Imprimatur.  
Nou. 25. 1663.  
Roger L'Estrange.   

POEMS.  
By the Incomparable, Mrs. K. P.  
LONDON,  
Printed by J. G. for Rich. Marriott, at his Shop under S. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet. 1664.   

To the most excellently accomplished, Mrs. K. P. upon her Poems.  

1.  
WE allowed your Beauty, and we did submit  
To all the tyrannies of it.  
Ah, cruel Sex! will you depose us too in Wit?  
Orinda does in that too reign,  
Does Man behind her in proud triumph draw,  
And cancel great Apollo's Salic Law.  
We our old Title plead in vain:  
Man may be Head, but Woman's now our Brain:  
Worse than Love's fire-arms heretofore:  
In Beauty's camp it was not known,  
Too many arms, besides the Conqueror, bore.  
'Twas the great Cannon we brought down,  
T assault the stubborn Town.  
Orinda first did a bold sally make,  
Our strongest quarter take,  
And so successful proved, that she  
Turned upon Love himself his own Artillery.   

2.  
Women, as if the Body were the whole  
Did that, and not the Soul,  
Transmit to their posterity;  
If in it something they conceived,  
Th'abortive Issue never lived.  
'Twere shame and pity, Orinda, if in thee  
A Spirit so rich, so noble, and so high,  
Should unmanured or barren lie.  
But thou industriously hast sowed and tilled  
The fair and fruitful Field:  
And 'tis a strange increase that it doth yield.  
As when the happy Gods above  
Meet all together at a F east,  
A secret joy unspeakably does move  
In their great Mother Semele's contented breast:  
With no less pleasure thou methinks shouldst see  
Thus thy no less immortal Progeny:  
And in their Birth thou no one touch do st find:  
Of th' ancient C urse to Womankind;  
Thou bring'st not forth with pain,  
It neither travel is nor labour of thy Brain.  
So easily they from thee come,  
And there is so much room  
I'th' unexhausted and unfathomed womb;  
That, like the Holland Countess, thou might'st bear  
A Child for every day of all the fertile year.   

3.  
Thou dost my wonder, would'st my envy raise,  
If to be praised I loved more than to praise.  
Where'er I see an excellence,  
I must admire to see thy wellknit Sense,  
Thy Numbers gentle, and thy Passions high;  
These as thy Forehead smooth, those sparkling as thy Eye.  
'Tis solid and 'tis manly all,  
Or rather 'tis Angelical:  
For, as in Angels, we  
Do in thy Verses see  
Both improved Sexes eminently meet;  
They are then Man more strong, and more than Woman sweet.   

4.  
They talk of Nine I know not who  
Female Chimaeras that o'er Poet's reign;  
I ne'er could find that Fancy true,  
But have invoked them oft I'm sure in vain.  
They talk of Sapph, but, alas! the shame  
I'th' manners soil the lustre of her fame.  
Orinda's inward Virtue is so bright,  
That, like a Lantern's fair enclosed light,  
It through the Paper shines where she doth write.  
Honour and Friendship, and the generous scorn  
Of things for which we were not born,  
(Things which of custom by a fond disease,  
Like that of Girls, our vicious stomaches please)  
Are the instructive subjects of her Pen.  
And as the Roman Victory  
Taught our rude Land arts and civility,  
At once she takes, enslaves, and governs Men.   

5.  
But Rome with all her arts could ne'er inspire  
A Female Breast with such a fire.  
The warlike Amazonian Train,  
Which in Elysium now do peaceful reign,  
And Wit's wild Empire before Arms prefer,  
Find 'twill be settled in their Sex by her.  
Merlin the Prophet (and sure he'll not lie  
In such an awful Company)  
Does Prophecies of learned Orinda show,  
What he had darkly spoke so long ago.  
Even Boadicla's angry Ghost  
Forgets her own misfortune and disgrace,  
And to her injured Daughters now does boast,  
That Rome's o'ercome at last by a Woman of her race.   
Abraham Cowley.   

To the Incomparable Mrs. K. P. Author of these Poems.  
Madam,  

THe Beauty of your Lines, is't not so clear  
You need no Foil to make't the more appear?  
She that's Superlative, although alone  
Considered, gains not by Comparison.  
And yet whate'er hath hitherto been writ  
By others, tends to magnify your Wit.  
What's said of Origen, (When he did well  
Interpret Texts, no man did him excel;  
When ill, no man did ere go so awry)  
We may t'your Sex (though not to you) apply:  
For now we've seen from a Feminine Quill  
Poetry good as e'er was, and as ill.   
H. A.   

THE TABLE.  

Poem. 1 UPon the double Murder of K. Charles I. in answer to a libellous copy of Rhymes made by Vavasor powel. Page. 1  
2 On the numerous access of the English to wait upon the King in Flanders. 3  
3 Arion to a Dolphin, on His Majesty's passage into England. 5  
4 On the fair weather just at Coronation. 9  
5 To the Queen's Majesty on her arrival at Portsmouth, May 14. 1662. 10  
6 To the Queen-mother's Majesty, Jan. 1. 1660/ 1. 13  
7 Upon the Princess Royal her return into England. 16  
8 On the death of the illustrious Duke of Gloucester. 18  
9 To her Royal Highness the Duchess of York, on her commanding me to send her some things that I had written. 22  
10 On the death of the Queen of Bohemia. 24  
11 On the 3 of September, 1651. 27  
12 To the noble Palaemon, on his incomparable discourse of Friendship. 29  
13 To the right Honourable Alice Countess of Carbury, on her enriching Wales with her presence. 31  
14 To Sir Edw. Deering (the noble Silvander) on his Dream and Navy, personating Orinda's preferring Rosania before Solomon's traffic to Ophir. 34  
15 To the truly-noble Mr. Henry Laws. 37  
16 A Sea from Tenby to Bristol, begun Sept. 5 1652. sent from Bristol to Lucasia, Sept. 8. 1652. 39  
17 Friendship's Mystery, to my dearest Lucasia. Set by Mr. Henry Laws. 43  
18 Content, to my dearest Lucasia. 45  
19 A Dialogue of Absence 'twixt Lucasia and Orinda. Set by Mr. Henry Laws. 50  
20 To my dear Sister, Mrs. C. P. on her Nuptial. 52  
21 To Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems. 54  
22 A retired Friendship, to Ardelia. 56  
23 To Mrs. Mary Carne, when Philaster courted her. 59  
24 To Mr. J. B. the noble Cratander, upon a Composition of his which he was not willing to own publicly. 62  
25 Lucasia. 64  
26 Wiston Vault. 68  
27 Friendship in Emblem, or the Seal. To my dearest Lucasia. 70  
28 In memory of T. P. who died at Action, May 24. 1660. at 12. and ½ of age. 75  
29 In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Marry Lloyd of Bodidrist in Denbighshire, who died Nou. 13. 1656. after she came thither from Pembrokeshire. 81  
30 To the truly-competent judge of Honour, Lucasia, upon a scandalous Libel made by J. Jones. 87  
31 To Antenor, on a Paper of mine which J. Jones threatens to publish to prejudice him. 91  
32 To the truly-noble Mrs. Anne Owen, on my first approaches. 93  
33 Rosania shadowed whilst Mrs. Mary Awbrey. 94  
34 To the Queen of Inconstancy, Regina Collier, in Antwerp. 100  
35 To the excellent Mrs Anne Owen, upon her receiving the name of Lucasia, and adoption into our Society, Decemb. 28. 1651. 102  
36 To my excellent Lucasia, on our Friendship. 104  
Rosania's private Marriage. 106  
38 Injuria Amicitiae. 109  
39 To Regina Collier, on her cruelty to Philaster. 112  
40 To Philaster, on his Melancholy for Regina. 113  
Philoclea's parting, Feb. 25. 1650. 114  
42 To Rosania, now Mrs. Montague, being with her, Sept. 25. 1652. 115  
43 To my Lucasia. 118  
44 On Controversies in Religion. 120  
45 To the honoured Lady, E.C. 124  
46 Parting with Lucasia, Jan. 13. 1657. A Song. 133  
47 Against Pleasure. Set by Dr. Coleman. 135  
48 Out of Mr. More's Cop. Conf. 137  
49 To Mrs. M. A. upon Absence. Set by Mr. Henry Laws. 142  
50 L'Amity. To Mrs. Mary Awbrey. 144  
51 In memory of Mr. Cartwright. 145  
52 Mr. Francis Finch, the excellent Palaemon. 146  
53 To Mrs. M.A. at parting. 150  
54 To my dearest Antenor, on his parting. 155  
55 Engraven on Mr. John Collier's Tombstone at Bedlington. 157  
56 On the little Regina Collier, on the same tombstone. 158  
57 Friendship. ibid.  
58 The Enquiry. 162  
59 To my Lucasia, in defence of declared Friendship. 165  
60 Lafoy Grandeur d'esprit. 171  
61 A Countrey-life. 177  
62 To Mrs. Wogan, my honoured friend, on the death of her Husband. 182  
63 In memory of the most justly honoured, Mrs. Owen of Orielton. 185  
64 A Friend. 189  
65 L'Accord du Bien. 195  
66 Invitation to the Country. 203  
67 In memory of Mrs. E. H. 206  
68 Submission. 209  
69 2 Cor. 5. 19 God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself. 214  
70 The World. 217  
71 The Soul. 222  
72 Happiness. 228  
73 Death. 232  
74 To the Queen's Majesty, on her late sickness and recovery. 234    

POEMS.  

I. Upon the double Murder of K. CHARLES I. in Answer to a Libellous Copy of Rhymes made by Vavasor powel.  

I Think not on the State, nor am concerned  
Which way soever the great helm is turned:  
But as that son whose father's dangers nigh  
Did force his native dumbness, and untie  
The fettered organs; so here's a fair cause  
That will excuse the breach of Nature's laws.  
Silence were now a sin, nay Passion now  
Wise men themselves for Merit would allow.  
What noble eye could see (and careless pass)  
The dying Lion kicked by every Ass?  
Has Charles so broke God's Laws, he must not have  
A quiet Crown nor yet a quiet Grave?  
Tombs have been Sanctuaries; Thiefs lie there  
Secure from all their penalty and fear.  
Great Charles his double misery was this,  
Unfaithful Friends, ignoble Enemies.  
Had any Heathen been this Prince's foe,  
He would have wept to see him injured so.  
His Title was his Crime, they'd reason good  
To quarrel at the Right they had withstood.  
He broke God's Laws, and therefore he must die;  
And what shall then become of thee and I?  
Slander must follow Treason; but yet stay,  
Take not our Reason with our King away.  
Though you have seized upon all our defence,  
Yet do not sequester our common Sense.  
But I admire not at this new supply:  
No bounds will hold those who at Sceptres fly.  
Christ will be King, but I ne'er understood  
His Subjects built his Kingdom up with blood,  
Except their own; or that he would dispense  
With his commands, though for his own defence.  
Oh! to what height of horror are they come  
Who dare pull down a Crown, tear up a Tomb!    

II. On the numerous Access of the English to wait upon the King in Flanders.  

HAsten, Great Prince, unto thy British Isles,  
Or all thy Subjects will become Exiles.  
To thee they flock, thy Presence is their home,  
As Pompey's residence made afric Rome.  
They that asserted thy Just Cause go hence  
To testify their joy and reverence;  
And those that did not, now, by wonder taught,  
Go to confess and expiate their fault.  
So that if thou dost stay, thy gasping Land  
Will itself empty on the Belgic sand:  
Where the affrighted Dutchman does profess  
He thinks it an Invasion, not Address.  
As we unmonarched were for want of thee,  
So till thou come we shall unpeopled be.  
None but the close Fanatic will remain,  
Who by our Loyalty his ends will gain:  
And he th'exhausted Land will quickly find  
As desolate a place as he designed.  
For England (though grown old with woes) will see  
Her long-denyed and Sovereign Remedy.  
So when old Jacob could but credit give  
That his so long lost Joseph did still live,  
(Joseph that was preserved to restore  
Their lives that would have taken his before)  
It is enough, (said he) to Egypt I  
Will go, and see him once before I die.    

III. Arion to a Dolphin, On His Majesty's passage into England.  

WHom does this stately Navy bring?  
O! 'tis Britain's Glorious King.  
Convey him then, ye Winds and Seas,  
Swift as Desire and calm as Peace.  
In your Respect let him survey  
What all his other Subjects pay;  
And prophesy to them again  
The splendid smoothness of his Reign.  
Charles and his mighty hopes you bear:  
A greater now than Caesar's here;  
Whose Veins a richer Purple boast  
Then ever Hero's yet engrossed;  
Sprung from a Father so august,  
He triumphs in his very dust.  
In him two Miracles we view,  
His Virtue and his Safety too:  
For when compelled by Traitors crimes  
To breathe and bow in foreign Climes,  
Exposed to all the rigid fate  
That does on withered Greatness wait,  
Had plots for Life and Conscience laid,  
By Foes pursued, by Friends betrayed;  
Then Heaven, his secret potent friend,  
Did him from Drugs and Stabs defend;  
And, what's more yet, kept him upright  
'Midst flattering Hope and bloody Fight.  
Cromwell his whole Right never gained,  
Defender of the Faith remained,  
For which his Predecessors fought  
And writ, but none so dearly bought.  
Never was Prince so much besieged,  
At home provoked, abroad obliged;  
Nor ever Man resisted thus,  
No not great Athanasius.  
No help of Friends could, or Foes spite,  
To fierce Invasion him invite.  
Revenge to him no pleasure is,  
He spared their blood who gaped for his;  
Blushed any hands the English Crown  
Should fasten on him but their own.  
As Peace and Freedom with him went,  
With him they came from Banishment.  
That he might his Dominions win,  
He with himself did first begin:  
And that best victory obtained,  
His Kingdom quickly he regained.  
Th' illustrious sufferings of this Prince  
Did all reduce and all convince.  
He only lived with such success,  
That the whole world would fight with less.  
Assistant Kings could but subdue  
Those Foes which he can pardon too.  
He thinks no Slaughter-trophees good,  
Nor Laurels dipped in Subjects blood;  
But with a sweet resistless art  
Disarms the hand, and wins the heart;  
And like a God doth rescue those  
Who did themselves and him oppose.  
Go, wondrous Prince, adorn that Throne  
Which Birth and Merit make your own;  
And in your Mercy brighter shine  
Then in the Glories of your Line:  
Find Love at home, and abroad Fear,  
And Veneration every where.  
Th' united world will you allow  
Their Chief, to whom the English bow:  
And Monarches shall to yours resort,  
As Sheba's Queen to Judah's Court;  
Returning thence constrained more  
To wonder, envy, and adore.  
Disgusted Rome will hate your Crown,  
But she shall tremble at your Frown.  
For England shall (ruled and restored by You)  
The suppliant world protect, or else subdue.    

IV. On the Fair Wether just at Coronation.  

SO clear a season, and so snatched from storms,  
ShewsHeav'n delights to see what Man performs.  
Well knew the Sun, if such a day were dim,  
It would have been an injury to him:  
For then a Cloud had from his eye concealed  
The noblest sight that ever he beheld.  
He therefore checked th' invading Rains we feared,  
And a more bright Parenthesis appeared.  
So that we knew not which looked most content,  
The King, the People, or the Firmament.  
But the Solemnity once fully past,  
**********  
And Heaven and Earth each other to outdo,  
Vied both in Cannons and in Fireworks too.  
So Israel passed through the divided flood,  
While in obedient heaps the Ocean stood:  
But the same Sea (the Hebrews once on shore)  
Returned in torrents where it was before.    

V. To the Queen's Majesty on her Arrival at Portsmouth, May 14. 1662.  

NOw that the Seas & Winds so kind are grown,  
In our advantage to resign their own;  
Now you have quitted the triumphant Fleet,  
And suffered English ground to kiss your Feet,  
Whilst your glad Subjects with impatience throng  
To see a Blessing they have begged so long;  
Whilst Nature (who in compliment to you  
Kept back till now her wealth and beauty too)  
Hath, to attend the lustre your eyes bring,  
Sent forth her loved Ambassador the Spring;  
Whilst in your praise Fame's echo doth conspire  
With the soft touches of the sacred Lyre;  
Let an obscurer Muse upon her knees  
Present you with such Offerings as these,  
And you as a Divinity adore,  
That so your mercy may appear the more;  
Who, though of those you should the best receive,  
Can such imperfect ones as these forgive.  
Hail Royal Beauty, Virgin bright and great,  
Who do our hopes secure, our joys complete.  
We cannot reckon what to you we owe,  
Who make Him happy who makes us be so.  
We did enjoy but half our King before,  
You us our Prince and him his peace restore.  
But Heaven for us the desperate debt hath paid,  
Who such a Monarch hath your Trophy made.  
A Prince whose Virtue did alone subdue  
Armies of Men, and of Offences too.  
So good, that from him all our blessings flow,  
Yet is a greater than he can bestow.  
So great, that he dispenses life and death,  
And Europe's fate depends upon his breath.  
(For Fortune would her wrongs to him repair,  
By Courtships greater than his Mischiefs were:  
As Lovers that of Jealousy repent  
Grow troublesome in kind acknowledgement.)  
Who greater courage showed in wooing you,  
Then other Princes in their battles do.  
Never was Spain so generously defied;  
Where they designed a Prey, he courts a Bride.  
Hence they may guests what will his Anger prove,  
When he appeared so brave in making Love;  
And be more wise then to provoke his Arms,  
Who can submit to nothing but your Charms.  
And till they give him leisure to subdue,  
His Enemies must owe their peace to you.  
Whilst he and you mixing illustrious Rays,  
As much above our wishes as our praise,  
Such Hero's shall produce, that even they  
Without regret or blushes shall obey.    

VI To the Queen-mother's Majesty, Jan. 1. 1660/ 1.  

YOu justly may forsake a Land which you  
Have found so guilty and so fatal too.  
Fortune, injurious to your Innocence,  
Shot all her poisoned arrows here, or hence.  
'Twas here bold Rebels once your Life pursu  
(To whom 'twas Treason only to be rude,)  
Till you were forced by their unwearied spite  
(O glorious Criminal!) to take your flight.  
Whence after you all that was Humane fled;  
For here, oh! here the Royal Martyr bled,  
Whose cause and heart must be divine and high,  
That having you could be content to die.  
Here they purloined what we to you did owe,  
And paid you in variety of woe.  
Yet all those bellows in your breast did meet  
A heart so firm, so loyal, and so sweet,  
That over them you greater conquest made  
Then your Immortal Father ever had.  
For we may read in story of some few  
That fought like him, none that endured like you:  
Till Sorrow blushed to act what Traitors meant,  
And Providence itself did first repent.  
But as our Active, so our Passive, ill  
Hath made your share to be the sufferer's still.  
As from our Mischiefs all your troubles grew,  
'Tis your sad right to suffer for them too.  
Else our Great Charles had not been hence so long,  
Nor the Illustrious Glou'ster died so young:  
Nor had we lost a Princess all confessed  
To be the greatest, wisest, and the best;  
Who leaving colder parts, but less unkind,  
(For it was here she set, and there she shined,)  
Did to a most ungrateful Climate come  
To make a Visit, and to find a Tomb.  
So that we should as much your smile despair,  
As of your stay in this unpurged air;  
But that your Mercy doth exceed our Crimes  
As much as your Example former times,  
And will forgive our Offerings, though the flame  
Does tremble still betwixt regret and shame.  
For we have justly suffered more than you  
By the sad guilt of all your sufferings too.  
As you the great Idea have been seen  
Of either fortune, and in both a Queen,  
Live still triumphant by the noblest wars,  
And justify your reconciled stars.  
See your Offenders for your mercy bow,  
And your tried Virtue all Mankind allow;  
While you to such a Race have given birth,  
As are contended for by Heaven and Earth.    

VII. Upon the Princess Royal her Return into England.  

WElcome sure Pledge of reconciled Powers;  
If Kingdoms have Good Angels, you are ours:  
For th' Ill ones checked by your bright influence,  
Could never strike till you were hurried hence.  
But then, as Streams withstood more rapid grow,  
War and Confusion soon did overflow:  
Such and so many sorrows did succeed,  
As it would be a new one now to read.  
But whilst your Lustre was to us denied,  
You scattered blessings every where beside.  
Nature and Fortune have so gracious been,  
To give you Worth, and Scene to show it in.  
But we do most admire that generous Care  
Which did your glorious Brother's sufferings share;  
So that he thought them in your Presence none,  
And yet your sufferings did increase his own.  
O wondrous prodigy! Oracle Divine!  
Who owe more to your Actions then your Line.  
Your Lives exalt your Father's deathless Name,  
The blush of England, and the boast of Fame.  
Pardon, Great Madam, this unfit Address,  
Which does profane the Glory 'twould confess.  
Our Crimes have banished us from you, and we  
Were more removed by them then by the Sea.  
Not is it known whether we wronged you more  
When we rebelled, or now we do adore.  
But what Gild found, Devotion cannot miss;  
And you who pardoned that, will pardon this.  
Your blessed Return tells us our storms are ceased,  
Our faults forgiven, and our stars appeased.  
Your Mercy, which no Malice could destroy,  
Shall first bestow, and then instruct, our Joy.  
For bounteous Heaven hath in your Highness sent  
Our great Example, Bliss, and Ornament.    

VIII. On the Death of the Illustrious Duke of Gloucester.  

GReat Glou'ster's dead, and yet in this we must  
Confess that angry Heaven is wise and just.  
We have so long and yet so ill endured  
The woes which our offences had procured,  
That this new stroke would all our strength destroy.  
Had we not known an interval of Joy.  
And yet perhaps this stroke had been excused,  
If we this interval had not abused.  
But our Ingratitude and Discontent  
Deserved to know our mercies were but lent:  
And those complaints Heaven in this rigid fate  
Does first chastise, and then legitimate.  
By this it our Divisions does reprove,  
And makes us join in grief, if not in love.  
For (Glorious Youth) all Parties do agree,  
As in admiring, so lamenting thee;  
The Sovereign Subject, Foreiners delight:  
Thou wert the universal Favourite.  
Not Rome's belov'd and brave Marcellus fell  
So much a Darling or a Miracle.  
Though built of richest blood and finest earth,  
Thou hadst a heart more noble than thy birth:  
Which by th' afflictive changes thou didst know,  
Thou hadst but too much cause and time to show.  
For when Fate did thy Infancy expose  
To the most barbarous and stupid Foes;  
Yet thou didst then so much express the Prince,  
As did even them amaze, if not convince.  
Nay, that loose Tyrant whom no bound confined,  
Whom neither Laws nor Oaths nor Shame could bind,  
Although his Soul was then his Look more grim,  
Yet thy brave Innocence half softened him.  
And he that Worth wherein thy Soul was dressed  
By his ill-favoured clemency confessed;  
Lessening the ill which he could not repent,  
He called that Travel which was Banishment.  
Escaped from him, thy Trials were increased;  
The scene was changed, but not the danger ceased.  
Now from rough Guardians to Seducers gone,  
Those made thy Temper, these thy Judgmt known;  
Whilst thou the noblest Champion wert for Truth,  
Whether we view thy Courage or thy Youth.  
If to foil Nature and Ambition claims  
Greater reward then to encounter Flames,  
All that shall know the story must allow  
A Martyr's Crown prepared for thy brow.  
But yet thou wert suspended from thy Throne,  
Till thy Great Brother had regained his own:  
Who though the bravest Sufferer, yet even he  
Could not at once have missed his Crown and Thee.  
But as Commissioned Angels make no stay,  
But having done their errand go their way:  
So thy part done, not thy restored State,  
The future splendour which did for thee wait,  
Nor that thy Prince and Country must mourn for  
Such a Support and such a Counsellor,  
Could longer keep thee from that bliss whence thou  
Look'st down with pity on Earth's Monarches now;  
Where thy capacious Soul may quench her thirst,  
And Younger Brother may inherit first.  
While on our King Heaven does this care express,  
To make his Comforts safe he makes them less.  
For this successful Heathens use to say,  
It is too much, (great Gods,) send some allay.    

IX. To Her Royal Highness the Duchess of York, on her commanding me to send her some things that I had written.  

TO you whose Dignity strikes us with awe,  
And whose far greater Judgement gives us law,  
Your Mind being more transcendent than your State,  
For while but Knees to this, Hearts bow to that,  
These humble Papers never durst come near,  
Had not your powerful Word bid them appear;  
In which such majesty, such sweetness dwells,  
As in one act obliges and compels.  
None can dispute commands vouchsafed by you.  
What shall my fears then and confusion do?  
They must resign, and by their just pretence  
Some value set on my obedience.  
For in Religious Duties, 'tis confessed,  
The most Implicit are accepted best.  
If on that score your Highness will excuse  
This blushing tribute of an artless Muse,  
She may (encouraged by your least regard,  
Which first did worth create, and then reward)  
At modest distance with improved strains  
That Mercy celebrate which now she gains.  
But should you that severer justice use,  
Which these too prompt Approaches may produce,  
As the swift Do which hath escaped long,  
Believes a Vulgar hand would be a wrong;  
But wounded by a Prince falls without shame,  
And what in life she loses, gains in fame:  
So if a Ray from you chance to be sent,  
Which to consume, and not to warm is meant;  
My trembling Muse at least more nobly dies,  
And falls by that a truer sacrifice.    

X. On the Death of the Queen of Bohemia.  

ALthough the most do with officious heat  
Only adore the Living and the Great;  
Yet this Queen's Merits Fame hath so far spread,  
That she rules still, though dispossessed and dead.  
For losing one, two other Crowns remained;  
Over all hearts and her own griefs she reigned.  
Two Thrones so splendid, as to none are less  
But to that third which she does now possess.  
Her Heart and Birth Fortune so well did know,  
That seeking her own fame in such a Foe,  
She dressed the spacious Theatre for the fight,  
And the admiring World called to the sight:  
An Army then of mighty Sorrows brought,  
Who all against this single Virtue fought;  
And sometimes stratagems, and sometimes blows  
To her Heroic Soul they did oppose:  
But at her feet their vain attempts did fall,  
And she discovered and subdued them all.  
Till Fortune weary of her malice grew,  
Became her Captive and her Trophy too:  
And by too late a suit begged to have been  
Admitted Subject to so brave a Queen.  
But as some Hero who a field hath won,  
Viewing the things he had so bravely done,  
When by his spirit's flight he finds that he  
With his own Life must buy the Victory,  
He makes the slaughtered heap that next him lies  
His Funeral Pile, and then in triumph dies:  
So fell this Royal Dame, with conquering spent,  
And left in every breast her monument;  
Wherein so high an Epitaph is writ,  
As I must never dare to copy it.  
But that bright Angel which did on her wait,  
In fifty years' contention with her fate,  
And in that office did with wonder see  
How great her troubles, how much greater she;  
How she maintained her best Prerogative,  
In keeping still the power to Forgive;  
How high she did in her Directions go,  
And how her Condescension stooped as low;  
With how much Glory she had ever been  
A Daughter, Sister, Mother, Wife, and Queen;  
Will sure employ some deathless Muse to tell  
Our children this instructive Miracle,  
Who may her sad Illustrious Life recite,  
And after all her Wrongs may do her Right.    

XI. On the 3. of September, 1651.  

AS when the glorious Magazine of Light  
Approaches to his Canopy of Night,  
He with new splendour clothes his dying Rays,  
And double brightness to his Beams conveys;  
And, as to brave and check his ending fate,  
Puts on his highest looks in is lowest state,  
Dressed in such terror as to make us all  
Be Anti-Persians, and adore his Fall;  
Then quits the world, depriving it of Day,  
While every Herb and Plant does droop away:  
So when our gasping English Royalty  
Perceived her Period was now drawing nigh,  
She summons her whole strength to give one blow,  
To raise herself, or pull down others too.  
Big with revenge and hope she now spoke more  
Of terror then in many months before;  
And musters her Attendants, or to save  
Her from, or else attend her to, the Grave:  
Yet but enjoyed the miserable fate  
Of setting Majesty, to die in State.  
Unhappy Kings, who cannot keep a Throne,  
Nor be so fortunate to fall alone!  
Their weight sinks others: Pompey could not fly,  
But half the World must bear him company;  
And captived Samson could not life conclude,  
Unless attended with a multitude.  
Who'd trust to Greatness now, whose food is air,  
Whose ruin sudden, and whose end despair?  
Who would presume upon his Glorious Birth,  
Or quarrel for a spacious share of Earth,  
That sees such Diadems become so cheap,  
And Hero's tumble in a common heap?  
Oh give me Virtue then, which sums up all,  
And firmly stands when Crowns and Sceptres fall.    

XII. To the noble Palaemon, on his incomparable Discourse of Friendship.  

WE had been still undone, wrapped in disguise,  
Secure, not happy; cunning, and not wise;  
War had been our design, Interest our trade;  
We had not dwelled in safety, but in shade,  
Hadst thou not hung out Light more welcome far  
Than wandering Seamen think the Northern-star;  
To show, lest we our happiness should miss,  
'Tis placed in Friendship, men's and Angel's bliss.  
Friendship, which had a scorn or mark been made,  
And still had been derided or betrayed,  
At which the great Physician still had laughed,  
The Soldier stormed, and the Gallant scoffed;  
Or worn not as a Passion, but a Plot,  
At first pretended, or at least forgot;  
Hadst thou not been our great Deliverer,  
At first discovered, and then rescued her,  
And raising what rude Malice had flung down,  
Unveiled her Face, and then restored her Crown:  
By such august an action to convince,  
'Tis greater to support then be a Prince.  
Oh for a Voice which big as Thunder were,  
That all Mankind thy conquering truths might hear!  
Sure the Litigious as amazed would stand,  
As Fairy Knights touched with Cabina's Wand,  
Drawn by thy fofter, and yet stronger Charms,  
**********  
And what more honour can on thee be hurled,  
Then to protect a Virtue, save a World?  
But while great Friendship thou hast copied out,  
Thou'st drawn thyself so well, that we may doubt  
Which most appears, thy Candour or thy Art,  
Or we owe more unto thy Brain or Heart.  
But this we know without thine own consent,  
Thou thou st raised thyself a glorious Monument;  
And that so lasting that all Fate forbids,  
And will outlive Egyptian Pyramids.  
Temples and Statues Time will eat away,  
And Tombs (like their Inhabitants) decay;  
But there Palaemon lives, and so he must  
When Marbles crumble to forgotten dust.    

XIII. To the Right Honourable Alice Countess of Carbury, on her enriching Wales with her Presence.  

AS when the first day dawn'd Man's greedy Eye  
Was apt to dwell on the bright Prodigy,  
Till he might careless of his Organ grow,  
And so his wonder prove his danger too:  
So when your Country (which was deemed to be  
Close-mourner in its own obscurity,  
And in neglected Chaos so long lay)  
Was rescu'de by your beams into a Day,  
Like men into a sudden lustre brought,  
We justly feared to gaze more than we ought.   

2.  
From hence it is you lose most of your Right,  
Since none can pay 't, nor durst do 't if they might.  
Perfection's misery 'tis that Art and Wit,  
While they would honour, do but injure it.  
But as the Deity slights our Expense,  
And loves Devotion more than Eloquence:  
So 'tis our Confidence you are Divine,  
Makes us at distance thus approach your Shrine.  
And thus secured, to you who need no art,  
I that speak least my wit may speak my heart.   

3.  
Then much above all zealous injury,  
Receive this tribute of our shades from me,  
While your great Splendour, like eternal Spring,  
To these sad Groves such a refreshment bring,  
That the despised Country may be grown,  
And justly too, the Envy of the Town.  
That so when all Mankind at length have lost  
The Virtuous Grandeur which they once did boast,  
Of you like Pilgrims they may here obtain  
Worth to recruit the dying world again.    

XIV. To Sir Edw. Deering (the noble Silvander) on his Dream and Navy, personating Orinda's preferring Rosannia before Solomon's Traffic to Ophir.  

THen am I happier than is the King;  
My Merchandise does no such danger bring:  
The Fleet I traffic with fears no such harms,  
Sails in my sight, and anchors in my arms.  
Each new and unperceived grace  
Discovered in that mind and face,  
Each motion, smile and look from thee  
Brings pearls and Ophir-gold to me.  
Thus far Sir Edw. Deering.  
SIR, To be Noble when 'twas voted down,  
To dare be Good though a whole Age should frown;  
To live within, and from that even state  
See all the under-world stoops to its fate;  
To give the Law of Honour, and dispense  
All that is handsome, great and worthy thence;  
Are things at once your practice and your end,  
And which I dare admire, but not commend.  
But since t' oblige the World is your delight,  
You must descend within our watch and sight:  
For so Divinity must take disguise,  
Lest Mortals perish with the bright surprise.  
And thus your Muse, which can enough reward  
All actions, studied to be brave and hard,  
And Honours gives then Kings more permanent,  
Above the reach of Acts of Parliament,  
May suffer an Acknowledgement from me,  
For having thence received Eternity.  
My thoughts with such advantage you express,  
I hardly know them in this charming dress.  
And had I more unkindness for my friend  
Then my demerits e'er could apprehend,  
Were the Fleet courted with this gale of wind,  
I might be sure a rich return to find.  
So when the Shepherd of his Nymph complained,  
Apollo in his shape his Mistress gained:  
She might have scorned the Swain, & found excuse:  
But could not this great Orator refuse.  
But for Rosannia's Interest I should fear  
It would be hard t' obtain your pardon here.  
But your first Goodness will, I know, allow  
That what was Beauty then, is Mercy now.  
Forgiveness is the noblest Charity,  
And nothing can worthy your favour be.  
For you (Godlike) are so much your own fate,  
That what you will accept you must create.    

XV. To the truly-noble Mr. Henry Laws.  

NAture, which is the vast Creation's Soul,  
That steady curious Agent in the whole,  
The Art of Heaven, the Order of this Frame,  
Is only Number in another name.  
For as some King conquering what was his own,  
Hath choice of several Titles to his Crown;  
So Harmony on this score now, that then,  
Yet still is all that takes and governs Men.  
Beauty is but Composure, and we find  
Content is but the Accord of the Mind,  
Friendship the Union of well-tuned Hearts,  
Honour's the Chorus of the noblest parts,  
And all the World on which we can reflect  
Music to th' Ear, or to the Intellect.  
If then each man a Little World must be,  
How many Worlds are copied out in thee,  
Who art so richly form, so complete  
T' epitomise all that is Good and Great;  
Whose Stars this brave advantage did impart,  
Thy Nature 's as harmonious as thy Art?  
Thou dost above the Poet's praises live,  
Who fetch from thee th' Eternity they give.  
And as true Reason triumphs over Sense,  
Yet is subjected to Intelligence;  
So Poets on the lower World look down,  
But Laws on them; his Height is all his own.  
For, like Divinity itself, his Lyre  
Rewards the Wit it did at first inspire.  
And thus by double right Poets allow  
His and their Laurel should adorn his brow.  
Live then, great Soul of Nature, to assuage  
The savage dulness of this sullen Age.  
Charm us to Sense; for though Experience fail  
And Reason too, thy Numbers may prevail.  
Then, like those Ancients, strike, and so command  
All Nature to obey thy generous hand.  
None will resist but such who needs will be  
More stupid than a Stone, a Fish, a Tree.  
Be it thy care our Age to new-create:  
What built a World may sure repair a State.    

XVI. A Sea from Tenby to Bristol, begun Sept. 5. 1652. sent from Bristol to Lucasia Sept. 8. 1652.  

Hoist up the sail, cried they who understand  
No word that carries kindness for the Land:  
Such sons of clamour, that I wonder not  
They love the Sea, whom sure some Storm begot.  
Had he who doubted Motion these men seen,  
Or heard their tongues, he had convinced been.  
For had our Bark moved half as fast as they,  
We had not need cast anchor by the way.  
One of the rest pretending to more wit,  
Some small Italian spoke, but murdered it;  
For I (thanks o Saburna's Letters) knew  
How to distinguish 'twixt the false and true.  
But t' oppose these as mad a thing would be  
As 'tis to contradict a presbytery.  
'Tis Spanish though, (quoth I) even what you please:  
For him that spoke it 'tmight be Bread and Cheese.  
So softly moves the Bark which none controls,  
As are the meetings of agreeing Souls:  
And the Moon-beams did on the water play,  
As if at Midnight 'twould create a Day.  
The amorous Wave that shared in such dispense  
Expressed at once delight and reverence.  
Such trepidation we in Lovers spy  
Under th' oppression of a Mistress eye.  
But then the Wind so high did rise and roar,  
Some vowed they'd never trust the traitor more.  
Behold the fate that all our Glories sweep,  
Writ in the dangerous wonders of the Deep:  
And yet behold Man's easy folly more,  
How soon we curse what erst we did adore  
Sure he that first himself did thus convey  
Had some strong passion that he would obey.  
The Bark wrought hard, but found it was in vain  
To make its party good against the Main,  
Tossed and retreated, till at last we see  
She must be fast if e'er she should be free.  
We gravely Anchor cast, and patiently  
Lie prisoners to the weather's cruelty.  
We had nor Wind nor Tide, nor ought but Grief,  
Till a kind Spring tide was our first relief.  
Then we float merrily, forgetting quite  
The sad confinement of the stormy night.  
ere we had lost these thoughts, we ran aground,  
And then how vain to be secure, we found.  
Now they were all surprised. Well, if we must,  
Yet none shall say that dust is gone to dust.  
But we are off now, and the civil Tide  
Assisted us the Tempests to outride.  
But what most pleased my mind upon the way,  
Was the Ship's posture when 't in Harbour lay:  
Which so close to a rocky Grove was fixed,  
That the Trees branches with the Tackling mixed.  
One would have thought it was, as than it stood,  
A growing Navy, or a floating Wood  
But I have done at last, and do confess  
My Voyage taught me so much tediousness.  
In short, the heavens must needs propitious be  
Because Lucasia was concerned in me.    

XVII. Friendship's Mystery, To my dearest Lucasia. Set by Mr. Henry Laws.  

1.  
COme, my Lucasia, since we see  
That Miracles men's faith do move,  
By wonders and by prodigy  
To the dull angry world let 's prove  
There's a Religion in our Love.   

2.  
For though we were designed t' agree,  
That Fate no liberty destroys,  
But our Election is as free  
As Angels, who with greedy choice  
Are yet determined to their joys.   

3.  
Our hearts are doubled by the loss,  
Here Mixture is Addition grown;  
We both diffuse, and both engross:  
And we whose Minds are so much one,  
Never, yet ever, are alone.   

4.  
We count our own captivity.  
Then greatest thrones more innocent:  
'Twere banishment to be set free,  
Since we wear fetters whose intent  
Not Bondage is, but Ornament.   

5.  
Divided joys are odious found,  
And griefs united easier grow:  
We are ourselves but by rebound,  
And all our Titles shuffled so,  
Both Princes and both Subjects too.   

6.  
Our Hearts are mutual Victims laid,  
While they (such power in Friendship lies)  
Are Altars, Priests, and Offerings made:  
And each Heart which thus kindly dies,  
Grows deathless by the Sacrifice.    

XVIII. Content, To my dearest Lucasia.  

1.  
COntent, the false World's best-disguise,  
The search and faction of the Wife,  
Is so abstruse and hid in night,  
That, like that Fairy Red-cross Knight,  
Who treacherous Falsehood for clear Truth had got,  
Men think they have it when they have it not.   

2.  
For Courts Content would gladly own,  
But she ne'er dwelled about a Throne:  
And to be flattered, rich, and great,  
Are things which do men's senses cheat.  
But grave Experience long since this did see,  
Ambition and Content would ne'er agree.   

3.  
Some vainer would Content expect  
From what their bright Outsides reflect:  
But sure Content is more Divine  
Then to be digged from Rock or Mine:  
And they that-know her beauties will confess,  
She needs no lustre from a glittering dress.   

4.  
In Mirth some place her, but she scorns  
Th' assistance of such crackling thorns,  
Nor owes herself to such thin sprot,  
That is so sharp and yet so short:  
And Painters tell us, they the same strokes place  
To make a laughing and á weeping face.   

5.  
Others there are that place Content  
In Liberty from Government:  
But who his Passions do deprave,  
Though free from shackles is a slave.  
Content and Bondage differ only then,  
When we are chained by Vices, not by Men.   

6.  
Some think the Camp Content does know,  
And that she sits o'th' Victor's brow:  
But in his Laurel there is seen  
Often a Cypress-bow between.  
Nor will Content herself in that place give,  
Where Noise and Tumult and Destruction live.   

7.  
But yet the most Discreet believe,  
The Schools this Jewel do receive,  
And thus far's true without dispute,  
Knowledge is still the sweetest fruit.  
But whilst men-seek for Truth they lose their Peace;  
And who heaps Knowledge, Sorrow doth increase,   

8.  
But now some sullen Hermit smiles,  
And thinks he all the World beguiles,  
And that his Cell and Dish contain  
What all mankind wish for in vain.  
But yet his Pleasure's followed with a Groan,  
For man was never born to be alone.   

8.  
Content herself best comprehends  
Borwixt-two souls, and they two friends,  
Whose either joys in both are fixed,  
And multiplied by being mixed:  
Whose minds and interests are still the same;  
Their Griefs, when once imparted, lose their name;   

10.  
These far removed from all bold noise,  
And (what is worse) all hollow joys,  
Who never had a mean design,  
Whose flame is serious and divine,  
And calm, and even, must contented be,  
For they've both Union and Society.   

11.  
Then, my Lucasia, we have  
Whatever Love can give or crave;  
With scorn or pity can survey  
The Trifles which the most betray;  
With innocence and perfect friendship fired,  
By Virtue joined, and by our Choice retired:   

12.  
Whose Mirrors are the crystal Brooks,  
Or else each others Hearts and Looks;  
Who cannot wish for other things  
Then Privacy and Friendship brings:  
Whose thoughts and persons changed and mixed are one,  
Enjoy Content, or else the World hath none.    

XIX. A Dialogue of Absence 'twixt Lucasia and Orinda. Set by Mr. Hen. Laws.  Luc. 
SAy, my Orinda, why so sad?  Orin. 
Absence from thee doth tear my heart;  
Which, since with thine it union had,  
Each parting splits.  Luc. 
And can we part?  Orin. 
Our Bodies must.  Luc. 
But never we:  
Our Souls, without the help of Sense,  
By ways more noble and more free  
Can meet, and hold intelligence:  Orin. 
And yet those Souls, when first they met,  
Looked out at windows through the Eyes.  Luc. 
But soon did such acquaintance get,  
Not Fate nor Time can them surprise.  Orin. 
Absence will rob us of that bliss  
To which this Friendship title brings:  
Love's fruits and joys are made by this  
Useless as Crowns to captived Kings.  Luc. 
Friendship's a Science, and we know  
There Contemplation's most employed.  Orin. 
Religion's so, but practic too,  
And both by niceties destroyed.  Luc. 
But who ne'er parts can never meet,  
And so that happiness were lost.  Orin. 
Thus Pain and Death are sadly sweet,  
Since Health and Heaven such price must cost.  

Chorus.  
But we shall come where no rude hand shall sever,  
And there we'll meet and part no more for ever.    

XX. To my dear Sister, Mrs. C. P. on her Nuptial.  

WE will not like those men our offerings pay  
Who crown the cup, then think they crown the day.  
We make no garlands, nor an altar build,  
Which help not Joy, but Ostentation yield.  
Where mirth is justly grounded these wild toys  
**********   

2.  
But these shall be my great Solemnities,  
Orinda's wishes for Cassandra's bliss.  
May her Content be as unmixed and pure  
As my Affection, and like that endure;  
And that strong Happiness may she still find  
Not owing to her Fortune, but her Mind.   

3.  
May her Content and Duty be the same,  
And may she know no Grief but in the name.  
May his and her Pleasure and Love be so  
Involved and growing, that we may not know  
Who most Affection or most Peace engrossed;  
Whose Love is strongest, or whose Bliss is most.   

4.  
May nothing accidental ere appear  
But what shall with new bonds their Souls endear;  
And may they count the hours as they pass,  
By their own Joys, and not by Sun or Glass:  
While every day like this may sacred prove  
To Friendship, Gratitude, and strictest Love.    

XXI. To Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems.  

HAd I adored the multitude, and thence  
Got an antipathy to Wit and Sense,  
And hugged that fate in hope the World would grant  
'Twas good affection to be ignorant;  
Yet the least Ray of thy bright fancy seen,  
I had converted, or excuseless been;  
For each Birth of thy Muse to aftertimes  
Shall expiate for all this Age's crimes.  
First shines thy Amoretta, twice crowned by thee,  
Once by thy Love, next by thy Poetry:  
Where thou the best of Unions dost dispense,  
Truth clothed in Wit, and Love in Innocence.  
So that the mddiest Lovers may learn here,  
No Fountains can be sweet that are not clear.  
There Juvenal revived by thee declares  
How flat man's Joys are, and how mean his Cares;  
And generally upbraids the World that they  
Should such a value for their Ruin pay.  
But when thy sacred Muse diverts her Quill,  
The Landscape to design of Leon's hill;  
As nothing else was worthy her or thee,  
So we admire almost t' Idolatry.  
What Savage breast would not be raped to find  
Such Jewels in such Cabinets enshrined?  
Thou filled with Joys too great to see or count,  
Descend'st from thence like Moses from the Mount,  
And with a candid, yet unquestion daw,  
Restor'st the Golden Age when Verse was Law,  
Instructing us, thou who secur'st thy fame,  
That nothing can disturb it but my name;  
Nay I have hopes that standing so near thine  
'Twill lose its dress, and by degrees refine.  
Live till the disabused World consent,  
All Truths of Use, or Strength, or Ornament,  
Are with such Harmony by thee displayed  
As the whole World was first by Number made;  
And from the charming Rigour thy Muse brings,  
Learn, there's no pleasure but in serious things.    

XXII. A retired Friendship, to Ardelia.  

COme, my Ardelia, to this Bower,  
Where kindly mingling Souls awhile  
Let's innocently spend an hour,  
And at all ferious follies smile.   

2.  
Here is no quarrelling for Crowns,  
Nor fear of changes in our Fate;  
No trembling at the great ones frowns,  
Nor any slavery of State.   

3.  
Here's no disguise nor treachery,  
Nor any deep concealed design;  
From Blood and Plots this place is free,  
And calm as are those looks of thine.   

4.  
Here let us sit and bless our Stars,  
Who did such happy qulet give,  
As that removed from noise of Wars  
In one another's hearts we live.   

5.  
Why should we entertain a fear?  
Love cares not how the World is turned:  
If crowds of dangers should appear,  
Yet Friendship can be unconcerned.   

6.  
We wear about us such a charm,  
No horror can be our offence;  
For mischief's self can do no harm  
To Friendship or to Innocence.   

7.  
Let's mark how soon Apollo's beams  
Command the flocks to quit their meat,  
And not entreat the neighbouring Springs  
To quench their thirst, but cool their heat.   

8.  
In such a scorching Age as this  
Who would not ever seek a shade,  
Deserve their Happiness to miss,  
As having their own peace betrayed.   

9  
But we (of one another's mind  
Assured) the boisterous World disdain;  
With quiet Souls and unconfined  
Enjoy what Princes wish in vain.    

XXIII. To Mrs. Mary Carne, when Philaster courted her.  
Madam,  

AS some great Conqueror who knows no bounds,  
But hunting Honour in a thousand wounds,  
Pursues his rage, and thinks that Triumph cheap  
That's but attended with the common heap,  
Till his more happy fortune doth afford  
Some Royal Captive that deserved his sword,  
And only now is of his Laurel proud,  
Thinking his dangerous valour well bestowed;  
But than retreats, and spending hate no more,  
Thinks Mercy now what Courage was before:  
As Cowardice in fight, so equally  
He doth abhor a bloody Victory.  
So, Madam, though your Beauty were allowed  
To be severe unto the yielding Crowd,  
That were subdued ere you an Object knew  
Worthy your Conquest and your Mercy too;  
Yet now 'tis gained, your Victory's complete,  
Only your Clemency should be as great.  
None will dispute the power of your Eyes,  
That understands Philaster is their prize.  
Hope not your Glory can have new access,  
For all your future Prophees will grow less:  
And with that Homage be you satisfied  
From him that conquers all the World beside,  
Nor let your Rigour now the Triumph blot,  
And lose the honour which your Beauty got.  
Be just and kind unto your Peace and Fame,  
In being so to him, for they're the same:  
And live and die at once, if you would be  
Nobly transmitted to Posterity.  
Take heed lest in thy story they peruse  
A murder which no language can excuse:  
But wisely spare the trouble of one frown;  
Give him his happiness, and know your own.  
Thus shall you be as Honour's self esteemed,  
Who have one Sex obliged, your own redeemed.  
Thus the Religion due unto your Shrine  
Shall be as Universal as Divine:  
And that Devotion shall this blessing gain,  
Which Law and Reason do attempt in vain.  
The World shall join, maintaining but one strife,  
Who shall most thank you for Philaster's life.    

XXIV. To Mr. J. B. the noble Cratander, upon a Composition of his which he was not willing to own publickty.  

AS when some injured Prince assumes Disguise  
And strives to make his Carriage sympathise,  
Yet hath a great becoming Mien and Air,  
Which speaks him Royal spite of all his care:  
So th' Issues ' of thy Soul can ne'er be hid,  
And the Sun's force may be as soon forbid  
As thine obscured; there is no shade so great  
Through which it will not dart forth light and heat.  
Thus we discover thee by thy own Day  
Against thy will snatching the Cloud away.  
Now the Piece shines, and though we will not say,  
Parents can Souls, as Tapers lights, convey;  
Yet we must grant thy Soul transmitted here  
In beams almost as lasting and as clear.  
And that's our highest praise, for that thy Mind  
Thy Works could never a resemblance find.  
That mind whose search can Nature's secret hand  
At one great stroke discover and command,  
Which cleareth times and things, before whose eyes  
Nor Men nor Notions dare put on disguise.  
And were all Authors now as much forgot  
As prosperous Ignorance herself would plot,  
Had we the rich supplies of thy own breast,  
The knowing World would never miss the rest.  
Men did before from Ignorance take their Fame,  
But Learning's self is honoured by thy Name.  
Thou studiest not belief to introduce  
Of Novelties, more fit for show then use;  
But think'st it noble Charity t' uphold  
The credit and the Beauty of the old:  
And with one hand canst easily support  
Learning and Law, a Temple and a Court.  
And this secures me: for as we below  
Valleys from Hills, Houses from Churches know,  
But to their fight who stand extremely high,  
These forms will have one flat Equality:  
So from a lower Soul I might well fear  
A critic censure when surveyed too near;  
But from Cratander (who above the best  
Lives in a height which levels all the rest)  
I may that Royalty of Soul expect,  
That can at once both pardon and neglect.  
Thus I approach, and wanting wit and sense,  
Let Trepidation be my Reverence.    

XXV. Lucasia.  

NOt to oblige Lucasia by my voice,  
To boast my fate, or justify my choice,  
Is this designed; but pity does engage  
My Pen to rescue the declining Age.  
For since 'tis grown in fashion to be bad,  
And to be vain or angry, proud or mad,  
(While in their Vices only Men agree)  
Is thought the only modern Gallantry;  
How would some brave Examples check the crimes;  
And both reproach, and yet reform, the Times?  
Nor can Mortality itself reclaim  
Th' apostate World like my Lucasia's name:  
Lucasia, whose rich Soul had it been known  
In that Time th' Ancierits called the Golden one,  
When Innocence and Greatness were the same,  
And Men no battles knew but in a game,  
Choosing what Nature, not what Art, prefers,  
Poets were Judges, King's Philosophers;  
Even then from her the Wise would copies draw,  
And she to th' infant World had given a Law.  
That Souls were made of Number could not be  
An Observation, but a Prophecy.  
It meant Lucasia, whose harmonious state  
The Spheres and Muses faintly imitate.  
But as then Music is best understood,  
When every Chord's examined and found good:  
So what in others Judgement is and Will,  
In her is the same even Reason still.  
And as some Colour various seems, but yet  
'Tis but our difference in considering it:  
So she now light, and then does light dispense,  
But is one shining Orb of Excellence:  
And that so piercing when she Judgement takes,  
She doth not search, but Intuition makes:  
And her Discoveries more easy are  
Then Caesar's Conquest in his Pontic War.  
As bright and vigorous her beams are pure,  
And in their own rich candour so secure,  
That had she lived where Legends were devised,  
Rome had been just, and she been canonised.  
Nay Innocence herself less clear must be,  
If Innocence be any thing but she.  
For Virtue 's so congenial to her mind,  
That Liquid things, or Friends, are less combined.  
So that in her that Sage his wish had seen,  
And Virtue 's self had personated been.  
Now as distilled Simples do agree,  
And in th' Alembick lose variety;  
So Virtue, though in pieces scattered 'twas,  
Is by her Mind made one rich useful mass.  
Nor doth Discretion put Religion down,  
Nor hasty Zele usurp the judgement's crown.  
Wisdom and Friendship have one single Throne,  
And make another Friendship of their own.  
Each several piece darts such fierce pleasing rays,  
Poetic Lovers would but wrong in praise.  
All hath proportion, all hath comeliness,  
And her Humility alone excess.  
Her Modesty doth wrong a Worth so great,  
Which Calumny herself would noblier treat:  
While true to Friendship and to Nature's trust,  
To her own Merits only she 's unjust.  
But as Divinity we best declare  
By sounds as broken as our Notions are;  
So to acknowledge such vast Eminence,  
Imperfect Wonder is our evidence.  
No Pen Lucasia's glories can relate,  
But they admire best who dare imitate.    

XXVI. Wiston Vault.  

ANd why this Vault and Tomb? alike we must  
Put off Distinction, and put on Dust.  
Nor can the stateliest fabric help to save  
From the corruptions of a common Grave;  
Nor for the Resurrection more prepare,  
Then if the Dust were scattered into air.  
What then? Th' ambition's just, say some, that we  
May thus perpetuate our Memory.  
Ah false vain task of Art! ah poor weak Man!  
Whose Monument does more than's Merit can:  
Who by his Friends best care and love's abused,  
And in his very Epitaph misused:  
For did they not suspect his Name would fall,  
There would not need an Epitaph at all.  
But after death too I would be alive,  
And shall, if my Lucasia do, survive.  
I quit these pomps of Death, and am content,  
Having her Heart to be my Monument:  
Though ne'er Stone to me, 'twil Stone for me prove,  
By the peculiar miracles of Love.  
There I'll Inscription have which no Tomb gives,  
Not, Here Orinda lies, but, Here she lives.    

XXVII. Friendship in Emblem, or the Seal. To my dearest Lucasia.  

1.  
THe Hearts thus intermixed speak  
A Love that no bold shock can break:  
For joined and growing both in one,  
Neither can be disturbed alone.   

2.  
That means a mutual Knowledge too;  
For what is 't either Heart can do,  
Which by its panting Centinel  
It does not to the other tell?   

3.  
That Friendship Hearts so much refines,  
It nothing but itself designs:  
The Hearts are free from lower ends,  
For each point to the other tends.   

4.  
They flame, 'tis true, and several ways,  
But still those Flames do so much raise,  
That while to either they incline  
They yet are noble and divine.   

5.  
From smoke or hurt those Flames are free,  
From grossness or mortality:  
The Heart (like Moses Bush presumed)  
Warmed and enlightened, not consumed.   

6.  
The Compasses that stand above  
Express this great immortal Love;  
For Friends, like them, can prove this true,  
They are, and yet they are not, two.   

7.  
And in their posture is expressed  
Friendship's exalted Interest:  
Each follows where the other leans,  
And what each does each other means.   

8.  
And as when one foot does stand fast,  
And t'other circles seeks to cast,  
The steady part does regulate  
And make the Wandrer's motion strait:   

9  
So Friends are only two in this,  
T'reclaim each other when they miss;  
For whosoever will grossly fall,  
Can never be a Friend at all.   

10.  
And as that useful Instrument  
For Even lines was ever meant;  
So Friendship from good Angels springs,  
To teach the world Heroic things.   

11.  
As these are found out in design  
To rule and measure every Line;  
So Friendship governs actions best,  
Prescribing unto all the rest.   

12.  
And as in Nature nothing's set  
So just as Lines in Number met;  
So Compasses for these b'ing made,  
Do Friendship's harmony persuade.   

13.  
And like to them, so Friends may own  
Extension, not Division:  
Their Points, like Bodies, separate;  
But Head, like Souls, knows no such fate.   

14.  
And as each part so well is knit,  
That their Embraces ever fit:  
So Friends are such by destiny,  
And no third can the place supply.   

15.  
There needs no Motto to the Seal:  
But that we may the mind reveal  
To the dull Eye, it was thought fit  
That Friendship only should be writ.   

16.  
But as there are Degrees of bliss,  
So there's no Friendship meant by this,  
But such as will transmit to Fame  
Lucasia and Orinda's name.    

XXVIII. In Memory of T. P. who died at Action the 24. May 1660. at 12. and ½ of Age.  

IF I could ever write a lasting Verse,  
It should be laid, dear heart, upon thy Hearse.  
But Sorrow is no Muse, and does confess  
That it lest can what it would most express.  
Yet that I may some bounds to Grief allow,  
I'll try if I can weep in Numbers now.  
Ah beauteous Blossom too untimely dead!  
Whither? ah whither is thy sweetness fled?  
Where are the charms that always did arise  
From the prevailing language of thy Eyes?  
Where is thy lovely air and lovely meene,  
And all the wonders that in thee were seen?  
Alas! in vain, in vain on thee I rave;  
There is no pity in the stupid Grave.  
But so the Bankrupt, sitting on the brim  
Of those fierce Billows which had ruined him,  
Begs for his lost Estate, and does complain  
To the inexorable Floods in vain.  
As well we may inquire when Roses die,  
To what retirement their sweet Odours fly;  
Whither their Virtues and their Blushes haste,  
When the short triumph of their life is past;  
Or call their perishing Beauties back with tears,  
As add one moment to thy finished years.  
No, thou art gone, and thy presaging Mind  
So thriftily thy early hours designed,  
That hasty Death was baffled in his Pride,  
Since nothing of thee but thy Body died.  
Thy Soul was up betimes, and so concerned  
To grasp all Excellence that could be learned,  
That finding nothing fill her thirsting here,  
To the Springhead she went to quench it there;  
And so prepared, that being freed from sin  
She quickly might become a Cherubin.  
Thou wert all Soul, and through thy Eyes it shined:  
Ashamed and angry to be so confined,  
It longed to be uncaged, and thither flown  
Where it might know as clearly as 'twas known.  
In these vast hopes we might thy change have found,  
But that Heaven blinds whom it decrees to wound.  
For Parts so soon at so sublime a pitch,  
A Judgement so mature, Fancy so rich,  
Never appear unto unthankful Men,  
But as a Vision to be hid again.  
So glorious Scenes in Masques Spectators view  
With the short pleasure of an hour or two;  
But that once past, the Ornaments are gone,  
The Lights extinguished, and the Curtains drawn  
Yet all these Gifts were thy less noble part,  
Nor was thy Head so worthy as thy Heart;  
Where the Divine Impression shined so clear,  
As snatched thee hence, and yet endeared thee here:  
For what in thee did most command our love  
Was both the cause and sign of thy remove.  
Such fools are we, so fatally we choose:  
For what we most would keep we soon lose.  
The humble greatness of thy Pious thought,  
Sweetness unforced, and Bashfulness untaught,  
The native Candour of thine open breast,  
And all the Beams wherein thy Worth was dressed,  
Thy Wit so bright, so piercing and immense,  
Adorned with wise and lovely Innocence,  
Might have foretold thou wert not so complete,  
But that our joy might be as short as great.  
'Tis so, and all our cares and hopes of thee  
Fled like a vanished Dream or withered Tree.  
So the poor Swain beholds his ripened Corn  
By some rough Wind without a Sickle torn.  
Never, ah! never let sad Parents guess  
At once remove of future happiness:  
But reckon Children 'mong those passing joys  
Which one hour gives, and the next hour destroys,  
Alas! we were secure of our content;  
But find too late that it was only lent,  
To be a Mirror wherein we may see  
How frail we are, how spotless we should be.  
But if to thy blessed Soul my grief appears,  
Forgive and pity these injurious tears:  
Impute them to Affection's sad excess,  
Which will not yield to Nature's tenderness,  
Since 'twas through dearest ties and highest trust  
Continued from thy Cradle to thy Dust;  
And so rewarded and confirmed by thine,  
That (woe is me!) I thought thee too much mine.  
But I'll resign, and follow thee as fast  
As my unhappy Minutes will make haste.  
Till when the fresh remembrances of thee  
Shall be my Emblems of Mortality.  
For such a loss as this (bright Soul!) is not  
Ever to be repaired or forgot.    

XXIX. In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Marry Lloyd of Bodiscist in Denbighshire, who died Nou. 13. 1656. after she came thither from Pembrokeshire.  

I Cannot hold, for though to write were rude,  
Yet to be silent were Ingratitude,  
And Folly too; for if Posterity  
Should never hear of such a one as thee,  
And only know this Age's brutish fame,  
They would think Virtue nothing but a Name.  
And though far abler Pens must her define,  
Yet her Adoption hath engaged mine:  
And I must own where Merit shines so clear,  
'Tis hard to write, but harder to forbear.  
Sprung from an ancient and an honoured Stem,  
Who lent her lustre, and she paid it them;  
So still in great and noble things appeared,  
Who yet their Country loved, and yet they feared.  
Matched to another as good and great as they,  
Who did their Country both oblige and sway.  
Behold herself, who had without dispute  
More than both Families could contribute.  
What early Beauty Grief and Age had broke,  
Her lovely Relics and her Offspring spoke.  
She was by nature and her Parents care  
A Woman long before most others are.  
But yet that antedated season she  
Improved to Virtue, not to Liberty.  
For she was still in either state of life  
Meek as a Virgin, Prudent as a Wife.  
And she well knew, although so young and fair,  
Justly to mix Obedience and Care;  
Whilst to her Children she did still appear  
So wisely kind, so tenderly severe,  
That they from her Rule and Example brought  
A native Honour, which she stamped and taught.  
Nor can a single Pen enough commend  
So kind a Sister and so dear a Friend.  
A Wisdom from above did her secure,  
Which though 'twas peaceable, was ever pure.  
And if well-ordered Commonwealths must be  
Patterns for every private Family,  
Her House, ruled by her hand and by her eye,  
Might be a Pattern for a Monarchy.  
Her noble Beauty was her prudent Care,  
Who handsome freedom gave, yet regular.  
Solomon's wisest Woman less could do;  
She built her house, but this preserved hers too.  
She was so pious when that she did die,  
She scarce changed Place, I'm sure not Company.  
Her Zele was printitive and practic too;  
She did believe, and pray, and read, and do.  
So firm and equal Soul she had engrossed,  
Just even to those that disobliged her most,  
She lost all sense of wrong, glad to believe  
That it was in her power to Forgive.  
Her Alms I may admire, but not relate,  
But her own works shall praise her in the gate.  
Her Life was chequered with afflictive years,  
And even her Comfort seasoned in her Tears.  
Scarce for a Husband's loss her eyes were dried,  
And that loss by her Children half supplied,  
When Heaven was pleased not these dear Props t'afford,  
But tore most off by sickness or by sword.  
She, who in them could still their Father boast,  
Was a fresh Widow every Son she lost.  
Litigious hands did her of Light deprive,  
That after all 'twas Penance to survive.  
She still these Griefs had nobly undergone,  
Which few support at all, but better none.  
Such a submissive Greatness who can find?  
A tender Heart with so resolved a Mind?  
But she, though sensible, was still the same,  
Of a refined Soul, untainted Fame,  
Nor were her Virtues coarsely set, for she  
Outdid Example in Civility.  
To bestow blessings, to oblige, relieve,  
Was all for which she could endure to live.  
She had a joy higher in doing good,  
Then they to whom the benefit accru'd.  
Though none of Honour had a quicker sense,  
Never had Woman more of Complaisance;  
Yet lost it not in empty forms, but still  
Her Nature noble was, her Soul gentile.  
And as in Youth she did attract (for she  
The Verdure had without the Vanity)  
So she in Age was mild and grave to all,  
Was not morose, but was majestical.  
Thus from all other Women she had skill  
To draw their good, but nothing of their ill.  
And since she knew the mad tumultuous World,  
Saw Crowns reversed, Temples to ruin hurled;  
She in Retirement chose to shine and burn,  
As ancient Lamps in some Egyptian Urn.  
At last, when spent with sickness, grief and age,  
Her Guardian Angel did her death presage:  
(So that by strong impulse she cheerfully  
Dispensed blessings, and went home to die;  
That so she might, when to that place removed,  
Marry his Ashes whom she ever loved)  
She died, gained a reward, and paid a debt.  
The Sun himself did never brighter set.  
Happy were they that knew her and her end,  
More happy they that did from her descend:  
A double blessing they may hope to have,  
One she conveyed to them, and one she gave.  
All that are hers are therefore sure to be  
Blest by Inheritance and Legacy.  
A Royal Birth had less advantage been.  
'Tis more to die a Saint then live a Queen.    

XXX. To the truly-competent Judge of Honour, Lucasia, upon a scandalous Libel made by J. Jones.  

HOnour, which differs man from man much more  
Than Reason differed him from Beasts before,  
Suffers this common Fate of all things good,  
By the blind World to be misunderstood.  
For as some Heathens did their Gods confine,  
While in a Bird or Beast they made their shrine;  
Deposed their Deities to Earth, and then  
Offered them Rites that were too low for Men:  
So those who most to Honour sacrifice,  
Prescribe to her a mean and weak disguise;  
Imprison her to others false Applause,  
And from Opinion do receive their Laws.  
While that inconstant Idol they implore,  
Which in one breath can murder and adore.  
From hence it is that those who Honour court,  
(And place her in a popular report)  
Do prostitute themselves to sordid Fate,  
And from their Being oft degenerate.  
And thus their Tenants are too low and bad,  
As if 'twere honourable to be mad:  
Or that their Honour had concerned been  
But to conceal, not to forbear, a sin.  
But Honour is more great and more sublime,  
Above the battery of Fate or Time.  
We see in Beauty certain airs are found,  
Which not one Grace can make, but all compound,  
Honour's to th' Mind as Beauty to the Sense,  
The fair result of mixed Excellence,  
As many Diamonds together lie,  
And dart one lustre to amaze the Eye:  
So Honour is that bright Aetherial Ray  
Which many Stars doth in one light display.  
But as that Beauty were as truly sweet,  
Were there no Tongue to praise, no Eye to see't;  
And 'tis the Privilege of a native Spark,  
To shed a constant Splendour in the dark:  
So Honour is its own Reward and End,  
And satisfied within, cannot descend  
To beg the suffrage of a vulgar Tongue,  
Which by commending Virtue doth it wrong.  
It is the Charter of a noble Action,  
That the performance giveth satisfaction.  
Other things are belowed; for from a Clown  
Would any Conqueror receive his Crown?  
'Tis restless Cowardice to be a drudge  
To an uncertain and unworthy Judge,  
So the Chameleon, who lives on air,  
Is of all Creatures most inclined to fear.  
But peaceable reflections on the Mind  
Will in a silent shade Contentment find.  
Honour keeps Court at home, and doth not fear  
To be condemned abroad, if quiet there.  
While I have this retreat, 'tis not the noise  
Of Slander, though believed, can wrong my Joys.  
There is advantage in't: for Gold uncoined  
Had been unuseful, nor with glory shined:  
This stamped my Innocency in the Ore,  
Which was as much, but not so bright, before.  
Till an Alembick wakes and outward draws,  
The strength of Sweets lies sleeping in their Cause:  
So this gave me an opportunity  
To feed upon my own Integrity.  
And though their Judgement I must still disclaim,  
Who can nor give nor take away a fame:  
Yet I'll appeal unto the knowing few,  
Who dare be just, and rip his heart to you.    

XXXI. To Antenor, on a Paper of mine which J. Jones threatens to publish to prejudice him.  

MUst then my Crimes become his Scandal too?  
Why, sure the Devil hath not much to do.  
The weakness of the other Charge is clear,  
When such a trifle must bring up the Rear.  
But this is mad design, for who before  
Lost his Repute upon another's score?  
My Love and Life I must confess are thine,  
But not my Errors, they are only mine.  
And if my Faults must be for thine allowed,  
It will be hard to dissipate the Cloud:  
For Eve's Rebellion did not Adam blast,  
Until himself forbidden Fruit did taste.  
'Tis possible this Magazine of Hell  
‛ (Whose name would turn a Verge into a spell,  
Whose mischief is congenial to his life)  
May yet enjoy an honourable Wife.  
Nor let his ill be reckoned as her blame,  
Nor yet my Follies blast Antenor's name.  
But if those lines a Punishment could call  
Lasting and great as this dark Lanthorn's gall;  
Alone I'd court the Torments with content,  
To testify that thou art Innocent.  
So if my Ink through malice proved a stain,  
My Blood should justly wash it off again.  
But since that Mint of slander could invent  
To make so dull a Rhyme his Instrument,  
Let Verse revenge the quarrel. But he's worse  
Than wishes, and below a Poet's curse;  
And more than this Wit knows not how to give,  
Let him be still himself, and let him live.    

XXXII. To the truly Noble Mrs. Anne Owen, on my first Approaches.  
Madam,  

AS in a Triumph Conquerors admit  
Their meanest Captives to attend on it,  
Who, though unworthy, have the power confessed,  
And justified the yielding of the rest:  
So when the busy World, in hope t' excuse  
Their own surprise, your Conquest do peruse,  
And find my name, they will be apt to say,  
Your charms were blinded, or else thrown away.  
There is no honour got in gaining me,  
Who am a prize not worth your Victory.  
But this will clear you, that 'tis general,  
The worst applaud what is admired by all.  
But I have Plots in't: for the way to be  
Secure of fame to all Posterity,  
Is to obtain the honour I pursue,  
To tell the World I was subdued by you.  
And since in you all wonders common are,  
Your Votaries may in your Virtue's share,  
While you by noble Magic worth impart:  
She that can Conquer, can reclaim a heart.  
Of this Creation I shall not despair,  
Since for your own sake it concerns your care.  
For 'tis more honour that the world should know,  
You made a noble Soul, than found it so.    

XXXIII. Rosannia shadowed whilst Mrs. Mary Awbrey.  

IF any could my dear Rosannia hate,  
They only should her Character relate.  
Truth shines so bright there, that an enemy  
Would be a better Orator than I.  
Love stifles Language, and I must confess,  
I had said more if I had loved less.  
Yet the most critical who that Face see  
Will ne'er suspect a partiality.  
Others by time and by degrees persuade,  
But her first look doth every heart invade.  
She hath a Face so eminently bright,  
Would make a Lover of an Anchorite:  
A Face whose conquest mixed with modesty  
Are both completed in Divinity.  
Not her least glance but sets them all on fire,  
And checks them if they would too much aspire.  
Such is the Magic of her Looks, the same  
Beam doth both kindle and refine our flame.  
If she doth smile, no Painter e'er would take  
Another Rule when he would merry make.  
And to her splendour Heaven hath allowed,  
That not a posture can her Beauty cloud:  
For if she frown, none but would fancy than  
Justice descended here to punish Men.  
Her common looks I know not how to call  
Any one Grace, they are composed of all.  
And if we Mortals could the doctrine reach,  
Her Eyes have language, and her Looks do teach,  
Such is her whole frame, Heaven does afford  
Her not to be desired, but still adored.  
But as in Palaces the outmost worst  
Rooms entertain our wonder at the first;  
But once within the Presence-chamber door,  
We do despise whate'er we saw before:  
So when you with her Mind acquaintance get,  
You'll hardly think upon the Cabinet,  
Her Soul, that Ray shot from the Deity,  
Doth still preserve its native purity;  
Which Earth can neither threaten or allure,  
Nor by false joys defile it, or obscure.  
Such Innocence within her heart doth dwell,  
Angels themselves do only parallel.  
And should her whole Sex to dissembling fall,  
Her own Integrity redeems them all,  
Transparent, clear, and will no words admit,  
And all Comparisons but slubber it.  
More gently soft then is an Evening-shower:  
And in that sweetness there is couched a Power;  
Which scorning pride, doth think it very hard  
If Modesty should need so mean a Guard:  
Her Honour is protected by her Eyes,  
As the old Flaming Sword kept Paradise.  
Such Constancy of temper, truth and law,  
Guides all her actions, that the World may draw  
From her own self the noblest Precedent  
Of the most safe, wife, virtuous Government.  
She courts Retirement, is herself alone  
Above a Theatre, and beyond a Throne.  
So rich a Soul, none can say properly  
She hath, but is each noble Quality.  
And as the highest Element is clear  
From all the Tempests which disturb the Air:  
So she above the World and its rude noise  
Within a Storm a quiet Calm enjoys.  
She scorns the sullen trifles of the Time,  
But things transcendent do her thoughts sublime.  
Unlike those Gallants which take far less care  
To have their Souls then make their Bodies fair;  
Who (sick with too much leisure) time do pass  
With these two books, Pride and a Looking-glass:  
Plot to surprise men's hearts, their power to try,  
And call that Love which is mere Vanity.  
But she, although the greatest Murderer,  
(For every glance commits a Massacre)  
Yet glories not that slaves her power confess,  
But wishes that her Monarchy were less.  
And if she love, it is not thrown away,  
As many do, only to spend the day;  
But her's is serious, and enough alone  
To make all Love become Religion.  
Yea to her Friendship she so faithful is,  
That 'tis her only blot and prejudice:  
For Envy's self could never error see  
Within that Soul, 'bating her love to me.  
Now as I must confess the name of Friend  
To her that all the World doth comprehend  
Is a most wild Ambition; so for me  
To draw her picture is flat Lunacy!  
Oh! I must think the rest; for who can write  
Or into words confine what's Infinite?    

XXXIV. To the Queen of Inconstancy, Regina Collier, in Antwerp.  

1.  
UNworthy, since thou hast decreed  
Thy Love and Honour both shall bleed,  
My Friendship could not choose to die  
In better time or company.   

2.  
What thou hast got by this Exchange  
Thou wilt perceive, when the Revenge  
Shall by those treacheries be made,  
For which our Faith thou hast betrayed.   

3.  
When thy Idolaters shall be  
True to themselves, and false to thee,  
Thou'lt see that in Heart-merchandise,  
Value, not Number, makes the price.   

4.  
Live to that day my Innocence  
Shall be my Friendship's just defence:  
For this is all the World can find,  
While thou wert noble, I was kind.   

5.  
The desperate game that thou dost play  
At private Ruins cannot stay;  
The horrid treachery of that Face  
Will sure undo its native place.   

6.  
Then let the Frenchmen never fear  
The victory while thou art there:  
For if Sins will call Judgements down,  
Thou hast enough to stock the Town.    

XXXV. To the Excellent Mrs. Anne Owen, upon her receiving the name of Lucasia, and Adoption into our Society, Decemb. 28. 1651.  

WE are complete, and Fate hath now  
No greater blessing to bestow:  
No, the dull World must now confess  
We have all worth, all happiness.  
Annals of State are trifles to our fame,  
Now 'tis made sacred by Lucasia's name.   

But as though through a Burning-glass  
The Sun more vigorous doth pass,  
Yet still with general freedom shines;  
For that contracts, but not confines:  
So though by this her beams are fixed here,  
Yet she diffuses glory every where.   

Her Mind is so entirely bright,  
The splendour would but wound our sight,  
And must to some disguise submit,  
Or we could never worship it.  
And we by this relation are allowed  
Lustre enough to be Lucasia's Cloud.   

Nations will own us now to be  
A Temple of Divinity;  
And Pilgrims shall ten Ages hence  
Approach our Tombs with reverence.  
May then that time which did such bliss convey  
Be kept by us perpetual Holiday.    

XXXVI. To my Excellent Lucasia, on our Friendship.  

I Did not live until this time  
Crowned my felicity,  
When I could say without a crime,  
I am not thine, but Thee.   

This Carcase breathed, and walked, and slept,  
So that the World believed  
There was a Soul the Motions kept;  
But they were all deceived.   

For as a Watch by art is wound  
To motion, such was mine:  
But never had Orinda found  
A Soul till she found thine;   

Which now inspires, cures and supplies,  
And guides my darkened Breast:  
For thou art all that I can prise,  
My Joy, my Life, my Rest.   

No Bridegrooms not Crown-conquerors mirth  
To mine compared can be:  
They have but pieces of this Earth,  
I've all the World in thee.   

Then let our Flame still light and shine,  
And no false fear control,  
As innocent as our Design,  
Immortal as our Soul.    

XXXVII. Rosannia's private Marriage.  

IT was a wise and kind design of Fate,  
That none should this day's glory celebrate:  
For 'twere in vain to keep a time which is  
Above the reach of all Solemnities.  
The greatest Actions pass without a noise,  
And Tumults but profane diviner Joys.  
Silence with things transcendent nearest suits,  
The greatest Emperors are served by Mutes.  
And as in ancient time the Deities  
To their own Priests revealed no Mysteries  
Until they were from all the World retired,  
And in some Cave made fit to be inspired.  
So when Rosannia (who hath them out-vied,  
And with more Justice might be Deified;  
Who if she had their Rites and Altars, we  
Should hardly think it were Idolatry)  
Had found a breast that did deserve to be  
Receptacle of her Divinity;  
It was not fit the gazing World should know  
When she conveyed herself to him, or how.  
An Eagle safely may behold the Sun,  
When weak Eyes are with too much Light undone.  
Now as in Oracles were understood,  
Not the Priests only, but the common good:  
So her great Soul would not imparted be,  
But in design of general Charity.  
She now is more diffusive than before;  
And what men then admired, they now adore.  
For this Exchange makes not her Power less,  
But only fitter for the World's Address.  
May then that Mind (which if we will admit  
The Universe one Soul, must sure be it)  
Inform this All, (which, till she shined out, lay  
As drowsy men do in a cloudy day)  
And Honour, Virtue, Reason so dispense,  
That all may owe them to her influence:  
And while this Age is thus employed, may she  
Scatter new Blessings for Posterity.  
I dare not any other wish prefer,  
For only her bestowing adds to her.  
And to a Soul so in herself complete  
As would be wronged by any Epithet,  
Whose splendours fixed unto her chosen Sphere,  
And filled with Love and Satisfaction there,  
What can increase the Triumph, but to see  
The World her Convert and her History?    

XXXVIII. Injuria Amicitiae.  

LOvely Apostate! what was my offence?  
Or am I punished for Obedience?  
Must thy strange Rigour find as strange a time?  
The Act and Season are an equal Crime.  
Of what thy most ingenuous scorns could do  
Must I be Subject and Spectator too?  
Or were the Sufferings and Sins too few  
To be sustained by me, performed by you?  
Unless (with Nero) your uncurbed desire  
Be to survey the Rome you set on fire.  
While wounded for and by your Power, I  
At once your Martyr and your Prospect die.  
This is my doom, and such a riddling Fate  
As all impossibles doth complicate,  
For Obligation here is Injury,  
Constancy Crime, Friendship a Heresy.  
And you appear so much on Ruin bend,  
Your own destruction gives you now Content:  
For our twinne-Spirits did so long agree,  
You must undo yourself to ruin me.  
And, like some Frantic Goddess, you're inclined;  
To raze the Temple where you are enshrined  
And, what's the Miracle of Cruelty,  
Kill that which gave you Immortality.  
While glorious Friendship, whence your Honour springs,  
Lies gasping in the Crowd of common things;  
And I'm so odious, that for being kind  
Doubled and studied Murders are designed.  
Thy sin's all Paradox, for shouldst thou be  
Thyself again, th' wouldst be severe to me.  
For thy Repentance coming now so late,  
Would only change, and not relieve thy Fate.  
So dangerous is the consequence of ill,  
Thy least of Crimes is to be cruel still.  
For of thy Smiles I should yet more complain,  
If I should live to be betrayed again.  
Live then (fair Tyrant) in Security,  
From both my Kindness and Revenge be free;  
While I, who to the Swains had sung your Fame,  
And taught each Echo to repeat your Name,  
Will now my private Sorrow entertain,  
To Rocks and Rivers, not to thee, complain.  
And though before our Union cherished me,  
'Tis now my pleasure that we disagree.  
For from my Passion your last Rigour grew,  
And you killed me 'cause that I worshipped you.  
But my worst Vows shall be your Happiness,  
And not to be disturbed by my distress.  
And though it would my sacred flames pollute,  
To make my heart a scorned prostitute;  
Yet I'll adore the Author of my Death,  
And kiss your Hand that robs me of my breath.    

XXXIX. To Regina Collier, on her Cruelty to Philaster.  

TRiumphant Queen of scorn! how ill doth sit  
In all that Sweetness such injurious Wit?  
Unjust and Cruel! what can be your prize,  
To make one heart a double Sacrifice?  
Where such ingenuous Rigour you do show,  
To break his Heart, you break his Image too;  
And by a Tyranny that's strange and new,  
You Murder him because he Worships you.  
No Pride can raise you, or can make him start,  
Since Love and Honour do enrich his heart.  
Be Wise and Good, lest when Fate will be just,  
She should o'erthrow those glories in the dust,  
Rifle your Beauties, and you thus forlorn  
Make a cheap Victim to another's scorn;  
And in those Fetters which you do upbraid  
Yourself a wretched Captive may be made.  
Redeem the poisoned Age, let it be seen  
There's no such freedom as to serve a Queen.  
But you I see are lately Round-head grown,  
And whom you vanquish you insult upon.    

XL. To Philaster, on his Metancholy for Regina.  

GIve over now thy tears, thou vain  
And double Murderer;  
For every minute of thy pain  
Wounds both thy self-and her.  
Then leave this dulness; for 'tis our belief,  
Thy Queen must cure, or not deserve, thy Grief.    

XLI. Philoclea's parting, Feb. 25. 1650.  

KInder than a condemned Man's Reprieve  
Was your dear Company that bade me live,  
When by Rosannia's silence I had been  
The wretchedst Martyr any Age hath seen.  
But as when Traitors faint upon the Rack,  
Tormentors strive to call their Spirits back;  
Not out of kindness to preserve their breath,  
But to increase the Torments of their Death:  
So was I raised to this glorious height,  
To make my fall the more unfortunate.  
But this I know, none ever died before  
Upon a sadder or a nobler score.    

XLII. To Rosannia, now Mrs. Montague, being with her, Septemb. 25. 1652.  

1.  
AS men that are with Visions graced  
Must have all other thoughts displaced,  
And buy those short descents of Light  
With loss of Sense; or Spirit's flight:   

2.  
So since thou wert my happiness,  
I could not hope the rate was less;  
And thus the Vision which I gain  
Is short t' enjoy, and hard t' attain.   

3.  
Ah then! what a poor trifle's all  
That thing which here we Pleasure call,  
Since what our very Souls hath cost  
Is hardly got and quickly lost?   

4.  
Yet is there Justice in the fate;  
For should we dwell in blessed estate,  
Our Joys thereby would so inflame,  
We should forget from whence we came.   

5.  
If this so sad a doom can quit  
Me for the follies I commit;  
Let no estrangement on thy part  
Add a new ruin to my heart.   

6.  
When on myself I do reflect,  
I can no smile from thee expect:  
But if thy Kindness hath no plea,  
Some freedom grant for Charity.   

7.  
Else the just World must needs deny  
Our Friendship an Eternity:  
This Love will ne'er that title hold;  
For thine's too hot, and mine's too cold.   

8.  
Divided Rivers lose their name;  
And so our too-unequal flame  
Parted, will Passion be in me,  
And an Indifference in thee.   

9  
Thy Absence I could easier find,  
Provided thou wert well and kind,  
Then such a Presence as is this,  
Made up of snatches of my bliss.   

10.  
So when the Earth long gasps for rain,  
If she at last some few drops gain,  
She is more parched then at first;  
That small recruit increased the thirst.    

XLIII. To my Lucasia.  

LEt dull Philosophers inquire no more  
In Nature's womb, or Causes strivet ' explore,  
By what strange harmony and course of things  
Each body to the whole a tribute brings;  
What secret unions secret Neighbouring make,  
And of each other how they do partake.  
These are but low Experiments: but he  
That Nature's harmony entire would see,  
Must search agreeing Souls, sit down and view  
How sweet the mixture is, how full, how true;  
By what soft touches Spirits greet and kiss,  
And in each other can complete their bliss.  
A wonder so sublime, it will admit  
No rude Spectator to contemplate it.  
The Object will refine, and he that can  
Friendship revere must be a Noble man.  
How much above the common rate of things  
Must they then be from whom this Union springs?  
But what's all this to me, who live to be  
Disprover of my own Morality?  
And he that knew my unimproved Soul,  
Would say I meant all Friendship to control.  
But Bodies move in time, and so must Minds;  
And though th' attempt no easy progress finds,  
Yet quit me not, lest I should desperate grow,  
And to such Friendship add some Patience now.  
O may good Heaven but so much Virtue lend,  
To make me fit to be Lucasia's Friend!  
But I'll forsake myself, and seek a new  
Self in her breast that's far more rich and true.  
Thus the poor Bee unmarked doth hum and fly,  
And drowned with age would unregarded die,  
Unless some curious Artist thither come  
Will bless the Insect with an Amber-tomb.  
Then glorious in its funeral the Bee  
Gets Eminence and gets Eternity.    

XLIV. On Controversies in Religion.  

REligion, which true Policy befriends,  
Designed by God to serve Man's noblest ends,  
Is by that old Deceiver's subtle play  
Made the chief party in its own decay,  
And meets that Eagles' destiny, whose breast  
Felt the same shaft which his own feathers dressed.  
For that great Enemy of Souls perceived,  
The notion of a Deity was weaved  
So closely in Man's Soul; to ruin that,  
He must at once the World depopulate.  
But as those Tyrants who their Wills pursue,  
If they expound old Laws, need make no new:  
So he advantage takes of Nature's light,  
And raises that to a bare useless height;  
Or while we seek for Truth, he in the Quest  
Mixes a Passion, or an Interest,  
To make us lose it; that, I know not how,  
'Tis not our Practice, but our Quarrel now.  
And as in th' Moon's Eclipse some Pagans thought  
Their barbarous Clamours her deliverance wrought:  
So we suppose that Truth oppressed lies,  
And needs a Rescue from our Enmities.  
But 'tis Injustice, and the Mind's Disease,  
To think of gaining Truth by losing Peace.  
Knowledge and Love, if true, do still unite;  
God's Love and Knowledge are both Infinite.  
And though indeed Truth does delight to lie  
At some Remoteness from a Common Eye;  
Yet 'tis not in a Thunder or a Noise,  
But in soft Whispers and the stiller Voice.  
Why should we then Knowledge so rudely treat,  
Making our weapon what was meant our meat?  
'Tis Ignorance that makes us quarrel so;  
The Soul that's dark will be contracted too.  
Chimaeras make a noise, swelling and vain,  
And soon resolve to their own smoke again.  
But a true Light the spirit doth dilate,  
And robs it of its proud and sullen state;  
Makes Love admired because 'tis understood,  
And makes us Wise because it makes us Good.  
'Tis to a right Prospect of things that we  
Owe our Uprightness and our Charity.  
For who resists a beam when shining bright,  
Is not a Sinner of a common height.  
That state's a forfeiture, and helps are spent,  
Not more a Sin then 'tis a Punishment.  
The Soul which sees things in their Native frame,  
Without Opinion's Mask or Custom's name,  
Cannot be clogged to Sense, or count that high  
Which hath its Estimation from a Lie.  
(Mean sordid things, which by mistake we prise,  
And absent covet, but enjoyed despise.)  
But scorning these hath robbed them of their art,  
Either to swell or to subdue the Heart;  
And learned that generous frame to be above  
The World in hopes, below it all in love:  
Touched with Divine and Inward Life doth run,  
Not resting till it hath its Centre won;  
Moves steadily until it safe doth lie  
I'th' Root of all its Immortality;  
And resting here hath yet activity  
To grow more like unto the Deity;  
Good, Universal, Wise and Just as he,  
(The same in kind, though differing in degree)  
Till at the last 'tis swallowed up and grown  
With God and with the whole Creation one;  
Itself, so small a part, i' th' Whole is lost,  
And Generals have Particulars engrossed.  
That dark contracted Personality,  
Like Mists before the Sun, will from it fly.  
And then the Soul, one shining sphere, at length  
With true Love's wisdom filled and purged strength,  
Beholds her highest good with open face,  
And like him all the World she can embrace.    

XLV. To the Honoured Lady, E. C.  
Madam,  

I Do not write to you that men may know  
How much I'm honoured that I may do so:  
Nor hope (though I your rich Example give)  
To write with more success than I can live,  
To cure the Age; nor think I can be just,  
Who only dare to write because I must.  
I'm full of you, and something must express,  
To vent my wonder and your power confess.  
Let me then breathe in Verse, which though undue,  
The best would seem so when it shadows you.  
Had I ne'er heard of your Illustrious Name,  
Nor known the Scotch or English Honour's fame;  
Yet if your glorious Frame did but appear,  
I could have soon made all your Grandeur there.  
I could have seen in each majestic ray  
What Greatness Ancestors could e'er convey;  
And in the lustre of your Eyes alone,  
How near you were allied to the Throne:  
Which yet doth lessen you, who cannot need  
Those bright advantages which you exceed.  
For you are such, that your Descent from Kings  
Receives more Honour from you than it brings:  
As much above their Glories as our Toil.  
A Court to you were but a handsome foil.  
And if we name the Stock on which you grew,  
'Tis rather to do right to it than you:  
For those that would your greatest splendour see,  
Must read your Soul more than your Pedigree.  
For as the sacred Temple had without  
Beauty to feed those eyes that gazed about,  
And yet had riches, state and wonder more,  
For those that stood within the shining door;  
But in the Holy place they admit few,  
Lustre received and Inspiration too:  
So though your Glories in your Face be seen,  
And so much bright Instruction in your Mien;  
You are not known but where you will impart  
The treasures of your more illustrious Heart.  
Religion all her odours sheds on you,  
Who by obeying vindicate her too:  
For that rich Beam of Heaven was almost  
In nice Disputes and false Pretences lost;  
So doubly injured, she could scarce subsist  
Betwixt the Hypocrite and Casuist;  
Till you by great Example did convince  
Us of her nature and her residence,  
And chose to show her face, and ease her grief,  
Less by your Arguments then by your Life;  
Which, if it should be copied out, would be  
A solid Body of Divinity.  
Your Principle and Practice light would give  
What we should do, and what we should believe:  
For the extensive Knowledge you profess,  
You do acquire with more ease than confess.  
And as by you Knowledge has thus obtained  
To be refined, and then to be explained:  
So in return she useful is to you,  
In Practice and in Contemplation too.  
For by the various succours she hath lent,  
You act with Judgement, and think with Content.  
Yet those vast Parts with such a Temper meet,  
That you can lay them at Religion's feet.  
Nor is it half so bold as it is true,  
That Virtue is herself obliged to you:  
For being dressed by your seducing Charms,  
She conquers more than did the Roman Arms.  
We see in you how much that Malice lied  
That stuck on Goodness any sullen Pride;  
And that the harshness some Professors wear  
Falls to their own, and not Religion's share  
But your bright Sweetness if it but appear,  
Reclaims the bad, and softens the austere.  
Men talked of Honour too, but could not tell  
What was the secret of that active spell.  
That beauteous Mantle they to divers lent,  
Yet wondered what the mighty Nothing meant.  
Some did confine her to a worthy Fame,  
And some to Royal Parents gave her Name.  
You having claim unto her either way,  
By what a King could give, a World could pay,  
Have a more living Honour in your breast,  
Which justifies, and yet obscures the rest;  
A Principle from Fame and Pomp untied,  
So truly high that it despises Pride;  
Buying good actions at the dearest rate,  
Looks down on ill with as much scorn as hate;  
Acts things so generous and bravely hard,  
And in obliging finds so much Reward;  
So Selfdenying great, so firmly just,  
Apt to confer, strict to preserve a Trust;  
That all whose Honour would be justified,  
Must by your standards have it stamped and tried.  
But your Perfection heightens others Crimes,  
And you reproach while you inform the Times.  
Which sad advantage you will scarce believe;  
Or if you must, you do conceal and grieve.  
You scorn so poor a foil as others ill,  
And are Protector to th' unhappy still;  
Yet are so tender when you see a spot,  
You blush for those who for themselves could not.  
You are so much above your Sex, that we  
Believe your Life our greatest courtesy:  
For Women boast, they have you while you live  
A Pattern and a Representative.  
And future Mothers who in Childbed groan,  
Shall wish for Daughters knowing you are one.  
The world hath Kings whose Crowns are cemented  
Or by the blood they boast, or that they shed:  
Yet these great Idols of the stooping crew  
Have neither Pleasure sound nor Honour true.  
They either fight or play, and Power court,  
In trivial anger or in civil sport.  
You, who a nobler Privilege enjoy,  
(For you can save whom they can but destroy)  
An Empire have where different mixtures kiss;  
You're grave, not sour, and kind, but not remiss.  
Such sweetened Majesty, such humble State  
Do love and Reverence at once create.  
Pardon (dear Madam) these untaught Essays,  
I can admire more fitly than I praise.  
Things so sublime are dimly understood,  
And you are born so great, and are so good,  
So much above the Honour of your Name,  
And by neglect do so secure your Fame;  
Whose beauty's such as captivates the Wise,  
Yet you only of all the World despise;  
That have so vast a Knowledge so subdued,  
Religion so adorned, and so pursued;  
A Wit so strong, that who would it define,  
Will need one ten times more acute than mine;  
Yet ruled so that its Vigour managed thus  
Becomes at once graceful and generous;  
Whose Honour has so delicate a Sense,  
Who always pardon, never give offence;  
Who needing nothing, yet to all are kind,  
Who have so large a Heart, so rich a Mind;  
Whose Friendship still's of the obliging side,  
And yet so free from tyranny and Pride;  
Who do in love like Jonathan descend,  
And strip yourself to clothe your happy friend;  
Whose kindness and whose modesty is such,  
T'expect so little and deserve so much;  
Who have such candid worth, such dear concern,  
Where we so much may love, and so much learn;  
Whose very wonder though it fills and shines,  
It never to an ill excess declines;  
But all are found so sweetly opposite,  
As are in Titian's Pieces Shade and Light:  
That he that would your great Description try,  
Though he write well, would be as lost as I,  
Who of injurious Zele convicted stand,  
To draw you with so bold and bad a hand;  
But that, like other Glories, I presume  
You will enlighten where you might consume.    

XLVI. Parting with Lucasia, Jan. 13. 1657. A Song.  

1.  
WEll, we will do that rigid thing  
Which makes Spectators think we part;  
Though Absence hath for none a sting  
But those who keep each others heart.   

2.  
And when our Sense is dispossessed,  
Our labouring Souls will heave and pant,  
And grasp for one another's breast,  
Since they their Conveyances want.   

3.  
Nay, we have felt the tedious smart  
Of absent Friendship, and do know  
That when we die we can but part;  
And who knows what we shall do now?   

4.  
Yet I must go: we will submit,  
And so our own Disposers be;  
For while we noblier suffer it,  
We triumph o'er Necessity.   

5.  
By this we shall be truly great,  
If having other things o'ercome,  
To make our victory complete  
We can be Conquerors at home.   

6.  
Nay then to meet we may conclude,  
And all Obstructions overthrow,  
Since we our Passion have subdued,  
Which is the strongest thing I know.    

XLVII. Against Pleasure. Set by Dr. Coleman.  

1.  
THere's no such thing as Pleasure,  
'Tis all a perfect Cheat,  
Which does but shine and disappear,  
Whose Charm is but Deceit:  
The empty bribe of yielding Souls,  
Which first betrays, and then controls.   

2.  
'Tis true, it looks at distance fair;  
But if we do approach,  
The fruit of Sodom will impair,  
And perish at a touch:  
It being then in fancy less,  
And we expect more than possess.   

3.  
For by our Pleasures we are cloyed,  
And so Desire is done;  
Or else, like Rivers, they make wide  
The Channel where they run:  
And either way true bliss destroys,  
Making Us narrow, or our Joys.   

4.  
We covet Pleasure easily,  
But it not so possess;  
For many things must make it be,  
But one way makes it less.  
Nay, were our state as we could choose it,  
'Twould be consumed for fear to lose it.   

5.  
What art thou then, thou winged Air,  
More swift than winged Fame?  
Whose next successor is Despair,  
And its attendant Shame.  
Th' Experience-Prince than reason had,  
Who said of Pleasure, It is mad.    

XLVIII. Out of Mr. More's Cop. Conf.  

THrice happy he whose Name is writ above,  
Who doth good though gaining infamy,  
Requites evil turns with hearty love,  
And cares not what befalls him outwardly;  
Whose worth is in himself, and only bliss  
In his pure Conscience, which doth nought amiss:   

Who placeth pleasure in his purged Soul,  
And Virtuous Life his treasure does esteem;  
Who can his Passions master and control,  
And that true Lordly Manliness doth deem:  
Who from this World himself hath dearly quit,  
Counts nought his own but what lives in his spirit.   

So when his Spirit from this vain World shall flit,  
It bears all with it whatsoever was dear  
Unto itself, passing an easy Fit;  
As kindly Corn ripened comes out of th' Ear.  
Careless of what all idle men will say,  
He taketh his own and calmly goes his way.   

Eternal Reason, Glorious Majesty,  
Compared to whom what can be said to be?  
Whose Attributes are Thee, who art alone  
Cause of all various things, and yet but One;  
Whose Essence can no more be searched by Man,  
Then Heaven thy Throne be grasped with a Span.  
Yet if this great Creation was designed  
To several ends fitted for every kind;  
Sure Man (the World's Epitome) must be  
Formed to the best, that is, to study thee.  
And as our Dignity, 'tis Duty too,  
Which is summed up in this, to know and do.  
These comely rows of Creatures spell thy Name,  
Whereby we grope to find from whence they came,  
By thy own Change of Causes brought to think  
There must be one, then find that highest Link.  
Thus all created Excellence we see  
Is a resemblance saint and dark of thee.  
Such shadows are produced by the Moon-beams  
Of Trees or Houses in the running streams.  
Yet by Impressions born with us we find  
How good, great, just thou art, how unconfined.  
Here we are swallowed up, and daily dwell  
Safely adoring what we cannot tell.  
All we know is, thou art supremely good,  
And dost delight to be so understood.  
A spicy Mountain on the Universe,  
On which thy richest Odours do disperse.  
But as the Sea to fill a Vessel heaves  
More greedily than any Cask receives,  
Besieging round to find some gap in it,  
Which will a new Infusion admit:  
So dost thou covet that thou mayst dispense  
Upon the empty World thy Influence;  
Lov'st to disburse thyself in kindness: Thus  
The King of Kings waits to be gracious.  
On this account, O God, enlarge my heart  
To entertain what thou wouldst fain impart.  
Nor let that Soul, by several titles thine,  
And most capacious formed for things Divine,  
(So nobly meant, that when it most doth miss,  
'Tis in mistaken pant after Bliss)  
Degrade itself in sordid things delight,  
Or by prophaner mixtures lose its right.  
Oh! that with fixed unbroken thoughts it may  
Admire the light which does obscure the day.  
And since 'tis Angel's work it hath to do,  
May its composure be like Angels too.  
When shall these clogs of Sense and Fancy break,  
That I may hear the God within me speak?  
When with a silent and retired art  
Shall I with all this empty hurry part?  
To the Still Voice above, my Soul, advance;  
My light and joy's placed in his Countenance.  
By whose dispense my Soul to such frame brought,  
Maytame each treacherous, fix each scat'ringthought;  
With such distinctions all things here behold,  
And so to separate each dross from gold,  
That nothing my free Soul may satisfy,  
But t' imitate, enjoy, and study thee.    

XLIX. To Mrs. M. A. upon Absence. Set by Mr. Hen. Laws.  

1.  
'tIs now since I began to die  
Four Months and more; yet gasping live  
Wrapped up in sorrow do I lie,  
Hoping, yet doubting, a Reptieve.  
Adam from Paradise expelled  
Just such a wretched being held.   

2.  
'Tis not thy Love I fear to lose,  
That will in spite of absence hold;  
But 'tis the benefit and use  
Is lost as in imprisoned Gold:  
Which, though the Sum be ne'er so great,  
Enriches nothing but conceit.   

3.  
What angry Star than governs me  
That I must feel a double smart,  
Prisoner to fate as well as thee;  
Kept from thy face, linked to thy heart?  
Because my Love all love excels,  
Must my Grief have no Parallels?   

4.  
Sapless and dead as Winter here  
I now remain, and all I see  
Copies of my wild state appear,  
But I am their Epitome.  
Love me no more, for I am grown  
Too dead and dull for thee to own.    

L. L' Amity. To Mrs. Mary Awbrey.  

SOul of my Soul, my joy, my crown, my Friend,  
A name which all the rest doth comprehend;  
How happy are we now, whose Souls are grown  
By an incomparable mixture one.  
Whose well-acquainted Minds are now as near  
As Love, or Vows, or Friendship can endear?  
I have no thought but what's to thee revealed,  
Nor thou desire that is from me concealed.  
Thy Heart locks up my Secrets richly set;  
And my Breast is thy private Cabinet.  
Thou sheddest no tear but what my moisture lent,  
And if I sigh, it is thy breath is spent.  
United thus, what Horror can appear  
Worthy our Sorrow, Anger, or our Fear?  
Let the dull World alone to talk and fight,  
And with their vast Ambition's Nature fright;  
Let them despise so Innocent a flame,  
While Envy, Pride and Faction play their game:  
But we by Love sublimed so high shall rise,  
To pity Kings, and Conquerors despise;  
Since we that Sacred Union have engrossed  
Which they and all the sullen World have lost.    

LI. In Memory of Mr. Cartwright.  

STay, Prince of Fancy, stay, we are not fit  
To welcome or admire thy Raptures yet:  
Such horrid Ignorance benights the Times,  
That Wit and Honour are become our Crimes.  
But when those happy Powers which guard thy dust  
To us and to thy Memory shall be just,  
And by a flame from thy blessed Genius lent  
Rescue us from our dull Imprisonment,  
Unsequester our Fancies, and create  
A Worth that may upon thy Glories wait:  
We then shall understand thee, and descry  
The splendour of restored Poetry.  
Till when let no bold hand profane thy shrine,  
'Tis high Wit-Treason to debase thy coin.    

LII. Mr. Francis Finch, the Excellent Palaemon.  

THis is confessed Presumption, for had I  
All that rich stock of Ingenuity  
Which I could wish for this, yet would it be  
Palaemon's blot, a pious Injury.  
But as no Votaries are scorned when they  
The meanest Victim in Religion pay;  
Not that the Power they worship needs a gume,  
But that they speak their thanks for all with some:  
So though the most contemptible of all  
That do themselves Palaemon's Servants call,  
I know that Zele is more than Sacrifice,  
(For God did not the Widow's Mite despise,)  
And that Palaemon hath Divinity,  
And Mercy in its highest property:  
He that doth such transcendent Merit own,  
Must have imperfect Offerings or none.  
He's one rich Lustre which doth Rays dispense,  
As Knowledge will when set in Innocence.  
For Learning did select his noble breast,  
Where (in her native Majesty) to rest;  
Free from the Tyranny and Pride of Schools,  
Who have confined her to Pedantic Rules;  
And that gentiler Error which doth take  
Offence at Learning for her Habit's sake:  
Palaemon hath redeemed her, who may be  
Esteemed himself an University;  
And yet so much a Gentleman, that he  
Needs not (though he enjoys) a Pedigree.  
Sure he was built and sent to let us know  
What man completed could both be and do.  
Freedom from Vice is in him Nature's part,  
Without the help of Discipline or Art.  
He's his own Happiness and his own Law,  
Whereby he keeps Passion and Fate in awe.  
Nor was this wrought in him by Time and Growth,  
His Genius had anticipated both.  
Had all men been Palaemon's, Pride had ne'er  
Taught one man Tyranny, the other Fear;  
Ambition had been full as Monstrous then  
As this ill World doth render Worthy men.  
Had men his Spirit, they would soon forbear  
Grovelling for dirt, and quarrelling for air.  
Were his harmonious Soul diffused in all,  
We should believe that men did never fall.  
It is Palaemon's Soul that hath engrossed  
Th' ingenuous candour that the World hath lost;  
Whose own Mind seats him quiet, safe and high,  
Above the reach of Time or Destiny.  
'Twas he that rescued gasping Friendship when  
The Bell tolled for her Funeral with men:  
'Twas he that made Friends more than Lovers burn,  
And then made Love to sacred Friendship turn:  
'Twas he turned Honour inward, set her free  
From Titles and from Popularity.  
Now fixed to Virtue she begs Praise of none,  
But's Witnessed and Rewarded both at home.  
And in his breast this Honour's so enshrined,  
As the old Law was in the Ark confined:  
To which Posterity shall all consent,  
And less dispute than Acts of Parliament.  
He's our Original, by whom we see  
How much we fail, and what we ought to be.  
But why do I to Copy him pretend?  
My Rhymes but libel whom they would commend.  
'Tis true; but none can reach what's set too high:  
And though I miss, I've noble Company:  
For the most happy language must confess,  
It doth obscure Palaemon, not express.    

LIII. To Mrs. M. A. at parting.  

1.  
I Have examined and do find,  
Of all that favour me  
There's none I grieve to leave behind  
But only only thee.  
To part with thee I needs must die,  
Could Parting separate thee and I.   

2.  
But neither Chance nor Compliment  
Did element our Love;  
'Twas sacred Sympathy was lent  
Us from the Choir above.  
That Friendship Fortune did create  
Still fears a wound from Time or Fate.   

3.  
Our changed and mingled Souls are grown  
To such acquaintance now,  
That if each would assume their own,  
Alas! we know not how.  
We have each other so engrossed,  
That each is in the Union lost.   

4.  
And thus we can no Absence know,  
Nor shall we be confined;  
Our active Souls will daily go.  
To learn each others mind.  
Nay, should we never meet to Sense,  
Our Souls would hold Intelligence.   

5.  
Inspired with a Flame Divine  
I scorn to court a stay;  
For from that noble Soul of thine  
I ne'er can be away.  
But I shall weep when thou dost grieve;  
Nor can I die whilst thou dost live.   

6.  
By my own temper I shall guests  
At thy felicity,  
And only like thy happiness  
Because it pleaseth thee.  
Our hearts at any time will tell  
If thou or I be sick or well.   

7.  
All Honour sure I must pretend,  
All that is Good or Great;  
She that would be Rosannia's Friend,  
Must be at least complete.  
If I have any bravery,  
'Tis 'cause I have so much of thee.   

8.  
Thy Leaguer Soul in me shall lie,  
And all thy thoughts reveal;  
Then back again with mine shall fly,  
And thence to me shall steal.  
Thus still to one another tend;  
Such is the sacred name of Friend.   

9  
Thus our twin-souls in one shall grow,  
And teach the World new Love,  
Redeem the Age and Sex, and show  
A Flame Fate dares not move:  
And courting Death to be our friend,  
Our Lives together too shall end.   

10.  
A Dew shall dwell upon our Tomb  
Of such a quality,  
That fight Armies thither come  
Shall reconciled be.  
We'll ask no Epitaph, but say  
ORINDA and ROSANNIA.    

LIV. To my dearest Antenor, on his Parting.  

THough it be just to grieve when I must part  
With him that is the Guardian of my Heart;  
Yet by an happy change the loss of mine  
Is with advantage paid in having thine.  
And I (by that dear Guest instructed) find  
Absence can do no hurt to Souls combined.  
As we were born to love, brought to agree  
By the impressions of Divine Decree:  
So when united nearer we became,  
It did not weaken, but increase, our Flame.  
Unlike to those who distant joys admire,  
But slight them when possessed of their desire.  
Each of our Souls did in its temper fit,  
And in the other's Mould so fashioned it,  
That now our Inclinations both are grown,  
Like to our Interests and Persons, one;  
And Souls whom such an Union fortifies,  
Passion can ne'er destroy, nor Fate surprise.  
Now as in Watches, though we do not know  
When the Hand moves, we find it still doth go:  
So I, by secret Sympathy inclined,  
Will absent meet, and underst and thy mind;  
And thou at thy return shalt find thy Heart  
Still safe, with all the love thou didst impart.  
For though that treasure I have ne'er deserved,  
It shall with strong Religion be preserved.  
And besides this thou shalt in me survey  
Thyself reflected while thou art away.  
For what some forward Arts do undertake,  
The Images of absent Friends to make,  
And represent their actions in a Glass,  
Friendship itself can only bring to pass,  
That Magic which both Fate and Time beguiles,  
And in a moment runs a thousand miles.  
So in my Breast thy Picture drawn shall be,  
My Guide, Life, Object, Friend and Destiny:  
And none shall know, though they employ their wit,  
Which is the right Antenor, thou, or it.    

LV. Engraven on Mr. John Collier's Tombstone at Bedlington.  

HEre what remains of him doth lie,  
Who was the World's Epitome,  
Religion's Darling, Merchant's Glory,  
men's true Delight, and virtue's Story;  
Who, though a Prisoner to the Grave,  
A glorious Freedom once shall have:  
Till when no Monument is fit,  
But what's beyond our love and wit.    

LVI. On the little Regina Collier, on the same Tombstone.  

virtue's Blossom, beauty's Bud,  
The Pride of all that's fair and good,  
By Death's fierce hand was snatched hence  
In her state of Innocence:  
Who by it this advantage gains,  
Her wages got without her pains.    

LVII. Friendship.  

LEt the dull brutish World that know not Love  
Continue Heretics, and disapprove  
That noble Flame; but the refined know  
'Tis all the Heaven we have here below.  
Nature subsists by Love, and they do tie  
Things to their Causes but by Sympathy.  
Love chains the different Elements in one  
Great Harmony, linked to the Heavenly Throne.  
And as on Earth, so the blessed Choir above  
Of Saints and Angels are maintained by Love;  
That is their Business and Felicity,  
And will be so to all Eternity.  
That is the Ocean, our Affections here  
Are but streams borrowed from the Fountain there.  
And 'tis the noblest Argument to prove  
A Beauteous mind, that it knows how to Love.  
Those kind Impressions which Fate can't control,  
Are Heaven's mintage on a worthy Soul.  
For Love is all the Arts Epitome,  
And is the Sum of all Divinity.  
He's worse than Beast that cannot Love, and yet  
It is not bought for Money, Pains or Wit;  
For no change or design can Spirits move,  
But the Eternal destiny of Love:  
And when two Souls are changed and mixed so,  
It is what they and none but they can do.  
This, this is Friendship, that abstracted flame  
Which grovelling Mortals know not how to name;  
All Love is sacred, and the Marriage-tie  
Hath much of Honour and Divinity.  
But Lust, Design, or some unworthy ends  
May mingle there, which are despised by Friends.  
Passion hath violent extremes, and thus  
All oppositions are contiguous.  
So when the end is served their Love will bate,  
If Friendship make it not more fortunate:  
Friendship, that Love's Elixir, that pure fire  
Which burns the clearer 'cause it burns the higher.  
For Love, like earthly fires (which will decay  
If the material fuel be away)  
Is with offensive smoke accompanied,  
And by resistance only is supplied:  
But Friendship, like the fiery Element,  
With its own Heat and Nourishment content,  
Where neither hurt, nor smoke, nor noise is made,  
Scorns the assistance of a foreign aid.  
Friendship (like Heraldry) is hereby known,  
Richest when plainest, bravest when alone,  
Calm as a Virgin, and more Innocent  
Than sleeping Doves are, and as much content  
As Saints in Visions; quiet as the Night,  
But clear and open as the Summer's light;  
United more than Spirits Faculties,  
Higher in thoughts than are the Eagles' eyes;  
Free as first Agents are, true Friends and kind,  
As but their selves I can no likeness find.    

LVIII. The Enquiry.  

1.  
IF we no old Historian's name  
Authentic will admit,  
But think all said of Friendship's fame  
But Poetry or Wit:  
Yet what's revered by Minds so pure  
Must be a bright Idea sure.   

2.  
But as our Immortality  
By inward sense we find,  
Judging that if it could not be,  
It would not be designed:  
So here how could such Copies fall,  
If there were no Original?   

3.  
But if Truth be in ancient Song,  
Or Story we believe,  
If the inspired and greater Throng  
Have scorned to deceive;  
There have been Hearts whose Friendship gave  
Them thoughts at once both soft and grave.   

4.  
Among that consecrated Crew  
Some more Seraphic shade  
Lend me a favourable Clew  
Now mists my eyes invade.  
Why, having filled the World with fame,  
Left you so little of your flame?   

5.  
Why is't so difficult to see  
Two Bodies and one Mind:  
And why are those who else agree  
So difficulty kind?  
Hath Nature such fantastic art,  
That she can vary every Heart?   

6.  
Why are the bands of Friendship tied  
With so remiss a knot,  
That by the most it is defied,  
And by the most forgot?  
Why do we step with so light sense  
From Friendship to Indifference?   

7.  
If Friendship Sympathy impart,  
Why this ill-shuffled game,  
That Heart can never meet with Heart,  
Or Flame encounter Flame?  
What does this Cruelty create?  
Is't the Intrigue of Love or Fate?   

8.  
Had Friendship ne'er been known to Men,  
(The Ghost at last confessed)  
The World had then a stranger been  
To all that Heaven possessed.  
But could it all be here acquired,  
Not Heaven itself would be desired.    

LIX. To my Lucasia, in defence of declared Friendship.  

1.  
O My Lucasia, let us speak our Love,  
And think not that impertinent can be,  
Which to us both doth such assurance prove,  
And whence we find how justly we agree.   

2.  
Before we knew the treasures of our Love,  
Our noble aims our joys did entertain;  
And shall enjoyment nothing then improve?  
'Twere best for us then to begin again.   

3.  
Now we have gained, we must not stop, and sleep  
Out all the rest of our mysterious reign:  
It is as hard and glorious to keep  
A victory, as it is to obtain.   

4.  
Nay, to what end did we once barter Minds,  
Only to know and to neglect the claim?  
Or (like some Wantoness) our Pride pleasure finds  
To throw away the thing at which we aim.   

5.  
If this be all our Friendship does design,  
We covet not enjoyment then, but power:  
To our Opinion we our Bliss confine,  
And love to have, but not to smell, the flower.   

6.  
Ah! then let Misers bury thus their Gold,  
Who though they starve no farthing will produce:  
But we loved to enjoy and to behold,  
And sure we cannot spend our stock by use.   

7.  
Think not 'tis needless to repeat desires;  
The fervent Turtles always court and bill,  
And yet their spotless passion never tires,  
But does increase by repetition still.   

8.  
Although we know we love, yet while our Soul  
Is thus imprisoned by the Flesh we wear,  
There's no way left that bondage to control,  
But to convey transactions through the Ear.   

9  
Nay, though we read our passions in the Eye,  
It will oblige and please to tell them too:  
Such joys as these by motion multiply,  
Were 't but to find that our Souls told us true.   

10.  
Believe not then, that being now secure  
Of either's heart, we have no more to do:  
The Spheres themselves by motion do endure,  
And they move on by Circulation too.   

11.  
And as a River, when it once hath paid  
The tribute which it to the Ocean owes,  
Stops not, but turns, and having curled and played  
On its own waves, the shore it overflows:   

12.  
So the Soul's motion does not end in bliss,  
But on herself she scatters and dilates,  
And on the Object doubles still; by this  
She finds new joys which that reflux creates.   

13.  
But then because it cannot all contain,  
It seeks a vent by telling the glad news,  
First to the Heart which did its joys obtain,  
Then to the Heart which did those joys produce.   

14.  
When my Soul then doth such excursions make,  
Unless thy Soul delight to meet it too,  
What satisfaction can it give or take,  
Thou being absent at the interview?   

15.  
'Tis not Distrust; for were that plea allowed,  
Letters and Visits all would useless grow:  
Love, whose expression then would be its cloud,  
And it would be refined to nothing so.   

16.  
If I distrust, 'tis my own worth for thee,  
'Tis my own fitness for a love like thine;  
And therefore still new evidence would see,  
T'assure my wonder that thou canst be mine.   

17.  
But as the Morning-Sun to drooping Flowers,  
As weary Travellers a Shade do find,  
As to the parched Violet Evening-showers;  
Such is from thee to me a Look that's kind.   

18.  
But when that Look is dressed in Words, 'tis like  
The mystic power of music's union;  
Which when the Finger doth one Viol strike,  
The other's string heaves to reflection.   

19  
Be kind to me, and just then to your love,  
To which we owe our free and dear Converse;  
And let not tract of Time wear or remove  
It from the privilege of that Commerce.   

20.  
Tyrant's do banish what they can't requite:  
But let us never know such mean desires;  
But to be grateful to that Love delight  
Which all our joys and noble thoughts inspires.    

LX. Lafoy Grandeur d'esprit.  

A Chosen Privacy, a cheap Content,  
And all the Peace a Friendship ever lent,  
A Rock which civil Nature made a Seat,  
A Willow that repels the midday heat,  
The beauteous quiet of a Summer's day,  
A Brook which sobbed aloud and ran away,  
Invited my Repose, and then conspired  
To entertain my Fancy that retired.  
As Lucian's Ferryman aloft did view  
The angry World, and then laughed at it too:  
So all its sullen Follies seem to me  
But as a too-well acted Tragedy.  
One dangerous Ambition doth befool,  
Another Envies to see that man Rule:  
One makes his Love the Parent of his Rage,  
For private Friendship publicly t' engage:  
And some for Conscience, some for Honour die;  
And some are merely killed they know not why.  
More different than men's faces are their ends,  
Whom yet one common Ruin can make Friends.  
Death, Dust and Darkness they have only won,  
And hastily unto their Periods run.  
Death is a Leveller; Beauty and Kings  
And Conquerors, and all those glorious things  
Are tumbled to their Graves in one rude heap,  
Like common dust, as common and as cheap.  
At greater Changes who would wonder then,  
Since Kingdoms have their Fates as well as men?  
They must fall sick and die; nothing can be  
In this World certain, but uncertainty.  
Since Power and Greatness are such slippery things,  
Who'd pity Cottages, or envy Kings?  
Now least of all, when, weary of deceit,  
The World no longer flatters with the Great.  
Though such Confusions here below we find,  
As Providence were wanton with Mankind:  
Yet in this Chaos some things do send forth,  
Like Jewels in the dark, a Native worth.  
He that derives his high Nobility,  
Not from the mention of a Pedigree;  
Who thinks it not his Praise that others know  
His Ancestors were gallant long ago;  
Who scorns to boast the Glories of his blood,  
And thinks he can't be great that is not good;  
Who knows the World, and what we Pleasure call,  
Yet cannot sell one Conscience for them all;  
Who hates to hoard that Gold with an excuse  
For which he can find out a nobler use;  
Who dares not keep that Life that he can spend,  
To serve his God, his Country, and his Friend;  
Falshood and Flattery doth so much hate,  
He would not buy ten Lives at such a rate;  
Whose Soul, than Diamonds more rich and clear,  
Naked and open as his face doth wear;  
Who dares be good alone in such a time,  
When virtue's held and punished as a Crime;  
Who thinks dark crooked Plots a mean defence,  
And is both safe and wise in Innocence;  
Who dares both fight and die, but dares not fear;  
Whose only doubt is, if his cause be clear;  
Whose Courage and his Justice equal worn,  
Can dangers grapple, overcome and scorn,  
Yet not insult upon a conquered foe,  
But can forgive him and oblige him too;  
Whose Friendship is congenial with his Soul,  
Who where he gives a heart bestows it whole;  
Whose other ties and Titles here do end,  
Or buried or completed in the Friend;  
Who ne'er resumes the Soul he once did give,  
While his Friend's Company and Honour live;  
And if his Friend's content could cost the price,  
Would count himself a happy Sacrifice;  
Whose happy days no Pride infects, nor can  
His other Titles make him slight the man;  
No dark Ambitious thoughts do cloud his brow,  
Nor restless cares when to be Great and how;  
Who scorns to envy Truth where ere it be,  
But pities such a Golden Slavery;  
With no mean fawn can the people court,  
Nor wholly slight a popular report;  
Whose house no Orphan groans do shake or blast,  
Nor any riot of help to serve his taste;  
Who from the top of his Prosperities  
Can take a fall, and yet without surprise;  
Who with the same august and even state  
Can entertain the best and worst of Fate;  
Whose suffering sweet, if Honour once adorn it;  
Who slights Revenge, not that he fears, but scorns it;  
Whose Happiness in every Fortune lives,  
For that no Fortune either takes or gives;  
Who no unhandsome ways can bribe his Fate,  
Nay, out of Prison marches through the Gate;  
Who losing all his Titles and his Pelf,  
Nay, all the World, can never lose himself;  
This Person shines indeed, and he that can  
Be Virtuous is the great Immortal man.    

LXI. A Country-life.  

HOw Sacred and how Innocent  
A Country-life appears,  
How free from Tumult, Discontent,  
From Flattery or Fears!  
This was the first and happiest Life,  
When man enjoyed himself;  
Till Pride exchanged Peace for Strife,  
And Happiness for Pelf.  
'Twas here the Poets were inspired,  
And sang their Mysteries;  
And while the listening World admired,  
Mens Minds did civilize.  
That Golden Age did entertain  
No Passion but of Love;  
The thoughts of Ruling and of Gain  
Did ne'er their Fancies move.  
None then did envy Neighbour's wealth,  
Nor Plot to wrong his bed:  
Happy in Friendship and in Health,  
On Roots, not Beasts, they fed.  
They knew no Law nor Physic then,  
Nature was all their Wit.  
And if there yet remain to men  
Content, sure this is it.  
What Blessings doth this World afford  
To tempt or bribe desire?  
For Courtship is all Fire and Sword,  
Who would not then retire?  
Then welcome dearest Solitude,  
My great Felicity;  
Though some are pleased to call thee rude,  
Thou art not so, but we.  
Such as do covet only rest  
A Cottage will suffice:  
Is it not brave to be possessed  
Of Earth but to despise?  
Opinion is the rate of things,  
From hence our Peace doth flow;  
I have a better Fate than Kings,  
Because I think it so.  
When all the stormy World doth wear,  
How unconcerned am I:  
I cannot fear to tumble lower  
That never could be high.  
Secure in these unenvied walls  
I think not on the State,  
And pity no man's case that falls  
From his Ambition's height,  
Silence and Innocence are safe;  
A heart that's nobly true  
At all these little Arts can laugh  
That do the World subdue.  
While others Revel it in State,  
Here I'll contented sit,  
And think I have as good a Fate  
As Wealth and Pomp admit.  
Let some in Courtship take delight,  
And to th' Exchange resort;  
There Revel out a Winter's night,  
Not making Love, but Sport.  
These never knew a noble Flame,  
'Tis Lust, Scorn, or Design:  
While Vanity plays all their Game,  
Let Peace and Honour mine.  
When the inviting Spring appears,  
To Hyde-park let them go,  
And hasting thence be full of fears  
To lose Spring-Garden show.  
Let others (nobler) seek to gain  
In Knowledge happy Fate,  
And others busy them in vain  
To study ways of State.  
But I, resolved from within,  
Confirmed from without,  
In Privacy intent to spin  
My future Minutes out.  
And from this Hermitage of mine  
I banish all wild toys,  
And nothing that is not Divine  
Shall dare to tempt my Joys.  
There are below but two things good,  
Friendship and Honesty,  
And only those alone I would  
Ask for Felicity.  
In this retired Integrity,  
Free from both War and noise,  
I live not by Necessity,  
But wholly by my Choice.    

LXII. To Mrs. Wogan, my Honoured Friend, on the Death of her Husband.  

DRy up your tears, there's enough shed by you,  
And we must pay our share of Sorrows too.  
It is no private loss when such men fall,  
The World's concerned, and Grief is general.  
But though of our Misfortune we complain,  
To him it is injurious and vain.  
For since we know his rich Integrity,  
His real Sweetness, and full Harmony;  
How free his heart and house were to his Friends,  
Whom he obliged without Design or Ends;  
How universal was his Courtesy,  
How clear a Soul, how even, and how high;  
How much he scorned disguise or meaner Arts,  
But with a native Honour conquered Hearts;  
We must conclude he was a Treasure lent,  
Soon weary of this sordid Tenement.  
The Age and World deserved him not, and he  
Was kindly snatched from future Misery.  
We can scarce say he's Dead, but gone to rest,  
And left a Monument in every breast.  
For you to grieve then in this sad excess,  
Is not to speak your Love, but make it less.  
A noble Soul no Friendship will admit,  
But what's Eternal and Divine as it.  
The Soul is hid in mortal flesh we know,  
And all its weaknesses must undergo,  
Till by degrees it does shine forth at length,  
And gathers Beauty, Purity, and Strength:  
But never yet doth this Immortal Ray  
Put on full splendour till it put off Day.  
So Infant Love is in the worthiest breast  
By Sense and Passion fettered and oppressed;  
But by degrees it grows still more refined,  
And scorning clogs only concerns the Mind.  
Now as the Soul you loved is here set free  
From its material gross capacity;  
Your Love should follow him now he is gone,  
And quitting Passion, put Perfection on.  
Such Love as this will its own good deny,  
If its dear Object have Felicity.  
And since we cannot his great Loss Reprieve,  
Let's not lose you in whom he still doth Live.  
For while you are by Grief secluded thus,  
It doth appear your Funeral to us.    

LXIII. In memory of the most justly honoured, Mrs. Owen of Orielton.  

AS when the ancient World by Reason lived,  
The Asian Monarches deaths were never grieved;  
Their glorious Lives made all their Subjects call  
Their Rites a Triumph, not a Funeral:  
So still the Good are Princes, and their Fate  
Invites us not to weep, but imitate.  
Nature intends a progress of each stage  
Whereby weak Man creeps to succeeding Age,  
Ripens him for that Change for which he's made,  
Where th' active Soul is in her Centre laid.  
And since none stripped of Infancy complain,  
'Cause 'tis both their necessity and gain:  
So Age and Death by slow approaches come,  
And by that just inevitable doom  
By which the Soul (her cloggy dross once gone)  
Puts on Perfection, and resumes her own.  
Since than we mourn a happy Soul, O why  
Disturb we her with erring Piety?  
Who's so enamoured on the beauteous Ground,  
When with rich Autumn's livery hung round,  
As to deny a Sickle to his Grain,  
And not undress the teeming Earth again?  
Fruits grow for use, Mankind is born to die;  
And both Fates have the same necessity.  
Then grieve no more, sad Relatives, but learn;  
Sigh not, but profit by your just concern.  
Read over her Life's volume: wise and good,  
Not 'cause she must be so, but 'cause she would.  
To chosen Virtue still a constant friend,  
She saw the Times which changed, but did not mend.  
And as some are so civil to the Sun,  
They'd fix his beams, and make the Earth to run:  
So she unmoved beheld the angry Fate  
Which tore a Church, and overthrew a State:  
Still durst be Good, and own the noble Truth,  
To crown her Age which had adorned her Youth.  
Great without Pride, a Soul which still could be  
Humble and high, full of calm Majesty.  
She kept true state within, and could not buy  
Her Satisfaction with her Charity.  
Fortune or Birth ne'er raised her Mind, which stood  
Not on her being rich, but doing good.  
Obliged the World, but yet would scorn to be  
Paid with Requitals, Thanks or Vanity.  
How oft did she what all the World adore,  
Make the Poor happy with her useful store?  
So general was her Bounty, that she gave  
Equality to all before the Grave.  
By several means she different persons tied,  
Who by her Goodness only were allied.  
Her Virtue was her Temper, not her Fit;  
Feared nothing but the Crimes which some commit  
Scorned those dark Arts which pass for Wisdom now  
Nor to a mean ignoble thing could bow.  
And her vast Prudence had no other end,  
But to forgive a Foe, endear a Friend:  
To use, but slight, the World; and fixed above,  
Shine down in beams of Piety and Love.  
Why should we then by poor and just complaint  
Prove envious Sinners 'cause she is a Saint?  
Close then the Monument; let not a Tear  
That may profane her Ashes now appear:  
For her best Obsequies are that we be  
Prudent and Good, Noble and Sweet, as she.    

LXIV. A Friend.  

1.  
LOve, Nature's Plot, this great Creation's Soul,  
The Being and the Harmony of things,  
Doth still preserve and propagate the whole,  
From whence Man's Happiness & Safety springs:  
The earliest, whitest, blessedst Times did draw  
From her alone their universal Law.   

2.  
Friendship's an Abstract of this noble Flame,  
'Tis Love refined and purged from all its dross,  
The next to Angel's Love, if not the same,  
As strong in passion is, though not so gross  
It antedates a glad Eternity,  
And is an Heaven in Epitome.   

3.  
Nobler than Kindred or then Marriage-band,  
Because more free; Wedlock-felicity  
Itself doth only by this Union stand,  
And turns to Friendship or to Misery.  
Force or Design Matches to pass may bring,  
But Friendship doth from Love and Honour spring.   

4.  
If Souls no Sexes have, for Men t' exclude  
Women from Friendship's vast capacity,  
Is a Design injurious or rude,  
Only maintained by partial tyranny.  
Love is allowed to us and Innocence,  
And noblest Friendships do proceed from thence.   

5.  
The chiefest thing in Friends is Sympathy:  
There is a Secret that doth Friendship guide,  
Which makes two Souls before they know agree,  
Who by a thousand mixtures are allied,  
And changed and lost, so that it is not known  
Within which breast doth now reside their own.   

6.  
Essential Honour must be in a Friend,  
Not such as every breath fans to and fro;  
But born within, is its own judge and end,  
And dares not sin though sure that none should know.  
Where Friendship's spoke, Honesty's understood;  
For none can be a Friend that is not Good.   

7.  
Friendship doth carry more than common trust,  
And Treachery is here the greatest sin.  
Secrets deposed then none ever must  
Presume to open, but who put them in.  
They that in one Chest lay up all their stock,  
Had need be sure that none can pick the Lock.   

8.  
A breast too open Friendship does not love,  
For that the others Trust will not conceal;  
Nor one too much reserved can it approve,  
It's own Condition this will not reveal.  
We empty Passions for a double end,  
To be refreshed and guarded by a Friend.   

9  
Wisdom and Knowledge Friendship does require,  
The first for Counsel, this for Company;  
And though not mainly, yet we may desire  
For complaisance and Ingenuity.  
Though every thing may love, yet 'tis a Rule,  
He cannot be a Friend that is a Fool.   

10.  
Discretion uses Parts, and best knows how;  
And Patience will all Qualities commend:  
That serves a need best, but this doth allow  
The Weaknesses and Passions of a Friend.  
We are not yet come to the Choir above:  
Who cannot Pardon here, can never Love.   

11.  
Thick Waters show no Images of things;  
Friends are each others Mirrors, and should be  
Clearer than Crystal or the Mountain Springs,  
And free from Clouds, Design or Flattery.  
For vulgar Souls no part of Friendship share:  
Poets and Friends are born to what they are.   

12.  
Friends should observe & chide each others Faults,  
To be severe then is most just and kind;  
Nothing can escape their search who know the thoughts:  
This they should give and take with equal Mind.  
For Friendship, when this Freedom is denied,  
Is like a Painter when his hands are tied.   

13.  
A Friend should find out each Necessity,  
And then unasked relieved at any rate:  
It is not Friendship, but Formality,  
To be desired; for Kindness keeps no state.  
Of Friends he doth the Benefactor prove,  
That gives his Friend a means t' express his Love.   

14.  
Absence doth not from Friendship's right excuse:  
They who preserve each others heart and fame  
Parting can ne'er divide, it may diffuse;  
As Liquors which asunder are the same.  
Though Presence helped them at the first to greet,  
Their Souls know now without those aids to meet.   

15.  
Constant and Solid, whom no storms can shake,  
Nor death unfix, a right Friend ought to be;  
And if condemned to survive, doth make  
No second choice, but Grief and Memory.  
But Friendship's best Fate is, when it can spend  
A Life, a Fortune, all to serve a Friend.    

LXV. L'Accord du Bien.  

1.  
ORder, by which all things are made,  
And this great World's foundation laid,  
Is nothing else but Harmony,  
Where different parts are brought t'agree.   

2.  
As Empires are still best maintained  
Those ways which first their Greatness gained:  
So in this universal Frame  
What made and keeps it is the same.   

3.  
Thus all things unto peace do tend;  
Even Discords have it for their end.  
The cause why Elements do fight,  
Is but their Instinct to Unite.   

4.  
Music could never please the Sense  
But by United excellence:  
The sweetest Note which Numbers know,  
If struck alone, would tedious grow.   

5.  
Man, the whole World's Epitome,  
Is by creation Harmony.  
'Twas Sin first quarrelled in his breast,  
Then made him angry with the rest.   

6.  
But Goodness keeps that Unity,  
And loves its own society  
So well, that seldom it is known  
One real Worth to dwell alone.   

7.  
And hence it is we Friendship call  
Not by one virtue's name, but all.  
Nor is it when bad things agree  
Thought Union, but Conspiracy.   

8.  
Nature and Grace, such enemies  
That when one fell t'other did rise,  
Are now by Mercy even set,  
As Stars in Constellations met.   

9  
If Nature were itself a sin,  
Her Author (God) had guilty been:  
But Man by sin contracting stain,  
Shall purged from that be clear again.   

10.  
To prove that Nature's excellent  
Even Sin itself an argument:  
Therefore we Nature's stain deplore,  
Because itself was pure before.   

11.  
And Grace destroys not, but refines,  
Unveils our Reason, than it shines;  
Restores what was depressed by sin,  
The fainting beam of God within.   

12.  
The main spring (Judgement) rectified,  
Will all the lesser Motions guide,  
To spend our Labour, Love and Care,  
Not as things seem, but as they are.   

13.  
'Tis Fancy lest, Wit thrown away,  
In trifles to employ that Ray,  
Which then doth in full lustre shine  
When both Ingenuous and Divine.   

14.  
To Eyes by Humours vitiated  
All things seem falsely coloured:  
So 'tis our prejudicial thought  
That makes clear Objects seem in fault.   

15.  
They scarce believe united good,  
By them 'twas never understood:  
They think one Grace enough for one,  
And 'tis because their selves have none.   

16.  
We hunt Extremes, and run so fast,  
We can no steady judgement cast:  
He best surveys the Circuit round  
Who stands i'th' middle of the ground.   

17.  
That happy mean would let us fee  
Knowledge and Meekness may agree;  
And find, when each thing hath its name,  
Passion and Zele are not the same.   

18.  
Who studies God doth upwards fly,  
And height's still lesser to our eye;  
And he that knows God, soon will see  
Vast cause for his Humility.   

19  
For by that search it will be known  
There's nothing but our Will our own:  
And whoso doth that stock employ,  
Will find more cause for Shame then Joy.   

20.  
We know so little and so dark,  
And so extinguish our own spark,  
That he who furthest here can go,  
Knows nothing as he ought to know.   

21.  
It will with the most Learned suit  
More to inquire then dispute:  
But Vapours swell within a Cloud,  
And Ignorance 'tis makes us proud.   

22.  
So whom their own vain Heart belies,  
Like Inflammations quickly rise:  
But that Soul which is truly great  
Is lowest in its own conceit.   

23.  
Yet while we hug our own mistake,  
We Censures, but not Judgements, make;  
And thence it is we cannot see  
Obedience stand with Liberty.   

24.  
Providence still keeps even state;  
But he can best command his Fate,  
Whose Art by adding his own Voice.  
Makes his Necessity his Choice,   

25.  
Rightly to rule one's self must be  
The hardest, largest Monarchy:  
Whose Passions are his Masters grown,  
Will be a Captive in a Throne.   

26.  
He most the inward freedom gains,  
Who just Submissions entertains:  
For while in that his Reason sways,  
It is himself that he obeys.   

27.  
But only in Eternity  
We can these beauteous Unions see:  
For Heaven's self and Glory is  
But one harmonious constant Bliss.    

LXVI. Invitation to the Country.  

BE kind, my dear Rosannia, though 'tis true  
Thy Friendship will become thy Penance too;  
Though there be nothing can reward the pain,  
Nothing to satisfy or entertain;  
Though all be empty, wild, and like to me,  
Who make new Troubles in my Company:  
Yet is the action more obliging great;  
'Tis Hardship only makes Desert complete.  
But yet to prove Mixtures all things compound,  
There may in this be some advantage found;  
For a Retirement from the noise of Towns,  
Is that for which someKings have left their Crowns:  
And Conquerors, whose Laurel pressed the brow,  
Have changed it for the quiet Myrtle-bow.  
For Titles, Honours, and the World's Address,  
Are things too cheap to make up Happiness;  
The easy Tribute of a giddy race,  
And paid less to the Person than the place.  
So false reflected and so short content  
Is that which Fortune and Opinion lent,  
That who most tried it have of it complained,  
With Titles burdened and to Greatness chained.  
For they alone enjoyed what they possessed,  
Who relished most and understood it best.  
And yet that understanding made them know  
The empty swift dispatch of all below.  
So that what most can outward things endear,  
Is the best means to make them disappear:  
And even that Tyrant (Sense) doth these destroy,  
As more officious to our Grief then Joy.  
Thus all the glittering World is but a cheat,  
Obtruding on our Sense things Gross for Great.  
But he that can inquire and undisguise,  
Will soon perceive the thing that hidden lies;  
And find no Joys merit esteem but those  
Whose Scene lies only at our own dispose.  
Man unconcerned without himself may be  
His own both Prospect and Security.  
King's may be Slaves by their own Passions hurled,  
But who commands himself commands the World.  
A Country-life assists this study best,  
Where no distractions do the Soul arrest:  
There Heaven and Earth lie open to our view,  
There we search Nature and its Author too;  
Possessed with Freedom and a real State  
Look down on Vice, and Vanity, and Fate.  
There (my Rosannia) will we, mingling Souls,  
Pity the Folly which the World controls;  
And all those Grandeurs which the World do prize  
We either can enjoy, or can despise.    

LXVII. In Memory of Mrs. E. H.  

AS some choice Plant cherished by Sun and Air,  
And ready to requite the Gard'ner's care,  
Blossoms and flourishes, but then we find  
Is made the Triumph of some ruder Wind:  
So thy untimely Grave did both entomb  
Thy Sweetness now, and wonders yet to come.  
Hung full of hopes thou feltst a lovely prize,  
Just as thou didst attract all Hearts and Eyes.  
Thus we might apprehend, for had thy years  
Been lengthened to have paid those vast arrears  
The World expected, we should then conclude,  
The Age of Miracles had been renewed.  
For thou already hast with ease found out  
What others study with such pams and doubt;  
That frame of Soul which is content alone,  
And needs no Entertainment but its own.  
Thy even Mind, which made thee good and great,  
Was to thee both a shelter and retreat.  
Of all the Tumults which the World do fill  
Thou wert an unconcerned Spectator still:  
And, were thy duty punctually supplied,  
Indifferent to all the World beside.  
Thou wert made up with a Resolved and fixed,  
And wouldst not with a base Alloy be mixed;  
Above the World, couldst equally despise  
Both its Temptations and its Injuries;  
Couldst sum up all, and find not worth desire  
Those glittering Trifles which the most admire;  
But with a nobler aim, and nobler born,  
Look down on Greatness with contempt and scorn.  
Thou hadst no Arts that others this might see,  
Nor lov'dst a Trumpet to thy Piety:  
But silent and retired, calm and serene,  
Stolest to thy blessed Haven hardly seen.  
It were vain to describe thee then, but now  
Thy vast accession harder is to know;  
How full of light, and satisfied thou art,  
So early from this treacherous World to part;  
How pleased thou art reflections now to make,  
And find thou didst not things below mistake;  
In how abstracted converse thou dost live,  
How much thy Knowledge is intuitive;  
How great and bright a glory is enjoyed  
With Angels, and in Mysteries employed.  
'Tis sin then to lament thy Fate, but we  
Should help thee to a new Eternity;  
And by successive Imitation strive,  
Till Time shall die, to keep thee still alive;  
And (by thy great Example furnished) be  
More apt to live then write this Elegy.    

LXVIII. Submission.  

'TIs so, and humbly I my will resign,  
Nor dare dispute with Providence Divine,  
In vain, alas! we struggle with our chains,  
But more entangled by the fruitless pains.  
For as i'th' great Creation of this All  
Nothing by chance could in such order fall;  
And what would single be deformed confessed,  
Grows beauteous in its union with the rest:  
So Providence like Wisdom we allow,  
(For what created once does govern now)  
And the same Fate that seems to one Reverse,  
Is necessary to the Universe.  
All these particular and various things,  
Linked to their Causes by such secret Springs,  
Are held so fast, and governed by such Art,  
That nothing can out of its order start.  
The World's God's watch, where nothing is so small,  
But makes a part of what composes all:  
Could the least Pin be lost or else displaced,  
The World would be disordered and defaced.  
It beats no Pulse in vain, but keeps its time,  
And undiscerned to its own height doth climb;  
Strung first, and daily wound up by his hand  
Who can its motions guide or understand.  
No secret cunning then nor multitude  
Can Providence divert, cross or delude.  
And her just full decrees are hidden things,  
Which harder are to find then Births of Springs.  
Yet all in various Consorts fitly sound,  
And by their Discords Harmony compound.  
Hence is that Order, Life and Energy,  
Whereby Forms are preserved though Matters die;  
And shifting dress keep their own living seat:  
So that what kills this, does that propagate.  
This made the ancient Sage in Rapture cry,  
That sure the World had full Eternity.  
For though itself to Time and Fate submit,  
He's above both who made and governs it;  
And to each Creature hath such Portion lent,  
As Love and Wisdom sees convenient.  
For he's no Tyrant, nor delights to grieve  
The Being's which from him alone can live.  
He's most concerned, and hath the greatest share  
In man, and therefore takes the greatest care  
To make him happy, who alone can be  
So by Submission and Conformity.  
For why should Changes here below surprise,  
When the whole World its resolution tries?  
Where were our Springs, our Harvests pleasant use,  
Unless Vicisitude did them produce?  
Nay, what can be so wearisome a pain  
As when no Alterations entertain?  
To lose, to suffer, to be sick and die,  
Arrest us by the same Necessity.  
Nor could they trouble us, but that our mind  
Hath its own glory unto dross confined.  
For outward things remove not from their place,  
Till our Souls run to beg their mean embrace;  
Then doting on the choice make it our own,  
By placing Trifles in th' Opinion's Throne.  
So when they are divorced by some new cross,  
Our Souls seem widowed by the fatal loss:  
But could we keep our Grandeur and our state,  
Nothing below would seem unfortunate;  
But Grace and Reason, which best succours bring,  
Would with advantage manage every thing;  
And by right Judgement would prevent our moan  
For losing that which never was our own.  
For right Opinion like a Marble grott,  
In Summer cool, and in the Winter hot;  
A Principle which in each Fortune lives,  
Bestowing Catholic Preservatives.  
'Tis this resolves, there are no losses where  
Virtue and Reason are continued there.  
The meanest Soul might such a Fortune share,  
But no mean Soul could so that Fortune bear.  
Thus I compose my thoughts grown insolent,  
As th' Irish harper doth his Instrument;  
Which if once struck doth murmur and complain,  
But the next touch will silence all again.    

LXIX. 2 Cor. 5. 19 God was in Christ Reconciling the World to himself.  

WHen God, contracted to Humanity,  
Could sigh and suffer, could be sick and die;  
When all the heap of Miracles combined  
To form the greatest, which was, save Mankind:  
Then God took stand in Christ, studying a way  
How to repair the Ruined World's decay.  
His Love, Power, Wisdom, must some means procure  
His Mercy to advance, Justice secure:  
And since Man in such Misery was hurled,  
It cost him more to save then made the World.  
Oh! what a desperate load of sins had we,  
When God must plot for our Felicity?  
When God must beg us that he may forgive,  
And die himself before Mankind could live?  
And what still are we, when our King in vain  
Begs his lost Rebels to be Friends again?  
What floods of Love proceed from Heaven's smile,  
At once to pardon and to reconcile?  
Oh wretched Men! who dare your God confine,  
Like those who separate what he does join.  
Go stop the Rivers with an Infant's hand,  
Or count with your Arithmetic the Sand;  
Forbid the Light, the fertile Earth persuade  
To shut her bosom from the Lab'rer's Spade:  
And yield your God (if these cannot be done)  
As universal as the Sea or Sun.  
What God hath made he therefore cannot hate,  
For 'tis one act to Love and to Create:  
And he's too perfect full of Majesty,  
To need additions from our Misery.  
He hath a Father's, not a Tyrant's, joy;  
'Tis equal Power to save, as to destroy.  
Did there ten thousand Worlds to ruin fall,  
One God could save, one Christ redeem them all.  
Be silent then, ye narrow Souls, take heed  
Lest you restrain the Mercy you will need.  
But, O my Soul, from these be different,  
Imitate thou a nobler Precedent:  
As God with open Arms the World does woe,  
Learn thou like God to be enlarged too;  
As he begs thy consent to pardon thee,  
Learn to submit unto thy Enemy;  
As he stands ready thee to entertain,  
Be thou as forward to return again;  
As he was Crucify'd for and by thee,  
Crucify thou what caused his Agony;  
And like to him be mortified to sin,  
Die to the World as he died for it then.    

LXX. The World.  

WE falsely think it due unto our Friends,  
That we should grieve for their untimely ends.  
He that surveys the World with serious eyes,  
And strips her from her gross and weak disguise,  
Shall find 'tis Injury to mourn their Fate;  
He only dies untimely who dies late.  
For if 'twere told to Children in the Womb,  
To what a Stage of Mischiefs they must come;  
Could they foresee with how much toil and sweat  
Men court that guilded nothing, being Great;  
What pains they take not to be what they seem,  
Rating their bliss by others false esteem,  
And sacrificing their Content, to be  
Guilty of grave and serious Vanity;  
How each Condition hath its proper Thorns,  
And what one man admires, another scorns;  
How frequently their Happiness they miss,  
And so far from agreeing what it is,  
That the same Person we can hardly find  
Who is an hour together in one mind:  
Sure they would beg a Period of their breath,  
And what we call their Birth would count their Death.  
Mankind are mad; for none can live alone,  
Because their Joys stand by comparison:  
And yet they quarrel at Society,  
And strive to kill they know not whom, nor why.  
We all live by Mistake, delight in Dreams,  
Lost to ourselves, and dwelling in Extremes;  
Rejecting what we have, though ne'er so good,  
And prising what we never understood.  
Compared t'our boisterous inconstancy  
Tempests are calm, and Discords harmony.  
Hence we reverse the World, and yet do find  
The God that made can hardly please our Mind.  
We live by chance, and slip into Events;  
Have all of Beasts except their Innocence.  
The Soul, which no man's power can reach, a thing  
That makes each Woman Man, each Man a King,  
Doth so much lose, and from its height so fall,  
That some contend to have no Soul at all.  
'Tis either not observed, or at the best  
By Passion fought withal, by Sin depressed.  
Freedom of Will (God's Image) is forgot;  
And, if we know it, we improve it not.  
Our Thoughts, though nothing can be more our own,  
Are still unguided, very seldom known.  
Time 'scapes our hands as Water in a Sieve,  
We come to die ere we begin to live.  
Truth, the most suitable and noble prize,  
Food of our Spirits, yet neglected lies.  
Error and Shadows are our choice, and we  
Owe our perdition to our own decree.  
If we search Truth, we make it more obscure;  
And when it shines, we can't the light endure.  
For most men now, who plod, and eat, and drink,  
Have nothing less their business then to think.  
And those few that inquire, how small a share  
Of Truth they find, how dark their Notions are!  
That serious Evenness that calms the Breast,  
And in a Tempest can bestow a Rest,  
We either not attempt, or else decline,  
By every trifle snatched from our design.  
(Others he must in his deceits involve,  
Who is not true unto his own Resolve.)  
We govern not ourselves, but lose the Reins,  
Courting our Bondage to a thousand chains;  
And with as many Slaveries content  
As there are Tyrants ready to torment,  
We live upon a Rack extended still  
To one Extreme or both, but always ill.  
For since our Fortune is not understood,  
We suffer less from bad then from the good.  
The Sting is better dressed and longer lasts,  
As Surfeits are more dangerous than Fasts.  
And to complete the misery to us,  
We see Extremes are still contiguous.  
And as we run so fast from what we hate,  
Like Squibs on Ropes, to know no middle state;  
So outward storms strengthened by us, we find  
Our Fortune as disordered as our Mind.  
But that's excused by this, it doth its part;  
A treacherous World befits a treacherous Heart.  
All ill's our own, the outward storms we loath  
Receive from us their Birth, their Sting, or both.  
And that our Vanity be past a doubt,  
'Tis one new Vanity to find it out.  
Happy are they to whom God gives a Grave,  
And from themselves as from his wrath doth save  
'Tis good not to be born; but if we must,  
The next good is, soon to return to dust.  
When th' uncaged Soul fled to Eternity  
Shall rest, and live, and sing, and love, and see.  
Here we but crawl and grapple, play and cry;  
Are first our own, than others, enemy:  
But there shall be defaced both stain and score,  
For Time, and Death, and Sin shall be no more.    

LXXI. The Soul.  

1.  
HOw vain a thing is Man, whose noblest part,  
That Soul with through the World doth come,  
Traverses Heaven, finds out the depths of Art,  
Yet is so ignorant at home   

2.  
In every Brook our Mirror we can find  
Reflections of our face to be;  
But a true Optic to present our Mind  
We hardly get, and darkly see.   

3.  
Yet in the search after ourselves we run,  
Actions and Causes we survey;  
And when the weary Chase is almost done,  
Then from our Quest we slip away.   

4.  
'Tis strange and sad, that since we do believe  
We have a Soul must never die,  
There are so few that can a Reason give  
How it obtains that Life, or why.   

5.  
I wonder not to find those that know most,  
Profess so much their Ignorance;  
Since in their own Souls greatest Wits are lost,  
And of themselves have scarce a glance.   

6.  
But somewhat sure doth here obscurely lie,  
That above Dross would fain advance,  
And pants and catches at Eternity,  
As 'twere its own Inheritance.   

7.  
A Soul self-moved, which can dilate, contract,  
Pierces and judges things unseen:  
But this gross heap of Matter cannot act,  
Unless impulsed from within.   

8.  
Distance and Quantity, to Bodies due,  
The state of Souls cannot admit;  
And all the Contraries which Nature knew  
Meet there, nor hurt themselves nor it.   

9  
God never made a Body so bright and clean,  
Which Good and Evil could discern:  
What these words Honesty and Honour mean,  
The Soul alone knows how to learn.   

10.  
And though 'tis true she is imprisoned here,  
Yet hath she Notions of her own,  
Which Sense doth only jog, awake, and clear,  
But cannot at the first make known.   

11.  
The Soul her own felicity hath laid,  
And independent on the Sense  
Sees the weak terrors which the World invade  
With pity or with negligence.   

12.  
So unconcerned she lives, so much above  
The Rubbish of a clotty Jail,  
That nothing doth her Energy improve  
So much as when those structures fail.   

13.  
She's then a substance subtle, strong and pure,  
So immaterial and refined,  
As speaks her from the Body's fate secure,  
As wholly of a different kind.   

14.  
Religion for reward in vain would look,  
Virtue were doomed to misery,  
All actions were like bubbles in a brook,  
Were it not for Mortality.   

15.  
And as that Conqueror who Millions spent  
Thought it too mean to give a Mite;  
So the World's Judge can never be content  
To bestow less than Infinite.   

16.  
Treason against Eternal Majesty  
Must have eternal Justice too;  
And since unbounded Love did satisfy,  
He will unbounded Mercy show.   

17.  
It is our narrow thoughts shorten these things,  
By their companion Flesh inclined;  
Which feeling its own weakness gladly brings  
The same opinion to the Mind.   

18.  
We stifle our own Sun, and live in Shade;  
But where its beams do once appear,  
They make that person of himself afraid,  
And to his own acts most severe.   

19  
For ways to sin close, and our breasts disguise  
From outward search, we soon may find:  
But who can his own Soul bribe or surprise,  
Or sin without a sting behind?   

20.  
He that commands himself is more a Prince  
Then he who Nations keeps in awe;  
And those who yield to what their Souls convince,  
Shall never need another Law.    

LXXII. Happiness.  

NAture courts Happiness, although it be  
Unknown as the Athenian Deity.  
It dwells not in Man's Sense, yet he supplies  
That want by growing fond of its disguise.  
The false appearances of Joy deceive,  
And seeking her unto her like we cleave.  
For sinning Man hath scarce sense left to know  
Whether the Plank he grasps will hold or no.  
While all the business of the World is this,  
To seek that Good which by mistake they miss.  
And all the several Passions men express  
Are but for Pleasure in a different dress.  
They hope for Happiness in being Great,  
Or Rich, or Loved, then hug their own conceit.  
And those which promise what they never had,  
I'th' midst of Laughter leave the spirit sad.  
But the Good man can find this treasure out,  
For which in vain others do dig and doubt;  
And hath such secret full Content within,  
Though all abroad be storms, yet he can sing.  
His peace is made, all's quiet in that place,  
Where Nature's cured and exercised by Grace.  
This inward Calm prevents his Enemies,  
For he can neither envy nor despise:  
But in the beauty of his ordered Mind  
Doth still a new rich satisfaction find.  
Innocent Epicure! whose single breast  
Can furnish him with a continual feast.  
A Prince at home, and Sceptres can refuse;  
Valuing only what he cannot lose.  
He studies to do good; (a man may be  
Harmless for want of Opportunity:)  
But he's industrious kindness to dispense,  
And therein only covets eminence.  
Others do court applause and fame, but he  
Thinks all that giddy noise but Vanity.  
He takes no pains to be observed or seen,  
While all his acts are echoed from within.  
He's still himself, when Company are gone,  
Too well employed ever to be alone.  
For studying God in all his volumes, he  
Begins the business of Eternity.  
And unconcerned without, retains a power  
To suck (like Bees) a sweet from every flower.  
And as the Manna of the Israelites  
Had several tastes to please all Appetites:  
So his Contentment is that catholic food,  
That makes all states seem fit as well as good.  
He dares not wish, nor his own fate propound;  
But, if God sends, reads Love in every wound:  
And would not lose for all the joys of Sense  
The glorious pleasures of Obedience.  
His better part can neither change nor lose,  
And all God's will can bear, can do, can choose.    

LXXIII. Death.  

1.  
HOw weak a Star doth rule Mankind,  
Which owes its ruin to the same  
Causes which Nature had designed  
To cherish and preserve the frame!   

2.  
As Commonwealths may be secure,  
And no remote Invasion dread;  
Yet may a sadder fall endure  
From Traitors in their bosom bred:   

3.  
So while we feel no violence,  
And on our active Health do trust,  
A secret hand doth snatch us hence,  
And tumbles us into the dust.   

4.  
Yet carelessly we run our race,  
As if we could Death's summons wave;  
And think not on the narrow space  
Between a Table and a Grave.   

5.  
But since we cannot Death reprieve,  
Our Souls and Fame we ought to mind,  
For they our Bodies will survive;  
That goes beyond, this stays behind.   

6.  
If I be sure my Soul is safe,  
And that my Actions will provide  
My Tomb a nobler Epitaph,  
Then that I only lived and died,   

7.  
So that in various accidents  
I Conscience may and Honour keep;  
I with that ease and innocence  
Shall die, as Infants go to sleep.    

LXXIV. To the Queen's Majesty, on her late Sickness and Recovery.  

THe public Gladness that's to us restored,  
For your escape from what we so deplored,  
Will want as well resemblance as belief,  
Unless our Joy be measured by our Grief.  
When in your Fever we with terror saw  
At once our Hopes and Happiness withdraw;  
And every crisis did with jealous fear  
Inquire the News we scarce durst stay to hear.  
Some dying Princes have their Servants slain,  
That after death they might not want a Train.  
Such cruelty were here a needless sin;  
For had our fatal Fears prophetic been,  
Sorrow alone that service would have done,  
And you by Nations had been waited on.  
Your danger was in every Visage seen,  
And only yours was quiet and serene.  
But all our zealous Grief had been in vain,  
Had not Great Charles called you back again:  
Who did your sufferings with such pain discern,  
He lost three Kingdoms once with less concern.  
Labouring your safety he neglected his,  
Nor feared he Death in any shape but this.  
His Genius did the bold Distemper tame,  
And his rich Tears quenched the rebellious Flame.  
At once the Thracian Hero loved and grieved,  
Till he his lost Felicity retrieved;  
And with the moving accents of his woe  
His Spouse recovered from the shades below.  
So the King's grief your threatened loss withstood,  
Who mourned with the same fortune that he wooed:  
And to his happy Passion we have been  
Now twice obliged for so adored a Queen.  
But how severe a Choice had you to make,  
When you must Heaven delay, or Him forsake?  
Yet since those joys you made such haste to find  
Had scarce been full if he were left behind,  
How well did Fate decide your inward strife,  
By making him a Present of your Life?  
Which rescued Blessing we must long enjoy,  
Since our Offences could it not destroy.  
For none but Death durst rival him in you;  
And Death himself was baffled in it too.   
FINIS.   

Errata.  
For Rosannia read Rosania throughout. Pag. 81. for Bodiscist read Bodidrist.   

LXXV. Upon Mr. Abraham Cowley's Retirement.  
ODE.  

I.  
NO, no, unfaithful World, thou hast  
Too long my easy Heart betrayed,  
And me too long thy Football made:  
But I am wiser grown at last,  
And will improve by all that I have passed.  
I know'twas just I should be practised on;  
For I was told before,  
And told in sober and instructive lore,  
How little all that trusted thee have won:  
And yet I would make haste to be undone.  
Now by my suffering I am better taught,  
And shall no more commit that stupid fault.  
Go, get some other Fool,  
Whom thou mayst next cajole:  
On me thy frowns thou dost in vain bestow;  
For I know how  
To be as coy and as reserved as thou,   

2.  
In my remote and humble seat  
Now I'm again possessed  
Of that late fugitive, my Breast,  
From all thy tumults and from all thy heat  
I le find a quiet and a cool retreat;  
And on the Fetters I have worn  
Look with experienced and revengeful scorn  
In this my sovereign Privacy.  
'Tis true I cannot govern thee,  
But yet myself I may subdue;  
And that's the nobler Empire of the two.  
If every Passion had got leave  
Its satisfaction to receive,  
Yet I would it a higher pleasure call,  
To conquer one, then to indulge them all.   

3.  
For thy inconstant Sea, no more  
I'll leave that safe and solid Shore:  
No, though to prosper in the cheat,  
Thou shouldst my Destiny defeat,  
And make me be Beloved, or Rich, or Great:  
Nor from myself shouldst me reclaim  
With all the noise and all the pomp of Fame,  
Judiciously I'll thee despise;  
Too small the Bargain, and too great the Price,  
For them to cozen twice.  
At length this secret I have learned;  
Who will be happy, will be unconcerned,  
Must all their Comfort in their Bosom wear,  
And seek their treasure and their power there.   

4.  
No other Wealth will I aspire,  
But of Nature to admire;  
Nor envy on a Laurel will bestow,  
Whilst I have any in my Garden grow.  
And when I would be Great,  
'Tis but ascending to a Seat  
Which Nature in a lofty Rock hath built;  
A Throne as free from trouble as from guilt.  
Where when my Soul her wings does raise  
Above what Worldlings fear or praise,  
With innocence and quiet pride I'll sit,  
And see the humble Waves pay tribute to my feet.  
O Life Divine, when free from joys diseased,  
Not always merry, but 'tis always pleased!   

5.  
A Heart, which is too great a thing  
To be a Present for a Persian King,  
Which God himself would have to be his Court,  
Where Angels would officiously resort,  
From its own height should much decline,  
If this Converse it should resign  
(Ill-natured World!) for thine.  
Thy unwise rigour hath thy Empire lost;  
It hath not only set me free,  
But it hath made me see,  
They only can of thy possession boast,  
Who do enjoy thee least, and understand thee most.  
For lo, the Man whom all Mankind admired,  
(By every Grace adorned, and every Muse inspired)  
Is now triumphantly retired.  
The mighty Cowley this hath done,  
And over thee a Parthian Conquest won:  
Which future Ages shall adore,  
And which in this subdues thee more  
Than either Greek or Roman ever could before.    
FINIS.