LUDUS SCACCHIAE: A satire AGAINST UNJUST WARS: Representing the intemperate lust of a Wanton and never satisfied Ambition. Dum Vacat.— LONDON: Printed for Robert Clavel at the Peacock in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1676. To the Reader. PApers of this nature, having no coherence with each other, but passing abroad, loose, and nameless, are oftentimes (as Children straying from their Parents) seized on, and possessed by Wanderers; who do not yet think them stolen sure enough, till by distorting their Limbs, and newfashioning, and moulding them into unknown shapes (as the same Tribe deal with stolen Garments) they have altered the Property of the child; thus doubly lost, to its Parents first, and to itself after. Such having been the luck of some of these Papers, the Author thought himself concerned, by suffering them to appear as when he first parted with them, to repair the Injury done to them, Himself, and the Reader. Ludus Scacchiae. BEtwixt two Potent Shecks an endless Feud Begun, decided, and again renewed, Where Equal Powers Equal Powers invade, By turns who Triumphed, and were Triumphs made; Where Virtue never did on Fortune wait, But drew at home the Lot of its own Fate; Death, both alike, or Victory pursue, 'Cause other men had nothing else to do, We sing. But first, according to the Law● Of story, though some thus ●●ightly speak o'th' cause, We must not so passed o'er, le●t it be thought We knew as little on't, as they ●h●t fought. The common Soldier, by Pro●idence Called forth to Fight for Conscience, or for pence, (Both which he wanted▪ and returned hom, fraught With full as much of either, as he brought) Made that his cause, obliged to kill and slay By 〈◊〉 Religious, or more sacr●d pay. Some talked of Fame▪ and Honour; gained by spoil, Rapine, destruction, and the Virtuous Toil Of shedding Blood; in which crimes alone They placed All Honour, and without 'em, none. But these were private ends, which might be gained Whether their party Right, or Wrong maintained; But the Grand cause itself, is still a Mystery, Mentioned by no Authentic Rhyme, or History; Only one Nameless Author, (who shall still Be so for us since 'twas his own goodwill) Says, that they quarrelled not 'bout Wrong, or Right; But cause the one was Black and t'other white: So that although in shape, both sides were one, In substance, Power, Value, Motion; And for the same, did as the friend appear, The feuds, through deadly Colours, mortal were▪ So for like cause to death, the Veneti Pursued and were pursued by th' Prassini; Though both were Greeks, though one were as much Christian As tother; both subjects of the same justinian: Had took no Covenant, framed no Cross-Religion By serpent's Innocence, and wit o'th' Pigeon; Fought for no good nor hurt, Honour nor Riches; But 'cause the O●e wore Blue, t'Other Green Breeches: Yet, which with wonder must be told again, These Veneti and Prassini were men, Though to all wise men's Judgement, and the Trial Of Reason, their madness seemed a Self-denial. And so when minds from minds divided are, Th●se Colours, oft give causeless, endless War; For Minds take Colours too, and the deep taint Blots him a Devil, and guilds him a Saint: For, As Light simple, uncompounded Ray, Strikes all eyes with the same, One sense of Day: But that same Light, if through a mist it stream, Is Colour, in the Clouds, was Light, i'th' Beam; And is as various, and Fantastical, As is its various Passage, or its Fall: So the first pure Descents of Truth, and Right, Shed in all hearts, express One Native Light; A Simple, primitive▪ untainted Flame, One; as is One, that Glory whence it came. But this same Truth, beheld through Interest, Adherence, Folly, Pride, or other mist; Is then discoloured: And her own chaste Ray Is varied by the tincted Term, or Way; And she, whose simple, naked Candours still The same, false Colours takes of Good and Ill, And through those Mists stains all she shines upon, With differing Colour, and Opinion; Who, for Truth's self, embracing the Disguise, (The false Clowde's Beauty for the Goddesse's) Do, for that Colours sake, hate those, who be Vested in any Other Livery; And make it Capital, for all who Stray By differing Rules, and Err, Another way. Some say they fought, as Indians, by Tradition; And from the States Below, took their Commission. Some, to enlarge their Empire; Not to ease The wretched, as the glorious Hercules, (Who, for th' Oppressed, broke th' Oppressour's yoke, When he lop'd Hydra, and made Cacus smoke: No preys from th' Helpless ravished, brand his Story; He left the Spoils, and only ●ook (the Glory;) But, to detain the Captived Liberty Still ●aptive, and Translate the Tyranny; Grasping f●lse Glories and dishonoured Power, Judged 〈…〉, when most it can devour; Th●● they themselves may spoil Alone, whilst they Th' Oppressed, and th' Oppressor, make One prey; Like Thiefs an● Murderers, as the bold Pirate Talking to A●●xander at a High rate, Told ●hat Great Conqueror, he had to all The Ships he ●ook by Sea, as good a Call, As he and's Ma●edonians had, to seize The Eastern World, and make Persia Prize; That therefore he, the vanquished World's chief, Was but a Gre●t, himself, a Lesser Thief; And those were Vulgar, and unjust decrees Which Crown the greater Crimes, but D●mn the less; For the same guilty Facts, advancing him To the due Scaffold; him, tothth' Diadem. Some say they Fought only for their Own Qui●t, For Body politic, keeping ill diet, Full of diseases grows, Rebellious Tumours, Caused, as the Natural, by peccant Humours; Which to discharge, the cleanlyest way is found To purge: But let it work on Neighbour's Ground. What e'er the Cause was, they resolved to fight, Success would make One of 'em in the Right; For few pursue their Right, but their Advantage, And having Power once, They never want-adg-Ust cause, for Power can make Powerful Laws: Laws, make what's just, what's just, makes a good Cause; So that whater'e the Cause seem at First sight, All victors, first or last, are in the Right. Wherefore, no Field yet fought, we shall forbear To say the Righteous cause was Here, or There; Despairing to be able to determine More knowingly what 'twas, than the poor vermin, Who Covenanted to Fight for't with their Lives, Their Goods, Their Fortunes, and their pregnant Wives: But the Success alone shall here demonstrate, To which, with greatest speed we shall go on strait; Not staying to rehearse the General's speeches, Counting the Wealth stowed in Foes Camp, or Breeches; What ble●●ed Change of Fortune, Quarters, Linen, (Gol● they had long been out of, Shirts had bin-in;) The Victory would yield 'em, Victory, That would indulg a houndless Liberty; Such, as in Peaceful times, were dangerous, Where men of Valour oft are caught i'th' Noose, When for their Private ends, They practise aught Which for the Public good they had been taught; Committing in the Highways, or o'th' Borders, Some Honourable Action without Order; Whereas▪ for the same deeds, performed here, The Noble Hero strait would Laurel wear; For th' happy sword, All Rights, All Bonds dissolves, All Actions sacred, with profane involves; And the freed Victor, from those Bonds released, places above a God, beneath a Beast: For even from Nature's Laws, (which Gods decree, And themselves keep,) Conquest shall set him free; His licenc'd Rage and Lust, no Bounds regard, Those Crimes, are his bold Trophies, and Reward; Midst which Achievements, triumphing, he can Insult o'er th' vanquished, and forget the Man; When torn by his wild Rage, defaced shall lie The Others, and His own Humanity; All Laws forgot, born, or delivered; All, But the Good Orders of the General. Prepared thus with powerful speech, and pay, And grant of every thing came in their way; Both sides advance: But e'er we farther tell What in this memorable fight befell, We should, the motions of each piece, and worth, And th' Reasons for it, briefly first set forth: For here, the Art of War, as sure is told, As Chemists, taught by Orpheus' Hymns, make Gold; Yet Dark and subject to Interpretation, As in revealing Mysteries is the Fashion For prime and leading Authors: For they make sure Of Fame who darkly render things Obscure; (For objects which in Mists are shown, and Night, Their Terms being broken, and indefinite; Are floating, doubtful, loose; and manifold, Which now as stated, can, and one, behold: This, their presenters render Safe and Great, The veil, at once honours, and hides the Cheat) Keep in the Learned, Ignorant, and Lo●de, Themselves confounding, and th' amazed crowd●; For whom they understand, and for whose sake, They Errors oft expound, and ofttimes make; Yet, by a wide Interpretation, Can th' Author's fame, bring safe off, and their Own; That Fame, which th' Author gained, and th' world allots For profound Gravity, and Knitting knots; Who, had he spoke his Words out, plain and clear, Men had been quiet, 'cause they'd spied Nothing there. Which we espying here, (for any One May day at small hole see, and Night at none) We shall not much, Ourselves, or Others, trouble Why some piece singly moves, and some moves double; Nor of the place, or shape, what is the Moral, Shall Reason any give, for some, or for All; But leave it to the sage Mythologist, Who may be free to wander as he list; To hide, whatever he please, and he please, what tell. We must go forward to describe the Battle, Which thus began: Betwixt each Camp, there lay An equal space, fit to begin the Fray, From that side, which by lot, Fate did decree In this sad war should the Agressours be A bold Pawn sallies out, and having run Double the Race of his slow motion, He halted in the middle of that space, Lest if he should pursue his violent Race, Breathless, and spent, he might presented be, A Tired, and not an Equal enemy. But t'Other side, whose Resolution Was great as theirs, scorning to be fallen on Within their Trenches, with like speed, send forth A valiant Pawn, of Equal strength, and worth; These sight with Rage unheard of, for how could They any Otherwise, since both were Wood? Yet both stood firm; For with an easy ward Against downright Blows, their Station was their Guard▪ Whilst int' each Others Heads, they lay about To beat their Own Cause, in, or Foes Brains, Out, Intentive only to each Others Blows, (How great they were, none but who felt them knows) One of the Black-side's Pawns of the next Rank Obliquely strikes the white Pawn through the Flank, He fell, and his fall had been sung aloud, But Common Names are lost among a Crowd. The Pawn who guarded him revenged his Blood, And o'er the late proud Victor, Victor stood; But without guard, which spied by adverse Bishop, He shoots an Arrow at him, which by mishap; Pierced his Habergeon, though of toughest Leather, Armour of proof (alas) against cold weather, But not cold Iron; That went quite through, and ●etter, He fell to Earth, but rose in Fame much greater; And to his wretched Heirs bequeathed it, who To live upon't, had more than they could do; Fame may be good to th' Dead, who eat not: But When in the Scale against Living-hunger put, It proves too light: For though Fame, e'vry-where Sound wondrous loud, The Belly has no ea●●; But to provide for them, he cared not, As long as he himself was gone to Pot. An Adverse Knight espied this, and leaping here And there about the Field, and everywhere O'er Neighbours Shoulders, at the last falls on The King and Bishop with his * The Pythagorean Y, and the Logician's Dilemma, are both of them Horned; Because they present two Objects of Choice, both dangerous, and one of them ●●evitable; rendering the mind anxious and perplexed, being enforced to a Necessity of Election, yet not knowing which peril to choose. Chawcer, in his Troilus and Cresseid, when Cresseid was in a like Extremity, makes her say? Dulcarnon. I am till God me better mind send At Dulcarnon right at my wit's end. Meaning, she was reduced to the same Condition as is affected by the Powers of the Y, or the Dilemma, for either of which Expressions, Chawcer substitutes, this new One of his Own, of the very same import, taking it from the Aera Dhilcarnain, which was Alexander's Aera: Who, to establish that Opinion of his being the Son of Jupiter Hammon (who was Corniger) caused a coin to be stamped, having his Own Image or it with Two Horns as well as his Father Hammon; whose Image also was on the Reverse, (a Coin of which I have by me) And the Greeks, in memory of Him, substituted Another Aera in place of their Olimpiad, and called it (Aera Alexandrea) Alexander's Aera. This Aera, the Arabians called Aera Dhilcarnair, viz. Aera habentis duo Cornua: which our Excellent Poet, though in those dull times, saw as clearly as Scaliger did after; and accordingly made use of. Whoever observes the Knights Cheque, That it equally threatens Two Opposites, and unavoidably destroys One, will allow the Expression; and not take Dulcarnon for the name of the Knights Sword. No passage open against the Knight there lay, For Numerous Pawns obstructed all the way; Wherefore, the King first from the danger freed, Himself, the Bishop offered in his steed; The Knight incontinent in his place did stand, And having cast him down, Possessed his Land. Fortune now doubtful stood; here, victory Crowns the successful; Others bleed and die; In differing Fates, their Glories Equal be, This boasts his Conquest; He, his Destiny. Time, and succeeding Charges, buries All, And levels tother's Triumph, with his Fall. But to describe Each Private Fate, or Glory Or th' different Wounds and Deaths to lay before ye, As Grave Historians well-seen in Poetry, Do, when plain Narratives they beautify, Telling, how many ways wild Man had found To ruin Man; Here, One dye without wound, Trod under Foot; There, (which might be thought Fiction) Knight, all-beraied in Blood, Or his Own miction, Lies drowned in Open Fields; or midst the Host, Here closing lips beneath, breaths, out the Ghost: We, who to Truth and Brevity pretend, Shall here omit, and hasten to an end. Nor shall we tell what Salvid Aben Patrick Deposes, how One o'th' Shecks designed by atrick, To ruin t'Other, making the War cease, And during pleasure, an Eternal Peace; That▪ i'th' mean time, watching the Others water, Whilst he lay still, and dreamt of no such matter, This, who was Watchful, did embrace th' Occasion, And following the present Dispensation; Which Providence held forth, (and he had Grace To take, being a Saint of Mahomet's Own Race) Quitting that Honour, by which Men draw nigh The Gods; those Garlands, which veracity Plants on their Glorious, their still-flourishing Brow, Who truth revere, and to its Altars bow, For th' fading Glories, successful perjury Does yield, fell on, and gained the victory: But what Ben Patrick says, is nought to us, We follow better Authors, who write thus. Each Sheck had by his side a bold virago, Penthesilea such was long time ago; And she, who did of late so stoutly pull-a-Crow with Sr. Hudibras, Our modern Trulla; One of these Dames, whose Valour, and bold worth Safely forgot, when Honour called Her forth Oppressed with Number, fell; and drew upon The Foe, a Numerous Ruin, with Her One: The Victor's, by her Death grown confident, Against the frighted Sheck, their whole Force be●t; Who, with his small strength guarded, sometimes flies, Then stands, charges, retires, and all ways tries; Till at the last he gained, a Pass, where, free From Check, he breathes, and faces th' Enemy. Whilst thus they stand at gaze, designing how These may o'ercome; This, eat Overthrow, A valiant Pawn o'th' distressed Parties side, Who, Fortune, Follower took; and Virtue, Guide; To the Foes last, and greatest strength, made on, Which he possessed, maintained, and reached a Crown; The spoils of that late glorious Amazon, Who had before been Partner of the Throne; He, since in him Her virtues are enshrined, Is now the Queen; No sex in the mind; Virtue, whom it adorns, it equals; All With her bright Laurel bound, are Laureates All; And with this wrath, Each circles his Own Brow; The virtuous, to Themselves their Garland owe; Which, men (aloof) beholding, deck with Praise, These, do but Honour; Theirselves Plant their Bays. Amazed, with this so generous, self-raised supply, The Sheck, with joy, with dread, the Enemy; She takes th' Advantage of that Fear, and Charges, And their thin, opening Troops, urging, enlarges; Down falls a Rook, and Bishop, Knight withdraws To place of safety; Fear has no shame, nor Laws; To the abandoned Sheck, she than gives Mate, The Hand that gave it forth, Honoured the Fate. Thus was this scene of Blood once acted, when These which are puppets now, at first were Men, As is recorded by a Bard o'th' Chinois, From whom, Great Naso, so called from his high-nose, Borrowed much matter in's Metamorphosis; But, none knows why has wholly left out this; Which truth, out of that Bards own words, we here Hold forth, as by comparing 'twill appear. Fate (quoth he) which in its deeds is dark and ample, Decreed to make these Miscreants an Example; And though she some, for causes like, does dignify, Enraged now, she did these Arabs lignifie; Their close designs and Frauds, a Pattern made To all, who drive of War the guilty Trade, And in this wanton Field, since 'twas unknown Which party did the juster Arms put on; Whose cause for Current went, and whose did lag; She shuffled Both of 'em into One Bag; From whence drawn forth, as if they still were then, Upon the like Good cause, They'th to't again. To the Memory of my Dear Friend and Tutor, Mr. John Gregory of Christ-Church. I'll not accuse thy fall; that well-placed Fate Made thee th' Desire of th' Age, no more the Fate, 'Tis just, it wants, what it contemns; that they Wander unpitied, who despise the way; Fools their Own sentence, still, and Judgement are, They beg their ill; and suffer that false Prayer. Nor will we pity thee; since, what thy mind, In its Restraint, and Prison, could not find, Pressed with its Body, and the time, it now, Freed from th' ungrateful Loads, does clearly know; Truth's thy possession; And what e'er began, Of Knowledge here, ends now in vision; Error, and wonder cease, and that pure Fire, Which, when it covered lay, and shaded here, Thou couldst not fully, by its languishing, Faint Ray, discover the true Face of Things, (As Colours are not judged i'th' twilight, where, Wants Darkness, to be hid, and Light, t' appear:) Shines out unclouded now; and does enjoy All its high Essence dares, a Bright, full day, Of knowledge, where, th' Light, pure, and unmixed do▪ stream No false Refraction, nor error's in the Beam: No doubtful Colour (that veil of shade and Light) Disguises things, no distance breaks the sight: But that unbounded Glory, that certain light, Commands all Objects; sure and Infinite. Let it not wrong thy Memory, that we Admiring what thou Now art, do pass by Thy knowledge H●re, as if 'twere wanting, No; What Man could find. Thou needst not Die, to know, Language was thine, and what that language frames, Thou wert not seen only in empty Names; Those, the Materials of thy knowledge were, ●ut not the Work: Thou only enterd'st there Where Other rest; and fraught with their rich prey, Thou brought'st home thence, Arts, numerous as they. 'Twere idle to recount them▪ By thine Own Remains th' hast left us, They are greater known Than by Our faint Report, th' are they, must raise Trophies, that will outlive all Lesser praise. For to the same Duration, sacred be, The Aged Relic, and the Memory. To the Memory of Mr. William Cartwright of Chr. Ch. Crowned with thine Own choice Bay, we do not bring Hither Our cheap, and humble Offering, As by it we could raise up Aught to thee; There's no Access comes to the Deity By th' sacrifices that to th' Altar fall; (The God is worthy of his Honour) All Those wealthy vows, not Make him, but Confess, They Testi●●● the Worth, not it increase; That scorns to Owe to the poor Votary, Worth were thence less, whence it could Greater be. And such was thine, not born from Others Fame, Parent, and Honour th' art, of thine Own Name; 'Twere wrong t' attest it; when th' Sun to his Midway Has dimbed, who needs Bear witness to the day? 'Twere to Suspect his Lustre, and betray The Truth and Evidence of his Own Ray. C● as that Fire, and high as is that Fire, Which did, as that, break fo●th, as that, aspire; Thine was, 't took wing, disdained, and left the Ground, Great, and unusual, and with wonder Crowned: Reached at, and gained the H●ight; touched the bold Thyrsus, Made known the Power and the high Rage of verse. All, but th' Short Lif● o'th' Ray, (like th' Lightning Ray Which Shines, and dies, glances, and dar●s away,) Thine lasting was; As that continual Fire Which t' after Ages wakes i'th' Sephulcher; Wild wit, like Wild-fires, Once alone we see, They shoot, and Blare, but i'th' presentment die. Nor was there Light, and H●at alone, but thence (That Act of Both) a quick strong Influence; Through All the parts divided, made them One, Gave to each Part, t' itself proportion, And to the Whole; And in that Union Made Life, and Order, strength, and Beauty join. Nor did this Active mind, and influence Reflect upon it Self alone: ●ut thence, (As the Sun's quickening Operation, can Perfect the Mass begun, and finish Man) Inform the Hearers; Raise, and inspire them, with Those Numbers only, that high and greater Breath: (As did the happy Thracian's Powerful Song, Which forced the Lion, and his Den along, And placed a Soul there:) As if Each had been The Issue, and the Creature of thy Pen. That Life which thou on Others couldst confer, Assume thyself; And know no Sepulchre, 'Tis to thee, both thy Crown, and Recompense, The Glory, and Reward of Eloquence. Live then Great Shade ' and spite of Time and Death, Take of thine Own, Another; farther Breath▪ Upon Ben. Johnson's Picture. THus looked, the Guide, and Raiser of the stage, Whom. first the Age saw Great, than he the Age; johnson: in whom, those distant Parts (ne'er great But when divided judgement and Fancy met. All was not Rapture; Nor (to shun that) Supine, (Like their dull works who put their Prose in Rhyme) But a just, Equal Heal, Each part informed Which, both at once, Beauty and strength adorned. Thy plays were not only i'th' Action seen, As when St. George, and Dragon Both, came in; And good Sr. Lancelot with his trenchard Blade, Broke the Giant's Head in earnest, and made The Boys, and (wiser than the Boys) the Me●, Laugh, and cry out, Let's ha' that jest again! No; by itself, we could approve thy play, Though Bevis and the Champions were away. No General Muster came upon thy stage, No Piques, nor Errand Prentijes did rage; No Batteries were made, nor did the Drum With direful Noise, Summon the Tiring Room, 'Twas Peace in thy time Ben! Some Messenger Brought in th' Event, but carried off the War. Thou ne'er such Tragic words, or sense, didst choose Which did the People, and thyself amuse; No caitiff vile was plunged in speckling Troubles Of Sinking Grief, rolled up in sevenfold Doubles Of plagues unvanquishable: Though thy Muse flew high And lessened to the City, some might descry, Thou, didst not alter Nature; Things came in Such as th' are Born▪ no Outrage wronged the scene: No Ship was cast away in Open Field; Nor fort, in Perjõn, did come in, and yield; Nor was't all One to thee, which crossed the Seas, The sad Ambassador, or Tripoli; Things had their just proportion, Colour, Light, Nature ne'er fell, nor Reason, both kept their ●ight. The Poet's Fictions, though didst resign To Boys, and Pedants; Thou didst not vex Each line With Harpies, Gorgon's, Hydra's, Bears, and Goddesses, Beyond Tim Corgats works; or Homer's Odysseys; Such Antique draughts ne'er Issued from thy Pen, Thou turnd'st the Centaurs Out, and brought'st in Men. But he was slow, and heavy, a year scarce brings One play forth! Fools! The wary growth of things Precludes to their Continuance; delays Crown Poems, the price, and emblem of the Bays: Plants that live Ages, creep slowly from the Earth; They came forth late, and Aged in the Birth; So steady, careful, and (So) slow, grew thine, Perfect, Full-timed, and truly Masculine; Born to Posterity, and the long stay. Of Ages; such, as shall ne'er decay Till time fall with 'em, till the Muse's grace Prin's Poems, Or nice Ladies court thy Face. To the Lady B. Upon the first coming to E. after her Marriage. MAke ready the Libation! Bring the wine Hither, and the choicest Flowers, as when We invoke the Genius of the Pla●e, to bless It, with a solemn, farther Happiness. Such be the Rites, while to this happy seat (Fit for so fair Receipt) we call as Great, But a diviner Presence; which, to th' place New Beauties shall divide, and its Own Grace. So when a Temple, or an Altar's raised, Not yet devoted, though the Building's praised, The Height, firm Beauty, and silent Awe's admired, 'Tis still Imperfect yet, while th' Go●'s desired, Whose Presence must po●●ess, and fill that space, And Own the common Beauty of the place. Such here, both th' want, and Lustre was, where All, For which, or Greatness, or delight could call, Was met together like th' dwellings Fancy rears, When parting from Obscure and humble Lar, It raises palaces, advances Towers, Plants those continual Shades, and living Bowers Where Lovers o● the Blessed dwell; and bring Flowers which ●ver Breath, and stay the spring; To whos● quick stains, All Colours f●de, and set, But 〈◊〉, to whom even those seem Counterfeit. 'tis not the Rose's Blush, nor the first Day Oth' Lilies new-disclosed, Own whiteness, may Express that Beauty, which Triumphs, like that stained, Which, through a crimson veil, the Sun's Rays strained. Shed on ●n Ivory Table, where th' Light streams More Glorious from the Clo●d▪ than from the Beam. Fair Copy to th' Endeavours of these Flowers, Whose ●olours, shadow only are to yours, But Life, and pattern t'Other Beauties give That wonder hither! and with it relieve The Shade, and Faintness, of their Lustre; where May it still flourish! Nor Age nor sickness bear Spoils from that Face: But like that Beauty, which This Outward Form encloses (your, far more rich And lovely virtue) Or those chaste equal Fires Kindled in either Breast, which still aspire; And know no want, no failing, or decay, But ever climb, their steadfast, earnest way; May that endure! From this blessed Union Where all those Beauties, and Perfections join In their full Height, and Bounty, which Others own Lessened and maimed, in their Descent alone; Where we, (your blood's or Fortune's Eminence Being spared,) might place, and count you from the Cense Of virtue only, and from thence begin Your long Descent, may a like Issue spring! On whom, amongst those Other that attend Their Birth, may that Best Part, Virtue descend. Upon One Vaulting. THE Pindar he leaped full thirty Foot back, 'Twas a good jump i' those da●s, but short yet of Jack; Nay though 'thad forty been, john yet were safe, You know the Pindar had a Quarterstaff; Which, (as when th' fellows careless Head it broke Which stood int's way, so here) Strikes a good stroke: But he needs no such help; He, by his Own Mere motion, gets up, and by the same gets down, Not so old Sinon. the Treacherous Postilion, Who rod the Great-horse charged with Greeks to Ilium, And those walls, o'er which, not ten years prevailed, In one short night, he and his Ambush scaled; They came not off so well, for why? They slid Down by a Rope, says Vi●gil, (And so they did) But he at Once can, fetching a compass quite About his Courser, both get up, and alight: Hence then perfidious Greeks, who did not falter By Ladder to get up, and down by Halter; Thou dost defy such Ominous Motions O john Oth' Traitorous Greeks, and mount'st like a true T●oj●r. The best o'th' Greeks thou puttest down, even no Worse-man Then Chiron, who his Own self, was a Horseman; Which greater Worth than his, if some require That it should plainly here be made appear, With this one Argument let john be rited, john can dismount, No centaur ever lighted: As Ancient Authors write, Sages and Poets, Profound Mythologists, and the small No-wits, Therefore john, is both in the History Greater than Chiron, and eke in the Mystery; Since he alone o'th' twain, must needs be best, Whose Region of the Man, can quit the Beast. O Pacolet! who with a wooden pin Didst guide thy nimble steed through th' Air so thin. To teach us virtue; Boast not thy wondrous course, Nor vaunt O Knight, who on thy steady Horse Brave Clavileno, for Trifalds fair, Didst Malambruno seek, pacing the Air; And (all at length) didst leap, some say, fall down, This was thy Horse● Prowess, not thine Own; Nor any henceforth boast, their Horse's force Leaps hedge, Or ditch, john shall leap o'er their Horse. A Pastoral Ode by T. Randolph. (SHEPHERD.) COy Caelia, dost Thou see Yon hollow Mountain tottering o'er the plain, O'er which, a fatal Tree With Treacherous Shade, betrayed the sleepy Swain? Beneath it is a Cell, As full of Horror, as my Breast of Care: Ruin therein might dwell; As a fit Room for Gild, and black Despair: Thence will I headlong throw This wretched weight, this heap of Misery; And in the dust below Bury my Carcase, and the Thought of thee: Which when I finished have, O hate the dead, as thou hast done Alive! But come not near my Grave, Last I take Heat from thee, and so revive. The Answer. CAELIA: STay hapless swain, Return! Love's Altar knows no Bloody Sacrifice; No Guilty Fires there burn, He only Wounds, not kills his Votaries. Stay Shepherd! pity Me, Since to thy s●lf, thou bearest such stubborn Hate, Is thy tried Constancy Faithful to Plagues? That's though thy wont Fate: Death with all thy Griefs end, They'll lie forgotten in the same dust with thee; My sorrows enter then, And the long mischief still will torture Me. Why wouldst thou perish Now? 'twas the Coy CAELIA made thee hate thy Breath, she'll be no more so now: O Turn fond Friend, and do not lose thy Death. Chorus. Let the Tree flourish! And Forget his F●tal Name; but adorned thus Cast a New Sh●de; and stand For ever Sacred unto Love, and us. Crown the dry and withered Hill With fresher Roses, than he has yet had on, And may he now be still! Or if he totter, Let him fall Alone. Horat. Ode 7. Lib. Car. 4. Ad Manlium torquatum. THe Snow's dissolved, and the Chased Flowers, return Back to their Field: By the Trees, Leaves are worn, Earth Shifts her Habit; The Bank (but now despised,) Checks the Whole River; and itself doth Rise, The Graces, with the Nymphs, now naked, may Visit the Field; smiling, and Fair, as they, The year tells us weare mortal, and th' gliding stay Of the prone Hours, hurrying the Light away; The Gentle, easy Blasts awake the Spring, The Hot remove it hence and Summer bring: That's fled when th' Trees bow down their Loads, and then, The dull, cold Winter binds up all again. But the Swift Moons return the year, But we! When once we fall, shall with Aeneas lie, Tullus and Ancus; And (born no more) shall fade Into our Urns, Dust and forgotten Shade. Who's sure the next Sun shall Shine on Him? and raise The small spent Sum, and moment of his Days? That which thou leav'st, thy heaps of Wealth and Care, Shall perish too, and slide from thy glad Heir, When once th' hast left the Day, and the just Judge, shall Fix thy Eternal Doom, (thy truest fall) 'Tis not thy Birth, nor Eloquence, can free And quit thee from't, nor thy late Piety. Boet. de Consol. Phil. lib. 2. Metr. 4. Wholed fix a Sure Retreat, A lasting, wary seat; Safe, when the wild storms blow, And the Seas overflow; Let him the Hills proud Height, And th' Sands false Bottom sleight: That, the loud Tempests shake, These, the vain Pile forsake. Shunning the envious Fate, Does pleasant seats await? Let thy low, humble cell In a Rock's Bosom dwell: Though Seas and Tempests join In One Confusion, Hid in that quiet space, Thy steadfast Rock's Embrace, Thou shalt complete thine Age, And scorn the Cloud's vain Rage. SONG. ● WIthdraw my Caelia! Cloud thine eye, Smile on an Enemy; Those Glances M●rther where they fly, Retire that piercing▪ earnest Light! And my faint wounded sight, Bless rather with a Sh●●●, and night: The bliss, which in a boundless▪ wantou Flood, Showers on the narrow Soul, a vaster Good, With Excessive joys, Th' or'whelmed Power destroys. 2. Those lovely Airs be far away! Which, of the Syren's Lay The sweetness, and the D●ath convey: In these, mor● Fate, mor● Magic lie, 〈◊〉, must the Siren flee, Or hearing, charmed, must follow thee: But since those Deaths, where Souls fly ravished hence, Have more of j●y, than Life can e'er dispense, Smile and sing, Caelia, Life's an Ill, Where Smi●es, and Soft Airs kill. 3. Thus, Souls with Raptures charmed lie, When from their Cells they fly, Called, not by Death, but Exstacy: Thus the Divine Nepenthe, gives Life, which in Slumbers lives, When Fate it urges and retrieves. And thus, whilst by that voice and eye, betrayed, My Soul, (as motions like, their like obey) Does to Elysium stray, Elysium is the way. The Cyprian Virgin. When Cyprus fatal Hour drew nigh, And only One year was untold Decreed by impartial Destiny That Venice should that Island hold, The Turkish General Mustap●● Sat down before Nicosiae. To the Venetian signory Cyprus a hundred years did bow; But to a greater Tyranny Its vanquished Head it must yield now; Dominions cease, and sceptres die, And low, as their fallen Princes lie. Nicosia long had peace enjoyed, Seated i'th' midst o'th' fertile Isle; And by no Enemy annoyed, Had all the thoughts of War exiled; War follows peace; And that War may Prevail, Peace does it Self betray. Waked with the Rumour of this War, With a new strong defensive Wall, With Bulwarks firm and Regular Their City they encompassed All: Who knows whenever Fates are fixed? Or we May Fate retrieve by Industry? But all this Guard unequal was To the Opposers violence; The Cannon's Thunderbolts took place, And rend in sunder All Defence. Man's strength, far weaker than Man's Rage, Does borrowed Powers, and Furies wage. The Fo● prevails; and, as a Flood Whose weight all Banks, and Dams bear down, Swells high, and loud, by nought withstood; So the proud Foe overwhelms the Town. But Floods are calm to him, what can Equal the Boundless Rage of Man? Who thirst for Blood may glutted be, Who lusts, may gratify that vice; For, the Reward of Victory, Of Cities stormed the glorious price, Is, That the Soldier is left free To put off his Humanity. But what's forbid by Heaven's Decrees, Can Generals to their Soldiers give? Laws against Lusts, and Cruelties In Heaven signed, Dare they retrieve? The happy sword may give new Law To th' vanquished, must not Heaven awe. Forbidden Lusts whilst they permit, And Fury raging beyond Death, They, that themselves are Men, forget, And with the vanquished draw One Breath: Swords licenc'd thus, against Heaven are drawn, They gain the Day, but lose the Man. By th' Sword 'bove fifteen thousand fall, And twenty thousand Captives led: These, do the slain more happy call; And closely chained, envy the Dead. The slain, no Victor can enslave, Eternal Freedom dwells i'th' Grave. Who ere has Beauty, strength, or Art, Now yields it up, as Spoils to th' Foe, Captives have in themselves no part, But to the Victor All forgot: They breath for Him; who, as their Fate Dispenses Life, or gives it Date. Three Ships, with Dead and living Spoils, (Treasure and Captives) loaden were; The ●arve● of that Summer's toils To S●●i●● sent by th' Conqueror: The Blood and Gild of The sands, must Serve O●● Ma●s Luxury, and Lust. The Mothers, spread alongst the Shore, Follow the Ships with big-swollen eyes, To see those, they should see no more, And to the Heavens send their Cries; Uncertain what from thence to seek, A happy Voyage, or a wreck. For to what end should their vain Prayer Beg Prosperous Gales, and Happy winds, That wafred by a gentler Air, They might at length Safe Bondage find? Let rather Rocks in sunder rend Their Limbs, and their swift thraldom end. But what soft Mother, ever could To hardened Rocks for Pity call? 'Twere too too fearful to behold Their mangled Limbs in pieces fall; Wherefore, of Heaven, they beg Heaven's will, Ready to suffer't, or fulfil. A Virgin amongst the Captives was, Who seated by that Cyprian Queen, Which Poets in this Island place, That Venus had less Venus' been; For this, more Goddess, held enshrined In her Fair shape, a fairer mind. She, with some Others, destined was To the Grand Seignor's lustful Bed, To suffer an enforced embrace, As victims are to altars led, Who die for Others Crimes; As these To Others Lusts are sacrificed. But She above Captivity A Freedom held in her great mind, Which soared beyond their Victory And their dull Triumphs left behind: Virtue born up o'th' soul's great wing. No sword can into Bondage bring. To that loathed Fate I am reserved, I scarce dare think upon, Said she; Ye Powers who th' helpless still preserve, Mine Honour guard, and Chastity! Which e'er i'll yield to violate, I'll be myself mine Own bold Fate. Full of Great thoughts, She moves about Slowly, not minding of her way, And follows One amidst the Rout Who at the Magazine did stay; A Torch he bore in's hand, which gave Light to the Horror of the Cave. The sudden Change of Objects, made Her retired Spirits sally out, To view, what in that dismal Shade Had interrupted her fixed Thought; The Object pleased, fit to wait on Her glorious Resolution. Snatching the Torch out of his hand Who held it, not regarding Her, She straightway hurled the flaming Brand Into the Powder that lay there And as into the Heap it fell, I'm Free (said She) Tyrant Farewell As swift as thought, a dreadful Cloud, (Where ribs of Ships, and men's Limbs rend Floated, in One confused Flood) With Horror to the Heavens went: What the same moment saw, the same Saw vanquished and without a Name. Where's the insulting Victor now? Where does the Captived wretch remain? One Blast, the Laurel from his Brow, Has struck, and from his Neck, the Chain: Victor and vanquished both are lost And equalled in One Common Dust. Nothing escaped but each fled Mind With its Deeds virtuous, or unjust; Which both went with't and stayed behind To punish or Reward its Dust. Good Deeds, from Men, Fame and Renown Receive; And from just Heaven a Crown. Learn Justice then yet living Souls! And an unblemished purity; Which both the Earth, and Heaven enrolls, And will Survive, when Bodies die. The Glories of the chaste, and Just Renew and spring out of their dust. Amongst these Records of Earth and Heaven, Blessed Virgin be thy Nam● enroled! Who by thy great Example given To aged Time and Flame, hast told The following world, 'Tis less to die Than to dishonour Chastity. Live! great Example of it then! And with it twine thy Honoured Name, By the succeeding Race of Men Placed high in the Record of Fame. Where the Cha●● C●pria● Vi●gi● Shines Amongst the A●ci●●t Heroines. EPITAPH. On two Young Children, M. and A. R. Who were killed in their Beds by the fall of a Chimney. SLeep boldy on! No careless Ruine's nigh, No second heap to bid you Wake and Die: This Earth will press you gently, This weight, must Securely yield up, and reveal its Dust. Since then This, Rest; That, Death and Ruin gave; Call this your Bed! 'Twas Tother was your Grave. When sleep betrays, and Our Breath Slumbers seize; O Let all Sleep as Innocent as these! EPITAPH, On Mrs. E. G. BEauty, youth, and what ere we Lovely call, Here Buried lie: Dust has 'em; And their choice Forms, they Have lost i'th' undistinguished Clay. But the Beauties of her mind No Grave seals up, No Earth can bind, They, with her Soul; And they alone, Live Beauteous still, and still her Own: The spoils due to the Grave value no more! Call all those Pageants (Reader) Dust, Before. EPITAPH, On Mrs. V. H. Aged 62 Years. LIke th' Shock of Corn, which its full Age has seen, She came to th' Grave, not snatched, but gather'd'm; Whose Life, not only from the years she told We Aged call, But from her virtues, Old: These gave her years; and Crowned those years they gave, Her Life erst lasting made; and now, her Grave: For these enshrine our Dust; These, from Change free Make few years, Age; and Age, Eternity. EPITAPH. On Mrs. M. M. REader! In vain, you search for memory Of Aught, i'th' Land when All forgotten lie Silence, and Night, here their dark Mansions have; These make, and Seal the Sto●y of the Grave▪ Here lies Dust: Unfashioned now, Moulded Once, and formed, as Thou, Beauty sat there, and youth, Life's fairest Flowers; Pleasant, but swift, and passing as its Hours: Those Garlands, with the Brow that wore them, whither; Life, and its vainer Blossoms fell together. But within her Soul enshrined, Virtue waits on the fled mind, Whose leaves fade not, measured by Time, or by Eternity: Whence the Soul divided never, Wear●s a Crown, and Triumphs ever. Reader! No more, declining Shadows trust, Call Virtue, Beauty; Other Beauty, dust. A Reflection upon that Discourse of, Lipsius de Constantia, the discourse having been rendered into English by the Author in our troublesome Times, and printed with it. ANd what is't that can harm thee now? I'm Free, Yet by no monstrous, tainted Liberty; Above All Human Power; serene and high, I quietly attend All Misery. For judgement, nor the Act of Chance, is found, Nor Man; (Affliction springs not from the Ground) No; from th' Eternal, Wakeful, Providence; (That most Confessed, most unknown Influence) All things, as they their Life and Being have, Their Act and Motion; so their e●st and Grave. All struggling's then in vain: Proud, Feeble clay, Look whence the stroke proceeds, and Learn t' Obey. But Cheerfully Obey! as thou wert Free, And couldst resist; 'Tis Imbecility, And not Obedience, that suffers, cause Necessity enjoins, and the hard Laws Of Fate: Choose what befalls thee then! And lay Thy bold repine, and vain strengths away; Obedience is thy surest Guard, To will What must befall, shuns and deceives the Ill; But he's twice harmed; who, when there's no Defence, Endures both th' ill, and's Own Impatience. And what should fright thy will? What from Above Descends, where nought but Goodness dwells, and Love, Is Good and Loving too; No plague comes nigh, Nor from that Dwelling; those Emissions, high, And Healthful are; Divine Beatitude Is not from henc● alone, 'cause 't does exclude All evil from itself; and comprehend All Good; But, 'cause that Good descend, Joys in that Bliss it does to Others bring, Spread a full Shad●, an universal Wing; Under whose cool Defence, All Creatures rest; A Power still Blessing, and for ever Blest. Say not, from thence, that each Affliction, Each unkind mixture, Each distress comes down, And these are evils; No! We falsely guess That Love, by Outward pain or Happiness; Those smiles do neither Cure, nor those Griefs kill; For neither joy is Good, nor pain is ill. Not the poor joys of Earth: nor its false pain, Which while th' affect us, do withdraw again, (As when a storm, gives, or a Sun, to th' Flower, The Beauty, or the sickness of an Hou'r) And when th' are fled, (As Flowers their drooping Head Never to rise, let fall;) Th' are Ever fled; Fled like a pleasing, or unquiet Dream, Or like the smooth, or the complaining stream, Which Yesterday (ne'er to return) passed by: Their Torment, and their joy, Then, Equal be; And in One Even State, together lie The Glorious, and the Wretched, Memory Is All that does divide 'em; For what's past, Time has sealed up, and the dark Grave holds fast; Their Present Sense of what is fled, is One: The wretched, Suffers not His pain that's gone; Nor th' happy, feels his joy: But One deep Night Has drawn its heavy Wing, and closed Each Light; No pleasing, or ingrateful Sense remains, But the faint Story of the Joys or Pains. Such shadows are th' Affections Good or Ill, Fleet as their Objects: But the Soul's great will Pursues no dying Good; but those, that be Companions of its Own Eternity; For th' Good that's Chosen, must proportioned be To th' Power that Chose, that it may satisfy Its utmost Cravings, when reposing there It shall enjoy and lose its Vast desire: But amongst the Mines of Earth, there's none can fill Th' Embraces of the Soul, nor bound its will: False to their Love, they do but Cheat the mind; For parting, those dull Goods will stay Behind. It therefore Courts a lasting Happiness, And hates that Evil, which no Change can bless; Enjoys the Peace of Truth and Virtue; flies The pain of Error, and Impieties. Rectitude measures what it Loves, and Shu●s; Guide of its knowledge, and its Actions. Such is the Soul's delight! Such its high Love! A Pure, Immortal Beauty, lodged Above, Which outlives Change; and unconcerned, looks on The Torreent of a Desolation; When All the Things, which here we Glorious call, Stoop to their First Earth; And together fall Low as their Foundations: When nought withstand The Fury of the Glorious, Guilty Hand, But One heap made, show, what Confusion Deforms the World, when Strength and Madness join. There, (like a steep, bold Rock, which midst the flood Has thousand storms, and thousand Thunders stood; Whose Safe Foundations laid Beneath the Deep, Quiet, and low, i'th' Earth's firm Bosom sleep, Free from the War o'th' Tempest, whilst his proud Advanced head, raised 'bove both Sea, and Cloud, Views Either storm Beneath; and safe does lie Though midst the Rage, yet 'bove the Injury) Thy Great Mind stand Secure; High, and Alone, It Self entire, and its Possession: For who can wound, Or lead thy Mind away Captive? Or take thy Virtue amongst the Prey? It Conquers Time and Death: And does abide When th' sense of suffering, Or enjoy fled; For when the pleasure, or the pain is gone, The Conscience of a Virtuous Action Lives, and Rewards the doer: These joys Alone Know not the Grave, Nor see Corruption; But with the Soul, whose Good they are, ascend; Pure, Immaterial, Aged as the mind. Ne'er to be parted, For the Good desired, Though severed i'th' pursuit, yet when acquired, Is with the Power desiring it, made One; For All Desire tends to Perfection, (The high Reward of Love) which then's attained, When the Imperfect Power, t' its Fair Hope chained; Weds the Beloved Object to its Own Being; From which entire Perfection Crowning its Being, and with it made One Who shall divide it, makes the Being None. If then the Soul's Enjoyments are Above; If it's high, well-aimed wishes thither move, If Truth, and Goodness only, are its end; All things befall us, as they thither tend Are Good, or Bad; Since things subservient To Other ends, are named from the Event. What then unwings the Soul, and stops its Flight, Which or depresses, or suspends its height, Wrongs th' End; which, if unskilful Happiness Shall do, is from its weight this Motion cease, That flattering Bliss will to thy sorrows add; 'Tis but a Death sent Smiling; ill, Well-clad. Or, If Affliction shall Promote its way, If by it, (freed from th' Hindrance, and delay Of Outward Things,) The Soul, now left Alone (Preluding to its Separation) Shall view these perishing Objects, with those Eyes Which both their Presence, and their Want despise; And with a pure and rectified desire To Goodness only shall, and Truth aspire: Th' Afflicted shall lament no more: But bless The Mercy of the wound; The Happiness, To which, (as when dark storms or Clouds conceal A God descending,) Sorrow was the veil. Aim then aright, thy ill-placed Hope and Fear! For since the Glorious, and the Scorned Things Here Wait for One Change; (as when the last great Flame Shall mingle Stars and Dust:) And since No Name Shall know them any more when parted hence, Nor their Effects, return, and strike the sense; (For who enjoys the fallen Flower? Who can tell Where th' Rose has hid its Colour? l●ft ' its smell? Whither, its fair, its untaught Blast did str●y? Or what rude wind stole its last Breath away? That can new-dress the scattered Flower, can tie The Leaves into their knot again, which fly The vain winds scorn?) Leave the delights of Earth! (Those Flowers o'th' Field.) And whence thy Soul its Birth Derives, Ascend! kindle a new Desire Within thy Breast; A genuine Native Fire; Which to that Beauty climbs that dwells Above, That Glorious Endless Form! Be this thy Love! Tother, Embrace, or eat, as They Serve this; Call 'em th' Attendants On it, not the Bliss; Follow the End! 'Tis that alone can stay The Soul, No Rests to them who dwell i'th' way. ETERNAL POWER! 'Cause of our joy and Grief, From whom, All Sorrow comes and All Relief, Guide us in Either! If Thou'lt have us tried With Outward Blessings, Teach us to abide The strong Temptations of Happiness: But if (Our Frailty known) Thou'lt rather Bless Us with Affliction (since Prosperity Of Fools destroys 'em) Let's not repine, that we Are freed from th' Curious Danger; Nor be cast down, And murmur at thy mercy, 'cause thy Frown Saves us; But cheerfully submit to Thee; Since Our Distresses, and Our Sufferings, be The Care of Heaven; Since the Power directs And which commands the Plague, That Power protects. Thus when we have devolved Ourselves on thee, Whatever befalls us, joy, or Misery, We shall be Safe in Either; placed on High (As our Defence is) when the storms pass by, The wild impatient storms, Beneath us, we (As the safe Laurel, when each blasted Tree Oth' Grove the last Mark stand o'th' Lightnings way) Shall still be Green, and Flourish like that Bay: That of Ovid Met. 12. jam timor ille Phrygum, Deus et tutela pelasgi Nominis Aeacides, etc. Transferred to Our CHARLES I AND now the Erittains' Crown and Gu●rd, the Dread Of jealous— whose unconquered Head Nor Tongues nor Arms subdued, o'th' low Block laid, By th' votes which Glory promised, is betrayed. he's Dust now; And of that Great Prince, we have Only what scarce fills up a Nameless Grave; But his vast Fame, spread o'er the world, still lives And fills it; and his Endless Name retrives: This to his worth's Commensurate, and this Equ●ls Thee, CHARLES'! And shall contemn th' Abiss. PANEGYRIC, To His Excellency the thrice-noble General, General MONK. WHat Honour, th' Ancients to their Virtue gave Who Monsters quelled and the Oppressed saved, Though clad in Fable, (and thence, bolder drawn, As not by th' Life, but heightened Fancy ta'en) Is due to you, Who, a more ravenous Crew, Of Hidra's, Harpies, (Monsters of prey) subdue, Than they or knew, or feigned: whilst thus, to you, Both All True Story yield, and Fable too, Those vanquished Acts, which they, as Wonders tell, Gain our Belief, but lose their Miracle; And your Deeds, make, whilst They thus stand alone, Their ravished Garlands, and Their Wreaths, your Own. After a Twenty years restless Expense Of Treasure, Prudence, Blood, and Innocence: The Gre●t Work in Our hands still prospering, we At length achieved Bondage and Infamy; A Bondage, where we did unpitied lie, Since 'twas Our Crime, not Infelicity; Gained, to the d●er, unvalued losses, of Th●se Who to successful Gild, vain Arms opposed: Brave Souls! Who, when the Torrent ●igh●st stood, Cast your ●el●es in, to stein th' Impatient ●lood; But swallowed by the Gulf, to th' greedy wave All, but your Conscience and your Honour, gave: They, their Own Heaven attaining whence they came, Left us your Great Example, and long Name; For though Our Crimes must in Oblivion lie, (The Stress o'th' Times) your Virtues ne'er shall die. Thus, deep in Gild, which its Own vengeance drew, Suffering true ills, whilst we false Fears eschew; Reaping the Gild of Our ill-guided prayer, Which against sacred things we durst prefer, We lay, The Conquest of those vows, and Tears, Which Heaven in Wrath alone, and judgement hears. Caught thus i'th' snare which Our Own Folly laid, All Civil, and Religious Rites betrayed, As of passed streams, or a fled Life stolen by, Only the Fable of Our Liberty Remained; whose Worth its Loss made greater known; As heightened Glories, by deep'st, Shades are shown. This, after freedom Our vain Wishes led, But not Our Hopes; they, with Our freedom, fled. Souls in Eternal Night, may Wish for Day, Not hope it, Hope leaves that End which has No way. So wholly shut up, so deplored seemed Ours; Stop'd, and forbidden by devoted Powers: Whom the great Gain of Gild, and greater Fear, Heightened by Art or Conscience to Despair, Made Sure to the Black Cause; Thus misled, They Fell to their Chiefs; We unto B●th, a prey. And now Confusion poured in; All Our world By violence, and Fanatique Fury hurled: The Victor's quarrel, Not to make us free, But whose Inheritance the Slaves shall be; How to cut out, and Share the Bleeding prey, And keep the Saints in Everlasting pay; Whose Fever highest beats, and does present The Closest, Heaviest yoke of Government; His, who, of Helots' dreamt, and Gibeonites, Placing o'er Each, the Spartan Israelites In the select Senate; Or his, who saw The longer vision of Oceana. These, and whatever some New-Trance might reveal▪ One Heat enact, and the next Fit repeal, From their Prodigious Lights what raised could be To th' scorn of Reason and Humanity, More horrid yet, we feared; more without Name, Or Bottomless, than th' pit from whence it came. But he, whom Seas, and the deaf winds obey, And th' people, more enraged, more deaf than they, Whose presence, the swift Checks of ill declare, And o'er the Helpless, a Surprising Care; (That Dread, to Guilty Powers may still be nigh; And Hope to th' wretched's low Calamity:) Looked down; And (by your Hand!) parting each wave To Peace, and Liberty a passage gave; Our King, to Us did; Us, unto Our King, The Sum, and Measure of Our Blessing) bring▪ What Statue shall preserve you? Or, to your Fame Equal, what loud Inscription bear Monke's Name? Who, not misled b' Ambition's vain Desires, (Those erring, and those swiftly-falling Fires) But guided by those Laws firm Virtue gives, And that Fair Honour, which by Her still lives, Did a blessed Order from Confusion bring, Faithful to God, your Country, and your King. On the City of S. purchase of the Cap of Maintenance. THis Relic cost us 'bove three hundred pound, Badge of Our Honour, and Discretion: But, what did make't a saving Bargain, was, We got the Close in, and St. Nicholas: Now we may throw Our Cap at 'em; All's gone! Our wit, Our money, and Dominion: Should They requite us, 'twere much Cheaper done; We bought the Close, but they might beg Our Town. Stradas Nightingale In Imitation of Claudian's stile. NOw the prone Sun stooped to his Western way, From his bright hairs darting a softer Ray, When, by cool Tibur's streams, a Lutanist On his full mellow Lute his Cares released; From the Heats power defended by the Shade, Which, as an Arbour formed, the dark Holme made. Him, in th' adjoining woods, close arms embraced; A Nightingale o'rehears, the muse o'th' place, It's Siren, (harmless Siren) Who, stolen near, Stood listening midst the thicker Branches; Where The sounds he strikes, She takes; and from her Breast, Those, his swift fingers gave, her voice expressed. The Lutanist, the emulous Notes o'erheard; And meaning t' entertain the lovely Bird, With swiftest touch he does each Nerve explore, Strains, those were lax, loses th' o'restretched before; Nor slower She, Coins into thousand Notes The melted Air through her dividing Throat. Th' Artists skilled hand then drawn o'er th' trembling Nerves, Sometimes his Nail the careless plecter serves; Which, in a bold, contemning motion thrown, With One, smooth, Equal dust, all Chords combs down; Then Beats, and with his trembling fingers tops, Breaks the Whole Sound into Swift parts, then stops. She, with as many modes, his Art repaies With Art; Now, as She had forgot her lays, She, a plain, Single Tone, unvaried, strikes; Then trilling, with a Second, that Note breaks; O'er Both which hovering, but assured to None, She 'twixt two Notes, divides the floating Tone. The Artist wonders, so exile a Throat Should yield so various, and so sweet a Note, Wherefore, with bolder strokes, the differing strings By turns he moves, whilst with a quicker Spring The smaller Nerves do vibrate: But the Base Their Wide excursions make, with slower pace; Whose hoarser Notes, which with those loud Tones jar He joins, as when the Trumpet sounds in War. This too the sweet Bird Sings; whose liquid Breast Having a smart and trembling Note expressed, She on the sudden from that Height falls down To the low murmur of a hollow Tone, Purling within Her Breast; Then does excite By turns, both tones, as sounding to a Fight. The Lutanist, with Shame and Anger filled, That th' untaught voice, Notes 'bove his Art should yield, Or this (says he) Thou woods wild Chorister Shall ne'er return, Or I will break my Li●e! This said, He with inimitable Strains Urges his Lute; mounts, and descends again Through all the Chord; beats, stings, divides, and trills, And in the dying Close all Numbers fills: Then stays, expecting what the Bird would do. But she, although her wearied Throat grew rough With her late toil, yet touched with the disdain Of being vanquished, She unites (in vain!) All her spent powers; For whilst the Numerous Tone Of differing Strings, She strives to match with One, Unequal to th' attempt, but more, to Grief, Faints; And in a Soft Tone, breathing forth Life, Falls on the Victor's Lute; A decent Grave! Such Aims at Virtue, All, even least Souls, have. FINIS.