Andr. marvel, Esq. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. BY ANDREW marvel, Esq Late Member of the Honourable House of Commons. LONDON, Printed for Robert Boulter, at the Turks-Head in Cornhill. M. DC. LXXXI. TO THE READER. THese are to Certify every Ingenious Reader, that all these Poems, as also the other things in this Book contained, are Printed according to the exact Copies of my late dear Husband, under his own Handwriting, being found since his Death among his other Papers, Witness my Hand this 15th day of October, 1680. Marry marvel. A DIALOGUE, BETWEEN The Resolved Soul, and Created Pleasure. COurage my Soul, now learn to wield The weight of thine immortal Shield. Close on thy Head thy Helmet bright. Balance thy Sword against the Fight. See where an Army, strong as fair, With silken Banners spreads the air. Now, if thou be'st that thing Divine, In this day's Combat let it shine: And show that Nature wants an Art To conquer one resolved Heart. Pleasure. Welcome the Creation's Guest, Lord of Earth, and Heaven's Heir. Lay aside that Warlike Crest, And of Nature's banquet share: Where the Souls of fruits and flowers Stand prepared to heighten yours. Soul. I sup above, and cannot stay To bait so long upon the way. Pleasure. On these downy Pillows lie, Whose soft Plumes will thither fly: On these Roses strowed so plain Lest one Leaf thy Side should strain. Soul. My gentler Rest is on a Thought, Conscious of doing what I ought. Pleasure. If thou be'st with Perfumes pleased, Such as oft the Gods appeased, Thou in fragrant Clouds shalt show Like another God below. Soul. A Soul that knows not to presume Is Heaven's and its own perfume. Pleasure. Every thing does seem to vie Which should first attract thine Eye: But since none deserves that grace, In this Crystal view thy face. Soul. When the Creator's skill is prized, The rest is all but Earth disguised. Pleasure. Hark how Music then prepares For thy Stay these charming Airs; Which the posting Winds recall, And suspend the Rivers Fall. Soul. Had I but any time to lose, On this I would it all dispose. Cease Tempter. None can chain a mind Whom this sweet Chordage cannot bind. Chorus. Earth cannot show so brave a Sight As when a single Soul does fence The Batteries of alluring Sense, And Heaven views it with delight. Then persevere: for still new Charges sound: And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crowned. Pleasure. All this fair, and cost, and sweet, Which scatteringly doth shine, Shall within one Beauty meet, And she be only thine. Soul. If things of Sight such Heavens be, What Heavens are those we cannot see? Pleasure. Where so ere thy Foot shall go The minted Gold shall lie; Till thou purchase all below, And want new Worlds to buy. Soul. Were't not a price who'd value Gold? And that's worth nought that can be sold. Pleasure. Wilt thou all the Glory have That War or Peace commend? Half the World shall be thy Slave The other half thy Friend. Soul. What Friends, if to myself untrue? What Slaves, unless I captive you? Pleasure. Thou shalt know each hidden Cause; And see the future Time: Try what depth the Centre draws; And then to Heaven climb. Soul. None thither mounts by the degree Of Knowledge, but Humility. Chorus. Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul; The World has not one Pleasure more: The rest does lie beyond the Pole, And is thine everlasting Store. On a Drop of Dew. SEe how the Orient Dew, Shed from the Bosom of the Morn Into the blowing Roses, Yet careless of its Mansion new; For the clear Region where 'twas born Round in its self encloses: And in its little Globes Extent, Frames as it can its native Element. How it the purple flower does slight, Scarce touching where it lies, But gazing back upon the Skies, Shines with a mournful Light; Like its own Tear, Because so long divided from the Sphere. Restless it rolls and unsecure, Trembling lest it grow impure: Till the warm Sun pity its Pain, And to the Skies exhale it back again. So the Soul, that Drop, that Ray Of the clear Fountain of Eternal Day, Could it within the humane flower be seen, Remembering still its former height, Shuns the sweat leaves and blossoms green; And, recollecting its own Light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater Heaven in an Heaven less. In how coy a Figure wound, Every way it turns away: So the World excluding round, Yet receiving in the Day. Dark beneath, but bright above: Here disdaining, there in Love. How loose and easy hence to go: How gird and ready to ascend. Moving but on a point below, It all about does upwards bend. Such did the Manna's sacred Dew destil; White, and entire, though congealed and i'll. Congealed on Earth: but does, dissolving, run Into the Glories of th' Almighty Sun. Ros. CErnis ut Eoi descendat Gemmula Roris, Inque Rosas roseo transfluat orta sinu. Sollicitâ Flores stant ambitione supini, Et certant foliis pellicuisse suis. Illa tamen patriae lustrans fastigia Sphaerae, Negligit hospitii limina picta novi. Inque sui nitido conclusa voluminis orbe, Exprimit aetherei quâ licet Orbis aquas. En ut odoratum spernat generosior Ostrum, Vixque premat casto mollia strata pede. Suspicit at longis distantem obtutibus Axem, Ind & languenti lumine pendet amans, Tristis, & in liquidum mutata dolore dolorem, Marcet, uti roseis Lachryma fusa Genis. Ut pavet, & motum tremit irrequieta Cubile, Et quoties Zephyro fluctuat Aura, fugit. Qualis inexpertam subeat formido Puellam, Sicubi nocte redit incomitata domum. Sic & in horridulas agitatur Gutta procellas, Dum prae virgineo cuncta pudore timet. Donec oberrantem Radio clemente vaporet, Inque jubar reducem Sol genitale trahat. Talis, in humano si possit flore videri, Exul ubi longas Mens agit usque moras; Haec quoque natalis meditans convivia Coeli, Evertit Calices, purpureosque Thoros. Fontis stilla sacri, Lucis scintilla perennis, Non capitur Tyria veste, vapore Sabae. Tota sed in proprii secedens luminis Arcem, Colligit in Gyros se sinuosa breves. Magnorumque sequens Animo convexa Deorum, Sydereum parvo fingit in Orbe Globum. Quam bene in aversae modulum contracta figurae Oppositum Mundo claudit ubique latus. Sed bibit in speculum vadios ornata rotundum; Et circumfuso splendet aperta Die. Qua Superos spectat rutilans, obscurior infra; Caetera dedignans, ardet amore Poli. Subsilit, hinc agili Poscens discedere motu, Undique coelesti cincta soluta Viae. Totaque in aereos extenditur orbita cursus; Hinc punctim carpens, mobile stringit iter. Haud aliter Mensis exundans Manna beatis Deserto jacuit Stilla gelata solo: Stilla gelata solo, sed Solibus hausta benignis, Ad sua quâ cecidit purior Astra redit. The Coronet. WHen for the Thorns with which I long, too With many a piercing wound, (long, My Saviour's head have crowned, I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong: Through every Garden, every Mead, I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers) Dismantling all the fragrant Towers That once adorned my Shepherdess' head. And now when I have summed up all my store, Thinking (so I myself deceive) So rich a Chaplet thence to wove As never yet the king of Glory wore: Alas I find the Serpent old That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flowers disguised does fold, With wreaths of Fame and Interest. Ah, foolish Man, that wouldst debase with them, And mortal Glory, Heaven's Diadem! But thou who only couldst the Serpent tame, Either his slippery knots at once untie, And disentangle all his winding Snare: Or shatter too with him my curious frame: And let these wither, so that he may die, Though set with Skill and chosen out with Care. That they, while Thou on both their Spoils dost tread, May crown thy Feet, that could not crown thy Head. Eyes and Tears. I. HOW wisely Nature did decree, With the same Eyes to weep and see! That, having viewed the object vain, They might be ready to complain. II. And, since the Self-deluding Sight, In a false Angle takes each height; These Tears which better measure all, Like wat'ry Lines and Plummets fall. III. Two Tears, which Sorrow long did weigh Within the Scales of either Eye, And then paid out in equal Poise, Are the true price of all my Joys. IV. What in the World most fair appears, Yea even Laughter, turns to Tears: And all the Jewels which we prise, Melt in these Pendants of the Eyes. V. I have through every Garden been, Amongst the Red, the White, the Green; And yet, from all the flowers I saw, No Honey, but these Tears could draw. VI So the allseeing Sun each day Distils the World with Chemic Ray; But finds the Essence only Showers, Which strait in pity back he powers. VII. Yet happy they whom Grief doth bless, That weep the more, and see the less: And, to preserve their Sight more true, Bath still their Eyes in their own Dew. VIII. * So Magdalen, in Tears more wise Dissolved those captivating Eyes, Whose liquid Chains could flowing meet To fetter her Redeemers feet. IX. Not full sails hasting loaden home, Nor the chaste Ladies pregnant Womb, Nor Cynthia Teeming shows so fair, As two Eyes swollen with weeping are. X. The sparkling Glance that shoots Desire, Drenched in these Waves, does lose it fire. Yea oft the thunderer pity takes And here the hissing Lightning slakes. XI. The Incense was to Heaven dear, Not as a Perfume, but a Tear. And Stars show lovely in the Night, But as they seem the Tears of Light. XII. Open then mine Eyes your double Sluice, And practise so your noblest Use. For others too can see, or sleep; But only humane Eyes can weep. XIII. Now like two Clouds dissolving, drop, And at each Tear in distance stop: Now like two Fountains trickle down: Now like two sloods overturn and drown. XIIII. Thus let your Streams o'erflow your Springs, Till Eyes and Tears be the same things: And each the other's difference bears; These weeping Eyes, those seeing Tears. * Magdala, lascivos sic quum dimisit Amantes, Fervidaque in castas lumina solvit aquas; Haesit in irriguo lachrymarum compede Christus, Et tenuit sacros uda Catena pedes. Bermudas. WHere the remote Bermudas ride In th' Ocean's bosom unespyed, From a small Boat, that rowed along, The listening Winds received this Song. What should we do but sing his Praise That led us through the watery Maze, Unto an Isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? Where he the huge Sea-Monsters wracks, That lift the Deep upon their Backs. He lands us on a grassy Stage; Safe from the Storms, and Prelate's rage. He gave us this eternal Spring, Which here enamels every thing; And sends the Fowl's to us in care, On daily Visits through the Air. He hangs in shades the Orange bright, Like golden Lamps in a green Night. And does in the Pomegranates close, Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. He makes the Figs our mouths to meet; And throws the Melons at our feet. But Apples plants of such a price, No Tree could ever bear them twice. With Cedars, chosen by his hand, From Lebanon, he stores the Land. And makes the hollow Seas, that roar, Proclaim the Ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's Pearl upon our Coast. And in these Rocks for us did frame A Temple, where to sound his Name. Oh let our Voice his Praise exalt, Till it arrive at Heaven's Vault: Which thence (perhaps) rebounding, may Echo beyond the Mexique Bay. Thus sung they, in the English boat, An holy and a cheerful Note, And all the way, to guide their Chime, With falling Oars they kept the time. Clorinda and Damon. C. DAmon come drive thy flocks this way. D. No: 'tis too late they went astray. C. I have a grassy Scutcheon spied, Where Flora blazons all her pride. The Grass I aim to feast thy Sheep: The Flowers I for thy Temples keep. D. Grass withers; and the Flowers too fade. C. Seize the short Joys then, ere they vade. Seest thou that unfrequented Cave? D. That den? C. Love's Shrine. D. But Virtue's Grave. C. In whose cool bosom we may lie Safe from the Sun. D. not Heaven's Eye. C. Near this, a Fountains liquid Bell Tinkles within the concave Shell. D. Might a Soul bathe there and be clean, Or slake its Drought? C. What is't you mean? D. These once had been enticing things, Clorinda, Pastures, Caves, and Springs. C. And what late change? D. The other day Pan met me. C. What did great Pan say? D. Words that transcend poor Shepherd's skill, But He ere since my Songs does fill: And his Name swells my slender Oat. C. Sweet must Pan sound in Damon's Note. D. Clorinda's voice might make it sweet. C. Who would not in Pan's Praises meet? Chorus. Of Pan the flowery Pastures sing, Caves' echo, and the Fountain's ring. Sing then while he doth us inspire; For all the World is our Pan's Quire. A Dialogue between the Soul and Body. Soul. O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise A Soul enslaved so many ways? With bolts of Bones, that fettered stands In Feet; and manacled in Hands. Here blinded with an Eye; and there Deaf with the drumming of an Ear. A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins. Tortured, besides each other part, In a vain Head, and double Heart. Body. O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul? Which, stretched upright, impales me so, That mine own Precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless Frame: (A Fever could but do the same.) And, wanting where its spite to try, Has made me live to let me die. A Body that could never rest, Since this ill Spirit it possessed. Soul. What Magic could me thus confine Within another's Grief to pine? Where whatsoever it complain, I feel, that cannot feel, the pain. And all my Care its self employs, That to preserve, which me destroys: Constrained not only to endure Diseases, but, what's worse, the Cure: And ready oft the Port to gain, Am Shipwrackt into Health again. Body. But Physic yet could never reach The Maladies Thou me dost teach; Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear: And then the Palsy Shakes of Fear. The Pestilence of Love does heat: Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat. Joys cheerful Madness does perplex: Or Sorrow's other Madness vex. Which Knowledge forces me to know; And Memory will not forego. What but a Soul could have the wit To build me up for Sin so fit? So Architects do square and hew, Green Trees that in the Forest grew. The Nymph complaining for the death of her Faun. THE wanton Troopers riding by Have shot my Faun and it will die. Ungentle men! They cannot thrive To kill thee. Thou near didst alive Them any harm: alas nor could Thy death yet do them any good. I'm sure I never wished them ill; Nor do I for all this; nor will: But, if my simple Prayers may yet Prevail with Heaven to forget Thy murder, I will Join my Tears Rather than fail. But, O my fears! It cannot die so. Heaven's King Keeps register of every thing: And nothing may we use in vain. Even Beasts must be with justice slain; Else Men are made their Deodands. Though they should wash their guilty hands In this warm life blood, which doth part From thine, and wound me to the Heart, Yet could they not be clean: their Stain Is died in such a Purple Grain. There is not such another in The World, to offer for their Sin. Unconstant Sylvio, when yet I had not found him counterfeit, One morning (I remember well) Tied in this silver Chain and Bell, Gave it to me: nay and I know What he said then; I'm sure I do. Said He, look how your Huntsman here Hath taught a Faun to hunt his Dear. But Sylvio soon had me beguiled. This waxed tame; while he grew wild, And quite regardless of my Smart, Left me his Faun, but took his Heart. Thenceforth I set myself to play My solitary time away, With this: and very well content, Could so mine idle Life have spent. For it was full of sport; and light Of foot, and heart; and did invite, Me to its game: it seemed to bless Its self in me. How could I less Than love it? O I cannot be Unkind, t' a Beast that loveth me. Had it lived long, I do not know Whether it too might have done so As Sylvio did: his Gifts might be Perhaps as false or more than he. But I am sure, for aught that I Could in so short a time espy, Thy Love was far more better than The love of false and cruel men. With sweetest milk, and sugar, first I it at mine own fingers nursed. And as it grew, so every day It waxed more white and sweet than they. It had so sweet a Breath! And oft I blushed to see its foot more soft, And white, (shall I say then my hand?) NAY any Ladies of the Land. It is a wondrous thing, how fleet 'Twas on those little silver feet. With what a pretty skipping grace, It oft would challenge me the Race: And when 'thad left me far away, 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay. For it was nimbler much than Hinds; And trod, as on the four Winds. I have a Garden of my own, But so with Roses over grown, And Lilies, that you would it guests To be a little Wilderness. And all the Spring time of the year It only loved to be there. Among the beds of Lillyes, I Have sought it oft, where it should lie; Yet could not, till itself would rise, Find it, although before mine Eyes. For, in the flaxen Lilies shade, It like a bank of Lilies laid. Upon the Roses it would feed, Until its Lips even seemed to bleed: And then to me 'twould boldly trip, And print those Roses on my Lip. But all its chief delight was still On Roses thus its self to fill: And its pure virgin Limbs to fold In whitest sheets of Lilies cold. Had it lived long, it would have been Lilies without, Roses within. O help! O help! I see it faint: And die as calmly as a Saint. See how it weeps. The Tears do come Sad, slowly dropping like a Gum. So weeps the wounded Balsam: so The holy Frankincense doth flow. The brotherless Heliades Melt in such Amber Tears as these. I in a golden Vial will Keep these two crystal Tears; and fill It till it do o'erflow with mine; Then place it in Diana's Shrine. Now my sweet Faun is vanished to Whether the Swans and Turtles go: In fair Elysium to endure, With milk-white Lambs, and Ermines pure. O do not run too fast: for I Will but bespeak thy Glave, I and die. First my unhappy Statue shall Be cut in Marble; and withal, Let it be weeping too: but there Th' Engraver sure his Art may spare; For I so truly thee bemoan, That I shall weep though I be Stone: Until my Tears, still dropping, wear My breast, themselves engraving there. There at my feet shalt thou be laid, Of purest Alabaster made: For I would have thine Image be White as I can, though not as Thee. Young Love. I. COme little Infant, Love me now, While thine unsuspected years Clear thine aged Father's brow From cold Jealousy and Fears. II. Pretty surely 'twere to see By young Love old Time beguiled: While our Sport are as free As the Nurses with the Child. III. Common Beauties stay fifteen; Such as yours should swifter move; Whose fair Blossoms are too green Yet for Lust, but not for Love. IV. Love as much the snowy Lamb Or the wanton Kid does prize, As the lusty Bull or Ram, For his morning Sacrifice. V. Now then love me: time may take Thee before thy time away: Of this Need we'll Virtue make, And learn Love before we may. VI So we win of doubtful Fate; And, if good she to us meant, We that Good shall antedate, Or, if ill, that Ill prevent. VII. Thus as Kingdoms, frustrating Other Titles to their Crown, In the cradle crown their King, So all Foreign Claims to drown. VIII. So, to make all Rivals vain, Now I crown thee with my Love: Crown me with thy Love again; And we both shall Monarches prove. To his Coy Mistress. HAD we but World enough, and Time, This coyness Lady were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long Love's Day. Thou by the Indian Ganges side Shouldst Rubies find: I by the Tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood: And you should if you please refuse Till the Conversion of the Jews. My vegetable Love should grow Vaster than Empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine Eyes, and on thy Forehead Gaze. Two hundred to adore each Breast: But thirty thousand to the rest. An Age at least to every part, And the last Age should show your Heart. For Lady you deserve this State; Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Times winged Chariot hurrying near: And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast Eternity. Thy Beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble Vault, shall sound My echoing Song: then Worms shall try That long preserved Virginity: And your acquaint Honour turn to durst: And into ashes all my Lust. The Grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning grew, And while thy willing Soul transpires At every poor with instant Fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our Time dev out, Than languish in his slow chapt power. Let us roll all our Strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one Ball And tear our Pleasures with rough strife, Through the Iron gates of Life. Thus, though we cannot make our Sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. The unfortunate Lover. I. ALas, how pleasant are their days With whom the Infant Love yet plays! Sorted by pairs, they still are seen By Fountains cool, and Shadows green. But soon these Flames do lose their light, Like Meteors of a Summer's night: Nor can they to that Region climb, To make impression upon Time. II. 'Twas in a Shipwreck, when the Seas Ruled, and the Winds did what they please, That my poor Lover ffoting lay, And, e'er brought forth, was cast away: Till at the last the master-Wave Upon the Rock his Mother drove; And there she split against the Stone, In a Cesarian Section. III. The Sea him lent these bitter Tears Which at his Eyes he always bears. And from the Winds the Sighs he bore, Which through his surging Breast do roar. No Day he saw but that which breaks, Through frighted Clouds in forked streaks. While round the rattling Thunder hurled, As at the Funeral of the World. IV. While Nature to his Birth presents This mask of quarrelling Elements; A numerous fleet of Corm'rants black, That sailed insulting o'er the ●rack, Received into their cruel Care, Th' unfortunate and abject Heir: Guardians most fit to entertain The Orphan of the Hurricane. V. They fed him up with Hopes and Air, Which soon digested to Despair. And as one cormorant fed him, still Another on his Heart did bill. Thus while they famish him, and feast, He both consumed, and increased And languished with doubtful Breath, Th' Amphibium of Life and Death. VI And now, when angry Heaven would Behold a spectacle of Blood, Fortune and He are called to play At sharp before it all the day: And Tyrant Love his breast does ply With all his winged Artillery. Whilst he, betwixt the Flames and Waves, Like Ajax, the mad Tempest braves. VII. See how he naked and fierce does stand, Cuffing the Thunder with one hand; While with the other he does lock, And grapple, with the stubborn Rock: From which he with each Wave rebounds, Torn into Flames, and ragged with Wounds. And all he says, a Lover dressed In his own Blood does relish best. VIII. This is the only Banneret That ever Love created yet: Who though, by the Malignant Stars, Forced to live in Storms and Wars; Yet dying leaves a Perfume here, And Music within every Ear: And he in Story only rules, In a Field Sable a Lover Gides. The Gallery. I. CLora come view my Soul, and tell Whether I have contrived it well. Now all its several lodgings lie Composed into one Gallery; And the great Arras-hanging, made Of various Faces, by are laid; That, for all furniture, you'll find Only your Picture in my Mind. II. Here Thou art painted in the Dress Of an Inhuman Murtheress; Examining upon our Hearts Thy fertile Shop of cruel Arts: Engines more keen than ever yet Adorned Tyrants Cabinet; Of which the most tormenting are Black Eyes, red Lips, and curled Hair. III. But, on the other side, th' art drawn Like to Aurora in the Dawn; When in the East she slumbering lies, And stretches out her milky Thighs; While all the morning Choir does sing, And Manna falls, and Roses spring; And, at thy Feet, the wooing Doves Sat perfecting their harmless Loves. IV. Like an Enchantress here thou showest, Vexing thy restless Lover's Ghost; And, by a Light obscure, dost rave Over his Entrails, in the Cave; Divining thence, with horrid Care, How long thou shalt continue fair; And (when informed) them throw'st away, To be the greedy Vultur's prey. V. But, against that, thou sittest a float Like Venus in her pearly Boat. The Halcyons, calming all that's nigh, Betwixt the Air and Water fly. Or, if some rolling Wave appears, A Mass of Ambergris it bears. Nor blows more Wind than what may well Convoy the Perfume to the Smell. VI These Pictures and a thousand more, Of Thee, my Gallery dost store; In all the Forms thou canst invent Either to please me, or torment: For thou alone to people me, Art grown a numerous Colony; And a Collection choicer far Then or Whitehall's, or Mantua's were. VII. But, of these Pictures and the rest, That at the Entrance likes me best: Where the same Posture, and the Look Remains, with which I first was took. A tender Shepherdess, whose Hair Hangs loosely playing in the Air, Transplanting Flowers from the green Hill, To crown her Head, and Bosom fill. The Fair Singer. I. TO make a final conquest of all me, Love did compose so sweet an Enemy, In whom both Beauties to my death agree, Joining themselves in fatal Harmony; That while she with her Eyes my Heart does bind, She with her Voice might captivate my Mind. II. I could have fled from One but singly fair: My disintangled Soul itself might save, Breaking the curled trammels of her hair. But how should I avoid to be her Slave, Whose subtle Art invisibly can wreathe My Fetters of the very Air I breath? III. It had been easy fight in some plain, Where Victory might hang in equal choice. But all resistance against her is vain, Who has th' advantage both of Eyes and Voice. And all my Forces needs must be undone, She having gained both the Wind and Sun. Mourning. I. YOU, that decipher out the Fate Of humane Offsprings from the Skies, What mean these Infants which of late Spring from the Stars of Chlora's Eyes? II. Her Eyes confused, and doubled o'er, With Tears suspended ere they flow; Seem bending upwards, to restore. To Heaven, whence it came, their Woe. III. When, moulding of the watery Spheres, Slow drops untie themselves away, As if she, with those precious Tears, Would strew the ground where Strephon lay. IV. Yet some affirm, pretending Art, Her Eyes have so her Bosom drowned, Only to soften near her Heart A place to fix another Wound. V. And, while vain Pomp does her restrain Within her solitary Bower, She courts herself in amorous Rain; Herself both Danae and the Shower. VI Nay others, bolder, hence esteem Joy now so much her Master grown, That whatsoever does but seem Like Grief, is from her Windows thrown. VII. Nor that she pays, while she survives, To her dead Love this Tribute due; But casts abroad these Donatives, At the installing of a new. VIII. How wide they dream! The Indian Slaves That sink for Pearl through Seas profound, Would find her Tears yet deeper Waves And not of one the bottom sound. IX. I yet my silent Judgement keep, Disputing not what they believe: But sure as oft as Women weep, It is to be supposed they grieve. Daphnis and Chloe. I. DAphnis must from Chloe part: Now is come the dismal Hour That must all his Hopes devour, All his Labour, all his Art. II. Nature, her own Sex's foe, Long had taught her to be coy: But she neither knew t'enjoy, Nor yet let her Lover go. III. But, with this sad News surprised, Soon she let that Niceness fall; And would gladly yield to all, So it had his stay comprised. IV. Nature so herself does use To lay by her wont State, Left the World should separate; Sudden Parting closer glews. V. He, well read in all the ways By which men their Siege maintain, Knew not that the Fort to gain Better 'twas the Siege to raise. VI But he came so full possessed With the Grief of Parting thence; That he had not so much Sense As to see he might be blest. VII. Till Love in her Language breathed Words she never spoke before; But than Legacies no more To a dying Man bequeathed. VIII. For, Alas, the time was spent, Now the latest minut's run When poor Daphnis is undone, Between Joy and Sorrow rend. IX. At that Why, that Stay my Dear, His disordered Locks he tore; And with rolling Eyes did glare, And his cruel Fate forswear. X. As the Soul of one scarce dead, With the shrieks of Friends aghast, Looks distracted back in haste, And then straight again is fled. XI. So did wretched Daphnis look, Frighting her he loved most. At the last, this Lover's Ghost Thus his Leave resolved took. XII. Are my Hell and Heaven Joined More to torture him that dies? Could departure not suffice, But that you must then grow kind? XIII. Ah my Chloe how have I Such a wretched minute found, When thy Favours should me wound More than all thy Cruelty? XIV. So to the condemned Wight The delicious Cup we fill; And allow him all he will, For his last and short Delight. XV. But I will not now begin Such a Debt unto my Foe; Nor to my Departure owe What my Presence could not win. XVI. Absence is too much alone: Better 'tis to go in peace, Than my Losses to increase By a late Fruition. XVII. Why should I enrich my Fate? 'Tis a Vanity to wear, For my Executioner, Jewels of so high a rate. XVIII. Rather I away will pine In a manly stubborness Than be fatted up express For the Cannibal to dine. XIX. Whilst this grief does thee disarm, All th' Enjoyment of our Love But the ravishment would prove Of a Body dead while warm. XX. And I parting should appear Like the Gourmand Hebrew dead, While he Quails and Manna fed, And does through the Desert err. XXI. Or the Witch that midnight wakes For the Fern, whose magic Weed In one minute casts the Seed, And invisible him makes. XXII. Gentler times for Love are meant: Who for parting pleasure strain Gather Roses in the rain, Wet themselves and spoil their Sent. XXIII. Farewell therefore all the fruit Which I could from Love receive: Joy will not with Sorrow wove, Nor will I this Grief pollute. XXIV. Fate I come, as dark, as sad, As thy Malice could desire; Yet bring with me all the Fire That Love in his Torches had. XXV. At these words away he broke; As who long has praying lain, To his Headsman makes the Sign, And receives the parting stroke. XXVI. But hence Virgins all beware. Last night he with Phlogis slept; This night for Dorinda kept; And but rid to take the Air. XXVII. Yet he does himself excuse; Nor indeed without a Cause. For, according to the Laws, Why did Chloe once refuse? The Definition of Love. I. MY Love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high: It was begotten by despair Upon Impossibility. II. Magnanimous Despair alone Could show me so divine a thing, Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown But vainly flapt its Tinsel Wing. III. And yet I quickly might arrive Where my extended Soul is fixed, But Fate does Iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt. IV. For Fate with jealous Eye does see Two perfect Loves; nor lets them close: Their union would her ruin be, And her Tyrannic power depose. V. And therefore her Decrees of Steel Us as the distant Poles have placed, (Though Loves whole World on us doth wheel) Not by themselves to be embraced. VI Unless the giddy Heaven fall, And Earth some new Convulsion tear: And, us to join, the World should all Be cramped into a Planisphere. VII. As Lines so Loves oblique may well Themselves in every Angle greet: But ours so truly Parallel, Though infinite can never meet. VIII. Therefore the Love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is the Conjunction of the Mind, And Opposition of the Stars. The Picture of little T. C. in a Prospect of Flowers. I. SEE with what simplicity This Nymph begins her golden days! In the green Grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair Aspect tames The Wilder flowers, and gives them names; But only with the Roses plays; And them does tell What Colour best becomes them, and what Smell. II. Who can foretell for what high cause This Darling of the Gods was born! Yet this is She whose chaster Laws The wanton Love shall one day fear, And, under her command severe, See his Bow broke and Ensigns tom. Happy, who can Appease this virtuous Enemy of Man! III. O then let me in time compound, And parley with those conquering Eyes; Ere they have tried their force to wound, Ere, with their glancing wheels, they drive In Triumph over Hearts that strive, And them that yield but more despise. Let me be laid, Where I may see thy Glories from some Shade. IV. Mean time, whilst every verdant thing Itself does at thy Beauty charm, Reform the errors of the Spring; Make that the Tulips may have share Of sweetness, seeing they are fair; And Roses of their thorns disarm: But most procure That Violets may a longer Age endure. V. But O young beauty of the Woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the Flowers, but spare the Buds; Lest Flora angry at thy crime, To kill her Infants in their prime, Do quickly make th' Example Yours; And, ere we see, Nip in the blossom all our hopes and Thee. Tom May's Death. AS one put drunk into the Packet-boat, Tom May was hurried hence and did not know't. But was amazed on the Elysian side, And with an Eye uncertain, gazing wide, Could not determine in what place he was, For whence in Stevens ally Trees or Grass. Nor where the Pope's head, nor the Mitre lay, Signs by which still he found and lost his way. At last while doubtfully he all compares, He saw near hand, as he imagined Ares. Such did he seem for corpulence and port, But 'twas a man much of another sort; 'Twas Ben that in the dusky Laurel shade Amongst the Chorus of old Poets laid, Sounding of ancient Heroes, such as were The Subject's Safety, and the Rebel's Fear. But how a double headed Vulture Eats, Brutus and Cassius the People's cheats. But seeing May he varied straight his Song, Gently to signify that he was wrong. Cups more than civil of Emilthian wine, I sing (said he) and the Pharsalian Sign, Where the Historian of the Commonwealth In his own Bowels sheathed the conquering health. By this May to himself and them was come, He found he was translated, and by whom. Yet then with foot as stumbling as his tongue Pressed for his place among the Learned throng. But Ben, who knew not neither foe nor friend, Sworn Enemy to all that do pretend, Rose more than ever he was seen severe, Shook his grey locks, and his own Bays did tear At this intrusion. Then with Laurel wand, The awful Sign of his supreme command. At whose dread Whisk Virgil himself does quake, And Horace patiently its stroke does take, As he crowds in he whipped him o'er the pate Like Pembroke at the Masque, and then did rate. Far from these blessed shades tread back again Most servile wit, and Mercenary Pen. Polydore, Lucan, Allan, Vandale, Goth, Malignant Poet and Historian both. Go seek the novice Statesmen, and obtrude On them some Roman cast similitude, Tell them of Liberty, the Stories fine, Until you all grow Consuls in your wine. Or thou Dictator of the glass bestow On him the Cato, this the Cicero. Transferring old Rome hither in your talk, As Bethlem's House did to Loretto walk. Foul Architect that hadst not Eye to see How ill the measures of these States agree. And who by Rome's example England lay, Those but to Lucan do continue May. But the nor Ignorance nor seeming good Misled, but malice fixed and understood. Because some one than thee more worthy wears The sacred Laurel, hence are all these tears? Must therefore all the World be set on flame, Because a Gazet writer missed his aim? And for a Tankard-bearing Muse must we As for the Basket Guelphs and Gibellines be? When the Sword glitters o'er the Judge's head, And fear has Coward Churchmen silenced, Then is the Poet's time, 'tis then he draws, And single fights forsaken Virtue's cause. He, when the wheel of Empire, whirleth back, And though the World disjointed Axel crack, Sings still of ancient Rights and better Times, Seeks wretched good, arraigns' successful Crimes. But thou base man first prostituted hast Our spotless knowledge and the studies chaste. Apostatising from our Arts and us, To turn the Chronicler to Spartacus. Yet wast thou taken hence with equal fate, Before thou couldst great Charles his death relate. But what will deeper wound thy little mind, Hast left surviving Davenant still behind Who laughs to see in this thy death renewed, Right Roman poverty and gratitude. Poor Poet thou, and grateful Senate they, Who thy last Reckoning did so largely pay. And with the public gravity would come, When thou hadst drunk thy last to lead thee home. If that can be thy home where Spencer lies And reverend Chaucer, but their dust does rise Against thee, and expels thee from their side, As th' Eagles Plumes from other birds divide. Nor here thy shade must dwell, Return, Return, Where Sulphrey Phlegeton does ever burn. The Cerberus with all his Jaws shall gnash; Megaera thou with all her Serpent's lash. Thou riveted unto Ixion's wheel Shalt break, and the perpetual Vulture feel. 'Tis just what Torments Poets ere did feign; Thou first Historically shouldst sustain. Thus by irrevocable Sentence cast, May only Master of these Revels past. And straight he vanished in a Cloud of pitch, Such as unto the Sabbath bears the Witch. The Match. I. NAture had long a Treasure made Of all her choicest store; Fearing, when She should be decayed, To beg in vain for more. II. Her Orientest Colours there, And Essences most pure, With sweetest Perfumes hoarded were, All as she thought secure. III. She seldom them unlocked, or used, But with the nicest care; For, with one grain of them diffused, She could the World repair. IV. But likeness soon together drew What she did separate lay; Of which one perfect Beauty grew, And that was Celia. V. Love wisely had of long fore-seen That he must once grow old; And therefore stored a Magazine, To save him from the cold. VI He kept the several Cells replete With Nitre thrice refined; The Naphta's and the Sulphurs heat, And all that burns the Mind. VII. He fortified the double Gate, And rarely thither came; For, with one Spark of these, he straight All Nature could inflame. VIII. Till, by vicinity so long, A nearer Way they sought; And, grown magnetically strong, Into each other wrought. IX. Thus all his fuel did unite To make one fire high: None ever burned so hot, so bright: And Celia that am I. X. So we alone the happy rest, Whilst all the World is poor, And have within ourselves possessed All Love's and Nature's store. The Mower against Gardens. LUxurious Man, to bring his Vice in use, Did after him the World seduce: And from the fields the Flowers and Plants allure, Where Nature was most plain and pure. He first enclosed within the Gardens square A dead and standing pool of Air: And a more luscious Earth for them did knead, Which stupefied them while it fed. The Pink grew then as double as his Mind; The nutriment did change the kind. With strange perfumes he did the Roses taint. And Flowers themselves were taught to paint. The Tulip, white, did for complexion seek; And learned to interline its cheek: Its Onion root they then so high did hold, That one was for a Meadow sold. Another World was searched, through Ocean's new. To find the Marvel of Peru. And yet these Rarities might be allowed, To Man, that sovereign thing and proud; Had he not dealt between the Bark and Tree, Forbidden mixtures there to see. No Plant now knew the Stock from which it came; He grafts upon the Wild the Tame: That the uncertain and adult rate fruit Might put the Palate in dispute. His green Seraglio has its Eunuches too; Lest any Tyrant him outdo. And in the Cherry he does Nature vex, To procreate without a Sex. 'Tis all enforced; the Fountain and the Grot; While the sweet Fields do lie forgot: Where willing Nature does to all dispense A wild and fragrant Innocence: And Fauns and Fairies do the Meadows till, More by their presence then their skill. Their Statues polished by some ancient hand, May to adorn the Gardens stand: But howsoever the Figures do excel, The Gods themselves with us do dwell. Damon the Mower. I. Hark how the Mower Damon Sung, With love of Juliana stung! While every thing did seem to paint The Scene more fit for his complaint. Like her fair Eyes the day was fair; But scorching like his amorous Care. Sharp like his Sith his Sorrow was, And withered like his Hopes the Grass. II. Oh what unusual Heats are here, Which thus our Sunburned Meadows sear! The Grass-hopper its pipe gives o'er; And hamstringed Frogs can dance no more. But in the brook the green Frog wades; And Grass-hoppers seek out the shades. Only the Snake, that kept within, Now glitters in its second skin. III. This heat the Sun could never raise, Nor Dog-star so inflames the days. It from an higher Beauty growth, Which burns the Fields and Mower both: Which made the Dog, and makes the Sun Hotter than his own Phaeton. Not July causeth these Extremes, But Juliana's scorching beams. IV. Tell me where I may pass the Fires Of the hot day, or hot desires. To what cool Cave shall I descend, Or to what gelid Fountain bend? Alas! I look for Ease in vain, When Remedies themselves complain. No moisture but my Tears do rest, Nor Cold but in her Icy Breast. V. How long wilt Thou, fair Shepherdess, Esteem me, and my Presents less? To Thee the harmless Snake I bring, Disarmed of its teeth and sting. To Thee Chameleons changing-hue, And Oak leaves tipped with honey due. Yet Thou ungrateful haste not sought Nor what they are, nor who them brought. VI I am the Mower Damon, known Through all the Meadows I have mown. On me the Morn her dew distils Before her darling Daffodils. And, if at Noon my toil me heat, The Sun himself lick's off my Sweat. While, going home, the Evening sweet In cowslip-water baths my feet. VII. What, though the piping Shepherd stock The plains with an unnum'red Flock, This scythe of mine discovers wide More ground than all his Sheep do hide. With this the golden fleece I shear Of all these Closes every Year. And though in Wool more poor than they, Yet am I richer far in Hay. VIII. Nor am I so deformed to sight, If in my scythe I looked right; In which I see my Picture done, As in a crescent Moon the Sun. The deathless Fairies take me oft To lead them in their Danses soft: And, when I tune myself to sing, About me they contract their Ring. IX. How happy might I still have mowed, Had not Love here his Thistles sowed! But now I all the day complain, Joining my Labour to my Pain; And with my Sith cut down the Grass, Yet still my Grief is where it was: But, when the Iron blunter grows, Sighing I whet my Sith and Woes. X. While thus he threw his Elbow round, Depopulating all the Ground, And, with his whistling Sith, does cut Each stroke between the Earth and Root, The edged Steel by careless chance Did into his own Ankle glance; And there among the Grass fell down, By his own Sith, the Mower mown. XI. Alas! said He, these hurts are slight To those that die by Love's despite. With Shepherds-purse, and Clowns-all-heal, The Blood I staunch, and Wound I seal. Only for him no Cure is found, Whom Julianas Eyes do wound. 'Tis death alone that this must do: For Death thou art a Mower too. The Mower to the Glowworms. I. YE living Lamps, by whose dear light The Nightingale does sit so late, And studying all the Summer-night, Her matchless Songs does meditate; II. Ye Country Comets, that portend No War, nor Prince's funeral, Shining unto no higher end Then to presage the Grasses shall; III. Ye Glowworms, whose officious Flame To wand'ring Mowers shows the way, That in the Night have lost their aim, And after foolish Fires do stray; IV. Your courteous Lights in vain you wast, Since Juliana here is come, For She my Mind hath so displaced That I shall never find my home. The Mower's Song. I. MY Mind was once the true survey Of all these Meadows fresh and gay; And in the greenness of the Grass Did see its Hopes as in a Glass; When Juliana came, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me. II. But these, while I with Sorrow pine, Grew more luxuriant still and fine; That not one Blade of Grass you spied, But had a Flower on either side; When Juliana came, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me. III. Unthankful Meadows, could you so A fellowship so true forego, And in your gaudy May-games meet, While I lay trodden under feet? When Juliana came, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me. IV. But what you in Compassion ought, Shall now by my Revenge be wrought: And Flowers, and Grass, and I and all, Will in one common Ruin fall. For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me. V. And thus, ye Meadows, which have been Companions of my thoughts more green, Shall now the Heraldry become With which I shall adorn my Tomb; For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me. Ametas and Thestylis making Hay-Ropes. I. Ametas. THink'st Thou that this Love can stand, Whilst Thou still dost say me nay? Love unpaid does soon disband: Love binds Love as Hay binds Hay. II. Thestylis. Think'st Thou that this Rope would twine If we both should turn one way? Where both parties so combine, Neither Love will twist nor Hay. III. Ametas. Thus you vain Excuses find, Which your self and us delay: And Love ties a Woman's Mind Loser then with Ropes of Hay. IV. Thestylis. What you cannot constant hope Must be taken as you may. V. Ametas. Then let's both lay by our Rope, And go kiss within the Hay. Music's Empire. I. FIrst was the World as one great Cymbal made, Where Jarring Winds to infant Nature played. All Music was a solitary sound, To hollow Rocks and murmuring Fountains bound. II. Jubal first made the wilder Notes agree; And Jubal tuned Music's Jubilee: He called the Echoes from their sullen Cell, And built the Organs City where they dwell. III. Each sought a consort in that lovely place; And Virgin Trebles wed the manly Base. From whence the Progeny of numbers new Into harmonious Colonies withdrew. IV. Some to the Lute, some to the Viol went, And others chose the Cornet eloquent. These practising the Wind, and those the Wire, To sing men's Triumphs, or in Heaven's choir. V. Then Music, the Mosaique of the Air, Did of all these a solemn noise prepare: With which She gained the Empire of the Ear, Including all between the Earth and Sphere. VII. Victorious sounds▪ yet here your Homage do Unto a gentler Conqueror than you; Who though He flies the Music of his praise, Would with you Heavens Hallelujahs raise. The Garden. I. HOW vainly men themselves amaze To win the Palm, the Oak, or Bays; And their uncessant Labours see Crowned from some single Herb or Tree, Whose short and narrow verged Shade Does prudently their Toils upbraid; While all Flowers and all Trees do close To wove the Garlands of repose. II. Fair quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence thy Sister dear! Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy Companies of Men. Your sacred Plants, if here below, Only among the Plants will grow. Society is all but rude, To this delicious Solitude. III. No white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. Fond Lovers, cruel as their Flame, Cut in these Trees their Mistress name. Little, Alas, they know, or heed, How far these Beauties Hers exceed! Fair Trees! where s'eer you barks I wound, No Name shall but your own be found. IV. When we have run our Passions heat, Love hither makes his best retreat. The Gods, that mortal Beauty chase, Still in a Tree did end their race. Apollo hunted Daphne so, Only that She might Laurel grow. And Pan did after Syrinx speed, Not as a Nymph, but for a Reed. V. What wondrous Life in this I lead! Ripe Apples drop about my head; The Luscious Clusters of the Vine Upon my Mouth do crush their Wine; The Nectaren, and curious Peach, Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on Melons, as I pass, Ensnared with Flowers, I fall on Grass. VI Mean while the Mind, from pleasure less, Withdraws into its happiness: The Mind, that Ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other Worlds, and other Seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green Thought in a green Shade. VII. Here at the Fountains sliding foot, Or at some Fruit-trees mossy root, Casting the Body's Vest aside, My Soul into the boughs does glide: There like a Bird it sits, and sings, Then whets, and combs its silver Wings; And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its Plumes the various Light. VIII. Such was that happy Garden-state, While Man there walked without a Mate: After a Place so pure, and sweet, What other Help could yet be meet! But 'twas beyond a Mortal's share To wander solitary there: Two Paradises 'twere in one To live in Paradise alone. IX. How well the skilful Gardner drew Of flowers and herbs this Dial new; Where from above the milder Sun Does through a fragrant Zodiac run; And, as it works, th' industrious Bee Computes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome Hours Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers! Hortus. QUisnam adeo, mortale genus, praecordia versat? Heu Palmae, Laurique furor, vel simplieis Herbae! Arbor ut indomitos ornet vix una labores; Tempora nec foliis praecingat tota malignis. Dum simul implexi, tranquillae ad serta Quiaetis, Omnigeni coeunt Flores, integraque Sylva. Alma Quies, teneo te! & te Germana Quietis Simplicitas! Vos ergo diu per Templa, per urbes, Quaesivi, Regum per que alta Palatia frustra. Sed vos Hotrorum per opaca silentia longe Celarant Plantae virides, & concolor Umbra. O! mihi si vestros liceat violasse recessus. Erranti, lasso, & vitae melioris anhelo, Municipem servate novum, votoque potitum, Frondosae Cives optate in florea Regna. Me quoque, vos Musae, &, te conscie testor Apollo, Non Armenta juvant hominum, Circique boatus, Mugitusve Fori; sed me Penetralia veris, Horroresque trahunt muti, & Consortia sola. Virgineae quem non suspendit Gratia formae? Quam candore Nives vincentum, Ostrumque rubore, Vestra tamen viridis superet (me judice) Virtus. Nec foliis certare Comae, nec Brachia ramis, Nec possint tremulos voces aequare susurros. Ab quoties saevos vidi (quis credat?) Amantes Sculpentes Dominae potiori in cortice nomen? Nec puduit truncis inscribere vulner a sacris. Ast Ego, si vestras unquam temer a vero stirpes, Nulla Neaera, Chloe, Faustina, Corynna, legetur In proprio sed quaeque libro signabitur Arbos. O charae Platanus, Cyparissus, Populus, Ulnus! Hic Amor, exutis crepidatus inambulat alis, Enerves arcus & stridula tela reponens, Invertitque faces, nec se cupit usque timeri; Aut experrectus jacet, indormitque pharetrae; Non auditurus quanquam Cytherea vocarit; Nequitias referuut nec somnia vana priores. Laetantur Superi, defer vescente Tyranno, Et licet experti toties Nymphasque Deasque, Arbore nunc melius potiuntur quisque cupita. Jupiter annosam, neglecta conjuge, Quercum Deperit; haud alia doluit sic pellice Juno. Lemniacum temerant vestigia nulla Cubile, Nec Veneris Mavors meminit si Fraxinus adsit. Formosae pressit Daphnes vestigia Phoebus Ut fieret Laurus; sed nil quaesiverat ultra. Capripes & peteret quòd Pan Syringa fugacem, Hoc erat ut Calamum posset reperire Sonorum. Desunt multa Nec tu, Opifex horti, grato sine carmine abibis: Qui brevibus plantis, & laeto flore, notasti Crescentes horas, atque intervalla diei. Sol ibi candidior fragrantia Signa pererrat; Proque truci Tauro, stricto pro forcipe Cancri, Securis violaeque rosaeque allabitur umbris. Sedula quin & Apis, mellito intenta labori, Horologo sua pensa thymo Signare videtur. Temporis O suaves lapsus! O Otia sana! O Herbis dignae numerari & Floribus Horae! To a Gentleman that only upon the sight of the Author's writing, had given a Character of his Person and Judgement of his Fortune. Illustrissimo Vero Domino Lanceloto Josepho de Maniban Grammatomantis. QUis posthac chartae committat sensa loquaci, Si sua crediderit Fata subesse stylo? Conscia si prodat Seribentis Litera sortem, Quicquid & in vita plus latuisse velit? Flexibus in calami tamen omnia sponte leguntur: Quod non significant Verba, Figura notat. Bellerophonteas signat sibi quisque Tabellas; Ignaramque Manum Spiritus intus agit. Nil praeter solitum sapiebat Epistola nostra, Exemplumque meae Simplicitatis erat. Fabula jucundos qualis delectat Amicos; Urbe, lepore, novis, carmine tota scatens. Hic tamen interpres quo non securior alter, (Non res, non voces, non ego notus ei) Rimatur fibras notularum cautus Aruspex, Scripturaeque inhians consulit extameae. Ind statim vitae casus, animique recessus Explicat; (haud Genio plura liquere putem.) Distribuit totum nostris eventibus orbem, Et quo me rapiat cardine Sphaera docet. Quae Sol oppositus, quae Mars adversa minetur, Jupiter aut ubi me, Luna, Venusque juvent. Ut trucis intentet mihi vulnera Cauda Draconis; Vipereo levet ut vulnera more Caput. Hinc mihi praeteriti rationes atque futuri Elicit; Astrologus certior Astronomo. Ut conjecturas nequeam discernere vero, Historiae superet sed Genitura fidem. Usque adeo caeli respondet pagina nostrae, Astrorum & nexus syllaba scripta refert. Scilicet & toti subsunt Oracula mundo, Dummodo tot foliis una Sibylla foret. Partum, Fortunae mater Natura, propinquum Mille modis monstrat mille per indicia: Ingentemque Uterum qua mole Puerpera solvat; Vivit at in praesens maxima pars hominum. Ast Tu sorte tuâ gaude Celeberrime Vatum; Scribe, sed haud superest qui tua fata legat. Nostra tamen si fas praesagia jungere vestris, Quo magis inspexti sydera spernis humum. Et, nisi stellarum fueris divina propago, Naupliada credam te Palamede satum. Qui dedit ex avium scriptoria signa volatu, Sydereaque idem nobilis arte fuit. Hinc utriusque tibi cognata scientia crevit, Nec minus augurium Litera quam dat Avis. Fleckno, an English Priest at Rome. Obliged by frequent visits of this man, Whom as Priest, Poet, and Musician, I for some branch of Melchizedeck took, (Though he derives himself from my Lord Brook) I sought his Lodging; which is at the Sign Of the sad Pelican; Subject divine For Poetry: There three Staircases high, Which signifies his triple property, I found at last a Chamber, as 'twas said, But seemed a Coffin set on the Stairs head. Not higher than seven, nor larger than three feet; Only there was nor Ceiling, nor a Sheet, Save that th' ingenious Door did as you come Turn in, and show to Wainscot half the Room. Yet of his State no man could have complained; There being no Bed where he entertained: And though within one Cell so narrow penned, He'd Stanza's for a whole Appartement. Strait without further information, In hideous verse, he, and a dismal tone, Begins to exercise; as if I were Possessed; and sure the Devil brought me there. But I, who now imagined myself brought To my last Trial, in a serious thought Calmed the disorders of my youthful Breast, And to my Martyrdom prepared Rest. Only this frail Ambition did remain, The last distemper of the sober Brain, That there had been some present to assure The future Ages how I did endure: And how I, silent, turned my burning Ear Towards the Verse; and when that could n Held him the other; and unchanged yet, Asked still for more, and prayed him to repeat: Till the Tyrant, weary to persecute, Left off, and tried t' allure me with his Lute. Now as two Instruments, to the same key Being tuned by Art, if the one touched be The other opposite as soon replies, Moved by the Air and hidden Sympathies; So while he with his gouty Fingers crawls Over the Lute, his murmuring Belly calls, Whose hungry Guts to the same straightness twined In Echo to the trembling Strings repined. ay, that perceived now what his Music meant, Asked civilly if he had eat this Lent. He answered yes; with such, and such an one. For he has this of generous, that alone He never feeds; save only when he tries With gristly Tongue to dart the passing Flies. I asked if he eat flesh. And he, that was So hungry that though ready to say Mass Would break his fast before, said he was Sick, And th' Ordinance was only Politic. Nor was I longer to invite him: Scant Happy at once to make him Protestant, And Silent. Nothing now Dinner stayed But till he had himself a Body made. I mean till he were dressed: for else so thin He stands, as if he only fed had been With consecrated Wafers: and the Host Hath sure more flesh and blood than he can boast. This Basso Relievo of a Man, Who as a Camel tall, yet easily can The Needle's Eye thread without any stitch, (His only impossible is to be rich) Lest his too subtle Body, growing rare, Should leave his Soul to wander in the Air, He therefore circumscribes himself in rhymes; And swaddled in's own papers seven times, Wears a close Jacket of poetic Buff, With which he doth his third Dimension Stuff. Thus armed underneath, he over all Does make a primitive Sotana fall; And above that yet casts an antic Cloak, Worn at the first Counsel of Antioch; Which by the Jews long hid, and Disesteemed, He heard of by Tradition, and redeemed. But were he not in this black habit decked, This half transparent Man would soon reflect Each colour that he passed by; and be seen, As the Chameleon, yellow, blue, or green. He dressed, and ready to disfurnish now His Chamber, whose compactness did allow No empty place for complementing doubt, But who came last is forced first to go out; I meet one on the Stairs who made me stand, Stopping the passage, and did him demand: I answered he is here Sir; but you see You cannot pass to him but thorough me. He thought himself affronted; and replied, I whom the Palace never has denied Will make the way here; I said Sir you'll do Me a great favour, for I seek to go. He gathering fury still made sign to draw; But himself there closed in a Scabbard saw As narrow as his Sword's; and I, that was Delightful, said there can no Body pass Except by penetration hither, where Two make a crowd, nor can three Persons here Consist but in one substance. Then, to fit Our peace, the Priest said I too had some wit: To prove't, I said, the place doth us invite But its own narrowness, Sir, to unite. He asked me pardon; and to make me way Went down, as I him followed to obey. But the propitiatory Priest had strait Obliged us, when below, to celebrate Together our atonement: so increased Betwixt us two the Dinner to a Feast. Let it suffice that we could eat in peace; And that both Poems did and Quarrels cease During the Table; though my new made Friend Did, as he threatened, ere 'twere long intent To be both witty and valiant: I loath, Said 'twas too late, he was already both. But now, Alas, my first Tormentor came, Who satisfied with eating, but not tame Turns to recite; though Judges most severe After th' Assizes dinner mild appear, And on full stomach do condemn but few: Yet he more strict my sentence doth renew; And draws out of the black box of his Breast Ten choir of paper in which he was dressed. Yet that which was a greater cruelty Than Nero's Poem he calls charity: And so the Pelican at his door hung Picks out the tender bosom to its young. Of all his Poems there he stands ungirt Save only two foul copies for his shirt: Yet these he promises as soon as clean. But how I loathed to see my Neighbour glean Those papers, which he peeled from within Like white fleaks rising from a Leaper's skin! More odious than those rags which the French youth At ordinaries after dinner show'th, When they compare their Chancres and Poulains. Yet he first kissed them, and after taketh pains To read; and then, because he understood (good. Not one Word, thought and swore that they were But all his praises could not now appease The provoked Author, whom it did displease To hear his Verses, by so just a curse, That were ill made condemned to be read worse: And how (impossible) he made yet more Absurdityes in them then were before. For he his untuned voice did fall or raise As a deaf Man upon a Viol plays, Making the half points and the periods run Confus'der than the atoms in the Sun. Thereat the Poet swelled, with anger full, And roared out, like Perillus in's own Bull; Sir you read false. That any one but you Should know the contrary. Whereat, I, now Made Mediator, in my room, said, Why? To say that you read false Sir is no Lye. Thereat the waxen Youth relented strait; But saw with sad despair that was too late. For the disdainful Poet was retired Home, his most furious satire to have fired Against the Rebel; who, at this struck dead, Wept bitterly as disinherited. Who should commend his Mistress now? Or who Praise him? both difficult indeed to do With truth. I counselled him to go in time, Ere the fierce Poets anger turned to rhyme. He hasted; and I, finding myself free, As one 'scaped strangely from Captivity, Have made the Chance be painted; and go now To hang it in Saint Peter's for a Vow. Dignissimo suo Amico Doctori Wittie. De Translatione Vulgi Errorum D. Primrosii. NEmpe sic innumero succrescunt agmine libri, Saepia vix toto ut jam natet una mari. Fortius assidui surgunt a vulnere proeli: Quoque magis pressa est, auctior Hydra redit. Heu quibus Anticyris, quibus est sanabilis herbis Improba scribendi pestis, avarus amor! India sola tenet tanti medicamina morbi, Dicitur & nostris ingemuisse malis. Utile Tabacci dedit illa miserta venenum, Acci veratro quod meliora potest. Jamque vides olidas libris fumare popinas: Naribus O doctis quam pretiosus odor! Hâc ego praecipua credo herbam dote placere, Hinc tuus has nebulas Doctor in astra vehit. Ah mea quid tandem facies timidissima charta? Exequias Siticen jam parat usque tuas. Hunc subeas librum Sansti ceu limen asyli, Quem neque delebit flamma, nec ira Jovis. To his worthy Friend Doctor Witty upon his Translation of the Popular Errors. SIT further, and make room for thine own fame, Where just desert enrolles thy honoured Name The good Interpreter. Some in this task Take of the Cypress vail, but leave a mask, Changing the Latin, but do more obscure That sense in English which was bright and pure. So of Translators they are Authors grown, For ill Translators make the Book their own. Others do strive with words and forced phrase To add such lustre, and so many rays, That but to make the Vessel shining, they Much of the precious Metal rub away. He is Translations thief that addeth more, As much as he that taketh from the Store Of the first Author. Here he maketh blots That mends; and added beauties are but spots. Caelia whose English doth more richly flow Then Tagus, purer than dissolved snow, And sweet as are her lips that speak it, she Now learns the tongues of France and Italy; But she is Caelia still: no other grace But her own smiles commend that lovely face; Her native beauty's not Italianated, Nor her chaste mind into the French translated: Her thoughts are English, though her sparkling wit With other Language doth them fitly fit. Translators learn of her: but stay I slide Down into Error with the Vulgar tide; Women must not teach here: the Doctor doth Stint them to Cawdles Almond-milk, and Broth. Now I reform, and surely so will all Whose happy Eyes on thy Translation fall, I see the people hastening to thy Book, Liking themselves the worse the more they look, And so disliking, that they nothing see Now worth the liking, but thy Book and thee. And (if I Judgement have) I censure right; For something guides my hand that I must write. You have Translations statutes best fulfilled. That handling neither sully nor would gild. On Mr. Milton's Paradise lost. WHen I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, In slender Book his vast Design unfold, Messiah Crowned, Gods Reconciled Decree, Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree, Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All; the Argument Held me a while misdoubting his Intent, That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) The sacred Truths to Fable and old Song, (So Samson groap'd the Temples Posts in spite) The World o'rewhelming to revenge his Sight. Yet as I read, soon growing less severe, I liked his Project, the success did fear; Through that wide Field how he his way should find O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; Lest he perplexed the things he would explain, And what was easy he should render vain. Or if a Work so infinite he spanned, Jealous I was that some less skilful hand (Such as disquiet always what is well, And by ill imitating would excel) Might hence presume the whole Creation's day To change in Scenes, and show it in a Play. Pardon me, mighty Poet, nor despise My causeless, yet not impious, surmise. But I am now convinced, and none will dare Within thy Labours to pretend a Share. Thou hast not missed one thought that could be fit, And all that was improper dost omit: So that no room is here for Writers left, But to detect their Ignorance or Theft. That Majesty which through thy Work doth Reign Draws the Devout, deterring the Profane. And things divine thou treats of in such state As them preserves, and Thee inviolate. At once delight and horror on us seize, Thou singest with so much gravity and ease; And above humane flight dost soar aloft, With Plume so strong, so equal, and so soft. The Bird named from that Paradise you sing So never Flags, but always keeps on Wing. Where couldst thou Words of such a compass find? Whence furnish such a vast expense of Mind? Just Heaven Thee, like Tiresias, to requite, Rewards with Prophecy thy loss of Sight. Well might thou scorn thy Readers to allure With tinkling Rhyme, of thy own Sense secure; While the Town-Bays writes all the while and spells, And like a Packhorse tires without his Bells. Their Fancies like our bushy Points appear, The Poet's tag them; we for fashion wear. I too transported by the Mode offend, And while I meant to Praise thee, must Commend. Thy verse created like thy Theme sublime, In Number, Weight, and Measure, needs not Rhyme. Inscribenda Luparae. COnsurgit Luparae Dum non imitabile culmen, Escuriale ingens uritur invidia. Aliter. Regibus haec posuit Ludovicus Templa futuris; Gratior ast ipsi Castra fuere Domus. Aliter. Hanc sibi Sydeream Ludovicus condidit Aulam; Nec se propterea credidit esse Deum. Aliter. Atria miraris, summotumque Aethera fecto; Nec tamen in toto est arctior Orbe Casa. Aliter. Instituente domum Ludovico, prodiit Orbis; Sic tamen angustos incolit ille Lares. Aliter. Sunt geminae Jani Portae, sunt Tecta Tonantis; Nec deerit Numen dum Ludovicus adect. Upon an Eunuch; a Poet. Fragment. NEC sterilem te crede; licet, mulieribus exul, Falcem virginiae nequeas immitere messi, Et nostro peccare modo. Tibi Fama perennè Praegnabit; rapiesque novem de monse Sorores; Et pariet modulos Echo repetita Nepotes. In the French translation of Lucan, by Monsieur De Brebeuf are these Verses. C'Est de luy que nous vient cet Art ingenieux De peindre la Parole, et deparler ava Yeux; Et, parles traits divers de figures tracees, Donner de la couleur et du corps aux pensees. Translated. Facundis dedit ille notis, interpret plumas Insinuare sonos oculis, & pingere voces, Et mentem chartis, oculis impertiit aurem. Senec. Traged. ex Thyeste Chor. 2. Stet quicunque volet potens Aulae culmine lubrico etc. Translated. CLimb at Court for me that will Tottering favours Pinnacle; All I seek is to lie still. Settled in some secret Nest In calm Leisure let me rest; And far of the public Stage Pass away my silent Age. Thus when without noise, unknown, I have lived out all my span, I shall die, without a groan, An old honest Country man. Who exposed to others eye's, Into his own Heart ne'er pry's, Death to him's a Strange surprise Janae Oxenbrigiae Epitaphium. JUxta hoc Marmor, breve Mortalitatis speculum, Exuviae jacent Janae Oxenbrigiae. Quae nobili, si id dixisse attinet, paterno Butleriorum, materno Claveringiorum genere orta, Johanni Oxenbrigio Collegii hujus socio nupsit. Prosperorum deinceps et adversorum ei Consors fidelissima. Quem, Religionis causa oberrantem, Usque ad incertam Bermudae Insulam secuta: Nec Mare vastum, nec tempestates horridas exhorruit: sed, delicato Corpore, quos non Labores ex antlavit? quae non, obivit Itinera? Tantum Mariti potuit Amor, sed magis Dei. Tandem cum, (redeunte conscientiarum libertate) in patriam redua, magnam partem Angliae cum Marito pervagata; qui laetus undequaque de novo disseminabat Evangelium. Ipsa maximum ministerii sui decus, & antiqua modestia eandem animarum capturam domi, quam ille foris exercens, hic tandem divino nutu cum illo consedit: Ubi pietatis erga Deum, conjugalis & materni affectus, erga proximos charitatis, omnium denique Virtutum Christianarum Exemplum degebat inimitabile. Donec quinque annorum hydrope laborans, per lenta incrementa ultra humani corporis modum intumuit. Anima interim spei plena, fidei ingens; Stagnanti humorum diluvio tranquille vehebatur. Et tandem, post 37. peregrinationis annos, 23 Apr. Anno 1658. Evolavit ad Coelos, tanquam Columba ex Arca Corporis: Cujus semper dulci, semper amarae memoriae, Moerens Maritus posuit. Flentibus juxta quatuor liberis, Daniele, Bathshua, Elizabetha, Maria. Johannis Trottii Epitaphium. Charissimo Filio etc. Pater & Mater etc. funebrem tabulam curavimus. AGe Marmor, & pro solita tua humanitate, (Ne inter Parentum Dolorem & Modestiam Supprimantur praeclari Juvenis meritae laudes) Effare Johannis Trotii breve Elogium. Erat ille totus Candidus, Politus, Solidus, Ultra vel Parii Marmoris metaphoram, Et Gemmâ Sculpi dignus, non Lapide: E Schola Wintoniensi ad Academiam Oxonii, Ind ad Interioris Templi Hospitium gradum fecerat: Summae Spei, Summae Indolis, ubique vestigia reliquit; Supra Sexum Venustus, Supra Aetatem Doctus, Ingeniosus supra Fidem. Et jam vicesimum tertium annum inierat, Pulcherrimo undequaque vitae prospectu, Quem Mors immatura obstruxit. Ferales Pustulae Corpus tam affabre factum Ludibrio habuere, & vivo incrustarunt sepulchro. Anima evasit Libera, Aeterna, Faelix, Et morti insultans Mortalem Sortem cum Foenore accipiet. Nos interim, meri vespillones, Parentes Filia extra ordinem Parentantes, Subtus in gentilitio crypta reliquias composuimus, Ipsi eandem ad Dei nutum subituri. Natus est etc. Mortuus etc. reviviscet Primo Resurrectionis. TO Sir John Trott, Honoured Sir, I Have not that vanity to believe, if you weigh your late Loss by the common balance, that any thing I can write to you should lighten your resentments: nor if you measure things by the rule of Christianity, do I think it needful to comfort you in your own duty and your Son's happiness. Only having a great esteem and affection for you, and the grateful memory of him that is departed being still green and fresh upon my Spirit, I cannot forbear to inquire how you have stood the second shock at your sad meeting of Friends in the Country. I know that the very sight of those who have been witnesses of our better Fortune, doth but serve to reinforce a Calamity. I know the contagion of grief, and infection of Tears, and especially when it runs in a blood. And I myself could sooner imitate then blame those innocent relent of Nature, so that they spring from tenderness only and humanity, not from an implacable sorrow. The Tears of a family may flow together like those little drops that compact the Rainbow, and if they be placed with the same advantage towards Heaven as those are to the Sun, they too have their splendour; and like that bow while they unbend into seasonable showers, yet they promise that there shall not be a second flood. But the dissoluteness of grief, the prodigality of sorrow is neither to be indulged in a man's self, nor complied within others. If that were allowable in these cases, Eli's was the readiest way and highest compliment of mourning, who fell back from his seat and broke his neck. But neither does that precedent hold. For though he had been Chancellor, and in effect King of Israel, for so many years; and such men value as themselves so their losses at an higher rate than other; yet when he heard that Israel was overcome, that his two Sons Hophni and Phineas were slain in one day, and saw himself so without hope of Issue, and which imbittered it further without succession to the Government, yet he fell not till the News that the Ark of God was taken. I pray God that we may never have the same parallel perfected in our public concernments. Then we shall need all the strength of Grace and Nature to support us. But upon a private loss, and sweetened with so many circumstances as yours, to be impatient, to be uncomfortable, would be to dispute with God and beg the question. Though in respect of an only gourd an only Son be inestimable, yet in comparison to God man bears a thousand times less proportion: so that it is like Jonah's sin to be angry at God for the withering of his Shadow. Zipporah, though the delay had almost cost her husband his life, yet when he did but circumcise her Son, in a womanish pevishness reproached Moses as a bloody husband. But if God take the Son himself, but spare the Father, shall we say that he is a bloody God. He that gave his own Son, may he not take ours? 'Tis pride that makes a Rebel. And nothing but the overweening of ourselves and our own things that raises us against divine Providence. Whereas Abraham's obedience was better than Sacrifice. And if God please to accept both, it is indeed a farther Trial, but a greater honour. I could say over upon this beaten occasion most of those lessons of morality and religion that have been so often repeated and are as soon forgotten. We abound with precept, but we want examples. You, Sir, that have all these things in your memory, and the clearness of whose Judgement is not to be obscured by any greater interposition, it remains that you be exemplary to others in your own practice. 'Tis true, it is an hard task to learn and teach at the same time. And, where yourself are the experiment, it is as if a man should dissect his own body and read the Anatomy Lecture. But I will not heighten the difficulty while I advise the attempt. Only, as in difficult things, you will do well to make use of all that may strengthen and assist you. The word of God: The society of good men: and the books of the Ancients. There is one way more, which is by diversion, business, and activity; which are also necessary to be used in their season. But I myself, who live to so little purpose, can have little authority or ability to advise you in it, who are a Person that are and may be much more so generally useful. All that I have been able to do since, hath been to write this sorry Elegy of your Son, which if it be as good as I could wish, it is as yet no undecent employment. However I know you will take any thing kindly from your very affectionate friend and most humble Servant. Edmundi Trotii Epitaphium. Charissimo Filio Edmundo Trotio Posuimus Pater & Mater Frustra superstites. LEgite Parentes, vanissimus hominum ordo, Figuli Filiorum, Substructores Hominum, Fartores Opum, Longi Speratores, Et nostro, si fas, sapite infortunio. Fuit Edmundus Trottius. E quatuor masculae stirpis residuus, Statura justa, Forma virili, specie eximio, Medio juventutis Robore simul & Flore, Aspectu, In cessu, sermone juxta amabilis, Et siquid ultra Cineri pretium addit. Honesta Disciplina domi imbutus, Peregre profectus Generosis Artibus Animum Et exercitiis Corpus firmaverat. Circaeam Insulam, Scopulos Sirenum Praeternavigavit, Et in hoc naufragio morum & saeculi Solus perdiderat nihil, auxit plurimum. Hinc erga Deum pietate, Erga nos Amore & Obsequio, Comitate erga Omnes, & intra se Modestia Insignis, & quantaevis fortunae capax: Delitiae Aequalium, Senum Plausus, Oculi Parentum, (nunc, ah, Lachrymae) In eo tandem peccavit quòd mortalis. Et fatali Pustularum morbo aspersus, Factus est (Ut verae Laudis Invidiam ficto Convitio levemus) Proditor Amicorum, Parricida Parentum, Familiae Spongia: Et Naturae invertens ordinem Nostri suique Contemptor, Mundi Desertor, defecit ad Deum. Undecimo Augusti; Aerae Christae 1667. Talis quum fuerit Calo non invidemus. An Epitaph upon— HEre under rests the body of 〈◊〉, who in his life-time reflected all the lustre he derived from his Family, and recompensed the Honour of his Descent by his Virtue. For being of an excellent Nature, he cultivated it nevertheless by all the best means of improvement: nor left any spot empty for the growth of Pride, or Vanity. So that, although he was polished to the utmost perfection, he appeared only as a Mirror for others, not himself to look in. Cheerful without Gall, Sober without Formality, Prudent without Stratagem; and Religious without Affectation. He neither neglected, nor yet pretended to Business: but as he loved not to make work, so not to leave it imperfect. He understood, but was not enamoured of Pleasure. He never came before in Injury, nor behind in Courtesy: nor found sweetness in any Revenge but that of Gratitude. He so studiously discharged the obligations of a Subject, a Son, a Friend, and an Husband, as if those relations could have consisted only on his part. Having thus walked upright, and easily through this World, nor contributed by any excess to his Mortality; yet Death took him: wherein therefore, as his last Duty, he signalised the more his former Life with all the Decency and Recumbence of a departing Christian. An Epitaph upon— ENough: and leave the rest to Fame. 'Tis to commend her but to name. Courtship, which living she declined, When dead to offer were unkind. Where never any could speak ill, Who would officious Praises spill? Nor can the truest Wit or Friend, Without Detracting, her commend. To say she lived a Virgin chaste, In this Age loose and all unlaced; Nor was, when Vice is so allowed, Of Virtue or ashamed, or proud; That her Soul was on Heaven so bent No Minute but it came and went; That ready her last Debt to pay She summed her Life up every day; Modest as Morn; as Midday bright; Gentle as Evening; cool as Night; 'Tis true: but all so weakly said; 'Twere more Significant, She's Dead. Epigramma in Duos montes Amosclivum Et Bilboreum. Farfacio. CErnis ut ingenti distinguant limit campum Montis Amos clivi Bilboreique juga! Ille stat indomitus turritis undique saxis: Cingit huic laetum Fraxinus alta Caput. Illi petra minax rigidis cervicibus horret: Huic quatiunt virides lenia colla jubas. Fulcit Atlanteo Rupes ea vertice coelos: Collis at hic humeros subjicit Herculeos. Hic ceu carceribus visum sylvaque coercet: Ille Oculos alter dum quasi meta trahit. Ille Giganteum surgit ceu Pelion Ossa: Hic agit ut Pindi culmine Nympha choros. Erectus, praeceps, salebrosus, & arduus ille: Aeclivis, placidus, mollis, amoenus bic est. Dissimilis Domino coiit Natura sub uno; Farfaciaque tremunt sub ditione pares. Dumque triumphanti terras perlabitur Axe, Praeteriens aequa stringit utrumque Rota. Asper in adversos, facilis cedentibus idem; Ut credas Montes extimulasse suos. Hi sunt Alcidae Borealis nempe Columnae, Quos medio scindit vallis opaca freto. An potius longe sic prona cacumina nutant, Parnassus cupiant esse Maria tuus. Upon the Hill and Grove at Bill-borow. To the Lord Fairfax. I. SEE how the arched Earth does here Rise in a perfect Hemisphere! The stiffest Compass could not strike A Line more circular and like; Nor softest Pencil draw a Brow So equal as this Hill does bow. It seems as for a Model laid, And that the World by it was made. II. Here learn ye Mountains more unjust, Which to abrupter greatness thrust, That do with your hook-shouldered height The Earth deform and Heaven frght. For whose excrescence ill designed, Nature must a new Centre find, Learn here those humble steps to tread, Which to securer Glory lead. III. See what a soft access and wide Lies open to its grassy side; Nor with the rugged path deterrs The feet of breathless Travellers. See then how courteous it ascends, And all the way it rises bends; Nor for itself the height does gain, But only strives to raise the Plain. IV. Yet thus it all the field commands, And in unenvied Greatness stands, Discerning forth then the Cliff Of Heaven-daring Teneriff. How glad the weary Seamen hast When they salute it from the Mast! By Night the Northern Star their way Directs, and this no less by Day. V. Upon its crest this Mountain grave A Plum of aged Trees does wave. No hostile hand durst ere invade With impious Steel the sacred Shade. For something always did appear Of the great Master's terror there: And Men could hear his Armour still Rattling through all the Grove and Hill. VI Fear of the Master, and respect Of the great Nymph did it protect; Vera the Nymph that him inspired, To whom he often here retired, And on these Oaks engraved her Name; Such Wounds alone these Woods became: But ere he well the Barks could part 'Twas writ already in their Heart. VII. For they ('tis credible) have sense, As We, of Love and Reverence, And underneath the Courser Rind The Genius of the house do bind. Hence they successes seem to know, And in their Lord's advancement grow; But in no Memory were seen As under this so straight and green. VIII. Yet now no further strive to shoot, Contented if they fix their Root. Nor to the winds uncertain gust, Their prudent Heads too far intrust. Only sometimes a fluttering Breeze Discourses with the breathing Trees; Which in their modest Whispers name Those Acts that swelled the Cheek of Fame. IX. Much other Groves, say they, than these And other Hills him once did please. Through Groves of Pikes he thundered then, And Mountains raised of dying Men. For all the Civic Garlands due To him our Branches are but few. Nor are our Trunks enough to bear The Trophies of one fertile Year. X. 'Tis true, the Trees nor ever spoke More certain Oracles in Oak. But Peace (if you his favour prize) That Courage its own Praises flies. Therefore to your obscurer Seats From his own Brightness he retreats: Nor he the Hills without the Groves, Nor Height but with Retirement loves. Upon Appleton House, to my Lord Fairfax. I. WIthin this sober Frame expect Work of no Foreign Architect; That unto Caves the Quarries drew, And Forests did to Pastures hue; Who of his great Design in pain Did for a Model vault his Brain, Whose Columns should so high be raised To arch the Brows that on them gazed. II. Why should of all things Man unruled Such unproportioned dwellings build? The Beasts are by their Denns expressed: And Birds contrive an equal Nest; The low roofed Tortoises do dwell In cases fit of Tortoise-shell: No Creature loves an empty space; Their Bodies measure out their Place. III. But He, superfluously spread, Demands more room alive then dead. And in his hollow Palace goes Where Winds as he themselves may lose. What need of all this Marble Crust T'impark the wanton Mose of Dust, That thinks by Breadth the World t'unite Though the first Builders failed in Height? IV. But all things are composed here Like Nature, orderly and near: In which we the Dimensions find Of that more sober Age and Mind, When larger sized Men did stoop To enter at a narrow loop; As practising, in doors so straight, To strain themselves through Heaven's Gate. V. And surely when the after Age Shall hither come in Pilgrimage, These sacred Places to adore, By Vere and Fairfax trod before, Men will dispute how their Extent Within such dwarfish Confines went: And some will smile at this, as well As Romulus his Belike Cell. VI Humility alone designs Those short but admirable Lines, By which, ungirt and unconstrained, Things greater are in less contained. Let others vainly strive t'immure The Circle in the Quadrature! These holy Mathematics can In every Figure equal Man. VII. Yet thus the laden House does sweat, And scarce endures the Master great: But where he comes the swelling Hall Stirs, and the Square grows Spherical; More by his Magnitude distressed, Then he is by its straitness pressed: And too officiously it slights That in itself which him delights. VIII. So Honour better Lowness bears, Then That unwonted Greatness wears. Height with a certain Grace does bend, But low Things clownishly ascend. And yet what needs there here Excuse▪ Where every Thing does answer Use? Where neatness nothing can condemn, Nor Pride invent what to contemn? IX. A Stately Frontispiece of Poor Adorns without the open Door: Nor less the Rooms within commends. Daily new Furniture of Friends. The House was built upon the Place Only as for a Mark of Grace; And for an Inn to entertain Its Lord a while, but not remain. X. Him Bishops-Hill, or Denton may, Or Bilbrough, better hold than they: But Nature here hath been so free As if she said leave this to me. Art would more neatly have defaced What she had laid so sweetly waste; In fragrant Gardens, shaddy Woods, Deep Meadows, and transparent Floods. XI. While with slow Eyes we these survey, And on each pleasant footstep stay, We opportunly may relate The Progress of this House's Fate. A Nunnery first gave it birth. For Virgin Buildings oft brought forth. And all that Neighbour-Ruine shows The Quarries whence this dwelling rose. XII. Near to this gloomy Cloister's Gates There dwelled the blooming Virgin Thwates; Fair beyond Measure, and an Heir Which might Deformity make fair. And oft She spent the Summer Suns Discoursing with the Suttle Nuns. Whence in these Words one to her weaved, (As 'twere by Chance) Thoughts long conceived. XIII. ‛ Within this holy leisure we ‛ Live innocently as you see. ‛ These Walls restrain the World without, ‛ But hedge our Liberty about. ‛ These Bars enclose that wider Den ‛ Of those wild Creatures, called Men. ‛ The Cloister outward shuts its Gates, ‛ And, from us, locks on them the Grates. XIV. ‛ Here we, in shining Armour white, ‛ Like Virgin Amazon's do fight. ‛ And our chaste Lamps we hourly trim, ‛ Jest the great Bridegroom find them dim. Our Orient Breathes perfumed are ‛ With insense of incessant Prayer. ‛ And Holy-water of our Tears ‛ Most strangely our Complexion clears. XV. ‛ Not Tears of Grief; but such as those ‛ With which calm Pleasure overflows; ‛ Or Pity, when we look on you ‛ That live without this happy Vow. ‛ How should we grieve that must be seen ‛ Each one a Spouse, and each a Queen; ‛ And can in Heaven hence behold Our brighter Robes and Crowns of Gold? XVI. ‛ When we have prayed all our Beads, ‛ Some One the holy Legend reads; ‛ While all the rest with Needles paint ‛ The Face and Graces of the Saint. ‛ But what the Linen can't receive ‛ They in their Lives do interweave. ‛ This Work the Saints best represents; ‛ That serves for Altar's Ornaments. XVII. ‛ But much it to our work would add ‛ If here your hand, your Face we had: ‛ By it we would our Lady touch; ‛ Yet thus She you resembles much. ‛ Some of your Features, as we sowed, ‛ Through every Shrine should be bestowed. ‛ And in one Beauty we would take ‛ Enough a thousand Saints to make. XVIII. ‛ And (for I dare not quench the Fire ‛ That me does for your good inspire) ‛ 'Twere Sacrilege a Mant t'admit To holy things, for Heaven fit. ‛ I see the Angels in a Crown ‛ On you the Lilies show'ring down: ‛ And round about you Glory breaks, ‛ That something more than humane speaks. XIX. ‛ All Beauty, when at such a height, ‛ Is so already consecrate. ‛ Fairfax I know; and long ere this ‛ Have marked the Youth, and what he is. ‛ But can he such a Rival seem ‛ For whom you Heaven should disesteem? ‛ Ah, no! and 'twould more Honour prove ‛ He your Devoto were, than Love. XX. ‛ Here live beloved, and obeyed: ‛ Each one your Sister, each your Maid. ‛ And, if our Rule seem strictly penned, ‛ The Rule itself to you shall bend. Our Abbess too, now far in Age, ‛ Doth your succession near presage. ‛ How soft the yoke on us would lie, ‛ Might such fair Hands as yours it tie! XXI. ‛ Your voice, the sweetest of the Choir, ‛ Shall draw Heaven nearer, raise us higher. ‛ And your Example, if our Head, ‛ Will soon us to perfection lead. ‛ Those Virtues to us all so dear, ‛ Will strait grow Sanctity when here: ‛ And that, once sprung, increase so fast Till Miracles it work at last. XXII. ‛ Nor is our Order yet so nice, ‛ Delight to banish as a Vice. ‛ Hear Pleasure Piety doth meet; ‛ One perfecting the other Sweet. ‛ So through the mortal fruit we boil ‛ The Sugars uncorrupting Oil: ‛ And that which perished while we pull, ‛ Is thus preserved clear and full. XXIII. ‛ For such indeed are all our Arts; ‛ Still handling Nature's finest Parts. ‛ Flowers dress the Altars; for the Clothes, ‛ The Sea-born Amber we compose; ‛ Balms for the grieved we draw; and Pasts ‛ We mould, as Baits for curious tastes. ‛ What need is here of Man? unless ‛ These as sweet Sins we should confess. XXIV. ‛ Each Night among us to your side ‛ Appoint a fresh and Virgin Bride; ‛ Whom if our Lord at midnight find, ‛ Yet Neither should be left behind. ‛ Where you may lie as chaste in Bed, ‛ As Pearls together billeted. ‛ All Night embracing Arm in Arm, ‛ Like Crystal pure with Cotton warm. XXV. ‛ But what is this to all the store ‛ Of Joys you see, and may make more! ‛ Try but a while, if you be wise: ‛ The Trial neither Costs, nor Ties. Now Fairfax seek her promised faith: Religion that dispensed hath; Which She hence forward does begin; The Nuns smooth Tongue has sucked her in. XXVI. Oft, though he knew it was in vain, Yet would he valiantly complain. ‛ Is this that Sanctity so great, ‛ An Art by which you finly'r cheat? ‛ Hypocrite Witches, hence avaunt, ‛ Who though in prison yet inchant! ‛ Death only can such Thiefs make fast, ‛ As rob though in the Dungeon cast. XXVII. ‛ Were there but, when this House was made, ‛ One Stone that a just Hand had laid, ‛ It must have fallen upon her Head ‛ Who first thou from thy Faith misled. ‛ And yet, how well soever meant, ‛ With them 'twould soon grow fraudulent: ‛ For like themselves they alter all, ‛ And vice infects the very Wall. XXVIII. ‛ But sure those Buildings last not long, ‛ Founded by Folly, kept by Wrong. ‛ I know what Fruit their Gardens yield, ‛ When they it think by Night concealed. ‛ Fly from their Vices. 'Tis thy state, ‛ Not Thee, that they would consecrate. ‛ Fly from their Ruin. How I fear ‛ Though guiltless lest thou perish there. XXIX. What should he do? He would respect Religion, but not Right neglect: For first Religion taught him Right, And dazzled not but cleared his sight. Sometimes resolved his Sword he draws, But reverenceth then the Laws: For Justice still that Courage led; First from a Judge, than Soldier bred. XXX. Small Honour would be in the Storm. The Court him grants the lawful Form; Which licenced either Peace or Force, To hinder the unjust Divorce. Yet still the Nuns his Right debarred, Standing upon their holy Guard. Ill-counselled Women, do you know Whom you resist, or what you do? XXXI. Is not this he whose Offspring fierce Shall fight through all the Universe; And with successive Valour try France, Poland, either Germany; Till one, as long since prophesied, His Horse through conquered Britain ride? Yet, against Fate, his Spouse they kept; And the great Race would intercept. XXXII. Some to the Breach against their Foes Their Wooden Saints in vain oppose. Another bolder stands at push With their old Holy-Water Brush. While the disjointed Abbess threads The gingling Chain-shot of her Beads. But their loudest Cannon were their Lungs; And sharpest Weapons were their Tongues. XXXIII. But, waving these aside like Flies, Young Fairfax through the Wall does rise. Then th' unfrequented Vault appeared, And superstitions vainly feared. The Relics false were set to view; Only the Jewels there were true. But truly bright and holy Thwaites That weeping at the Altar waits. XXXIIII. But the glad Youth away her bears, And to the Nuns bequeathes her Tears: Who guiltily their Prize bemoan, Like Gipsies that a Child hath stolen. Thenceforth (as when th' Enchantment ends The Castle vanishes or rends) The wasting Cloister with the rest Was in one instant dispossessed. XXXV. At the demolishing, this Seat To Fairfax fell as by Escheat. And what both Nuns and Founders willed 'Tis likely better thus fulfilled. For if the Virgin proved not theirs, The Cloister yet remained hers. Though many a Nun there made her Vow, 'Twas no Religious House till now. XXXVI. From that blessed Bed the Hero came, Whom France and Poland yet does fame: Who, when retired here to Peace, His warlike Studies could not cease; But laid these Gardens out in sport In the just Figure of a Fort; And with five Bastions it did sense, As aiming one for every Sense. XXXVII. When in the East the Morning Ray Hangs out the Colours of the Day, The Bee through these known Allies hums, Beating the Diana with its Drums. Then Flowers their drowsy Eyelids raise, Their Silken Ensigns each displays, And dries its Pan yet dank with Dew, And fills its Flask with Odours new. XXXVIII. These, as their Governor goes by, In fragrant Volleys they let fly; And to salute their Governess Again as great a charge they press: None for the Virgin Nymph; for She Seems with the Flowers a Flower to be. And think so still! though not compare With Breath so sweet, or Cheek so fair. XXXIX. Well shot ye Firemen! Oh how sweet, And round your equal Fires do meet; Whose shrill report no Ear can tell, But Echoes to the Eye and smell. See how the Flowers, as at Parade, Under their Colours stand displayed: Each Regiment in order grows, That of the Tulip Pinke and Rose. XL. But when the vigilant Patroul Of Stars walks round about the Pole, Their Leaves, that to the stalks are curled, Seem to their Staves the Ensigns furled. Then in some Flowers beloved Hut Each Bee as Sentinel is shut; And sleeps so too: but, if once stirred, She runs you through, or asks the Word. XLI. Oh Thou, that dear and happy Isle The Garden of the World ere while, Thou Puradise of four Seas, Which Heaven planted us to please, But, to exclude the World, did guard With watery if not flaming Sword; What luckless Apple did we taste, To make us Mortal, and The Waste? XLII. Unhappy! shall we never more That sweet Milltia restore, When Gardens only had their Towers, And all the Garrisons were Flowers, When Roses only Arms might bear, And Men did rosy Garlands wear? Tulips, in several Colours barred, Were then the Swissers of our Guard. XLIII. The Gardener had the Soldier's place, And his more gentle Forts did trace. The Nursery of all things green Was then the only Magazeen. The Winter Quarters were the Stoves, Where he the tender Plants removes. But War all this doth overgrow: We Ordinance Plant and Powder sow. XLIV. And yet their walks one on the Sod Who, had it pleased him and God, Might once have made our Gardens spring Fresh as his own and flourishing. But he preferred to the Cinque Ports These five imaginary Forts: And, in those half-dry Trenches, spanned Power which the Ocean might command. XLV. For he did, with his utmost Skill, Ambition weed, but Conscience till. Conscience, that Heaven-nursed Plant, Which most our Earthly Gardens want. A prickling leaf it bears, and such As that which shrinks at every touch; But Flowers eternal, and divine, That in the Crowns of Saints do shine. XLVI. The sight does from these Bastions ply, Th' invisible Artillery; And at proud Cawood Castle seems To point the Battery of its Beams. As if it quarrelled in the Seat Th' Ambition of its Prelate great. But o'er the Meads below it plays, Or innocently seems to gaze. XLVII. And now to the Abbyss I pass Of that unfathomable Grass, Where Men like Grasshoppers appear, But Grasshoppers are Giants there: They, in there squeaking Laugh, contemn Us as we walk more low than them: And, from the Precipices tall Of the green spir's, to us do call. XLVIII. To see Men through this Meadow Dive, We wonder how they rise alive. As, under Water, none does know Whether he fall through it or go. But, as the Mariners that sound, And show upon their Lead the Ground, They bring up Flowers so to be seen, And prove they've at the Bottom been. XLIX. No Scene that turns with Engines strange Does oftener than these Meadows change. For when the Sun the Grass hath vexed, The tawny Mowers enter next; Who seem like Israaliys to be, Walking on foot through a green Sea. To them the Grassy Deeps divide, And crowd a Lane to either Side. L. With whistling scythe, and Elbow strong, These Massacre the Grass along: While one, unknowing, carves the Rail, Whose yet unfeathered Quills her fail. The Edge all bloody from its Breast He draws, and does his stroke detest; Fearing the Flesh untimely mowed To him a Fate as black forebode. LI. But bloody Thestylis, that waits To bring the mowing Camp their Cates, Greedy as Kites has trust it up, And forthwith means on it to sup: When on another quick She lights, And cries, he called us Israelites; But now, to make his saying true, Rails rain for Quails, for Manna Dew. LII. Unhappy Birds! what does it boot To build below the Grasses Root; When Lowness is unsafe as Hight, And Chance o'ertakes what scapeth spite? And now your Orphan Parents Call Sounds your untimely Funeral. Death-Trumpets creak in such a Note, And 'tis the Sourdine in their Throat. LIII. Or sooner hatch or higher build: The Mower now commands the Field; In whose new Traverse seemeth wrought A Camp of Battle newly fought: Where, as the Meads with Hay, the Plain Lies quilted o'er with Bodies slain: The Women that with forks it fling, Do represent the Pillaging. LIV. And now the careless Victor's play, Dancing the Triumphs of the Hay; Where every Mower's wholesome Heat Smells like an Alexander's sweat. Their Females fragrant as the Mead Which they in Fairy Circles tread: When at their Dances End they kiss, Their newmade Hay not sweeter is. LV. When after this 'tis piled in Cocks, Like a calm Sea it shows the Rocks: We wondering in the River near How Boats among them safely steer. Or, like the Desert Memphis Sand, Short Pyramids of Hay do stand. And such the Roman Camps do rise In Hills for Soldiers Obsequies. LVI. This Scene again withdrawing brings A new and empty Face of things; A levelled space, as smooth and plain, As Clothes for Lily stretched to slain. The World when first created sure Was such a Table raze and pure. Or rather such is the Toril E'er the Bulls enter at Madril. LVII. For to this naked equal Flat, Which Levellers take Pattern at, The Villagers in common chase Their Cattle, which it closer raze; And what below the Sith increased Is pinched yet nearer by the Breast. Such, in the painted World, appeared Davenant with th' Universal Herd. LVIII. They seem within the polished Grass A Landscape drawn in Looking-Glass. And shrunk in the huge Pasture show As Spots, so shaped, on Faces do. Such Fleas, ere they approach the Eye, In Multiplying Glasses lie. They feed so wide, so slowly move, As Constellations do above. LIX. Then, to conclude these pleasant Acts, Denton sets open its Cataracts; And makes the Meadow truly be (What it but seemed before) a Sea. For, jealous of its Lords long stay, It tries t'invite him thus away. The River in itself is drowned, And Isl's th' astonish Cattle round. LX. Let others tell the Paradox, How Eels now bellow in the Ox; How Horses at their Tails do kick, Turned as they hang to Leeches quick; How Boats can over Bridge's sail; And Fishes do the Stables scale. How Salmon trespassing are found; And Pikes are taken in the Pound. LXI. But I, retiring from the Flood, Take Sanctuary in the Wood; And, while it lasts, myself embark In this yet green, yet growing Ark; Where the first Carpenter might best Fit Timber for his Keel have Pressed. And where all Creatures might have shares, Although in Armies, not in Pairs. LXII. The double Wood of ancient Stocks Linked in so thick, an Union locks, It like two Pedigrees appears, On one hand Fairfax, th' other Veres: Of whom though many fell in War, Yet more to Heaven shooting are: And, as they Nature's Cradle decked, Will in green Age her Hearse expect. LXIII. When first the Eye this Forest sees It seems indeed as Wood not Trees: As if their Neighbourhood so old To one great Trunk them all did mould. There the huge Bulk takes place, as meant To thrust up a Fifth Element; And stretches still so closely wedged As if the Night within were hedged. LXIV. Dark all without it knits; within It opens passable and thin; And in as lose an order grows, As the Corinthean Porticoes. The arching Boughs unite between The Columns of the Temple green; And underneath the winged Quires Echo about their tuned Fires. LXV. The Nightingale does here make choice To sing the Trials of her Voice. Low Shrubs she sits in, and adorns With Music high the squatted Thorns. But highest Oaks stoop down to hear, And listening Elders prick the Ear. The Thorn, lest it should hurt her, draws Within the Skin its shrunken claws. LXVI. But I have for my Music found A Sadder, yet more pleasing Sound: The Stock-doves, whose fair necks are graced With Nuptial Rings their Ensigns chaste; Yet always, for some Cause unknown, Sad pair unto the Elms they moan. O why should such a Couple mourn, That in so equal Flames do burn! LXVII. Then as I careless on the Bed Of gelid Straw-berryes do tread, And through the Hazles thick espy The hatching Thrastles shining Eye, The Heron from the Ashes top, The eldest of its young lets drop, As if it Stork-like did pretend That Tribute to its Lord to send. LXVIII. But most the Hewel's wonders are, Who here has the Holt-felsters care. He walks still upright from the Root, measuring the Timber with his Foot; And all the way, to keep it clean, Doth from the Bark the Wood-moths glean. He, with his Beak, examines well Which fit to stand and which to fallen. LXIX. The good he numbers up, and hacks; As if he marked them with the Ax. But where he, tinkling with his Beak, Does find the hollow Oak to speak, That for his building he designs, And through the tainted Side he mine's. Who could have thought the tallest Oak Should fall by such a feeble Strok '! LXX. Nor would it, had the Tree not fed. A Traitor-worm, within it bred. (As first our Flesh corrupt within Tempts impotent and bashful Sin. And yet that Worm triumphs not long, But serves to feed the Hewels young. While the Oak seems to fall content, Viewing the Treason's Punishment. LXXI. Thus I, easy Philosopher, Among the Birds and Trees confer: And little now to make me, wants Or of the Fowls, or of the Plants. Give me but Wings as they, and I Straight floating on the Air shall fly: Or turn me but, and you shall see I was but an inverted Tree. LXXII. Already I begin to call In their most learned Original: And where I Language want, my Signs The Bird upon the Bough divines; And more attentive there doth sit Then if She were with Lime-twigs knit. No Leaf does tremble in the Wind Which I returning cannot find. LXXIII. Out of these scattered Sibyls Leaves Strange Prophecies my Fancy weaves: And in one History consumes, Like Mexique Paintings, all the Plumes. What Rome, Greece, Palestine, ere said I in this light Mosaic read. Thrice happy he who, not mistake, Hath read in Nature's mystic Book. LXXIV. And see how Chance's better Wit Could with a Mask my studies hit! The Oak-Leaves me embroider all, Between which Caterpillars crawl: And Ivy, with familiar trails, Me licks, and clasps, and curls, and hales. Under this antic Cope I move Like some great Prelate of the Grove, LXXV. Then, languishing with ease, I toss On Pallets swollen of Velvet Moss; While the Wind, cooling through the Boughs, Flatters with Air my panting Brows. Thanks for my Rest ye Mossy Banks, And unto you cool Zephyr's Thanks, Who, as my Hair, my Thoughts too shed, And winnow from the Chaff my Head. LXXVI. How safe, methinks, and strong, behind These Trees have I encamped my Mind; Where Beauty, aiming at the Heart, Bends in some Tree its useless Dart; And where the World no certain Shot Can make, or me it toucheth not. But I on it securely play, And gall its Horsemen all the Day. LXXVII. Bind me ye Woodbines in your ' twines, Curl me about ye gadding Vines, And Oh so close your Circles lace, That I may never leave this Place: But, lest your Fetters prove too weak, Ere I your Silken Bondage break, Do you, O Brambles, chain me too, And courteous Briars nail me through. LXXVIII. Here in the Morning tie my Chain, Where the two Woods have made a Lane; While, like a Guard on either side, The Trees before their Lord divide; This, like a long and equal Thread, Betwixt two Labyrinths does lead. But, where the Floods did lately drown, There at the Evening stake me down. LXXIX. For now the Waves are fallen and dried, And now the Meadows fresher died; Whose Grass, with moister colour dashed, Seems as green Silks but newly washed. No Serpent new nor Crocodile Remains behind our little Nile; Unless itself you will mistake, Among these Meads the only Snake. LXXX. See in what wanton harmless folds It every where the Meadow holds; And it's yet muddy back doth lick, Till as a Crystal Mirror slick; Where all things gaze themselves, and doubt If they be in it or without. And for his shade which therein shines, Narcissus like, the Sun too pines. LXXXI. Oh what a Pleasure 'tis to hedge My Temples here with heavy sedge; Abandoning my lazy Side, Stretched as a Bank unto the Tide; Or to suspend my sliding Foot On the Osiers undermined Root, And in its Branches tough to hang, While at my Lines the Fish's twang! LXXXII. But now away my Hooks, my Quills, And Angles, idle Utensils. The young Maria walks to night: Hide trifling Youth thy Pleasure's slight. 'Twere shame that such judicious Eyes Should with such Toys a Man surprise; She that already is the Law Of all her Sex, her Ages Aw. LXXXIII. See how loose Nature, in respect To her, itself doth recollect; And every thing so wished and fine, Starts forth with to its Bonne Mine. The Sun himself, of Her aware, Seems to descend with greater Care; And lest She see him go to Bed, In blushing Clouds conceals his Head. LXXXIV. So when the Shadows laid asleep From underneath these Banks do creep; And on the River as it flows With 〈◊〉 Shuts begin to close; The modest Halcyon comes in sight, Flying betwixt the Day and Night; And such an horror calm and dumb, Admiring Nature does benumb. LXXXV. The viscous Air, wheresoever She fly, Follows and sucks her Azure die; The gellying Stream compacts below, If it might fix her shadow so; The stupid Fishes hang, as plain As Flies in Crystal overt'ane; And Men the silent Scene assist, Charmed with the Saphir-winged Mist. LXXXVI. Maria such, and so doth hush The World, and through the Evening rush. No newborn Comet such a Train Draws through the Sky, nor Star new-slain. For straight those giddy Rockets fail, Which from the putrid Earth exhale, But by her Flames, in Heaven tried, Nature is wholly vitrified. LXXXVII. 'Tis She that to these Gardens gave That wondrous Beauty which they have; She straightness on the Woods bestows; To Her the Meadow sweetness owes; Nothing could make the River be So Chrystal-pure but only She; She yet more Pure, Sweet, Streight, and Fa● Then Gardens, Woods, Meads, Rivers are. LXXXVIII. Therefore what first She on them spent, They gratefully again present. The Meadow Carpets where to tread; The Garden Flowers to Crown Her Head; And for a Glass the limpid Brook, Where She may all her Beauties look; But, since She would not have them seen, The Wood about her draws a Screen. LXXXIX. For She, to higher Beauties raised, Disdains to be for lesser praised. She counts her Beauty to converse In all the Languages as hers; Nor yet in those herself employs But for the Wisdom, not the Noise; Nor yet that Wisdom would affect, But as 'tis Heaven's Dialect. LXXXX. Blessed Nymph! that couldst so soon prevent Those Trains by Youth against thee meant; Tears (watery Shot that pierce the Mind;) And Sighs (Love's Cannon charged with Wind;) True Praise (That breaks through all defence;) And feigned complying Innocence; But knowing where this Ambush lay, She scaped the safe, but roughest Way. LXXXXI. This 'tis to have been from the first In a Domestic Heaven nursed, Under the Discipline severe Of Fairfax, and the starry Vere; Where not one object can come nigh But pure, and spotless as the Eye; And Goodness doth itself entail On Females, if there want a Male. LXXXXII. Go now fond Sex that on your Face Do all your useless Study place, Nor once at Vice your Brows dare knit Lest the smooth Forehead wrinkled sit: Yet your own Face shall at you grin, Through the Black-bag of your Skin; When knowledge only could have filled And Virtue all those Furrows tilled. LXXXXIII. Hence She with Graces more divine Supplies beyond her Sex the Line; And, like a sprig of Misleto, On the Fairfacian Oak does grow; Whence, for some universal good, The Priest shall cut the sacred Bud; While her glad Parents most rejoice, And make their Destiny their Choice. LXXXXIV. Mean time ye Fields, Springs, Bushes, Flowers, Where yet She leads her studious Hours, (Till Fate her worthily translates, And find a Fairfax for our Thwaites) Employ the means you have by Her, And in your kind yourselves prefer; That, as all Virgins She preceds, So you all Woods, Streams, Gardens, Meads. LXXXXV. For you Thessalian Tempe's Seat Shall now be scorned as obsolete; Aranjeuz, as less, disdained; The Bel-Retiro as constrained; But name not the Idalian Grove, For 'twas the Seat of wanton Love; Much less the Dead's Elysian Fields, Yet nor to them your Beauty yields. LXXXXVI. 'Tis not, what once it was, the World; But a rude heap together hurled; All negligently overthrown, Gulfs, Deserts, Precipices, Stone. Your lesser World contains the same. But in more decent Order tame; You Heaven's Centre, Nature's Lap. And Paradice's only Map. LXXXXVII. But now the Salmon-Fishers moist Their Leathern Boats begin to hoist; And, like Antipodes in Shoes, Have shod their Heads in their Canoes. How Tortoise like, but not so slow, These rational Amphibii go? Let's in: for the dark Hemisphere Does now like one of them appear. On the Victory obtained by Blake over the Spaniards, in the Bay of Sanctacruze, in the Island of Teneriff. 1657. NOW does Spain's Fleet her spacious wings unfold, Leaves the new World and hastens for the old: But though the wind was fair, they slowly swoome Frayted with acted Gild, and Gild to come: For this rich load, of which so proud they are, Was raised by Tyranny, and raised for War; Every capatious Galleons womb was filled, With what the Womb of wealthy Kingdoms yield, The new Worlds wounded Intails they had tore, For wealth wherewith to wound the old once more. Wealth which all others Avarice might cloy, But yet in them caused as much fear, as Joy. For now upon the Main, themselves they saw, That boundless Empire, where you give the Law, Of winds and waters rage, they fearful be, But much more fearful are your Flags to see. Day, that to those who sail upon the deep, More wished for, and more welcome is then sleep, They dreaded to behold, Lest the Sun's light, With English Streamers, should salute their sight: In thickest darkness they would choose to steer, So that such darkness might suppress their fear; At length theirs vanishes, and fortune smiles; For they behold the sweet Canary Isles; One of which doubtless is by Nature blest Above both Worlds, since 'tis above the rest. For least some Gloominess might slain her sky, Trees there the duty of the Clouds supply; O noble Trust which Heaven on this Isle pours, Fertile to be, yet never need her showers. A happy People, which at once do gain The benefits without the ills of rain. Both health and profit, Fate cannot deny; Where still the Earth is moist, the Air still dry; The jarring Elements no discord know, Fuel and Rain together kindly grow; And coolness there, with heat doth never fight, This only rules by day, and that by Night. Your worth to all these Isles, a just right brings, The best of Lands should have the best of Kings. And these want nothing Heaven can afford, Unless it be, the having you their Lord; But this great want, will not along one prove, Your Conquering Sword will soon that want remove. For Spain had better, she'll ere long confess, Have broken all her Swords, than this one Peace, Casting that League off, which she held so long, She cast off that which only made her strong. Forces and art, she soon will feel, are vain, Peace, against you, was the sole strength of Spain. By that alone those Islands she secures, Peace made them hers, but War will make them yours; There the indulgent Soil that rich Grape breeds, Which of the Gods the fancied drink exceeds; They still do yield, such is their precious mould, All that is good, and are not cursed with Gold. With fatal Gold, for still where that does grow, Neither the Soil, nor People quiet know. Which troubles men to raise it when 'tis Oar, And when 'tis raised, does trouble them much more. Ah, why was thither brought that cause of War, Kind Nature had from thence removed so far. In vain doth she those Islands free from Ill, If fortune can make guilty what she will. But whilst I draw that Scene, where you ere long, Shall conquests act, your present are unsung. For Sanctacruze the glad Fleet takes her way, And safely there casts Anchor in the Bay. Never so many with one joyful cry, That place saluted, where they all must die. Deluded men! Fate with you did but sport, You scap't the Sea, to perish in your Port. 'Twas more for England's fame you should die there, Where you had most of strength, and least of fear. The Peek's proud height, the Spaniards all admire, Yet in their breasts, carry a pride much higher. Only to this vast hill a power is given, At once both to Inhabit Earth and Heaven. But this stupendious Prospect did not near, Make them admire, so much as as they did fear. For here they met with news, which did produce, A grief, above the cure of Grapes best juice. They learned with Terror, that nor Summer's heat, Nor Winters storms, had made your Fleet retreat. To fight against such Foes, was vain they knew, Which did the rage of Elements subdue. Who on the Ocean that does horror give, To all besides, triumphantly do live. With hast they therefore all their Galleons moar, And flank with Cannon from the Neighbouring shore. Forts, Lines, and Sconces all the Bay along, They build and act all that can make them strong. Fond men who know not whilst such works they raise, They only Labour to exalt your praise. Yet they by restless toil, became at Length, So proud and confident of their made strength. That they with joy their boasting General heard, Wish then for that assault he lately feared. His wish he has, for now undaunted Blake, With winged speed, for Sanctacruze does make. For your renown, his conquering Fleet does ride, o'er Seas as vast as is the Spaniards pride. Whose Fleet and Trenches viewed, he soon did say, We to their Strength are more obilged than they. Were't not for that, they from their Fate would run, And a third World seek out our Arms to shun. Those Forts, which there, so high and strong appear, Do not so much suppress, as show their fear. Of Speedy Victory let no man doubt, Our worst works past, now we have found them out. Behold their Navy does at Anchor lie, And they are ours, for now they cannot fly. This said, the whole Fleet gave it their applause, And all assumes your courage, in your cause. That Bay they enter, which unto them owes, The noblest wreaths, that Victory bestows. Bold Stainer Leads, this Fleets designed by fate, To give him Laurel, as the Last did Plate. The Thundering Cannon now begins the Fight, And though it be at Noon, creates a Night. The Air was soon after the fight begun, Far more inflamed by it, then by the Sun. Never so burning was that Climate known, War turned the temperate, to the Torrid Zone. Fate these two Fleets, between both Worlds had brought. Who fight, as if for both those Worlds they fought. Thousands of ways, Thousands of men there die, Some Ships are sunk, some blown up in the sky. Nature never made Cedars so high a Spire, As Oakes did then, Urged by the active fire. Which by quick powders force, so high was sent, That it returned to its own Element. Torn Limbs some leagues into the Island fly, Whilst others lower, in the Sea do lie. Scarce souls from bodies severed are so far, By death, as bodies there were by the War. Th' allseeing Sun, near gazed on such a sight, Two dreadful Navies there at Anchor Fight. And neither have, or power, or will to fly, There one must Conquer, or there both must die. Far different Motives yet, engaged them thus, Necessity did them, but Choice did us. A choice which did the highest ●●rth express, And was attended by as high success. For your resistless genius there did Reign, By which we Laurels reaped even on the Main. So prosperous Stars, though absent to the sense, Bless those they shine for, by their Influence. Our Cannon now tears every Ship and Sconce, And o'er two Elements Triumphs at once. Their Galleons sunk, their wealth the Sea does fill, The only place where it can cause no Ill, Ah would those Treasures which both Indies have, Were buried in as large, and deep a grave, Wars chief support with them would buried be, And the Land owe her peace unto the Sea. Ages to come, your conquering Arms will bless, There they destroy, what had destroyed their Peace. And in one War the present age may boast, The certain seeds of many Wars are lost, All the Foes Ships destroyed, by Sea or fire, Victorious Blake, does from the Bay retire, His Siege of Spain he then again pursues, And there first brings of his success the news; The saddest news that ere to Spain was brought, Their rich Fleet sunk, and ours with Laurel fraught. Whilst fame in every place, her Trumpet blows, And tells the World, how much to you it owes. A Dialogue between Thyrsis and Dorinda. Dorinda. WHen Death, shall snatch us from these And shut up our divided Lids, (Kids, Tell me Thrisis, prithee do, Whither thou and I must go. Thyrsis. To the Elysium: (Dorinda) oh where is't? Thyrsis. A chaste Soul, can never missed. Dorinda. I know no way, but one, our home Is our Elysium? Thyrsis. Cast thine Eye to yonder Sky, There the milky way doth lie; 'Tis a sure but rugged way, That leads to Everlasting day. Dorinda. There Birds may nest, but how can I, That have no wings and cannot fly. Thyrsis. Do not sigh (fair Nymph) for fire Hath no wings, yet doth aspire Till it hit, against the pole, Heaven's the Centre of the Soul. Dorinda. But in Elysium how do they Pass Eternity away. Thyrsis. Ho, there's, neither hope nor fear there's no Wolf, no Fox, no Bear. No need of Dog to fetch our stray, Our Lightfoot we may give away, And there most sweetly thine Ear May feast with Music of the Sphere. How I my future state By silent thinking, Antedate: I prithee let us spend, our time come, In talking of Elysium. Thyrsis. Then I'll go on: There, sheep are full Of softest grass, and softest wool; There, birds sing Consorts, garlands grow, Cold winds do whisper, springs do flow. There, always is, a rising Sun, And day is ever, but begun. Shepherd's there, bear equal sway, And every Nimph's a Queen of May. Dorinda. Ah me, ah me. Thyrsis. Dorinda, why dost Cry? Dorinda. I'm sick, I'm sick, and fain would die: Convinced me now, that this is true; By bidding, with me, all adieu I cannot live, without thee, I Will for thee, much more with thee die. Dorinda. Then let us give Corellia charge o'th' Sheep, And thou and I'll pick poppies and them steep In wine, and drink on't even till we weep, So shall we smoothly pass away in sleep. The Character of Holland. HOlland, that scarce deserves the name of Land, As but th'Off-scouring of the British Sand; And so much Earth as was contributed By English Pilots when they heaved the Lead; Or what by th'ocean's slow alluvion fell, Of shipwrackt Cockle and the Muscleshell; This indigested vomit of the Sea Fell to the Dutch by just Propriety. Glad then, as Miners that have found the Oar, They with mad labour fished the Land to Shoar; And dived as desperately for each piece Of Earth, as if't had been of Ambergris; Collecting anxiously small Loads of Clay, Less than what building Swallows bear away; Or then those Pills which sordid Beetles roll, Tranfusing into them their Dunghill Soul. How did they rivet, with Gigantic Piles, Through the Centre their new-catched Miles; And to the stake a struggling Country bound, Where barking Waves still bait the forced Ground; Building their watery Babel far more high To reach the Sea, than those to scale the Sky. Yet still his claim the Injured Ocean laid, And oft at Leapfrog o'er their Steeples played: As if on purpose it on Land had come To show them what's their Mare Liberum. A daily deluge over them does boil; The Earth and Water play at Level-coyl; The Fish ofttimes the Burger dispossessed; And sat not as a Meat but as a Guest; And oft the Tritons and the Sea-Nymphs saw Whole shoals of Dutch served up for Cabillau; Or as they over the new Level ranged For pickled Herring, pickled Heeren changed. Nature, it seemed, ashamed of her mistake, Would throw their Land away at Duck and Drake. Therefore Necessity, that first made Kings, Something like Government among them brings. For as with Pigmies who best kills the Crane, Among the hungry he that treasures Grain, Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns, So rules among the drowned he that drains. Not who first see the rising Sun commands, But who could first discern the rising Lands. Who best could know to pump an Earth so leak Him they their Lord and Country's Father speak. To make a Bank was a great Plot of State; Invent a Shov'l and be a Magistrate. Hence some small Dyke-grave unperceived invades The Power, and grows as 'twere a King of Spades. But for less envy some joint States endures, Who look like a Commission of the Sewers. For these Half-anders, half wet, and half dry, Nor bear strict service, nor pure Liberty. 'Tis probable Religion after this Came next in order; which they could not miss. How could the Dutch but be converted, when Th' Apostles were so many Fishermen? Besides the Waters of themselves did rise, And, as their Land, so them did re-baptize. Though Herring for their God few voices missed, And Poor-John to have been th' Evangelist. Faith, that could never. Twins conceive before, Never so fertile, spawned upon this shore: More pregnant than their Margaret, that laid down For Hans-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town. Sure when Religion did itself embark, And from the East would Westward steer its Ark, It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground, Each one thence pillaged the first piece he found: Hence Amsterdam, Turk-Christian-Pagan-Jew, Staple of Sects and Mint of Schism grew; That Bank of Conscience, where not one so strange Opinion but finds Credit, and Exchange. In vain for Catholics ourselves we bear; The universal Church is only there. Nor can Civility there want for Tillage, Where wisely for their Court they chose a Village. How fit a Title clothes their Governors, Themselves the Hogs as all their Subjects Boars! Let it suffice to give their Country Fame That it had one Civilis called by Name, Some Fifteen hundred and more years ago; But surely never any that was so. See but their Mairmaids with their Tails of Fish, Reeking at Church over the Chasing-Dish. A vestal Turfenshrined in Earthen Ware Fumes through the loopholes of wooden Square. Each to the Temple with these Altars tend, But still does place it at her Western End: While the fat steam of Female Sacrifice Fills the Priests Nostrils and puts out his Eyes. Or what a Spectacle the Skipper gross, A Water-Hercules Butter-Coloss, Turned up with all their several Towns of Beer; When staggering upon some Land, Snick and Sneer, They try, like Statuaries, if they can, Cut out each others Athos to a Man: And carve in their large Bodies, where they please, The Arms of the United Provinces. But when such Amity at home is showed; What then are their confederacies abroad? Let this one curtsy witness all the rest; When their whole Navy they together pressed, Not Christian Captives to redeem from Bands: Or intercept the Western golden Sands: No, but all ancient Rights and Leagues must veil, Rather than to the English strike their fail; To whom their weatherbeaten Province owes Itself, when as some greater Vessel tows A Cockboat tossed with the same wind and fate; We buoyed so often up their sinking State. Was this Jus Belli & Pacis; could this be Cause why their Burgomaster of the Sea Rammed with Gunpowder, flaming with Brand wine, Should raging hold his Linstock to the Mine? While, with feigned Treaties, they invade by stealth Our sore new circumcised Common wealth. Yet of his vain Attempt no more he sees Then of Case-Butter shot and Bullet-Cheese. And the torn Navy staggered with him home, While the Sea laughed itself into a foam, 'Tis true since that (as fortune kindly sports,) A wholesome Danger drove us to our Ports. While half their banished keels the Tempest tossed, Half bound at home in Prison to the frost: That ours mean time at leisure might careen, In a calm Winter, under Skies Serene. As the obsequious Air and Water's rest, Till the dear Halcyon hatch out all its nest. The Common wealth doth by its losses grow; And, like its own Seas, only Ebbs to flow. Besides that very Agitation laves, And purges out the corruptible waves. And now again our armed Bucentore Doth yearly their Sea-Nuptials restore. And how the Hydra of seven Provinces Is strangled by our Infant Hercules. Their Tortoise wants its vainly stretched neck; Their Navy all our Conquest or our Wreck: Or, what is left, their Carthage overcome Would render fain unto our better Rome. Unless our Senate, lest their Youth disuse, The War, (but who would) Peace if begged refuse. For now of nothing may our State despair, Darling of Heaven, and of Men the Care; Provided that they be what they have been, Watchful abroad, and honest still within. For while our Neptune doth a Trident shake, (Blake, Steeled with those piercing Heads, Dean, Monck and And while Jove governs in the highest Sphere, Vainly in Hell let Pluto domineer. An Horation Ode upon Cromwel's Return from Ireland. THE forward Youth that would appear Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the Shadows sing His Numbers languishing. 'Tis time to leave the Books in dust, And oil th' unused Armours rust: Removing from the Wall The Corslet of the Hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease In the inglorious Arts of Peace, But through adventurous War Urged his active Star. And, like the three-forked Lightning, first Breaking the Clouds where it was nursed, Did through his own Side His fiery way divide. For 'tis all one to Courage high The Emulous or Enemy; And with such to enclose Is more than to oppose. Then burning through the Air he went, And Palaces and Temples rend: And Caesar's head at last Did through his Laurels blast. 'Tis Madness to resist or blame The force of angry Heaven's flame: And, if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due. Who, from his private Gardens, where He lived reserved and austere, As if his hightest plot To plant the Bergamot, Could by industrious Valour climb To ruin the great Work of Time, And cast the Kingdom old Into another Mould. Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient Rights in vain: But those do hold or break As Men are strong or weak. Nature that hateth emptiness, Allows of penetration less: And therefore must make room Where greater Spirits come. What Field of all the Civil Wars, Where his were not the deepest Scars? And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser Art. Where, twining subtle fears with hope, He wove a Net of such a scope, That Charles himself might chase To Caresbrooks' narrow case. That thence the Royal Actor born The Tragic Scaffold might adorn: While round the armed Bands Did clap their bloody hands. He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable Scene: But with his keener Eye The Axes edge did try: Nor called the Gods with vulgar spite To vindicate his helpless Right, But bowed his comely Head, Down as upon a Bed. This was that memorable Hour Which first assured the forced Power. So when they did design The Capitols first Line, A bleeding Head where they begun, Did fright the Architects to run; And yet in that the State Foresaw its happy Fate. And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one Year tamed: So much one Man can do, That does both act and know. They can affirm his Praises best, And have, though overcome, confessed How good he is, how just, And fit for highest Trust: Nor yet grown stiffer with Command, But still in the Republick's hand: How fit he is to sway That can so well obey. He to the Common Feet presents A Kingdom, for his first years rents: And, what he may, forbears His Fame to make it theirs: And has his Sword and Spoils ungirt, To lay them at the Publick's skirt. So when the Falcon high Falls heavy from the Sky, She, having killed, no more does search, But on the next green Bow to perch; Where, when he first does lure, The Falconer has her sure. What may not then our Isle presume While Victory his Crest does plume! What may not others fear If thus he crown each Year! A Caesar he ere long to Gaul, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all States not free Shall Clymacterick be. The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his particoloured Mind; But from this Valour sad Shrink underneath the Plad: Happy if in the tufted brake The English Hunter him mistake; Nor lay his Hounds in near The Caledonian Deer. But thou the Wars and Fortune's Son March indefatigably on; And for the last effect Still keep thy Sword erect: Besides the force it has to fright The Spirits of the shady Night, The same Arts that did gain A Power must it maintain. THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY Of the Government under O. C. LIke the vain Curl of the Watery maze, (raise; Which in smooth streams a sinking Weight does So Man, declining always, disappears In the weak Circles of increasing Years; And his short Tumults of themselves Compose, While flowing Time above his Head does close. Cromwell alone with greater Vigour runs, (Sunlike) the Stages of succeeding Suns: And still the Day which he doth next restore, Is the just Wonder of the Day before. Cromwell alone doth with new Lustre spring, And shines the Jewel of the yearly Ring. 'Tis he the force of scattered Time contracts, And in one Year the work of Ages acts: While heavy Monarches make a wide Return, Longer, and more Malignant than Saturn: And though they all Platonique years should reign, In the same Posture would be found again. Their earthy Projects under ground they lay; More slow and brittle then the China clay: Well may they strive to leave them to their Son, For one Thing never was by one King done. Yet some more active for a Frontier Town Took in by Proxy, begs a false Renown; Another triumphs at the public Cost, And will have Won, if he no more have Lost; They fight by Others, but in Person wrong, And only are against their Subjects strong; Their other Wars seem but a feigned contest, This Common Enemy is still oppressed; If Conquerors, on them they turn their might; If Conquered, on them they wreak their Spite: They neither build the Temple in their days, Nor Matter for succeeding Founders raise; Nor sacred Prophecies consult within, Much less themselves to perfect them begin; No other care they bear of things above, But with Astrologers divine, and Jove, To know how long their Planet yet Reprives From the deserved Fate their guilty lives: Thus (Image-like) and useless time they tell, And with vain Sceptre strike the hourly Bell; Nor more contribute to the state of Things, Then wooden Heads unto the Viols strings. While indefatigable Cromwell hies, And cuts his way still nearer to the Skies, Learning a Music in the Region clear, To tune this lower to that higher Sphere. So when Amphion did the Lute command, Which the God gave him, with his gentle hand, The rougher Stones, unto his Measures hewed, Dansed up in order from the Quarreys' rude; This took a Lower, that an Higher place, As he the Treble altered, or the Base: No Note he struck, but a new Story laid, And the great Work ascended while he played. The listening Structures he with Wonder eyed, And still new Stopps to various Time applied: Now through the Strings a Martial rage he throws, And joing straight the Theban Tower arose; Then as he strokes them with a Touch more sweet, The flocking Marbles in a Palace meet; But, for he most the graver Notes did try, Therefore the Temples reared their Columns high: Thus, ere he ceased, his sacred Lute creates Th'harmonious City of the seven Gates. Such was that wondrous Order and Consent, When Cromwell tuned the ruling Instrument; While tedious Statesmen many years did hack, Framing a Liberty that still went back; Whose numerous Gorge could swallow in an hour That Island, which the Sea cannot devour: Then our Amphion issues out and sings, And once he struck, and twice, the powerful Strings. The Commonwealth than first together came, And each one entered in the willing Frame; All other Matter yields, and may be ruled; But who the Minds of stubborn Men can build? No Quarry bears a Stone so hardly wrought, Nor with such labour from its Centre brought; None to be sunk in the Foundation bends, Each in the House the highest Place contends, And each the Hand that lays him will direct, And some fall back upon the Architect; Yet all composed by his attractive Song, Into the Animated City throng. (all The Commonwealth does through their Centres Draw the Circumf'rence of the public Wall; The crossest Spirits here do take their part, fastening the Contignation which they thwart; And they, whose Nature leads them to divide, Uphold, this one, and that the other Side; But the most Equal still sustain the Height, And they as Pillars keep the Work upright; While the resistance of opposed Minds, The Fabric as with Arches stronger binds, Which on the Basis of a Senate free, Knit by the Roofs Protecting weight agree. When for his Foot he thus a place had found, He hurls e'er since the World about him round; And in his several Aspects, like a Star, Here shines in Peace, and thither shoots a War. While by his Beams observing Princes steer, And wisely court the Influence they fear; O would they rather by his Pattern won. Kiss the approaching, nor yet angry Son; And in their numbered Footsteps humbly tread The path where holy Oracles do lead; How might they under such a Captain raise The great Designs kept for the latter Days! But mad with Reason, so miscalled, of State They know them not, and what they know not, hate Hence still they sing Hosanna to the Whore, And her whom they should Massacre adore: But Indians whom they should convert, subdue; Nor teach, but traffic with, or burn the Jew. Unhappy Princes, ignorantly bred, By Malice some, by Error more misled; If gracious Heaven to my Life give length, Leisure to Time, and to my Weakness Strength, Then shall I once with graver Accents shake Your Regal sloth, and your long Slumbers wake: Like the shrill Huntsman that prevents the East, Winding his Horn to Kings that chase the Beast. Till than my Muse shall hollow far behind Angelique Cromwell who outwings the wind; And in dark Nights, and in cold Days alone Pursues the Monster through every Throne: Which shrinking to her Roman Den impure, Gnashes her Gory teeth; nor there secure. Hence oft I think, if in some happy Hour High Grace should meet in one with highest Power, And then a seasonable People still Should bend to his, as he to Heavens will, What we might hope, what wonderful Effect From such a wished Conjuncture might reflect. Sure, the mysterious Work, where none withstand, Would forthwith finish under such a Hand: Foreshortned Time its useless Course would stay, And soon precipitate the latest Day. But a thick Cloud about that Morning lies, And intercepts the Beams of Mortal eyes, That 'tis the most which we determine can, If these the Times, than this must be the Man. And well he therefore does, and well has guest, Who in his Age has always forward pressed: And knowing not where Heaven's choice may light, Girds yet his Sword, and ready stands to fight; But Men alas, as if they nothing cared, Look on, all unconcerned, or unprepared; And Stars still fall, and still the Dragon's Tail Swings the Volumes of its horrid Flail. For the great Justice that did first suspend The World by Sin, does by the same extend. Hence that blessed Day still counterpoised wastes, The Ill delaying, what th'Elected hastes; Hence landing Nature to new Seas is tossed, And good Designs still with their Authors lost. And thou, great Cromwell, for whose happy birth A Mould was chosen out of better Earth; Whose Saintlike Mother we did lately see Live out an Age, long as a Pedigree; That she might seem, could we the Fall dispute, T'have smelled the Blossom, and not eat the Fruit; Though none does of more lasting Parents grow, But never any did them Honour so; Though thou thine Heart from Evil still unstained, And always hast thy Tongue from fraud refrained; Thou, who so oft through Storms of thundering Lead Hast born securely thine undaunted Head, Thy Breast through ponyarding Conspiracies, Drawn from the Sheath of lying Propheoys; Thee proof beyond all other Force or Skill, Our Sins endanger, and shall one day kill. How near they failed, and in thy sudden Fall At once assayed to overturn us all. Our brutish fury struggling to be Free, Hurried thy Horses while they hurried thee. When thou hadst almost quit thy Mortal cares, And soiled in Dust thy Crown of silver Hairs. Let this one Sorrow interweave among The other Glories of our yearly Song. Like skilful Looms which through the costly thread Of purling Ore, a shining wave do shed: So shall the Tears we on past Grief employ, Still as they trickle, glitter in our Joy. So with more Modesty we may be True, And speak as of the Dead the Praises due: While impious Men deceived with pleasure short, On their own Hopes shall find the Fall retort. But the poor Beasts wanting their noble Guide, What could they more? shrunk guiltily aside. First, winged Fear transports them far away, And leaden Sorrow then their flight did stay. See how they each his towering Crest abate, And the green Grass, and their known Mangers hate, Nor through wide Nostrils snuff the wanton air, Nor their round Hoofs, or curled Mane'scompare; With wand'ring Eyes, and restless Ears theystood, And with shrill Neighing asked him of the Wood Thou Cromwell falling, not a stupid Tree, Or Rock so savage, but it mourned for thee: And all about was heard a Panic groan, As if that Nature's self were overthrown. It seemed the Earth did from the Centre tear; It seemed the Sun was fallen out of the Sphere: Justice obstructed lay, and Reason fooled; Courage disheartened, and Religion cooled. A dismal Silence through the Palace went, And then loud Shrieks the vaulted Marbles rend. Such as the dying Chorus sings by turns, And to deaf Seas, and ruthless Tempests mourns, When now they sink, and now the plundering Streams Break up each Deck, and rip the Oaken seams. But thee triumphant hence the fiery Carr, And fiery Steeds had born out of the War, From the low World, and thankless Men above, Unto the Kingdom blest of Peace and Love: We only mourned ourselves, in thine Ascent, Whom thou hadst left beneath with Mantle rend. For all delight of Life thou then didst lose, When to Command, thou didst thyself Depose; Resigning up thy Privacy so dear, To turn the headstrong People's Charioteer; For to be Cromwell was a greater thing, Then ought below, or yet above a King: Therefore thou rather didst thyself depress, Yielding to Rule, because it made thee Less. For, neither didst thou from the first apply Thy sober Spirit unto things too High, But in thine own Fields exercisedst long, An healthful Mind within a Body strong; Till at the Seventh time thou in the Skies, As a small Cloud, like a Man's hand didst rise; Then did thick Mists and Winds the air deform, And down at last thou pow'rdst the fertile Storm; Which to the thirsty Land did plenty bring, But though forewarned, o'r-took and wet the King. What since he did, an higher Force him pushed Still from behind, and it before him rushed, Though undiscerned among the tumult blind, Who think those high Decrees by Man designed. 'Twas Heaven would not that his Power should cease, But walk still middle betwixt War and Peace; Choosing each Stone, and poising every weight, Trying the Measures of the Breadth and Height; Here pulling down, and there erecting New, Founding a firm State by Proportions true. When Gideon so did from the War retreat, Yet by the Conquest of two Kings grown great, He on the Peace extends a Warlike power, And Is'rel silent saw him raze the Tower; And how he Succoths Elders durst suppress, With Thorns and Briars of the Wilderness. No King might ever such a Force have done; Yet would not he be Lord, nor yet his Son. Thou with the same strength, and an Heart as plain, Didst (like thine Olive) still refuse to Reign; Though why should others all thy Labour spoil, And Brambles be anointed with thine Oil, Whose climbing Flame, without a timely stop, Had quickly Levelled every Cedar's top. Therefore first growing to thyself a Law, Th'ambitious Shrubs thou in just time didstaw. So have I seen at Sea, when whirling Winds, Hurry the Bark, but more the Seamens minds, Who with mistaken Course salute the Sand, And threatening Rocks misapprehend for Land; While baleful Tritons to the shipwreck guide. And Corposants along the Tackle slide. The Passengers all wearied out before, Giddy, and wishing for the fatal Shore; Some lusty Mate, who with more careful Eye Counted the Hours, and every Star did spy, The Helm does from the artless Steersman strain, And doubles back unto the safer Main. What though a while they grumble discontent, Saving himself he does their loss prevent. 'Tis not a Freedom, that where All command; Nor Tyranny, where One does them withstand: But who of both the Bounders knows to lay Him as their Father must the State obey. Thou, and thine House, like Noah's Eight did rest, Left by the Wars Flood on the Mountain's crest: And the large Vale lay subject to thy Will, Which thou but as an Husbandman would Till: And only didst for others plant the Vine Of Liberty, not drunken with its Wine. That sober Liberty which men may have, That they enjoy, but more they vainly crave: And such as to their Parents Tents do press, May show their own, not see his Nakedness. Yet such a Ch●mmish issue still does rage, The Shame and Plague both of the Land and Age, Who warched thy halting, and thy Fall deride, Rejoicing when thy Foot had slipped aside; That their new King might the fifth Sceptre shake, And make the World, by his Example, Quake: Whose frantic Army should they want for Men Might muster Heresies, so one were ten. What thy Misfortune, they the Spirit call, And their Religion only is to Fall. Oh Mahomet!. now couldst thou rise again, Thy Falling-sickness should have made thee Reign, While Feake and Simpson would in many a Tome, Have writ the Comments of thy sacred Foam: For soon thou mightst have passed among their Rant Were't but for thine unmoved Tulipant; As thou must needs have owned them of thy band For prophecies fit to be Alcorand. Accursed Locusts, whom your King does spit Out of the Centre of th'unbottomed Pit; wanderers, adulterers, Liars, Munser's rest, Sorcerers, Atheists, Jesuits, Possessed; You who the Scriptures and the Laws deface With the same liberty as Points and Lace; Oh Raze most hypocritically strict! Bend to reduce us to the ancient Pict; Well may you act the Adam and the Eve; Ay, and the Serpent too that did deceive. But the great Captain, now the danger's o'er, Makes you for his sake Tremble one fit more; And, to your spite, returning yet alive Does with himself all that is good revive. So when first Man did through the Morning new See the bright Sun his shining Race pursue, All day he followed with unwearied sight, Pleased with that other World of moving Light; But thought him when he missed his setting beams, Sunk in the Hills, or plunged below the Streams. While dismal blacks hung round the Universe, And Stars (like Tapers) burned upon his Hearse: And Owls and Ravens with their screeching noise Did make the funerals sadder by their Joys. His weeping Eyes the doleful Vigils keep, Not knowing yet the Night was made for sleep: Still to the West, where he him lost, he turned, And with such accents, as Despairing, mourned: Why did mine Eyes once see so bright a Ray; Or why Day last no longer than a Day? When straight the Sun behind him he descried, Smiling serenely from the further side. So while our Star that gives us Light and Heat, Seemed now along and gloomy Night to threat, Up from the other World his Flame he darts, And Princes shining through their windows starts; Who their suspected Counsellors refuse, And credulous Ambassadors accuse. ‛ Is this, saith one, the Nation that we read ‛ Spent with both Wars, under a Captain dead? ‛ Yet rig a Navy while we dress us late; ‛ And ere we Dine, race and rebuild our State. ‛ What Oaken Forests, and what golden Mines! ‛ What Mints of Men, what Union of Designs! ‛ Unless their Ships, do, as their Fowl proceed ‛ Os shedding Leaves, that with their Ocean breed. ‛ Theirs are not Ships, but rather Arks of War, ‛ And beaked Promontories sailed from far; ‛ Of floating Islands a new Hatched Nest; HE Fleet of Worlds, of other Worlds in quest; ‛ An hideous shoal of wood-Leviathans, ‛ Armed with three Tire of brazen Hurricans; ‛ That through the Centre shoot their thundering side ‛ And sink the Earth that does at Anchor ride. ‛ What refuge to escape them can be found, ‛ Whose watery Leaguers all the world surround▪ ‛ Needs must we all their Tributaries be, ‛ Whose Navies hold the Sluices of the Sea. ‛ The Ocean is the Fountain of Command, ‛ But that once took, we Captives are on Land. ‛ And those that have the Waters for their share, ‛ Can quickly leave us neither Earth nor Air. ‛ Yet if through these our Fears could find a pass; ‛ Through double Oak, & lined with treble Brass; ‛ That one Man still, although but named, alarms ‛ More than all Men, all Navies, and all Arms. ‛ Him, all the Day, Him, in late Nights I dread, ‛ And still his Sword seems hanging o'er my head. ‛ The Nation had been ours, but his one Soul ‛ Moves the great Bulk, and animates the whole. ‛ He Secrecy with Number hath inchas'd, ‛ Courage with Age, Maturity with Hast: ‛ The Valiants Terror, Riddle of the Wise; ‛ And still his Falchion all our Knots unties. ‛ Where did he learn those Arts that cost us dear? ‛ Where below Earth, or where above the Sphere? ‛ He seems a King by long Succession born, ‛ And yet the same to be a King does scorn. ‛ Abroad a King he seems, and something more, ‛ At Home a Subject on the equal Floor. ‛ O could I once him with our Title see, ‛ So should I hope yet he might Die as we. ‛ But let them write his Praise that love him best; ‛ It grieves me sore to have thus much confessed. Pardon, great Prince, if thus their Fear or Spite More than our Love and Duty do thee Right. I yield, nor further will the Prize contend; So that we both alike may miss our End: While thou thy venerable Head dost raise As far above their Malice as my Praise. And as the Angel of our Commonweal, Troubling the Waters, yearly mak'st them Heal. In Legationem Domini Oliveri St. John ad Provincias Foederatas. INgeniosa Viris contingunt Nomina magnis, Ut dubites Casu vel Ratione data. Nam Sors, caeca licet, tamen est praesaga futuri; Et sub fatidico Nomine vera premit. Et Tu, cui soli voluit Respublica credi, Foedera seu Belgis seu nova Bella feras; Haud frustra cecidit tibi Compellatio fallax, Ast scriptum ancipiti Nomine Munus erat; Scilicet hoc Martis, sed Pacis Nuntius illo: Clavibus his Jani ferrea Claustra regis. Non opus Arcanos Chartis committere Sensus, Et varia licitos condere Fraude Dolos. Tu quoque si taceas tamen est Legatio Nomen Et velut in Scytale publica verba refert. Vultis Oliverum, Batavi, Sanctumve Johannem? Antiochus gyro non breviore stetit. A Letter to Doctor Ingelo, then with my Lord Whitlock, Ambassador from the Protector to the Queen of Sweden. QUid facis Arctoi charissime transfuga coeli, Ingele, proh sero cognite, rapte cito? Num satis Hybernum defendis pellibus Astrum, Qui modo tam mollis nec bene firmus eras? Quae Gentes Hominum, quae sit Natura Locorum, Sint Homines, potius dic ibi sintne Loca? Num gravis horrisono Polus obruit omnia lapsu, Jungitur & praeceps Mundus utraque nive? An melius canis horrescit Campus Aristis, Annuus Agricolis & redit Orb labour? Incolit, ut fertur, saevam Gens mitior Oram, Pace vigil, Bello strenua, justa Foro. Quin ibi sunt Urbes, atque alta Palatia Regum, Musarumque domus, & sua Templa Deo. Nam regit Imperio populum Christina ferocem, Et dare jura potest regia Virgo viris. Utque trahit rigidum Magnes Aquilone Metallum, Gaudet eam Soboles ferrea sponte sequi. Dic quantum liceat fallaci credere Famae, Invida num taceat plura, sonetve loquax. At, si vera fides, Mundi melioris ab ortu, Saecula Christinae nulla tulere parem. Ipsa licet redeat (nostri decus orbis) Eliza, Qualis nostra tamen quantaque Eliza fuit. Vidimus Effigiem, mistasque Coloribus Umbras: Sic quoque Sceptripotens, sic quoque visa Dea. Augustam decorant (raro concordia) frontem Majestas & Amor, Forma Pudorque simul. Ingens Virgineo spirat Gustavus in ore: Agnoscas animos, fulmineumque Patrem. Nulla suo nituit tam lucida Stella sub Axe; Non Ea quae meruit Crimine Nympha Polum. Ah quoties pavidum demisit conscia Lumen, Utque suae timuit Parrhasis Ora Deae! Et, simulet falsa ni Pictor imagine Vultus, Delia tam similis nec fuit ipsa sibi. Ni quod inornati Triviae sint sorte Capilli, Sollicita sed huic distribuantur Acu. Scilicet ut nemo est illa reverentior aequi; Haud ipsas igitur▪ fert sine Lege Comas. Gloria sylvarum pariter communis utrique Est, & perpetuae Virginitatis Honos. Sic quoque Nympharum supereminet Agmina collo, Fertque Choros Cynthi per Juga, per Nives. Haud aliter pariles Ciliorum contrahit Arcus Acribus ast Oculis tela subesse putes. Luminibus dubites an straverit illa Sagittis Quae foret exuviis ardua colla Feram. Alcides humeros coopertus pelle Nemaea Haud ita labentis sustulit Orbis Onus. Heu quae Cervices subnectunt Pectora tales, Frigidiora Gelu, candidiora Nive. Caetera non licuit, sed vix ea tota, videre; Nam clau si rigido stant Adamante Sinus. Seu Chlamys Artifici nimium succurrerit auso, Sicque imperfectum fugerit impar Opus: Sive tribus spernat Victrix certare Deabus, Et pretium formae nec spoliata ferat. Junonis properans & clara Trophaea Minervae; Mollia nam Veneris praemia nosse piget. Hinc neque consuluit fugitivae prodiga Formae, Nectimuit seris invigilasse Libris. Insomnem quoties Nymphae monuere sequaces Decedet roseis heu color ille Genis. Jamque vigil leni cessit Philomela sopori, Omnibus & Sylvis conticuere Ferae. Aerior illa tamen pergit, Curasque fatigat: Tanti est doctorum volvere scripta Virum. Et liciti quae sint moderamina discere Regni, Quid fuerit, quid sit, noscere quicquid erit. Sic quod in ingenuas Gothus peccaverit Artes Vindicat, & studiis expiat Una suis. Exemplum dociles imitantur nobile Gentes, Et geminis Infans imbuit Ora sonis. Transpositos Suecis credas migrasse Latino's, Carmine Romuleo sic strepit omne Nemus. Upsala nec priscis impar memoratur Athenis, Aegidaque & Currus hic sua Pallas habet. Illinc O quales liceat sperasse Liquores, Quum Dea praesideat fontibus ipsa sacris! Illic Lacte ruant illic & flumina Melle, Fulvaque inauratam tingat Arena Salam. Upsalides Musae nunc & majora canemus, Quaeque mihi Famae non levis Aura tulit. Creditur haud ulli Christus signasse suorum Occultam gemma de meliore Notam. Quemque tenet charo descriptum Nomine semper, Non minus exculptum Pectore fida refert. Sola haec virgineas depascit Flamma Medullas, Et licito pergit solvere corda foco. Tu quoque Sanctorum fastos Christina sacrabis, Unica nec Virgo Volsiniensis erit. Discite nunc Reges (Majestas proxima coelo) Discite proh magnos hinc coluisse Deos. Ah pudeat Tantos puerilia fingere coepta, Nugas nescio quas, & male quaerere Opes. Acer Equo cunctos dum praeterit illa Britanno, Et pecoris spolium nescit inerme sequi. Ast Aquilam poscit Germano pellere Nido, Deque Palatino Monte fugare Lupam. Vos etiam latos in praedam jungite Campos, Impiaque arctatis cingite Lustra Plagis. Victor Oliverus nudum Caput exerit Armis, Ducere sive sequi nobile laetus Iter. Qualis jam Senior Solymae Godfredus ad Arces, Spina cui canis floruit alba Comis. Et Lappos Christina potest & solvere Finnos, Ultima quos Boreae carcere Claustra premunt. Aeoliis quales Venti fremuere sub antris, Et tentant Montis corripuisse moras. Hanc Dea si summa demiserit Arce procellam Quam gravis Austriacis Hesperiisque cadat! Omnia sed rediens olim narraveris Ipse; Nec reditus spero tempora longa petit. Non ibi lenta pigro stringuntur frigore Verba, Solibus, & tandem Vere liquanda novo. Sed radiis hyemem Regina potentior urit; Haecque magis solvit, quam ligat illa Polum. Dicitur & nostros moerens audisse Labores, Fortis & ingenuam Gentis amasse Fidem. Oblatae Batavam nec paci commodat Aurem; Nec versat Danos insidiosa dolos. Sed pia festinat mutatis Foedera rebus, Et Libertatem quae dominatur amat. Digna cui Salomon meritos retulisset honores, Et Saba concretum Thure cremasset Iter. Hanc tua, sed melius, celebraverit, Ingele, Musa; Et labor est vestrae debitus ille Lyrae. Nos sine te frustra Thamisis saliceta subimus, Sparsaque per steriles Turba vagamur Agros. Et male tentanti querulum respondet Avena: Quin & Rogerio dissiluere fides. Haec tamen absenti memores dictamus Amico, Grataque speramus qualiacumque fore. In Effigiem Oliveri Cromwell. HAec est quae toties Inimicos Umbra fugavit, At sub qua Cives Otia lenta terunt. In eandem Reginae Sueciae transmissam Bellipotens Virgo, septem Regina Trionum. Christina, Arctoi lucida stella Poli; Cernis quas merui dura sub Casside Rugas; Sicque Senex Armis impiger Ora fero; Invia Fatorum dum per Vestigia nitor, Exequor & Populi fortia Jussa Manu. At tibi submittit frontem reverentior Umbra, Nec sunt hi Vultus Regibus usque truces. Two Songs at the Marriage of the Lord Fauconberg and the Ludy Mary Cromwell. First. Chorus. Endymion. Luna. Chorus. TH' Astrologers own Eyes are set, And even Wolves the Sheep forget; Only this Shepherd, late and soon, Upon this Hill outwakes the Moon. Hark how he sings, with sad delight, Through the clear and silent Night. Endymion. Cynthia, O Cynthia, turn thine Ear, Nor scorn Endymion's plaints to hear. As we our Flocks, so you command The fleecy Clouds with silver wand. Cynthia. If thou a Mortal, rather sleep; Or if a Shepherd, watch thy Sheep. Endymion. The Shepherd, since he saw thine Eyes, And Sheep are both thy Sacrifice. Nor merits he a Mortal's name, That burns with an immortal Flame. Cynthia. I have enough for me to do, Ruling the Waves that Ebb and flow. Endymion. Since thou disdainest not then to share On Sublunary things thy care; Rather restrain these double Seas, Mine Eyes uncessant deluges. Cynthia. My wakeful Lamp all night must move, Securing their Repose above. Endymion. If therefore thy resplendent Ray Can make a Night more bright than Day; Shine through this obscurer Breast, With shades of deep Despair oppressed. Chorus. Courage, Endymion, boldly Woe, Anchises was a Shepherd too: Yet is her younger Sister laid Sporting with him in Ida's shade: And Cynthia, though the strongest, Seeks but the honour to have held out longest. Endymion. Here unto Latmos Top I climb: How far below thine Orb sublime? O why, as well as Eyes to see, Have I not Arms that reach to thee? Cynthia. 'Tis needless then that I refuse, Would you but your own Reason use. Endymion. Though I so high may not pretend, It is the same so you descend. Cynthia. These Stars would say I do them wrong, Rivals each one for thee too strong. Endymion. The Stars are fixed unto their Sphere, And cannot, though they would, come near. Less Loves set of each others praise, While Stars Eclipse by mixing Rays. Cynthia. That Cave is dark. Endymion Then none can spy: Or shine Thou there and 'tis the Sky. Chorus. Joy to Endymion, For he has Cynthia's favour won. And Jove himself approves With his serenest influence their Loves. For he did never love to pair His Progeny above the Air; But to be honest, valiant, wise, Makes Mortals matches fit for Deities. Second Song. Hobbinol. Phillis. Tomalin. Hobbinol. PHillis, Tomalin, away: Never such a merry day. For the Northern Shepherd's Son Has Menalca's daughter won. Phillis. Stay till I some flowers ha' tied In a Garland for the Bride. Tomalin. If thou wouldst a Garland bring, Phillis you may wait the Spring: They ha' chosen such an hour When She is the only flower. Phillis. Let's not then at least be seen Without each a Sprig of Green. Hobbinol. Fear not; at Menalca's Hall There is Bays enough for all. He when Young as we did graze, But when Old he planted Bays. Tomalin. Here She comes; but with a Look Far more catching then my Hook. 'Twas those Eyes, I now dare swear, Led our Lambs we knew not where. Hobbinol. Not our Lambs own Fleeces are Curled so lovely as her Hair: Nor our Sheep new Washed can be Half so white or sweet as She. Phillis. He so looks as fit to keep Somewhat else then silly Sheep. Hobbinol. Come, le's in some Carol new Pay to Love and Them their due. All. Joy to that happy Pair, Whose Hopes united banish our Despair. What Shepheared could for Love pretend, Whilst all the Nymphs on Damon's choice attend? What Shepherdess could hope to wed Before Marina's turn were sped? Now lesser Beauties may take place, And meaner Virtues come in play; While they, Looking from high, Shall grace Our Flocks and us with a propitious Eye. But what is most, the gentle Swain No more shall need of Love complain; But Virtue shall be Beauty's hire, And those be equal that have equal Fire. Marina yields. Who dares be coy? Or who despair, now Damon does enjoy? Joy to that happy Pair, Whose Hopes united banish our Despair. A Poem upon the Death of O. C. THat Providence which had so long the care Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair, Now in its self (the Glass where all appears) Had seen the period of his golden Years: And thenceforth only did attend to trace, What death might lest so fair a Life deface. The People, which what most they fear esteem, Death when more horrid so more noble deem; And blame the last Act, like Spectators vain, Unless the Prince whom they applaud be slain. Nor Fate indeed can well refuse that right To those that lived in War, to die in Fight. But long his Valour none had left that could Endanger him, or Clemency that would. And he whom Nature all for Peace had made, But angry Heaven unto War had swayed, And so less useful where he most desired, For what he least affected was admired, Deserved yet an End whose every part Should speak the wondrous softness of his Heart. To Love and Grief the fatal Writ was signed; (Those nobler weaknesses of humane Mind, From which those Powers that issued the Decree, Although immortal, found they were not free.) That they, to whom his Breast still open lies, In gentle Passions should his Death disguise: And leave succeeding Ages cause to mourn, As long as Grief shall weep, or Love shall burn. Straight does a slow and languishing Disease Eliza, Natures and his darling, seize. Her when an infant, taken with her Charms, He oft would flourish in his mighty Arms; And, lest their force the tender burden wrong, Slacken the vigour of his Muscles strong; Then to the Mother's breast her softly move, Which while she drained of Milk she filled with Love: But as with riper Years her Virtue grew, And every minute adds a Lustre new; When with meridian height her Beauty shined, And through that sparkled her fairer Mind; When She with Smiles serene and Words discreet His hidden Soul at every turn could meet; Then might ye ha' daily his Affection spied, Doubling that knot which Destiny had tied. While they by sense, not knowing, comprehend How on each other both their Fates depend. With her each day the pleasing Hours he shares, And at her Aspect calms her growing Cares; Or with a Grandsire's joy her Children sees Hanging about her neck or at his knees. Hold fast dear Infants, hold them both or none; This will not stay when once the other's gone. A silent fire now wastes those Limbs of Wax, And him within his tortured Image racks. So the Flower withering which the Garden crowned, The sad Root pines in secret under ground. Each Groan he doubled and each Sigh he sighed, Repeated over to the restless Night. No trembling String composed to numbers new, Answers the touch in Notes more sad more true. She lest He grieve hides what She can her pains, And He to lessen hers his Sorrow feigns: Yet both perceived, yet both concealed their Skills, And so diminishing increased their ills: That whether by each others grief they fell, Or on their own redoubled, none can tell. And now Eliza's purple Locks were shorn, Where She so long her Father's fate had worn: And frequent lightning to her Soul that flies, Divides the Air, and opens all the Skies: And now his Life, suspended by her breath, Ran out impetuously to hasting Death. Like polished Mirrors, so his steely Breast Had every figure of her woes expressed; And with the damp of her last Gasps obscured, Had drawn such stains as were not to be cured. Fate could not either reach with single stroke, But the dear Image fled the Mirror broke. Who now shall tell us more of mournful Swans, Of Halcyons kind, or bleeding Pelicans? No downy breast did ere so gently beat, Or fan with airy plumes so soft an heat. For he no duty by his height excused, Nor though a Prince to be a Man refused: But rather than in his Eliza's pain Not love, not grieve, would neither live nor reign: And in himself so oft immortal tried, Yet in compassion of another died. So have I seen a Vine, whose lasting Age Of many a Winter hath survived the rage. Under whose shady tent Men every year At its rich bloods expense their Sorrows cheer, If some dear branch where it extends its life Chance to be pruned by an untimely knife, The Parent-Tree unto the Grief succeeds, And through the Wound its vital humour bleeds; Trickling in watery drops, whose flowing shape Weeps that it falls ere fixed into a Grape. So the dry Stock, no more that spreading Vine, Frustrates the Autumn and the hopes of Wine. A secret Cause does sure those Signs ordain Fore boding Princes falls, and seldom vain. Whether some Kinder Powers, that wish us well, What they above cannot prevent, foretell; Or the great World do by consent presage, As hollow Seas with future Tempest's rage: Or rather Heaven, which us so long foresees, Their funerals celebrate while it decrees. But never yet was any humane Fate By nature solemnised with so much state. He unconcerned the dreadful passage crossed; But oh what pangs that Death did Nature cost! First the great Thunder was shot off, and sent The Signal from the starry Battlement. The Winds receive it, and its force outdo, As practising how they could thunder too: Out of the Binder's Hand the Sheaves they tore, And thrashed the Harvest in the airy floor; Or of huge Trees, whose growth with his did rise, The deep foundations opened to the Skies. Then heavy Showers the winged Tempests dead, And pour the Deluge o'er the Chaos head. The Race of warlike Horses at his Tomb Offer themselves in many an Hecatomb; With pensive head towards the ground they fall, And helpless languish at the tainted Stall. Numbers of Men decrease with pains unknown, And hasten not to see his Death their own. Such Tortures all the Elements unfixed, Troubled to part where so exactly mixed. And as through Air his wasting Spirits flowed, The Universe laboured beneath their load. Nature it seemed with him would Nature vie; He with Eliza, It with him would die. He without noise still travelled to his End, As silent Suns to meet the Night descend. The Stars that for him fought had only power Left to determine now his fatal Hour; Which, since they might not hinder, yet they cast To choose it worthy of his Glories past. No part of time but bore his mark away Of honour; all the Year was Cromwell's day But this, of all the most auspicious found, Twice had in open field him Victor crowned: When up the armed Mountains of Dunbar He marched, and through deep Severn ending war. What day should him eternize but the same That had before immortalised his Name? That so who ere would at his Death have joyed, In their own Griefs might find themselves employed; But those that sadly his departure grieved, Yet joyed remembering what he once achieved. And the last minute his victorious Ghost Gave chase to Ligny on the Belgic Coast. Here ended all his mortal toils: He laid And slept in Peace under the Laurel shade. O Cromwell, Heaven's Favourite! To none Have such high honours from above been shown: For whom the Elements we Mourners see, And Heaven itself would the great Herald be, Which with more Care set forth his Obsequies Then those of Moses hid from humane Eyes; As jealous only here lost all be less, That we could to his Memory express. Then let us to our course of Mourning keep: Where Heaven leads, 'tis Piety to weep. Stand back ye Seas, and shrunk beneath the vail Of your Abyss, with covered Head be wail Your Monarch: We demand not your supplies To compass in our Isle; our Tears suffice; Since him away the dismal Tempest rend, Who once more joined us to the Continent▪ Who planted England on the Flandrick shore, And stretched our frontier to the Indian Ore; Whose greater Truths obscure the Fables old, Whether of British Saints or Wortbies told▪ And in a valour lessening Arthur's deeds, For Holiness the Confessor exceeds. He first put Arms into Religion's hand▪ And timorous Conscience unto Courage 〈◊〉: The Soldier taught that inward Mail to wear▪ And fearing God how they should nothing fear▪ Those Strokes he said will pierce through all below▪ Where those that strike from Heaven fetch their 〈◊〉.