FOUR SMALL COPIES OF VERSES UPON SUNDRY OCCASIONS  Hei mihi! quam multis sic quoque longus eris? Mart. Epigr. lib. 2. 
By Richard Pee●● of Christ-Church.  
OXFORD, Printed by W. H. for Thomas Bowman, 1667.   

READER,  
NEither the Interest nor Importunity of Friends extorted these few lines from me: it was the publication of some former verses, too much mine and the world's enemies. I am troublesome to you at present because I have been infinitely so already; and the reason of this bold appearance is not that I do well now, but that I have before done worse. Repentance is the ready way to pardon, and amendment (how weak soever) is the best symptom, (because the natural effect) of Repentance. I need not give you a list of my former errors: they were too gross not to be notorious; and bad Poetry is a sin against too many, to hope for indulgence. Besides as Music (and Poetry is Music set to Reason) is a pleasure which few men are insensible of; so is there no aversion comparable to that which makes us fly from the harshness of notes, and the gratings of irregular sounds. But to come to a more solemn confession, it was with me as with most young Rhymers, who seem to make good the assertion of their adversaries; that they sweat at the Anvil, and that toil and Industry, is the very essence of their skill, because their study is only to hammer out a few thin vanishing flashes, and their productions nothing else but the ordinary mechanic results of fire and water. Indeed when they might write easier, and write better, they love to be painfully ridiculous, and to expose themselves with a great deal of Care. I mean not that accuracy of judgement which often passes sentence with too much rigour, when the Author sits upon every word he writes: It is the unnecessary toil and travel of the fancy which is culpable here; for certainly it must needs be less troublesome to make use of such pertinent thoughts as upon a free and easy meditation naturally arise from the subject, and (as it were) meet the imagination half way; then after a tedious research under pretence of hoping for somewhat that's new and extraordinary, to huddle together such things as being infinitely distant in nature, will not easily be connected in speech: where besides, that this wand'ring abroad is often accompanied with the neglect and loss of our Mother-tongue, we commonly bring home the outlandish Gallantry of Duelling; love dearly to make one word give another the lie, teach every period to affront his next neighbour, and are infinitely pleased with the scuffle of two jarring elements; while in the mean time the expression proves an unfortunate stickler between two irreconcilable enemies, and seldom comes off better then maimed or wounded. Another fault incident to young Scribblers is (more bold and daring then the former) their downright falsifying the natural circumstances of their subject; (and the circumstances of a subject are the materials of invention) like pitiful Archers, still shifting the mark, just as their roving fancy chances to direct them: they seem to endeavour that their productions may bear so near a resemblance to the Immortality they vainly pretend to, as not to be tied to the Accidents, nor limited or circumscribed by the conditions of their matter: so bodily dare they venture upon the most impertinent Improbabilities, for the ushering in of a few empty Equivocations; which is little better than the impudent asserting of one lie, by the dexterous forging of another. And now it is very probable that ere this I have sufficiently displeased my Reader, who may impute that to Arrogance and Presumption which I term a serious acknowledgement. But if his malice be not concerned before his Judgement, I think he will easily perceive that though I may seem to intent the guidance of other men's Pens, yet my real design is no other than to fashion a Rule for my own lines, heretofore crooked, unequal, and wholly irregular. And the incivility of those men, methinks, is very strange, who will not give me leave to condemn my self, only because it seems a diminishing of their right, and an entrenching upon their pretended Privilege and Jurisdiction. Indeed I shall subscribe to the severest Judgement they can possibly pass upon my former notorious Criminals, which I could wish were not mitigated with the least tincture of mercy; so necessary is the reservation of all the power and force of the most entire candour for the acquitting of my ensuing pages; which I am really sensible have no lustre in them but when those extravagant impertinencies become their foil. Indeed considering the generality of Readers, it would seem not at all for my Interest to prejudice my following Verses, by the bold errors of foregoing Prose, did I not a little consult my own satisfaction (which though it may resemble what we term a Woman's reason yet is the rule by which every man squares his actions) and did I not likewise know that it is ordinary in Commonwealths (especially that we attribute to Learning) to have the many pride themselves in the guilded Liberty of voting what they please, but in the mean time the issue and success of affairs, (yea even the opinions of the People) are regulated by the Judgement of a very few. Not but that I have been too great a sinner in this kind, to be assured of my thorough conversion: And therefore as my faith bids me quit the Romish new fangl'd absurdity of thinking any thing deducible from the practice or opinion of a multitude; so my reason tells me, I must become a Protestant in Poetry, confess that when I have done the best I can, there is no confiding in my own merits, and wholly cast myself upon the mercy of my Reader. To conclude, I know well that the nature of Virtue consists not in a mere negation of what's notoriously bad; it must be distinguished by its opposite qualities, have its positive and real perfections; and that Zealot was very impudent, who challenged acceptance upon the account of his being not quite so bad as the very worst.   

TO THE REVEREND D R FELL, DEAN of Ch: Changed at his return in May 1666 from the WEST MINSTER ELECTION.  

AS a wise Victor still pursues new Fame,  
Adds to his Empire, and extends his Name:  
Because he knows and dreads the certain Fate  
Of whatsoever's Eminent or Great;  
Which if their farther progress be delayed  
(As Planets when they stop) prove Retrograde.  
(For States and Kingdoms are reversed and hurled  
Like those great Lights that influence the world.)  
So (worthy Sir) that new access and gain  
Your acquired Empire's greatness may maintain,  
Fresh Plots and Stratagems your wisdom finds  
To conquer Hearts and captivate new minds.  
While the designs of your unstinted soul,  
Nor War can cross, nor Pestilence control.  
Such fervent zeal did Priests of old incline  
To quench a God or grasp a burning shrine.  
And you Sir, like devout Metellus came  
To snatch a Pallas from surrounding flame:  
Your virtues rightly timed, you wisely thence  
Enhance their value at the same expense.  
You grasp short lived occasion ere she dies.  
Prevent address, and rescue by surprise.  
Others Devotion only comes, and flits;  
And their zeal warms them but like Ague fits:  
Yours constant is, its motion still the same.  
Nimble and restless like aspiring flame.  
So the Sun's Heat and active Influence,  
Do Life and Vigour constantly dispense.  
And when from us his cheerful Beam declines,  
'Tis to hatch Gold, and ripen Indian Mines.  
Through Sickness, Tumult, and whatever waits  
On factious Cities, and diseased States,  
To pass so free, secure, and unconfined;  
Argues the greatness of your Godlike Mind.  
Thus the heavens Progress undisturbed appears  
'Midst humane troubles, and disordered fears.  
Earth's low disasters no obstructions bring  
To stop their Bounty or retard the Spring.   

And now (Great Sir) while Orators enclose  
Their Gratulations in loser Prose.  
Will not their boundless Liberty resign,  
Shackle their Duty, or their Joys confine,  
But long Pathetic Sentences rehearse:  
Your Obligations fetter me in Verse.  
Their grave Harangues with Interest combine;  
And their set-speech courts trivial design.  
Our Thoughts are Innocent, and are secure;  
Like unmixed Elements both Calm and Pure.  
Music that does Poetic Souls employ,  
Is the most natural result of Joy.   

Then welcome (Sir) unto a place is grown  
To be a structure every way your own.  
Whose few years' Bounty has improved it more  
Than tedious Reigns of profuse Kings before.  
Your Glory 'tis to Build so brave a Pile:  
And them the Founders we may truly Style.  
With far less Structures Pilgrim Princes buy  
The favour of an angry Deity.  
And Superstitious deceasing Kings  
(Who think that every Quarry Blood-stones brings)  
Lesle costly Piles to staunch the wounds intent  
Of a slain Brother or a murdered Friend.  
How shall we guests your Piety's intent?  
At once so liberal and Innocent!  
Had the Great Woolsey's soul Prophetic been,  
And a so near succeeding Age foreseen;  
Should harbour a Devotion so profuse,  
Such a stupendious Piety produce;  
As void of Ostentation calmly drowns  
The Gifts of Kings and largesses of Crowns;  
And free from Noise and Tumult, has o'ercome  
The wealth of England and the pride of Rome.  
And (though it have, nor State nor Kingdom drained,  
Nor is by lavish Majesty maintained)  
Outvies the Greatness of his Power and Mind;  
All that he did, and all that he designed:  
This had restrained his Pride, and made him know  
His projects mean and his ambition low.  
Disguised his great looks in a bashful frown;  
And clad his face more Scarlet than his gown.   

But (Sir) your Modesty your Fame displays,  
And puts no limits to your spreading rays.  
(Which far transcend the narrow laws of Verse,  
And must be boundless as the Universe.]  
Your Merits all Encomiums debar,  
He still shoots low that levels at a Star.  
And he that will your meanest action tell,  
Under your nearer influence must dwell.  
This may the poorest thoughts exalt, and raise  
To the sublime Ideas of your Praise.  
Instruct our verse from your great works to draw  
A Maid-like Beauty, and a Manlike awe.  
With graceful Majesty our numbers stream:  
Both smooth and stately like their lofty Theme,  
This may at length inform us how to Sing,  
A Cardinal transcended and a King.  
The mighty Maro (while in Country cells)  
Thus writes as low and narrow as he dwells.  
Till Rome's high fabrics elevate his Style,  
And teach him build a like Majestic Pile.  
He's to her greatness Parallel and just,  
While Caesar's Palace makes his Muse august.    

AN EPITAPH Upon a Gentleman aged above Sixty, he died as he lived, Faithful to the Church, and Loyal to the King, lies Buried with a Son of about nine years of Age.  

I.  
IF to be Good, when Virtue was a Crime,  
If on abandoned Piety to wait,  
Pity and prop those ruins others climb,  
Were to be Famous, Popular and Great:  
(Reader,) this weeping Marble had confined  
The universal sorrow of Mankind.   

II.  
For here lies one, whose Faith unshaken stood,  
By mighty Interest though oft alarmed.  
Not threescore Icy winters chilled his blood:  
While true Devotion loyalty still warmed.  
(Like Wines when they of youthful fume abate)  
Time gave him vigour, and more useful heat.   

III.  
Led by a clearer Zeal, he shunned those lights,  
Which in Religion's night misguide the most.  
Whom fear deceives, and ignorance affrights;  
At length in dismal Precipices lost.  
ne'er followed a blind faith's fantastic guess,  
ne'er courted Faction in a Modish dress.   

iv  
Nor wants the verdure of a happy Spring,  
(The constant, Pious wish of weeping Verse.)  
Here no vain pomp needs loaded baskets bring.  
That just Solemnity might Crown his Hearse,  
Death cropped his Son, and ere it was full blown,  
That flowery sweetness on his Grave was thrown.    

An Epitaph upon three Sisters, buried together. Their Education was wholly at home; They lived Virtuous, and died Marriageable.  

I.  
HOld Stranger, let no hasty tear  
Profane the greatness of our loss:  
Light signs of sorrow disappear  
When serious woes the Soul engross.  
And weeping passion while with published Grief,  
It pities others, seeks its own Relief.   

II.  
Here lie three Sisters, had what   
The Triple Spring of Beauty gives.  
Colour, Proportion; and an Air  
Such as with Beauty breaths, and lives.  
Their number, friendship, and perfections bore  
Marks of the Trinity they still adore.   

III.  
No public Envy e'er alarmed,  
No flattery their Beauties fed:  
No Paint belied, no Passion warmed  
Their cheeks into a borrowed red.  
Deaf to the tempting noise of Court and King;  
And pure as waters in their Native Spring.   

iv  
Grown up to kindle chaste desire,  
Unfit for frozen sheets of Lead,  
Their youthful, sprightly flames expire;  
And the Grave cheats the Marria'ge Bed.  
Just so descending Goddesses draw near,  
And midst poor man's Embraces disappear.   

V  
How frails Perfection, and how vain!  
The crooked Oak's deformed and old.  
Can to a thousand years attain  
Through summer's heat and winter's cold.  
While amidst Tempests that securely grows,  
heavens warm approaches parch the budding Rose.   

VI  
Declining Nature now grows old  
No doubt, for she through fond presage  
Of future poverty lays hold  
On th' Avarice of thrifty Age:  
Only poor Beauties now abroad are found,  
Her Gold and Gems lie treasured under ground.    

TO THE Memory of the Incomparable Mr. Abraham Cowley, lately Deceased.  

I.  
AS when some matchless Monarch dies, strait all  
Adjoining Kings resent his hasty fate:  
With grave Solemnity deplore his fall,  
Which yet their Power enlarges and their State:   

II.  
So while the mighty Cowley yields his breath  
His Neighbour's sorrow in Poetic guise;  
In frequent Elegies lament his Death,  
Though on his Ruins they expect to rise.   

III.  
And I, whose small Estate will scarce support  
A mean Repute by Vulgar Poets won,  
Like a profuse Retainer of the Court  
Must keep the Fashion though I be undone.   

iv  
May he whose dawning light of early Day  
Outvy'd the splendour most Meridian's have  
Deign that a Tapers faint officious Ray  
Do a small act of Duty to his Grave.   

V  
Though vain's the Zeal which Richest Gums bestows,  
Or strews the Flowers of no common Verse.  
For his each leaf does nobler sweets disclose,  
And his own Garden best adorn his Hearse.   

VI  
Those happy Simples rescue from the Grave,  
When Physics Rules but empty succours bring.  
From their fresh bloom his constant Glories have  
A lovely Verdure and a lasting Spring.   

VII.  
Nor him unwilling Histories record,  
'Mongst those who at great Fame not good arrive;  
Whose Names are only read to be abhorred,  
As Civil Wars and signal Plagues survive.   

VIII.  
But such a blessed Eternity attends  
His works, as is from Spicy Odours bred,  
Which some famed Herbalist together blends  
At once to sweeten and preserve the dead.   

IX.  
A ruin'd * Palace first he raised, and then 
Somerset House.   
Described a Garden worthy such a Pile.  
To Build and Plant with failing Age in ken  
Death's fatal Omen wise observers stile.   

X.  
Yet must Experience cancel here her Laws;  
Those very works shall make him deathless grow:  
Thence he new life and youthful vigour draws;  
Themselves obstructing what they would foreshow.   

XI.  
Hence than we date our Mighty Lyrics Birth,  
While with him rival Emulation dies.  
heavens Harp ne'er sets, but seems to touch the Earth;  
Still brighter thence, and greater in its Rise.   

XII.  
In Solemn Duty to his Princely Grave,  
Concern and Prejudice do now expire:  
With the observance of an Eastern slave  
First light his Pile, then leap into the fire.   

XIII.  
For even they, who (while he lived) oppressed  
His growing Merits and his worth defamed,  
Confess him now of Modern Wits the best,  
And next Immortal 
* Buried between Chaucer & Spencer.  Spencer to be named.   

XIV.  
So Rome's repenting Senate Altars rears  
And their yet bleeding Romulus adore;  
He their Devotions object strait appears  
Who fell the Victim of their 
* Fuisse quoque tum credo ali quos qui discerptum Regem Patrum manibus taciti arguerent Liv.  Rage before.   

XV.  
How just (ye Gods) was He! though oft arraigned,  
Though oft condemned by Wars severest Laws;  
His Hopes discarded, and his Honour stained 
Accused for his ready compliance with the late Usurpers.   
For a too quick * Surrender of his Cause.   

XVI.  
See what weak Crimes do his first Faith oppose,  
Which Interest and base design attest:  
Like Pious David down his Harp he throws  
When those that hear him are by Rage possessed.   

XVII.  
For first in happy Verse he did design  
The 
* A History of the Civil Wars.  seeds of Faction, and the source of War:  
How Piety can with Ambition join,  
And more than Hell contrive, Religion dare.   

XVIII.  
But after 
* In the Preface to his Book.  Newburies' twice dismal Field  
Rebellions Conquest he no longer sings.  
His measures unto wild disorder yield,  
And England's weeping moisture cracks his strings.   

XIX.  
Strong fate the vulgar unto Ruin led,  
Disease their Meat, distemper was their Drink:  
Now o'er the Body was it too far spread  
To deem the Tetter curable by Ink.   

XX.  
Bold Treasons matchless Triumphs he had seen,  
Ere from the War his Loyal Pen retired:  
Thought Poetry had real fury been,  
And no feigned madness, now to be Inspired.   

XXI.  
And therefore knowing Time alone defeats  
The force of Floods by hasty Torrents fed,  
(Like a foiled Prince) with Rebels wisely treats:  
By feigned Compliance unto Conquest led.   

XXII.  
Unhappy man, whose miseries ne'er cease!  
On whom kind Fortune scarce bestows one smile!  
His Loyalty is paid with Court-disgrace,  
And a Retirement bitter as Exile.   

XXIII.  
Yet he's ne'er changed by Sorrows or by Time:  
His revered Prince does in his weeping Eyes  
Appear more Sacred still, and more sublime;  
As heights at distance seem to reach the Skies,   

XXIV.  
He thought on Pious David's mighty Name,  
Whom once his Muse so happily did Sing:  
And deemed it Treason 'gainst his Princely Theme  
Ought should divide the Poet and the King.   

XXV.  
Cursed those, who (like the Germane 
* Who found our Gunpowder,  Monk) invent  
The seeds of Ruin in their fatal Cells:  
Whose Leisures on designs of Tumult bend,  
And on the Deaths of tardy Ages dwells.   

XXVI.  
While nought those Rebel discontented Souls.  
But dismal thoughts of Stab and Drugs possess,  
By Physics aid, Death's Empire he controls,  
And does those ills which they design, redress.   

XXVII.  
He from the Noise and Injuries of Court,  
Does only so to silent Groves repair,  
As half-tired Passengers to Shades resort  
From the offensive fury of the Air.   

XXVIII.  
Here his Pindaric Muse so bravely foared,  
Commended others and her own fate mourned,  
Long absent virtue seemed to Earth restored,  
And Poetry unto the Woods returned.   

XXIX.  
Nor did the Learned World  think him less;  
(The fate of all great Persons in disgrace)  
None there did his commanding worth depress,  
Or his Supreme Authority displace.   

XXX.  
Him still their Guide succeeding Wits propound,  
And those that best approach him Fame commends.  
His Royal stamp on basest Metals found  
Together value and resemblance lends.   

XXXI.  
So, near his Death some recluse Prince gives Law,  
When virtue's heightened by Romantique Lore:  
His cloistered Majesty retains that awe  
By which his Edicts ruled the world before.   
FINIS.