the whole Globe, and with his flying towers  
Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours:  
So that to us no thing, no place is strange  
Whilst thy fair bosom is the world's Exchange:  
O could my verse freely and smoothly slow,  
As thy pure flood, heaven should no longer know  
Her old Eridanus, thy purer stream  
Should bathe the gods, and be the poet's theme.  
Here Nature, whether more intent to please 
The forest.   
Us or herself with strange varieties,  
(For things of wonder more, no less delight  
To the wise makers, than beholder's sight.  
Though these delights from several causes move,  
For so our Children, thus our friends we love.)  
Wisely she knew the harmony of things,  
as well as that of sounds, from discords springs;  
Such was the discord, which did first disperse  
Form, order, beauty through the universe;  
While dryness moisture, coldness heat resists,  
All that we have, and that we are subsists:  
While the steep horrid roughness of the wood  
Strives with the gentle calmness of the flood.  
Such huge extremes when Nature doth unite,  
Wonder from thence results, from thence delight;  
The stream is so transparent, pure, and clear,  
That had the self-enamoured youth gazed here, 
Narcissus.   
So fatally deceived he had not been,  
While he the bottom, not his face had seen.  
And such the roughness of the Hill, on which  
Dyana' her roils, and Mars his tents might pitch.  
And as our surly supercilious Lords,  
Bigge in their frowns, and haughty in their words,  
Look down on those, whose humble fruitful pain  
Their proud, and barren greatness must sustain:  
So looks the Hillupon the stream, between  
There lies a spacious, and a fertile Greene; 
Egham Meade.   
Where from the woods, the dryads oft meet  
The naiads, and with their nimble feet  
Soft dances lead, although their airy shap  
All but a quick poetic sight escape;  
There Faunus and Sylvanus keep their Courts,  
And thither all the horrid host resorts,  
(When like the elixir, with his evening beams,  
The sun has turned to gold the silver streams)  
To graze the ranker mead, that noble Herd,  
On whose sublime, and shady fronts is reared  
Natures great masterpiece, to show how soon  
Great things are made, but sooner much undone.  
Here have I seen our Charles, when great affairs.  
Give leave to slacken, and unbend his cares,  
Chasing the royal stag; the gallant beast,  
Roused with the noise, twixt hope and fear distressed,  
Resolves 'tis better to avoid, then meet  
His danger, trusting to his winged feet:  
But when he sees the dogs, now by the view  
Now by the scent his speed with speed pursue,  
He tries his friends, amongst the lesser Herd,  
Where he burr lately was obeyed, and feared,  
Safety he seeks; the herd unkindly wise,  
Or chases him from thence, or from him flies;  
Like a declining Statesman, left forlorn  
To his friends pity, and pursuers scorn;  
Wearied, fora ken, and pursued, at last  
All safety in despair of safety placed;  
Courage he thence assumes, resolved to bear  
All their assaults since 'tis in vain to fear;  
But when he sees the eager chase renewed,  
Himself by dogs, the dogs by men pursued;  
When neither speed, nor art, nor friends, nor force  
Could help him, towards the stream he bends his course;  
Hoping those lesser beasts would not assay  
An Element more merciless than they:  
But fearless they pursue, nor can the 'slud  
Quench their dire thirst, (alas) they thirst for blood.  
As some brave Hero, whom his baser foes  
In troops surround, now these assail, now those,  
Though prodigal of life, disdains to die  
By vulgar hands, but if he can descry  
Some Nobler foe's approach, to him he calls  
And begs his fate, and then contented falls:  
So the tall stag, amids the lesser hounds  
Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds,  
Till Charles from his unerring hand lets fly  
A mortal shaft, then glad and proud to die  
By such a wound, he falls, the crystal flood  
Dying he dies, and purples with his blood:  
This a more Innocent, and happy chase  
Then when of old, but in the selfsame place,  
Fair Liberty pursued, and meant a Prey 
Runny Meade where the great Charter was first sealed.   
To tyranny, here turned, and stood at bay.  
When in that remedy all hope was placed,  
Which was, or should have been at least, the last.  
For armed subjects can have no pretence  
Against their Princes, but their just defence;  
And whether then, or no, I leave to them  
To justify, who else themselves condemn.  
Yet might the fact be just, if we may guess  
The justness of an action from success, 
Magna Charta.   
Here was that Charter sealed, wherein the crown  
All marks of Arbitrary power lays down:  
Tyrant and Slave, those names of hate and fear,  
The happier stile of King and Subject bear:  
Happy when both to the same centre move;  
When Kings give liberty, and Subjects love.  
Therefore not long in force this Charter stood  
Wanting that seal, it must be sealed in blood.  
The Subjects armed, the more their Princes gave,  
But this advantage took, the more to crave:  
Till Kings by giving, give themselves away,  
And even that power, that should deny, betray,  
" Who gives constrained, but his own fear reviles,  
" Not thanked, but scorned, nor are they gifts, but spoils,  
And they, whom no denial can withstand,  
Seem but to ask, while they indeed command.  
Thus all to limit Royalty conspire,  
While each forgets to limit his desire.  
Till Kings like old Antaeus by their fall,  
Being forced, their courage from despair recall,  
When a calm River raised with sudden reins,  
Or snows dissolved o'reslowes th'adjoining plains,  
The Husbandmen with high raised banks secure  
Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure.  
But if with Bogs, and dams they strive to force,  
His channel to a new, or narrow course,  
No longer then within his banks he dwells,  
First to a Torrent, than a Deluge swells;  
Stronger, and fiercer by restraint, he roars,  
And knows no bound, but makes his powers his shores.  
Thus Kings by grasping more than they can hold,  
First made their Subjects by oppressions bold,  
And popular sway by forcing Kings to give  
More, than was fit for Subjects to receive,  
Ran to the same extreme; and one excess  
Made both, by stirring to be greater, less;  
Nor any way, but seeking to have more,  
Makes either loose, what each possessed before.  
Therefore their boundless power let Princes draw  
Within the channel, and the shores of Law,  
And may that Law, which teaches Kings to sway  
Their sceptres, teach their Subjects to obey.  
FINIS.