EUTERPE Revived.  
OR, Epigrams Made at several Times, In the years 1672, 1673, & 1674 On persons of the greatest Honour and Quality, Most of them now living.  
In III BOOKS.  
Printed at LONDON, And are to be sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster. 1675.   

THE Preface.  
I Publish these Epigrams, as I make them, the last the first; which may excuse me, if I rank them accordingly. They are every year a new Work, by adding the new unto the old; and behold those of this present year. Their Subject is chiefly Heroic, as are the persons whose praises they contain. And I writ them chiefly to let the World know, That as we want not many praiseworthy persons, so there want not some to praise them for't. And that you may not think me ambitious of names, I mention none, but those I have the honour to know, and be known unto. For the Style, you are no more to expect the force and grandeur of Epic and Heroic Poems, in an Epigram, than the force of a Ship of War, or grandeur of a huge Carack in a Yaught, or Pleasure-boat. Suffice it, if it be such as I describe in this Epigram.  
What Airs in point of Music are, the same  
In point of writing is your Epigram,  
Short, quick, and sprightly; and both these and those  
When th' Ear expects it, comes unto a close.  
'Tis but few lines, but those like Gold well-tried,  
Out of the dross of many lines beside;  
And Poetry's language of the gods, but these  
In brief, the language of the Oracles.  
'Tis short, but in its shortness does comprise  
The Point of Wit, wherein the sharpness lies.  
And's nothing worth if any thing be said,  
Or tedious, dull, or vulgar-spirited.  
Poet's can't write, nor Orators declaim,  
But all their Wit, is chiefly Epigram.  
In fine, in Verse, and Prose, and every thing,  
Your Epigram is writing for a King.  
Some may mislike them perhaps, because they treat not of Love, nor Love-matters; but others may like them the better; and for my part, since the itch of lascivious love is but the scab of Poetry, I should be sorry any one should find in my Writings, that I with my scratching had exulcerated it.   

TO His Majesty.  
VOuchsafe, Great Sire, on these to cast Your sight,  
Made chiefly for Your MAJESTY'S delight,  
By him has cast off all Ambition,  
But pleasing and delighting You alone;  
Counting it highest Honour can befall,  
To delight Him who's the Delight of all.   

The first Book of EPIGRAMS, Written An. 1673.  

On the Duke of ORMOND's going along with the KING in Banishment.  
WHen I but only mention Ormond's Name,  
Methinks it is enough of Epigram.  
Ormond, who never left the KING, but went  
Always along with Him in Banishment;  
Whilst many in that dark and cloudy Time,  
Made too great difference 'twixt the KING and him.  
So nearer Garments never quit their Master  
When stormy winds do blow, but stick the faster;  
While light and loser ones, like Scarves, they find,  
Are blown away with every storm of wind.  
And so the KING rewards him now, we see,  
With nearest Trust, for his Fidelity,  
Who well discerns the difference betwixt them  
Who follow His Fortune, and who follow Him:  
And knows that who in adverse Times ne'er leave Him,  
Are those in prosperous Times will ne'er deceive Him.   

To the Earl of OSSORY, on his Return from SEA, An. 73.  
MY LORD,  
YOur Friends are glad y''re safely come ashore,  
And all desire you'd go to Sea no more:  
Nor put your Life in danger to be lost  
On Foreign Seas, nor on a Foreign Coast.  
What need you go? Y'ave hazarded enough,  
And put your Valour to th' extremest proof:  
And as for Honour, y'ave by Land such store,  
You need not go to Sea, to purchase more.  
If't be to serve your Country that you go,  
There's none so ignorant who does not know  
You, with your head may serve it more by Land,  
Than ever any at Sea did with their hand.  
In fine, The Brave and Noble Ossory  
Is known and honoured enough by Sea;  
And now the Land desires to have its share  
Of knowing and of honouring him there.   

To the Lady MARY CANDISH.  
MADAM,  
IN this our Age, when that so Critic grown,  
They seek to find out spots even in the Moon  
And Sun itself, I scarce should be believed  
If I should tell how virtuously y'ave lived,  
Pure as a Crystal mirror, chaste as Ice,  
And full as free from stain or spot of Vice.  
Nor Stars in Heaven, nor Ermines on the Snow,  
In all their ways could more unblemished go.  
One who the Secret and Receipt has got  
To silence Rumour, and stop Slanders Throat,  
When everywhere they're so outrageous grown,  
To bark and bite at Fames of every one:  
The only Sanctuary where Virtue's free,  
And Feminin Honour safe; and finally  
The best example of a Virgin's life,  
And perfect pattern of a married Wife.  
These are your praises, and you may contest  
With any of your Sex for all the rest.   

To JAMES Duke of MONMOUTH, begun at his going into France, An. 1669, and ended at his coming from the Siege of Maestricht, An. 1673.  
WE to the French as much in Court did yield,  
As they to us did formerly i'th' Field,  
Till Manmouth went, and overcame them more  
I'th' Court, than e'er we did i'th' Field before.  
How fatal to the French is Monmouth's Name!  
They should be twice thus Conquered by the same:  
By Valour first in War, and now no less  
A second time, by Gallantry in Peace.  

Now Noble Monmouth, Was it not enough  
That thou in Court shouldst give so great a proof  
How gallant and how brave thou wert, but thou  
I'th' Field shouldst give no less a proof of't too?  
Since thou so early dost begin to tread  
The paths of Virtue which to Honour lead;  
From this great Valour, and great Soul of thine,  
What may the World expect of thee in time,  
But for our glory thou shouldst Conquer more  
Than ever Harry Monmouth did before?    

To the Duke of ALBEMARLE, going to SEA.  
IN these our Warlike Times, when every one  
Is going to Sea, and shames to stay at home,  
Your King and Country have more care than so  
Amongst the rest, my Lord, to let you go.  
For th' honour which your Father left you, is  
Not only yours, but your Posterities,  
And they, as his trusties, concerned are,  
Till y'ave an Heir, you should not go to War.  
Like falling Palaces which none repairs  
Their Honours are, whose Houses have no Heirs▪  
And they but build without foundation,  
Who have no Heirs to found their Houses on.  
They know upon what ground you found your Right  
Of being a Soldier, and of going to fight.  
But if born of a General, as you are,  
You think y'ave so great Right to go to War,  
Your Son will have a greater Right than you,  
Not only born o'th' Race of one, but two.  
These are their chiefest Arguments, and how  
You'll answer them, my Lord, I do not know.   

To FRANCES Duchess of RICHMOND, on her Widowhood.  
YOu like a Turtle when her Mate is gone,  
All sad and mourning, Madam, sit alone;  
Or if there's aught more sad and mourning, yet  
You, Madam, well may be compared to it.  
Y''re all alone, and every one does know  
It best becomes a Phoenix to be so;  
And you are one, as in all states of Life  
Y'ave well declared, both Widow, Maid and Wife:  
Only in this you want of being one,  
You'll leave the World no Phoenix when y''re gone;  
But make Arabia Desert wanting you,  
Who only make it happy Arabia now.  
But if of Stuarts Name, Heaven has decreed  
No more to Richmond's Title should succeed;  
As with the Noblest person it begun,  
It ne'er could end with a more Noble one.   

To ELIZABETH, Countess of ARUNDEL and SURREY.  
MADAM,  
YOu always have so virtuously been bred,  
And such a virtuous life have always led,  
Virtue is to you as Con-natural  
As life and being is unto us all.  
Let others praise you then for other things,  
As being descended from the Race of Kings;  
I'll praise you for the virtues of your mind,  
The true descendants of a Nobler kind;  
Which you have so sublimed, y'ave raised all  
The Cardinal ones to Theological;  
And Virtue's virtue in others, but in you,  
Not only Virtue, but Religion too.  
And here I'd praise you for your Piety,  
But 'tis of late in so great obloquy  
With th' vulgar sort, 'tis only looked upon  
As Relic of the Old Religion,  
Or Counterbanded Goods, which none, for fear  
Of the Pragmatic, longer dares to wear;  
Neither should I be safe, if I should praise  
A thing that's held so dangerous now adays:  
Let Angels only priase you for it then,  
Since 'tis too bold and high a praise for men.   

To the Lady GERARD of BROMLEY.  
MADAM,  
I Who have writ the praise of many a one,  
Whom I've had honour to have seen and known,  
And always had the honour amongst the rest,  
To celebrate the Noblest and the Best,  
This Testimony needs must give of you,  
(And all who know you, know it to be true)  
Amongst all your Sex, I never yet did meet  
With any, in their actions more discreet,  
More prudent in their words, and in their mind  
More nobly, nor more virtuously inclined.  
And this not ta'en of others by Report,  
But by mine own experience of't. In sort  
As they should rather be thought envious, who  
Don't praise you for't, than Flatterers, who do;  
Let none then think this Flattery in me,  
For I can't flatter, nor you flattered be.   

To the Lord JOHN BELLASIS, on his quitting all his Offices.  
MY LORD,  
IN Camps and Courts, and all the Offices  
Y'ave been employed in, both in War and Peace,  
There's none has been more fortunate than you;  
But you were never happy until now,  
When quitting all the Offices you had,  
We well may say y''re truly happy made.  
For all along wherever you have been,  
All know y'ave still been faithful to the King.  
But in this latter Action you have showed  
Yourself both true to th' King, and true to God:  
And th' King well knows there's none that can be true  
To t'on, but those are so to t'other too.  
Mean time, my Lord, i'th' Age we live in now,  
Both such examples, and such men as you  
Were ne'er more needful in the world, more rare,  
Such men as you, and such examples are.   

To the Lady, KATHERINE SEDLEY, Daughter to Sir CHARLES SEDLEY.  
WHo know you, Madam, every day do find  
New Beauties in your person, and your mind;  
And more they know you, they discover more  
Perfections in you than they did before.  
Not all the numerous Train of them, nor yet  
Of all the Graces in one person met,  
Could make a fairer, or more beauteous show,  
In any person than they do in you.  
Nothing is wanting now unto the Fame  
Of Noble Sedley's Family and Name,  
Had all the masculine ones before, and now  
Has all the Feminine Graces in it too.  
So when two Sums are by Addition brought  
Both into one, that which before was thought  
Great in itself, does greater still become,  
By adding t'on unto the other Sum.   

In memory of his Noble Friend JAMES HAMILTON, who first lost his Leg at Sea, than his Life on Land, in our last Engagement with the Dutch.  
HOw like a huge Colossus thou didst stand,  
One Leg i'th' Sea, and t'other on the Land?  
Betwixt which two there being no standing fast,  
Brave Hamilton, thou needs must fall at last.  
Ah! Noble Youth! Never Ennobled more,  
Than when half lifeless thou wert brought ashore,  
And both thy King and Country, Friends and All,  
Grieved and Lamented thy untimely fall.  
Who would not choose, like thee, to fall and die,  
And live for't ever after gloriously;  
Than for the use of a few hours breath,  
To die like others, an inglorious death?  
For only War can give that happiness,  
Whilst 'tis no glory for to die in Peace.   

To the Duke of Newcastle; On my Lady-Dutchess writing of his LIFE:  
MY LORD,  
WHilst with your Noble Actions you Indite  
Unto your Lady's Pen what she should Write,  
'T may well be said, as 'twas of Thetis son,  
That you are doubly happy, both to have done  
Such famous deeds, and to have had again  
A Pen so famous for the writing them:  
And ne'er was Life more worthy to be writ,  
Nor Pen more worthy of the writing it.  
She makes you famous, and you her again  
By th' famous Subject you afford her Pen:  
Whence 'tis a Question ever will remain,  
Wh'er Fame makes Writers, or else Writers, Fame.  
So whilst you live i'th' Life that she does give,  
And she in writing of your Life will live;  
Betwixt you both, your Fame will never die,  
But t' on give t' other Immortality.   

To DIG BY, Lord GERARD of Bromley; Recommending to him for Motto: Virtus vere Nobilitas.  
MY Lord, you now unto that Age are come,  
Y'are almost past Pythagoras Bivium:  
And after, rarely any one forsakes  
The way of Vice or Virtue which he takes.  
If Virtue then be true Nobility,  
there's a necessity that you virtuous be,  
Or else that Nobleman who's otherwise,  
But forfeits his Nobility to Vice.  
Think then whate'er you love, Virtue is that;  
And Vice is whatsoever you most hate.  
To end then: If you love Nobility,  
Love Virtue, or you'll never Noble be.  
If Baseness hate, hate to be one of those  
Who put base Vices on, with Noble Clothes.  
But I well know you bear a Noble mind,  
And are unto all virtuous things inclined.  
Nature has done her part to make you so;  
The rest, my Lord, depends on Heaven and you.  
Love Virtue then, let it your Motto be,  
Virtue is only true Nobility.   

To Mr. HENRY JERMIN, On his Retirement into the Country.  
SInce Nen and Manners here are all so bad,  
By their Example w'ar still worse made;  
And there are few can keep their Innocence,  
Where every thing is scandal and offence.  
You're happy, Sir, who in the Country are,  
And nothing see but good Example there;  
Passing your time amongst your Country-sports,  
More pleasantly than we in Towns and Courts,  
Who just as silly Sheep 'mong Bushes stray,  
Whilst every Bush takes part o'th' Fleece away:  
So never come amongst others, but we find  
We still lose somewhat of our better mind.  
Our morning-thoughts are Gold, by noon they're Led,  
And all turned Dross before we go to bed:  
Mixture with others doth abase us so,  
And such distractions are where e'er we go;  
You're happy Sir who in the Country are;  
And would I were so happy to be ther.   

On A Fair Lady's NAME.  
ALthough there's none more carefully does fly  
Clenches and Quibbles upon Names than I;  
Counting words only the outside of Wit,  
Whilst matter chiefly is th' inside of it:  
Yet when i'th' sense o'th' Name, and in the sound,  
Somewhat o'th' nature of the person's found,  
As is in yours, I can't but say that you  
Are Swift by name, and Swift by nature too:  
Swift in your Apprehension and Wit,  
And Swift in every thing belongs to it.  
Only 'tis strange! being so in every thing,  
You should be now so slow in Marrying.  
But as for that, if reason of't they'd know;  
You think in Marrying one can't be too slow.   

Of PERSECUTION.  
I Never liked this Persecution  
Only for Conscience and Religion;  
And half suspect, that where it is not free,  
'Tis not Religion, but Hypocrisy.  
Who seek to force Opinion, make men more  
Opiniatre than they were before:  
And as for Conscience, ye make it none,  
Unless ye leave it free for every one.  
What gentleness can't do, it is in vain  
To seek by force and violence to obtain.  
And 'tis your Persecutors private hate,  
Rather than care or love unto the State.  
In fine, there's none has Jurisdiction  
O'er mind and thoughts of men, but God alone;  
And Prince's powers their bodies may control,  
But only God has power o'er the Soul.   

To a Fair Lady, On the People's Reports.  
MADAM,  
THe People, who sometimes on Truth do light,  
Although they are not always in the right,  
Say y''re a Duchess now; and 'tis well guest,  
Since you deserve for to be one at least:  
And 'tis enough of reputation,  
The world believes you worthy to be one.  
But be you fair and beauteous, as you are,  
You for no other Titles need to care,  
Neither of Duchess', nor Princesses,  
Nor of great Queens, nor greater Empresses:  
The Title of fair and beauteous is more  
Than all those Titles they so much adore:  
And they are only earthly ones, in fine;  
But that of Beauty, heavenly and divine.   

On an Angelical Beauty.  

I Must confess, before I saw your face,  
I never knew what perfect Beauty was;  
Nor ever saw more heavenly features, nor  
Angelical air, in any one before.   

We paint Angels All face, and add but wings  
Unto them, and we make them Cherubins:  
So add but only wings to yours, and you  
Would be All Cherubin, and Angel too.  
The Face now being the Index of the Mind,  
By which we persons dispositions find,  
We well may say, in seeing yours, that none  
Had e'er a sweeter disposition;  
More mild, more gentle, nor more debonair;  
And full as heavenly good, as heavenly fair.  
All this, from Rules of Physiognomy,  
Madam, which never yet deceived me.    

ON A Sceptic in Religion.  
THose who did wonder when they saw men go  
Walking in rooms backwards and forwards so,  
Would wonder more to see how thou hast gone  
Backwards and forwards in Religion.  
Thou sayest we're bid try all, and choose the best:  
But when there's one so far 'bove all the rest,  
'Tis out o'th' way of all Comparison;  
Whoere is wise, should choose or that, or none.  
But when the Soul is gone, and Body dead,  
A thousand crawling worms i'th' Corpse are bred:  
So when Religion's gone, we always find  
A thousand crawling Sects are left behind.  
As he's unwise, then, changes Gold for Brass,  
Diamonds for Pebble-stones, and Gems for Glass:  
So he is more unwise, who chooses one  
Of these false Sects, for th' true Religion.   

In Memory of her Altezze BEATRICE de Cusance, Duchess of LORAIN.  
WHen this fair Soul did in her Body live,  
She had some Angel been, you would believe;  
Thorough her bright exterior there did shine  
So much from her interior of divine:  
And now much more you would believe her on,  
When her immortal soul to Heaven is gone;  
Towards which when here on earth she made such haste,  
Her body could not follow her so fast,  
But she must leave it here below to die,  
Whilst she went up to Immortality.  
Mean time, who had th' honour to know her here;  
May, weeping, write upon her Sepulchre:  
She who alive all Virtue and Beauty was,  
T'oneon in her breast, and t'other in her face;  
Now she is dead, just reason w'ave to fear  
All Beauty and Virtue too are dead with her.   

To her (now) Incomparable Sister, The Princess of AREMBERG.  
ALl the Lay thoughts, I ever had  
Of your fair Sex, you have Religious made  
By seeing you; and I'm become by it  
Your Sex's honourer, and your Convertit.  
For just as to a Temple, all do come  
Unto your Chamber, and from thence go home;  
The bad converted, and the good much more  
Confirmed in goodness than they were before.  
Besides, the world learns this from seeing you,  
That noble Virtue, and Religion too,  
Are cheerful things, and far from being so sad  
As they're in Melancholy Cloisters made.  
But there's an artful silence, as there was  
An artful vailing Agamemnon's face;  
And others praises we may speak of well,  
But as for hers who's wholly ineffable,  
'Tis praise enough to say, that she can ne'er  
Be praised enough; and say no more of her.   

To the Honourable, EDWARD HOWARD, Brother to the Duke of NORFOLK.  
IT is not Travel makes a man, 'tis true,  
Unless a man could travel, Sir, like you.  
In putting off themselves, and putting on  
The best of every Country where they come;  
Their Customs, Manners, Fashions, and their use,  
Purged of the dross, and stripped of the abuse;  
Till rich themselves with observation,  
They come at last t'enrich their Country home:  
Whilst the pied Traveller that nothing knows  
Of other Country's Fashions, but their clothes,  
And speak their Language but as Parrots do,  
Only perchance a broken word or two;  
Goes, and returns the same he went again,  
By carrying still himself along with him.   

On WILLIAM, Duke of Newcastle.  
BUt now behold a Nobleman indeed,  
Such as w' admire in Story when we read,  
And love and honour, when we do but see  
As perfect Pattern of Nobility;  
Who does not proudly look that you should d'off  
Your Hat, and make a reverence twelvescore off;  
Nor takes exceptions if at every word  
You call him not Your Grace, or else My Lord:  
But is all Courtesy and Civility,  
As best becomes a Nobleman to be;  
And does appear a hundred times more great  
By his neglect of 't, than by keeping State.  
Whence, thorough all Degrees that he has past,  
Of Viscount, Earl, Marquess, and Duke at last,  
H'as always gained the general esteem  
Of honouring them, more than they honoured him.   

To The Lady BRIDGET, Vicountess KILMURRAY.  
MADAM,  
When I would praise you as I others do,  
So many Virtues do appear in you,  
As 'tis not in the power of Art or Wit  
To count them all, they are so infinite.  
What should I do then, but in brief conclude  
As Painters when they paint a multitude,  
Who when th'ave some o'th' chiefest heads expressed,  
Under them darkly shadow all the rest?  
So having said y''re beauteous, virtuous, wise,  
Under which heads I all the rest comprise;  
I leave them darkly shadowed and hid  
Under those heads, as t'other Painter did.   

On The Duchess of Monmouth's Happy Childbirth.  
NOw thanks to Heaven! what we have hoped for long,  
And long have prayed for, Monmouth has a son;  
His Lady safe delivered, and with her  
Thousands besides delivered of their fear.  
Who hear this joyful News, and are not glad,  
May they be ever deaf, and ever sad.  
Now ye Physicians, you who said that she  
With so great danger should delivered be;  
Who'll ere believe you more, unless you say  
You have no skill? and then indeed they may;  
Or that each Midwife has more skill than you,  
And then they safely may believe you too:  
Mean time, the child, and mother's life, do show  
Ye are all great Liars, and do nothing know.  
And O! to prove you greater Liars, may  
Sh'have many children, and live many a day.   

On The Foil of Nobility.  
SEe you yond Thing, who looks as he would cry  
I am a Lord, a mile ere he comes nigh;  
And thinks to show it by his being proud,  
His strutting as he goes, and talking loud?  
Behold him well, you'll hardly find enough  
In the whole man to make a Lackey of,  
And for true Honour, and Nobility,  
His Groom and Coachman have as much as Herald  
Such empty things have nothing else of worth,  
But Place and Titles, for to set them forth;  
Being just like Dwarves dressed up in Giant's clothes;  
Bigger he'd seem, the lesser still he shows:  
Or like small Statues on huge Basis set;  
Their heights but only make them show less great.   

The Welcoming a Friend from SEA; In Drolling.  
Dear N.  
Welcome from Sea, and now thouart come a shore,  
If thou be'st wise, I prithee go no more.  
Let Land-men keep aland, and only they,  
A God's name, who are Seamen, go to Sea.  
Ther were some comfort, if the Wars would cease  
First Voyage one does make, and end in Peace.  
But War's a Hydra; cut but off one head,  
And strait seven others sprout up in the stead.  
I know you went to learn Experience there;  
And your Experience might have cost your dear;  
Thank Heaven y''re come off with so little harm,  
And scaped without the loss of leg or arm;  
Which that th' art scaped, th' hast but small cause to boast  
'Twas but a happpie rashness at the most.  
And 't had been Fortune's fault, if the first time  
Thou hadst been killed, but second 'twill be thine.  
The end of the first Book of EPIGRAMS: All newly Made, or newly Revised.    

The Second Book OF EPIGRAMS.  

To His ROYAL HIGHNESS, JAMES Duke of York.  
THe first Book being his Majesties, and this  
By Consequence your Royal Highness is:  
The World doth scarcely any one afford,  
After You Two, worthy to be the Third.   

To Her ROYAL HIGHNESS JOSEPHA-MARIA d'Este, Duchess of York.  
Madame,  
IF expectation makes the Blessing dear,  
Your Highness long has been expected here.  
And now y'are come, be pleased to know, you'll find  
Your Royal Lord above all Husband's kind:  
The KING and Him two of the Worthiest men  
The World ere saw, or ere shall see again.  
The QUEEN so pious and devout, she's one  
Who seems all Piety and Devotion.  
The English Ladies generally fair,  
Betwixt the French and your Italian air.  
And th' Better sort and the Nobility  
Nothing but Courtesy and Civility.  
For th' rest, our hope of Civilising 'em,  
Next Heaven, is in Your Highness, now y'are come:  
Which if You do, You'll gain immortal Fame,  
And make joseph-maria d'Este's Name  
Amongst the English full as famous as  
Amongst the French, Clotilda's ever was.  
Mean time, Your Highness bears along with You  
Your House's Honour, and Your Nation's too.   

To his Royal Highness, On his Return from our Naval VICTORY, An. 65.  
GReater and Famouser than ere  
Caesar or Alexander were,  
Who has both done, and outdone too,  
What those great Heroes could not do:  
Till Empire of the Seas they get,  
No Victory can be complete.  
For Land and Sea make but one Ball;  
They had but half, you have it all.  
Great Prince! the Glory of our days,  
And utmost bound of humane praise:  
Increased in Style, we well may call  
You now, The whole World's Admiral;  
Whilst mighty CHARLES with Trident stands,  
And like some God, the Sea commands.  
Having so gloriously o'ercome,  
What now remains, but to come home,  
And fixed in our British Sphere,  
Shine a bright Constellation there,  
Most pow'ful o'er the Watery Main,  
Next unto that of Charles his Wain?   

To His Highness' Prince RUPERT, On the same.  
GReat and Heroic Prince! surpassing far  
Him who was styled The Thunderbolt of War.  
The Belgic Lion stands amazed to see  
A greater Lion than itself, in Thee:  
And Zealand one, all trembling for fear,  
Half sinks into the Waves, to hide it there.  
Ne'er since the Greeks first called the World their own,  
Or Romans theirs, was greater Valour known.  
And if there yet new worlds to Conquer were,  
Brave Rupert were the fittest Conqueror;  
Greatest Example of Heroic worth,  
As ever yet this Later Age brought forth!  
As formerly the Land of Britain was,  
So now the Sea's too narrow for thy praise;  
And 'twill in time become the work alone  
Of Ecstasy and Admiration.   

On the Death of His ROYAL HIGHNESS HENRY Duke of Gloucester.  
Highborn and Great as any Prince on earth,  
With Mind as great and high as was his Birth;  
Wise 'bove his years, Valiant above a man;  
And had he lived to end as he began,  
The World would for Him scarce have any room,  
So Mighty and so Great he had become:  
Whose Life was just like the Arabian wind,  
That so much fragrant sweetness leaves behind,  
The World is filled with odour of his Name,  
After he's gone, from whom the sweetness came.  
Who's now so dull, when this they hear but said,  
Who does not know the Duke of Gloster's dead?  
The Gallantest Person Nature ever made,  
And hopefullest Prince as England ever had.  
Let those who trust this World then, learn by this,  
What all their worldly hope and greatness is.   

On the Death of Her ROYAL HIGHNESS, HENRIETTA Duchess of Orleans.  
THis Life of ours is like a Garden, where  
The fairest Flowers always first gathered are;  
Whilst common ones are only left like Weeds,  
To wither on their stalks, and fall to seeds.  
And ne'er than this was fairer Flower known,  
Where th' Rose and Lily both were joined in one:  
In which Conjunction did together meet  
All that was heavenly fair, and heavenly sweet.  
Hereafter then, as 'tis your Florists guise  
New names for rarest Flowers to devise;  
And more for the perpetuating their Fames,  
To call them by some Royal persons Names:  
Those which are fairest sweetest ones of all,  
We Henrietta's by her name may call.   

To HENRY Earl of Arlington, Principal SECRETARY of State.  
My Lord,  
THat ours and other Nations may know  
How much to such Great men as you they owe,  
Who for the State perpetual Vigil keep,  
And with your Watchfulness secure their Sleep.  
While dull Spectators, and the common Rout  
Only behold the Dial's hand without,  
You are the Wheels give Motion to't within,  
Next to the Primum Mobile, the KING.  
You are th' Intelligences of the Sphere  
Of Government, and all the Weight do bear;  
Whilst, like great jove, the KING does sit above,  
And under him sees all in Order move.  
Mean time, 'tis a great happiness for a King,  
To meet men fit for th' Offices they're in;  
And does commend their Judgements when they chose  
To serve the State, such Ministers as those.  
Great Offices require Great Souls, and you,  
My Lord, have both the one, and t'other too.   

On a Nobleman Whose MOTTO is, Cavendo Tutus.  

WHo as the Flint bears Fire, so bears his worth▪  
And is not always showing of it forth;  
But for more solid and profound respects,  
The needless ostentation of 't neglects:  
Who's that just man without all guile or fraud,  
Who next to's first Religion unto God,  
Counts what he is to Men his second one;  
And for a world would harm and injure none:  
Who's wary and circumspect in all his ways,  
And nothing rashly either does or says:  
Nor any thing, in fine, that may offend  
His Prince, his Country, Conscience, or his Friend.   

If any now would know who This may be,  
By his Cavendo Tutus they may see:  
It is a Cavendish, and that Devonshire's Herald    

TO The Lord GEORGE BERKLEY.  
IT is an Axiom in Morality,  
That virtue's only true Nobility;  
If so, there's none gives clearer proof than you,  
My Lord, that your Nobility is true.  
And that 't may so continue, you provide,  
By adding to't true Piety beside.  
For, Piety is but Virtue died in grain,  
Can ne'er change colour, nor take spot or slain.  
In which pure garment whosoe'er are clad,  
Are truly virtuous, truly noble made.  
Such Courtier's Heaven desires, and such Kings should  
Desire too, if they'd have them great and good.  
Happy the whilst, my Lord, are such as you,  
Fit for both th' earthly Court, and heavenly too;  
Whilst those who do not join them both together,  
As you have done, my Lord, are fit for neither.   

To Mr. HENRY IERMIN, On their demanding why he had no higher TITLES, etc.  
STill Noble, Gallant, Generous, and Brave:  
What more of Titles would these people have?  
Or what can they imagine more, to express  
How great thou art, that would not make thee less?  
He who is proud of other Titles, is  
Proud of a thing that's other's, none of his.  
And 'twere in thee but vain ambition  
To seek by other Titles to be known;  
When Henry jermins' name alone affords  
As high and great a sound as any Lord's.  
The title of a worthy person's more  
Than all which they so obsequiously adore:  
And there's no Office they can greater call,  
Than doing of good offices to all.  
This is thy Office, these thy Titles are;  
Let who list take the rest, thou dost not care.   

On the Closet or Study OF MARGARET Duchess of Newcastle.  
WHat place is this! 't looks like some sacred Cell  
Where holy Ermits anciently did dwell.  
Is this a Lady's Closet? 't cannot be;  
For nothing here of vanity you see,  
Nothing of Curiosity or Pride,  
As most of Lady's Closets have beside.  
Here she's in rapture, here in ecstasy,  
With studying high and deep Philosophy.  
Here those clear lights descend into her mind,  
Which by reflection in her Books you find;  
And those high notions and ideas too,  
Which but herself, no Woman ever knew.  
Whence she's the chiefest ornament and grace  
O'th' Age, and of her Sex: hail sacred place,  
To which the world in aftertimes shall come,  
As unto Homer's Shrine, or Virgil's Tomb;  
Honouring the place wherein she made abode,  
The air she breathed, and ground whereon she trod.  
So Fame rewards the Arts, and so again  
The Arts reward all those that honour them.  
Whilst whosoever in other Fames does trust,  
Shall after death, lie in forgotten dust.   

On MELCHBOURN, The Residence of the Earl of Bullingbrook.  
MElchbourn with such perpetual quiet blessed,  
As if the Halcyon there had built its nest,  
Or 'twere the middle region of the air,  
Where never storms nor tempests do repair.  
Whether the Exorcism i'th' place doth lie,  
Or rather in the peaceful company,  
Whose Lord and Lady of a dovelike kind,  
Live so united, with one soul and mind:  
Betwixt them never yet was other strife,  
But who should kindest be, of man or wife.  
All friendship, nobleness, and kindness, He;  
All sweetness, gentleness, and mildness, She.  
No Weathercocks of Humour, apt to change;  
To day familiar, and to morrow strange:  
But constant to their goodness, and their way;  
The same tomorrow as they were today.  
So men at ease and certainty live there;  
In pain and in uncertainty elsewhere.   

On the Duke of Albemarl's, AND And the Earl of Sandwich's Bringing in the KING.  
THat present and all future times may know  
How much to Monk and Montague they owe;  
By them that great and mighty work was done,  
O'th' King's most happy Restauration.  
A happiness so general, we may call  
It well The Restauration of us all.  
Whilst t'one restored him to possession  
O'th' Royal Fleet, totherother o'th' Royal Throne.  
One gave him full and absolute Command  
O'th' Sea again, as t'other did o'th' Land.  
For which, what Statues had erected been  
In former times, what Titles given to them;  
And with what acclamations had they said,  
Whilst to these Heroes they their thanks had paid!  
" If others have their Honours well deserved,  
" Who nobly have their King and Country served;  
" What Honours ever can be worthy You,  
" Who have not only served, but saved them too!   

On the Death OF The Earl of Sandwich.  
NEver was greater Sacrifice than this,  
Where Sea's the Temple, Fireship Altar is,  
And Sandwich Victim offered up, to save  
His Country's Honour by a death more brave  
Than ever Hero died, though we should sum  
All Greece ere boasted of, or ancient Rome.  
O Noble Sandwich! while there's Memory,  
O'th' British Seas thy Fame shall never die;  
Who 'twixt two different deaths, at last wert found  
In Water burnt, and in the Fire drowned.  
As if to kill thee once did not suffice  
Thy mighty mind, but they must kill thee twice:  
Or else, to serve thy Country, thou didst choose  
More than one death, more than one life to lose.  
Let then the Fabii, Decii, Curii, nor  
Meltiades be mentioned no more,  
Who for to serve their Country chose to fall:  
Our Noble Sandwich has outdone them all.   

To the Earl of Ossory, On his going to SEA.  
MOst Noble Ossory, who dost possess  
So much of Honour and of Nobleness,  
As were all Honour, all Nobility  
In others lost, they might be found in thee.  
In these our Wars at Sea, where Death does stand  
With twice more force and terror than at Land;  
Into what danger thou thy life dost bear,  
The less Thou fearest, the more thy friends do fear.  
But when we talk of danger unto him,  
Who Life than Honour does far less esteem,  
This onely's all the answer he does give;  
There's need to go, but there's no need to live.  
Go then, since nothing can be throughly done,  
But where the Noble Ossory is one.  
There's nothing now that England needs to fear,  
When YORK is Leader, and He Follower;  
Who's both in Peace and War, by Land and Sea,  
so fit to serve his Country every way,  
As for true Honour, true Nobility,  
England had ne'er a braver man than Herald   

To the Lord HENRY HOWARD of Norfolk▪ now Earl of Norwich, And Lord High Marshal of England; On his African Voyage.  
COmmanded by your Prince, you did not say  
For your Excuse, A Lion's in the way;  
But by Obedience and by Honour led,  
Even into Africh went, where they are bred:  
Teaching of Subjects, by the haste you made,  
How Kings and Princes are to be obeyed;  
And how they obey but slowly, and too late,  
When they demur, or else capitulate.  
By your Example then, whoere are sent  
By Kings abroad, may learn this Document,  
How they but serve themselves, and not their Kings,  
Who only obey in fafe and easy things;  
And how there's little Honour to obey,  
When difficulty and danger is away.  
Let then your talking Crowd say what they will,  
The greater Danger, greater Honour still;  
And that, my Lord, you went to afric for,  
Let who's lift go to fetch the Golden Oar.   

To the Same: On his Voyage to CONSTANTINOPLE.  
WHilst Merchant's Traffic for their lucre, You  
Traffic for Honour wheresoever you go:  
Of which brave Merchandise you always make  
A noble and rich Return at coming back.  
Witness that Voyage which you lately made  
To the Levant, where is the richest Trade:  
Besides, now into Italy again,  
Now into France, and unto farthest Spain.  
How Rich the while must th' Howards be of't? who  
Have such brave Factors for't abroad, as You:  
And are so honoured for't at home, as they  
Without offence and vanity may say,  
As God first made the Light, than made the Sun  
A bright and great Reserve for't when h'had done:  
So Kings make Honour's, and the Howards are  
The great Reserves of't, still you find it there.   

On WELBECK, the Duke of Newcastles House, Where he so Royally Entertained the last KING.  
WElbeck's a Royal place, where every thing  
Seems made for Entertainment of a King;  
And all the World confesses that he ne'er  
Was entertained more Royally than there.  
Whose Cellar and whose Larder seem t'have been  
Of every foreign Land the Magazine;  
Whilst every where their Rarities were sought  
By Land and Sea, and unto Welbeck brought.  
Let others wonder at thy Lord's expense,  
And at the vastness of's magnificence,  
Whose feast was but Praeludium to the cost  
With which soon after he maintained an Host.  
He who would venture's Fortunes, Life, and all,  
To serve his Master when his General;  
For me, I ne'er shall wonder that he would  
Not spare his Purse, that would not spare his Blood.   

TO FRANCES Duchess of Albemarle.  
Madame,  
THe chiefest Office that the Poet has,  
Is to give others their deserved praise;  
And when they find a true and real worth,  
T' adorn it handsomely, and set it forth.  
So, there are some they praise for nothing else  
But Beauty, or the outside of themselves.  
Others, and more deservedly, again,  
They praise for Virtue, or th' inside of them;  
And sometimes for Nobility of Blood,  
When 'tis ennobled by some greater good  
All which, of noble, fair, and virtuous too,  
Being to perfection, Madam, found in You,  
Whoever does not praise you for't, must be  
No Poet, or else blind, and cannot see:  
And as for me, Madam, though I were none.  
The seeing You were enough to make me one.   

IN MEMORY OF The Lady JANE CHEYNEE.  
THe gentlest temper, and the mildest breast,  
Most apt to pardon, needing pardon lest;  
Whose Blush was all her Reprehension,  
And none ere heard her chide, or saw her frown;  
Who was so liberal to the Poor, she scant  
Thought any thing her own, whilst they did want;  
And scarce had any Passion of her own,  
But was for others All compassion.  
So Innocent she was in guiltiest time,  
Omission of doing good was all her Crime;  
And those omissions chiefly did proceed  
From the abundance too o'th' good she did.  
In fine, a Saint she lived, and so she died;  
And now is gone where only they abide.  
Make much of her, ye Saints, for Heaven knows when  
Your Quires will ever have her like again.   

On MARY Duchess of Richmond.  
WHether a cheerful air does rise,  
And elevate her fairer Eyes,  
Or a pensive heaviness  
Her lovely Eyelids does depress;  
Still the same becoming Grace  
Accompanies her Eyes and Face:  
Still you'd think that habit best  
In which her Countenance last was dressed.  
Poor Beauties! whom a look or glance  
Can sometimes make looks fair by chance;  
Or curious dress, or artful care,  
Can make seem fairer than they are.  
Give me the Eyes, give me the Face,  
To which no Art can add a Grace;  
Give me the Looks no garb nor dress  
Can ever make more fair, or less.   

On GEORGE Duke of Buckingham her Father, To the Lord Duke her Brother.  

THe Gallantest Person, and the Noblest Mind,  
In all the World his Prince could ever find,  
Or to participate his private cares,  
Or bear the public weight of his affairs:  
All which he bore as steady, and as even  
As ever Atlas did the Globe of Heaven:  
Like well-built Arches, stronger with their weight;  
And well-built Minds, the steadier with their height  
Such was the Composition and Frame  
O'th' Noble and the Gallant Buckingham.   

These, whilst he lived, your Father's praises were;  
And now he's dead, are Yours, my Lord, his Heir.  
The winning Carriage, and the smiling Grace  
Of his exterior Person, and his Face;  
The noble Virtues of's interior Breast;  
And in's Example you have all the rest.    

To LILLY, DRAWING The Duchess of Cleveland's Picture.  
STay, daring man, and ne'er presume to draw  
Her Picture, till thou mayst such Colours get  
As Zeuxis or Apelles never saw,  
Nor ere were known by any Painter yet.  
Till from all Beauties thou extracts the grace,  
And from the Sun, the Beams that gilled the Skies,  
Never presume to draw her Beauteous face,  
Nor paint the radiant brightness of her Eyes.  
In vain the while thou dost the labour take,  
Since none can set her forth to her desert;  
She who's above all Nature ere did make,  
Much more's above all can be made by Art.  
Yet be ned discouraged: for whoere does see't,  
●t lest with admiration must confess  
●t has an air for charming and for sweet,  
Much more than others, though than hers much less.  
●o those bold Giants who would scale the Sky,  
although they in their high attempt did fall,  
●his comfort had, They mounted yet more high  
●han those who never strove to climb at all.  
comfort thee then, and think it no disgrace,  
●om so great height a little to decline;  
●nce all must grant, the reason of it was  
●●r too great Excellence, and no want of thine.   

To the Duchess of Cleveland: On her new Accession of TITLES, An. 1670.  
ALthough your Grace's Modesty is so great,  
You won't admit of your own praises, yet  
We well may praise you under Beauty's name;  
And You and Beauty, Madam, are the same.  
To ask then, what in Beauty we can find  
To honour so ' is question of the blind;  
Since all have any sense, or eyes, may see  
Itself alone is its own dignity,  
And, Monarch-like, does in itself comprise  
All other Titles, Styles, and Dignities.  
theyare envious then, at its advancement grudge,  
Or think it can be honoured here too much.  
That might in aneient times, if it had been,  
Have chose what Constellation 'twould be in;  
Either t'have sat in Cassiopoei's Throne,  
Or to be crowned with Ariadne's Crown.  
There is no Honour underneath the sky,  
That is for Beauty too sublime and high.   

To the Earl of S. Alban, Lord Chamberlain to His Majesty.  
My Lord,  
THough we allow Fortune no Deity,  
Yet sure there's some such fickle thing as She,  
That has great power over th' unwiser sort,  
And, next to Virtue, can do much in Court.  
For since i'th' Court y'ave stood, and honoured been,  
How many Revolutions have we seen?  
How many strange Examples have we known,  
Of Favourites sh'has raised and overthrown?  
Whilst none but such as You can firmly stand,  
Not raised by Fortune's, but by Virtue's hand.  
Live ever honoured then, ever the same,  
Still more and more ennobling Iermin's Name,  
And live a Great Example unto all  
Who tottering stand in Court, and fear to fall;  
How none but those are raised by Virtue's hand,  
Can either safely rise, or firmly stand.   

On Mistress STVART.  
STVART, a Royal Name that springs  
From Race of Caledonian Kings;  
Whose virtuous mind, and beauteous frame,  
Adds Honour to that Royal Name.  
What praises can we worthy find,  
To celebrate your form and mind?  
The greatest power that is on Earth  
Is given to Princes by their Birth;  
But there's no power in Earth nor Heaven,  
Greater than what's to Beauty given:  
That, makes not only Men relent,  
When unto rage and fury bend,  
But Lions tame, and Tigers mild,  
All fierceness from their breasts exiled.  
Such Wonders yet could ne'er be done  
By Beauty's power and force alone,  
Without the force and power to boot  
Of excellent goodness added to't.  
For just as jewels we behold  
More brightly shine when set in Gold:  
So Beauty shines far brighter yet,  
In goodness and in virtue set.  
Continue then but as you are,  
So excellently good and fair;  
Let Princes by their Birthrights sway,  
You'll have a Power as great as they.   

On her Dancing at Whitehall, All shining with JEWELS.  
SO Citharea in th'olympic Hall,  
And th'rest o'th' Stars dance their Celestial Ball,  
As Stuart with the rest o'th' Nymphs does here,  
The brightest Beauties of the British Sphere.  
Who would not think her Heaven, to see her thus  
All shine with Starry jewels as she does?  
Or some what heavenlier yet, to see her Eyes  
Out shine the Starry jewels of the Skies?  
Only their splendours so exceeding bright,  
Th' excess confounds and blinds us with the sight.  
Just like the Sun, who's bright to that degree,  
Nothing is more, nothing less seen than he.  
Mean time the rapid motion of the Spheres  
Is not more sweet nor ravishing than hers:  
And 'tis not th' harmony makes her dance, but She  
With dancing 'tis that makes the harmony.  
Next to divinest Cynthia Queen of Light,  
Never was seen a Nymph more fair and bright,  
Nor ever shall amongst all her Starry train,  
Though those in heaven should all come down again.   

On her Marriage WITH The Duke of Richmond.  
THe fairest Nymph in all Diana's train,  
For whom so many sighed, and sighed in vain:  
She who so oft had others captive made,  
And who so oft o'er others triumphed had,  
Is Hymen's captive now herself, and led  
In triumph to the Noble Richmond's Bed.  
Nor is it strange to see about her fly  
As many Cupids as are Stars i'th' sky,  
As many Graces as are Sands i'th' Sea,  
Nor yet as many Venus' as they:  
But to behold so many Virtue's throng  
About a Nymph so beautiful and young,  
Is strange indeed, and does enough declare  
That she is full as virtuous as fair;  
And all those lovely graces has beside,  
As ere made Bridegroom happy in a Bride.   

TO JAMES Earl of Northampton.  
WHilst you your Father's Noble steps did trace,  
And still were found where greatest danger was,  
As none i'th' Wars more active was than you,  
So none has since more suffered for it too,  
By Plundering, Harassing, Imprisonment,  
And all successful Rebels could invent  
To punish Loyalty with, in such a time,  
When being Loyal was the greatest Crime:  
All which you not with patience alone,  
But even with cheerfulness have undergone;  
Wishing your danger, loss, and suffering,  
Far greater yet, in serving of your King:  
And that far from the merc'nary regard  
Of those did less for Honour than Reward.  
And you've the Honour of't; let other men  
Take the Reward, you do not envy them.   

To Sir WILLIAM DUCEI, On his Three Entertainments; Of the KING, Prince of Tuscany, and Prince of Denmark, All the same Year, An. 1669.  
DVcei, who bravely knows to spend  
When 'tis for any noble end,  
And never sticks at the expense,  
When 'tis to show magnificence;  
For th' Royal Entertainment that  
Thou gav'st unto thy Prince of late,  
The Honour only is thine own:  
But what's to other Princes done,  
The honour which to that is due  
Is both thine own, and others too:  
In that, thouart but a private man;  
In this, a public person; and  
Thy Country should ungrateful be,  
Should it not always honour Thee,  
Who knowst so bravely how to spend,  
When 'tis for any noble end;  
And never sticks at the expense,  
When 'tis to show magnificence.   

To Mr. BERNARD HOWARD, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk. Segnite il Pocchi, & non li vulgar genti.  
I Grant you, Sir, I have a mind unfit  
For my low fortune, and too high for it:  
But sure you'll grant 'tis better have it so,  
Than for high fortune t'have a mind too low.  
By that, a man is elevated to  
An Angel's pitch, attained by only few:  
By this, the Noble soul is even depressed  
Unto the Vulgar, almost to the Beast.  
This Sentence I have ta'en for Motto then:  
Follow the few, not vulgar sort of men.  
Nor care I what the common people say,  
For being not of their number, nor their way:  
They do but talk, and can't in judgement sit,  
Nor lies it in their Verge to judge of Wit.  
I put myself upon the only few;  
That is, the best and Noblest, such as You.   

To the truly Honourable, Mr. THOMAS HOWARD, Brother to the Earl of Carlisle.  
Noble Sir,  
THough ne'er so many confidently aver  
That Honour's only in the Honourer;  
Yet we may well affirm of such as You,  
'Tis both i'th' Honourer ann Honoured too.  
Nay, You'd be Honourable, Sir, thou there were none  
Extant in all the world but You alone.  
As th' Sun would still be luminous and bright,  
Though men, like moles, were all deprived of sight.  
Let others glory in the Honours then  
And Titles they receive from other men;  
You have no Titles by the which y'are known,  
Nor Honours, but what's properly Your own.  
The End of the Second BOOK.    

The Third Book of Miscellany Epigrams.  

On our Town-LIBELLERS.  
WE have a sort of Libelers in Town,  
For base & villainous Rhyme put Withers down,  
Men semiatheists, and who want not much,  
In lives and manners to be wholly such.  
So perfect bad, they laugh at Machiavil  
For saying None can be extremely ill:  
And in their Writings, as in all the rest,  
Satyr's, half Men, half Goats, and wholly Beast.  
These, when they write of Dildo's and such stuff,  
May be allowed, though scurrilous enough:  
But when they write against others, nay don't spare  
Even Kings themselves, had best in time beware  
Lest as wild horses, which unless they check  
In their Career, oft break their Rider's neck:  
So may their Wits in time break their necks too,  
Unless they rule them better than they do.  
Such are your Libelers, who be but the same  
Savage and wild, as Ballad-makers tame:  
Hated by th' nobler sort, and, to conclude,  
Loved and applauded by the multitude,  
For writing as they do against every one,  
And counted Wits, when rather they have none;  
Employ their Pens and Wits in such a way,  
As none in Bedlam's half so mad as they.  
And now if any take exceptions for  
Writing against these, let them take Hellebor.   

The Portrait.  
SUch a stature as they call  
Nor too low, nor yet too tall,  
And each part, from head to foot,  
With a just proportion to't;  
Hair so black, and skin so white,  
Never was a fairer sight:  
And her fairer yet to make,  
Eye and Kickshaws too, as black:  
Forehead smother than the Glass  
Where she sees her lovely face:  
Cheeks where naturally grows  
The Lily and the blushing Rose:  
Lips all other Lips excelling,  
they're are so ruddy, and so swelling:  
Voice that charms you, 'tis so sweet,  
Made more charming by her Wit.  
In fine, for symmetry and fear●ure,  
Nature ne'er made a fairer creature.  
If anyed know who this may be,  
Name but Bellasis, and 'tis she.   

The Young Couple, I. D. and B. S.  
THey well feigned Cupid young: for then's the time,  
As Roses in the bud, when he's in's prime.  
And such an early love is this of theirs,  
Who now are married in their tender years.  
Now, like soft Wax, they aptest are to take  
The sweet impressions which their Loves shall make.  
And like young Plants, they'll easily bend and bow,  
Which, older grown, they'd not so easily do.  
Let none the whilst object their Pupillage;  
For Love and Marriage none are under age.  
For what does Hymen's rites to Lovers more  
Than join their hands, whose hearts were joined before?  
And here on earth, by sacred Pledges given,  
Confirm that Marriage which was made in Heaven?  
To th' Temple then, and as they pass along,  
Let Youths and Virgins sing their Nuptial song;  
And thus conclude: For noble, good, and fair,  
Hymen ne'er coupled a more equal pair.   

To M. M. Davies, On her excellent Dancing and Singing.  
HOw I admire thee, Davies! the delight  
Both of the ravished hearing and the sight!  
Whose dancing and whose singing added to't,  
Shows thee all Harmony from head to foot.  
Who would not say, to see thee dance so light,  
Thou wert all air, or else all flame and spirit?  
Or who'd not think, to see thee only tread,  
Thy feet were Feathers, others feet but Lead?  
Athlanta well could run, and Hermes flee,  
But none e'er moved more gracefully than thee.  
And Circe's charmed with Wand and Magicklore,  
But none like thee ere charmed with feet before.  
Thou Miracle, whom all men must admire!  
To see thee move like air, and mount like fire.  
Whoever would follow thee, and come but nigh  
To thy perfections must not dance, but fly.  
But now she sings, let's peace, and say no more:  
For just as when she only danced before,  
We wished ourselves all Eyes to see her, so  
We wish ourselves all Ears to hear her now.  
Only we'll say, Never did mortal ear  
On earth before such heavenly music hear.  
And we her singing well may heavenly call,  
Whose skills divine, and voice Angelical.   

On her pretty Daughter.  
PRetty child, in whom appears  
All the seeds, above thy years,  
Of every Beauty, every Grace,  
As ere was sown in mind or face.  
Never by Nature yet was made  
A Child who more perfections had;  
Nor ever, though she'd ne'er so fain,  
Can she make the like again.  
Thou art th' Epitome of all  
We pretty, fair, and sweet do call:  
And for the more Conformity,  
This is th' Epitome of Thee.   

On a Ladies Blushing When the KING beheld her.  
SO Roses blush when looked on by the Sun,  
As she when by the King she's looked upon:  
And so of all fair things we nothing see  
More fair in nature than the Rose and She.  
If things take names from their Original,  
We well her Blushes Royal ones may call;  
And if we've lost the Royal Purples Slain,  
It in her Cheeks may well be found again.  
In brief, as 'tis a sign the Sun draws near,  
When fair Aurora blushing does appear;  
To see her blushing when the King does come,  
You'd say He were Aurora, she the Sun.   

On a famous Running Horse.  
LEt Fabulous Antiquity no more  
Boast of the Running horses 't had before:  
Here is a Horse, to whom they'd all seem lame  
Who ran i'th' Isthmos or Nemean Game;  
Surpassing far the Horses of the Sun  
So many thousand miles a day do run;  
Or Gynets of the Andalusian kind,  
For swiftness far outstrip their Sire, the Wind:  
Whom we had praised before, but that there's none  
Had time to do it till the Race was done.  
Swifter than thought, or lightning from the sky,  
Begins and ends in twinkling of an Eye:  
Such is his speed when he begins to run,  
Whose ending and beginning is all one;  
And now w'ave time to praise him, than w'ad none.  
Let none then talk of Pegasus, not yet  
O'th' tother Flying horse of Pacolet;  
While we have— here, we well may say,  
We have our Flying horse as well as they.   

On a Pretty Little Person.  
SHe is pretty, and she knows it;  
She is witty, and she shows it:  
And besides that she's so witty,  
And so little, and so pretty,  
She has a hundred other parts,  
For to take and conquer Hearts.  
Amongst the rest, her Air's so sprightful,  
And so pleasant and delightful,  
With such Charms, and such Attractions,  
In her words, and in her actions,  
As whoever does hear and see,  
Say there's none do charm but she.  
But who have her in their arms,  
Say she has hundred other Charms,  
And as many more Attractions  
In her words and in her actions:  
But for that, suffice to tell ye  
'Tis the little pretty Nelly.   

ON Mistress JEAN ROBERTS.  
Roberts', whom rather we Rob-hearts may call,  
Since of our hearts her Beauty robs us all;  
And does it with such gentle force and slight,  
As she even robs us with her very sight.  
Nay, what few Beauties else could ever do,  
Her sight not only robs, but kills us too.  
Though none so fond of life was ever found,  
Who would not gladly die of such a wound.  
Nor talk of Law to her, who is above  
All other Laws, but only those of Love.  
Whence she's so high and absolute become,  
As she gives Laws to all, but takes of none.  
Such privilege Beauty has: whence we may see,  
Less Thiefs are punished, great ones lawless be;  
And mighty Conquerors, whom no Laws can touch,  
Do rob and kill, like her, but not so much.   

To CLARISSA, Too curious in her Dress.  
ANd why, Clarissa, all this pain and care,  
To gain the Reputation of fair?  
When without all this care, and all this pain,  
You have already what you strive to gain.  
All other Arts in you would show as poor,  
As theirs would do who seek to gild Gold o'er:  
And you'd appear as vain in it, as they  
Who seek by Art to Blanche the Milky way.  
Men well this curious dressing may suspect,  
Since Beauty still shows best in the neglect;  
And Truth and it needs so small setting forth,  
As all you add to't, takes but from its worth.  
Leave then, Clarissa, these poor helps to those,  
Who need to piece their Beauties out with Clothes.  
So Politics when th' Lion's skin does fail  
Do use to piece it out with Fox's tail:  
But when th' have Lion's skin enough, 'tis poor  
And beggarly to add a piece to't more.   

To CAELIA, Dissuasion from Marriage.  
CAElia, Who now are in your Beauties prime,  
Courted by all the Gallants of the time,  
Who nothing else the whilst of Heaven do crave,  
But than ' for Wife, they might fair Celia have:  
I'll tell you what your Beauty is, and what  
YE are to expect, when come to Marriage state.  
Beauty is just like Sweetmeats, which before  
Th' have tasted of, nothing they long for more:  
But after once 'tis tasted, and enjoyed,  
Nothing with which your Men are sooner cloyed.  
Your Marriage then is such a Tepid thing,  
And's flames become so dull and languishing,  
As losing all their force i'th' Marriage-Breast,  
'Tis Ice to them, that's Fire to all the rest.  
Go Caelia then, and Marry if you will;  
If not, be wise, and live a Virgin still.   

TO SIR K. D.  
WHilst with thy mighty Wit I but compare  
Our Petty ones, methinks they Pigmies are,  
And thine the Giant, with whose vast discourse  
Whilst we'd be meddling fain, but want the force,  
Thy Wit comes to't, and takes it up with ease,  
And turns and winds which way soe'er thou please.  
Whence we perceive 'tis not for every one  
To manage Hercules' Club but him alone.  
Mean time, how I have longed when I have been  
Where I some insolent talking Sir have seen  
Usurping all discourse o'th' company,  
Whilst none must speak, none must be heard but he,  
T'ave some such Tyrant-Conquerour as thou  
To undertake him, only to see how  
My talking Sir would presently be hushed,  
And all's swollen pride just like a Bladder crushed.  
So have I seen some Chattering Pie or jay  
Fright with their noise the lesser Fowl away,  
Until some mighty Eagle comes in sight,  
When strait themselves are hushed and put to flight.   

To Mr. Ed: Waller, ON His Excellent POEMS. Poco e bono.  
'TIs not in Wits, as 'tis in horses found,  
Where those who run the fastest get most ground.  
Nor does't with Books, as't does with Cattle fare,  
Where those are counted best that greatest are.  
Yet such voluminous Authors think it brave,  
When they, like those o'th' Alps, their swelling have;  
Which other men more learned and more wise,  
Do look upon but as deformities.  
If Writing much did make a learned man.  
Scriveners write more than Learned'st Authors can;  
Or th' Employing much Paper were the way,  
A hundred Tradesmen Employ more than they.  
The Italian wisely says, A little and good;  
By which best way of writings understood.  
And never any Author more than you,  
Did in their writings make that saying true.   

On a most fair Beautiful Youth.  
WHat more than fair and Beauteous Youth is this,  
Seems Nature's chiefest Pride & Masterpiece?  
When doubtful whether sex to make, she made  
One, who of either all perfection had.  
You'd think him young Apollo, or the Sun,  
But that his face has two, Phoebus but one;  
Or else that Cupid God of Love he were,  
Did he like him, but Bow and Quiver bear.  
Who e'er he be, you by his Eyes and Face,  
May see he's born of more-than-mortal Race,  
And that there's somewhat in's Nativity  
Approaches nigh to a Divinity.  
Live then, Fair Youth, and may the Fates still twine  
New Treads of life, and add them unto thine,  
Till thou at last Immortal may'st become,  
As bright Latona's or fair Venus Son.  
Which if the Fates and destinies deny,  
Thine own Immortal fame may well supply.   

Of Miss' and Mistress'.  
TO know the derivation of a Miss,  
She the diminutive of a Mistress is,  
Or little Mistress, who as yet's not come  
Unto the honour of a greater one.  
But you may call her by her Christian name,  
Whilst t' other must at least be called Madam.  
And she most commonly unmarried is,  
Whilst Married wives commonly are Mistresses.  
For th'rest, 'bating but difference of the name,  
To all intents and purposes they're the same;  
Living the merriest and the pleasantest lives,  
With all the privileges of Married wives;  
And are to their Gallants more costly far  
Than Married wives unto their Husbands are;  
They giving more, how e'er the Devil it comes,  
For lawless pleasures, then for lawful ones.  
Whence now Son of a Whore's a name more common,  
Then ever was Son of an honest Woman.   

Of one Sweeting IN Cornelivs' TUB.  
WHo's this? that lives so like Diogenes:  
For he lived in a Tub, and so does this.  
Some holy Anchorite perhaps does dwell  
In Tub instead of Solitary cell;  
Or some Tub-preacher, who does take such pain  
To Preach against Babel, as he sweats again.  
Pox! now I know he's one, i'th' case he's in,  
Who Sweats far more for's own than Adam's sin;  
And's in so sweet a pickle, I suppose,  
He's glad himself that he has ne'er a Nose.  
Yet he's so far from railing against Women,  
Or sorrow and repentance for his sinning,  
He calls it still the sweet sin of the flesh,  
Though it be rather powdered now then fresh:  
And as for Women, says, howe'er th'have served him,  
A Woman made him, and a Woman marred him.   

To a LADY Too confident of her Innocence.  
MAdam, That you are Innocent I know,  
But th'world wants Innocence to think you so;  
And you must seek, now, slander to prevent,  
As well as to be chaste and Innocent:  
When men are so unjust, they'll scarce allow  
That any can be fair and virtuous now.  
In Saturn's days, perhaps, it might suffice,  
When to be Innocent, was to be wise:  
But now, without the Serpent's wisdom too,  
The Innocence of the Dove will hardly do.  
You must provide, then, some more sure defence  
Against slanderous Tongues, besides your Innocence.  
For Innocence is Virtue but unarmed;  
The more you trust unto't, the more y'are harmed.   

The Lady's name in Aenigma.  
HEr first name somewhat of Elysium has;  
And second is in a more mystic phrase,  
That colour which shows venerable age,  
And does i'th' morning a fair day presage.  
Unriddle now, and tell whose name this is,  
Or forfeit a discretion if you miss.   

To Mr. JOHN DRYDEN.  
DRyden the Muse's darling and delight,  
Than whom none ever flew a Braver flight,  
Nor ever any's Muse so high did soar  
Above the Poets Empyreum before.  
Some are so low and creeping, they appear  
But as the reptiles of Parnassus were;  
Others but water-Poets, who have gone  
No farther then to''th' Fount of Helicon:  
And they but Airy ones, whose Muse soars up  
No higher than to mount Parnassus' top.  
Whilst thou with thine does seem t'have mounted higher  
Than him who fetch't from Heaven Celestial fire,  
And dost as far surpass all others, as  
The fire all other Elements does surpass.   

Of an Excellent Actor: OR, The praises of Richard Burbadge. To Charles Hart.  
WHo did appear so gracefully o'th' Stage,  
He was th' Admired example of the Age;  
And so observed all your Drammatique Laws,  
He ne'er went off the Stage but with applause:  
Who his Spectators and his Auditors  
Led in such silent Chains o'th' Eyes and Ears,  
As none whilst he o'th' Stage his part did play,  
Had power to speak or look another way:  
Who a delightful Protaeus was, and could  
Transform himself into what shape he would;  
And of an excellent Orator had all  
In voice and gesture we delightful call:  
Who was the Soul o'th' Stage, and we may say,  
'Twas only he gave Life unto a Play,  
Which was but dead as 'twas by th' Author writ,  
Till he by's Action animated it.  
And finally, he did o'th' Stage appear  
Beauty to th' Eye, and Music to the Ear.  
Such even the nicest Critics must allow  
Burbadge was once, And such Charles Hart is now.   

In one who Slandered A Fair LADY.  
THou enemy of all that's bright and Fair,  
As of the light your Fowls of darkness are:  
Monster of Monsters, Basilisk of spite,  
That kills with Tongue, as t'other does with sight.  
Who takes our Purse, does but as Robbers do;  
Who takes our Fames, Robs us and kills us too;  
And with their venomous tongues, and poisonous breath,  
Would, if they could, even kill us after death.  
Beauty's a thing Divine, and he who would  
Wrong that, would wrong Divinity if he could.  
But I mistake; it is no infamy  
To be calumniated by such as thee:  
Thou rather praisest them against thy will,  
Like him who our by chance whom he would kill.  
For 'tis the same thing, tightly understood  
To be dispraised byth' bad, as praised byth' good.   

A Lady's thoughts defended:  

AS 'tis a Godlike disposition  
To think, and speak the best of every one;  
So 'tis a spirit Diabolical,  
To think the worst, and to speak ill of all.  
And what faued is't others can find with you,  
Of which themselves are not as guilty too?  
‛ Less Beauty be a fault, and then who would  
Not gladly be as guilty, if they could?  
All have their faults, and those who have the least,  
We should account the happiest and the best.  
'Tis the condition of humanity,  
None in this world without some faults can be:  
And who'd have those with none at all, must go  
To th' world above, there's none in this below.   

This world's a Race, where some do nothing else  
But find fault wi'ye, and never run themselves.  
But do you well, and then let them speak ill:  
The more their shame, the more your honour still.    

In Execration of the Small POX.  
OF all Diseases of Pandora's Box,  
Was none more foul nor ugly than the Pox.  
Not that for honour sake the Great we call,  
But that dishonourable one the Small;  
The greatest enemy that Beauty has,  
And very Goth and Vandal of a face,  
On which it makes as bad or worse work  
Than does its Cousin Measles upon Pork:  
One of those Devils which in former time  
Cast out of man, went to the herd of Swine,  
And giving them the Pox, is come again  
To play the Devil as it did with men.  
For that which is already, all curse-proof,  
What Execration then can be enough?  
For, bid a plague upon it, and that curse  
'T anticipates already, for 'tis worse;  
Or great Pox on it, we should curse but ill;  
For 'tis more great, in being the small Pox still.  
Since 'tis so bad, nothing can worse make it,  
'Twere no harm then to bid the Devil take it.   

In Small-Beer.  
HOw cold am I with drinking of this small-Beer,  
we may well the Devil's Iulip call?  
Distilled from alembic of some Lapland-Witch,  
With North-winds bellows blowing in her britch:  
Or Stale of some old Hag o'th' Marshes, who  
Than water never better Liquor knew.  
A penitential Drink, for none, by right,  
But those i'th' morning, who were drunk o'er night.  
Sure 'twas the poison, as we well may think,  
They gave condemned Socrates to drink;  
Or that the Macedonian drank, so cold,  
As nothing but an Asses-boof would hold.  
We are deceived, it was not Niobe's moan,  
But drinking small-Beer, turned her into stone;  
And's only that which ever since has made  
Our Charity so cold, and th' world so bad.  
If then Divines would mend it, let them Preach  
Against small-Beer only, and no Doctrine Teach  
But drinking Wine, and then we soon should see  
All in Religion easily would agree.  
This were a Doctrine worthy of their heat,  
And furious beating th' Pulpit till they sweat,  
And would do far more good i'th' Pulpit too,  
Than all their endless Controversies do.   

The PATRON's Lives. To the Lord M.  
MY Noble Lord, if you would tell  
How to live, and to live well,  
Please you but attention give,  
I'll tell you how the Patron's live.  
First of all, they neither care  
Nor for Clook nor Calendar:  
Next, they ne'er desire to know  
How affairs o'th' world do go.  
Above all, they ne'er resort  
To the busy Hall or Court,  
Where poor men do nothing else  
But trouble others and themselves.  
All the business they look after,  
Only is their sport and laughter,  
With a Friend and cheerful cup  
Merrily to Dine and Sup,  
Hear good Music, see a Play:  
Thus they pass the time away  
With so great an Innocence,  
And so free from all offence;  
When they go to bed at night  
Their sleeps are ne'er molested by't.  
If you like our living thus,  
Come, my Lord, and live with us.   

On a Hector beaten, etc.  
STill to be dragged! Still to be beaten thus!  
Hector, I fear thy name is Ominous,  
And thou for fight didst but ill provide,  
To take thy name thus, from the beaten side:  
To have the Watch, like band of Myrmidons,  
Beat thee with Halberds down, and break thy bones,  
And every petty Constable thou meets,  
Achilles-like, to drag thee through the streets  
Poor Hector! when thou art beaten blind and lame,  
I hope thou'lt learn to take another name.   

On a Famous Doctor,  
WHo so Famous was of late,  
He was with Finger pointed at.  
What cannot learning do, and single State?  
Being Married, he so Famous grew,  
As he was pointed at with two.  
What cannot learning and a wife now do?    

Posthume EPIGRAMS.  

In memory of CHARLES Lord Gerard of Bromley.  
WHo alive so far had been,  
He almost every Land had seen;  
And almost every thing did know,  
A man could in this world below.  
At last his knowledge to improve,  
Is gone unto the World above.  
Where his knowledge is so much,  
And his happiness is such;  
'T would envy, and not sorrow seem  
In those too much should grieve for him.   

Of Col. William Evers, Slain in the Battle of Marston-moor.  
EVen such a person, such a mind as thine,  
Brave Evers, Emperors had in Ancient time,  
When choosing men for Empire only fit,  
The bravest mind and person carried it,  
And thou well showd'st it by thy dying so,  
No Emperor e'er could bravelyer die than thou.   

Of ANNE PACKINGTON, Lady AUDLEY.  
STay Reader, and if ever thou wilt hear  
A story worthy thy attentive Ear;  
Know, here lies Buried in this Sepulchre  
One who had all those excellent qualities,  
A Mortal creature could Immortalize,  
Of Virtuous, Noble, Beautiful, and Wise,  
Who after all degrees she'd past, of Wife,  
Mother, and Maid, and left them all at strife  
Which state she most had honoured in her life,  
At last, (too worthy of this world below)  
She died, and to a higher World did go,  
To honour there the state of Angels too.   

Of Henry Petre, Son to the Lord William Petre.  
THough, noble Petre, thou long since didst die,  
Thou still dost live yet in my Memory;  
To show the knot of friendship 'twixt us two  
Was tied so fast, as death could ne'er undo.   

On the BARBADOSS.  
HOw rich Barbadoes is in other things,  
We well may see byth' wealthy trade it brings:  
How rich it is in men, we well may see,  
By bringing forth, brave Drax, such men as thee.   

A question on a Ladies letting Blood.  
Q. OF this just mixture and equality Of Water and Blood, what should the reason be?  
Resp. The Reason's clear; forced to part with her, Each drop of Blood for grief did shed a Tear.   

Of Neglects.  
LEt it not trouble thee, if any would  
Put a Neglect upon thee if they could.  
But mind it not, and thy Neglect will be  
More great of them, than theirs can be of thee.   

In Avaros.  
WHo wholly spends his life in getting Wealth,  
And to increase his store, consumes himself,  
We well may to that foolish sot compare,  
Who sold his Horse, to buy him provender.   

The Anagram.  
EVery one may see by this,  
How worthy Laurel, Waller is,  
When look but on his Anagram,  
You find it in his very Name.   

On Simple.  
SImple made much ado, and much offence  
He took, at saying he scarce had common sense;  
Till saying he had, and very common too,  
Simple was pleaed, and made no more ado.   

On Madam Virago.  
OF Madam it may well be said  
That Madam's head has little Wit,  
Since Madam's Husband is her head,  
And Madam makes a fool of it.   

On his praising of Many.  
I Many praise; and what theyare praised for  
I'm sure is true: I'll answer for no more.   

On Friends and Foes.  
TWo Painters, Friend and Foe, once went about  
To Paint Antigones, whose one Eye was out:  
T' one at half-face, his Friend's defect to hide,  
Set only forth to sighed his better side▪  
T' other o'th' contrary, did paint him so,  
He only set his blind side out to show.  
So between Friends and Foes men are expressed  
By halfs set forth whilst they conceal the rest.  
None as their Friends and Foes depaint them would,  
Being ever half so bad, or half so good.   

To a Friend; Recommending a Memorial to him, Anno 52.  
I Must beg of you Sir, nay! what is more,  
'Tis a disease so Infectious to be poor,  
Must beg you'd beg for me, which whilst I do,  
What is't, but even to make you beggar too?  
But poverty being as honourable now  
As 'twas when Cincinnatus held the Blow,  
Senator's Sowed, and Reaped; and who had been  
In Car of Triumph, fetched the Harvest in.  
Whilst mighty Peers do want, nay! what is worse,  
Even greatest Princes live on others Purse;  
And very Kings themselves are beggars made,  
No shame for any, Sir, to be o'th' Trade.   

To an Enemy.  
WHen ere thou seest me take delight  
In any thing, thou bursts with spite;  
And so thou dost at every thing  
That does me good and profit bring.  
Thou bursts with spite, to see that I  
Am still in noble Company;  
And honour I receive from them,  
Make thee to burst with spite again.  
If then my honour, my delight  
And profit makes thee burst with spite,  
And all my good does prove thy ill,  
I pray thee burst with spite of 't still.   

In Pravos Aulicos.  
IF, as they say, Courts are like Heaven, and Kings  
Like Gods, sure Courtiers should be holy things  
Like Angels: from which state when once they fall,  
As Devils did, the Devil take them all.   

On an Epicure.  
AN Epicure is one of those  
No God besides his Belly knows;  
And who besides his Bill of Fare,  
Does for no other Scripture care:  
Who for his palate and his Gust  
Has quite forgot all other Lust;  
And hugs a Bottle as he would  
A Mistress, when the Wine is good:  
Who lays about him like a Giant,  
When a meets a morsel Fryant;  
And so long has crammed his Gut,  
He's nothing else from Head to Foot.  
When you such a one do meet  
Or in Tavern, or in Street;  
By his Bulk you may be sure  
Such a one's an Epicure.   

On Dame Tannakin, in Burlesque verse.  
TO tell you what Dame Tannakin was  
For Beauty both of person and face;  
Her face was good, if with faces at least  
It goes as with Bucklers, the broadest the best;  
And person fair, if with fairness it goes  
In Women but as in Cattle it does.  
In plainer Terms, without mincing the matter,  
She had a face as broad as a Platter,  
And person such, to see't you'd fancy  
'T were some Dutch jugg come from beyond Sea,  
Which made her look like a Bawd or a Midwife,  
And as unwieldy as Ursula the Pigwife.  
As for the qualities of her Interiour,  
Which to the rest were nothing Inferior,  
She cared for none, and 'twas less to be pitied,  
Since none cared for her, and so they were fitted:  
And was such a Scrat at making a Bargain,  
As she would wrangle and scold for a Farthing.  
In fine, she was so very a Devil,  
As all her delight was in doing of Evil.  
From whom Good Heaven deliver Great Brittany,  
And so I make an end of my Lytany.   

To a Lady newly Married.  
YOu having wholly changed your State of life  
From that of Virgin, unto that of Wife,  
And, what is yet more uncouth, even your name  
And family being changed with the same:  
No wonder, Madam, at so great a change,  
That all should seem unto you new and strange;  
And even you yourself do hardly know  
Whether as yet you be yourself or no.  
So those who to the Elyzian shades do come,  
At first are lost in Admiration,  
Till growing more familiar by degrees,  
At last they all their Admiration lose.  
And Marriage is that blessed Elyzian shade,  
Where those who truly love, are happy made,  
As you'll experience now y'are thither come,  
And so you are welcome to Elysium.   

To his Horse at grass in C. Park.  
AFter my hearty Commendations,  
Hoping thou hast nor Bots nor fashions,  
But art in good health, and as pleasant  
As I'm at writing of this present;  
I having like a careful Master  
Left thee i'th' Country there at Pasture,  
And well considering the danger  
Of one like thee who's but a stranger,  
Send thee these few Instructions down  
How thouart to live whilst I'm in Town,  
First then, if Servingman or Groom  
To take thee up, does flattering come,  
With Bridle in hand and Oats in Sieve,  
Run from them fast as thou canst drive.  
For if they once but get that haunt,  
Employment thou shalt never want:  
Grey Flecknoe here, Grey Flecknoe there,  
Grey Flecknoe must go every where,  
Till thou of every one does back thee  
Become at last the Common Hackney.  
Next, I need not bid thee fly  
All such wild Rambling company  
May lead thee over Hedge and Ditches,  
As if they'd Briars in their Breeches,  
Till for their Penance they be found  
Half starved at last in Country-Pound.  
Nor need I bid thee to be beware  
Of playing Horse-tricks there with Mare,  
Since being Marred by Squire Sow-gelder  
For ever getting Hans in Kelder,  
I imagine there's no great danger  
Thou shouldst or Stallion prove or Ranger.  
As for the rest, I know my Lady  
Will take all care of thee as may be,  
And thou perchance at last be made  
A Horse of quality and parade.  
And so I leave thee to thy Pasture,  
And remain  
Thy Loving Master, R. F.   

POSTSCRIPT. To the Lady of the place.  
NOw Madam, since my Horse can't read,  
Be pleased to do it in his stead;  
And so Interpret this my Letter,  
As he may understand it better.   

Of your fanatics or Cross-haters.  
WHo will not be Baptised, only because  
In Baptism they make the sign o'th' Cross▪  
And hates all Christendom in such a manner,  
Only because they bear that sign for Banner.  
Who with the Cross makes as unchristian work  
Where ere he comes, as Pagan, jew, or Turk:  
And on his way, does fly a Cross-stile so,  
He'll rather choose a Mile about to go:  
Who seeing how every one in Swimming does  
Stretches forth their limbs & make the sign o'th' Cross  
Were he to Swim, rather than make (I think)  
The sign o'th' Cross, he'd sooner choose to sink:  
To show, in fine, how well the Devil and he  
In hating of the sign o'th' Cross agree.   

Of their burning the POPE.  
WHat rumour's this o'th' burning of the Pope?  
They do not take this wisp for him, I hope;  
Or man of straw whom they have thus dressed up  
With Triple Crown, as if he were the Pope?  
He sits at Rome, and cares not what they do,  
Though they should burn all th' signs o'th' Pope's head too.  
Though other Princes wonder they should dare  
Do this to those who Sovereign Princes are!  
For shame then cease your mad Fanatic sport,  
By which yourselves, and not the Pope you hurt;  
And do not make yourselves and Nation thus  
To him and all the world ridiculous:  
As I have seen some mad Dog bite a stone,  
To be revenged on him by whom 'twas thrown;  
Whilst unconcerned, he smiling stands, and seeth  
How they in vain do spoil and break their teeth.  
If't be to make the Papists odious by't,  
That all your Squibs and Bonfires are to night,  
There's none but knows they might as well remember  
Your january, as you do their November.   

Of Modern EPIGRAMS.  
HOw stramgely Wit's refined from what it was  
When empty words for Epigrams might pass!  
But now they must have substance in 'em too,  
Or else the Tinkling sound will hardly do.  
Then when they heard a Clench or Quibble spoke,  
They'd claw you for't, as if some jest were broke.  
Now when they hear but any such Toys said,  
The Wits are ready straight to break your head;  
Who just as Chemists when they Spirits make  
Of matter which they from gross Bodies take.  
So never leave a Lembecking of Wit,  
Till they extract th' Elixir out of it:  
So goes the world; nor must we think it strange,  
The fashion of our Wits with time should change.  
'Tis so we see with fashion of our Clothes,  
And why not of our Wits as well as those?   

Of WITS.  
wit's like Hawks are for their sport;  
Some are long winged, some are short:  
The first do fly so high a flight,  
They often sour quite out of sight;  
The second, far the fitter for ye,  
Keep 'em close unto the Quarry  
Nor too low, nor yet too high:  
Of this latter sort am I.  
〈…〉 Book.   

L'ENVOYE.  
I Should never make an end of these Epigrams, which like a flowing River by the continual accession of new parts, and revolution of the old, you may go twice in two, and not twice into the same again, had I not considered that I am now arrived to such an Age, when it Imports more to seek to make a good end of my Life, than of my Book: Wherefore I give it over, with this Resolution, to retire, for greater quietness, into some Solitude, where when I die, I desire to be only remembered by this Epitaph.  

A vita fide vixit & mortuus est.   
FINIS.