POEMS By the most deservedly Admired M rs. KATHERINE PHILIP'S The matchless ORINDA.  
To which is added MONSIEUR CORNEILLE'S POMPEY & HORACE, TRAGEDIES.  
With several other Translations out of FRENCH.  
LONDON, Printed by I. M. for H. Herringman, at the Sign of the Blue Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1667.   

 portrait of Orinda 
ORINDA    

THE PREFACE.  
WHen the false Edition of these Poems stole into the light, a Friend of that incomparable Ladies that made them, knowing how averse she was to be in print, and therefore being sure that it was absolutely against her consent, as he believed it utterly without her knowledge, (she being then in Wales above 150 miles from this Town) went presently both to the Gentleman, who licenced it upon the Stationer's averment that he had her leave, and to the Stationer himself for whom it was printed, and took the best course he could with both to get it suppressed, as it presently was (though afterward many of the Books were privately sold) and gave her an account by the next Post of what he had done. A while after he received this Answer, which you have here (taken from her own hand) under that disguised Name she had given him, it being her custom to use such with most of her particular friends.  
Worthy Poliarchus,  
IT is very well that you chid me so much for endeavouring to express a part of the sense I have of your obligations; for while you go on in conferring them beyond all possibility of acknowledgement, it is convenient for me to be forbidden to attempt it. Your last generous concern for me, in vindicating me from the unworthy usage I have received at London from the Press, doth as much transcend all your former favours, as the injury done me by that Publisher and Printer exceeds all the troubles that I remember I ever had. All I can say to you for it, is, that though you assert an unhappy, it is yet a very innocent person, and that it is impossible for malice itself to have printed those Rhymes (you tell me are gotten abroad so impudently) with so much abuse to the things, as the very publication of them at all, though they had been never so correct, had been to me; to me (Sir) who never writ any line in my life with an intention to have it printed, and who am of my Lord Falkland 's mind, that said,  
He danger feared than censure less,  
Nor could he dread a breach like to a Press.  
And who (I think you know) am sufficiently distrustful of all, that my own want of company and better employment, or others commands have seduced me to write, to endeavour rather that they should never be seen at all, than that they should be exposed to the world with such effrontery as now they most unhappily are. But is there no retreat from the malice of this World? I thought a Rock and a Mountain might have hidden me, and that it had been free for all to spend their Solitude in what Resveries they please, and that our Rivers (though they are babbling) would not have betrayed the follies of impertinent thoughts upon their Banks; but 'tis only I who am that unfortunate person that cannot so much as think in private, that must have my imaginations rifled and exposed to play the Mountebanks, and dance upon the Ropes to entertain all the rabble; to undergo all the raillery of the Wits, and all the severity of the Wise, and to be the sport of some that can, and some that cannot read a Verse. This is a most cruel accident, and hath made so proportionate an impression upon me, that really it hath cost me a sharp fit of sickness since I heard it, and I believe would be more fatal but that I know what a Champion I have in you, and that I am sure your credit in the World will gain me a belief from all that are knowing and civil, that I am so innocent of that wretched Artifice of a secret consent (of which I am, I fear, suspected) that whoever would have brought me those Copies corrected and amended, and a thousand pounds to have bought my permission for their being printed, should not have obtained it. But though there are many things, I believe, in this wicked impression of those fancies, which the ignorance of what occasioned them, and the falseness of the Copies may represent very ridiculous and extravagant, yet I could give some account of them to the severest Cato, and I am sure they must be more abused than I think is possible (for I have not seen the Book, nor can imagine what's in't) before they can be rendered otherwise than Sir Edward Deering says in his Epilogue to Pompey.  
— No bolder thought can tax  
Those Rhymes of blemish to the blushing Sex,  
As chaste the lines, as harmless is the sense,  
As the first smiles of infant innocence.  
So that I hope there will be no need of justifying them to Virtue and Honour; and I am so little concerned for the reputation of writing Sense, that provided the World would believe me innocent of any manner of knowledge, much less connivance at this Publication, I shall willingly compound never to trouble them with the true Copies, as you advise me to do: which if you still should judge absolutely necessary to the reparation of this misfortune, and to general satisfaction; and that, as you tell me, all the rest of my friends will press me to it, I should yield to it with the same reluctancy as I would cut off a Limb to save my Life. However I hope you will satisfy all your acquaintance of my aversion to it, and did they know me as well as you do, that Apology were very needless, for I am so far from expecting applause for any thing I scribble, that I can hardly expect pardon; and sometimes I think that employment so far above my reach, and unfit for my Sex, that I am going to resolve against it for ever; and could I have recovered those fugitive Papers that have escaped my hands, I had long since made a sacrifice of them all. The truth is, I have an incorrigible inclination to that folly of rhyming, and intending the effects of that humour, only for my own amusement in a retired life; I did not so much resist it as a wiser woman would have done; but some of my dearest friends having found my Ballads, (for they deserve no better name) they made me so much believe they did not dislike them, that I was betrayed to permit some Copies for their divertisement; but this, with so little concern for them, that I have lost most of the originals, and that I suppose to be the cause of my present misfortune; for some infernal Spirits or other have catched those rags of Paper, and what the careless blotted writing kept them from understanding, they have supplied by conjecture, till they put them into the shape wherein you saw them, or else I know not which way it is possible for them to be collected, or so abominably transcribed as I hear they are. I believe also there are some among them that are not mine, but every way I have so much injury, and the worthy persons that had the ill luck of my converse, and so their Names exposed in this impression without their leave, that few things in the power of Fortune could have given me so great a torment as this most afflictive accident. I know you Sir, so much my friend, that I need not ask your pardon for making this tedious complaint; but methinks it is a great injustice to revenge myself upon you by this Harangue for the wrongs I have received from others; therefore I will only tell you that the sole advantage I have by this cruel news, is that it has given me an experiment, That no adversity can shake the constancy of your friendship, and that in the worst humour that ever I was in, I am still,  
Worthy Poliarchus, Your most faithful, most obliged Friend, and most humble Servant ORINDA. Cardigan, Jan. 29. 1663./ 4  
She writ divers Letters to many of her other friends full of the like resentments, but this is enough to show how little she desired the fame of being in print, and how much she was troubled to be so exposed. It may serve likewise to give a taste of her Prose to those that have seen none of it, and of her way of writing familiar Letters, which she did with strange readiness and facility, in a very fair hand, and perfect Orthography; and if they were collected with those excellent Discourses she writ on several subjects, they would make a Volume much larger than this, and no less worth the reading.  
About three months after this Letter she came to London, where her Friends did much solicit her to redeem herself by a correct impression; yet she continued still averse, though perhaps in time she might have been overruled by their persuasions if she had lived.  
But the small Pox, that malicious disease (as knowing how little she would have been concerned for her handsomeness, when at the best) was not satisfied to be as injurious a Printer of her face, as the other had been of her Poems, but treated her with a more fatal cruelty than the Stationer had them; for though he to her most sensible affliction surreptitiously possessed himself of a false Copy, and sent those children of her Fancy into the World, so martyred, that they were more unlike themselves than she could have been made had she escaped; that murderous Tyrant, with greater barbarity seized unexpectedly upon her, the true Original, and to the much juster affliction of all the world, violently tore her out of it, and hurried her untimely to her Grave, upon the 22. of June 1664. she being then but 31 years of age.  
But he could not bury her in Oblivion, for this Monument which she erected for herself, will for ever make her to be honoured as the honour of her Sex, the emulation of ours, and the admiration of both. That unfortunate surprise hath robbed it of much of that perfection it might else have had, having broke off the Translation of Horace before it was finished, much less reviewed, and hindered the rest from being more exactly corrected, and put into the order they were written in, as she possibly herself would have done, had she consented to a second Edition. 'Tis probable she would also have left out some of those pieces that were written with less care and upon occasions less fit to be made public, and she might also have added more: but all industry has been used to make this Collection as full and as perfect as might be, by the addition of many that were not in the former impression, and by divers Translations, whereof the first has the Original in the opposite Page, that they who have a mind to compare them, may by that pattern find how just she has been in all the rest to both the Languages, exactly rendering the full sense of the one, without tying herself strictly to the words, and clearly evincing the capaciousness of the other, by comprising it fully in the same number of lines, though in the Plays half the Verses of the French are of thirteen syllables, and the rest of twelve, whereas the English have no more but ten. In short though some of her Pieces may perhaps be lost, and others in hands that have not produced them; yet none that upon good grounds could be known to be hers, are left out; for many of the less considerable ones were published in the other; but those, or others that shall be judged so, may be excused by the politeness of the rest which have more of her true spirit, and of her diligence. Some of them would be no disgrace to the name of any Man that amongst us is most esteemed for his excellency in this kind, and there are none that may not pass with favour, when it is remembered that they fell hastily from the pen but of a Woman. We might well have called her the English Sapph, she of all the female Poets of former Ages, being for her Verses and her Virtues both, the most highly to be valued; but she has called herself ORINDA, a name that deserves to be added to the number of the Muses, and to live with honour as long as they. Were our language as generally known to the world as the Greek and Latin were anciently, or as the French is now, her Verses could not be confined within the narrow limits of our Islands, but would spread themselves as far as the Continent has Inhabitants, or as the Seas have any shore. And for her Virtues, they as much surpassed those of Sapph as the Theological do the Moral, (wherein yet Orinda was not her inferior) or as the fading immortality of an earthly Laurel, which the justice of men cannot deny to her excellent Poetry, is transcended by that incorruptible and eternal Crown of Glory, wherewith the Mercy of God hath undoubtedly rewarded her more eminent Piety. Her merit should have had a Statue of Porphiry wrought by some great Artist, equal in skill to Michael Angelo, that might have transferred to posterity the lasting image of so rare a Person: but here is only a poor paper shadow of a Statue made after a Picture not very like her, to accompany that she has drawn of herself in these Poems, and which represents the beauties of her mind with a far truer resemblance, than that does the liniaments of her Face. They had sooner performed this Right to her memory, if that raging Pestilence which, not long after her, swept away so many thousands here and in other places of this Kingdom, that devouring Fire, which since destroyed this famous City; and the harsh sounds of War, which with the thunderings of Cannon, deafened all ears to the gentle and tender strains of Friendship, had not made the Publication of them hitherto unseasonable. But they have outlived all these dismal things to see the blessing of Peace, a conjuncture more suitable to their Nature, all composed of kindness; so that I hope Time itself shall have as little power against them, as these other storms have had, and then 
* Nec Jovis ira, nec ignis, nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas, etc.  Ovid's conclusion of his Metamorphosis may with little alteration, more truth, and less vanity than by him to himself, be applied to these once transformed, or rather deformed Poems, which, are here in some measure restored to their native Shape and Beauty, and therefore certainly cannot fail of a welcome reception now, since they wanted it not before, when they appeared in that strange disguise.   


The Earl of Orrery to Mrs. Philip's.  
Madam,  

WHen I but knew you by report,  
I feared the praises of th' admiring Court  
Were but their Compliments, but now I must  
Confess, what I thought civil is scarce just:  
For they imperfect Trophies to you raise,  
You deserve wonder, and they pay but praise;  
A praise, which is as short of your great due,  
As all which yet have writ come short of you.  
You, to whom wonder's paid by double right,  
Both for your Verses smoothness and their height.   

In me it does not the least trouble breed,  
That your fair Sex does Ours in Verse exceed,  
Since every Poet this great Truth does prove,  
Nothing so much inspires a Muse as Love;  
Thence has your Sex the best poetic fires,  
For what's inspired must yield to what inspires.  
And as Our Sex resigns to Yours the due,  
So all of your bright Sex must yield to You.  
Experience shows, that never Fountain fed  
A stream which could ascend above its Head;  
For those whose wit famed Helicon does give,  
To rise above its height durst never strive,  
Their double Hill too, though 'tis often clear,  
Yet often on it clouds and storms appear.  
Let none admire then that the ancient wit  
Shared in those Elements infused it;  
Nor that your Muse than theirs ascends much higher;  
She sharing in no Element but fire.  
Past ages could not think those things you do,  
For their Hill was their Basis and height too:  
So that 'tis Truth, not Compliment, to tell,  
Your lowest height their highest did excel;  
Your nobler thoughts warmed by a heavenly fire,  
To their bright Centre constantly aspire;  
And by the place to which they take their flight,  
Leave us no doubt from whence they have their light.   

Your merit has attained this high degree,  
'Tis above praise as much as flattery,  
And when in that we have drained all our store,  
All grant from this nought can be distant more.   

Though you have sung of friendship's power so well,  
That you in that, as you in wit excel,  
Yet my own interest obliges me  
To praise your practice more than Theory;  
For by that kindness you your friend did show  
The honour I obtained of knowing you.   

In Pictures none hereafter will delight,  
You draw more to the life in black and white;  
The Pencil to your Pen must yield the place,  
This draws the Soul, where that draws but the Face.   

Of blessed retirement such great Truths you writ,  
That 'tis my wish as much as your delight;  
Our gratitude to praise it does think fit,  
Since all you writ are but effects of it.   

You English Corneils Pompey with such flame,  
That you both raise our wonder and his fame;  
If he could read it, he like us would call  
The copy greater than th' Original;  
You cannot mend what is already done,  
Unless you'll finish what you have begun:  
Who your Translation sees, cannot but say,  
That 'tis Orinda's Work, and but his Play.  
The French to learn our Language now will seek,  
To hear their greatest Wit more nobly speak;  
Rome too would grant, were our Tongue to her known,  
Caesar speaks better in't than in his own.  
And all those Wreaths once circled Pompey's brow,  
Exalt his Fame, less than your Verses now.   

From these clear Truths all must acknowledge this,  
If there be Helicon, in Wales it is.  
Oh happy Country which to our Prince gives  
His Title, and in which Orinda lives!    

The Earl of Roscomon to Orinda: an imitation of HORACE.  
Integer vitae, etc.  Carm. lib. 1. od. 22. 

1.  
Virtue (dear Friend) needs no defence,  
No arms, but it's own innocence;  
Quivers and Bows, and poisoned darts,  
Are only used by guilty hearts.   

2.  
An honest mind, safely, alone  
May travel through the burning Zone,  
Or through the deepest Scythian snows,  
Or where the famed Hydaspes flows.   

3.  
While (ruled by a resistless fire)  
Our great ORINDA I admire,  
The hungry Wolves that see me stray  
Unarmed, and single, run away.   

4.  
Set me in the remotest place  
That ever Neptune did embrace,  
When there her image fills my breast,  
Helicon is not half so blest.   

5.  
Leave me upon some Lybian plain,  
So she my fancy entertain,  
And when the thirsty Monsters meet,  
They'll all pay homage to my feet.   

6.  
The Magic of ORINDA's Name,  
Not only can their fiereeness tame,  
But, if that mighty word I once rehearse,  
They seem submissively to roar in Verse.    

Upon Mrs. K. Philip's her Poems.  

WE allowed you 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 the Brain.  
Verse was Love's fire-arms heretofore:  
In Beauty's Camp it was not known,  
Too many arms beside that Conqueror bore.  
'Twas the great Cannon we brought down,  
T' assault a 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 sometimes 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 Feast,  
A secret joy unspeakably does move  
In their great Mother Cybeles contented breast:  
With no less pleasure thou, methinks, shouldst see  
This thy no less immortal Progeny,  
And in their Birth thou no one touch dost find,  
Of th' ancient Curse 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  
In the unexhausted and unfathomed womb;  
That, like the Holland Countess, thou mightst bear  
A Child for every day of all the fertile year.   

3.  
Thou dost my Wonder, wouldst my Envy raise,  
If to be praised I loved more than to praise.  
wherever I see an excellence,  
I must admire to see thy wellknit Sense,  
Thy Numbers gentle, and thy Fancies high,  
Those as thy Forehead smooth, these sparkling as thine 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 than Man more strong, and more than Woman sweet.   

4.  
They talk of Nine, I know not who,  
Female Chimeras, 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  
Ill 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 that can only 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 overcomes, enslaves, and betters 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 mild Empire before Arms prefer,  
Hope 'twill be settled in their Sex by her.  
Merlin the Seer (and sure he would not lie  
In such a sacred Company)  
Does Prophecies of learned Orinda show,  
Which he had darkly spoke so long ago.  
Even Boadicia'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 Excellent Orinda.  

LEt the male Poets their male Phoebus choose,  
Thee I invoke, Orinda, for my Muse;  
He could but force a Branch, Daphne her Tree  
Most freely offers to her Sex and thee,  
And says to Verse, so unconstrained as yours,  
Her Laurel freely comes, your fame secures:  
And men no longer shall with ravished Bays  
Crown their forced Poems by as forced a praise.   

Thou glory of our Sex, envy of men,  
Who are both pleased and vexed with thy bright Pen:  
Its lustre doth entice their eyes to gaze,  
But men's sore eyes cannot endure its rays;  
It dazzles and surprises so with light,  
To find a noon where they expected night:  
A Woman Translate Pompey! which the famed  
Corneille with such art and labour framed!  
To whose close version the Wit's club their sense,  
And a new Lay poetic SMEC springs thence!  
Yes, that bold work a Woman dares Translate,  
Not to provoke, nor yet to fear men's hate.  
Nature doth find that she hath erred too long,  
And now resolves to recompense that wrong:  
Phoebus to Cynthia must his beams resign,  
The rule of Day and Wit's now Feminine.   

That Sex, which heretofore was not allowed  
To understand more than a beast, or crowd;  
Of which Problems were made, whether or no  
Women had Souls; but to be damned, if so;  
Whose highest Contemplation could not pass,  
In men's esteem, no higher than the Glass;  
And all the painful labours of their Brain,  
Was only how to Dress and Entertain:  
Or, if they ventured to speak sense, the wise  
Made that, and speaking Ox, like Prodigies.  
From these thy more than masculine Pen hath reared  
Our Sex; first to be praised, next to be feared.  
And by the same Pen forced, men now confess,  
To keep their greatness, was to make us less.   

Men know of how refined and rich a mould  
Our Sex is framed, what Sun is in our Gold:  
They know in Led no Diamonds are set,  
And Jewels only fill the Cabinet.  
Our Spirits purer far than theirs, they see;  
By which even Men from Men distinguished be:  
By which the Soul is judged, and does appear  
Fit or unfit for action, as they are.   

When in an Organ various sounds do stroke,  
Or grate the ear, as Birds sing, or Toads Croak;  
The Breath, that voices every Pipe, 's the same,  
But the bad metal doth the sound defame.  
So, if our Souls by sweeter Organs speak,  
And theirs with harsh false notes the air do break;  
The Soul's the same, alike in both doth dwell,  
'Tis from her instruments that we excel.  
Ask me not then, why jealous men debar  
Our Sex from Books in Peace, from Arms in War;  
It is because our Parts will soon demand  
Tribunals for our Persons, and Command.   

Shall it be our reproach, that we are weak,  
And cannot fight, nor as the Schoolmen speak?  
Even men themselves are neither strong nor wise,  
If Limbs and Parts they do not exercise.   

Trained up to Arms, we Amazon's have been,  
And Spartan Virgins strong as Spartan Men:  
Breed Women but as Men, and they are these;  
Whilst Sybarit Men are Women by their ease.  
Why should not brave Semiramis break a Lance,  
And why should not soft Ninyas curl and dance?  
Ovid in vain Bodies with change did vex,  
Changing her form of life, Iphis changed Sex.  
Nature to Females freely doth impart  
That, which the Males usurp, a stout, bold heart.  
Thus Hunters female Beasts fear to assail:  
And female Hawks more metalled than the male:  
Men ought not then Courage and Wit engross,  
Whilst the Fox lives, the Lion, or the Horse.  
Much less ought men both to themselves confine,  
Whilst Women, such as you, Orinda, shine.   

That noble friendship brought thee to our Coast,  
We thank Lucasia, and thy courage boast.  
Death in each Wave could not Orinda fright,  
Fearless she acts that friendship she did write:  
Which manly Virtue to their Sex confined,  
Thou rescuest to confirm our softer mind;  
For there's required (to do that Virtue right)  
Courage, as much in Friendship as in Fight.  
The dangers we despise, doth this truth prove,  
Though boldly we not fight, we boldly love.   

Engage us unto Books, Sapph comes forth,  
Though not of Hesiod's age, of Hesiod's worth.  
If Souls no Sexes have, as 'tis confessed,  
'Tis not the he or she makes Poem's best:  
Nor can men call these Verses Feminine,  
Be the sense vigorous and Masculine.  
'Tis true, Apollo sits as Judge of Wit,  
But the nine Female learned Troop are it:  
Those Laws, for which Numa did wise appear,  
Wiser Aegeria whispered in his ear.  
The Gracchi's Mother taught them Eloquence;  
From her Breasts courage flowed, from her Brain sense;  
And the grave Beards, who heard her speak in Rome,  
Blushed not to be instructed, but o'ercome.  
Your speech, as hers, commands respect from all,  
Your very Looks, as hers, Rhetorical:  
Something of grandeur in your Verse men see,  
That they rise up to it as Majesty.  
The wise and noble Orrery's regard,  
Was much observed, when he your Poem heard:  
All said, a fit match was never seen,  
Had Pompey's Widow been Arsamnes Queen.   

Pompey, who greater than himself's become,  
Now in your Poem, than before in Rome;  
And much more lasting in the Poet's Pen,  
Great Princes live, than the proud Towers of Men.  
He thanks false Egypt for its Treachery,  
Since that his Ruin is so sung by thee;  
And so again would perish, if withal,  
Orinda would but celebrate his Fall.  
Thus pleasingly the Bee delights to die,  
Foreseeing, he in Amber Tomb shall lie.  
If that all Egypt, for to purge its Crime,  
Were built into one Pyramid o'er him,  
Pompey would lie less stately in that Hearse,  
Than he doth now, Orinda, in thy Verse:  
This makes Cornelia for her Pompey vow,  
Her hand shall plant his Laurel on thy brow:  
So equal in their merits were both found,  
That the same Wreath Poets and Princes Crowned:  
And what on that great Captain's Brow was dead,  
She Joys to see re-flourished on thy head.   

In the French Rock Cornelia first did shine,  
But shined not like herself till she was thine:  
Poems, like Gems, translated from the place  
Where they first grew, receive another grace.  
Dressed by thy hand, and polished by thy Pen,  
She glitters now a Star, but Jewel then:  
No flaw remains, no cloud, all now is light,  
Transparent as the day, bright parts more bright.  
Corneille, now made English, so doth thrive,  
As Trees transplanted do much lustier live.  
Thus Oar digged forth, and by such hands as thine  
Refined and stamped, is richer than the Mine.  
Liquors from Vessel into Vessel poured,  
Must lose some Spirits, which are scarce restored:  
But the French Wines, in their own Vessel rare,  
Poured into ours, by thy hand, Spirits are;  
So high in taste, and so delicious,  
Before his own Corneille thine would choose.  
He finds himself enlightened here, where shade  
Of dark expression his own words had made:  
There what he would have said, he sees so writ,  
As generously, to just decorum fit.  
When in more words than his you please to flow,  
Like a spread Flood, enriching all below,  
To the advantage of his well meant sense,  
He gains by you another excellence.  
To render word for word, at the old rate,  
Is only but to Construe, not Translate:  
In your own fancy free, to his sense true,  
We read Corneille, and Orinda too:  
And yet ye both are so the very same,  
As when two Tapers joined make one bright flame.  
And sure the Copier's honour is not small,  
When Artists doubt which is Original.   

But if your fettered Muse thus praised be,  
What great things do you write when it is free?  
When it is free to choose both sense and words,  
Or any subject the vast World affords?  
A gliding Sea of Crystal doth best show▪  
How smooth, clear, full, and rich your Verse doth flow:  
Your words are chosen, culled, not by chance writ,  
To make the sense, as Anagrams do hit.  
Your rich becoming words on the sense wait,  
As Maids of Honour on a Queen of State.  
'Tis not White Satin makes a Verse more white,  
Or soft; Iron is both, writ you on it.  
Your Poems come forth cast, no File you need,  
At one brave Heat both shaped and polished.   

But why all these Encomiums of you,  
Who either doubts, or will not take as due?  
Renown how little you regard, or need,  
Who like the Bee, on your own sweets doth feed?   

There are, who like weak Fowl with shouts fall down,  
Dozed with an Army's Acclamation:  
Not able to endure applause, they fall,  
Giddy with praise, their praises Funeral.  
But you, Orinda, are so unconcerned,  
As if when you, another we commend.  
Thus, as the Sun, you in your Course shine on,  
Unmoved with all our admiration:   

Flying above the praise you eat, we see  
Wit is still higher by humility.   
Philo-Philippa.   

To the memory of the Excellent Orinda.  

1.  
FOrgive bright Saint a Votary, who  
No missive Orders has to show,  
Nor does a call to inspiration own:  
Yet rudely dares intrude among  
This sacred, and inspired throng;  
Where looking round me, every one I see,  
Is a sworn Priest of Phoebus, or of thee.  
Forgive this forward zeal for things divine,  
If I strange fire do offer at thy Shrine:  
Since the pure Incense, and the Gum  
We send up to the Powers above,  
(If with devotion given, and love)  
Smells sweet, and does alike accepted prove,  
As if from golden Censors it did come;  
Though we the pious tribute pay  
In some rude vessel made of common clay.   

2.  
What by Pindaricks can be done,  
Since the great Pindar's greater 
* Mr. A. Cowley.  Son  
(By every Grace adorned, and every Muse inspired)  
Fromth ' ungrateful World, to kinder Heaven's retired:  
He, and Orinda from us gone,  
What Name like theirs shall we now call upon?  
Whether her Virtue, or her Wit  
We choose for our eternal Theme,  
What hand can draw the perfect Scheme?  
None but herself could such high subjects fit:  
We yield, with shame we yield  
To Death and Her the field:  
For were not Nature partial to us Men,  
The World's great Order had inverted been;  
Had she such Souls placed in all Womankind,  
Given 'em like wit, not with like goodness joined,  
Our vassal Sex to hers had homage paid;  
Woman had ruled the World, and weaker Man obeyed.   

3.  
To thee O Fame, we now commit  
Her, and these last remains of generous wit:  
I charge thee, deeply to enrol  
This glorious Name in thy immortal Scroll;  
Writ every letter in large Text,  
And then to make the lustre hold,  
Let it be done with purest Gold,  
To dazzle this Age, and outshine the next:  
Since not a Name more bright than Hers,  
In this, or thy large Book appears.  
And thou impartial, powerful Grave,  
These Relics (like her deathless Poems save)  
Even from devouring Time secure,  
May they still rest from other mixture pure:  
Unless some dying Monarch shall to try  
Whether Orinda, though herself could die,  
Can still give others immortality;  
Think, if but laid in her miraculous Tomb,  
As from the Prophet's touch, new life from hers may come.   
James Tyrrell.   

To the Memory of the incomparable Orinda. A Pindaric Ode.  

1.  
A Long Adieu to all that's bright,  
Noble, or brave, in Womankind,  
To all the wonders of their Wit,  
And Trophies of their mind;  
The glowing Heat of th' Holy Fire is gone,  
To th' Altar, whence 'twas kindled, flown;  
There's nought on Earth, but Ashes left behind;  
 since th' amazing sound was spread,  
ORINDA's Dead,  
Every soft and fragrant word,  
All that language could afford,  
Every high and lofty thing  
That's wont to set the Soul on wing,  
No longer with this worthless World would stay:  
Thus when the Death of the great PAN was told,  
A long the shore the dismal tidings rolled,  
The lesser Gods their Fanes forsaken;  
Confounded with the mighty stroke,  
They could not over-live that Fatal day,  
But sighed, and groaned their gasping Oracles away.   

2.  
How rigid are the Laws of Fate,  
And how severe that black Decree?  
No sublunary thing is free,  
But all must enter th' Adamantine Gate:  
Sooner, or later shall we come  
To Nature's dark Retiring room;  
And yet 'tis pity, is it not?  
The learned as the fool should die,  
One full as low as t'other lie;  
Together Blended in the general lot;  
Distinguished only from the common crowd,  
By an hindged Coffin, or an Holland shroud,  
Though Fame and Honour speak them ne'er so loud;  
Alas ORINDA, even thou!  
Whose happy verse made others live,  
And certain Immortality could give;  
Blasted are all thy blooming glories now,  
The Laurel wither's o'er thy brow:  
Methinks it should disturb thee to conceive  
That when poor I this artless breath resign,  
My Dust should have as much of Poetry as Thine.   

3.  
Too soon we languish with desire  
Of what we never could enough admire;  
On th' Billows of this world some times we rise  
So dangerously high,  
We are to Heaven too nigh;  
When (all in rage  
Grown hoary with one minute's age,)  
The very self same fickle wave,  
Which the entrancing Prospect gave,  
Swollen to a Mountain, sinks into a grave.  
Too happy Mortals if the Powers above  
As merciful would be,  
And easy to preserve the thing we love,  
As in the giving they are free!  
But they too oft delude our wearied Eyes.  
They fix a flaming Sword 'twixt us and Paradise;  
A weeping Evening crowns a smiling Day,  
Yet why should Heads of Gold, have feet of Clay?  
Why should the Man that waved th' Almighty Wand,  
That led the Murmuring Crowd,  
By Pillar and by Cloud,  
Shivering a top of aery Pisgah stand,  
Only to see, but never, never tread the Promised Land?   

4.  
Throw your Swords, and Gauntlets by  
You daring Sons of War,  
You cannot purchase  you die  
One honourable scar,  
Since that fair hand that gilded all your Bays,  
That in heroic Numbers wrote your praise,  
While you securely slept in Honour's Bed,  
Itself, alas! is withered, cold, and Dead;  
Cold and Dead are all those Charms,  
Which burnished your Victorious Arms:  
Inglorious Arms hereafter must  
Blush first in blood, and then in rust:  
No Oil, but that of Her smooth words will serve  
Weapon, and Warrior to preserve.  
Expect no more from this dull Age,  
But folly, or Poetic Rage,  
Short-lived Nothings of the Stage,  
Vented to Day, and cried to morrow down,  
With HER the soul of Poesy is gone;  
Gone, while our expectations flew  
As high a pitch as She has done,  
Exhaled to Heaven like early dew,  
Betimes the little shining drops are flown,  
 th' drowsy World perceived that Manna was come down.   

5.  
You of the Sex that would be fair,  
Exceeding lovely, hither come,  
Would you be pure as Angels are,  
Come dress you by ORINDA's Tomb,  
And leave your flattering Glass at home;  
Within this Marble Mirror see  
How one day such as She  
You must, and yet alas! can never be.  
Think on the heights of that vast Soul,  
And then admire, and then condole.  
Think on the wonders of Her Pen,  
'Twas that made Pompey truly Great,  
Neither th' expense of blood nor sweat,  
Nor yet Cornelia's Kindness made him live again.  
With envy think, when to the Grave you go,  
How very little must be said of you,  
Since all that can be said of virtuous Woman was her due.   
Thomas Flatman. M. A.   

On the Death of Mrs Katherine Philip's.  

CRuel Disease! Ah could it not suffice  
Thy old and constant spite to exercise  
Against the gentlest and the fairest sex,  
Which still thy Depredations most do vex?  
Where still thy malice most of all  
(Thy malice or thy lust) does on the fairest fall?  
And in them most assault the fairest place,  
The Throne of Empress Beauty, even the Face?  
There was enough of that here to assuage  
(One would have thought) either thy Lust or Rage:  
Wast not enough, when thou, Profane Disease,  
Didst on this glorious Temple seize,  
Wast not enough, like a wild zealot there,  
All the rich outward ornaments to tear,  
Deface the Innocent Pride of beauteous Images?  
Wast not enough thus rudely to defile,  
But thou must quite destroy the goodly Pile?  
And thy unbounded Sacrilege commit  
On the inward Holiest Holy of her Wit?  
Cruel Disease! there thou mistook'st thy Power;  
No Mine of Death can that Devour;  
On her Embalmed Name it will abide  
An Everlasting Pyramid,  
As high as Heaven the Top, as Earth the Basis wide.   

2.  
All Ages past, Record; all Countries now  
In various kinds such equal Beauties show,  
That even Judge Paris would not know  
On whom the Golden Apple to bestow.  
Though Goddesses to his sentence did submit,  
Women and Lovers would appeal from it;  
Nor durst he say, of all the female race  
This is the sovereign Face.  
And some (though these be of a kind that's Rare,  
That's much, oh much less frequent than the Fair)  
So equally renowned for virtue are,  
That it the Mother of the Gods might pose,  
When the best Woman for her guide she chose,  
But if Apollo should design  
A Woman Laureate to make,  
Without dispute he would Orinda take,  
Though Sapph and the famous Nine  
Stood by, and did repine.  
To be a Princess or a Queen  
Is Great, but 'tis a Greatness always seen,  
The World did never but two Women know  
Who, one by fraud, the other by wit did rise  
To the two tops of Spiritual dignities;  
One Female Pope of old, one Female Poet now.   

3.  
Of Female Poets who had names of old,  
Nothing is shown, but only told,  
And all we hear of them, perhaps may be  
Male Flattery only, and Male Poetry;  
Few minutes did their Beauty's Lightning waste,  
The Thunder of their voice did longer last,  
But that too soon was passed  
The certain proofs of our Orinda's Wit  
In her own lasting characters are writ,  
And they will long my praise of them survive,  
Though long perhaps too that may live.  
The trade of Glory managed by the pen  
Though great it be, and every where is found,  
Does bring in but small profit to us men;  
'Tis by the number of the sharers drowned,  
Orinda in the female Coasts of fame  
Engrosses all the Goods of a Poetic name,  
She does no Partner with her see;  
Does all the Business there Alone which we  
Are forced to carry on by a whole company.   

4  
But Wit's like a Luxnriant Vine,  
Unless to Virtues prop it join,  
Firm and erect towards Heaven bound,  
Though it with beauteous leaves and pleasant fruit be crowned  
It lies deformed, and rotting on the ground.  
Now shame and blushes on us all  
Who our own Sex superior call;  
Orinda does our boasting Sex outdo,  
Not in wit only, but in virtue too:  
She does above our best examples rise,  
In hate of vice, and scorn of vanities.  
Never did spirit of the manly make,  
And dipped all o'er in Learning's sacred Lake,  
A temper more invulnerable take;  
No violent passion could an entrance find  
Into the tender goodness of her mind:  
Through walls of stone those furious bullets may  
Force their impetuous way;  
When her soft breast they hit, damped and dead they lay.   

5.  
The fame of friendship, which so long had told  
Of three or four illustrious Names of old,  
Till hoarse and weary of the tale she grew,  
Rejoices now to have got a new,  
A new, and more surprising story  
Of fair Lucasia and Orinda's glory.  
As when a prudent man does once perceive  
That in some foreign Country he must live,  
The Language and the Manners he does strive  
To understand and practise here,  
That he may come no stranger there;  
So well Orinda did herself prepare,  
In this much different Clime for her remove,  
To the glad world of Poetry and Love;  
There all the blessed do but one body grow,  
And are made one too with their glorious Head,  
Whom there triumphantly they wed,  
After the secret Contract passed below;  
There Love into Identity does go,  
'Tis the first unities Monarchique Throne,  
The Centre that knits all, where the great Three's but One.   
Abraham Cowley.    

The Table.  


Poem. 1 UPon the double Murder of K. Charles I. in answer to a libellous Copy of Rymes made by Vavasor powel. Page. 1  
Poem. 2 On the numerous Access of the English to wait upon the King in Flanders. Page. 2  
Poem. 3 Arion on a Dolphin, To his Majesty at his passage into England. Page. 3  
Poem. 4 On the fair weather just at the Coronation, it having reigned immediately before and after. Page. 5  
Poem. 5 To the Queen's Majesty on her arrival at Portsmouth, May 14. 1662. Page. ib.  
Poem. 6 To the Queen-Mother's Majesty, Jan. 1. 1660/ 1. Page. 7  
Poem. 7 Upon the Princess Royal her Return into England. Page. 8  
Poem. 8 On the Death of the illustrious Duke of Gloucester. Page. 9  
Poem. 9 To her Royal Highness the Duchess of York, on her commanding me to send her some things that I had written. Page. 11  
Poem. 10 On the Death of the Queen of Bohemia. Page. 12  
Poem. 11 On the third of September, 1651. Page. 13  
Poem. 12 To the noble Palaemon, on his incomparable Discourse of Friendship. Page. 14  
Poem. 13 To the Right honourable Alice Countess of Carbury, at her coming into Wales. Page. 16  
Poem. 14 To Sir Edward Deering (the noble Silvander) on his Dream and Navy, personating Orinda 's preferring Rosania before Solomon 's Traffic to Ophir. Page. 17  
Poem. 15 To Mr. Henry Laws. Page. 18  
Poem. 16 A Sea from Tenby to Bristol, begun Sept. 5. 1652. sent from Bristol to Lucasia Sept. 8. 1652. Page. 19  
Poem. 17 Friendship's Mystery, To my dearest Lucasia. Page. 21  
Poem. 18 Content, to my dearest Lucasia. Page. 22  
Poem. 19 A Dialogue of Absence 'twixt Lucasia and Orinda. Set by Mr. Henry Laws. Page. 25  
Poem. 20 To my dearest Sister, Mrs. C. P. on her marriage. Page. 26  
Poem. 21 To Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurist, on his Poems. Page. 27  
Poem. 22 A retired friendship, to Ardelia. Page. 28  
Poem. 23 To Mrs. Mary Carne, when Philaster courted her. Page. 30  
Poem. 24 To Mr. J. B. the noble Cr●tander, upon a Composition of his which he was not willing to own publicly. Page. 31  
Poem. 25 To the Excellent Mrs. Anne Owen, upon her receiving the name of Lucasia, and adoption into our Society, December 28. 1651. Page. 32  
Poem. 26 To the truly noble Mrs. Anne Owen, On my first Approaches. Page. 33  
Poem. 27 Lucasia. Page. 34  
Poem. 28 Wiston Vault. Page. 36  
Poem. 29 Friendship in Emblem, or the Seal, to my dearest Lucasia. Page. ib.  
Poem. 30 In memory of F. P. who died at Acton May 24. 1660. at 12. and ½ of age. Page. 39  
Poem. 31 In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Marry Lloyd of Bodidrist in Denbighshire, who died Nou. 13. 1656. after she came thither from Pembrokeshire. Page. 42  
Poem. 32 To the truly competent judge of Honour, Lucasia, upon a scandalous Libel made by J. J. Page. 45  
Poem. 33 To Antenor, on a Paper of mine which J. J. threatens to publish to prejudice him. Page. 47  
Poem. 34 Rosania shadowed whilst Mrs. Mary Awbrey. Page. 48  
Poem. 35 To the Queen of inconstancy, Regina Collier in Antwerp. Page. 50  
Poem. 36 To my excellent Lucasia, on our friendship. Page. 51  
Poem. 37 Rosania 's private Marriage. Page. 52  
Poem. 38 Injuria Amicitiae. Page. 53  
Poem. 39 To Regina Collier, on her cruelty to Philaster. Page. 55  
Poem. 40 To Philaster, on his Melancholy for Regina. Page. ib.  
Poem. 41 Philoclea 's parting. Page. 56  
Poem. 42 To Rosania, now Mrs. Montague, being with her. Page. ib.  
Poem. 43 To my Lucasia. Page. 58  
Poem. 44 On Controversies in Religion. Page. 59  
Poem. 45 To the honoured Lady E. C. Page. 61  
Poem. 46 Parting with Lucasia, a Song. Page. 65  
Poem. 47 Against Pleasure, Set tby Dr. Coleman. Page. 66  
Poem. 48 A Prayer. Page. 68  
Poem. 49 To Mrs. M. A. upon absence. Page. 69  
Poem. 50 To Mrs. Mary Awbrey. Page. 70  
Poem. 51 In memory of Mr. Cartwright. Page. 71  
Poem. 52 Mr. Francis Finch, the excellent Palaemon. Page. 72  
Poem. 53 To Mrs. M. A. at parting. Page. 74  
Poem. 54 To my dearest Antenor, on his parting. Page. 76  
Poem. 55 Engraven on Mr. John Collier 's Tombstone at Bedlington. Page. 77  
Poem. 56 On the little Regina Collier, on the same Tombstone. Page. 78  
Poem. 57 Friendship. Page. ib.  
Poem. 58 The Enquiry. Page. 80  
Poem. 59 To my Lucasia, in defence of declared friendship. Page. 82  
Poem. 60 A Resvery. Page. 86  
Poem. 61 A Country-life: Page. 88  
Poem. 62 To Mrs. Wogan, my honoured friend, on the death of her Husband. Page. 91  
Poem. 63 In memory of the most justly honoured, Mrs. Owen of Orielton. Page. 92  
Poem. 64 A Friend. Page. 94  
Poem. 65 L' Accord du Bien. Page. 98  
Poem. 66 Invitation to the Country. Page. 103  
Poem. 67 In memory of Mrs. E. H. Page. 104  
Poem. 68 On Rosania 's Apostasy, and Lucasia 's friendship. Page. 106  
Poem. 69 To my Lady Eliz. boil, singing Now Affairs, etc. Page. 107  
Poem. 70 Submission. Page. 108  
Poem. 71 2 Cor. 5. 19 God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself. Page. 110  
Poem. 72 The World. Page. 111  
Poem. 73 The Soul. Page. 114  
Poem. 74 Happiness. Page. 118  
Poem. 75 Death. Page. 119  
Poem. 76 To the Queen's Majesty, on her late sickness and Recovery. Page. 121  
Poem. 77 Ode upon Retirement. Page. 122  
Poem. 78 The Irish Greyhound. Page. 125  
Poem. 79 Song, to the tune of Sums nous pas trop heureux. Page. 126  
Poem. 80 A Dialogue betwixt Lucasia & Rosania, imitating that of gentle Thersis Page. ib.  
Poem. 81 Song to the Tune of Adieu Phillis. Page. 127  
Poem. 82 An Epitaph on my honoured Mother Mrs. Philip's of Portheynon in Cardiganshire, who died Jan. 1. 1662./ 3. Page. 128  
Poem. 83 Lucasia, Rosania, and Orinda parting at a Fountain July 1663. Page. 129  
Poem. 84 A Farewell to Rosania. Page. 130  
Poem. 85 To my Lady Anne boil saying I looked angrily upon her. Page. ib.  
Poem. 86 On the Welsh Language. Page. 131  
Poem. 87 To the Countess of Thanet, upon her marriage. Page. 132  
Poem. 88 Epitapb on her Son H. P. at St. Syth's Church, where her body also lies interred. Page. 134  
Poem. 89 On the death of my Lord Rich, only Son to the Earl of Warwick, who died of the small Pox 1664. Page. 135  
Poem. 90 The Virgin. Page. 136  
Poem. 91 Upon the graving of her name upon a Tree in Barne-Elms Walks. Page. 137  
Poem. 92 To my dearest friend Mrs. A. Owen upon her greatest loss. Page. ib.  
Poem. 93 Orinda to Lucasia parting October 1661. at London. Page. 139  
Poem. 94 On the first of January 1657. Page. 141  
Poem. 95 To my Lady M. Cavendish, choosing the name of Policrite. Page. 142  
Poem. 96 Against Love. Page. 143  
Poem. 97 A Dialogue of friendship multiplied. Page. ib.  
Poem. 98 Rosania to Lucasia on her Letters. Page. 144  
Poem. 99 To my Antenor, March 16. 1661./ 2. Page. 145  
Poem. 100 A Triton to Lucasia going to Sea. Page. 146  
Poem. 101 Orinda upon little Hector Philip's. Page. 148  
Poem. 102 To the Lady E. boil. Page. 149  
Poem. 103 To my Lord Duke of Ormond upon the late Plot. Page. 150  
Poem. 104 To the Countess of Roscomon with a Copy of Pompey. Page. 151  
Poem. 105 On the death of the truly honourable Sir Walter Lloyd Knight. Page. 152  
Poem. 106 Orinda to Lucasia. Page. 153  
Poem. 107 To Celimena. Page. 154  
Poem. 108 An Answer to another persuading a Lady to Marriage. Page. 155  
Poem. 109 Lucasia and Orinda parting with Pastora and Phillis at Ipswich. Page. 156  
Poem. 110 Epitaph on my truly honoured P. Scipio. Page. ib.  
Poem. 111 To Mr. Sam. Cooper having taken Lucasia 's Picture given December 14. 1660. Page. 158  
Poem. 112 Parting with a friend. Page. 159  
Poem. 113 To my dearest friend upon her shunning Grandeur. Page. 161  
Poem. 114 To Pastora being with her friend. Page. 163  
Poem. 115 To my Lord and Lady Dungannon on their marriage, May 11. 1662. Page. 165  
Poem. 116 To his Grace Gilbert Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. July 10. 1664. Page. 166  
Poem. 117 Lafoy Solitude de St. Amant, in French and English. Page. 170  
Poem. 118 Tendres desers, out of French Prose. Page. 184  
Poem. 119 Amanti ch' in pianti, etc. Page. ib.  
Poem. 120 A Pastoral of Mons. de Scudery 's in the first Volume of Almahide, Englished. Page. ibid.  
Poem. 121 Translation of Thomas a Kempis into verse, out of Mons. Corneille. Page. 196  
Poem. 122 Pompey a Tragedy.  
Poem. 123 Horace a Tragedy, Translated from Monsieur Corneille.     

IMPRIMATUR.  
Aug. 20. 1667. Roger L'Estrange.   

POEMS.  

Upon the double Murder of K. CHARLES I. in Answer to a Libellous Copy of Rhymes 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 danger nigh  
Did force his native dumbness, and untie  
The fettered organs; so this is a 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.  
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?   

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 Camp, where e'er it moved, was Rome.  
They that asserted thy Just Cause go hence  
To testify their joy and reverence;  
And those th●● did not, now, by wonder taught,  
Go to confess and expiate their fault.  
So that if thou dost stay, thy gasping Land  
Itself will 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 denied and Sovereign Remedy.  
So when old Jacob could but credit give  
That his prodigious Joseph still did 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.   

Arion on a Dolphin, To his Majesty at his passage into England.  

WHom does this stately Navy bring?  
O! 'tis Great 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  
Than 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,  
Plots against 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  
Than 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.  
Discovered 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.    

On the Fair Wether just at the Coronation, it having reigned immediately before and after.  
SO clear a season, and so snatched from storms,  
Shows Heaven 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 in a 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,  
The storm returned with an impetuous haste.  
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.   

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

NOw that the Seas & Winds so kind are grown,  
For 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 own,  
Who make Him happy who makes us be so.  
But Heaven for us the  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 in amends now courts him more  
Than ever she affronted him before:  
As Lovers that of Jealousy repent  
Grow troublesome in kind acknowledgement.)  
Who greater courage showed in wooing you,  
Than 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 than 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, as even they  
Without regret or blushes shall obey.    

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 pursued  
(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 billows in your breast did meet  
A heart so firm, so loyal, and so sweet,  
That over them you greater conquest made  
Than 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.   

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,  
Can 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 curious 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! O Race Divine!  
Who own more to your Actions than 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 than by the Sea.  
Nor 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.    

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's, Subjects, Foreiner's 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 lose Tyrant whom no bound confined,  
Whom neither laws, nor oaths, nor shame could bind,  
Although his Soul was than 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.  
Thou 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 than 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  
Can 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,  
Can 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 Brothers 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.   

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 b'ing 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 can 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 Hind which hath escaped long,  
Believes a Vulgar shot 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.   

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 so far hath 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 sought;  
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 Tribute begged t' have been  
Admitted subject to so brave a Queen.  
But as some Hero who a field hath won,  
Viewing the things he had so greatly done;  
When by his spirit's flight he finds that he  
With his own Life must buy his 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 Devotion 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.   

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's 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 than 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 Heros tumble in a common heap?  
Oh give me Virtue then, which sums up all,  
And firmly stands when Crowns and Sceptres fall.   

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 mask 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, and at last forgot;  
Hadst thou not been her great Deliverer,  
At first discovered, and then rescued her,  
And raising what rude Malice had fling down,  
Unveiled her Face, and then restored her Crown:  
By so august an action to convince,  
'Tis greater to support than be a Prince.  
Oh for a Voice which loud as Thunder were,  
That all Mankind thy conquering truths might hear!  
Sure the Litigious as amazed would stand,  
As Fairy Knights touched with Cambina's Wand,  
Drawn by thy softer, and yet stronger Charms,  
Nations and Armies would lay down their Arms.  
And what more honour can on thee be hurled,  
Than 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,  
Whether we own more to thy Brain or Heart.  
But this we know without thine own consent,  
Thou'st raised thyself a glorious Monument;  
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.   

To the Right Honourable Alice Countess of Carbury, at her coming into Wales.  

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 let his wonder prove his danger too:  
So when our Country (which was deemed to be  
Close-mourner in its own obscurity,  
And in neglected Chaos so long lay)  
Was rescued 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 paid, 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 Splendours, 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.    

To Sir Edward Deering (the noble Silvander) on his Dream and Navy, personating Orinda 's preferring Rosania 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 stoop 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 reach 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 she vouchsafes but to regard,  
And Honours gives, than 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 from my friend  
Than 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 his great Orator refuse.  
But for Rosania'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 Bounty 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.   

To 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 Concord of the Mind,  
Friendship the Unison of well-tuned Hearts,  
Honour 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.   

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 to Saburras 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 'tbe 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 ere 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 Springtide was our first relief.  
Then we float merrily, forgetting quite  
The sad confinement of the stormy night.  
 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 Ships posture that in Harbour lay:  
Which to a rocky Grove so close were 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.   

Friendship's Mystery, To my dearest Lucasia.  

COme, my Lucasia, since we see  
That Miracles men's faith do move,  
By wonder 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 court our own Captivity  
Than Thrones more great and innocent:  
'Twere banishment to be set free,  
Since we wear fetters whose intent  
Not Bondage is, but Ornament.   

5.  
Divided joys are tedious 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.    

Content, To my dearest Lucasia.  

COntent, the false World's best disguise,  
The search and faction of the Wise,  
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  
Than 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 sport,  
That is so sharp and yet so short:  
And Painters tell us they the same strokes place,  
To make a laughing and a weeping face.   

5.  
Others there are that place Content  
In Liberty from Government:  
But whomsoever Passions deprave,  
Though free from shackles, he's 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 fits 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.   

9  
Content herself best comprehends  
Betwixt two souls, and they two friends,  
Whose either joys in both are fixed,  
And multiplied by being mixed:  
Whose minds and interests are so the same;  
Their Griefs, when once imparted, lose that 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 've both Union and Society.  
Then, my Lucasia, we who have  
Whatever Love can give or crave;  
Who can with pitying scorn 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.    

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.    

To my dear Sister Mrs. C. P. on her Marriage.  

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  
Are but a troublesome, and empty noise.   

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  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.    

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 generously 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 unquestioned awe,  
Restor'st the Golden Age when Verse was Law.  
Instructing us thou so secur'st thy fame,  
That nothing can disturb it but my name;  
Nay I have hopes that standing so near thine  
'Twill lose its dross, 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.   

A retired Friendship, To Ardelia.  

COme, my Ardelia, to this Bower,  
Where kindly mingling Souls a while  
Let's innocently spend an hour,  
And at all serious 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 quiet 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 streams  
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.    

To Mrs. Mary Carne, when Philaster courted her.  
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  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 Trophies 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 the 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 Philasters life.   

To Mr. J. B. the noble Cratander, upon a Composition of his which he was not willing to own publicly.  
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 forbidden  
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 Taper 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 but 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 than use;  
But thinkest it nobler 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 sight who stand extremely high,  
These forms will have one flat Equality:  
So from a lower Soul I well might fear  
A critic censure when surveyed too near;  
But not from him who placed above the best  
Lives in a height which levels all the rest.   

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

WE are complete, and Fate hath now  
No greater blessing to bestow:  
Nay 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.    

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 Conquests 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.   

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 Morality itself reclaim  
Th' apostate World like my Lucasia's name:  
Lucasia, whose rich Soul had it been known  
In that Time th' Ancients 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 only 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  
Than 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 Zeal 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 Eloquence.  
No Pen Lucasia's glories can relate,  
But they admire best who dare imitate.   

Wiston Vault.  
ANd why this Vault and Tomb? alike we must  
Put off Distinction, and put on our Dust.  
Nor can the stateliest fabric help to save  
From the corruptions of a common Grave;  
Nor for the Resurrection more prepare,  
Than 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 accused:  
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, 'twill 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.   

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, this 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.    

In Memory of F. P. who died at Acton the 24. May 1660. at 12. and ½ of Age.  
IF I could ever write a lasting Verse,  
It should be laid, dear Saint, 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 beauteous and lovely mien,  
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;  
Wither 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:  
That 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▪  
So the poor Swain beholds his ripened Corn  
By some rough Wind without a Sickle torn.  
Never, ah! never let sad Parents guess  
At one 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 Affections 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.   

In memory of that excellent person Mrs. Marry Lloyd of Bodidrist 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;  
Who still in great and noble things appeared,  
Whom all their Country loved, and yet they feared.  
Matched to another 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  
Meet as a Virgin, Prudent as a Wife.  
And she well knew, although so young and fair,  
Justly to mix Obedience Love 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 clear a Friend.  
A Wisdom from above did her secure,  
Which as '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.  
Solomon's wisest Woman less could do;  
She built her house, but this preserved hers too.  
She was so pious that when she did die,  
She scarce changed Place, I'm sure not Company.  
Her Zeal was primitive and practic too;  
She did believe, and pray, and read, and do.  
A firm and equal Soul she had engrossed,  
Just even to those that disobliged her most.  
She grew to love those wrongs she did receive  
For giving her the power to Forgive.  
Her Alms I may admire, but not relate;  
By'r 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 Prop● 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 Right de prive,  
That after all 'twas Penance to survive.  
She still these Griefs hath 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 resigned 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,  
Than they to whom the benefit accru'd.  
Though none of Honour had a quicker sense,  
Never had Woman more of complacence;  
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 a bright Lamp shut in some Roman 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 than live a Queen.   

To the truly competent Judge of Honour, Lucasia, upon a scandalous Libel made by J. J.  
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 too are 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 quitted 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 my heart to you.   

To Antenor, on a Paper of mine which J. J. threatens to publish to prejudice him.  
MUst then my Crimes become thy 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 verse 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.   

Rosania shadowed whilst Mrs. Mary Awbrey.  
IF any could my dear Rosania 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 where conquest mixed with modesty  
Are both completed in Divinity.  
Not her least glance but sets a heart on fire,  
And checks it if it should 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 Mercy make.  
And Heaven to her such splendour hath allowed,  
That no one 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.  
And as in Palaces the outmost, worst  
Rooms entertain our wonder at the first;  
But once within the Presence-Chamber door,  
We do despise what e'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 nor allure,  
Nor by false joys defile it, or obscure.  
The Innocence which in her heart doth dwell,  
Angels themselves can only parallel.  
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  
That 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 one Soul the noblest Precedent  
Of the most safe, wise, virtuous Government.  
And as the highest Element is clear  
From all the Tempests which disturb the Air:  
So she above the World and its rude noise,  
Above our storms a quiet Calm enjoys.  
Transcendent things her noble thoughts sublime,  
Above the faults and trifles of the Time.  
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.  
And 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?   

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  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.    

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 nor 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 Flames still light and shine,  
And no false fear control,  
As innocent as our Design,  
Immortal as our Soul.    

Rosania '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 Rosania (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 Priest's 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 fit 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?   

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 ingenious 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 twin-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 my 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 thy Fame,  
And taught each Echo to repeat thy 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 because 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 the Hand that robs me of my breath.   

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 ingenious 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.   

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

Philoclea 's parting.  
KInder than a condemned Man's reprieve  
Was your dear Company that bade me live.  
When by Rosania'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 state,  
To make my fall the more unfortunate.  
But this I know, none ever died before  
Upon a sadder or a nobler score.   

To Rosania, now Mrs. Montague, being with her.  

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 mine's too hot, and thine 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,  
Than 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 than at first;  
That small recruit increased the thirst.    

To my Lucasia.  
LEt dull Philosophers inquire no more  
In Nature's womb, or Causes strive t'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 desp'rate 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 for more rich and true.  
Thus the poor Bee unmarked doth hum and fly,  
And broaned with age would unregarded die,  
Unless some lucky drop of precious Gum  
Do bless the Insect with an Amber-tomb.  
Then glorious in its funeral the Bee  
Gets Eminence, and gets Eternity.   

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 eagle's 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.  
As in the Moon's Eclipse some Pagans thought  
Their barbarous Clamours her deliverance wrought:  
So we suppose that Truth oppressed lies,  
And needs a Rescue by 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  
Own 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, than '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.   

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.  
Had I ne'er heard of your Illustrious Name,  
Nor known the Scotch or English ancient Fame;  
Yet if your glorious Frame did but appear,  
I could have soon read 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 the admitted 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 than by your Life;  
Which, if it should be copied our, 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 in your subduing 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 Religon'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 your greatest courtesy:  
For Women boast, they have you while you live  
A Pattern and a Representative.  
And future Mothers who in Childbirth 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 cruel 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 only you 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  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 every wonder though it fills and shines,  
It never to an ill excess declines;  
But all are found so sweetly opposite,  
As are in Titians Pieces Shade and Light:  
That he that would your great Description try,  
Though he writ well, would be as lost as I,  
Who of injurious Zeal 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.   

Parting with Lucasia, 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 gasp for one another's breast,  
Since their Conveyances they 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 nobly 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.    

Against Pleasure. Set by Dr. Coleman.  

1.  
THere's no such thing as Pleasure here,  
'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:  
In Being than 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 may make it less.  
Nay, were our state as we could choose it,  
'Twould be consumed by fear to lose it.   

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

A Prayer.  
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 Chain of Causes brought to think  
There must be one, then find that highest Link.  
Thus all created Excellence we see  
Is a resemblance faint 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 gladly 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 placed in his Countenance.  
By whose dispense my Soul to such frame brought,  
May tame each treacherous, fix each scat'ring thought;  
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.   

To Mrs. M. A. upon Absence.  

1.  
'TIs now since I began to die  
Four Months, yet still I gasping live;  
Wrapped up in sorrow do I lie,  
Hoping, yet doubting, a Reprieve.  
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.    

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 factious World have lost.   

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.   

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 Gum,  
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 Zeal is more than Sacrifice,  
(For God did not the Widow's Mite despise,)  
And that Palaemon hath Divinity,  
And Mercy is his 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 does 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 one 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 so high:  
And though I miss, I've noble Company:  
For the most happy language must confess,  
It doth obscure Palaemon, not express.   

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,  
Can 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 resume 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 my 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 Rosania'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 ROSANIA.    

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 its own 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 understand 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.   

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.   

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.   

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 chance 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;  
What shall I say? when we true friends are grown,  
weare like— Alas, weare like ourselves alone.   

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 graver Throng  
Have scorned to deceive;  
There have been Hearts whose Friendship gave  
Them thoughts at once both soft and brave.   

4.  
Among that consecrated Few,  
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 differently 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 rest 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 been a stranger then  
To all that Heaven possessed.  
But could it all be here acquired,  
Not Heaven itself would be desired.    

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 b'iss,  
But on herself she scatters and dilates,  
And on the Object doubles till 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's whole expression than 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 unison;  
Which when the finger doth one Viol strike,  
The other's string heaves to reflection.   

19  
Be kind to me, and just then to our love,  
To which we own 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.    

A Resvery.  
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 repulses all the 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 thus retired.  
As Lucian's Ferryman a loft 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 meanly 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 quiet 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;  
Who flattery and falsehood doth so 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 Honesty 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 Wealth where  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 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, yet does not fear, but scorn it;  
Whose Happiness in every Fortune lives,  
For that no Fortune either takes or gives;  
Who not 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.   

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,  
Here taught the multitude;  
The brave they here with Honour fired,  
And civilised the rude.  
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?  
Her 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.  
Them that do covet only rest,  
A Cottage will suffice:  
It is 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 roar  
How unconcerned am I?  
I cannot fear to tumble lower  
Who 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;  
Then Revel out a Winter's night,  
Not making Love, but Sport.  
These never know 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 of all I would  
Ask for Felicity.  
In this retired and humble seat  
Free from both War and Strife,  
I am not forced to make retreat  
But choose to spend my Life.   

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 VVorld'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 Clay:  
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.   

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 stayed.  
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 unjust 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.   

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 and 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 as 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  
Both 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 and chide each others Faults,  
To be severe then is most just & kind;  
Nothing can 'scape their search who knew 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 the means t' express his Love.   

14.  
Absence doth not from Friendship's right excuse:  
Them who preserve each others heart and fame,  
Parting can ne'er divide, it may diffuse;  
As a far stretched out River's still 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.    

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 we have 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's 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 lost, Wit thrown away,  
In trifles to employ that Ray,  
Which then doth in full lustre shine  
When both Ingenious 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 whom '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 not steady judgement cast:  
He best surveys the Circuit round  
Who stands i'th' middle of the ground!   

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

18.  
Who studies God doth upwards fly,  
And height still lessens 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 who doth so that stock employ,  
But finds 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;  
'Tis Ignorance that 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 itself and Glory is  
But one harmonious constant Bliss.    

Invitation to the Country.  
BE kind, my dear Rosania, 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 some Kings 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 Fate 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 sting 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 Rosania) 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 will despise.   

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 sell'st 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 pains 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 this 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 within 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 higher 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 thy Elegy.   

On Rosania's Apostasy, and Lucasia's Friendship.  

GReat Soul of Friendship whither art thou fled,  
Where dost thou now choose to repose thy head?  
Or art thou nothing but voice, air and name,  
Found out to put Souls in pursuit of fame?  
Thy flames being thought Immortal, we may doubt  
Whether they e'er did burn that see them out.   

Go wearied Soul find out thy wont rest,  
In the safe Harbour of Orinda's breast,  
There all unknown Adventures thou hast found  
In thy late transmigrations expound;  
That so Rosania's darkness may be known  
To be her want of Lustre, not thy own.   

Then to the Great Lucasia have recourse,  
There gather up new excellence and force,  
Till by a free unbyass'd clear Commerce,  
Endearments which no Tongue can e'er rehearse,  
Lucasia and Orinda shall thee give  
Eternity, and make even Friendship live.   

Hail Great Lucasia, thou shalt doubly shine,  
What was Rosania's own is now twice thine;  
Thou saw'st Rosania's Chariot and her flight,  
And so the double portion is thy right:  
Though 'twas Rosania's Spirit be content,  
Since 'twas at first from thy Orinda sent.    

To my Lady Elizabeth boil, Singing now affairs etc.  
SUbduing fair! what will you win  
To use a needless Dart:  
Why then so many to take in  
One undefended heart?  
I came exposed to all your Charms,  
'Gainst which the first half hour  
I had no will to take up Arms,  
And in the next no Power.  
How can you choose but win the Day,  
Who can resist your Siege,  
Who in one action know the way  
To Vanquish and Oblige?  
Your Voice which can in melting strains  
Teach Beauty to be blind,  
Confines me yet in stronger Chains,  
By being soft and kind.  
Whilst you my trivial fancy sing,  
You it to wit refine,  
As Leather once stamped by a King  
Became a Current Coin.  
By this my Verse is sure to gain  
Eternity with men,  
Which by your voice it will obtain,  
Though never by my Pen.  
I'd rather in your favour live  
Then in a lasting name,  
And much a greater rate would give  
For Happiness then Fame.   

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:  
Can 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 and 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 state:  
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 revolution tries?  
Where were our Springs, our Harvests pleasant use,  
Unless Vicissitude 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.   
2 Cor. 5. 19 
God was in Christ Reconciling the World to himself.  
WHen God, contracted to Humanity,  
Can 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 make the World.  
Oh! what a  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?  
What God himself hath made he 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;  
Shows more his Power to save, then 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.   

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;  
Can 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,  
So far even 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 is 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  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  
Own our perdition to our own decree.  
If we search Truth, we make it more obscure;  
And when it shines, cannot 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,  
Counting 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 grovel, 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.   

The Soul.  

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

2.  
In every Brook or 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 ●ants 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 Body made 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 sordid 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,  
And wholly of a  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 Immortality.   

15.  
But 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;  
Who yield to all that does their Souls convince,  
Shall never need another Law.    

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 sinking 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  dress.  
They hope for Happiness in being Great,  
Or Rich, or Loved, then hug their own conceit.  
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  
Gins the business of Eternity.  
And unconcerned without, retains a power  
To such (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.   

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.    

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 many 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 he 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.   

Upon Mr. Abraham Cowley 's Retirement. ODE.  

1.  
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'll 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 these despise;  
Too small the Bargain, and too great the Price,  
For them to cousin twice.  
At length this secret I have learned;  
Who will be happy, must 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 that 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 innocent 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.    

The Irish Greyhound.  
BEhold this Creature's Form and state,  
Which Nature therefore did create;  
That to the World might be expressed  
What mien there can be in a Beast.  
And that we in this shape may find  
A Lion of another kind.  
For this Heroic beast does seem  
In Majesty to Rival him.  
And yet vouchsafes, to Man, to show  
Both service and submission too.  
From whence we this distinction have,  
That Beast is fierce, but this is brave.  
This Dog hath so himself subdued,  
That hunger cannot make him rude:  
And his behaviour does confess  
True Courage dwells with Gentleness.  
With sternest Wolves he dares engage  
And acts on them successful rage.  
Yet too much courtesy may chance  
To put him out of countenance.  
When in his opposers blood,  
Fortune hath made his virtue good;  
This Creature from an act so brave  
Grows not more sullen, but more grave.  
Man's Guard he would be, not his sport,  
Believing he hath ventured for't;  
But yet no blood or shed or spent  
Can ever make him insolent.  
Few Men of him, to do great things have learned,  
And when th' are done, to be so unconcerned.   

SONG.  
To the tune of Sums nous pas trop heureux.  

1.  
HOw prodigious is my fate,  
Since I can't determine clearly,  
Whether you'll do more severely  
Giving me your love or hate!  
For if you with kindness bless me,  
Since from you I soon must part;  
Fortune will so dispossess me,  
That your Love will break my heart.   

2.  
But since Death all sorrow cures,  
Might I choose my way of dying,  
I could wish the arrow flying  
From Fortune's Quiver, not from yours.  
For in the sad unusual story  
How my wretched heart was torn,  
It will more concern your glory,  
I by absence fell then scorn.    

A Dialogue betwixt Lucasia, and Rosania, Imitating that of Gentle Thersis.  Ros. 
MY Lucasia, leave the Mountain tops,  
And like a nearer air.  Luc. 
How shall I then forsake my Lovely Flocks  
Bequeathed to my care?  Ros. 
Shepherdess, thy Flocks will not be less,  
Although thou shouldst come hither.  Luc. 
But I fear, the World will be severe,  
Should I leave them to go thither.  Ros. 
O! my friend, if you on that depend,  
You'll never know content.  Luc. 
Rather I near thee would live and die,  
Would Fortune but consent.  Ros. 
But did you ask leave to love me too,  
That others should deprive me?  Luc. 
Not all Mankind, a stratagem can find  
Which from that heart should drive me.  Ros. 
Better it had been, I thee had never seen,  
Then that content to lose.  Luc. 
Such are thy Charms, I'd dwell within thine arms  
Can I my station choose.  Ros. 
When Life is done, the World to us is gone,  
And all our cares do end.  Luc. 
Nay I know there's nothing sweet below  
Unless it be a Friend.  Ros. 
Then whilst we live, this Joy let's take and give,  
Since death us soon will sever.  Luc. 
But I trust, when drumbled into dust,  
We shall meet and love for ever.   

Song  
to the Tune of Adieu Phillis.  

'tIs true, our Life is but a long disease  
Made up of real pain and seeming ease.  
You Stars, who these entangled fortunes give,  
O tell me why  
It is so hard to die,  
Yet such a task to Live?   

If with some pleasure we our griefs betray,  
It costs us dearer than it can repay.  
For time or Fortune all things so devours;  
Our hopes are crossed,  
Or else the object lost,  
 we can call it ours.    

An Epitaph on my Honoured Mother-in-Law Mrs. Phillips of Portheynon in Cardiganshire, who died Jan. 1. Anno 1662/3  
REader stay, it is but just;  
Thou dost not tread on common dust.  
For underneath this stone does lie  
One whose Name can never die:  
Who from an Honoured Lineage sprung,  
Was to another matched Young;  
Whose happiness she ever sought;  
One blessing was, and many brought.  
And to her spouse her faith did prove  
By fifteen pledges of their Love.  
But when by Death of him deprived,  
An honourable Widow lived  
Full four and twenty years, wherein  
Though she had much afflicted been,  
Saw many of her Children fall,  
And public Ruin threaten all.  
Yet from above assisted, she  
Both did and suffered worthily.  
She to the Crown, and Church adhered,  
And in their Sorrows them revered,  
With Piety which knew no strife,  
But was as sober as her life.  
A furnished Table, open door,  
That for her Friends, this for the Poor  
She kept; yet did her fortune find,  
Too narrow for her nobler Mind;  
Which seeking objects ro relieve,  
Did food to many Orphans give,  
Who in her Life no want did know,  
But all the Poor are Orphans now.  
Yet hold, her Fame is much too safe,  
To need a written Epitaph.  
Her Fame was so confessed, that she  
Can never here forgotten be,  
Till Cardigan itself become,  
To its own ruin'd heaps a Tomb.   

Lucasia, Rosania, and Orinda parting at a Fountain, July 1663.  

1.  
HEre, here are our enjoyments done,  
And since the Love and Grief we wear  
Forbids us either word or tear,  
And Art wants here expression,  
See Nature furnish us with one.   

2.  
The kind and mournful Nymph which here  
Inhabits in her humble Cells,  
No longer her own sorrow tells,  
Nor for it now concerned appears,  
But for our parting sheds these tears.   

3.  
Unless she may afflicted be,  
Lest we should doubt her Innocence;  
Since she hath lost her best pretence  
Unto a matchless purity;  
Our Love being clearer far than she.   

4.  
Cold as the streams that from her flow  
Or (if her privater recess  
A greater Coldness can express)  
Then cold as those dark beds of Snow  
Our hearts are at this parting blow.   

5.  
But Time that has both wings and feet,  
Our Suffering Minutes being spent,  
Will Visit us with new Content.  
And sure, if kindness be so sweet,  
'Tis harder to forget then meet.   

6.  
Then though the sad adieu we say,  
Yet as the wine we hither bring,  
Revives, and then exalts the Spring;  
So let our hopes to meet allay,  
The fears and Sorrows of this day.    

A Farewell to Rosania.  
MY Dear Rosania, sometimes be so kind,  
To think upon the friend thou leav'st behind,  
And wish Thee here, to make my joys complete,  
Or else me there, to share thy blessed Retreat.  
But to the Heart which for thy Loss doth mourn,  
The kindest thought is that of quick return.   

To my Lady Anne boil, saying I looked angrily upon her.  
Adored Valeria, and can you conclude,  
Orinda lost in such Ingratitude?  
And so mis-spell the Language of my face,  
When in my heart you have so great a Place?  
Ah be assured I could not look direct  
To you, not full of passion and respect.  
Or if my looks have played that treacherous part,  
And so much misinterpreted my heart,  
I shall forgive them that one falsehood, less  
Than all their folly, and their ugliness,  
And had much rather choose they should appear  
Always unhandsome, than once unsincere.  
But I must thank your error; which procures  
Me such obliging jealousy as yours.  
For at that quarrel I can ne'er repine,  
Which shows your kindness, though it questions mine.  
To your Concern I pardon your distrust,  
And prise your Love, even when it is unjust.   

On the Welsh Language.  
IF Honour to an ancient Name be due,  
Or Riches challenge it for one that's new,  
The British Language claims in either sense,  
Both for its Age, and for its Opulence.  
But all great things must be from us removed,  
To be with higher reverence beloved.  
So Landscapes which in Prospects distant lie,  
With greater wonder draw the pleased Eye.  
Is not great Troy to one dark ruin hurled?  
Once the famed Scene of all the fight world.  
Where's Athens now, to whom Rome Learning owes,  
And the safe Laurels that adorned her brows?  
A strange reverse of Fate she did endure,  
Never once greater, than she's now obscure.  
E'en Rome herself can but some footsteps show  
Of Scipio's times, or those of Cicero.  
And as the Roman and the Grecian State,  
The British fell, the spoil of Time and Fate.  
But though the Language hath the beauty lost,  
Yet she has still some great Remains to boast:  
For 'twas in that, the sacred Bards of old,  
In deathless Numbers did their thoughts unfold.  
In Groves, by Rivers, and on fertile Plains,  
They civilised and taught the listening Swains;  
Whilst with high raptures, and as great success,  
Virtue they clothed in music's charming dress.  
This Merlin spoke, who in his gloomy Cave,  
Even Destiny herself seemed to enslave.  
For to his sight the future time was known,  
Much better than to others is their own:  
And with such state, Predictions from him fell,  
As if he did Decree, and not Foretell.  
This spoke King Arthur, who, if Fame be true,  
Can have compelled Mankind to speak it too.  
In this once Boadicca valour taught,  
And spoke more nobly than her Soldiers fought:  
Tell me what Hero could do more than she,  
Who fell at once for Fame and Liberty?  
Nor could a greater Sacrifice belong,  
Or to her children's, or her Country's wrong.  
This spoke Caractacus, who was so brave,  
That to the Roman Fortune check he gave:  
And when their Yoke he could decline no more,  
He it so decently and nobly wore,  
That Rome herself with blushes did believe,  
A Britain would the Law of Honour give;  
And hastily his chains away she threw,  
Lest her own Captive else should her subdue.   

To the Countess of Thanet, upon her marriage.  
SInce you who Credit to all wonders bring,  
That Lovers can believe, or Poets sing;  
Whose only shape and fashion does express,  
Your Virtue is your nature not your dress;  
In whom the most admired extremes appear,  
Humble and Fair, Prudent and yet sincere:  
Whose matchless worth transmits' such splendid rays,  
As those that envy it are forced to praise.  
Since you have found such an illustrious sphere,  
And are resolved to fix your glories there;  
A heart whose bravery to his Sex secures  
As much Renown as you have done to yours;  
And whose perfections in obtaining you,  
Are both discovered and rewarded too;  
'Twere almost equal boldness to invent  
How to increase your Merit, or Content.  
Yet sure the Muses somewhat have to say,  
But they will send it you a better way:  
The Court, which so much to your lustre owes,  
Must also pay you its officious vows.  
But whilst this shows respect, and those their art,  
Let me too speak the language of my heart;  
Whose ruder Offerings dare approach your shrine,  
For you, who merit theirs, can pardon mine.  
Fortune and Virtue with such heat contend  
(As once for Rome) now to make you their friend:  
And you so well can this prefer to that,  
As you can neither fear, nor mend your Fate:  
Yet since the votes of joy from all are due,  
A love like mine, must find some wishes too.  
May you in this bright Constellation set,  
Still show how much the Good outshine the Great:  
May you be courted with all joys of sense,  
Yet place the highest in your innocence;  
Whose praise may you enjoy, but not regard,  
Finding within both motive and reward.  
May Fortune still to your commands be just,  
Yet still beneath your kindness or your trust.  
May you no trouble either feel or fear,  
But from your pity for what others wear;  
And may the happy owner of your breast,  
Still find his passion with his joys increased;  
Whilst every moment your concern makes known,  
And gives him too, fresh reason for his own:  
And from their Parents may your Offspring have  
All that is wise and lovely, soft and brave:  
Or if all wishes we in one would give,  
For him, and for the world, Long may you live.   

EPITAPH. On her Son H. P. at St. Sith 's Church where her body also lies Interred.  
WHat on Earth deserves our trust?  
Youth and Beauty both are dust.  
Long we gathering are with pain,  
What one moment calls again.  
Seven years childless, marriage past,  
A Son, a son is born at last:  
So exactly limned and fair,  
Full of good Spirits, Mien, and Air,  
As a long life promised,  
Yet, in less than six weeks dead.  
Too promising, too great a mind  
In so small room to be confined:  
Therefore, as fit in Heaven to dwell,  
He quickly broke the Prison shell.  
So the subtle Alchemist,  
Can't with Hermes Seal resist  
The powerful spirit's subtler flight,  
But 'twill bid him long good night.  
And so the Sun if it arise  
Half so glorious as his Eyes,  
Like this Infant, takes a ,  
Buried in a morning Cloud.   

On the death of my Lord Rich, only Son to the Earl of Warwick, who died of the small Pox, 1664.  
HAve not so many lives of late  
Sufficed to quench the greedy thirst of Fate?  
Though to increase the mournful purple Flood.  
As well as Noble, she drank Royal Blood;  
That not content, against us to engage  
Our own wild fury, and Usurpers rage;  
By sickness now, when all that storm is past,  
She strives to hue our Heros down as fast?  
And by the Prey she chooses, shows her Aim  
Is to extinguish all the English Fame.  
Else had this generous Youth we now have lost,  
Been still his Friend's delight, and Country's boast,  
And higher raised the Illustrious Name he bore,  
Than all our Chronicles had done before.  
Had Death considered  he struck this blow,  
How many noble hopes 'twould overthrow;  
The Genius of his House (who did complain  
That all her Worthies now died o'er again)  
His flourishing, and yet untainted years;  
His Father's anguish, and his Mother's tears;  
Sure he had been persuaded to relent,  
Nor had for so much early sweetness, sent  
That fierce Disease, which knows not how to spare  
The Young, the Great, the Knowing, or the Fair.  
But we as well might flatter every wind,  
And court the Tempests to be less unkind,  
As hope from churlish Death to snatch his Prey,  
Who is as furious and as deaf as they;  
And who hath cruelly surprised in him,  
His Parent's joy, and all the World's esteem.  
Say treacherous hopes that whisper in our ear,  
Still to expect some steady comfort here,  
And though we oft discover all your Arts,  
Would still betray our disappointed Hearts;  
What new delusion can you now prepare,  
Since this pale object shows how false you are?  
'Twill fully answer all you have to plead,  
If we reply, Great Warwick's Heir is dead:  
Blush humane Hopes and Joys, and then be all  
In solemn mourning at this Funeral.  
For since such expectations brittle prove,  
What can we safely either Hope or Love?   

The Virgin.  
THe things that make a Virgin please,  
She that seeks, will find them these;  
A Beauty, not to Art in debt,  
Rather agreeable than great;  
An Eye, wherein at once do meet,  
The beams of kindness, and of wit;  
An undissembled Innocence,  
Apt not to give, nor take offence:  
A Conversation, at once, free  
From Passion, and from Subtlety;  
A Face that's modest, yet serene,  
A sober, and yet lively Mien;  
The virtue which does her adorn,  
By honour guarded, not by scorn;  
With such wise lowliness endued,  
As never can be mean, or rude;  
That prudent negligence enrich,  
And Time's her silence and her speech;  
Whose equal mind, does always move,  
Neither a foe, nor slave to Love;  
And whose Religion's strong and plain,  
Not superstitious, nor profane.   

Upon the graving of her Name upon a Tree in Barnelmes Walks.  
ALas how barbarous are we,  
Thus to reward the courteous Tree,  
Who its broad shade affording us,  
Deserves not to be wounded thus;  
See how the Yielding Bark complies  
With our ungrateful injuries.  
And seeing this, say how much than  
Trees are more generous than Men,  
Who by a Nobleness so pure  
Can first oblige and then endure.   

To my dearest friend Mrs. A. Owen, upon her greatest loss.  
AS when two sister rivulets who crept  
From that dark bed of snow wherein they slept,  
By private distant currents under ground  
Have by Moeanders' either's bosom found,  
They sob aloud and break down what withstood,  
Swollen by their own embraces to a flood:  
So when my sympathy for thy dear grief  
Had brought me near, in hope to give relief,  
I found my sorrow heightened when so joined,  
And thine increased by being so combined,  
Since to the bleeding hopes of many years,  
I could contribute nothing but my tears;  
Fears which to thy sad fate were justly due,  
And to his loss, by all who that loss knew;  
For thy Charistus was so much above  
The Eloquence of all our grief and love,  
That it would be Injurious to his Hearse  
To think to crowd his worth into a verse.  
Can I (by miracle) such praise indite,  
Who with more ease and Justice weep then write,  
He was all that which History can boast,  
Or bolder Poetry had ere engrossed.  
So pious, just, noble, discreet, and kind,  
Their best Ideas knew not how to find.  
His strong Religion not on trifles spent,  
Was useful, firm, early, and eminent,  
Never betrayed to indigested heat,  
Nor yet enticed from what was safely great.  
And this so soon, as if he had foresight,  
He must begin betimes whose noon is night.  
His virtue was his choice, and not his chance,  
Not moved by Age, nor born of Ignorance.  
He well knew whom, and what he did believe,  
And for his Faith did not dispute, but live,  
And lived just like his infant Innocence,  
But that was crowned with free obedience.  
How did he scorn design, and equally  
How much abhorred this Age's vanity!  
He neither liked its tumults, nor its Joys,  
Slighted alike Earth's pleasures, and her noise.  
But unconcerned in both, in his own mind  
Alone could power and satisfaction find.  
A treasury of merit there lay hid,  
Which though he ne'er confessed, his actions did.  
His modesty unto his virtue lent  
At once a shadow and an ornament.  
But what could hid those filial rites he paid;  
How much he loved how prudently obeyed?  
How as a Brother did he justly share  
His kind concern betwixt respect and care?  
And to a wife how fully did he prove  
How wisely he could judge, how fond love?  
As Husband's serious, but as Lover's kind,  
He valued all of her, but loved her mind;  
And with a passion made this Riddle true,  
'Twas ever perfect, and yet still it grew.  
Such handsome thoughts his Breast did ever fill,  
He durst do any thing, but what was ill;  
Unlike those Gallants who so use their time,  
As opportunity to act their crime,  
And lost in wine or vanity when young,  
They die too soon, because they lived too long.  
But he has hallowed so his early death,  
'Tis almost shame to draw a longer breath.  
I can no more, they that can must have learned  
To be more eloquent, and less concerned.  
But all that Noble Justice to his Name  
His own good Angel will commit to Fame.  
Can grief recall this happiness again,  
Of thy dear sorrow I would ne'er complain,  
But such an opportunity would take  
To grieve an useless life out for thy sake.  
But since it cannot, I must pray thee live,  
That so much of Charistus may survive,  
And that thou do no act so harsh to Love,  
As that his glory should thy sorrow move:  
Endure thy loss till Heaven shall it repay,  
Upon thy last and glorious wedding-day,  
When thou shalt know him more, and quickly find  
The love increased by being so refined,  
And there possess him without parting fears,  
As I my friendship free from future tears.   

Orinda to Lucasia parting October 1661. at London.  
A Dieu dear object of my Love's excess,  
And with thee all my hopes of happiness,  
With the same fervent and unchanged heart  
Which did its whole self once to thee impart,  
(And which though fortune has so sorely bruised,  
Would suffer more, to be from this excused)  
I to resign thy dear Converse submit,  
Since I can neither keep, nor merit it.  
Thou hast too long to me confined been,  
Who ruin am without, passion within.  
My mind is sunk below thy tenderness,  
And my condition does deserve it less;  
I'm so entangled and so lost a thing  
By all the shocks my daily sorrow bring,  
That wouldst thou for thy old Orinda call  
Thou hardly couldst unravel her at all.  
And should I thy clear fortunes interline  
With the incessant miseries of mine?  
No, no, I never loved at such a rate  
To tie thee to the rigours of my fate,  
As from my obligations thou art free,  
Sure thou shalt be so from my Injury,  
Though every other worthiness I miss,  
Yet I'll at least be generous in this.  
I'd rather perish without sigh or groan,  
Then thou shouldst be condemned to give me one;  
Nay in my soul I rather could allow  
Friendship should be a sufferer, than thou;  
Go then, since my sad heart has set thee free,  
Let all the loads and chains remain on me.  
Though I be left the prey of sea and wind,  
Thou being happy wilt in that be kind;  
Nor shall I my undoing much deplore,  
Since thou art safe, whom I must value more.  
Oh! mayst thou ever be so, and as free  
From all ills else, as from my company,  
And may the torments thou hast had from it  
Be all that heaven will to thy life permit.  
And that they may thy virtue service do,  
Mayest thou be able to forgive them too:  
But though I must this sharp submission learn,  
I cannot yet unwish thy dear concern.  
Not one new comfort I expect to see,  
I quit my Joy, hope, life, and all but thee;  
Nor seek I thence aught that may discompose  
That mind where so serene a goodness grows.  
I ask no inconvenient kindness now,  
To move thy passion, or to cloud thy brow;  
And thou wilt satisfy my boldest plea  
By some few soft remembrances of me,  
Which may present thee with this candid thought,  
I meant not all the troubles that I brought.  
Own not what Passion rules, and Fate does crush,  
But wish thou couldst have done't without a blush,  
And that I had been, ere it was too late,  
Either more worthy, or more fortunate.  
Ah who can love the thing they cannot prise?  
But thou mayst pity though thou dost despise.  
Yet I should think that pity bought too dear,  
If it should cost those precious Eyes a tear.  
Oh may not minutes trouble, thee possess,  
But to endear the next hours happiness;  
And mayst thou when thou art from me removed,  
Be better pleased, but never worse beloved:  
Oh pardon me for pow'ring out my woes  
In Rhyme ●ow, that I dare not do't in Prose.  
For I must lose whatever is called dear,  
And thy assistance all that loss to bear,  
And have more cause than ere I had before,  
To fear that I shall never see thee more.   

On the 1. of January 1657.  
TH' Eternal Centre of my life and me,  
Who when I was not gave me room to be,  
Hath since (my time preserving in his hands)  
By moments numbered out the precious sand,  
Till it is swelled to six and twenty years,  
Chequered by Providence with smiles and tears.  
I have observed how vain all glories are,  
The change of Empire, and the chance of War:  
Seen Faction with its native venom burst,  
And Treason struck, by what itself had nursed.  
Seen useless Crimes, whose Owners but made way,  
For future Candidates to wear the Bay.   

To my Lady M. Cavendish, choosing the name of Policrite.  
THat Nature in your frame has taken care,  
As well your Birth as Beauty do declare,  
Since we at once discover in your Face,  
The lustre of your Eyes and of your Race:  
And that your shape and fashion does attest,  
So bright a form has yet a brighter guest,  
To future times authentic fame shall bring,  
Historians shall relate, and Poets sing.  
But since your boundless mind upon my head,  
Some rays of splendour is content to shed;  
And lest I suffer by the great surprise,  
Since you submit to meet me in disguise,  
Can lay aside what dazzles vulgar sight,  
And to Orinda can be Policrite.  
You must endure my vows and find the way  
To entertain such Rites as I can pay:  
For so the power divine new praise acquires,  
By scorning nothing that it once inspires:  
I have no merits that your smile can win,  
Nor offering to appease you when I sin;  
Nor can my useless homage hope to raise,  
When what I cannot serve, I strive to praise:  
But I can love, and love at such a pitch,  
As I dare boast it will even you every;  
For kindness is a Mine, when great and true,  
Of nobler Ore than ever Indians knew,  
'Tis all that mortals can on Heaven bestow,  
And all that Heaven can value here below.   

Against Love.  
HEnce Cupid with your cheating Toys,  
Your real Griefs, and painted Joys,  
Your Pleasure which itself destroys.  
Lovers like men in Fevers burn and rave,  
And only what will injure them do crave.  
men's weakness makes Love so severe,  
They give him power by their fear,  
And make the Shackles which they wear.  
Who to another does his heart submit,  
Makes his own Idol, and then worships it.  
Him whose heart is all his own,  
Peace and liberty does crown,  
He apprehends no kill frown.  
He feels no raptures which are joys diseased,  
And is not much transported, but still pleased.   

A Dialogue of Friendship multiplied.  Musidorus. 
WIll you unto one single sense  
Confine a starry Influence?  
Or when you do the rays combine,  
To themselves only make them shine?  
Love that's engrossed by one alone,  
Is envy not affection.  Orinda. 
No Musidorus, this would be  
But Friendships' prodigality,  
Union in rays does not confine,  
But doubles lustre when they shine,  
And souls united live above  
Envy, as much as scattered Lover  
Friendship (like Rivers) as it multiplies,  
In many streams, grows weaker still and dies.  Musidorus. 
Rivers indeed may lose their force,  
When they divide or break their course,  
For they may want some hidden Spring,  
Which to their streams recruits may bring;  
But Friendship's made of purest fire,  
Which burns and keeps its stock entire.  
Love, like the Sun, may shed his beams on all,  
And grow more great by being general.  Orinda. 
The purity of friendship's flame  
Proves that from sympathy it came,  
And that the hearts so close do knit  
They no third partner can admit;  
Love like the Sun does all inspire,  
But burns most by contracted fire.  
Then though I honour every worthy guest,  
Yet my Lucasia only rules my breast.   

Rosania to Lucasia on her Letters.  

AH strike outright, or else forbear,  
Be more kind, or more severe;  
For in this chequered mixture I  
Cannot live, and would not die,  
And must I neither? tell me why?   

When thy Pen thy kindness tells,  
My heart transported leaps and swells.  
But when my greedy eye does stray  
Thy threatened absence to survey,  
That heart is struck and faints away.   

To give me title to rich land,  
And the fruition to withstand,  
Or solemnly to send the key  
Of treasures I must never see,  
Would it contempt or bounty be?   

This is such refined distress,  
That thy sad Lovers sigh for less,  
Though thou their hopes hast overthrown,  
They lose but what they ne'er have known,  
But I am plundered from my own.   

How canst thou thy Rosania prize,  
And be so cruel and so wise?  
For if such rigid policy  
Must thy resolves dispute with me,  
Where then is friendship's victory?   

Kindness is of so brave a make  
'Twil rather death than bondage take,  
So that if thine no power can have,  
Give it and me one common grave,  
But quickly either kill or save.    

To my Antenor March 16. 1661./ 2  
My dear Antenor now give over,  
For my sake talk of graves no more,  
Death is not in our power to gain,  
And is both wished and feared in vain.  
Let's be as angry as we will,  
Grief sooner may distract then kill,  
And the unhappy often prove  
Death is as coy a thing as Love.  
Those whose own sword their death did give,  
Afraid were or a shamed to Live;  
And by an act so desperate,  
Did poorly run away from fate;  
'Tis braver much the outride the storm,  
Endure its rage and shun his harm;  
Affliction nobly undergone,  
More Greatness shows then having none.  
But yet the wheel in turning round,  
At last may lift us from the ground,  
And when our fortune's most severe,  
The less we have, the less we fear.  
And why should we that grief permit,  
Which can nor mend nor shorten it?  
Let's wait for a succeeding good,  
Woes have their Ebb as well as flood:  
And since the Parliament have rescued you,  
Believe that Providence will do so too.   

A Triton to Lucasia going to Sea, shortly after the Queen's arrival.  

1.  
MY Master Neptune took such pains of late  
To quiet the Commotions of his state,  
That he might give, through his fierce winds and Seas,  
Safe passage to the Royal Portugueze,  
That he e'er since at home has kept,  
And in his Crystal palace slept,  
Till a swift wind told him to day  
A stranger was to pass this way,  
Whom he hath sent me out to view,  
And I must tell him, Madam, it is you.   

2.  
He knows you by an Honourable fame:  
Who hath not heard Lucasia's worthy name?  
But should he see you too, I doubt he will  
Grow amorous and here detain you still:  
I know his humour very well  
So best can the event foretell,  
But wishing you better success,  
And that my Master's guilt be less,  
I will say nothing of your form  
Till you are passed the danger of a storm.   

3.  
Fear nothing else, for eyes so sweet as these,  
No power that is Sea-born can displease;  
You are much more than Nymph or Goddess bright;  
I saw them all at suppert' other Night:  
They with far less attraction draw,  
They give us Love, you give us Law.  
Your Charms the winds and seas will move,  
But 'tis to wonder not to Love.  
Your only danger is, lest they  
Stiff with amazement should becalm your way.   

4.  
But should they all want breath to make a gale,  
What's sent in prayers for you will fill your sail;  
What brought you hither will your way secure,  
Courage and kindness can no slip endure;  
The winds will do as much for you.   

5.  
Yet since our birth the English Ocean boasts,  
We hope sometimes to see you on these Coasts,  
And we will order for you as you pass,  
Winds soft as Lover's vows, waves smooth as glass.  
Each Deity shall you befriend,  
And all the Sea-nymphs shall attend;  
But if because a Ship's too strait,  
Or else unworthy such a freight,  
A Coach more useful would appear,  
That and six Danish Steeds you know are here.    

Orinda upon little Hector Philip's.  

1.  
Twice forty months of Wedlock I did stay,  
Then had my vows crowned with a Lovely boy,  
And yet in forty days he dropped away,  
O swift Visissitude of humane joy.   

2.  
I did but see him and he disappeared,  
I did but pluck the Rose-bud and it fell,  
A sorrow unforeseen and scarcely feared  
For ill can mortals their afflictions spell.   

3.  
And now (sweet Babe) what can my trembling heart  
Suggest to right my doleful fate or thee,  
Tears are my Muse and sorrow all my Art,  
So piercing groans must be thy Elegy.   

4.  
Thus whilst no eye is witness of my moan,  
I grieve thy loss (Ah boy too dear to live)  
And let the unconcerned World alone,  
Who neither will, nor can refreshment give.   

5.  
An Offering too for thy sad Tomb I have,  
Too just a tribute to thy early Hearse,  
Receive these gasping numbers to thy grave,  
The last of thy unhappy Mother's Verse.    

To the Lady E. Boyl.  

AH lovely Celimena why  
Are you so full of charms,  
That neither Sex can from them fly,  
Nor take against them arms.  
Others in time may gain a part,  
But you at once snatch all the heart.   

Dear Tyrant why will you subdue  
Orinda's trivial heart,  
Which can no triumph add to you,  
Not meriting your dart.  
And sure you will not grant it one,  
If not for my sake for your own.   

For it has been by tenderness  
Already so much bruised,  
That at your Altars I may guests  
It will be but refused.  
For never Deity did prise  
A torn and maimed Sacrifice.   

But oh what madness can or dare  
Dispute this noble chain,  
Which 'tis a greater thing to wear,  
Than Empires to obtain.  
To be your slave I more design,  
Than to have all the world be mine.   

Those glorious Fetters will create  
A merit fit for them,  
Repair the breaches made by Fate,  
And whom they own redeem.  
What thus ennobles and thus cures,  
Can be no influence but yours.   

Pardon th' Ambition of my aim,  
Who love you at that rate,  
That story cannot boast a flame  
So lasting and so great.  
I can be only kind and true,  
But what else can be worthy you.    

To my Lord Duke of Ormond, upon the late Plot.  
THough you, great Sir, be heavens immediate care,  
Who showed you danger, and then broke the snare;  
And our first gratitude to that be due,  
Yet there is much that must be paid to you:  
For 'tis your Prudence Ireland's peace fecures,  
Gives her her safety, and (what's dearer) yours,  
Whilst your prevailing genius does dispense,  
At once its conduct, and its influence;  
Less honour from a battle won is got,  
Than to repel so dangerous a Plot;  
Fortune with Courage may play booty there,  
But single virtue is triumphant here;  
In vain the bold ingrateful Rebels aim  
To overturn when you support the same;  
You who three potent Kingdoms late have seen  
Tremble with fury, and yet steadfast been;  
Who on afflicted Majesty could wait,  
When it was seemingly forsook by Fate;  
Whose settled loyalty no storms dismayed,  
Nor the more flattering mischiefs could dissuade:  
And having scaped so dangerous a coast,  
Can you now fall expiring Treasons boast?  
Or was it hoped by this contemned crew,  
That you could Fortune, and not them, subdue.  
But whilst these wretches at this impious rate,  
Will buy the knowledge of your mighty fate;  
You shall preserve your Kings entrusted Crown,  
Assisted by his fortune and your own.  
And whilst his Sword Kingdoms abroad bestows,  
You with the next renown shall this dispose.   

To the Countess of Roscomon, with a Copy of Pompey.  
GReat Pompey's Fame from Egypt made escape,  
And flies to you for secure in this shape:  
A shape, which, I assured him, would appear,  
Nor fit for you to see, nor him to wear.  
Yet he says, Madam, he's resolved to come,  
And run a hazard of a second doom:  
But still he hopes to bribe you, by that trust  
You may be kind, but cannot be unjust;  
Each of whose favours will delight him more,  
Than all the Laurels that his temples wore:  
Yet if his Name and his misfortunes fail,  
he thinks my intercession will prevail;  
And whilst my Numbers would relate his end,  
Not like a Judge you'll listen, but a friend;  
For how can either of us fear your frown,  
Since he and I are both so much your own.  
But when you wonder at my bold design,  
Remember who did that high task enjoin;  
Th'illustrious Orrery, whose least command,  
You would more wonder if I could withstand:  
Of him I cannot which is hardest tell,  
Or not to praise him, or to praise him well;  
Who on that height from whence true glory came,  
Does there possess and thence distribute fame;  
Where all their Lyres the willing Muses bring,  
To learn of him whatever they shall sing;  
Since all must yield, whilst there are Books or Men,  
The Universal Empire to his Pen;  
Oh! had that powerful genius but inspired  
The feeble hand, whose service he required,  
It had your justice then, not mercy prayed,  
Had pleased you more, and better him obeyed.   

On the death of the truly honourable Sir Walter Lloid Knight.  
AT Obsequies where so much grief is due,  
The Muses are in solemn mourning too,  
And by their dead astonishment confess,  
They can lament this loss, though not express:  
Nay if those ancient Bards had seen this Hearse,  
Who once in British shades spoke living Verse,  
Their high concern for him had made them be,  
Apt to weep, than writ his Elegy:  
When on our Land that flood of woes was sent,  
Which swallowed all things sacred as it went,  
The injured Arts and Virtues made his breast  
The Ark wherein they did securely rest:  
For as that old one was tossed up and down,  
And yet the angry billows could not drown;  
So Heaven did him in this worse deluge save,  
And made him triumph o'er th' unquiet wave:  
Who while he did with that wild storm contest,  
Such real magnanimity expressed;  
That he dared to be loyal, in a time  
When 'twas a danger made, and thought a crime:  
Duty, and not ambition, was his aim,  
Who studied Conscience ever more than Fame,  
And thought it so desirable a thing,  
To be preferred to suffer for his King,  
That he all Fortune's spite had pardoned her,  
Had she not made his Prince a sufferer;  
For whose loved cause he did both act and grieve,  
And for it only did endure to live,  
To teach the world what man can be and do,  
Armed by Allegiance and Religion too.  
His head and heart mutual assistance gave,  
That being still so wise, and this so brave,  
That 'twas acknowledged all he said and did,  
From judgement, and from honour did proceed:  
Such was the useful mixture of his mind,  
'Twas at once meek and knowing, stout and kind;  
For he was civil, bountiful, and learned,  
And for his Friends so generously concerned,  
That both his heart and house, his hand and tongue,  
To them, more than himself, seemed to belong;  
As if to his wronged party he would be  
Both an Example and Apology:  
For when both Swords and Pens ceased the dispute,  
His life alone Rebellion did confute.  
But when his Vows propitious Heaven had heard,  
And our unequalled King at length appeared,  
As aged Simeon did his spirits yield,  
When he had seen his dearest hopes fulfilled;  
He gladly saw the morning of that day,  
Which Charles his growing splendour did display;  
Then to Eternal joys made greater haste,  
Because his present ones flowed in so fast;  
From which he fled out of a pious fear,  
Lest he by them should be rewarded here;  
While his sad Country by his death have lost  
Their noblest Pattern, and their greatest boast.   

Orinda to Lucasia.  

1.  
OBserve the weary birds  night be done,  
How they would fain call up the tardy Sun,  
With Feathers hung with dew,  
And trembling voices too.  
They court their glorious Planet to appear,  
That they may find recruits of spirits there.  
The drooping Flowers hang their heads,  
And languish down into their beds:  
While Brooks more bold and fierce than they,  
Wanting those beams, from whence  
All things drink influence,  
Openly murmur and demand the day.   

2.  
Thou my Lucasia art far more to me,  
Than he to all the under-world can be;  
From thee I've heat and light,  
Thy absence makes my night.  
But ah! my Friend, it now grows very long,  
The sadness weighty, and the darkness strong:  
My tears (its dew) dwell on my cheeks,  
And still my heart thy dawning seeks,  
And to the mournfully it cries,  
That if too long I wait,  
Even thou may'st come too late,  
And not restore my life, but close my eyes.    

To Celimena.  
FOr bear fond heart (say I) torment no more  
That Celimena whom thou dost adore,  
For since so many of her Chains are proud,  
How canst thou be distinguished in the crowd:  
But say, bold trifler, what dost thou pretend?  
Wouldst thou depose thy Saint into thy Friend?  
Equality in friendship is required,  
Which here were criminal to be desired.   

An Answer to another persuading a Lady to Marriage.  

1.  
FOrbear bold Youth, all's Heaven here,  
And what you do aver,  
To others Courtship may appear,  
'Tis Sacrilege to her.   

2.  
She is a public Deity,  
And were't not very odd  
She should depose herself to be  
A petty Household God?   

3.  
First make the Sun in private shine,  
And bid the World adieu,  
That so he may his beams confine  
In compliment to you.   

4.  
But if of that you do despair,  
Think how you did amiss,  
To strive to fix her beams which are  
More bright and large than this.    

Lucasia and Orinda Parting with Pastora and Phillis at Ipswich.  

1.  
IN your converse we best can read,  
How constant we should be,  
But, 'tis in losing that, we need  
All your Philosophy.   

2.  
How perished is the joy that's past,  
The present how unsteady?  
What comfort can be great, and last,  
When this is gone already?   

3.  
Yet that it subtly may torment,  
The memory does remain;  
For what was, when enjoyed, content,  
Is, in its absence, pain.   

4.  
If you'll restore it, we'll not grieve  
That Fate does now us sever;  
'Tis better by your gift to live,  
Than by our own endeavour.    

Epitaph on my truly honoured Publius Scipio.  
TO the officious Marble we commit  
A Name, above the art of time or wit;  
'Tis righteous, Valiant Scipio, whose life we  
Found the best Sermon, and best History:  
Whose Courage was no Aguish, bru'tish heat,  
But such as spoke him good, as well as great;  
Which first Engaged his Arms to prop the State  
Of the almost undone Palatinate,  
And help the Nether-Lands to stem the tide  
Of Rome's ambition, and the Austrian Pride;  
Which shall in every History be famed,  
Wherein Breda or Frankendale are named.  
And when forced by his Country's angry Stars  
To be a Party in her Civil Wars,  
He so much conduct by his Valour taught,  
So wisely governed, and so bravely Faught,  
That the English Annals shall this Record bear,  
None better could direct or further dare.  
Formed both for War and Peace, was brave in fight,  
And in Debate judicious and upright:  
Religion was his first and highest care,  
Which ruled his Heart in Peace, his Hand in War:  
Which at the least Sin made him tremble still,  
And rather stand a Breach, than act an Ill;  
For his great Heart did such a temper show,  
Stout as Rock, yet soft as melting Snow.  
In him so prudent, and yet so sinsere,  
The Serpent much, the Dove did more appear:  
He was above the little arts of state,  
And scorned to sell his peace to mend his Fate,  
Anxious of nothing, but an inward spot,  
His hand was open, but his Conscience not;  
Just to his Word, to all Religion's kind,  
In duty strict, in Bounty unconfined;  
And yet so modest; 'twas to him less pain  
To do great things, then hear them told again;  
Perform sad Stone thy honourable trust,  
Unto his memory and thyself be just,  
For his immortal name shall thee befriend,  
And pay thee back more same than thou canst lend.   

To Mr. Sam. Cooper, having taken Lucasia 's Picture given December 14. 1660.  

1.  
IF noble things can noble thoughts infuse,  
Your Art might even in me create a Muse,  
And what you did inspire, you would Excuse.   

2.  
But if it such a Miracle could do,  
That Muse would not return you half your due,  
Since 'twould my thanks, but not the praise pursue.   

3.  
To praise your Art is then itself more hard,  
Nor would it the Endeavour much regard,  
Since it and Virtue, are their own reward.   

4.  
A Pencil from an Angel newly caught,  
And Colours in the Morning's bosom sought,  
Would make no Picture, if by you not wrought.   

5.  
But done by you it does no more admit  
Of an Encomium from the highest Wit,  
Then that another hand should equal it.   

6.  
Yet whilst you with creating power vie,  
Command the very spirit of the Eye,  
And then reward it with Eternity.   

7.  
Whilst your each touch does Life and Air convey,  
Fetch the Soul out, like overcoming Day,  
And I my friend repeated here Survey.   

8.  
I by a Passive way may do you right,  
Wearing in that what none could ere indite,  
Your Panegyric, and my own delight.    

Parting with a Friend.  

1.  
WHoever thinks that Joys below,  
Can lasting be and great,  
Let him behold this parting blow,  
And cure his own deceit.   

2.  
Alas! how soon are pleasures done  
Where Fortune has a Power?  
How like to the declining Sun,  
Or to the Withered Flower.   

3.  
A thousand unconcerned Eyes  
She'll suffer us to see,  
But of those we chief prise,  
We must deprived be.   

4.  
But we may conquer if we will,  
The wanton Tyrant teach,  
That we have something left us still  
Which grows not in her reach.   

5.  
That unseen string which fastens Hearts,  
Nor time, nor chance e'er tied,  
Nor can it be in either's Arts  
Their unions to divide.   

6.  
Where sympathy does Love convey,  
It braves all other Powers;  
Lucasia, and Rosania, say,  
Has it not form ours?   

7.  
If forty Weeks converse has not  
Been able yet to tie  
Your Souls in that Mysterious Knot,  
How Wretched then am I   

8.  
But if I read in either's Mind,  
As sure I hope I do,  
That each to other is combined,  
Absence will make it true.   

9  
No accident will e'er surprise,  
Or make your kindness start;  
Although you lose each others Eyes,  
You'll faster keep the Heart.   

10.  
Letters as kind as Turtle-Doves,  
And undisguised as thought,  
Will entertain those fervent Loves  
Which have each other bought.   

11.  
Till Fortune vexed with the sight  
Of Faith so free from stain,  
Shall then grow weary of her spite,  
And let you meet again.   

12.  
Wherein may you that Rapture find,  
That sister Cher●ls have,  
When I am in my Rocks confined,  
Or sealed up in my Grave.    

To my dearest Friend, upon her shunning Grandeur.  
SHine out rich Soul! to greatness be,  
What it can never be to thee,  
An ornament; thou canst restore  
The lustre which it had before  
These ruins, own it and 'twill live,  
Thy favour's more than Kings can give.  
Hast more above all titles than  
The bearers are above common men;  
And so heroic art within,  
Thou must descend to be a Queen.  
Yet honour may convenient prove,  
By giving thy Soul room to move:  
Affording scene unto that mind,  
Which is too great to be confined.  
Wert thou with single virtue stored,  
To be approved, but not adored;  
Thou mightst retire, but who e'er meant  
A Palace for a Tenement?  
Heaven has so built thee, that we find  
Thee buried when thou art confined:  
If thou in privacy wouldst live,  
Yet lustre to thy virtues give;  
To stifle them for want of air,  
Injurious is to Heaven's care.  
If thou wilt be immured, where  
Shall thy obliging soul appear?  
Where shall thy generous prudence be,  
And where thy magnanimity?  
Nay thy own Darling thou dost hid,  
Thy self-denial is denied;  
For he that never greatness tries,  
Can never safely it despife.  
That Antoninus writ well, when  
He held a Sceptre and Pen:  
Less credit Solomon does bring  
As a Philosopher than King;  
So much advantage flows from hence,  
To write by our Experience.  
Diogenes I must suspect  
Of envy, more than wise neglect,  
When he his Prince so ill did treat,  
And so much spurned at the great:  
A censure is not clear from those  
Whom Fate subjects, or does depose;  
Nor can we greatness understand  
From an oppressed or fallen hand:  
But 'tis some Prince must that define,  
Or one that freely did resign.  
A great Almanzor teaches thus,  
Or else a Dionysius.  
For to know Grandeur we must live  
In that, and not in perspective;  
Vouchsafe the trial then, that thou  
May'st safely wield, yet disallow  
The World's temptations, and be still  
Above whatever would thee fill.  
Convince mankind, there's somewhat more  
Great than the titles they adore:  
Stand near them, and 'twill soon be known  
Thou hast more splendour of thy own;  
Yield to the wanting Age, and be  
Channel of true Nobility:  
For from thy Womb such Heros need must rise,  
Who Honours will deserve, and can despise.   

To Pastora being with her Friend.  

1.  
WHile you the double joy obtain  
Of what you give, and what you gain:  
Friendship who owes you so much Fame,  
Commands my Tribute to your Name.   

2.  
Friendship that was almost forlorn,  
Sunk under every Critics scorn;  
But that your genius her protects,  
Had fled the World, at least the Sex.   

3.  
You have restored them and us,  
Whence both are happy; Caesar thus  
Owed Rome the glories of his Reign,  
And Rome owed him as much again.   

4.  
You in your friend those Joys have found  
Which all Relations can propound;  
What Nature does 'mong them disperse,  
You multiply in her Converse.   

5.  
You her Enjoyment have pursued  
In Company, and Solitude;  
And wheresoever she'll retire,  
There's the Diversion you desire.   

6.  
Your Joys by this are more immense,  
And heat contracted grows intense;  
And friendship to be such to you,  
Will make these Pleasures, Honours too.   

7.  
Be to each other that Content,  
As to your Sex y'are Ornament;  
And may your hearts by mixture lost,  
Be still each others Bliss and Boast.   

8.  
Impossible your Parting be  
As that you e'er should disagree;  
And then even Death your friend will prove,  
And both at once (though late) remove.   

9  
But that you may severely live,  
You must th' offending World forgive,  
And to employ your Charity,  
You have an Object now in me.   

10.  
My Pen so much for you unfit  
Presents my Heart, though not my Wit;  
Which Heart admires what you express,  
More than what Monarches do possess.   

11.  
Fear not infection from my Fate,  
Though I must be unfortunate,  
For having paid my Vows due, I  
Shall soon withdraw, whither and die.    

To my Lord and Lady Dungannon on their Marriage 11. May 1662.  
TO you, who, in yourselves, do comprehend  
All you can wish, and all we can commend;  
Whom worth does guide and destiny obey,  
What Offerings can the useless Muses pay?  
Each must at once suspend her charming Lyre,  
Till she hath learned from you what to inspire:  
Well may they wonder to observe a Knot,  
So curiously by Love and Fortune wrought,  
To which propitious Heaven did decree,  
All things on earth should tributary be;  
By gentle, sure, but unperceived degrees,  
As the Sun's motion, or the growth of Trees,  
Does Providence our wills to hers incline,  
And makes all accidents serve her design:  
Her Pencil (Sir) within your breast did draw  
The Picture of a Face you never saw,  
With touches, which so sweet were and so true,  
By them alone th' original you knew;  
And at that sight with satisfaction yield  
Your freedom which till then maintained the field.  
'Twas by the same mysterious power too,  
That she has been so long reserved for you;  
Whose noble passion, with submissive art,  
Disarmed her scruples, and subdued her heart.  
And now that at the last your Souls are tied,  
Whom floods nor difficulties could divide,  
Even you that beauteous Union may admire,  
Which was at once Heaven's care, and your desire.  
You are so happy in each others love,  
And in assured protection from above,  
That we no wish can add unto your bliss,  
But that it should continue as it is.  
O! may it so, and may the wheel of Fate  
In you no more change than she feels, create;  
And may you still your happinesses find,  
Not on your Fortune growing, but your mind,  
Whereby the shafts of Chance as vain will prove,  
As all things else did that opposed your Love.  
Be kind and happy to that great degree,  
As may instruct latest Posterity,  
From so revered a Precedent to frame  
Rules to their duty, to their wishes aim.  
May the vast Sea for your sake quit his pride,  
And grow so smooth, while on his breast you ride,  
As may not only bring you to your Port,  
But show how all things do your virtue's court.  
May every object give you new delight,  
May time forget his Sith, and Fate his Spite;  
And may you never other sorrow know,  
But what your pity feels for others woe;  
May your compassion be like that Divine,  
Which relieves all on whom it does but shine,  
Whilst you produce a Race that may inherit  
All your great stock of Beauty, Fame, and Merit.   

To his Grace Gilbert Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, July 10. 1664.  
THat private shade, wherein my Muse was bred,  
She always hoped might hid her humble head;  
Believing the retirement she had chose  
Might yield her, if not pardon, yet repose;  
Nor other repetitions did expect,  
Than what our Echoes from the Rocks reflect.  
But hurried from her Cave with wild affright,  
And dragged maliciously into the Light.  
(Which makes her like the Hebrew Virgin mourn  
When from her face her Vall was rudely torn)  
To you (my Lord) she now for succour calls,  
And at your feet, with just Confusion falls.  
But she will thank the wrong deserved her Hate,  
If it procure her that anspicious Fate,  
That the same wing may over her be cast,  
Where the best Church of all the World is placed,  
And under which, when she is once retired,  
She really may come to be inspired.  
And by the Wonders which she there shall view,  
May raise herself to such a Theme as you,  
Who were preserved to Govern and Restore  
That Church whose Confessor you were before;  
And show by your unwearyed present Care,  
Your sufferings are not ended, though hers are:  
For whilst your Crosier her defence secures,  
You purchase her Rest with the Loss of yours,  
And Heaven who first refined your worth, and then,  
Gave it so large and eminent a Scene,  
Hath paid you what was many ways your due,  
And done itself a greater Right than you.  
For after such a rough and tedious Storm  
Had torn the Church, and done her so much harm;  
And (though at length rebuked, yet) left behind  
Such angry relics, in the Wave and Wind;  
No Pilot could, whose skill and Faith were less,  
Manage the shattered Vessel with Success.  
The Piety of the Apostles Times,  
And Courage to resist this Ages Crimes;  
Majestic sweetness, tempered and refined,  
In a Polite, and Comprehensive Mind,  
Were all required her Ruins to repair,  
And all united in her Primate are.  
In your aspect so Candid and Serene,  
The Conscience of such Virtue may be seen,  
As makes the sullen Schismatic consent,  
A Churchman may be Great and Innocent.  
This shall those men reproach, if not reduce,  
And take away their fault or their excuse,  
Whilst in your Life and Government appear  
All that the Pious wish and Factious fear.  
Since the prevailing Cross her Ensigns spread,  
And Pagan Gods from Christian Bishops fled,  
Times curious Eye till now hath never spied  
The Church's Helm so happily supplied.  
Merit and Providence so fitly met,  
The Worthiest Prelate in the highest Seat.  
If Noble things can Noble Thoughts infuse,  
Your Life (my Lord) may, even in me, produce  
Such Raptures, that of their rich Fury proud,  
I may, perhaps, dare to proclaim aloud;  
Assured, the World that ardour will excuse,  
Applaud the Subject, and forgive the Muse.    

Translations.  BY K. PHILIPS. 


La Solitude de St. Amant.  

1.  
O! que j'aime la Solitude,  
Que ces lieux sacrez à la nuict,  
Eloignez du monde & de bruit,  
Plaisent a mon inquietude.  
Mon Dieu! que mes yeux sent contens,  
De voir ces Bois, qui se trouverent  
A la nativité du Temps,  
Et que tous les Siecles reverent,  
Estre encore aussi beaux & vers,  
Qu'aux premiers jours de l'Vnivers.   

2.  
Vn gay Zephir les caresse,  
D'un movement doux & flatteur,  
Rien que leur extreme hauteur,  
Ne fait remarquer leur vieillesse.  
Jadi Pan, & ses demi-dieux  
Y vindrent chercher du refuge,  
Quand Jupiter ouvrit les Cieux  
Pour nous envoyer le deluge,  
Et se sauvans sur leurs Rameaux,  
A p●eine virent ils les Eaux.   

3.  
Que sur cette Espine fleurie,  
Dont le printemps est amoureux,  
Philomele au chant langoureux,  
Entretient bien ma resverie.  
Que je prens plaisir a voir  
Ces Monts pendans en precipices,  
Qui pour les coups de desespoir,  
Sont aux Malheureux se propices,  
Quand la cruauté de leur sort  
Les force a rechercher la Mort.   

4.  
Que je trouve doux la ravage  
De ces fiers torrens vagabonds,  
Qui se precipitent par bonds,  
Dans ce valon vert & sauvage;  
Puis glissans sous les Arbrisseaux  
Ainsi que des Serpens sur l'herbe,  
Se changeant en plaisans ruisseaux,  
Ou quelque Nayade superbe  
Regne comme en son lict natal,  
Dessus un Throsne de Christal.   

5.  
Que j' aime ces Marests paisibles,  
Il est tout bordé déliziers,  
D'Aulnes, de Saules, & d'Osiers,  
A qui le fer n'est point nuisible.  
Les Nimphes y cherchent le frais,  
S'y viennent fournir de quenouvilles,  
De pipeaux, de Ionce, & de glais,  
Ou l'on voit sauter les grenouilles,  
Qui de frayeur s'y vont cacher,  
Si tost qu'on veut s'en approcher.   

6.  
Là cent mille oyseaux aquatiques,  
Vivent sans craindre en leur repos,  
Le Giboyeur fin & dispos,  
Avec ses mortelles pratiques.  
L'untout joyeux, d'un si beau jour,  
S'amuse a becquetter sa Plume,  
L'autre allentit le feu d'amour,  
Qui dans l'eau mesme & consume,  
Et prennent tous innocemment  
Leur plaisir en cet Element.   

7.  
jamais l'Este, ny la froidure,  
N'ont reu passer dessus cette Eau,  
Nulle charette, ny batteau  
Depuis qui l'on, & l'autre dure:  
jamais voyageur alterē,  
N'y fit servir sa main de tasse,  
jamais cheureuil desesperé  
N'y finit sa vie à la chasse:  
Et jamais le Traisore hamecon  
N'en fit sortir aucun poisson.   

8.  
Que j'aime a voir la decadence  
De ces vieux chasteaux ruinez,  
Contre qui les uns Mutinez  
Out deployez leur insolence,  
Les Sorciers y font leur Sabat,  
Les Demons follets s'y retirent,  
Qui d'un malicieux etat,  
Trompent nos sens, & nos martirent;  
La se nichent en mille troux  
Les Coulevures & les Hyboux.   

9.  
L'Orfrage avec ses cris functres,  
Mortelles angures des destins.  
Fait rire & dancer les lutins,  
Dans ces lieux remplis de benetres,  
●ous un cheuron de bois maudit  
Y branle le squelette horrible,  
D'un pavure amant qui se pendit,  
Pour une Bergere insencible,  
Qui d'un seul regard de pitie,  
Ne daigna voir son amitié.   

10.  
Aussi le Ciel juge equitable,  
Qui maintient les loix en vigueur,  
Prononcae contre sa rigueur  
Vne sentence epouventable.  
Autour de ces vieux ossemens  
Son ombre aux peines condamnée,  
Lamente en long gemissemens  
Sa malheureuse destinée,  
Ayant pour croistre son affroy,  
Tous jours son crime devant soy.   

11.  
Là se trouvent sur quelques mastres,  
Des devises du temps passée,  
Icy l'a age a presque effacé  
Des chiffres taillez sur les astres.  
La plancher du lieu le plus haut,  
Est tombe jus que dans la Care,  
Que la limace, & la crapout  
Sonillent de venin & de bare,  
La lierre y croist au foyer,  
A l'ombrage d'un grand Noyer.   

12.  
La dessus s'estend une voute,  
Si sombre en un certain endroit,  
Que quand Phoebus y descendroit,  
je pense qu'il n'y verroit goute.  
Le sonimeil aux pesans sourcis,  
Enchante d'un mome silence,  
Y doit bien loin de tous soucis,  
Dans les bras de la nonchalance,  
Laschement conché sur le dos,  
Dessus des gertes de pavots.   

13.  
An crenx de cette grotte fresche,  
Où l'amour se pourroit geler,  
Eccho ne cesse de brasler  
Pour son Amant, froid, & revesche.  
je m'y coule sans faire bruit,  
Et par la celeste harmonie  
D'un doux Lut, aux charmes instruit,  
je flatte sa triste manie,  
Faisant repeter mes accords,  
A la voix qui luy sert de corps.   

14.  
Tantost sortant de ces ruines,  
je monte au haut de ce rocher,  
Dont le sommet semble chercher  
En quel lieu se font les bruines:  
Pais je descends tout a loisir  
Sous un falaize escarpée,  
D'ou je regarde avec plaisir  
L'onde qui l'a presque sappée  
Iusqu'aux seige de Palemon,  
Fait d'esponges & de Limon.   

15.  
Que c'est une chose agreable  
D'estre sur le bord de la Mer,  
Quand elle vient a se calmer,  
Apres quelque orage affroyable;  
Et que les chevelas Tritons,  
Haut sur les vagues secouées,  
Trapent les airs d'estranges tons,  
Avec leurs trompes enrovez,  
D'ont l'eclat rend respectueux  
Le vents les plus impetueux.   

16.  
Tantost brovillant l'arene  
Murmure & fremit de courroux,  
Se roullant dessous les Cailloux,  
Qu'elle apporte & qu'elle r'entraine:  
Tantost elle estale en ses bords  
Que l'ire de Neptune outrage,  
Des gens noyez, des monstres morts,  
Des vaisseaux brisez du nausrage,  
Des Diamans, de l'ambre Grissel,  
Et mille autres choses de prix.   

17.  
Tantost la plus clarre du Monde,  
Elle semble un miroir flottant,  
Et nous represente a l'instant  
Encore d'autres Cieux sous l'onde,  
Le soleil s'y fait si bien voir,  
Y contemplant son beau visage,  
Qu'on est quelques temps a scavoir  
Sic'est luy mesme ou son image,  
Et d'abord il semble a nos yeux,  
Qu'il se laisse tomber des cieux.   

18.  
Bernieres pour qui je me vante,  
De ne rien faire que de beau,  
Recoive ce fantasque tableau  
Fait d'une peinture vivante:  
je ne cherche que les desers,  
Ou resvant tout seul je m'amuse,  
A des discours assez disers,  
De mon Genie avec la Muse,  
Mais mon plus aimable entretien,  
C'est le ressouvenir du tien.   

19.  
Tu vois dans cette Poesie,  
Pleine de licence & d'ardeur,  
Les beaux rayons de la splendeur  
Qui m'esclaire la Fantasie.  
Tantost chagrin, tantost joyeux,  
Selon que la fureur m'enflame,  
Et que l'object s'offre a mes yeux,  
Les propos me naissent en l'ame,  
Sans contraindre la liberté  
Du Demon, qui m'a transporté.   

20.  
O! que j'aime la Solitude,  
C'est l'Element des bons esprits,  
C'est par elle que j'ay compris,  
L'art d'Apollon sans nulle estude:  
je l'aime pour l'amour de toy  
Connoissant que ton humeur l'aime,  
Mais quand je pense bien a moy,  
je la hay pour la raison mesme,  
Car elle pourroit me ravir  
L'heur de te voir, & de te servir.    

Englished.  

1.  
O! Solitude my sweetest choice,  
Places devoted to the night,  
Remote from tumult, and from noise,  
How you my restless thoughts delight!  
O Heavens! what content is mine  
To see those Trees which have appeared  
From the nativity of Time,  
And which all Ages have revered,  
To look to day as fresh and green  
As when their beauties first were seen!   

2.  
A cheerful wind does court them so,  
And with such amorous breath enfold,  
That we by nothing else can know,  
But by their height that they are old.  
Hither the demigods did fly  
To seek a Sanctuary, when  
Displeased Jove once pierced the sky,  
To pour a deluge upon men,  
And on these boughs themselves did save,  
Whence they could hardly see a wave.   

3.  
Sad Philomela upon this Thorn,  
So curiously by Flora dressed,  
In melting notes, her case forlorn,  
To entertain me, hath confessed.  
O! how agreeable a sight  
These hanging Mountains do appear,  
Which the unhappy would invite  
To finish all their sorrows here,  
When their hard fate makes them endure  
Such woes, as only death can cure.   

4.  
What pretty desolations make  
These torrents vagabond and fierce,  
Who in vast leaps their springs forsake,  
This solitary vale to pierce.  
Then sliding just as Serpents do  
Under the foot of every Tree,  
Themselves are changed to Rivers too,  
Wherein some stately Nayade,  
As in her native bed, is grown  
A Queen upon a Crystal throne.   

5.  
This Fen beset with River-Plants,  
(O! how it does my senses charm!)  
Nor Elders, Reeds, nor Willows want,  
Which the sharp Steel did never harm.  
Here Nymphs which come to take the air,  
May with such Distaffs furnished be,  
As Flags and Rushes can prepare,  
Where we the nimble Frogs may see.  
Who frighted to retreat do fly,  
If an approaching man they spy.   

6.  
Here Waterfowl repose enjoy,  
Without the interrupting care,  
Lest Fortune should their bliss destrby  
By the malicious Fowler's Snare.  
Some ravished with so bright a day,  
their Feathers finely prune and deck,  
Others their amorous heats allay,  
Which yet the waters could not check,  
All take their innocent content  
In this their lovely Element.   

7.  
Summer's, nor Winter's bold approach,  
This Stream did never entertain,  
Nor ever felt a Boat or Coach  
Whilst either season did remain.  
No thirsty Traveller came near,  
And rudely made his hand his cup,  
Nor any hunted Hind hath here  
Her hopeless life resigned up,  
Nor ever did the treacherous Hook  
Intrude to empty any Brook.   

8.  
What beauty is there in the sight  
Of these old ruin'd Castle walls,  
On which the utmost rage and spite  
Of times worst insurrection falls.  
The Witches keep their Sabbath here,  
And wanton Devils make retreat,  
Who in malicious sport appear,  
Our sense both to afflict and cheat,  
And here within a thousand holes  
Are nests of Adders and of Owls.   

9  
The Raven with his dismal cries,  
That mortal augury of Fate,  
Those ghastly Goblins gratifies,  
Which in these gloomy places wait.  
On a cursed Tree the wind does move  
A Carcase which did once belong  
To one that hanged himself for love  
Of a fair Nymph that did him wrong,  
Who though she saw his love and truth,  
With one look would not save the Youth.   

10.  
But Heaven which judges equally,  
And its own Laws will still maintain,  
Rewarded soon her cruelty  
With a deserved and mighty pain:  
About this squalid heap of bones,  
Her wand'ring & condemned shade,  
Laments in long and piercing groans  
The destiny her rigour made,  
And the more to augment her fright  
Her crime is ever in her sight.   

11.  
There upon Antique Marbles traced,  
Devices of past times we see,  
Here age hath almost quite defaced  
What Lovers carved on every Tree.  
The Cellar, here, the highest Room,  
Receives when its old rafters fail,  
Soiled with the venom and the foam  
Of the Spider and the Snail:  
And th' Ivy in the Chimney we  
Find shaded by a Walnut Tree.   

12.  
Below there does a Cave extend,  
Wherein there is so dark a Grot,  
That should the Sun himself descend,  
I think he could not see a jot.  
Here sleep within a heavy lid  
In quiet sadness locks up sense,  
And every care he does forbid,  
Whilst in the arms of negligence,  
Lazily on his back he's spread,  
And sheaves of Poppy are his Bed.   

13.  
Within this cool and hollow Cave,  
Where Love itself might turn to Ice,  
Poor Echo ceases not to rave  
On her Narcissus wild and nice:  
Hither I softly steal a thought,  
And by the softer Music made  
With a sweet Lute in charms well taught,  
Sometimes I flatter her sad shade,  
Whilst of my Chords I make such choice,  
They ferve as body to her voice.   

14.  
When from these ruins I retire,  
This horrid Rock I do invade,  
Whose lofty brow seems to inquire  
Of what materials mists are made:  
From thence descending leisurely  
Under the brow of this steep hill,  
It with great pleasure I descry  
By Waters undermined, until  
They to Palaemon's seat did climb,  
Composed of Sponges and of Slime.   

15.  
How highly is the fancy pleased  
To be upon the Ocean's shore,  
When she gins to be appeased,  
And her fierce billows cease to roar!  
And when the hairy Tritons are  
Riding upon the shaken wave,  
With what strange sounds they strike the air  
Of their Trumpets hoarse and brave,  
Whose shrill report, does every wind  
Unto his due submission bind!   

16.  
Sometimes the Sea dispels the Sand,  
Trembling and murmuring in the Bay,  
And rowles itself upon the shells  
Which it both brings and takes away.  
Sometimes exposes on the strand,  
Th' effects of Neptune's rage and scorn,  
Drowned Men, dead Monsters cast on Land,  
And Ships that were in Tempests torn,  
With Diamonds and Ambergris,  
And many more such things as these.   

17.  
Sometimes so sweetly she does smile,  
A floating mirror she might be,  
And you would fancy all that while  
New Heavens in her face to see:  
The Sun himself is drawn so well,  
When there he would his Picture view,  
That our eye can hardly tell  
Which is the false Sun, which the true;  
And lest we give our sense the lie,  
We think he's fallen from the sky.   

18.  
Bernieres! for whose beloved sake  
My thoughts are at a noble strife,  
This my fantastic Landscape take,  
Which I have copied from the Life.  
I only seek the Deserts rough,  
Where all alone I love to walk,  
And with discourse refined enough,  
My Genius and the Muses talk;  
But the converse most truly mine,  
Is the dear memory of thine.   

19  
Thou may'st in this Poem find,  
So full of liberty and heat,  
What illustrious rays have shined  
To enlighten my conceit:  
Sometimes pensive, sometimes gay,  
Just as that fury does control,  
And as the object I survey,  
The notions grow up in my Soul,  
And are as unconcerned and free  
As the flame which transported me.   

20.  
O! how I Solitude adore,  
That Element of noblest wit,  
Where I have learned Apollo's lore,  
Without the pains to study it:  
For thy sake I in love am grown  
With what thy fancy does pursue;  
But when I think upon my own,  
I hate it for that reason too,  
Because it needs must hinder me  
From seeing, and from serving thee.     

Tendres defers out of a French prose.  
GO soft desires, Love's gentle Progeny,  
And on the Heart of charming Sylvia seize,  
Then quickly back again return to me,  
Since that's the only cure for my disease;  
But if you miss her breast whom I adore,  
Then take your flight, and visit mine no more.   

Amanti ch' in pianti etc.  

Lover's who in complaints yourselves consume,  
And to be happy once perhaps presume;  
Your Love and hopes, alike are vain,  
Nor will they ever cure your pain.  
They that in Love would joy attain,  
Their passion to their power must frame;  
Let them enjoy what they can gain,  
And never higher aim.   

Complaints and Sorrows, from me now departed,  
You think to soften an ungentle Heart,  
When it not only wards such blows,  
But from your sufferance prouder grows.  
They that in Love would joy etc.    

A Pastoral of Mons. de Scudery 's in the first volume of Almahide, Englished.  

SLothful deceiver, come away,  
With me again the fields survey;  
And sleep no more, unless it be  
My Fortune thou shouldst dream of me.   

The Sky, from which the Night is fled,  
Is painted with a matchless Red,  
'Tis day; the morning greets my Eyes:  
Thou art my Sun, wilt thou not rise.?   

Now the black Shadows of the Night  
From Heaven and Earth, are put to Flight:  
Come and dispel each lingering shade,  
With that Light which thy Eyes have made.   

That Planet, which so like thee seems,  
In his long and piercing beams,  
At once illuminates and Guilds,  
All these valleys, and these Fields.   

The Winds do rather sigh than blow,  
And Rivers murmur as they go,  
And all things seem to thee to say,  
Rise Fair one, 'tis a Lovely Day.   

Come and the liquid Pearls descry,  
Which glittering 'mong the flowers lie;  
Day finds them wet, when it appears,  
And 'tis too often with my Tears.   

Harken, and thou wilt much approve  
The Warbling Consort of this Grove;  
Complete the pleasure of our Ears,  
Mixing thy harmony with theirs.   

Feathered Musician step aside,  
Thyself within these bushes hid,  
While my Aminta's Voice affords  
Her charming Notes to  my words.   

Hasten to sing them, them my fair,  
And put this proud one to despair,  
Whose Voice, the Base and Trebles part,  
With so marvellous an Art.   

Come Philomela, and now make use  
Of all, thy practice can produce,  
All the harmonious Secrets, thou  
Canst try, will do no service now.   

Thou must to her this Glory give,  
For nothing can thy Fame relieve.  
Then e'er thou dost the Conquest try,  
Choose to be silent here or die.   

Come my Shepherdess, survey  
(While a hundred pipes do play,)  
From every Fold, from every Shed,  
How the Herds and Flocks are fed.   

Hear the pleasing, harmless voice,  
Of thy Lambs, now they rejoice,  
While with their bleating notes are mixed,  
Their pretty bounds, and leaps betwixt.   

See, see, how from the Thatched Rooms  
Of these our artless Cabins, comes  
A Rustic troop of Jolly Swains,  
From every side, unto the Plains.   

Their Sheep-hooks steel, so bright and clear,  
How it shines, both far and near;  
A Bagpipe here, and there a Flute,  
With merrier whistels do dispute.   

Hear thy flocks, which for thee bleat  
In Language Innocent, and sweet;  
See here thy Shepherd who attends 'em,  
And from the Ravenous Wolf defends 'em.   

Thy Melampus, him endears,  
And leaps, and sports, when he appears,  
He complains that thy sloth is such;  
And my poor heart does that as much.   

Among the rest here's a Ram, we  
So white so blithe, so merry see,  
In all our Flocks, there is not one,  
Deserves such praise, as he alone.   

On the grass he butts and leaps,  
Flatters, and then away he skips;  
So gentle, and yet proud is he,  
That surely he hath learned of thee.   

The fairest Garlands we can find,  
Unworthy are, his horns to bind;  
But Flowers that death can never know,  
Are fittest to adorn his Brow.   

He is full of modest shame,  
And as full of amorous flame;  
Astrologers in heaven see,  
A Beast less beautiful than he.   

I have for thee a Sheephook brought,  
On which thy Shepherd hard hath wrought,  
Here he thy character hath traced;  
Is it not neatly interlaced?   

To that a Scrip is tied for thee,  
Which woven is so curiously,  
That the Art does the stuff excel,  
And Gold itself looks not so well.   

Here's in a Cage that he did make,  
All the Birds that he could take.  
How glorious is their slavery,  
If they be not despised by thee!   

A Garland too for thee hath stayed;  
And 'tis of Fairest Flowers made:  
Aurora had this offering kept,  
And for its loss hath newly wept.   

A lovely Fawn he brings along,  
Nimble, as thyself, and young,  
And greater presents he would bring,  
But that a Shepherd is no King.   

Come away my Lovely bliss,  
To such divertisement as this,  
And bring none to these Lovely places,  
But only Venus, and the Graces.   

Whatever company were nigh,  
Would tedious be; when thou art by;  
Venus and Fortune would to me  
Be troublesome, if I had thee.   

She comes! from far, the Lovely Maid  
Is by her shining charms betrayed:  
See how the Flowers sprout up, to meet  
A Noble ruin from her feet.   

How Sprightly, and how Fair is she!  
How much undone then must I be?  
My torment is, I know, severe,  
But who can think on't when she's near?   

My heart leaps up within my breast,  
And sinks again with Joy oppressed;  
But in her sight to yield my breath,  
Would be an acceptable Death.   

Come then, and in this shade, be sure,  
That thy fair Skin shall be secure;  
For else the Sun would wrong, I fear,  
The Colours which do flourish there.   

His Flaming steeds do climb so fast,  
While they to our Horizon haste,  
That by this time his Radiant Coach,  
Does to his highest house approach.   

His fiercer Rays in heat, and length,  
Begin to rob us of our strength;  
Directly on the Earth they dart,  
And all the shadows are grown short.   

This Valley hath a private seat,  
Which is a cool, and moist retreat,  
Where the angry Planet which we spy,  
Can ne'er invade us with his Eye.   

Behold this fresh and florid Grass,  
Where never yet a foot did pass,  
A Carpet spreads for us to sit,  
And to thy Beauty offers it.   

This delicate apartment is  
Roofed o'er with Aged stooping Trees,  
Whose verdant shadow does secure  
This Place a native furniture.   

The Courts of Naiads are such,  
In shades like these, adored so much,  
Where thousand Fountains round about,  
Perpetually gush water out.   

How finely this thick moss doth look,  
Which limits this transparent brook;  
Whose sportful wave does swell, and spread,  
And is on flags and rushes shed!   

Within this liquid Crystal, see  
The cause of all my Misery,  
And judge by that, (fair Murtheress)  
If I could love thy beauty less.   

Thy either Eye does Rays dispense  
Of modesty and Innocence;  
And with thy seriousness, we find  
The gladness of an Infant joined.   

Thy frowns delight, though they torment,  
From thy looks Life and Death is sent;  
And thy whole air does on us throw  
Arrows, which cureless wounds bestow.   

The stature of a Mountain Pine,  
Is crooked, when compared to thine:  
Which does thy sex to envy move,  
As much as it does ours to love.   

From thy dividing lips do fly,  
Those pointed shafts that make us die:  
Nor have our Gardens  a Rose,  
That to thy cheeks we dare oppose.   

When by a happy liberty,  
We may thy lovely bosom see,  
The whitest Curds, nor falling Snow,  
Can any such complexion show.   

Thyme and Majoram, whose scent,  
Of all perfumes, most Innocent,  
Less Fragrancy than thy breath have,  
Which all our senses does enslave.   

Even when thou scornest, thou canst please,  
And make us love our own disease.  
The blushes that our cherrys wear,  
Do hardly to thy lips come near.   

When upon the smother Plains,  
Thou to dance wilt take the pains,  
No Hind, when she employs her feet,  
Is half so graceful, or so fleet.   

Of thy garments fair and white,  
The neatness gives us most delight,  
And I had rather them behold,  
Then clothes embroidered with Gold.   

I nothing in the World can see  
So rare as unadorned thee,  
Who art (as it must be confessed)  
Not by thy clothes, but Beauty dressed.   

Thy Lovely hair thou up hast tied,  
And in an unwrought Veil dost hid;  
In the mean time thy single Face,  
All other beauties does disgrace.   

Yes, yes, thy negligence alone,  
Does more than all their care hath done:  
The Nymphs, in all their pompous dress,  
Do entertain my fancy less.   

A Nosegay all thy Jewel is,  
And all thy Art consists in this;  
And what from this pure Spring does pass  
Is all thy paint, and all thy Glass.   

Adored beauty, here may we  
Ourselves in lovely glasses see:  
Come then, I pray thee, let us look,  
I in thy Eyes, thou in the Brook.   

Within this faithful Mirror see  
The object which hath conquered me,  
Which though the stream does well impart,  
'Tis better formed here in my heart.   

In th' entertainment of thy Mind,  
When 'tis to pensiveness inclined,  
Count if thou canst these Flowers, and thou  
The sum of my desires wilt know.   

Observe these Turtles, kind and true,  
Harken how frequently they woe:  
They faithful Lovers are, and who  
That sees thee, would not be so too?   

Of them my fair Aminta learn,  
At length to grant me thy concern;  
Fellow what thou in them dost see,  
And thou wilt soon be kind to me.   

Those mighty Bulls are worth thy sight,  
Who on the plains so stoutly fight;  
Fiercely each others brow they hit,  
Where Beauty does with anger meet.   

Love is the quarrel they maintain,  
As it was the reason of their pain.  
So would thy faithful Shepherd do,  
If he should meet his Rival too.   

Thy Shepherd, fair, and cruel one,  
In all these Villages is known:  
Such is his Father's herd and flock,  
The Plain is covered with the stock.   

He the convenient'st pastures knows,  
And where the wholesome water flows;  
Knows where the coolest shadows are,  
And well hath learned a Shepherd's care.   

Astrology he studies too,  
As much as Shepherds ought to do;  
Nay Magic nothing hath so dim,  
That can be long concealed from him.   

When any do these Secrets dread,  
He for himself hath this to plead;  
That he by them such herbs can pick,  
As cure his sheep when they are sick.   

He can foresee the coming storm,  
Nor Hail, nor Clouds, can do him harm,  
And from their injuries can keep,  
Safely enough his Lambs and Sheep.   

He knows the season of the year,  
When Shepherds think it fit to shear  
Such inoffensive sheep as these,  
And strip them of their Silver fleece.   

He knows the scorching time of day,  
When he must lead his flock away  
To Valleys which are cool and near,  
To chew the Cud, and rest them there.   

He dares the Fiercest Wolves engage,  
When 'tis their hunger makes them rage;  
The frighted dogs, when they retire,  
He with new courage can inspire.   

He sings and dances passing well,  
And does in wrestling too excel,  
Yes fair Maid, and few that know him,  
But these advantages allow him.   

At our Feast, he gets the Praise,  
For his enchanting Roundelays,  
And on his head have oftenest been  
The Garlands, and the Prizes seen.   

When the Skrip, and Crook he quits,  
And free from all disturbance sits,  
He can make the Bagpipes swell,  
And Oaten Reeds his passion tell.   

When his flame does him excite,  
In amorous songs to do thee right,  
He makes the Verses which he uses,  
And borrows none of other Muses.   

He neglects his own affairs,  
To serve thee with greater cares,  
And many Shepherdesses would  
Deprive thee of him if they could.   

Of Alceste he could tell  
And Silvia's Eye, thou knowst it well.  
But as his modesty is great,  
He blushes if he them repeat.   

When in the Crystal stream he looks,  
If there be any truth in Brooks,  
He finds, thy scorn can never be  
Excused by his deformity.   

His Passion is so high for thee,  
As 'twill admit no new degree.  
Why wilt not thou his love requite,  
Since Kindness gives so much delight?   

Aminta harkened all this while,  
Then with a dexterous, charming smile,  
Against her will, she let him see,  
That she would change his destiny.   

I promise nothing, then said she,  
With an obliging air, and free;  
But I think, if you will try,  
The Wolves are crueler than I   

When my Sheep unhealthy are,  
I have compassion, I have care;  
Nor pains, nor journeys than I grudge,  
By which you may my Nature judge.   

When any of them goes astray,  
All the hamlets near us may  
Perceive me, all in grief and fear,  
Run and search it every where.   

And when I happen once to find;  
The object of my troubled mind,  
As soon as ever it I spy,  
O! how overjoyed am I!   

I flatter her, and I caress,  
And let her ruffle all my dress;  
The vagabond I kindly treat,  
And Mint and Thyme, I make her eat.   

When my Sparrow does me quit,  
My throbbing heart makes after it;  
And nothing can relief afford,  
For my fair inconstant bird.   

When my Dog hath me displeased,  
I am presently appeased;  
And a tear is in my Eye,  
If I have but made him cry.   

I never could a hatred keep,  
But to the Wolf that kills my sheep:  
Gentle and kind, and soft I am,  
And just as harmless as a Lamb.   

Dispel thy fear, cease thy complaint,  
O Shepherd timorous, and faint!  
For I'm a Mistress very good,  
If you'll but serve me as you should.   

Words of a favourable strain,  
(Cried out that now transported swain,)  
Which do in thy Leontius fate,  
So glad and swift a change create.   

But look about, for now I mark  
The fields already growing dark,  
And with those shadows covered all,  
Which from the neighbouring Mountains fall.   

The winged Choir on every tree  
By Carolling melodiously,  
Do the declining Sun pursue,  
With their last homage, and adieu.   

From the next Cottages, I here  
Voices well known unto my Ear,  
They are of our Domestics who  
Do pipe, and hollow for us too.   

The Flocks and Herds do homewards go,  
I hear them hither bleat and low,  
Thy Eyes which mine so much admire,  
Tell me 'tis time we should retire.   

Go then destroying, fair one go,  
Since I perceive it must be so,  
Sleep sweetly all the night, but be,  
At least, so kind to dream of me.    

Translation of Thomas a Kempis into Verse, out of Mons. Corneille's lib. 3. Cap. 2. Englished.  

SPeak, Gracious Lord, thy servant hears,  
For I both am and will be so,  
And in thy pleasant paths will go  
When the Sun shines, or disappears.   

Give me thy Spirit, that I may perceive,  
What by my Soul thou wouldst have done,  
Let me have no desire but one,  
Thy will to practice and believe.   

But yet thy Eloquence disarm,  
And as a whisper to my heart,  
Let it like due plenty impart,  
And like that let it freely charm.   

The Jews feared Thunderbolts would fall,  
And that thy words would Death procure,  
Nor in the Desert could endure  
To hear their Maker speak at all.   

They court Moses to declare thy will,  
And begged to hear no more thy voice,  
They could not stand the dreadful noise,  
Lest it should both surprise and kill.   

Without those terrors, I implore,  
And other favours I entreat,  
With confident, though humble heat,  
I beg what Samuel did of yore.   

Though thou art all that I can dread,  
Thy voice is music to my ears,  
Speak Lord then, for thy Servant hears;  
And will obey what thou hast said.   

I ask no Moses that for thee should speak,  
Nor Prophet to enlighten me,  
They all are taught and sent by thee,  
And 'tis thy voice I only seek.   

Those beams proceed from thee alone,  
Which through their words on us do flow;  
Thou without them canst all bestow  
But they without thee can give none.   

They may repeat the sound of words,  
But not confer their hidden force,  
And without thee, their best discourse,  
Nothing but scorn to men affords.   

Let them thy Miracles impart,  
And vigorously thy will declare;  
Their voice, perhaps, may strike the Ear,  
But it can never move the heart.   

Th' obscure and naked Word they sow,  
But thou dost open our dim Eye,  
And the dead letter to supply,  
The Living Spirit dost bestow.   

Mysterious truth's to us they brought,  
But thou expound'st the Riddle too,  
And thou alone, canst make us do  
All the great things that they have taught   

They may indeed the way direct,  
But thou inablest us to walk;  
I'th' ear alone sticks all they talk,  
But thou dost even the Heart dessect.   

They wash the surface of the mind,  
But all her fruit, thy Goodness claims,  
All that e'er enlightens, or inflames,  
Must be to that alone assigned.     

POMPEY. A Tragedy.  
LONDON, Printed for H. Herringman, and are to be sold at his Shop, at the Blue-anchor in the lower walk of the new Exchange, 1667.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE Countess of Cork.  
Madam,  
AS some untimely Flower, whose bashful head (Ready to drop into her humble Bed)  
Is rescued by the Sun's prevailing Ray,  
To share that Light with which he guilds the Day;  
So this Translation of strict Eyes afraid,  
With conscious blushes, would have sought a shade,  
When your resistless Power did Orders give,  
Thus to recall the timorous Fugitive,  
Which, to your breath, must all her being own,  
Thrive when you smile, and whither if you frown.  
Yet from submission this assurance grows,  
That you'll protect the Person you expose,  
Who more delight from such a shelter draws,  
Than to obtain, or to desire applause,  
And your indulgence, would, much rather, choose,  
Than to be Favourite to every Muse.  
For even they request to wait on you,  
Who can best judge, and best reward them too;  
You, who are more than Poets can invent,  
Of most illustrious and most innocent,  
Under your beams their faint Ideas sink,  
And you more nobly live than they could think.  
In you, the humble, and the brave, are met  
To show what's truly, and what's only great;  
And all the Cliffords Fame in you does shine,  
The greatest Honour of the Noblest Line:  
To whom your debt of splendour you have paid,  
And that (and more) to after times conveyed,  
In such a Race, as must those wonders do,  
That none could act but they, inspire but you.  
But as your Merit does all Praise excel,  
So does your Mercy all injurious zeal;  
And you in that adored advantage live,  
That nothing else is left you to forgive:  
But even your goodness will its self outshine,  
If it can pardon this Address of mine.  
So Altars once did Fire from Heaven enjoy,  
Sent but to kindle what it might destroy.   

The Printer to the Reader.  
I Hope you expect no Eloquence from a Printer, nor Regularity in a Preface, which hath nothing to say to you, but that Pompey being a Translation out of the French of Monsieur Corneille, the Hand that did it is responsible for nothing but the English, and the Songs between the Acts, which were added only to lengthen the Play, and make it fit for the Stage, when those that could not be resisted were resolved to have it acted; and that no abuses of Transcribers (though they were numerous) could have prevailed to send it to the Press, if the Person most concerned had not feared to disobey an excellent Lady, who commanded this publication, more than the severity of the Censorious World.   

The Persons of the Play.  

Julius Caesar.  
Marcus Antonius.  
Lepidus.  
Ptolemy, King of Egypt.  
Cleopatra, His Sister.  
Photinus, His Governor.  
Achillas, His Lieutenant General.  
Septimius, A Roman Tribune in the Egyptian King's Army.  
Achoreus, Cleopatra's Gentleman Usher.  
Charmion, Cleopatra's Maid of Honour.  
Cornelia, Pompey's Widow.  
Philip, Pompey's Freedman.  
Romans and Egyptians.   
The Scene Ptolomy's Palace in Alexandria.   

PROLOGUE For the Theatre at Dublin,  written by the Earl of Roscomon. 

THe mighty Rivals, whose destructive Rage  
Did the whole World in Civil Arms engage:  
Are now agreed, and make it both their Choice,  
To have their Fates determined by your Voice.  
Caesar from none but You, will hear his Doom,  
He hates th' obsequious Flatteries of Rome:  
He scorns, where once he ruled, now to be tried,  
And he hath ruled in all the World beside.  
When he the Thames, the Danube, and the Nile  
Had stained with Blood, Peace flourished in this Isle;  
And you alone may Boast, you never saw  
Caesar till now, and now can give him Law.   

Great Pompey too, comes as a suppliant here,  
But says He cannot now begin to fear.  
He knows your equal Justice, and (to tell  
A Roman Truth) He knows himself too well.  
Success, 'tis true, waited on Caesar's side,  
But Pompey thinks he conquered when he died.  
His Fortune when she proved the most unkind,  
Changed his Condition, but not Cato's Mind.  
Then of what Doubt can Pompey's Cause admit,  
Since here so many Cato's Judging sit?   

But you bright Nymphs, give Caesar leave to woe. 
To the Ladies.   
The greatest Wonder of the World but you.  
And hear a Muse, who has that Hero taught  
To speak as generously, as e'er he fought.  
Whose Eloquence from such a Theme deters  
All Tongues but English, and all Pens but Hers.  
By the just Fates your Sex is doubly blest,  
You Conquered Caesar, and you praise him best.  
And You (Illustrious Sir) receive as due,  
A present Destiny reserved for You. 
To the Lord Lieutenant.   
Rome, France, and England join their Forces here,  
To make a Poem worthy of your Ear.  
Accept it then, and on that Pompey's Brow  
Who gave so many Crowns, bestow one now.    

POMPEY.  

ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Ptolemy, Achillas, Photinus, Septimius. PTOLEMY. 

FAte hath declared herself, and we may see  
Th' Intrigue of the great Rivals Destiny:  
That quarrel which did all the Gods divide,  
Pharsalia hath the Honour to decide.  
Whose Rivers swelling with new bloody Tides  
(Sent thither from so many Parricides)  
The Horror of torn Ensigns, Chariots, Shields,  
Spread in Confusion o'er th' infected Fields;  
Those slaughtered heaps whose shades no rest obtained  
By Nature to their own revenge constrained,  
(Their Putrefactions seeming to revive  
The War, with those that do remain alive,)  
Are dreadful rules by which the Sword thinks fit,  
Pompey to cast, and Caesar to acquit.   

That distressed Leader of the Juster Side,  
Whose wearied Fortune hath all Help denied,  
A terrible Example will create  
To future times, of the Extremes of Fate:  
He flies, whose happy Courage had, till now,  
Confined the Bay to his Victorious Brow:  
He in our Ports chooses his last Retreat;  
And wanting Refuge from a Foe so great,  
His bold Misfortune seeks it in abodes,  
Which from the Titans once preserved the Gods;  
And from so famed a Climate, doth expect  
That it should Earth as well as Heaven protect;  
And lending his Despair a kind Effort,  
It should the staggering Universe support:  
Yes, the World's Fortune Pompey with him brings,  
And hopes a Land whose Fame such Wonder sings,  
A Prop or Tomb might to her Freedom give,  
And Pompey's Fall attend, if not relieve.   

This, Friends, the Subject is of our debate;  
Our Triumphs he, or Ruin will create:  
He hazards me, who did my Father save,  
And does expose that Memphis which he gave:  
We must now hasten, or prevent his Fate,  
His Ruin hinder, or precipitate:  
That is unsafe, and this ignoble is;  
I dread injustice, or unhappiness;  
And angry fortune each way offers me  
Either much danger, or much infamy.  
It is my part of choose, yours to advise  
What you believe to be most safe and wise:  
Pompey's concerned; nay, we the fame shall get,  
Caesar's success to trouble or complete;  
And never Monarch's Fortune did afford  
So great a Subject for a Council Board.   PHOTINUS. 

When things, Sir, are determined by the Sword,  
Justice is nothing but an empty word;  
And he who then Affairs would rightly weigh,  
Must not his Reasons, but his power obey:  
View your own strength, let Pompey be surveyed,  
Whose Fortune Droops, and Valour is betrayed;  
Who not from Caesar only takes his flight,  
But from the Senate's just reproach and sight,  
(Whose greater part were cheaply left a Prey  
To the keen Vultures of Pharsalia)  
He flies lost Rome, and every Roman now;  
Who must to his defeat their Fetters owe.  
He flies those Kings who would chastise his Gild,  
Of all the blood that in this cause was spilt.  
Their Kingdoms now of Men and Money void,  
Their broken Sceptres and their Thrones destroyed,  
As Author of all Woes, abhorred by all,  
He flies the whole World, shattered by his Fall.  
Can you alone resist so many Foes?  
His safety he did in himself Repose:  
He falls, and you may yield without a Blush  
To such a weight as Rome herself does Crush;  
A weight which hath the Universe pressed down,  
And the yet greater Pompey overthrown.  
He that will save, whom Heaven will have wracked,  
By too much Justice may a Gild Contract.  
And a fidelity so indiscreet  
May a short Fame, but long Repentance meet:  
He but a more illustrious wound will have,  
Which will not smart the less for being brave:   

Do not for Egypt Thunderbolts provide,  
But choose with Fortune and the Gods to side.  
Believe not they can an injustice do,  
But where they favour, pay your Homage too.  
Whatever they decree for them declare,  
And think it impious where they frown to spare;  
With Divine Anger, Pompey now beset,  
Comes to involve you too in his Defeat.  
His Head, for which both Gods and Men do call,  
Already shakes, and seeks but where to fall:  
His coming hither an Offence does seem,  
And shows his hatred rather than esteem.  
He would his safety with your ruin buy,  
And can you doubt, if he deserve to die?  
Had he fulfilled what we both wished and thought,  
And a victorious Navy hither brought,  
We then should him a joyful welcome show,  
Who must the gods blame for his usage now.  
I of his Fortune, not of him complain,  
But with regret Act what the Gods Ordain,  
And the same Poniard, once for Caesar meant,  
Shall with a sigh to Pompey's Heart be sent.  
Nor can you at a less rate than his Head  
Secure your own, and shun the storm you dread,  
Let this be thought a Crime, if so it must,  
'Tis not a Statesman's Virtue to be Just.  
When Right and Wrong are in the Balance laid,  
The Interest of Kingdoms is betrayed,  
Extremest Rigour is the Right of Kings,  
When Timorous Equity their Ruin brings,  
Who fears a Crime shall ever be afraid,  
But he'll rule all, who all things dares invade,  
Who dangerous virtue, as disgrace, does shun,  
And to an useful Crime as swiftly run.  
This is my Thought Sir, but Achillas may,  
Or else Septimius choose some other way.  
But this I know, whatever others like,  
They fear no Conqueror, who the conquered strike.   ACHILLAS. 
Photin says true Sir, but though Pompey we  
Devested of his former Grandeur see,  
Yet that Blood Precious does to me appear  
Which the Gods did in Thessaly revere.  
Not that a crime of State should be refrained,  
But 'tis not lawful, till it be constrained:  
And what need is there of such Rigour here?  
Who quits the conquered, needs no Conqueror fear.  
You may be Neuter, as you were before:  
And Caesar may, if him you must adore;  
But though you treat him as a Power Divine,  
This is too great an Offering for his Shrine.  
To Mars himself should this head offered be,  
'Twould fix on yours too black an infamy:  
Let him not be assisted nor destroyed,  
And such a Conduct will all blame avoid.  
You own him much Sir, for Rome, moved by him,  
Helped our last King his Sceptre to redeem,  
But Gratitude and Hospitality,  
In Monarch's Breasts must regulated be,  
Nor can a King Contract so great a debt,  
But that his Subjects claim a greater yet.  
And all Engagements are to Princes void,  
To cancel which, their blood must be employed:  
Consider too, what Pompey did expose,  
When he your Father helped against his Foes:  
By that he made his Power the greater seem,  
And raised his own Fame, by restoring him:  
He did in serving him but language spend;  
But Caesar's Purse appeared the better Friend,  
Had we not Caesar's thousand Talents seen,  
Pompey's Orations had small succours been.  
Let him not then his verbal merits boast,  
For Caesar's Actions have obliged you most.  
But if a benefit to him be due,  
Speak now for him, as he did once for you:  
His kindness safely thus requite you may;  
But here received, he will your Sceptre sway:  
This conquered Roman yet a King will brave,  
And in your own Dominions you enslave.  
Refuse him welcome then, but spare his Head;  
But if't must fall, this arm shall strike him dead:  
I can obey (Sir) and should Jealous grow,  
If any Hand but mine should strike the blow.  SEPTIMIUS. 

Sir, I'm a Roman, and these Hero's know  
Pompey needs aid, and from you seeks it now;  
You are his fate, may his lost hopes revive,  
Banish, or kill, or give him up alive:  
The first would cost you much too dear a rate,  
I'll only then the other three debate.   

His exile draws on you enraged Power,  
And does but half oblige the Conqueror;  
Since to a long suspense you will him leave,  
What fate his future battles shall receive;  
And both on you Revenge, when weary grown  
The Ills, which but for you they had not known.  
To render him to Caesar were the same,  
Who must forgive him to augment his Fame:  
He will a bravery on himself impose,  
And swell in that false mercy he bestows;  
Glad if that way, he Pompey can o'ercome,  
And in the same Act please subjected Rome:  
But whilst you him to this necessitate,  
You'll purchase his, as well as Pompey's hate.   

His danger and dishonour then prevent,  
Both make him great, and keep him innocent;  
Whilst Pompey's Faction you in him destroy,  
Let Caesar, at your cost, the fruit enjoy:  
By this advice, which you'll I hope, allow,  
You'll gain a Friend, and need not fear a Foe;  
But if Achillas unsafe course you choose,  
You neither gain, but both their Friendships lose.   PTOLEMY. 
Let us no more debate what's Just and fit,  
But to the World's vicissitude submit.  
Your Major votes do with my thoughts agree,  
Who in so great a change would active be,  
Rome hath too long made an injurious Claim  
That all men should adore the Roman Name:  
Her lofty Freedom let us now throw down,  
And all her scorn in Pompey's Blood let's drown.  
Cutting the Root by which that Pride does live,  
To the World's Tyrants, let's a Tyrant give;  
Now Fate would chain an Arrogance, so fierce,  
Let's help her to revenge the Universe.  
Rome, thou shalt serve, and Kings which always yet,  
thoust dared with so much insolence to treat,  
Will Caesar now, with less Regret obey,  
Since thou shalt be enslaved as well as they.  
Achillas and Septimius lose no time,  
But make us Deathless by this glorious Crime,  
Of Heaven's Resentment I'll the hazard run,  
Who sent him hither sure to be undone.  ACHILLAS. 
A King's Command must no dispute endure.  PTOLEMY. 
Go then, the Sceptre which I bear, secure;  
For you by this Commission are become  
The Destinies of Egypt and of Rome.   

SCEN. II.  Ptolemy, Photinus. PTOLEMY. 
I am mistaken Photin, or by this  
My Sister will her expectation miss,  
Pompey my Father's Will having secured,  
Her Coronation she believe's assured.  
And she herself the Mistress does esteem,  
Of that divided Sceptre left by him.  
Their Ancient Friendship she depends upon,  
And inwardly already shares my Throne.  
Whence her Ambition is become so vain,  
That from its Ashes it revives again.  PHOTINUS. 
Sir, 'Twas a motive I did not debate,  
And yet which ought to hasten Pompey's Fate.  
He your Pretensions doubtless will decide,  
And by your Father's Will your Claims Divide.  
To which great Trust of Friendship being true,  
You know how much he disobliges you.  
Nor that by this Discourse, I would remove  
The Sacred Cement of a Brother's Love,  
I banish her not from your Heart, but Throne,  
For he Reigns not, that does not Reign alone.  
Divided Empire all wise Kings avoid,  
For Power Communicated is Destroyed;  
And Policy.— But, Sir, she does appear.   

SCEN. III.  Ptolemy, Cleopatra, Photinus. CLEOPATRA. 
Pompey is come (Sir) and can you be here?  PTOLEMY. 
That mighty Warrior I at home attend,  
And him Achillas and Septimius send.  CLEOPATRA. 
What? such Ambassadors as those to him?  PTOLEMY. 
You may go too, if they too little seem:  CLEOPATRA. 
Is your own meeting him, too great a thing?  PTOLEMY. 
I must remember, that I am at King.  CLEOPATRA. 
Can you reflect on that, and yet be slow  
To kiss the hand of him, that made you so?  
And pay you homage to a Man so great?  PTOLEMY. 
Did he that Title in Pharsalia get?  CLEOPATRA. 
Though none did his misfortunes help afford,  
he's still that Pompey who your Crown restored.  PTOLEMY. 
Rather his shade, and but my Father Crowned,  
By whose Ghost, not by me, it should be owned.  
Let him attend his Dust, and be content  
To receive Thanks from his cold Monument.  CLEOPATRA. 
Hath such a Benefit such usage met?  PTOLEMY. 
I both remember it and his Defeat.  CLEOPATRA. 
You, do indeed but with a scornful Pride.  PTOLEMY. 
Time is the Standard by which things are Tried;  
You, that so prise him may his greatness Court,  
But know, He yet may perish in the Port.  CLEOPATRA. 
What, may his Shipwreck in the Port arrive?  
And have you dared his Ruin to contrive.  PTOLEMY. 
I have done only what the Gods inspired,  
And what the safety of my State required.  CLEOPATRA. 
I know but too much, Photin, and his Crew  
Have with their wicked Counsels poisoned you:  
Souls that are but of Nature's Rubbish framed.  PHOTINUS. 
The Council, Madam, will not be disclaimed.  CLEOPATRA. 
'Tis the King, Photin, I discourse with now;  
Stay then, till I descend to talk to you.  PTOLEMY. 
You must a little with her scorn dispense,  
I know her hatred, and your innocence;  
But she's my Sister, give her humour vent.  CLOPATRA. 
Sir, If too late it be not to repent,  
Shake off at length, a Yoke that is so vile.  
And call your Virtue back from her exile:  
That magnanimity so great, and good,  
Which is conveyed to Princes, with their Blood.  PTOLEMY. 
Swelled with a hope in vain by you foreseen,  
You speak to me of Pompey, like a Queen:  
Through your false zeal, flashes of Pride escape;  
And Interest does act in Virtues shape:  
Confess it then, you had been silent still,  
Were it not for the King our Father's Will;  
You know who keep's it?  CLEOPATRA. 

And you shall Know too,  
Virtue alone prompts me to what I do.  
For if I did my own advantage seek,  
I should for Caesar, not for Pompey speak:  
Receive a secret I concealed before,  
And after that, never reproach me more.   

When none that bold Rebellion could withstand,  
Which robbed our Father of his Crown and Land,  
The injured King forsook his Native shore,  
And Rome's great Senate did for Aid Implore.  
With him we went, their pity to engage,  
You very Young; but I was in an Age,  
When Nature had supplied my Eyes with Darts,  
Already Active in subduing hearts.  
Caesar received, or else pretended love,  
And by his Actions, would his Passion prove,  
But since the senate's Pique to him he knew,  
He their loved Pompey, to our party drew.  
Whose high concern for us, on Caesar's score,  
Was the last fruit their Friendship ever bore.  
Of this you do inherit the event,  
But such a Lover not with it content,  
When by th' assistace of so great a Man,  
In our behalf the Roman suffrage ran,  
Resolving further Kindness to impart,  
He gave his Treasure to attend his Heart:  
And from the bounty of his growing flame,  
Those sinews both of War and Power came:  
Those thousand Talents which we own him yet,  
Forced our revolted Egypt to submit.  
On this the King reflecting, when he died  
Betwixt us did his Dignity divide;  
And by his Sovereign Right, on me bestowed  
A part of what, he to my Beauty owed:  
Whilst you, who this great reason never knew,  
Thought that his Favour, which was but my due;  
And Your dread Father, partial dared to call,  
Who gave me half, when yet he owed me all.   PTOLEMY. 
This Story, you with Art enough contrive.  CLEOPATRA. 
I am assured, Caesar will soon arrive.  
And a few hours will such a change effect,  
As your Dark Policy did least expect.  
And show you why I spoke so like a Queen,  
Who the loathed Object of your scorn have been.  
You in the Throne, usurped my equal seat,  
And as a Slave you did your Sister Treat;  
Till I was forced to shun a ruder Fate,  
To stoop and Court your Ministers of State.  
Whose steel or poison, I still feared: but Know  
Pompey or Caesar will secure me now;  
And whatsoever your Sycophants Ordain,  
I now am sure my Sceptre to obtain:  
Till when my Pride shall leave you, to divine  
In this Contest, what could be my design.  Ptolemy, Photin. PTOLEMY. 
What think you Photin, of this lofty Mind?  PHOTIN. 
My spirit, Sir, to wonder is resigned,  
And nothing but amazement can express;  
At such a secret as I ne'er could guests,  
My thoughts are so unquiet and confused,  
I scarce know what expedient should be used.  PTOLEMY. 
Shall we save Pompey?  PHOTIN. 
Had you that decreed,  
Yet it were now convenient he should bleed.  
Your Sister hates you, she is fair and fierce,  
And if she such Victorious Charms disperse;  
The head of Pompey only can suffice  
To win the heart of Caesar from her Eyes.  PTOLEMY. 
This dangerous Woman hath a busy wit.  PHOTIN. 
But such a service will out-ballance it.  PTOLEMY. 
But what if Caesar still her Power obey?  PHOTIN. 
Then flatter her, yet mind not what I say,  
Till first you ask, in an affair so Nice,  
Achillas and Septimius best advice.  PTOLEMY. 
Let's from the Tower see them act Pompey's doom,  
And this Debate at their return, resume.  After the first Act of Pompey, the King and Photin should be discovered, sitting and harkening to this SONG. 

SInce affairs of the State, are already decreed,  
Make room for Affairs of the Court,  
Employment and Pleasure each other succeed,  
Because they each other support.  
Were Princes confined  
From slackening their Mind,  
When by Care it is ruffled and Curled.  
A Crown would appear  
Too heavy to wear  
And no Man would govern the World.   

If the Gods themselves who have power enough,  
In diversions are various, and oft  
Since the business of Kings is angry and rough,  
Their Intervals ought to be soft.  
Were Princes confined, etc.  
To our Monarch we own, whatsoever we enjoy:  
And no grateful Subjects were those,  
Who would not the safety, he gives them, employ  
To contribute to his repose.  
Were Princes confined, etc.   After which an Antic dance of Gypsies is presented.   

Act. II.  

SCEN. I.  Cleopatera, Charmion. CLEOPATRA. 
I Love him, but a Flame so much refined,  
How bright soever, dazzles not my mind:  
For Virtue makes my inclination know,  
What Caesar's Mistress does to Pompey own:  
And none dares own a passion so sublime,  
But she that scorns the shadow of a crime.  
I should but small Respect to Caesar pay,  
To seek his liove in an unhandsome way.  CHARMION. 
Can you love Caesar, Madam, and advise  
That Egypt should in Arms against him rise?  
That they should Pompey against him Protect,  
And his Pharsalian Triumphs should be checked,  
Sure Love in you does lttle Empire show,  CLEOPATRA. 
This to their high extraction Princes own,  
That by th' Assistance, of their Royal Blood,  
Their Passions are more easily subdued.  
Their honour still the Victory will have,  
And whilst they trust themselves, they still are brave.  
All the Disorders, which in Kings we see,  
To others Counsels must imputed be.  
This I the cause of Pompey's ruin Deem;  
The King would help, but Photin murders him.  
Whose Coucel hath his Master's faith o'erthrown,  
Which still had swayed, had he observed his own.  CHARMION. 
You then who Caesar love, and yet oppose.  CLEOPATRA. 
The Love I cherish no dishonour knows,  
But worthy him.  CHARMION. 
Are you of his secured?  CLEOPATRA. 
I think I am.  CHARMION. 
But are you well assured?  CLEOPATRA. 
Know that a Princess by her glory moved,  
No Love confesses till she be beloved.  
Nor the most noble passion ever shows,  
When it shall her to a Contempt expose.  
At Rome, I first did Caesar's Heart invade,  
Where he the first expression of it made;  
And ever since, he did to me renew,  
The Tribute of his Vows and Laurel too.  
He marched through Italy, through Gaul and Spain,  
With Love in's Breast, and fortune in his Train:  
Nor did he ever make so brave a Price,  
But he paid Homage for it to these Eyes.  
With the same hand, which did that weapon quit  
Wi'th ' Blood of Pompey's party reeking yet,  
He writ complaints, and put my fetters on,  
Even in the Field, which he had newly won.  
Yes from Pharsalia his submissions came,  
And if his speed be equal to his flame,  
Or rather, if the Sea be friend his Fleet,  
Egypt shall see him shortly at my feet.  
He comes my Charmion, and from me alone,  
Seeks the reward of all that he hath done.  
And all his glory to my Shrine he brings,  
With the same hand that gives the law to Kings,  
So that even in his Triumphs, my disdain  
Can make the Man, that rules the World complain.  CHARMION. 
Yet I dare swear, your charms a power enjoy,  
Which though they boast of, they will ne'er employ.  
And the great Caesar shall no trouble know,  
If it can only from your rigour grow.  
But what can you expect from Caesar's flames,  
Wherein such right another Woman claims,  
His freedom he by marriage hath resigned,  
And only to Calphurnia is confined.  CLEOPATRA. 
But a Divorce, at Rome so common now,  
May remove her, and my desires allow:  
Caesar's Experience him to that may lead,  
Since 'twas Calphurnia's passage to his bed.  CHARMION. 
But the same way may you at length remove.  CLEOPATRA. 
Perhaps I better shall secure his love,  
Perhaps my passion may find out an Art  
Better to manage that illustrious Heart.  
But let's to Heaven leave what may arrive,  
And this Alliance (if we can) contrive.  
Were it but one day, 'twere enough for me,  
One day, the Mistress of the World to be.  
I have Ambition, and be't good or ill,  
It is the only Sovereign of my Will.  
And 'tis this noble passion sure, or none,  
A Princess may without a blemish own.  
But yet with Glory I would it inflame,  
Nor would buy Greatness with the loss of Fame,  
For I the brightest Crown can scorn to touch,  
When 'tis attended with the least Reproach.  
Wonder not then, that I so much pursue  
Pompey's defence, and would my Duty do.  
His injured virtue, since I cannot right,  
My secret wishes must invoke his flight:  
That some kind storm may so his Ships disperse,  
As may preserve him from his Murderers.  
But faithful Achoreus comes, and he  
Will quickly tell us Pompey's Destiny.   

SCEN. II.  Cleopatra, Charmion, Achoreus. CLEOPATRA. 
What, is it done, and hath some Treacherous hand  
With that Rich blood stained our unhappy strand?  ACHOREUS. 

By your commands, I to the shore did run,  
And saw this Treason in its horror done:  
I saw the greatest Mortal lose his breath,  
And though a sad, I saw a glorious death.  
And since a story you require from me,  
So much his Honour, and our Infamy:  
Hear now his Fate, and wonder and bewail,   

His three Ships in the Harbour striking sail,  
When to our ready Galleys he approached,  
He thought the King, with his misfortunes touched,  
By noble sense of Honour, did intent  
With all his Court to meet so brave a friend.  
But when he only saw a Squiff prepared,  
And that too filled with Ruffians of his guard:  
Th' ingrateful Treachery did then appear,  
And gave him some approaches of a fear:  
But seeing armed Men on our Ships and Shore,  
He blushed his apprehensions were so Poor;  
And when the Danger was so near him brought,  
He only on Cornelia's safety thought.  
" Let's but expose, says he, this single head  
" To a Reception we may so much dread.  
" But whilst I only do the shock sustain,  
" Hasten thy flight, and my revenge obtain.  
" King Juba is more generously inclined,  
" Where thou thy Father, and my Sons shall find:  
" But if their Deaths should thee of them deprive,  
" Never despair while Cato is alive.  
While their contest on this was sad and kind,  
Achilla's fatal boat their Vessel joined:  
Septimius then, to get him in his Power,  
I'th' Roman Language called him Emperor;  
And as deputed from th' Egyptian Prince,  
Let, Sir, says he, this Bark convey you hence;  
The Shelves and Sands which under water lie,  
To greater Vessels an access deny.  
The Hero saw, and smiled at this abuse;  
He than received his Wives and Friends adieus,  
Their stay commanded, and to death did go  
With the same look, as he did Crowns bestow:  
With the same Majesty writ in his Brow,  
He sat unmoved among his Murderers now:  
His steadfast Courage did his Conduct seem,  
Philip his Freedman only followed him,  
Of whom, what I have told you, I did learn,  
But saw the rest myself with sad concern:  
And think (so mournful it to me appears)  
Caesar himself could not refuse it Tears.   CLEOPATRA. 
But spare not mine, nor let them intercept  
A story, which I have already wept.  ACHOREUS. 
Whilst toward Land they brought him, not a word  
To the unhappy Pompey they afford:  
In which contempt, he did foresee his end.  
At length arrived, they ask him to descend,  
He rising, as Achillas stood behind  
Drawing his Sword, for what they had designed,  
Septimius, and three Romans more imbrued,  
Their guilty hands in that heroic blood:  
Till even Achillas was with horror struck,  
Upon a Rage so barbarous to look.  CLEOPATRA. 
You Gods who Nations do chastise with War,  
When you revenge this death, our Cities spare!  
And not the place, but Actors look upon,  
The crime of Egypt was by Romans done.  
But tell me what this Worthy said, and did.  ACHOREUS. 
With his Robes border he his visage hid,  
Blindly his cruel destiny obeyed;  
And would not see that Heaven which him betrayed:  
Lest any look of his, in such a stroke,  
Should its assistance, or revenge invoke.  
Not the least poor complaint fell from his Tongue,  
Or aught that spoke him worthy of his wrong:  
But that despising, made his last retreat  
To all that in his life was good or great:  
And held the treason, which the King had wrought,  
Too much below him to employ his thought.  
His Virtue, by their crime more brightly shone,  
And his last gasp, was an illustrious one.  
This great Soul fled, his body did expose  
To th' greedy Eyes of his inhuman Foes:  
His head, which tumbled on the blushing Deck,  
(By vile Septimius severed from his neck)  
Upon Achillas Lance we fixed see,  
As after Battles Trophies use to be:  
And to conclude a Destiny so sad,  
The Sea was all the Sepulchre he had.  
To fortune now, his slaughtered Corpse resigned,  
Floats at the pleasure of the Wave and Wind,  
The Poor Cornelia at the dreadful view.  CLEOPATRA. 
O Gods! What could she either say or do!  ACHOREUS. 
By woeful shrieks, she tried his life to shield,  
Then hopeless up to Heaven her hands she held:  
And by her mighty sorrow overthrown,  
Fell either dead, or in a deadly swoon.  
In this distress her Ships employ their Oars  
To gain the Sea, and quit those horrid shores.  
But infamous Septimius having thought  
Cornelia's flight, robbed him of half his fault:  
Has with six Ships hastened to her pursuit,  
And the dead Pompey still does persecute.  
But whilst to th' King Achillas brings the Prize,  
The trembling People turned away their eyes.  
One does with horror on the guilt reflect,  
And a revenging Earthquake does expect:  
This hears it thunder, and that does believe  
Nature a Revolution must receive.  
Their Reason, troubled by the Crimes extent,  
Cannot but dread as vast a punishment.  
Philip mean while shows on the River side,  
That his mean fortune a brave soul did hid:  
He curiously examines every wave,  
For that rich Pledge, which Treason to them gave▪  
That those loved bones he piously might burn,  
And give him one, though an inglorious Urn.  
And with a little Dust a Tomb erect  
To him who did the Universe subject.  
But whilst Cornelia they one way pursue,  
Another we might Caesar's coming view,  
A Navy which can hardly reckoned be.  CLEOPATRA. 

ne'er doubt it, Achoreus, it is he;  
Tremble bad men, at your approaching Doom,  
My Breath is now your Destiny become.  
Caesar's come, I'm a Queen, Pompey's revenged,  
Tyranny ruined, and the times are changed.  
" But let's with wonder on the Great reflect;  
" Pity their Fortune, and our own suspect:   

He who we thought even Fate herself had swayed,  
Who ruled a Senate which the World obeyed:  
Whom his own Rome saw (almost Deified)  
Over the World's three Parts in Triumph ride;  
And who in the last hazards of his Fate,  
Saw both the Consuls on his Standards wait:  
As soon as Fortune one unkindness shows,  
Egyptian Monsters of his life dispose:  
And a Photinus, or Septimius, can  
Govern the Destiny of such a Man.  
A King who owes him, even the Crown he wears,  
Exposing him to those base Flatterers.  
So fell the mighty Pompey, and so may  
Caesar himself perhaps another day.  
O may the Gods the Augury disprove!  
And make his Fortune constant as my Love.   CHARMION. 
The King comes Madam, who may overhear.   

SCEN. III.  Ptolemy, Cleopatra. PTOLEMY. 
Know you what happiness is drawing near?  CLEOPATRA. 
Yes I have heard it, the great Caesar's come:  
And Photin shall no more pronounce my Doom:  PTOLEMY. 
That faithful Subject you could ne'er endure.  CLEOPATRA. 
No, but am from his Projects now secure.  PTOLEMY. 
Which of his Plots could you so much offend?  CLEOPATRA. 
I've much endured, and more may apprehend:  
For such a Politician is not Nice,  
And you are always steered by his advice.  PTOLEMY. 
If I believe him, I his prudence see.  CLEOPATRA. 
And I who fear him, know his cruelty.  PTOLEMY. 
For a Crown's safety all things just appear.  CLEOPATRA. 
That kind of equity creates my fear,  
My share of Power hath been by it jost,  
And now it has the head of, Pompey cost.  PTOLEMY. 
Never a game of State was more advised;  
For else by Caesar we had been surprised:  
You see his speed, and we had been subdued,  
Before we could in our defence have stood.  
But now I to a Conqueror so great,  
Your Heart may offer, and my Royal seat.  CLEOPATRA. 
Make your own Presents, I'll dispose of mine,  
Nor others Interests with yours combine.  PTOLEMY. 
Our Blood's the same, uniting me and you.  CLEOPATRA. 
You might have said, our Rank unites us too.  
We both are Sovereigns, yet 'twill be confessed,  
There is some difference in our interest.  PTOLEMY. 
Yes, Sister, for my Heart is well content  
Only with Egypt's narrow Continent.  
But now your Beauty, Caesar's heart does wound,  
Tagus and Ganges must your Empire bound.  GLEOPATRA. 
I have ambition, but it is confined,  
It may surprise my Soul, but never blind.  
T' upbraid me with those bounds there is no need.  
I know my reach, and shall not that exceed.  PTOLEMY. 
Your Fortune smiles and you th' advantage use.  CLEOPATRA. 
You may revile me, if I that abuse.  PTOLEMY. 
I hope the best, Love no ill Fruit can bear.  CLEOPATRA. 
You seem to hope, what really you fear.  
But though the gods my just pretensions Crown,  
You need not doubt, I'll ask but what's my own.  
You ne'er shall anger from your Sister find,  
Though you're a cruel Brother, I'll be kind.  PTOLEMY. 
But yet methinks you do discover pride.  CLEOPATRA. 
Time is the Standard whereby things are tried.  PTOLEMY. 
Your present carriage that doth plainly show.  CLEOPATRA. 
Caesar is come and 've a Master now.  PTOLEMY. 
I made him mine who the World's Master is.  CLEOPATRA. 
Pay him your homage, while I look for his.  
In this Address you may yourself be seen,  
But I'll remember that I am a Queen.  
Photin will help you to receive him now,  
Advise with him, he'll tell you what's to do.   

Act. II. SCEN. IV.  Ptolemy, Photinus. PTOLEMY. 
I have observed thy Counsel, but find since  
To flatter her, but swells her insolence.  
For with her Pride she did affront me so,  
That I at last fell into Passion too.  
This Arm enraged by her, could scarce forbear  
(Without a Thought that Caesar was so near)  
Dispatching her (as safe as she does seem)  
To have complained to Pompey, not to him.  
She talks already at that haughty rate,  
That if great Caesar please her Pride and Hate,  
And she o'er him her boasted Empire have,  
Her Brother and her King must be her Slave.  
No, no, we needs must Frustrate that intent,  
Nor poorly wait the Ills we may prevent.  
Let's spoil her of her Power to disdain,  
And break those Charms whereby she hopes to reign;  
Nor after such indignities let's brook,  
That she should buy my Sceptre with a look.  PHOTINUS. 
Do not for Caesar, Sir, pretence provide  
That Egypt should be to his Triumphs tied:  
For this Ambitious Man which through the world,  
Hath War and Slavery together hurled;  
Swelled with his Conquest, and a Rage so smart,  
As such a loss writes in a Lover's Heart:  
Though you but act, what Equity approves,  
Will thence ground his revenge for what he loves:  
As for a crime, he'll you to Bondage bring,  
Though you did only what became a King.  PTOLEMY. 
If Cleopatra sees him she's a Queen.  PHOTINUS. 
But if she die your Ruin is foreseen.  PTOLEMY. 
Who ruins me should on my fall attend.  PHOTINUS. 
To ruin her you must yourself befriend.  PTOLEMY. 
What? must my Crown upon her Temples shine?  
No, if my Sceptre I must needs resign,  
The Conqueror shall rather it command.  PHOTINUS. 
You'll sooner force it from a Sister's hand.  
How great soever now his flames appear,  
He must be gone, and leave You Master here.  
Love in such Men, seldom that room can find,  
Which to their Interest will not be resigned.  
With Juba, Scipio, and with Pompey's Sons,  
Spain, to Revenge, he knows, with Africa runs:  
And while that Party are not yet o'erthrown,  
He cannot safely call the World his own.  
Caesar's too great a Captain, to o'ersee  
The Pursuit of Pharsalia's Victory:  
And leave such fierce Hearts on revenge intent,  
To rise from their so late Astonishment.  
If he his ends Obtain, and them o'ercome,  
He his gained Empire must secure at Rome:  
And there the fruit of his success enjoy,  
Whilst he at pleasure does her laws Destroy.  
Judge in that time, what great things you may do,  
See Caesar then, and strive to please him too.  
Resign him all, but yet this Rule intent,  
That future things on accidents Depend.  
Your Throne and Sceptre give into his hand,  
And without murmur yield to his Command:  
He will believe that Justice he shall do  
If he your Father's Testament pursue;  
Besides this signal service you have done;  
Will give you still some Title to your Throne.  
Entire submission to his Orders show,  
Applaud his Judgement, but then let him go.  
That time for our Revenge will be most fit  
When we can Act, as well as think of it.  
With temper let these Passions than be born,  
Which were excited by your Sister's scorn.  
Boasts are but Air, and he revenges best,  
Who Acts his braver Thoughts, yet talks the least.  PTOLEMY. 
O thy Advice my greatest Comfort brings,  
A Prudent Counsellour's the bliss of Kings.  
Come dear Supporter of my Throne, let's go,  
And to save all, on Caesar all bestow.  
His Pride let's flatter with an empty State,  
And with our whole Fleet on him hither Wait.  After the second Act, this Song is to be sung by two Egyptian Priests on the Stage. 

1.  
SEE how Victorious Caesar's Pride  
Does Neptune's Bosom sweep!  
And with Thessalian Fortune ride  
In Triumph o'er the Deep.   

2.  
What Rival of the Gods is this  
Who dares do more than they?  
Whose Feet the Fates themselves do kiss  
And Sea and Land obey.   

1.  
What can the Fortunate withstand?  
For this resistless He,  
Rivers of Blood brings on the Land,  
And Bulwarks on the Sea.   

2.  
Since Gods as well as Men submit,  
And Caesar's favour woe,  
Virtue herself may think it fit  
That Egypt court him too.   

1.  
But Pompey's Head's a rate too dear,  
For by that impious price  
The God less Noble will appear  
Than does the Sacrifice.   

2.  
If Justice be a thing divine,  
The Gods should it maintain,  
For us t' attempt what they decline,  
Would be as rash as vain.   

Chorus.  
How desperate is our Prince's Fate?  
What hazard does he run?  
He must be wicked to be great,  
Or to be just, undone.     

Act. III.  

SCEN. I.  Charmion, Achoreus. CHARMION. 
YEs, whilst the King himself is gone to meet  
Caesar, and lay his Sceptre at his Feet,  
To her Apartment Cleopatra went,  
And there unmoved expects his Compliment.  
What words have you to  this Humour in?  ACHOREUS. 
'Tis Noble Pride and worthy of a Queen.  
Who with Heroic courage does make good  
The Honour of her Rank, and of her Blood.  
May I speak to Her?  CHARMION. 
No, but she hath sent  
Me to inquire this meetings great event.  
How Caesar on this Gift himself explained,  
Whether it ween acknowledged or disdained.  
If he the fierce takes, or the gentler way,  
And what he to our Murderers could say.  ACHOREUS. 
The head of Pompey hath already cost,  
More than they will have any cause to boast:  
For whether Caesar be or seem severe,  
Yet I for them have ground enough to fear.  
If they loved Ptolemy, they served him ill,  
You saw him part, and I pursued him still.  
When from the City his well ordered Fleet,  
Advanced a League, that they might Caesar meet,  
He with spread Sails arrived, and as in Wars  
He still had been the Favourite of Mars:  
So Neptune to his Navy was so kind;  
His Fortune was not fairer than his Wind.  
Our Prince was so astonished when they met,  
As if he did his Crowned head forget.  
Through his false joy his terror he confessed,  
And all his Actions his low Thoughts expressed.  
I myself blushed as at a shameful thing,  
There to see Ptolemy, but not the King;  
Caesar who saw his Courage thus expire,  
In pity flattered him to raise it higher.  
He with low voice offering his fatal gift,  
" Now Sir, says he, you have no Rival left.  
" What in Thessalia, not the gods could do,  
" I give you Pompey and Cornelia too.  
" Here's one, and though the other flight did take,  
" Six Ships of mine will quickly bring her back.  
Achillas then the great Head did expose,  
Which still to speak itself seemed to dispose.  
At this new injury some warm remain  
Did in imperfect groans seem to complain.  
I thought his open mouth and ghastly look,  
Recalled the Soul which scarce her leave had took;  
And his last anger seemed with dying breath,  
To charge the gods with his Defeat and Death.  
Caesar seemed Thunder-stricken at this view,  
As not resolved what to believe or do.  
immovably on that sad Object tied;  
He long from us his inward thought did hid,  
And I would say, if I durst make a guess,  
By what our Nature uses to express:  
Some such malignant pleasure he enjoyed,  
As his offended honour scarce destroyed.  
That the whole World now in his power lies,  
Can not but bring some flattering surprise.  
But though a while this conflict he endured,  
Yet his great Soul itself soon reassured.  
Though he loves Power, yet he Treason hates,  
Himself he judges, on himself debates.  
Each joy and grief at Reason's Bar appears,  
At length resolved, he first let fall some Tears.  
His Virtue's Empire he by force regains,  
And noblest thoughts by that weak sign explains.  
The horrid present from his sight expelled,  
His Eyes and Hands he up to Heaven held.  
In a few words their insolence repressed,  
And after did in pensive silence rest.  
Nor even to his Romans could reply,  
But with a heavy sigh and furious eye.  
At last with thirty Cohorts come to Land,  
To seize the Gates and Ports he does command.  
The Guards he set, and secret Orders sent,  
Show his distrust as well as discontent.  
Egypt he speaks of as a Province won,  
And now calls Pompey not a Foe, but Son.  
This I observed.  CHARMION. 
By which the Queen may find  
The just Osiris to her Vows inclined:  
Whilst with this happy News to her I fly,  
Do you preserve her your Fidelity.  ACHOREUS. 
ne'er doubt it; but here Caesar comes, go then  
Describe the Consternation of our Men:  
And whatsoever proves to be their Fate;  
I'll first observe, and then to her relate.   

SCEN. II.  Caesar, Ptolemy, Lepidus, Photinus, Achoreus, Roman and Egyptian Soldiers. PTOLEMY. 
Great Sir, ascend the Throne, and govern Us.  CAESAR. 
Do you know Caesar, and speak to him thus?  
What worse could envious Fortune offer me?  
Who alike hate a Crown and Infamy.  
This to accept, would all my boast confute,  
That Rome did me unjustly persecute:  
Rome, who both scorns, & gives Crowns every where,  
And nothing sees in Kings to love or fear;  
Nay, at our Birth does all our Souls inflame,  
To slight the Rank, and to abhor the Name.  
This truth you might have learned from Pompey, who  
If he such Offers liked, could shun them too.  
Both Throne and King had honoured been, t'afford  
Service to him who had them both restored:  
So glorious had been even ill success,  
In such a Cause, that Triumphs had been less:  
And if your Fortune safety had denied,  
To have bestowed it, had been Caesar's pride:  
But though you would not own so brave a strife,  
What right had you to that illustrious Life?  
Who that rich blood to wash your hands allowed,  
That to the meanest Roman should have bowed?  
Was it for you Pharsalia's Field I won,  
Wherein so many Nations were undone?  
And did I purchase at so high a rate,  
That you should be the Arbiters of Fate?  
If I in Pompey that could ne'er admit,  
Shall you escape o'er him assuming it?  
How much is my success abused by you,  
Who attempt more than ever I durst do?  
What Name, think you, will such a blow become,  
Which has usurped the Sovereignty of Rome?  
And in one Person did affront her more,  
Than could the Asian Massacre before.  
Do you imagine I shall e'er agree  
You would have been more scrupulous for me?  
No, had you Pompey here Victorious seen,  
My Head to him had such a Present been:  
I to my Conquest your Submissions own,  
When all wrongs had pursued my Overthrow.  
You do adore the Conqueror, not me;  
I but enjoy it by Felicity.  
Dangerous Friendship! Kindness to be feared!  
Which turns with Fortune, and by her is steered.  
But speak; this silence does increase your sin.  PTOLEMY. 
Never hath my Confusion greater been;  
And I believe, Sir, you'll allow it me,  
Since I, a King born, now a Master see:  
Where at my frown, each man did trembling stand,  
And every word of mine was a Command;  
I see a new Court, and another sway,  
And I have nothing left, but to obey:  
Your very look abates my spirits force,  
And can it be regained by your Discourse?  
Judge how I can from such a Trouble cease,  
Which my Respects create, and Fears increase:  
And what can an astonished Prince express,  
Who anger sees in that Majestic Dress?  
And whose Amazements do his Soul subdue,  
That Pompey's Death should be revenged by You.  
Yet I must say, whatever he bestowed,  
We own you more, than ever him we owed:  
Your Favour was the first to us expressed;  
And all he did, was done at your Request;  
He did the Senate move for injured Kings,  
And them that Prayer to our Assistance brings:  
But all that He for Egypt could obtain,  
Without your Money, Sir, had been in vain:  
By that his Rebels our late King subdued,  
And you have Right to all our Gratitude:  
We Pompey as your Friend and Son revered,  
But when he your Competitour appeared,  
When of your Fortune he suspicious grew,  
Tyranny sought and dared to fight with you—  CAESAR. 
Forbear, your hatreds Thirst his Blood supplies,  
Touch not his Glory, let his Life suffice;  
Say nothing here that Rome still dares deny,  
But plead your Cause without a Calumny.  PTOLEMY. 
Then let the Gods be Judges of his Thought;  
I only say, that in the Wars last fought,  
To which so many Wrongs did you persuade,  
Our Vows for your success were only made:  
And since he ever sought your Blood to spill,  
I thought his Death a necessary Ill  
For as his groundless Hatred daily grew,  
He would, by all ways, the Dispute renew;  
Or if at length, he fell into your Hand,  
We feared your Mercy would your Right withstand:  
For to that Pitch your sense of Honour flies,  
As would to Fame your Safety sacrifice;  
Which made me Judge, in so extreme an Ill,  
We ought to serve you, Sir, against your will;  
My forward Zeal th' occasion did embrace,  
Without your leave, and to my own disgrace:  
And this you as a Crime in me disclaim,  
But nothing done for you deserves that Name:  
I stained my Hands, your Danger to remove,  
Which Act you may enjoy, and disapprove;  
Nay by my Gild, my Merit higher grows;  
Since I my Glory gave for your Repose,  
And by that greatest Victim have procured  
Your Glory and your Power to be assured.  CAESAR. 
You employ, Ptolemy, such Crafty Words,  
And weak Excuses as your Cause affords;  
Your Zeal was false, if 'twere afraid to see  
What all Mankind begged of the Gods should be:  
And did to you such subtleties Convey,  
As stole the Fruit of all my Wars away;  
Where Honour me engaged, and where the end  
Was of a Foe subdued, to make a Friend;  
Where the worst Enemies that I have met,  
When they are conquered I as Brothers treat:  
And my Ambition only this Designed,  
To Kill their Hate, and force them to be kind;  
How blest a Period of the Warred had been,  
If the glad World had in one Chariot seen  
Pompey and Caesar at once to have sat  
Triumphant over all their former Hate!  
These were the Dangers you feared should befall;  
O fear Ridiculous, and Criminal!  
You feared my Mercy, but that trouble quit,  
And wish it rather; you have need of it.  
For I am sure strict Justice would consent  
I should appease Rome with your punishment.  
Not your Respects, nor your Repentance now,  
No nor your Rank, preserves you from that Blow:  
Even on your Throne I would revenge your Gild,  
But Cleopatra's Blood must not be spilt:  
Wherefore your Flatterers only I condemn;  
And must expect you'll do me Right on them:  
For what in this I shall observe you do,  
Must be the Rule of my Esteem for you:  
To the great Pompey Altars now erect,  
And to him pay, as to the Gods, Respect.  
By Sacrifices your Offence expel,  
But have a Care you choose your Victims well.  
Go then, and whilst you do for this prepare,  
I must stay here about another Care.   

SCEN. III.  Caesar, Antonius, Lepidus. CAESAR. 
Antonius, have you this bright Princess seen?  ANTONIUS. 
Yes, Sir, I have, and she's a matchless Queen;  
With such proportion Heaven never yet  
All Beauties both of Mind and Body knit;  
So sweet a Greatness in her Face does shine,  
The Noblest Courage must to it resign;  
Her Looks and Language with such ease subdue,  
If I were Caesar, I should love her too.  CAESAR. 
How was the Offer of my Love received?  ANTONIUS. 
As doubted, and yet inwardly believed:  
She modestly declined her highest aims,  
And thinks she merits, what she most disclaims.  CAESAR. 
But can I hope her love?  ANTONIUS. 
Can she have yours?  
As that your Joys, so this her Crown secures.  
To gain that Heart can you believe it hard,  
Whose kindness you with Empire can reward?  
Then let your Passion all its Doubts disband,  
For what can Pompey's Conqueror withstand?  
But yet her Fear to her remembrance brings,  
How little, Rome hath ever valued Kings;  
And more than that, she dreads Calphurnia's Love▪  
But both these Rubs your presence will remove,  
And your successful Hope all Mists will break,  
If you vouchsafe but for yourself to speak.  CAESAR. 
Let's go then, and these needless scruples quit,  
Showing my Heart to Her that wounded it:  
Come let us stay no longer.  ANTONIUS. 
But first know,  
Cornelia is within your Power now:  
Septimius brings her, boasting of his Fault,  
And thinks by that he hath your Favour bought.  
But once ashore your Guards (by Orders taught)  
No notice took, but hither both have brought.  CAESAR. 
Then let her enter: Ah unwelcome News!  
Which my Impatience does so roughly use!  
O Heaven! and am I not allowed to pay  
My Love this small remainder of one day?   

SCEN. IU.  Caesar, Cornelia, Antonius, Lepidus, Septimius. SEPTIMIUS. 
Sir.—  CAESAR. 
Go Septimius for your Master look,  
Caesar a Traitor's presence cannot brook;  
A Roman, who to serve a King could be  
Content, when he had Pompey served, and me.  [Exit Septimius. CORNELIA. 
Caesar, that envious Fate which I can brave,  
Makes me thy Prisoner, but not thy Slave:  
Expect not then my Heart should ere afford  
To pay thee Homage, or to call thee Lord:  
How rude soever Fortune makes her blow,  
I Crassus' Widow once, and Pompey's now;  
Great Scipio's Daughter, (and what's higher yet)  
A Roman, have a Courage still more great;  
And of all strokes her cruelty can give,  
Nothing can make me blush, but that I live,  
And have not followed Pompey when he died;  
For though the means to do it were denied,  
And cruel Pity would not let me have  
The quick assistance of a Steel or Wave,  
Yet I'm ashamed, that after such a woe,  
Grief had not done as much as they could do:  
Death had been glorious, and had set me free,  
As from my Sorrow then, so now from thee.  
Yet I must thank the gods, though so severe,  
That since I must come hither, thou art here:  
That Caesar reigns here, and not Ptolemy;  
And yet, O Heaven! what Stars do govern me?  
That some faint kind of satisfaction 'tis,  
To meet here with my greatest Enemies;  
And into their hands that I rather fall,  
Than into his that owed my Husband all.  
But of thy Conquest, Caesar, make no boast,  
Which to my single Destiny thou ow'st;  
I both my Husband's Fortunes have defaced,  
And twice have caused th' whole World to be disgraced;  
My Nuptial Knot twice ominously tied,  
Banished the Gods from the uprighter side;  
Happy in misery I had been, if it,  
For Rome's advantage, had with thee been knit;  
And on thy House that I could so dispense  
All my own Stars malignant influence:  
For never think my hatred can grow less,  
Since I the Roman Constancy profess;  
And though thy Captive, yet a heart like mine,  
Can never stoop to hope for aught from thine:  
Command, but think not to subject my will,  
Remember this, I am Cornelia still.  CAESAR. 
O Worthy Widow of a Man so brave!  
Whose Courage, Wonder, Fate does pity crave;  
Your generous Thoughts do quickly make us know  
To whom your Birth, to whom your Love you own;  
And we may find by your hearts glorious frame,  
Both to, and from what Families you came;  
Young Crassus Soul, and noble Pompey's too,  
Whose Virtues Fortune cheated of their due:  
The Scipio's Blood, who saved our Deities,  
Speak in your Tongue, and sparkle in your Eyes;  
And Rome herself hath not an ancient Stem,  
Whose Wife or Daughter hath more honoured them:  
Would to those Gods your Ancestors once saved,  
When Hannibal them at their Altars braved,  
That your dear Hero had declined this Port,  
And better known a false Barbarians Court;  
And had not his uncertain Honour tried,  
But rather on our ancient love relied;  
That he had suffered my successful Arms,  
Only to vanquish his unjust Alarms;  
Then he without distrusting me, had stayed  
Till he had heard what Caesar could have said;  
And I, in spite of all our former strife,  
Would then have begged him to accept of life;  
Forget my Conquest, and that Rival love,  
Who fought, but that I might his Equal prove:  
Then I, with a content entirely great,  
Had prayed the gods to pardon his Defeat;  
And giving me his Friendship to possess,  
He had prayed Rome to pardon my success.  
But since Fate, so ambitious to destroy,  
Hath robbed the World and Us, of so much Joy,  
Caesar must strive t'acquit himself to you,  
Of what was your illustrious Husbands due:  
Enjoy yourself then with all freedom here,  
Only two days my Prisoner appear;  
And witness be, how after our debate,  
I shall revere his Name, revenge his Fate;  
You this account to Italy may yield,  
What Pride I borrow from Thessalia's Field.  
I leave you to yourself, and shall retire;  
Lepidus, furnish her to her desire;  
As Roman Ladies have respected been,  
So honour her, (that is) above a Queen.  
Madam, command; all shall your Orders wait.  CORNELIA. 
O Gods! how many Virtues must I hate!  After the third Act, to Cornelia asleep on a Couch, Pompey 's Ghost sings this in Recitative Air. 

From lasting and unclouded Day,  
From joys refined above allay,  
And from a spring without decay.   

I come, by Cynthia's borrowed ●eams  
To visit my Cornelia's Dreams,  
And give them yet sublimer Themes.   

Behold the Man thou lov'dst before,  
Pure streams have washed away his Gore,  
And Pompey now shall bleed no more.   

By Death my Glory I resume;  
For 'twould have been a harsher doom  
To outlive the Liberty of Rome.   

By me her doubtful fortune tried,  
Falling, bequeathes my Fame this Pride,  
I for it lived, and with it Died.   

Nor shall my vengeance be withstood  
Or unattended with a Flood,  
Of Roman and Egyytian Blood.   

Caesar himself it shall pursue,  
His days shall troubled be and few,  
And he shall fall by Treason too.   

He, by severity Divine  
Shall be an offering at my Shrine;  
As I was his, he must be mine.   

Thy stormy Life regret no more,  
For Fate shall waft thee soon a shore,  
And to thy Pompey thee restore.   

Where past the fears of sad removes  
We'll entertain our spotless Loves,  
In beauteous and immortal Groves.   

There none a guilty Crown shall wear,  
Nor Caesar be Dictator there,  
Nor shall Cornelia shed a Tear.   After this a Military Dance, as the continuance of her Dream, and then Cornelia starts up, as wakened in amazement, saying. 
What have I seen? and whither is it gone?  
How great the Vision! and how quickly done!  
Yet if in Dreams we future things can see,  
There's still some joy laid up in Fate for me.  Exit.   

ACT IU.  

SCEN. I.  Ptolemy, Achillas, Photinus. PTOLEMY. 
WHat? with that Hand, and with that Sword which had  
A Victim of th' unhappy Pompey made,  
Saw you Septimius, fled from Caesar's hate,  
Give such a bloody period to his Fate?  ACHILLAS. 
He's dead, Sir, and by that you may collect,  
What shame (foreseen by him) you must expect:  
Caesar you may by this slow anger know,  
The violent does quickly come and go:  
But the considered indignation grows  
Stronger by age, and gives the fiercer blows;  
In vain you hope his fury to assuage,  
Who now secure, does politicly rage;  
He safely for his Fame concerned appears,  
Pompey alive abhorred, he dead reveres:  
And of his Slaughter by this Art doth choose,  
To act the vengeance, and yet make the use.  PTOLEMY. 
Had I believed thee, I had never known  
A Master here, nor been without a Throne:  
" But still with this imprudence Kings are cursed,  
" To hear too much Advice and choose the worst;  
" At the Pits brink Fate does their Reason blind;  
" Or if some hint they of their danger find,  
" Yet that false light amiss their Judgement steers.  
" Plunges them in, and then it disappears.  PHOTINUS. 
I must confess I Caesar did mistake,  
Since such a Service he a Crime does make:  
But yet his side hath streams, and those alone  
Can expiate your fault, and fix your Throne.  
I no more say, you silently should bear,  
And your Revenge, till he be gone, defer:  
No, I a better Remedy esteem,  
To justify his Rival's death on him.  
When you the first Act by the last make good,  
And Caesar's shed, as well as Pompey's Blood,  
Rome will no difference in her Tyrants know,  
But will to you, from both, her Freedom owe.  PTOLEMY. 
Yes, yes, to this all Reasons do persuade;  
Let's fear no more the greatness we have made:  
Caesar shall still from Us receive his Doom,  
And twice in one day we'll dispose of Rome;  
As Bondage first, let's Freedom next bestow;  
Let not thy Actions, Caesar, swell thee so;  
But call to mind what thou hast seen me do,  
Pompey was mortal, and so thou art too;  
Thou envy'dst him, for his exceeding thee,  
And I think thou hast no more lives than he;  
Thy own compassion for his Fate, does show  
That thy heart may be penetrable too:  
Then let thy Justice threaten as it please,  
'Tis I, must with thy Ruin, Rome appease;  
And of that cruel mercy vengeance take,  
Which spares a King, but for his Sister's sake.  
My Life and Power shall not exposed be  
To her Resentment, or thy Levity;  
Lest thou, to morrow, shouldst at such a rate  
Reward her Love, or else revenge her Hate:  
More noble Maxims shall my fears expel;  
Thou badst me once to choose my Victims well,  
And my Obedience thou in this shalt see,  
Who know no Victim worthier than thee,  
Nor th' Immolation of whose Blood will draw,  
Better acceptance from thy Son in law.  
But vainly, friends, we thus foment our Rage,  
Unless we knew, what strength we could engage;  
All this may be unprofitable heat,  
The Tyrant's Forces being here so great;  
But of our Power let us be first agreed,  
And in what time and method to proceed.  ACHILLAS. 
We may do much, Sir, in our present State,  
Two miles from hence, six thousand Soldiers wait;  
Which I, foreseeing some new Discontents,  
Have kept in readiness for all Events;  
Caesar with all his Arts, could not foresee  
That underneath this Town a Vault should be,  
By which this night we to the Palace may  
Our Men with Ease, and without noise convey;  
T' assault his life by open force alone,  
Would be the only way to lose your own:  
We must surprise him, and act our design,  
When he is Drunk with Pleasure, Love, and Wine.  
The People are all ours, for when he made  
His entry, horror did their Souls invade;  
When with a Pomp so arrogantly grave,  
His Fasces did our Royal Ensigns brave;  
I marked what Rage at that injurious view,  
From their incensed Eyes, like sparkles, flew;  
And they so much did with their fury strive,  
That your least Countenance may it revive.  
Septimius Soldiers filled with greater hate,  
Struck with the terror of their Leader's Fate,  
Seek nothing but revenge on him, who them  
Did, in their Captain's Person, so contemn.  PTOLEMY. 
But what way to approach him can be found!  
If at the Feast his Guards do him surround?  PHOTINUS. 
Cornelia's Men, who have already known  
Among your Romans Kindred of their own,  
Seem to persuade us they would help afford  
To Sacrifice their Tyrant to their Lord;  
Nay have assured it, and much better may  
Than we, to Caesar the first stabs convey;  
His Clemency (not only false but vain)  
Which courts Cornelia, that he Rome may gain,  
Will to his Person, give them such access,  
As may assure our Plot of a success.  
But Cleopatra comes; to her appear  
Only possessed with weakness, and with fear:  
Let us withdraw, Sir, for you know that we  
Are Objects she will much abhor to see.  PTOLEMY. 
Go wait me.—   

SCEN. II.  Ptolemy, Cleopatra. CLEOPATRA. Brother, I have Caesar seen, 
And have to him your intercessor been.  PTOLEMY. 
I never could expect an act less kind  
From you who bear so generous a Mind.  
But your great Lover quickly from you went.  CLEOPATRA. 
'Twas to the Town, t'appease some discontent,  
Which he was told had newly raised been  
Betwixt the Soldier and the Citizen:  
Whilst I with joyful haste come to assure  
You, that your life and Kingdom were secure;  
Th'illustrious Caesar on the course you took,  
Does with less anger than compassion look,  
He pities you, who such vile Statesmen heard,  
As make their Kings not to be loved, but feared;  
Whose Souls the baseness of their birth confess,  
And who in vain great Dignities possess:  
For Slavish Spirits cannot guide the Helm,  
Those too much Power would quickly overwhelm.  
That hand, whose Crimes alone do purchase Fear,  
Will soon let fall a Weight it cannot bear.  PTOLEMY. 
Those Truths, and my ill Fate do me persuade  
How bad a choice of Counselors I made:  
For had I acted Honourable things,  
I had as Glorious been, as other Kings;  
And better merited the Love you bear  
A Brother, so unworthy of your Care;  
Caesar and Pompey had been here agreed,  
And the World's Peace in Egypt been decreed;  
Who her own Prince a friend to both had seen;  
Nay, he perhaps, an Arbiter had been.  
But since to call this back is passed our Art,  
Let me discharge to you my Troubled heart;  
You, that for all the Wrongs that I have done,  
Can yet Preserve me both my Life and Crown;  
Be truly great and vanquish all your Hate,  
By changing Photin and Achilla's Fate.  
For their offending you, their Death is due,  
But that my Glory suffers in it too;  
If for their King's Crimes they should punished be,  
The Infamy would wholly light on me;  
Caesar through them wounds me, theirs is my Pain,  
For my sake, therefore, your Just Hate constrain:  
Your heart is Noble, and what pleasure then  
Is th' abject Blood of two unhappy Men?  
Let me owe all to you, who Caesar charm,  
And, with a Look, his Anger can disarm.  CLEOPATRA. 
Were but their Life and Death in me to give,  
My scorn is great enough to let them live:  
But I with Caesar little can prevail,  
When Pompey's Blood lies in the other scale;  
I boast no Power to Dispose his will,  
For I have spoke, and he hath shunned it still,  
And turning quickly to some new Affair,  
He neither does refuse, nor grant my Prayer:  
Yet I'll once more on that harsh Theme proceed,  
In hope a New attempt may better speed;  
And I'll believe.—  PTOLEMY. 
He comes, let me be gone,  
Lest I should chance to draw his anger on;  
My presence may inflame what 'twould make less,  
And you alone, may act with more success.   

SCEN. III.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Antonius, Lepidus, Charmion, Achoreus, and Romans. CAESAR. 

The City now is quiet, Beauteous Queen,  
Which had alarmed with little reason been;  
Nor need they fear the troublesome event  
Of Soldier's Pride, or People's Discontent:  
But O great Gods! when absent from your Eyes,  
A greater Tumult did within me rise;  
When these  Cares snatched me from you,  
My heart, even with my Grandeur, angry grew;  
And I my own Renown began to hate,  
Since it my parting did necessitate:  
But I forgave all to the single Thought  
How much advantage to my Love it brought:  
For 'tis to that, I own the noble Hope  
Which to my Flame does give so fair a scope,  
And persuades Caesar that his Heart may prove  
Not utterly unworthy of your Love,  
And that he may pretend to that, since he  
Nothing above him, but the Gods, can see.  
Yes Queen; if in the World a Man there were  
That with more glory could your fetters bear;  
Or if there were a Throne, wherein you might  
By Conquering its King, appear more bright,  
Less for his Throne would I the Man pursue,  
Than to dispute the Right of serving you.   

'Twas to acquire that valuable Right,  
That my Ambitious Arm did always fight;  
And in Pharsalia rather my Sword drew  
To preserve that, than Pompey to subdue.  
I Conquered, and the God of Battles, less  
Than your bright Eyes, afforded me success.  
They raised my Courage, and my hand did sway,  
And I own them that memorable day.  
As the effect of heat by them inspired,  
For when your beauties had my passion fired,  
That a return might your great Soul become,  
They made me Master of the World and Rome.  
I would ennoble that high stile I wear,  
By the Addition of your Prisoner,  
And shall most happy be, if you think fit  
That Title to esteem, and this permit.   CLEOPATRA. 

I know how much I to my fortune own,  
Which this excess of Honour does bestow.  
Nor will from you my in ward thoughts conceal,  
Since I know both, you, and myself so well.   

Your Love did in my earliest Youth appear,  
And I my Sceptre as your Present wear:  
I twice received my Kingdom from your Hand,  
And after that, can I your Love withstand?  
No, Sir, my Heart cannot resist your siege,  
Who so much merit, and so much oblige.  
But yet my Birth, my Rank, and the Command  
Which I have now regained in Egypt's Land,  
The Sceptre, by your Hand restored to mine,  
Do all against my innocent Hopes combine;  
To my desires injurious they have been,  
And lessen me, by making me a Queen:  
For if Rome still be as she was before,  
T'ascend a Throne, will but debase me more;  
These Marks of Honour will be but my Shame  
And ruin my Pretences to your Flame:  
But yet, methinks, the Power you enjoy,  
Might all my Fears with ease enough destroy,  
And I would hope, that such a Man as you,  
May justly Rome's Capriciousness subdue,  
And her unjust aversion for a Throne  
She might see cause, for your sake, to disown:  
I know that you can harder things effect,  
And from your Promise Wonders I expect;  
You in Pharsalia did much greater do,  
And I invoke no other Gods but You.   CAESAR. 
There's nothing humane can my Love withstand;  
'Tis but the overrunning Africa's Land,  
To show my Standards to the rest of those,  
Who did me with so ill a Fate oppose;  
And when Rome can no more of them Advance,  
She will be forced to study Complaisance:  
And you shall see her with a solemn State,  
At your Feet sacrifice her Pride and Hate:  
Nay I must have her, at your Royal Seat,  
In my behalf, your Favour to entreat;  
And with so much Respect these Beauty's view,  
That she young Caesars shall request from you;  
This is the only Fortune I desire,  
And all to which my Laurels do aspire:  
How blessed were my Condition, if I might  
Obtain those Wreaths, and still enjoy your sight!  
But yet my Passion it's own harm procures,  
For I must quit you, if I will be yours;  
While there are flying Foes, I must pursue,  
That I may them defeat, and merit you.  
To bear that absence therefore, suffer me  
To take such Courage from the Charms I see,  
That frighted Nations may, at Caesar's name,  
Say, He but came, and saw, and overcame.  CLEOPATRA. 
This is too much; but if I this abuse,  
The fault which you create you must excuse:  
You did my Crown, and perhaps life restore,  
And yet your love (I trust) will grant me more;  
And I conjure you, by its strongest Charms,  
By that great Fortune which attends your Arms,  
By all my hopes, and all your high desert,  
Dip not in Blood the bounties you impart;  
Great Sir, forgive those that have guilty been,  
Or else by that let me appear a Queen;  
Achillas and Photinus blood disdain,  
For they endure enough to see me reign;  
And their Offence—  CAESAR. 
Ah! by some other way  
Assure yourself how much my Will you sway,  
As you rule me, if I might you request,  
You better should employ your interest;  
Govern your Caesar, as a lawful Queen,  
And make him not partaker of their Sin:  
For your sake only, I the King durst spare;  
'Twas love alone that—   

SCEN. IU.  To them Cornelia. CORNELIA. 
Caesar, have a care,  
For Traitors have against thy life combined,  
And sworn thy Head shall be to Pompey's joined.  
If to prevent them thou shouldst be remiss,  
Thy blood will speedily be mixed with his.  
If thou my Slaves examine, thou may'st know,  
The Author, Order, and the Actors too.  
I yield them thee.  CAESAR. 
O truly Roman heart!  
And worthy him of whom you were a part!  
His Soul, which sees from its exalted State,  
How I endeavour to revenge his fate,  
Forgets his hate, and is become so kind,  
To save my life, by what he left behind.  
Whatever Treason could to Pompey do,  
Yet he does still subsist, and act in you:  
And prompts you to a thing so brave, that he  
May vanquish me in generosity.  CORNELIA. 
Caesar, thou art deceived in my intent,  
If thou thinkest Hate yields to acknowledgement:  
No, Pompey's blood must all commerce deny,  
Betwixt his Widow and his Enemy.  
And I thy offered Freedom would enjoy,  
That to thy ruin I might it employ.  
Nay, I shall make new business for thy Sword,  
If thou darest be so just to keep thy Word.  
But though so much on thy destruction bend,  
Yet I thy Murder would as much prevent.  
I have thy death with too much justice sought,  
That it should now be with a Treason bought.  
Who knows and suffers does partake the guilt,  
Nor should thy blood be infamously spilt.  
But when my Husband's Sons, and Kindred do  
Attempt thy death, than I shall wish it too.  
And that some brave Arm, which I shall excite,  
May in the Field, and in thy Army's sight,  
Offer thee nobly to that Hero's Ghost,  
In whose revenge thou so much zeal bestowest.  
My restless thirst for such a day as this,  
By thy untimely fall its end would miss.  
But whatsoever hopes from abroad I may  
Receive, yet I am racked by their delay.  
" For distant satisfaction is half lost:  
" And long expected joys too dearly cost.  
I shall not wander on the Africa Strands;  
To seek the vengeance ready in thy hands,  
Which does the head it threatens best befit:  
For I could thine have had instead of it;  
But that my hatred saw the difference great,  
Betwixt my Husband's murder and defeat:  
And I an earlier Punishment would see  
On their presumption, than thy Victory:  
This is Rome's wish, Whose venerable brow  
To this affront, too just a blush would owe:  
If her two Noblest heads should (after all  
Her Triumphs) with so much dishonour fall.  
She, upon whom thou never couldst impose,  
Would sooner punish Criminals than Foes:  
Her Liberty would a misfortune grow,  
If upon Tiber Nile should it bestow.  
None but a Roman could her Master be,  
And but a Roman none should set her free.  
Here thou wouldst fall to her unsacrificed,  
And wouldst be murdered so, but not chastised.  
Nor would succeeding Tyrants frighted be,  
For the Example too would die with thee.  
Revenge her thou, on Egypt's wrong, and I  
Will her revenge upon Pharsalia try.  
Adieu, no time in this should wasted be,  
Go then, and boast I once made vows for thee.   

SCEN. V:  Caesar, Cleopatra, Antonius, Lepidus, Achoreus, Charmion. CAESAR. 
Her Virtue, and their Crime alike amaze,  
Queen, you perceive for whom your goodness prays.  CLEOPATRA. 
That, now, no more against your justice fights,  
Go (Sir) revenge all violated rights:  
My ruin, they much more than yours desire:  
The Traitors do against my Right conspire.  
As my support, against you they design,  
And by your death, would make their way to mine:  
But though all this be to my anger known,  
Yet 'tis my Brother still that leads them on.  
Do you know that Sir, and may I obtain,  
It your deserved fury may restrain?  CAESAR. 
Yes, I'll remember, your heart is so great,  
That for his Births sake, you his Crime forget.  
Adieu, fear nothing, for these are not foes,  
That can the fortune of my Arms oppose.  
Them, and their Party, I shall quickly rout,  
When I to them but Whips and Racks bring out:  
They shall not Soldiers, but Tormentors see,  
And now my Axes shall my Ensigns be. Exit. Caesar.  CLEOPATRA. 
Dear Achoreus, after Caesar go,  
With him prevent my threatened overthrow:  
And when he punishes our worthless Foes,  
Make him remember what his promise owes.  
Observe the King, when he in fight appears,  
And spare his blood, that you may spare my tears.  ACHOREUS. 
Madam, his fortune shall no sorrow need,  
If all my care and service can succeed.  After the fourth Act, Cleopatra sits harkening to this SONG. 

PRoud Monuments of Royal Dust!  
Do not your old Foundations shake,  
And labour to resign their trust?  
For sure your mighty Guests should wake,  
Now their own Memphis lies at stake.   

Alas! in vain our dangers call;  
They care not for our Destiny,  
Nor will they be concerned at all  
If Egypt now enslaved, or free,  
A Kingdom or a Province be.   

What is become of all they did?  
And what of all they had designed,  
Now death the busy Scene hath hid?  
Where but in story shall we find  
Those great disturbers of Mankind?   

When Men their quiet Minutes spent  
Where Myrtles grew and Fountains purled,  
As safe as they were Innocent:  
What angry God among them hurled  
Ambition to undo the World?   

What is the charm of being Great?  
Which oft is gained and lost with Sin,  
Or if w' attain a Royal seat,  
With Guiltless steps what do we win,  
If Love and Honour fight within?   

Honour the Brightness of the Mind!  
And Love her noblest ecstasy:  
That does ourselves, this others bind.  
When you great Pair shall disagree  
What Casuist can the Umpire be?   

Though Love does all the heart subdue,  
With gentle, but resistless sway;  
Yet Honour must that govern too:  
And when thus Honour wins the Day,  
Love overcomes the bravest way.     

Act. V.  

SCEN. I.  Cornelia with a little Urn in her hand, and Philip. CORNELIA. 

MAy I believe my Eyes? or does this sight  
Delude me, with Chimeras of the Night?  
Do I behold Thee Philip? and didst Thou  
Funeral rites to my loved Lord allow?  
His Ashes does this Urn contain? O view!  
At once so terrible and tender too!  
Eternal Food of Sorrow and of Hate,  
All of Great Pompey that is spared by fate.  
Expect not I a Tear to you should pay,  
For Great Souls ease their Griess another way.  
Shallow Afflictions, by Complaints are fed:  
And who laments, would fain be Comforted.  
But I have sworn by all that we Adore;  
And by yourself (sad Object) which is more:  
(For my grieved Heart does more to you submit,  
Then to those Gods who so ill-guarded it.)  
By you I swear it then (Mournful remain,  
My only Deity, now he is slain)  
That no extinction or decay, shall be  
In that revenge which must ennoble me.   

To Caesar, Ptolemy, by base surprise,  
Rome, of thy Pompey, made a Sacrifice.  
And I, thy injured walls will never see,  
Till Priest, and God, to him shall offered be.  
Put me in mind, and my just hate sustain,  
O Ashes! now my hope as well as Pain.  
And to assist me in that great design,  
Shed in all Hearts, what now is felt by mine.  
But Thou, who on so infamous a shore,  
Gavist him a flame, so Pions, though so Poor:  
Tell me, what God thy Fortune made so great,  
To pay to such a Hero such a Debt?   PHILIP. 
Covered with Blood, and much more dead than he;  
When I had cursed the Royal Treachery,  
My wand'ring Feet were by my grief conveyed,  
Where yet the wind upon the Water played:  
After long search, I on a Rock did stand,  
And saw the Headless Trunk approach the Sand:  
Where th' angry Wave, a pleasure seemed to take  
To cast it off, and then to snatch it back:  
I to it leaped, and thrust it to the banks;  
Then gathering a heap of Shipwrecked Planks,  
An hasty, artless Pile, I to him raised,  
Such as I could, and such as Fortune pleased.  
'Twas hardly kindled, when Heaven grew so kind  
To send me help, in what I had designed.  
Codrus, an Ancient Roman, who lives here,  
Returning from the City, spied me there.  
And when he did a headless Carcase view,  
By that sad mark alone he Pompey knew:  
Then weeping said, O thou who e'er thou art,  
To whom the Gods such honours do impart,  
Thy fortune's greater than thou dost believe,  
Thou shalt rewards, not Punishments receive.  
Caesar's in Egypt and Revenge declares,  
For him to whom thou payest these Pious Cares,  
These Ashes to his Widow thou mayst bear  
In Alexandria, for now she is there.  
By Pompey's Conqueror so entertained,  
As by a God it would not be disdained.  
Go on till I return: this said, he went,  
And quickly brought me this small Monument.  
Then we, betwixt us, into it conveyed,  
That Hero's Ashes which the fire had made.  CORNELIA. 
With what great Praises should this act be crowned!  PHILIP. 
Entering the Town I great disorders found.  
A numerous People to the Port did fly,  
Which they believed the King would fortify.  
The eager Romans fiercely these pursued,  
Rage in their eyes, their hands with blood embrued.  
When Caesar with brave Justice did Command,  
Photin to perish by a Hangman's hand;  
On me appearing, he vouchsafed to look,  
And with these words my Master's Ashes took.  
Remainders of a Demigod! whose Name  
I scarce can equal Conqueror as I am;  
Behold guilt punished, and till Altars call  
For other Victims, let these Traitor's fall.  
Greater shall follow. To the Court go thou,  
On Pompey's Widow this from me bestow.  
And whilst with it she makes with grief some truce,  
Tell her how Caesar her Revenge pursues.  
That great Man, sighing, then from me did turn,  
And humbly kissing did restore the Urn.  CORNELIA. 
O Formal Grief! how easy is that Tear,  
That's shed for Foes whom we no longer fear!  
How soon revenge for others fills that breast,  
Which to it, is, by its own danger pressed?  
And when the Care we take to right the dead  
Secures our Life and does our glory spread.  
Caesar is generous 'tis true, but he  
By the King wronged, and from his Rival free,  
Might in an envious mind a doubt revive,  
What he would do were Pompey yet alive.  
His courage, his own safety does provide,  
Which does the Beauty of his actions hid.  
Love is concerned in't too, and he does fight  
In Pompey's Cause for Cleopatra's Right.  
So many interests with my Husband's met,  
Might to his Virtue take away my debt.  
But as Great Hearts judge by themselves alone,  
I choose to guests his honour by my own;  
And think we only make his fury such,  
Since in his Fortune I should do as much.   

SCEN. II.  Cleopatra, Charmion, Cornelia, Philip. CLEOPATRA. 
I come not to disturb a grief so due  
To that affliction which hath wounded you:  
But those remains t'adore, which from the wave,  
A faithful freedman did so lately save:  
To mourn your fortune, Madam, and to swear  
You'd still enjoyed a man so justly dear,  
If Heaven which did persecute you still,  
Had made my power equal to my will.  
Yet if to what that Heaven sends you now,  
Your grief can any room for joy allow:  
If any sweetness in revenge there be,  
Receive the certainty of yours from me.  
The false Photinus— But you may have heard.  CORNELIA. 
Yes, Princess that he hath his just reward.  CLEOPATRA. 
Have you no comfort in that news discerned?  CORNELIA. 
If there be any you are most concerned.  CLEOPATRA. 
All hearts with joy receive a wished event.  CORNELIA. 
Our thoughts are, as our interests, different.  
Though Caesar add Achillas death, 'twill be  
To you a satisfaction, not to me:  
For nobler Rites to Pompey's Ghost belong,  
These are too mean to expiate his wrong.  
No reparation by such blood is made,  
Either to my grief, or his injured shade;  
And the revenge which does my Soul inflame,  
Till it hath Caesar, Ptolemy doth claim;  
Who though so much unfit to reign or live,  
Caefar I know will for his safety strive.  
But though his love hath dared to promise it,  
Yet juster Heaven dares it not permit.  
And if the Gods an Ear to me afford,  
They shall both perish by each others Sword:  
Such an event would my heart's grief destroy,  
Which now is such a Stranger grown to joy.  
But if ye gods think this too great a thing,  
And but one fall, O let it be the King!  CLEOPATRA. 
Heaven does not govern as our Wills direct.  CORNELIA. 
But gods, what causes promise, will effect,  
And do the guilty with revenge pursue.  CLEOPATRA. 
As they have justice, they have mercy too.  CORNELIA. 
But we may judge as here events have past,  
They now the first will act, and not the last.  CLEOPATRA. 
Their Mercy oft does through their Justice break.  CORNELIA. 
Queen, you as Sister, I as Widow speak.  
Each hath her cause of kindness and of hate,  
And both concerned are in this Prince's Fate.  
But by the blood which hath to day been shed,  
We shall perceive whose vows have better sped.  
Behold your Achoreus.   

SCEN. III.  To them Achoreus. CLEOPATRA. 
But alas!  
I read no good presages in his Face;  
Speak Achoreus, let us freely hear  
What yet deserves my sorrow, or my fear.  ACHOREUS. 
Assoon as Caesar did the Treason know:—  CLEOPATRA. 
'Tis not his Conduct I inquire of now,  
I know he cut and stopped that secret vault  
Which to him should the Murderers have brought,  
That to secure the Streets his men he sent,  
Where Photin did receive his Punishment:  
Whose sudden fall Achillas so amazed,  
That on th' abandoned Port he quickly seized;  
Whom the King followed, and that, to the land  
Antonius all his Soldiers did command.  
Where Caesar joined him, and I thence do guess  
Achillas punishment, and his success.  ACHOREUS. 
His usual Fortune her assistance gave.  CLEOPATRA. 
But tell me if he did my brother save,  
And kept his Promise.  ACHOREUS. 
Yes with all his might.  CLEOPATRA. 
That's all the News I wished you to recite.  
Madam, you see the Gods my prayers heard.  CORNELIA. 
They only have his punishment deferred.  CLEOPATRA. 
You wished it now; but they have him secured.  ACHOREUS. 
Or Caesar had, if he had life endured.  CLEOPATRA. 
What said you last? Or did I rightly hear?  
Oh! quickly your obscure Discourses clear.  ACHOREUS. 
Neither your cares nor ours could save him, who  
Would die in spite of Caesar, and of You:  
But Madam, in the noblest way he died,  
That ever falling Monarch dignified:  
His restored Virtue did his Birth make good,  
And to the Romans dearly sold his blood.  
He fought Antonius with such noble heat,  
That on him he did some advantage get:  
But Caesar's coming altered the event;  
Achillas there after Photinus went:  
But so as him did too much honour bring;  
With Sword in hand he perished for his King.  
O spare the King, in vain the Conqueror cried;  
To him no hope but terror it employed.  
For frighted, he thought Caesar did intent  
But to reserve him to a shameful end.  
He charged, and broke our Ranks, bravely to show  
What Virtue armed by despair can do.  
By this mistake his vexed soul abused,  
Still sought the death which still was him refused.  
Breathless at last, with having fought and bled,  
Encompassed round, and his best Soldiers dead,  
Into a Vessel which was near he leaps,  
And followed was by such tumultuous heaps,  
As by their number, overpressed, the Ship  
With all its freight was swallowed in the Deep.  
This death recovers all his lost Renown,  
Gives Caesar Fame, and You th' Egyptian Crown:  
You were proclaimed, and though no Roman Sword  
Had touched the Life so much by you deplored,  
Caesar extremely did concerned appear;  
He sighs, and he complains: but see him here,  
Who better can then I his Griefs relate,  
For the unhappy Kings resistless Fate.   

SCEN. IU.  To them Caesar, Antonius, Lepidus. CORNELIA. 
Caesar be just, and me my Galleys yield,  
Achillas and Photinus both are killed;  
Nor could thy softened heart their Master save,  
And Pompey here, no more revenge can have.  
This fatal shore nothing does me present,  
But th' Image of their horrible Attempt,  
And thy new Conquest, with the giddy noise  
Of People who in change of Kings rejoice:  
But what afflicts me most, is still to see  
Such an obliging Enemy in Thee.  
Release me then from this inglorious pain,  
And set my Hate at liberty again.  
But yet before I go I must request  
The Head of Pompey with his Bones may rest.  
Give it me then, as that alone, which yet  
I can with Honour at thy hands entreat.  CAESAR. 
You may so justly that Remainder claim,  
That to deny it would be Caesar's shame:  
But it is fit, after so many Woes,  
That we should give his wand'ring Shade repose,  
And that a Pile which You and I inflame,  
From the first mean one rescue Pompey's name.  
That he should be appeased our Grief to view;  
And that an Urn more worthy him and you  
May (the Pomp done, and fire extinct again)  
His reunited Ashes entertain.  
This Arm, which did so long with him debate,  
Shall Altars to his Virtue dedicate,  
Offer him Vows, Incense and Victims too,  
And yet shall give him nothing but his Due.  
I but to morrow for these Rites require,  
Refuse me not the Favour I desire;  
But stay till these solemnities be past,  
And then you may resume your eager haste.  
Bring to our Rome a Treasury so great,  
That Relic bear—  CORNELIA. 
Not thither Caesar yet.  
Till first thy ruin, granted me by Fate,  
To these loved Ashes shall unlock the Gate;  
And thither (though as Dear to Rome as me)  
They come not till Triumphant over thee.  
To Africa I must this rich burden bear,  
Where Pompey's Sons, Cato and Scipio are.  
Who'll find, I hope, (with a brave King allied)  
Fortune as well as Justice on their side:  
And thou shalt see, there with new fury hurled,  
Pharsalia's Ruins arm another World.  
From Rank to Rank these Ashes I'll expose  
Mixed with my Tears, t' exasperate thy Foes.  
My Hate shall guide them too, and they shall fight  
With Urns, instead of Eagles in their sight;  
That such sad Objects may make them intent  
On his Revenge, and on thy Punishment.  
Thou to this Hero now devout art grown,  
But, raising his Name, dost exalt thy own.  
I must be Witness too! and I submit;  
But thou canst never move my Heart with it.  
My Loss can never be repaired by Fate,  
Nor is it possible t' exhaust my Hate.  
This Hate shall be my Pompey now, and I  
In his Revenge will live, and with it die.  
But as a Roman, though my Hate be such,  
I must confess, I thee esteem as much.  
Both these extremes Justice can well allow:  
This does my Virtue, that my Duty show.  
My sense of Honour does the first command;  
Concern, the last, and they are both constrained.  
And as thy Virtue, whom none can betray,  
Where I should hate, makes me such value pay:  
My Duty so my Anger does create,  
And Pompey's Widow makes Cornelia hate.  
But I from hence shall hasten, and know then,  
I'll raise against thee Gods, as well as Men.  
Those Gods that flattered thee, and me abused,  
And in Pharsalia Pompey's Cause refused;  
Who at his Death could Thunderbolts refrain,  
To expiate that, will his Revenge maintain:  
If not his Soul will give my Zeal such heat,  
As I without their help shall thee defeat.  
But should all my Endeavours prosper ill,  
What I can not do, Cleopatra will.  
I know thy flame, and that t' obey its force  
Thou from Calphurnia study'st a Divorce:  
Now blinded, thou wouldst this Alliance make,  
And there's no Law of Rome thou darest not break.  
But know, the Roman Youth think it no sin  
To fight against the Husband of a Queen.  
And thy offended Friends will at the Price  
Of thy best Blood revenge their scorned Advice.  
I check thy Ruin if I check thy Love;  
Adieu; to morrow will thy Honour prove.   

SCEN. V.  Caesar, Cleopatra, Charmion, Antonius, Lepidus, Achoreus. CLEOPATRA. 
Rather than You to this exposed should be,  
With my own Ruin I would set you free.  
Sacrifice me, Sir, to your Happiness;  
For that's the greatest that I can possess;  
Though far unworthy to be Caesar's Bride,  
Yet He'll remember one that for him Died.  CAESAR. 
Those empty projects, Queen, are all now left  
To a great Heart of other Help bereft;  
Whose keen desires her want of Strength confess,  
Can she perform more, she would wish it less.  
The Gods will these vain Auguries disprove,  
Nor can they my Felicity remove.  
If your Love stronger than your Grief appears,  
And will for Caesar's sake dry up your Tears;  
And that a Brother, who deserved them not,  
May for a Faithful Lover be forgot.  
You may have heard, with what Regret of mine  
His Safety to Despair he did resign;  
How much I sought his Reason to redeem  
From those vain Terrors that surrounded him,  
Which he disputed to his latest Breath,  
And cast away his Life for fear of Death.  
O shame for Caesar! Who so eminent!  
And so solicitous for your Content!  
Yet by the Cruel Fortune of this Day  
Can not the First of your Commands Obey:  
But vainly we resist the Gods, who will  
Their Just Decrees on guilty men fulfil.  
And yet his Fall your Happiness procures,  
Since by his Death Egypt is wholly Yours.  CLEOPATRA. 
I know I gain another Diadem,  
For which none can be blamed but Heaven and Him;  
But as the Fate of humane things is such,  
That Joy and Trouble do each other touch,  
Excuse me, if the Crown conferred by You  
As it obliges, does afflict me too;  
And if to see a Brother justly killed,  
To Nature I as well as Reason yield.  
No sooner on my Grandeur I reflect,  
But my Ambition by my Blood is checked.  
I meet my Fortune with a secret Groan,  
Nor dare without Regret ascend the Throne.  ACHOREUS. 
The Court is full, Sir, People crowding in,  
Who with great shouts demand to see their Queen,  
And many signs of their Impatience give,  
That such a Blessing they so late receive.  CAESAR. 
Let them so just a Happiness obtain,  
And by that Goodness, Queen, commence your reign.  
O may the Gods so favour my Desire,  
That in their Joy your Sorrow may expire;  
That no Idea in your Soul may be,  
But of the Wounds which you have given me:  
Whilst my Attendants and your Courtiers may  
Prepare to morrow for a glorious day.  
When all such Noble Offices may own,  
Pompey t' appease, and Cleopatra Crown.  
To her a Throne, to him let's Altars Build,  
And to them both Immortal Honours yield.  Exeunt. After the Fifth Act by two Egyptian Priests as after the second. 

AScend a Throne Great Queen! to you  
By Nature, and by Fortune due;  
And let the World adore  
One who Ambition could with stand,  
Subdue Revenge, and Love command,  
On Honour's single score.   

2.  
Ye mighty Roman shades, permit  
That Pompey should above you sit,  
He must be Deified.  
For who like him, e'er fought or fell?  
What Hero ever lived so well,  
Or who so greatly died?   

1.  
What cannot Glorious Caesar do?  
How nobly does he fight and woe!  
On Crowns how does he tread!  
What mercy to the weak he shows,  
How fierce is he to living Foes,  
How pious to the dead?   

2.  
Cornelia yet would challenge Tears,  
But that the sorrow which she wears,  
So charming is, and brave,  
That it exalts her Honour more,  
Then if she all the Sceptres bore,  
Her Generous Husband gave.   

Chorus.  
Then after all the Blood that's shed,  
Let's right the living and the dead:  
Temples to Pompey raise;  
Set Cleopatra on the Throne;  
Let Caesar keep the World he has won;  
And sing Cornelia's praise.   After which a Grand Masque is Danced before Caesar and Cleopatra, made (as well as the other Dances and the Tunes to them) by Mr. John Ogilby.   

EPILOGUE.  Written by Sir Edward Dering Baronet. 

Pleased or displeased, censure as you think fit,  
The Action, Plot, the language or the wit:  
But we're secure, no Bolder thought can tax  
These Scenes of Blemish to the blushing Sex.  
Nor Envy with her hundred Eyes espy  
One line severest Virtue need to fly:  
As  the words, as harmless is the sense,  
As the first smiles of Infant Innocence.   

Yet at your Feet, Caesar's Content to bow,  
And Pompey, never truly Great till now:  
Who does your Praise and kinder Votes prefer  
Before th' applause of his own Theatre:  
Where fifty Thousand Romans daily blest  
The Gods and him, for all that they possessed.   

The sad Cornelia says, your gentler breath  
Will force a smile, even after Pompey's Death.  
She thought all Passions buried in his Urn,  
But flattering hopes and trembling fears return:  
Undone in Egypt, Thessaly and Rome,  
She yet in Ireland hopes a milder Doom:  
Nor from Iberian Shores, or Lybian Sands  
Expects relief, but only from your hands.   

Even Cleopatra, not content to have  
The Universe, and Caesar too her Slave,  
Forbears her Throne, till you her right allow;  
'Tis less t' have ruled the World, than pleased you.     

HORACE. A Tragedy.  
Translated from MONSIEUR CORNEILLE.  
LONDON, Printed for H. Herringman, and are to be sold at his Shop, at the Blue-anchor in the lower walk of the new Exchange, 1667.   

The Actors.  

Tullus, King of Rome.  
Old Horace, a Roman Knight.  
Horace, his Son.  
Curtius, a Gentleman of Alba in love with Camilla.  
Valerius, a Roman Knight in love with Camilla.  
Sabina, Wife of Horace and Sister of Curtius.  
Camilla, Mistress of Curtius and Sister of Horace.  
Julia, Roman Lady, confident of Sabina and Camilla.  
Flavian, an Alban Soldier.  
Proculus, a Roman Soldier.   
The Scene in the House of Horace at Rome.   

HORACE.  

ACT I.  

SCEN. I.  Sabina and Julia. SABINA. 
EXcuse my weakness, and my grief permit  
In that distress, which so much merits it:  
When such a storm does its approaches make,  
It may become the strongest heart to shake;  
And Constancy will now admit dispute,  
Even in the Breast that is most resolute:  
But yet how rude soe'er the shock appears,  
Though not my Sighs, I can command my Tears;  
Though so much sorrow may my heart surprise,  
Yet Virtue still is regent in my Eyes:  
If to my heart, I can confine my woe,  
Though less than Man, I more than Woman do.  
To stop my tears in an assault so rough,  
For our weak Sex will sure be brave enough.  JULIA. 
It is for vulgar Souls I must confess,  
Who create grief from every slight distress;  
But a great Heart would blush at that defect,  
And all things dares from doubtful Fate expect:  
Under our Walls two Armies we survey,  
But Rome ne'er yet knew how to lose the day;  
Applause, not grief, we to her Fortune owe,  
Who whilst she fights must needs the mightier grow.  
Then let vain terrors from your breast departed,  
And find out Vows worthy a Roman heart.  SABINA. 
My heart I gave to Horace, and 'tis true,  
Since he's a Roman, I must be so too:  
But yet that Knot a Fetter would be thought,  
If my dear Country should be quite forgot.  
Alba where I began to see the light,  
Alba my native place, and first delight,  
When I behold a War 'twixt us and thee,  
As much as loss, I dread a Victory:  
Rome if by this thy anger I create,  
Find out a Foe whom I may justly hate;  
When at thy Walls two Armies in thy sight,  
Show me my Brothers with my Husband sight,  
What Prayers can I make? how can I be  
Without impiety concerned for thee?  
I know thy growing Empire, yet so young,  
By War alone must make her sinews strong;  
Thy future grandeur is by Fate designed,  
Not to the Latins to be long confined:  
The gods the suppliant World for thee intent,  
And 'tis by Arms thou must attain that end:  
Far from repining at that noble heat  
Which serves thy Stars, and helps to make thee great;  
I wish thy Troops may still new Triumphs claim,  
And overrun Pyrenian Hills to Fame.  
Go, Eastern Conquests for thy Sword design,  
And settle thy Pavilions in the Rhine;  
Let all Lands tremble where thy Ensigns go,  
But her to whom thou Romulus dost owe;  
Subdue the utmost Regions of the Earth,  
But spare the Town where Romulus had birth;  
Forget not her from whom thy City draws,  
Her Name, and all her strength, but Walls and Laws:  
Alba's thy Parent, let that thought arrest  
Thy greedy Sword, nor pierce thy Mother's breast,  
For thy triumphant Arms make other choice,  
And in her Child's Fortune she'll rejoice,  
Nay, would with natural concern disown  
All Enemies of thine, were she not one.  JULIA. 
This Language much surprise to me affords,  
For since these Cities first unsheathed their Swords,  
You have so unconcerned for Alba stood,  
As if your birth had been of Roman blood;  
I wondered at a Virtue so refined,  
Which to your Husband, Alba had resigned,  
And therefore so proportioned my relief,  
As if our Rome alone had caused your grief.  SABINA. 
Whilst such a shock my reason did assail,  
As was too weak to weigh down either Scale;  
Till all my flattering hopes of Peace were lost,  
To be entirely Roman was my boast.  
If at Rome's Fortune I displeased have been,  
I quickly chid that mutiny within:  
And when her destiny was not so kind,  
If, for my Brothers, joy seduced my mind,  
By Reason's help that motion I suppressed,  
And wept for all the glory they possessed.  
But now these Cities must be lost or saved,  
That Rome must sink, or Alba be enslaved;  
And after battle there no hope remains  
To the subdued, nor stop to her that gains:  
I should too barbarously my Country treat,  
If I could be a perfect Roman yet.  
A little less to one man's love resigned,  
To neither City I will be confined;  
I fear for both, and whilst their Fate is tried,  
I still will be on the afflicted side;  
Equal to each, whilst they unequal are,  
And must their Crief, but not their Glory share.  
For I resolve in such a sharp debate,  
To mourn the Conquered, and the Victor hate.  JULIA. 
How oft does Fortune with an equal blow,  
On different Souls different effects bestow!  
How distant is Camilla's way from this?  
Your Brother loves her, her's your Husband is,  
Yet in each Army with another eye,  
She can a Lover and a Brother spy:  
When in Rome's Fortunes you were most involved,  
She was as much confused and unresolved:  
She feared the storm from every cloud would spread,  
And the success of either side did dread:  
The most unfortunate she did bemoan,  
And whosoever prevailed she was undone.  
But when the day, she knew, was drawing nigh,  
And one great Battle should the Quarrel try,  
A sudden gladness breaking from her brow—  SABINA. 
Ah Julia! how that joy alarms me now,  
Valerius yesterday she smiled upon,  
And for his sake, she Curtius will disown;  
A nearer Object snatches her esteem,  
And two years' absence hath deformed him!  
But though my Brother be to me so dear,  
By care of him, I must not injure her;  
My groundless jealousy concludes amiss,  
Who can change love at such a time as this?  
How can a heart, receive a wound that's new,  
When such great shocks give it so much to do?  
Yet from joy too, this fatal day deters,  
And from contentments which resemble hers.  JULIA. 
In me it equal wonder does produce,  
Nor do I know what can be her excuse;  
'Tis Constancy enough, if we can wait  
Without impatience so severe a Fate,  
But 'tis too much, if we shall cheerful grow.  SABINA. 
See some good Genius sends her hither now,  
Her thoughts on this, engage her to reveal,  
From you her Friendship nothing can conceal;  
I'll leave you— Sister talk with Julia now,  
For I'm ashamed my weakness to avow;  
And so much sorrow does my heart invade,  
That I must hid it in some secret shade.  Exit.  

SCEN. II.  Julia, Camilla. CAMILLA. 
Why does she wish I should with you converse,  
Does she believe my trouble less than hers?  
Or more insensible of this sad day,  
Does she conclude I have no tears to pay?  
With equal terror I am threatened too,  
And I shall lose as much as she can do:  
The man to whom I did my heart resign,  
Must for his Country die, or ruin mine:  
And all that I can love (such is my fate!)  
Must now deserve my sorrow or my hate.  
Alas!—  JULIA. 
Yet her affliction is more strange,  
We may a Lover not a Husband change;  
Receive Valerius love, Curtius forget,  
And you'll no more the other side regret;  
But wholly Ours, and recomposed within,  
You'll nothing have to lose, when Rome does win.  CAMILLA. 
Ah give me Council more legitimate,  
Nor teach me with a Crime to shun my Fate;  
For though my tide of Woes I scarce can stem,  
I rather would endure than merit them.  JULIA. 
Can you believe a prudent change a fault?  CAMILLA. 
And can you think a Perjury is not?  JULIA. 
What can engage us to our mortal foes?  CAMILLA. 
But what can disengage what honour owes?  JULIA. 
You would in vain disguise a thing designed,  
And which Valerius yesterday did find;  
For the reception you to him did give,  
Hath made his late repining hope revive.  CAMILLA. 
If to Valerius I then paid respect,  
You nothing thence must for his hope collect;  
Another subject did my joys produce,  
But I your error now will disabuse;  
And for my Curtius keep a flame too sure,  
Such a suspicion longer to endure.  
You know his Sister was no sooner led,  
By happy marriage, to my Brother's Bed,  
But that my Father (pressed by him) desired,  
I should reward the love I had inspired:  
That time produced happy and fatal things;  
At once our marriage, and the War resolved,  
Our hopes created, and those hopes dissolved;  
It promised all, and then snatched all away,  
It makes us Foes, and Lovers in a day:  
How violent our grief did then appear,  
How many blasphemies Heaven than did hear,  
And from my Eyes how many Rivers fell,  
I tell you not, you saw our last farewell.  
The trouble of my Soul, you since have seen,  
And of my vows for Peace have witness been;  
At every news in my distracted breast,  
My Country and my Lover did contest;  
Tossed with uncertain thoughts, I fled for ease  
To the relief of sacred Oracles:  
Judge if what yesterday I did obtain,  
Might not assure my drooping heart again;  
That famous Greek who at the Aventine dwells,  
And heavens dark purposes to men foretells,  
He whom Apollo never yet betrayed,  
By this reply my stormy thoughts allayed.  
" Alba and Rome to morrow changing face  
" Shall to thy wished for peace at last give place;  
" And to thy Curtius thou shalt then be tied,  
" So as no Fortune, ever shall divide.  
I wholly on this answer did depend  
And finding it my utmost hopes transcend,  
My Soul to raptures of Contentment flew,  
Beyond what happiest Lovers ever knew.  
Judge of their height; Valerius then I met,  
And could even him behold without regret:  
He spoke of Love too, and I that could hear,  
And never thought Valerius had been there;  
His Courtship could from me no anger draw,  
For every thing seemed Curtius that I saw.  
I thought all sounds told me how he did burn,  
And all my answers Echoed my return.  
The general Field which must to day be fought,  
I yesterday had heard, but minded not;  
My Soul those fatal Objects did reject,  
And still on peace and marriage did reflect:  
But Night those charming errors has expelled,  
And made my Soul to dreadful Visions yield,  
Wherein vast heaps of horror, Floods of Gore  
Did rob my Joy, and all my fear restore:  
I saw men dying, and then lost the sight,  
A Ghost appeared, and then it took its flight;  
The fatal shades, each others shape suppress,  
And by confusion terror did increase.  JULIA. 
An opposite construction dreams require.  CAMILLA. 
I would believe what I so much desire;  
But I and all my hopes of good success  
Find this a day of Battle, not of Peace.  JULIA. 
'Twill end the War, and then a peace is sure.  CAMILLA. 
The pain is less than such a guilty cure.  
If Rome, or Alba must defeated be,  
Dear Curtius can have no pretence to me;  
No it Camilla never can become  
To wed the Conqueror, or Slave of Rome.  
But what new Object does my sight surprise!  
Is it thee Curtius? may I trust my Eyes?   

SCEN. III.  Curtius, Camilla, Julia. CURTIUS. 
Camilla doubt it not, that Man is come  
Neither the Conqueror, nor Slave of Rome;  
Nor think he could before your face have stood  
With Roman Fetters charged, or Roman blood.  
Glory and Rome, you love at such a rate,  
You would despise my chain, and Conquest hate;  
And since alike in an extreme so great  
I feared a Victory, and a defeat—  CAMILLA. 
'Tis enough Curtius, I can guests thy aim,  
Thou fliest a Field so fatal to thy Flame;  
Rather then me, thy amorous heart would lose,  
It to thy Country does thy Sword refuse.  
Let others make reflections on thy Fame,  
And if they please, so great a passions blame;  
I can no quarrel have to this design,  
What most thy Love shows, most obliges mine:  
And if to Alba secure that denys,  
'Tis to make me the greater Sacrifice.  
But hast thou seen my Father? and could he  
Allow his house should thy retirement be?  
Does Policy or Nature him o'ercome?  
And which is dearest to him, me, or Rome?  
And to assure our Fortune let me know,  
Did he appear a Father, or a Foe?  CURTIUS. 
With as much Kindness my approach he saw  
As could be challenged by a Son-in-Law:  
But me, he hath not by a treason seen,  
Which had unworthy his alliance been.  
I quit not Alba, by adoring you,  
But keep my passion, and my honour too;  
And all the War, your Curtius hath not been  
A better Lover than a Citizen;  
Nor to his Country's Cause could Love prefer,  
But whilst he sighed for you, he Fought for her.  
And if we must that sad contest renew,  
I still must fight for her, and sigh for you.  
Yes, and in spite of all my passions charms,  
Did the War last, I should be now in Arms.  
But a new Peace gives me this free access,  
And 'tis to that, we own this happiness.  CAMILLA. 
O! Who can faith to such a wonder give  JULIA. 
At least you may, your Oracle believe,  
And may discover by this good success,  
This day of battle has produced a peace.  CURTIUS. 
Who could have thought it? the two Arms met,  
And Both to Fight resolved with equal heat,  
When our Dictator 'twixt both Arms stands,  
And a short audience from your Prince demands.  
" Romans (said he then) whence comes all this rage?  
" What fury makes us thus in Arms engage?  
" At least let Reason our Instructor be,  
" Our daughters are your Wives, your Neighbours we;  
" Hymen so much our union did pursue,  
" That our Sons challenge Grandfather's in you:  
" We but one Kindred, and one People are,  
" Why should we tear ourselves with Civil Wars?  
Where he that Conquers loses too, and wears  
His noblest Laurel watered with his Tears.  
Our common Foes expect this Bloody Day,  
That they that win it, may become their Prey;  
Nor can the Guilty Conqueror that avoid,  
Having himself his own defence destroyed.  
They smile to see us thus our Force abuse,  
Which against them we should more Nobly use:  
Let us these little discords than forsake,  
Which so bad Kinsmen of good Soldiers make.  
But if a thirst of Empire be the Cause  
Which either People to this madness draws,  
If with less Slaughter that may be supplied,  
It will unite us, rather than divide:  
Let either City Combatants design,  
And all her Fortune to their Swords resign,  
And as of them the Gods shall then ordain,  
Let the weak vield, and let the stronger Reign;  
But so, as blushes to the Loser saved,  
They may Subjected be, but not enslaved,  
And to no shame, or Tribute condescend,  
But on the Victor's Standards to attend.  
Thus our two States, we may one Empire call.  
He said no more, but this affected all:  
Each on the hostile Ranks casting his Eyes,  
A Friend, a Kinsman, or a Brother spies;  
They wonder how their greedy anger flew,  
In their own blood their weapons to imbrue;  
And this reflection on each brow did write,  
Heat for the choice, and horror for the Fight.  
At length this offer through the Squadrons born,  
On these conditions the wished peace was sworn;  
Three fight for each, but the Commanders take  
More leisure this important choice to make:  
Ours to the Camp, yours to the Senate went.  CAMILLA. 
Oh Gods! how much you study my Cotnent!  CURTIUS. 
'Tis the agreement, that within two hours  
Our Champion's Fortune must determine Ours:  
Till they are named, we freely go and come,  
Rome in our Camp is, and our Camp in Rome:  
And since no Orders now access refuse,  
His old acquaintance every man renews.  
I (by my passion led) your Brothers found,  
And my Love since with such success is Crowned,  
That now your Father's word my hope allows;  
We shall to morrow join our Marriage Vows;  
You'll not, I trust, dispute what he commands.  CAMILLA. 
A Daughter's duty in obedience stands.  CURTIUS. 
Come then that pleasing Order now receive  
Which must an end to all my sufferings give.  CAMILLA. 
I go, in hope my Brothers there to see,  
And know the Period of our Misery.  JULIA. 
Be that your way, the Temple shall be mine,  
Where for you both, I'll praise the powers divine.  Exeunt.   

Act II.  

SCEN. I.  Horace, and Curtius. CURTIUS. 
THus Rome hath not divided her esteem,  
Another choice to her unjust would seem:  
You, and your Brothers, this proud City calls,  
The greatest Soldiers that are in her Walls;  
And whilst before all, she you three prefers,  
She all our Houses braves with one of hers;  
And one may think as this Election runs,  
Rome hath no Soldiers, but your Father's Sons:  
By this, three Families must raise their Name,  
And nobly consecrate themselves to Fame:  
Yes, by this choice we so much Honour see  
Given to one House, as might Eternize three;  
And since in yours, my Fortune and my Flame  
Hath placed a Sister, and a Wife does claim,  
You justly may expect Concerns in me,  
From what I am, and what I am to be:  
But yet another reason does constrain  
My Joy, and mingles with it much of pain;  
For your famed courage to that pitch is flown,  
That Alba's fall already I bemoan.  
Her loss is certain now; and naming you,  
Even Destiny herself hath sworn it too.  
In this Election I read Alba's doom,  
And count myself a Subject now of Rome.  HORACE. 
'Tis Rome, not Alba, your compassion claims,  
Viewing whom she rejects, and whom she names;  
Her partial favour may her Fortune lose,  
Who having so much choice, so ill does choose:  
A thousand braver Sons she had then we,  
Who might with more success her Champions be.  
But though my ruin in this choice I find,  
With noble Pride it elevates my Mind;  
My Heart's assurance gathers mighty scope,  
And from my little courage, much I hope;  
Which howsoever fate intends to treat,  
I cannot think myself your subject yet:  
Rome hopes too well of me, and therefore I  
Will answer that great trust, or for it die.  
He yet will die, or vanquish, seldom fails;  
That brave despair most commonly prevails:  
How e'er it be, she never shall obey  
Till my last gasp says, I have lost the Day.  CURTIUS. 
Alas! my Fortune only calls for Tears,  
Since what my Country hopes, my friendship fears.  
Cruel extremes! Alba must be subdued,  
Or else her Triumph with your blood imbrued,  
And all the Glory for which she has fought,  
Can only with so dear a Life be bought!  
What can I wish, or what event desire,  
Since either so much sorrow will require?  
And every way I see my hopes denied.  HORACE. 
Would you regret me if for Rome I died?  
A Death so noble, lovely does appear,  
And is too Glorious to endure a Tear:  
Nay I should court it, and my ruin bless,  
If Rome by my defeat would suffer less.  CURTIUS. 
But yet you may allow your friends to fear  
What will to them at least be so severe;  
They suffer in your glory, and one fate  
Makes you Immortal, them unfortunate.  
He loses all, who such a Friend must lose.  
But hither Flavius comes, and brings us news.  
Hath Alba's Council yet her Champions chose?   

SCEN. II.  Horace, Curtius, Flavius. FLAVIUS. 
I come to tell you.  CURTIUS. 
Well, and who are those?  FLAVIUS. 
You, and your Brothers.  CURTIUS. 
Who?  FLAVIUS. 
Even they, and you:  
But why so stern, and so unpleased a Brow?  
Does this offend you?  CURTIUS. 
No, but does surprise;  
The honour much above my Merit flies.  FLAVIUS. 
Must the Dictator (who me hither sent)  
Be told you hear it with this discontent?  
This cold reception me too does surprise.  CURTIUS. 
Tell him in spite of Loves and Friendships ties,  
Yet Curtius, and his Brothers mean to fight  
Against the Horace's, for Alba's Right.  FLAVIUS. 
Against them! 'tis too much! but tell me how.  CURTIUS. 
Carry my answer back, and leave me now.  Exit Flavius  

SCEN. III.  Harace, and Curtius. CURTIUS. 
Let Heaven, and Earth, and Hell, now all engage  
To act against us their united rage;  
Let Gods, and Men, and Fate, and Devils too,  
Prepare against us all that they can do;  
Yet to reduce us to a worse Estate,  
I dare defy Heaven, Earth, and Hell, and Fate:  
Horror itself, hath somewhat less severe  
Than this our dismal Honour does appear.  HORACE. 
Fortune hath careful of our Glory been,  
And gives a noble Scene to show it in;  
Laboriously she forms us a distress  
Somewhat proportioned to our Courages:  
No vulgar thought she does in us survey,  
And therefore treats us in no common way.  
For public safety to attaque a Foe,  
And singly fight a man we do not know,  
Is what a vulgar virtue may beget,  
Thousands have done it, and may do it yet;  
Who would not for their Country lose their breath?  
Nay would not factious grow for such a death?  
But to resign her all that can be dear,  
And from our bosoms half our hearts to tear;  
With a destructive fury to pursue  
A Sister's Lover, a Wife's Brother too,  
And breaking all these knots to fight with him,  
Whose life we would, with our own blood, redeem;  
This is a virtue only fit for us,  
And for which few will be solicitous:  
Few men have hearts of that exalted frame,  
That dare at such a rate pretend to Fame.  CURTIUS. 
'Tis true, time never shall our names deface,  
And we the brave occasion must embrace;  
Of a rare Virtue we shall mirrors be,  
But yours seems somewhat barbarous to me:  
There are not many Heros would grow vain  
By this harsh way, Eternity to gain.  
How much soe'er you prise that empty noise,  
Obscurity were now the better choice:  
I dare avow it, and you might have seen  
I have not doubtful in my duty been:  
Nor could my friendship, nor my love prevail,  
To hold my Mind in an uncertain Scale.  
But since my Country by her Vote does show  
She values me as much as yours does you:  
I hope to do, what you, or dare, or can,  
My Heart's as great, but I am still a man.  
I see my death alone your Fame secures,  
And that my honour lies in acting yours;  
I must shed blood, with which I would combine,  
So cross are all my Country's Stars to mine:  
Though no weak terror can my heart dissuade,  
Yet dismal horror does it now invade;  
I mourn my fate, and envy theirs that are  
Already swallowed by this greedy War.  
I would not call this sad, fierce honour back,  
Which can't o'erthrow the heart it does attaque;  
What I gain thence I like, mourn what I miss,  
And if Rome calls for firmer thoughts than this,  
I thank the Gods that I no Roman am,  
Lest all things humane I should then disclaim.  HORACE. 
Though you're no Roman, yet deserve to be,  
And better show how much you equal me;  
That solid Virtue which I make my boast,  
By any weaker tincture would be lost:  
His race of Honour is but ill designed,  
Who at first start gins to look behind;  
Our suffering to the highest pitch is brought,  
I can see through it, but I tremble not.  
Where e'er my Country will my arm employ,  
I must accept it with implicit joy;  
The glory of receiving such Commands,  
Every reflection but itself withstands;  
He who room then for other thoughts can find,  
Does what he ought with too remiss a mind;  
That sacred tie, must others uncreate,  
Rome arming me, I nothing must debate;  
Nor did I wed thy Sister with more joy,  
Than now I'll seek her Brother to destroy:  
And this superfluous language to give o'er,  
Y'are Alba's choice, nor must I know you more.  CURTIUS. 
Yet to my torment, I must still know you,  
But this rough Virtue yet I never knew;  
And in this sad extremity of Fate  
Let me admire it, but not imitate.  HORACE. 
No, no, embrace not Virtue by constraint;  
And since you find such pleasure in complaint,  
Freely enjoy it, and for your content,  
My Sister comes to help you to lament:  
I'll visit yours, and hope to make her know  
What generous things becomes my Wife to do;  
That if I full, she may to you be kind,  
And bear her sorrows with a Roman mind.   

SCEN. IU.  Horace, Curtius, Camilla. Horace to Camilla. 
Know you how glorious Curtius is to be?  CAMILLA. 
Alas! how treacherous is my Destiny!  HORACE. 
Now by your constancy your birth confess,  
And if my death allows him the success,  
Let him not be your Brother's Murderer thought,  
But a brave man that does but what be aught,  
Who serves his Country nobly, and does show  
By that great way how much be merits you;  
Conclude your match as if I were alive:  
But if this Sword shall him of life deprive,  
My conquest then with equal candour use,  
Nor of your Lover's death my hand accuse.  
I see your grief by your approaching tears,  
Exhale with him your sorrows and your fears;  
Quarrel with Heaven and Earth, of Fate complain,  
But the fight done, no more regret the slain.  
You but a minute must with her bestow,  To Curtius 
And then where Honour calls us let us go.   

SCEN. V.  Camilla, Curtius, CAMILLA. 
But wilt thou go, and this sad Fame possess  
At the expense of all our happiness?  CURTIUS. 
Alas! whatever I do, I find that I  
Must by my grief, if not by Horace, die;  
But as my Torture I this Honour see,  
And curse the favour Alba does to me;  
I hate that courage which she so esteems,  
Nay my despairing passion impious seems,  
And dares accuse the gods for all this woe,  
I mourn our Fortune, but yet I must go.  CAMILLA. 
No, thou wouldst have me all my interest use,  
And thee to Alba by my power excuse:  
Thy former Acts have thee so famous made,  
That to thy Country all thy debts are paid;  
None better hath than thou the War upheld,  
Nor with more deaths covered the guilty field.  
Thy Name can be no greater than it is,  
Suffer some other now t' ennoble his.  CURTIUS. 
What shall my Eyes another's Temples see  
Bound with those Laurels Fame prepares for me:  
Or by Posterity shall it be thought,  
Alba had conquered, if I would have fought?  
No, since to me she dares entrust her doom,  
She shall by me or fall, or overcome:  
A good account I'll of her Fortune give,  
And die with honour, or with conquest live.  CAMILLA. 
But to betray me then, thy love endures!  CURTIUS. 
I was my Country's e'er I could be yours.  CAMILLA. 
Wilt thou thy Sister's misery create,  
And widow her?—  CURTIUS. 
Such is my cruel Fate:  
Brother and Sister, names so sweet before,  
By Alba's choice, and Rome's, are so no more.  CAMILLA. 
Wilt thou present me with my Brother's head,  
And on that step mount to the Bridal bed?  CURTIUS. 
All I dare think (so dear my fame will cost)  
Is still to love, though all my hope be lost.  
You weep my Dear—  CAMILLA. 
How can I tears avoid,  
Who by my cruel Lover am destroyed?  
When Hymen would his kindled Torch have lent,  
He puts out that, to dig my Monument;  
This savage heart, my ruin can decree,  
And says he loves, when yet he murders me.  CURTIUS. 
How eloquent are tears from eyes we love!  
How strong does Beauty with that succour prove!  
My heart dissolves at such a mournful sight,  
Nor against that can all my virtue fight:  
Strike not my Fame in this subduing shape,  
But let my honour from your tears escape;  
I feel it shake, and scarce defend the place,  
For Curtius to the Lover yields apace;  
With Friendship it hath had enough to do,  
And must it strive with Love, and Pity too?  
Go, love me not, nor one tear more expose  
For him that dares offend such charms as those;  
I better with your anger should have fought,  
And to deserve it all, I love you not:  
Punish this treacherous, this ingrateful heart,  
At such an injury do you not start?  
I do not love you, can you me endure?  
Needs there more yet? my Faith I here abjure.  
O! rigid Virtue! at whose shrine I fall,  
Must thou a Crime to thy assistance call?  CAMILLA. 
Commit no more, and I the gods attest,  
My love shall not be lessened, but increased,  
My kindness shall even in thy falsehood live,  
All but a Brother's death I can forgive:  
Why am I Roman? or why art thou none?  
That I myself might put thy Laurels on;  
I should thy valour heighten not forbid,  
And treat thee just as I my Brother did:  
But ah! how blind I now those vows esteem,  
Since against thee were all I made for him!  
But he returns, O! may Sabina be  
More prevalent with him than I'm with thee.   

SCEN. VI  Curtius, Camilla, Horace, Sabina. CURTIUS. 
Sabina too! my heart to undermine,  
And with Camilla must you Sister join?  
Leaving her tears her Brother to attaque,  
Hope you by yours to call my purpose back?  SABINA. 
No Brother, no, I only visit you  
To give you my embrace and last adieu;  
Your blood's too good, nor need you apprehend  
From me what can your great resolves offend;  
If either were by this brave shock o'erthrown,  
He that first yielded, I should first disown.  
But may not I one favour beg of you,  
Worthy this Brother, and this Husband too?  
I wish your quarrel might less impious grow,  
And would refine the glory of the blow,  
That free from guilt, it might no splendour miss,  
I would fain make you lawful Enemies:  
I the sole link am of your sacred knot,  
Which will untie, assoon as I am not;  
Break then the chain whence that alliance grows,  
And since your Honour now will have you Foes,  
Buy by my death right to each others hate,  
And Rome's and Alba's Vote legitimate;  
Your hand destroying, his revenging me,  
Your Combat will appear no Prodigy;  
And one at least will justly stake his life,  
That he may right his Sister, or his Wife:  
But what? you think your Fame would be less bright,  
If for another quarrel you should fight;  
Your Country's cause will no new heats admit,  
Did you love less, you would act less for it.  
A Brother you must kill, a loved one too,  
Well then, defer not what you ought to do;  
But by his Sister him begin to kill,  
Or by his Wife his blood begin to spill;  
And by Sabina's blood, if her you prise,  
Make your own lives the braver sacrifice:  
You are a Foe to Rome, to Alba you,  
And my aversion to them both is due.  
What must I live to such a Victory,  
Whose highest triumph will but let me see  
A Brother, or a Husband Laurels wear,  
Reaking with blood that is to me so dear?  
How shall I then decide my inward strife,  
Or well express the Sister and the Wife?  
The Conqueror embrace, the conquered grieve?  
No, no, Sabina's death shall her relieve,  
From whomsoever my grief that blow procures,  
And my hands must bestow it, if not yours.  
Go then, what does your savage hearts restrain,  
Against your will, I my desire shall gain,  
For you no sooner shall begin your blows,  
But you shall see this bosom interpose:  
Nor shall your impious Swords your rage pursue,  
Unless through me they make their way to you.  HORACE. 
O Wife!  CURTIUS. 
O Sister!  CAMILLA. 
Courage! they dissolve!  SABINA. 
What can you sigh? paleness your cheek involve?  
What makes you shrink? are these the hearts so brave  
Who in their hands the fates of Empire have?  HORACE. 
Tell me Sabina what thy quarrel is,  
That could deserve so sharp revenge as this?  
Or against thee, what could my honour do,  
That thou shouldst it so cruelly pursue?  
But be content t' have forced it to a Bay,  
And let me finish this important day;  
Thou hast o'er me a strange advantage got,  
But as thou lov'st thy Husband triumph not;  
Go then, a doubtful Victory were here unfit,  
'Tis shame enough to have dispatched it.  
O let me bravely end my days at least.  SABINA. 
Go, fear not me, thy party is increased.   

SCEN. VII.  Old Horace, and all the rest. Old HORACE. 
How's this my Sons? trifling with women's charms,  
When Rome and Alba call you to your Arms?  
You must shed blood, then why should tears surprise?  
But eat th' infectious sorrow of their Eyes:  
For if you stay, their cunning tenderness,  
Will on you both, obtain the first success;  
And in such Wars to fly is to subdue.  SABINA. 
Fear nothing, Sir, they are too worthy you,  
In spite of us, you in them both shall see,  
All that your Son, and Son-in-law should be;  
If our tears could an impression give,  
We'll them to your severer virtue leave.  
Come Sister, come, let's no more sorrow lose,  
These Rocks will still resist such floods as those;  
'Tis to despair alone that we must fly;  
Go Tigers fight, we'll find a way to die.   

SCEN. VIII.  Old Horace, Young Horace, Curtius. Young HORACE. 
Sir, by your prudence their escape prevent,  
Or they'll pursue us with their discontent,  
And with a noise unwelcome and abrupt,  
Their love and grief our fight will interrupt;  
Which may give envy a pretence to stick  
Upon our names, that poor and crafty trick:  
And our great choice would be too dearly bought,  
If we were charged with one unworthy thought.  Old HORACE. 
I shall be careful, go, your Brother's stay,  
Think only what your Countries claim to day.  CURTIUS. 
How shall I bid adieu, or by what art—  Old HORACE. 
Ah! do not quite dissolve my trembling heart,  
My tongue so sad a farewell does deny,  
Nor can my heart thoughts strong enough supply;  
See! even my Eyes swell with unwilling tears,  
Go, do your parts, and let the gods do theirs.    

ACT III.  

SCEN. I.  Sabina alone. 
I Must my party choose in this sad strife,  
And either be all Sister, or all Wife;  
I'll no more vain divided cares express,  
But somewhat wish, and fear a little less:  
Yet ah! what party in this dismal Fate?  
Can I a Husband, or a Brother hate?  
Nature and love for each does intercede,  
And sense of Honour for them both does plead:  
Let their sublimer thoughts yet govern mine,  
And so my different duties will combine:  
Their Honour is the Object I'll adore,  
Their Virtue imitate, and fear no more.  
Since there's such beauty in the death they court,  
I must unmoved encounter the report,  
And no more think my Fate compassion wants,  
But weigh the Cause, and not the Combatants:  
The Conquerors I'll with that gladness view,  
As will from all their Family be due;  
And not reflecting at whose bloods expense,  
Their Virtues raise them to that eminence,  
I'll in their House's fame concerned appear;  
Here I am Wife, and am a Daughter there,  
And to each party am so strictly tied,  
That I must be on the triumphant side:  
Fortune though thou art studious in thy spite,  
Yet I have learnt thence to extract delight;  
And now can fearless see the fight, the slain  
Without despair, the Victors without pain.  
Flattering delusion I sweet, but gross deceit,  
My labouring Spirits, weak and flying, cheat;  
By whose false light my dazzled Soul's misled,  
Alas how quickly is thy comfort fled!  
A flash of Lightning thus relieves the night,  
Making that darker by its hasty flight,  
As these faint beams of joy my Soul betrayed,  
But to involve it in a thicker shade:  
For Heaven which saw my griefs, by this decrease,  
Hath dearly sold me this short minute's peace,  
And my grieved heart from no one wound is freed,  
At which a Husband, or a Brother bleed;  
Which sad reflection so much terror draws,  
I only view the Actors, not the Cause:  
Nor can the conquerors fame salute my thought,  
But to remember with whose Blood 'twas bought;  
The vanquished Family claims all my care,  
Here I'm a Wife, and am a Daughter there,  
And to each party am so strictly tied,  
That I must be on the unhappy side.  
Is this the Peace I thought so long deferred?  
And thus great Gods have you my Prayers heard?  
What Thunderbolts then can your anger find,  
Since y'are thus cruel when you would be kind?  
Or which way will you punish an offence,  
If thus you treat the Vows of innocence?   

SCEN. II.  Sabina and Julia. SABINA. 
Is it done Julia? and what fatal news?  
Must I a Husband, or a Brother lose?  
Or to their impious Arms does this befall,  
That angry Heaven has sacrificed them all?  
And lest my horror for the conquering fide  
Should ease my woes, must that too be denied?  JULIA. 
To what is passed are you a stranger yet?  SABINA. 
I am; and can you be surprised at it?  
Know you not Julia, that the House you see,  
A Prison for Camilla is and me?  
They here confine us both, and are afaraid  
Our pious tears their fury should dissuade,  
And that the sorrows of our spotless love,  
Should in both Armies some compassion move.  JULIA. 
They needed not such Orators as you,  
For they were hindered at their interview:  
No sooner they appeared prepared to fight,  
But either Army murmured at the sight,  
To see such friends, persons so near allied,  
Their Country's quarrel chosen to decide;  
This man's with pity, that with horror fired,  
Another highly their brave heat admired;  
One with his praises imps their spacious Fame,  
Another calls it by a guilty Name.  
But yet their different thoughts have but one Voice  
To blame their Leaders, and detest the choice.  
All did this barbarous Combat so condemn,  
That with united haste they parted them.  SABINA. 
O Gods! what Incense my contentment owes!  JULIA. 
Stay yet Sabina,  you pay your Vows;  
You may increase your hopes, abate your fears,  
But there's enough still to deserve your Tears.  
In vain, alas! the Champions they would save;  
For they remain as obstinate as brave;  
And their ambitious Souls were so much touched  
With the great Glory which they now approached,  
That what the Soldiers pitied they adored,  
And seem affronted, when they are deplored:  
They think that kindness does their fame no right,  
And with both Armies they will rather fight,  
And by the hands that severed them be slain,  
Than give their countries' honours back again.  SABINA. 
Can so much cruelty their bosoms fill!  JULIA. 
It did, but yet both Armies murmured still,  
And universally their purpose held  
To ask new Champlons, or a general Field:  
The Leaders presence they no longer feared,  
Their power scarce valued, or their Voices heard.  
Th' amazed King this mischief to oppose,  
Since every one (says he) enraged grows,  
Let us on this consult the powers above;  
What impious man dares their command disown,  
When they in sacrifice have made it known?  
He used no more words, but these were commands;  
They snatch the Arms from the six Champions hands,  
And that blind thirst of Fame they so intent,  
Sense of Religion does a while suspend;  
Bysome new scruple, or a great respect,  
Our Prince's Counsel they resolve t'effect;  
Which in both Camps so great a Reverence found,  
As if both Nations had our Tullus Crowned.  
The Victims death will give us farther light.  SABINA. 
The Gods will never own that Guilty Fight:  
From this delay some new hopes may be drawn,  
And sure my happiness gins to dawn.   

SCEN. III.  Camilla, Sabina, Julia. SABINA. 
I have news Sister, that will please you much.  CAMILLA. 
I think I know it, if you call it such;  
My Father heard it now, and so did I,  
But nothing thence my hopes can fortify:  
This delayed mischief threatens sorer blows,  
And does but lengthen our too certain woes;  
And by the hindrance of this new Contest,  
Our tears are but suspended, not suppressed.  SABINA. 
This Tumult was not vainly sure inspired.  CAMILLA. 
But vainly they have of the Gods enquired;  
For the same Gods guided our Prince's choice,  
Nor speak they often in the People's Voice;  
Their counsel shines not in a Vulgar Breast,  
But Kings that represent them know it best;  
In whose Supreme Authority we see  
A secret Ray of their Divinity.  JULIA. 
You will contribute to your own distress  
To seek their will, but in their Oracles;  
And that which yesterday relieved your Care,  
May serve to day to banish your despair.  CAMILLA. 
An Oracle is so wrapped up in doubt,  
The more we guess, the less we find it out;  
There's nothing certain in it but this remark,  
Who thinks all clear, must know that all is dark.  SABINA. 
Let's give our confidence a larger scope,  
And entertain a reasonable hope;  
When Heaven gins to grant what we have sought,  
They that distrust its smiles deserve them not;  
We hinder often what we so suspect,  
And send back comfort by that rude neglect.  CAMILLA. 
Heaven governs us, without our own consents,  
And we are passive in these great events.  JULIA. 
Hope then with me, that when we meet again,  
A gentler Theme our thoughts shall entertain,  
And that this evening with a welcome care,  
We for your marriage only shall prepare.  SABINA. 
I hope as much.  CAMILLA. 
'Tis more than I dare do.  JULIA. 
Th' event will show us whose presage is true.   

SCEN. IU.  Sabina, Camilla. SABINA. 
Sister, your sorrows I must needs condemn,  
Unless their causes did more warrant them;  
What would you do, and at what rate lament,  
Had you my reason for your discontent,  
And if from what these fatal Arms design,  
Your losses could be thought as great as mine?  CAMILLA. 
Let both our sorrows equally be known,  
For we are all too partial to our own;  
But when compared to my distressed extremes,  
Your griefs will seem but melancholy dreams:  
A Husband's danger is your only care,  
With whom your Brothers never can compare;  
When to another Family allied,  
From our own kindred we are quite untied:  
Parents with Husbands no dispute admit,  
To follow these, we those can gladly quit:  
But love when by a Father's will made good,  
Is less than marriage, yet not less than blood;  
And so betwixt them our concern is tossed,  
Our choice suspended, and our wishes lost.  
But you may find a way amidst your fears,  
To raise your wishes, and restrain your tears:  
When if Heaven still its cruelty intent,  
I can wish nothing, but all apprehend.  SABINA. 
Against each other when such foes are bend,  
There's small conviction in your argument;  
For blood as well as marriage is a Knot,  
We quit our Kindred, but forget them not:  
Never does Hymen Nature undermine,  
Who loves her Husband, does not hate her Line.  
Since neither tye will their pretensions lose,  
When life's concerned, one knows not what to choose,  
On this side, and on that, by turns we fall,  
Extremity of sorrow equals all:  
Whereas a Lover most esteemed, is still  
But a dependent on your sovereign will,  
And a capricious or a jealous hour  
May make your rigour equal to your power;  
What fancy can, your reason may persuade,  
So love no more will Nature's rights invade;  
For 'tis a crime to pay no more respect  
To ties born with us, than those we elect.  
Thus if heavens angry cloud will farther spread,  
I nothing have to hope, but all to dread.  
But duty offers, (to dry up your Tears)  
Aim for your wishes, Limits for your fears.  CAMILLA. 
Ah! Sister, I perceive your settled Heart  
Never knew Love, nor felt his venomed Dart:  
At first indeed we may the Boy resist,  
Who once received, can never be dismissed;  
When Duty to his flame does fuel bring,  
He grows a Tyrant from a Lawful King;  
He enters gently, but by force he reigns;  
And when a heart once wears his golden chains,  
To cast them off our wills too weak are grown,  
Because that will no longer is our own:  
The fetters glitter, but are fetters still—   

SCEN. V.  Old Horace, Sabina, Camilla. Old HOR. 
Daughters I bring you news that's very ill;  
But it would be in vain now to forbear,  
Since you the fatal story soon must hear.  
Your Brother's fight— for so the Gods ordain.  SAB. 
I must confess it horror does contain;  
And the Divinity had once my trust  
To be more kind at least, if not more just.  
Comfort us not, for reason tedious grows,  
When such a tide of sorrow it would oppose:  
In our own hands, our remedy we have;  
For who dares die, may all misfortunes brave.  
Perhaps we our despair might seem to scorn,  
And with false constancy ourselves adorn;  
But when without a blush we may admit  
Of grief, 'twere weakness to dissemble it:  
We to your sex can such a cunning spare,  
And will pretend only to what we are;  
Nor expect we a courage of your strain  
Should stoop by our example to complain:  
Receive this cruel news without a groan,  
Behold our tears, and never mix your own;  
And in a Fortune that is so Forlorn,  
Be still unmoved, but suffer us to mourn.  OLD HORACE. 
I think your tears so due to your distress,  
That all my Courage scarce can mine suppress;  
And even that Virtue might surrender too,  
Were I as much concerned in it, as you.  
Not that the Alb●n choice makes me so stern,  To Sab. 
To rob your Brothers of my first concern;  
But friendship would in vain pretend to sway,  
When Love and Nature will dispute the Day;  
And my heart no such renderness receives,  
By which a Sister, or a Mistress grieves;  
I can look on them as the public Foes,  
And give my Sons, my undivided Vows;  
I thank the Gods their Country without shame  
May assert them, as they have done their Fame;  
I saw what Glory all their Brows adorned,  
When the compassion of both Camps they scorned;  
If any weakness had that pity sought,  
Nay had they not abhorred so poor a thought,  
My arm for such a wrong to Vengeance bend,  
Had punished that degenerate content.  
But when the Field would needs the choice renew,  
I must confess, I then desired it too,  
And if relenting Heaven had heard my voice,  
Alba had been reduced to other choice;  
The Horace's had then triumphant stood  
With Swords unstained in the Curtain Blood,  
And by a Combat less to Nature's shame,  
Had saved the Honour of the Roman name.  
But otherwise the mighty God's design,  
And their high pleasure must determine mine.  
With generous thoughts I build my great resolve,  
And in the public Interest mine involve;  
Take you that course to stop your sorrows growth,  
Rememb'ring this that you are Romans both.  
* to Cam. You are by birth, what * to Sab. you by vows became  
And there's a'noble Fortune in that Name.  
Rome shall hereafter to that Empire grow,  
That the whole World shall to her Ensigns bow;  
The trembling Universe her Yoke shall bear,  
And Kings shall court the Title that you wear.  
This our Aeneas from the Gods obtained.—   

SCEN. VI  Old Horace, Sabina, Camilla, Julia. Old HOR. 
Well, Julia know you, who the Day has gained?  JULIA. 
I know how Fatally it does conclude,  
Rome now must stoop to Alba's servitude:  
Two of your Sons are by the Albans slain,  
Sabina's Husband only doth remain;  
Who startling at this too unequal fight,  
Himself preserved hath by his speedy flight.  Old HOR. 
Ah fearful Courge! heat without a flame!  
Thou to thy house hast brought Eternal shame!  
I those regret not who for their Country's slain,  
But him whose fear suffers to live; in vain  
He hopes, by this base act, his Life to save,  
I'll quickly send him to his Brother's grave:  
I to Revenge am now so fully bend,  
My steady heart will never it relent.  JULIA. 
Can you him blame, in this unequal strife,  
When hope is gone, to fly to save his life?  
Valour o'er powered, who will of fear condemn,  
To shun that tide of woes he cannot stem?  
What would you have had him done?  HORACE. 
Have died,  
And spent his life by his brave Brother's side.  
Ah treacherous Destiny! that thou shouldst give  
A Son to me, Rome's freedom to outlive.  
The fight, true Courage never will forsake,  
When his own Country's freedom lies at stake.  CAMILLA. 
But has his hasty flight his life then saved?  
Is famous Rome by Alba quite enslaved?  JULIA. 
After this passage I made no delay,  
To tell you th' news I hastened away.  Old HORACE. 
His fearful flight has so my honour stained,  
That it by him can never be regained.  JULIA. 
He fled not till all hopes were lost and vain,  
His want of courage you need not complain.  Old HORACE. 
He should have fought still, roused his Valour now,  
Trusting to what the Powers above might do;  
If he had fallen, he had with honour died,  
And to his Name eternal Fame had tied.  
But since he's fled, if I him ever see,  
This hand his Executi'ner shall be,  
And by that deed shall to the world make known,  
At what a rate his action I disown.  SABINA. 
Ah Sir! a little check this generous heat,  
And do not make our miseries complete.  Old HORACE. 
Your grief Sabina easy help endures,  
Since our afflictions are no longer yours;  
Heaven in our Sorrows yet excusing you,  
Hath saved your Husband, and your Brothers too:  
We are betrayed, but they have overcome,  
And 'tis your Country hath subjected Rome;  
And in the lustre of your Brother's fame,  
You lose the sight of all our loss and shame:  
But your concern for this unworthy Man shall give  
You quickly cause as well as us to grieve;  
Your tears for him will no protection prove,  
For here I swear by all the powers above,  
These very hands,  night invade the day,  
Shall in his Blood wash Rome's disgrace away.  Exit. SABINA. 
Let's follow him, lest rage his reason blind;  
O Gods! and will you never more be kind!  
Must every hour new blows to us impart,  
And still from hands that much increase the smart?  Exeunt.   

ACT IU.  

SCEN. I.  Old Horace, and Camilla. Old HORACE. 
Go, no more breath for such a Coward lose,  
Let him fly me as he has done his foes;  
To save that wretched Life he held so dear,  
He has done little; if he now appear,  
Sabina may prevent it, or I vow  
By all the Powers to which we mortals bow—  CAMILLA. 
Oh Sir! this cruel thought no more pursue,  
Or Rome herself will kinder be than you,  
And she as much as she by this does lose;  
Valour oppressed by number will excuse.  Old HORACE. 
I'm not concerned what mercy Rome confers,  
I have a Father's rights distinct from hers;  
And know what genuine Virtue would have done,  
It might be worsted, but not trampled on;  
True valour never knows a base allay,  
And though it lose, can never yield the day.  
But let us hear what does Valerius bring.   

SCEN. II.  Old Horace, Camilla, Valerius. VALERIUS. 
I'm sent to wait upon you from the King,  
Who mourns your loss—  Old HORACE. 
That merits not his care,  
And I the needless compliment can spare;  
I my Sons deaths rather than shame would know,  
And tears than blushes better can allow;  
They that are slain, like men of honour died,  
And that's enough—  VAL. 
But they are all supplied  
By him that lives, and his immortal Fame.  Old HOR. 
Would he had perished too, and all my Name!  VAL. 
Can only you his Virtue ?  Old HOR. 
'Tis I alone that aught to punish him.  VAL. 
And what offence has in his conduct been?  Old HOR. 
But what great Virtue in his flight was seen?  VAL. 
Flight in this case wears an illustrious Name.  Old HOR. 
Why do you cover my grey hairs with shame?  
Th' example's rare indeed! and few would die,  
If men could catch bright honour when they fly.  VAL. 
Do you a shame, and a confusion call,  
T' have had a Son who has preserved us all;  
Who with new triumphs did Rome's Empire save?  
What greater honours could a Father have?  Old HOR. 
What Honours and what Triumphs brings he home,  
When Alba must dispose the Fate of Rome?  VAL. 
What great success of Alba has appeared?  
Or have you yet but half the story heard?  Old HOR. 
Was not the Combat ended by his flight?  VAL. 
So Alba thought at that mistaken sight,  
But she soon found, he fled but as became  
A man entrusted with his Country's Fame.  HOR. 
Does Rome triumph?  VAL. 
O! his great story hear,  
To whom you so unjustly are severe.  
When he against three Foes was left alone,  
Each of them having wounds, he having none;  
Too weak for all, too strong for either's rage,  
He dexterously himself did disengage;  
The stratagem of seeming flight he tried,  
And so th' abused Brothers does divide;  
They all pursue, yet not with equal haste,  
But as their wounds permit them, slow or fast:  
Horace looks back his scattered Foes upon,  
Whom he already thinks half overthrown:  
He waits your Son-in-law, for he was first;  
Who much incensed to see that so he durst,  
His utmost braving does in vain express,  
For his lost Blood denys him the success;  
Alba, whose hopes with Curtius' strength decayed,  
Soon his next Brother summons to his aid,  
Who hastening to his rescue finds too late,  
He was preceded by his Brother's fate.  CAMILLA. 
Alas!  VALERIUS. 
Yet breathless his revenge begun,  
But quickly gives new conquest to your Son;  
Who soon defeated all the Arts he tried,  
And laid him gasping by his Brother's side:  
The Air resounds with noises thither sent  
From Roman Joy, and Alban discontent.  
Our Hero, when so near his triumph drew,  
Not only conquers now, but braves them too:  
I to my Brother's shades give what is past,  
But to thee Rome I sacrifice this last;  
Accept dear Country, this so noble Blood,  
(Says he,) and flies to make his promise good.  
The victory did scarce admit suspense,  
The wounded Alban making small defence,  
But as a Victim to the Altar goes,  
And his Throat offers to the deadly blows;  
So he gave up his undefended breath,  
Securing Rome's Dominion by his Death.  Old HORACE. 
O! my brave Son! true heir of all renown,  
Only supporter of a falling Crown!  
O Virtue worthy of Rome's boast and mine!  
Thy Country's succour, glory of thy Line!  
When into tenderness shall I convert,  
All my injustice to thy great desert?  
When shall I my repenting kindness show,  
And with glad tears bathe thy victorious Brow!  VAL. 
That your Endearments may soon find a place,  
The King will hasten him to your Embrace;  
And therefore till to morrow is delayed  
The Sacrifice which must to heaven be paid;  
This day no other Gratitude allows,  
But Songs of Triumph, and the public Vows;  
Where Horace waits the King, by whom I'm sent  
To ease your Grief, and heighten your content:  
But this is not enough for him to pay,  
He'll come himself, and that perhaps to day.  
This noble action does oblige him so,  
That his own thanks he will on you bestow,  
Who have resigned your Sons to save his Throne.  Old HOR. 
That honour is too great for me to own;  
And I'm requited, by what you have said,  
For all the Blood my Sons have spilt or shed.  VAL. 
The King, who no imperfect bounty knows,  
His rescued Sceptre from insulting Foes  
Values so much, that all that he can do,  
He thinks below either your Son or You:  
But I shall tell him with what noble fire  
Heroic Virtue does your Soul inspire,  
And how much Loyal Zeal to him you bear.  Old HOR. 
You'll much oblige me by so kind a care.   

SCEN. III.  Old Horace, Camilla. Old HOR. 
Daughter, your Tears are out of season now,  
And misbecome the place where Honours grow;  
Domestic losses we may well excuse,  
When they do public Victories produce:  
It is enough, Rome does o'er Alba sway,  
And all our sufferings that one word must pay:  
You but a man lost when your Lover fell;  
Whom you may quickly now repair as well.  
What noble Roman after this success,  
But would be proud to make you an address?  
But to Sabina I this news must bear,  
Whose blow must needs be very rude to her;  
And her three Brothers by her Husband slain,  
Will give her much more reason to complain:  
But I despair not to appease her yet,  
And she who is so brave, and so discreet,  
Will without pain her generous Soul dispose  
To that submission which her honour owes.  
Till when suppress your grief you now resent,  
Nor entertain him with this discontent:  
In brief, let him a Sister meet, and find  
In the same blood, the same heroic mind.   

SCEN. IU.  CAMILLA. 
Yes, I shall quickly to that Brother prove,  
That none can fear to die, who dares to love;  
Nor can submit to those stern Parent's sway,  
Whom cruel Heaven condemns us to obey.  
You blame my grief, you call it mean and poor,  
But in revenge I'll cherish it the more.  
Relentless Father! and my tears shall flow,  
Till their streams rapid as their causes grow;  
Never did Fortune shift her treacherous part  
So many times to break a single heart;  
Sometimes she flattered, and sometimes did fright;  
Never in one day, did one heart appear  
So tossed, from grief to joy, from hope to fear:  
An Oracle assures, a Dream torments,  
The Battle threatens, and the Peace contents.  
Just on my Marriage Eve, the Cities chose  
My Lover and my Brother to be Foes:  
The Soldier's murmur, and revoke the choice,  
The gods again confirm it by their voice;  
Rome seems subdued, and with my Brother's blood,  
My Curtius only unpolluted stood.  
But did my Heart too little grief contain,  
To see my Country stoop, and Brothers slain?  
Or did my Fancy give too large a scope,  
To love yet guiltless, and yet living hope?  
His death revenges on me that abuse,  
With the sad way wherein I heard the news:  
Valerius tells it, and to brave my Fate,  
The sad event does odiously relate:  
An open gladness did his visage dress,  
Less by Rome's glory caused than my distress;  
Since by his Rival's death his hopes renew,  
He seems to share my Brother's triumph too.  
But this is nothing to my present woe,  
I am required, with joy, to meet the blow:  
I to the Conqueror must my praise impart,  
And kiss a hand that stabs me to the heart:  
And when my grief so justly great appears,  
They place an infamy upon my tears:  
I must rejoice at what afflicts me thus,  
And to be noble, must be barbarous.  
But from this Father I'll degenerate,  
And will deserve this gallant Brother's hate:  
For humane frailty sure illustrious grows,  
When brutishness, for virtue they impose.  
Appear my griefs, why should you now forbear,  
When all is lost, what hath one left to fear?  
This savage Conqueror I will not fly,  
But will upbraid him with his Victory;  
Offend his Conquest, irritate his rage,  
And if aught can, let that my grief assuage:  
He comes, let my just sorrow now disclose,  
What to a Lover slain a Mistress owes.   

SCEN. V.  Horace, Camilla. HORACE. 
Sister, this arm our Brothers has revenged,  
And Rome's declining Destiny has changed;  
Has to Rome's sway subjected Alba's Fate,  
And in one day disposed of either State.  
Behold what Trophies I have won, and pay  
What's due from you to such a glorious day.  CAMILLA. 
Receive my tears then, which are all I owe.  HORACE. 
Rome in her Triumphs will not those allow:  
Blood hath too well appeased our Brothers slain,  
For you by tears to wash away their stain.  
A loss that is revenged, should be forgot.  CAMILLA. 
Since than our hapless Brothers need them not,  
I shall not think my tears to them are due,  
Who are so fully satisfied by you.  
But who will make my happiness return?  
Or call that Lover back for whom I mourn?  HORACE. 
How's that?  CAMILLA. 
My Curtius, ah too brave! too dear!  HORACE. 
Ha! what are those audacious words I hear?  
Can my degenerate Sister then retain  
Love for a public Foe, whom I have slain?  
Thy guilty passion to revenge aspires,  
But govern better thy unjust desires;  
Remove my blushes and thy flame suppress,  
And be in love only with my success:  
Let these great Trophies thy delight confine.  CAMILLA. 
Give me, Barbarian, then, a heart like thine;  
And since my thoughts I can no more disclaim,  
Restore my Curtius, or excuse my flame;  
All my delight, with his dear life is fled,  
I loved him living, and lament him dead.  
If thou the Sister seekest thou left'st behind,  
An injured Mistress only thou wilt find,  
Who like a Fury still must thee pursue,  
And still reproach thee with his murder too.  
Inhuman Brother! who forbid'st my tears,  
To whom my ruin such a joy appears:  
Who of thy cruel slaughters growing vain,  
Wouldst have me kill my Curtains o'er again:  
May such incessant sorrows follow thee,  
That thou may'st be reduced to envy me,  
And by some wretched action soon defame,  
Thy so adored, and yet so brutish Name.  HORACE. 
O Heavens! who ever saw such raging love!  
Believest thou nothing can my temper move?  
And in my blood can I this shame permit?  
Love, love that blow which so ennobles it;  
And the remembrance of one man resign,  
To th' interests of Rome, if not to mine.  CAMILLA. 
To Rome! the only object of my hate!  
To Rome! whose quarrel caused my Lover's Fate!  
To Rome! where thou wert born, to thee so dear,  
Whom I abhor, 'cause she does thee revere.  
May all her neighbours, in one knot combine,  
Her yet unsure foundations t' undermine;  
And if Italian Forces seem too small,  
May East and West conspire to make her fall,  
And all the Nations of the barbarous World,  
To ruin her, o'er Hills and Seas be hurled:  
Nor these loathed Walls may her own fury spare,  
But with her own hands her own bowels tear;  
And may Heaven's angel kindled by my woe,  
Whole deluges of fire upon her throw;  
May my eyes see her Temples overturned,  
These Houses ashes, and thy Laurels burned;  
See the last gasp which the last Roman draws,  
And die with joy for having been the cause.  
HORACE.  CAMILLA. 
Ah Traitor!—  HORACE. 
Perish, and be that their doom,  
Who dare lament an Enemy of Rome.   

SCEN. VI  Horace, Proculus. PROCULUS. 
What have you done?  HORACE. 
An honourable act,  
Such an offence does such revenge exact.    
FINIS.