A POEM ON THE HISTORY OF Queen Hesther, AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF THE Lord Chief Justice HALES, And other Occasional POEMS.  
LONDON, Printed for William Leech, at the Crown in Cornhill.   

OCCASIONAL POEMS.  

A Poem on the History of Queen Hesther.  

VAsti Deceased, the Beauties do convene,  
Each o'th' fair Rivals hoping to be Queen;  
Ahasuerus, as his Peers do move,  
Most readily inclines to please his Love;  
Hesther succeeds. Neither mean Birth, nor State  
Prevents the Match, nor yet great Haman's hate:  
The Nobler Virgins, and his Diadem  
Are void of Lustre, as he views this Gem.   

Haman at this time was most high in Court,  
None so in Favour, Splendour, Princely port,  
To him the People bowed as he passed by,  
The Admiration of each Heart and Eye.  
Poor Mordecai (meanwhile) lay in the Gate  
In a forlorn and despicable State.  
From him the lofty Courtier looked for more,  
Seeing such Grandeur, and himself so Poor:  
The cross-grained Captives knee would not conform;  
So his sweet Calm ends in a dreadful Storm.  
(Ambition, crossed, like to the Sea doth rage,  
Restless, and boundless, nothing can assuage.)  
Slighted by one of the Captivity?  
For this the Nation, Root and Branch, shall die.  
Caesar is thus incensed; There is a Sect  
Mixed with your people, who perversely Act,  
Foes to your Laws and established Government,  
Let them be slain, no Treasure there shall want.  
('Twas Death enough for Jacob's Seed to be  
In a strange Land, sad by each Willow-tree  
Condoling there in heavy mournful Songs  
Their own distress, their Nations Woes and Wrongs.)  
Men, Women, Children, Babes of a span long,  
And tender Mothers, both the Old and Young,  
All must become one common Sacrifice▪  
So Haman counsels, and the King complies.  
Unhappy Princes, 'tis too oft their Fate,  
Thus by surprise to shade the Ills they hate.  
Like cunning Fowlers corrupt Statesmen walk,  
They seek themselves, and make their Master's stalk.   

Mordecai warned Counterplots the Plot,  
His Cause is good, the Enemies is not.  
He Caesar saved: who so fit to bring  
Help to the Church, as he that saved the King?  
He saved his Life, and, in as true a sense,  
No saves his Honour and his Innocence.  
(Though the Seal Royal be to the Decree,  
'Tis Loyal, to resist Conspiracy.)  
Clothed in Sackcloth he bewails the Harm,  
Then in the Queen's Ear sounds the sad Alarm,  
Commands her to propitiate the King,  
(She and her People both are perishing)  
Puts her in mind of her once low Degree,  
And how obliged by present Dignity.   

'Tis threatened Death, if Hesther do obey;  
'Tis worse than Death, if the make no Essay.  
Distracting thoughts perplex her trembling breast;  
Her feeble Sex can scarce hard words digest;  
A frowning Look, and from a Royal Eye,  
Is wound enough to make weak Woman die.  
Led by Example of the Ages past.  
She and her Maids do keep a privy Fast.  
Flesh suggests Danger, noble Faith says, Nay,  
The Path of Danger is the safest Way.  
Thus Armed, she boldly ventures, Fears not Death,  
Nor the King's wrath, nor Haman's poisonous breath.   

(How overcoming is a pleasing Face  
When it is backed with the power of Grace?)  
Great, like her Courage, proves the good success;  
Fury is turned into a kind Embrace.  
Another Edict now there is dispatched,  
The fatal Blow must fall where it was hatched:  
(Most righteous Sentence, They who mischief plot  
Still, in the close, have mischief for their lot.)  
Hesther is favoured, Mordecai doth Rise,  
Proscribed Israel Lives, proud Haman Dies.    

To the KING. On His Recovery from Sickness, and being expected to D●●● at Guildhall the last Lord-Mayors-Day.  

AFter dark, dismal, gloomy Winter's day  
Summer approaching, and bright Phoebus' Ray,  
Each Vegetable buds, the Trees look green,  
Birds fall a-singing as the Sun is seen;  
So doth your welcome Royal Presence bring,  
After Autumnal Grief, a Joyful Spring.   

The Fogs and Clouds (Great Sir) offending you,  
Caused an Eclipse on your great City too;  
(Before Consumptive) than she lay even dead,  
Dangers and Sickness threatening you the Head,  
Fainted and pined, felt by sympathy  
Malignant Rome, and your less Malady.   

But now that your Majestic beams dispense  
From your own Health a healing Influence.  
('Tis as a Resurrection) she Revives,  
Scorns to be Bedrid, Lives, and Hopes, and Thrives.  
Verdure and Blossoms spring up in her Face,  
withering Time ceaseth as you warm the place.   

This turns October into pleasant May,  
And makes my Lord Mayors as a Jub'lee day:  
Your Sick Lands healed with your Majesty  
Would raise the Comfort into Ecstasy.   


Proel. for Parl. sitting next day after the Lord-Mayors-Day.  Auspicious Edict! Well it did portend,  
Counsel to Enter as the Feast to End.  
Kindness dissolves! Kings that are Ir'n to Force  
Are won by Love to run their proper Course.    

An ELEGY on the Death of the Lord Chief Justice Hales.  

BRing your Oblations, Poet Laureate Wits,  
Here is a Subject your best Art befits;  
From me a meaner Offering must suffice,  
Who want a Brain for such a Sacrifice.  
But what needs an Encomium? Silly Verse  
Does but debase this more deserving Hearse.  
Is he Deceased? Hales the Learned, the Just?  
Once the great Wonder, now but common Dust.  
What heart droops not at his departing hence?  
'Tis as the Sunset, his Set Influence.  
Like that great Light, rejoicing in his Sphere,  
He ran his Circuit, profiting ev'ry where.  
With an Impartial hand turned Justice Scale,  
The poor man's Patron, helped where Fees did fail.  
A Ruling great Example of the Gown,  
True to himself, his Country, and the Crown.  
But I offend! His own great worth expressed  
And better proves, He knew most, and did best.  
(Enamelled worth! As he was Learned and Just,  
High above praise, so low as very Dust.)   

Hence petty Grief, Death here wounds a whole Nation,  
It calls for more than common Lamentation.  
Church and State put on black Mourn, friends Mourn all;  
The loss is vast and Epidemical.  
This worthy Pillar being fallen to ground,  
Where is another Atlas to be found?  
Where's such a Healer? Where so right an Eye,  
Sage to Discern, and faithful to Apply.   

You of the Long Robe in each Inns-a-Court,  
To Cooke's great Name add Hales his good Report;  
May it prove Seminal of your Excellence,  
In propagating Law and Conscience.  
A thousand Phoenix (if it may be) rise  
Out of his Ashes, good like him and wise;  
To build up Justice, wrongs and vice assuage,  
And reinforce the beggared Bankrupt Age.  
In whom surviving, It may yet be said,  
The Oracle of Law still Lives though Dead.   

The Epitaph.  
Ingenious Reader stay and drop a Tear,  
England's great Darling and Defence lies here;  
Weep Widowed Nation, weep till streams do fall:  
Like a kind Bride, his Love was Conjugal.    

To Sir George Jeffreys on his being Knighted.  

NOt that you need this silly Offering,  
Nor would I seem to Rival with the King;  
'Twere bold and saucy, as absurd and vain,  
After his Sword, to dare to praise again.  
I have my Laurel, if my Rhyme express  
A grateful sense of your great Worthiness.  
That Worth which made you high in hearts before,  
Now winning Caesar's makes you high much more.   

So early Wisdom? Grace at such an Age?  
Ripe in your Springtime? Who did not presage?  
Arms to the Gown give place, such Cumbates cease,  
The Learned in Honour much importeth Peace.  
No Battles but those bloodless at the Bar,  
Where wise men Clash, as if 'twere time of War,  
With Brandished Tongues, like Weapons in the Field,  
Each fierce for Conquest as with Sword and Shield.  
Were Trophies proper in this Civil sense,  
Trump conferred on Wit and Eloquence,  
You might resemble Caesar's self of Rome,  
And boast, as he, you come and overcome.    

To Sir Thomas Fitch on his good Fortune and Public Works.  

SO we in History behold  
Brave Men and their brave Deeds Enrolled,  
As here presented to our view,  
The Portrait of your Art and you.  
Worth that's derived from Ancestors  
Is not so truly and so nobly ours,  
As that which is like yours acquired,  
This merits to be most admired.   

By wise contrivance you Instruct  
In building, and in Aqueduct:  
Where Fabrics are of chief Respect,  
Who will not guests you Architect?  
You Grace the City every where,  
By Land or Water Fitch is there:  
So in a sense the Say true,  
You London raise, as it raised you.   

Weep Cloudy Suburbs, Widowed Flood,  
Now Corn grows there where Troy once stood.  
The Palace glory is pulled down  
Which did give lustre to the Crown.  
The Owners Honour, as the place,  
Grown Tenement like, mean and base.  
You, Sir, seem to condole Whitehall,  
Which mourneth for this Place Fall;   

And kindly in your Sphere supply  
That blemish of Nobility.  
As they do Raze, you Rear a Pile,  
Which both Convicts their practice vile  
And helps a little to remove  
The gloomy sad Eclipse above.  
May it so live a lasting Monument:  
You have by mind what they have by descent.    

To the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor at the Anniversary Entertainment in Guild-Hall.  
THE wise Apollo Laugheth once a year;  
So the resembling mortal Gods do here  
Deign to be jolly, and Triumph together,  
Over their Cares, and over Rome's foul weather.  
As you (much Honoured Sir) Ascend the Chair,  
The Heavens so kind and so Propitious are.  
Redeemed Religion happily supplies  
Fresh Comfort to your former solemn Joys.  
Let Popery dashed sound sweeter in your Ear  
Than the sweet pleasing melody you hear.  
And Hearts as with good Wine be cheered and warmed  
With the good news His Majesty not harmed;  
But this aught to your Joys Excess,  
His Martyred Friend falls by the merciless.  
Now Exit Babylon's Transubstantiation,  
Infernal Plots and Hell Assassination;  
Those Egypt Frogs no more Infest or Croak  
Within the shadow of the Royal Oak.  
(Avaunt Prodigious, Protean, Papal-State.)  
Avaunt the cursed Raviliack Transmigrate.  
The noise of Blood, The noise of Bankrupts cease,  
The Nation's Wealth, the Nations Fame increase.  
This so bright dawning Providential Ray  
Sweetly presageth Sunshine Halcyon day.  
And you my Lord, within your Lower Sphere  
Are a good Omen. Happy be your year.   

On Sir Edmundbury Godfrey.  
Such is Man's Life and Fickle state,  
Consumed with Care, exposed to Hate,  
Rend by variety of Fate,  
(At most but of a moment's Date)  
So here in this great Hearse we see,  
The best of Mortals, what they be.  
The wise and good worst harms molest,  
The more of worth, the less of rest.  
As in a Storm the Cedars fall,  
And Shrubs survive their Funeral.   

To Sir J. L. on his noble Entertainment at his going out Sheriff.  

SO in your Bounty you appear  
Not seen but in your sumptuous Cheer:  
As Modesty hid in a Cloud  
The Generous Sun doth needy Mortals good.   

The well fraught Dishes left behind  
Impressions of your Noble Mind;  
What needed further Eloquence,  
Your welcome such by way of Influence.   

Wine Bottles Volly-wise did fly,  
Mess upon Mess two Stories high;  
No Counter Scuffle in the Rear,  
That plague of Mock Feasts plenty banished here.   

If so Benign where only sat  
Poor Livery-men o'th' Lowest Rate,  
What were you to the upper Guest,  
Who added Luster to your splendid Feast.   

May the kind Cost you did impart  
Bring a rich Income to your Heart;  
Not of that Treasure which is told,  
But Wealth more worthy your pursuit than Gold.    

To a fair Lady at a Festival Dinner at Sir William Prichards.  
THanks to the Sheriff for his free Feast,  
And welcome to so mean a Guest;  
Good Wine, good Music, and good Cheer  
Did nobly act, each in their Sphere.  
The untouched Dishes in retreat  
Sounded his Praise, and all Complete.  
But, Madam, much more thanks to you,  
Who did both Feast and heal me too;  
Your Beauty was that delicate Mess,  
Which as it moved did quell Excess.  
How could I greedily pursue  
The grosser Cates beholding you?  
How could I but even pamper sense  
Once tasting that rare Influence?  
Your Sunshine made me blithe and Jolly,  
Who came in Dead in Melancholy.  
My Ice did Thaw, my Clouds did Fly,  
My tongue grew lose which grief did tie.  
If your more distant casual heat  
Can make dull pulse so warmly beat,  
How high and hot had been my Flame  
Had those beams come from Love and Aim?  
Thus freed, thus fettered by your Eye;  
Your Captive, yours at Liberty.—   

To a Fair Lady unknown. On a Kiss of her Shoe in the Shoemakers Hand.  
MAdam, though your Rare Beauty be  
Magnetic, and so work on me:  
Yet dare I not aspire so high  
As to draw near your daunting Eye;  
Not favoured with his happy Chance,  
Who may unto your feet advancer:  
I thus do with a lowly hears  
Pay Homage to your shadowy part.  
No Idol you are made by this,  
Were Rome's but such, who would not Kiss?  
The Income there is most unkind,  
Both to be base, and to be blind:  
But here (methinks) as I do bow  
I grow more Man and Christian too.  
I Conquer the whole Host off Folly  
Encamped in my Melancholy.  
If in a distant view there be  
Such Pleasure so to touch to see;  
Thrice happy he who may ascend  
To your sweet Lips, to your fair hand.   

To a Fair Lady in a Throng, On a Stop upon London-Bridge.  

IN my way I lately spied  
A Fair Nymph within a Crowd,  
She did shine like glittering Venus,  
Mantled with that homely Can.   

Darts did enter unresisted  
As she glanced with her Eye,  
I was Captived, I was pleased  
With the sweet Captivity.   

Love enforcing, I thus vetured,  
Madam, If in Flesh you be,  
Deign a smile on a poor Mortal,  
That may heal which woundeth me.   

Then I boldly did Embrace her,  
Favoured with more near access.  
While I held this noble Treasure  
I both Indies did possess.   

But, alas, my short Fruition!  
She soon vanished out of sight,  
And my hopes and Joys expired  
Like a short-lived bliss by Night.    

To a Fair Lady. On a Damask Risen presented to her.  

NOt that I think you can need Ornament  
Or Sweetness, I this Trifle do present;  
Deign to accept it on the humbler Score  
Of a poor, mean, Thank-off'ring, and no more.  
As Pepper-corns are paid but to express  
A Homage due, not their own Worthiness.   

You grace Flower more than it doth you,  
Make it more lovely fair, and Fragrant too;  
Each Vegetable grows in excellence,  
As there is added your rare Influence.  
The Rose itself lies prostrate at your feet,  
Set in your Bosom then smells much more sweet.   

Yet let this thought possess your lowly mind,  
After your Spring an Autumn comes behind.  
This pretty Bud which (like yourself) to day  
Is in its prime, will whither and deday.  
If Roses Beauty fade, and fade it must,  
The sweetest Face must also end in Dust,    

On the Death of Mr. Tho. Edward's, a Young Accountant in the Chamber of London, who Died as he was to have Married.  
SUch as are Artists, and do aim at Bays,  
May their high Subjects in Heroics praise:  
In my lower Sphere pay Ruder Verse,  
To this more mean, and more proportioned, Hearse;  
But I do wrong his Worth; Was he not High?  
Virtue as well as blood doth dignify:  
Toiled like the Bee, had learned of the Ant:  
Laid up in Summer for the Winters Want.  
A faithful Steward, an obliging Friend;  
Good in Bad times, best at his Latter-end.  
A great Example in his Age and Place,  
Did much, and well, and in a little space.  
Viewed by the outside he appeared so green  
As if (as yet) in Nonage he had been;  
But if consulted in the grand Affairs  
Of Camp, or City, than he spoke Grey Hairs.  
A world of Business pass through his hand,  
Figures, like Men, did move at his Command.  
Yet in the Chamber so well kept his heart;  
He carefully secured the better part:  
Witness his last Act; Then it may be guest  
Sore was the Conflict in his youthful Breast;  
Earth presents Wedlock, Heaven forbids the Banes,  
Life a fair Mistress, Death Salvation gains.  
Beauty doth Ravish, Riches does the same,  
(When two Fires meet, the greater is the Flame)  
But vain their Charms, he eyes the future State,  
Treads on this sweet, and on the sour of Fate.  
Farewell, 〈…〉 now harboured in thy Rest,  
Crowned with Bliss, and Singing with the Blessed.   

On a Loving Couple, Who died soon after one another, and Buried both in one Grave.  
UNder Monumental Stone  
Here lies two whom Love made one,  
As in Wedlock Knot combined,  
So in Nature, Heart, and Mind.  
His Soul Mounting up to Bliss,  
Hers was Restless till with his;  
To her Mate, deceased, so kind;  
She would not, could not stay behind.  
In this Spicy fragrant Bed  
They do yet Embrace and Wed.  
Even in their Dust still one,  
Waiting Resurrection.   

In Praise of Bowling.  

LEt the Dons of the Town  
In their Festivals drown  
Their Wits in Canary and Sherry,  
We cry Fly, we cry Rub,  
And kick at the Tub,  
No Fudler is half so merry.   

No Politic matters  
Breaks our Brains into shatters,  
Yet we aim at a petty Dominion:  
If we Bowl well, and gain,  
No King doth so Reign:  
We are Princes in our own Opinion.   

Our Sport and Toil wean us  
From minding of Venus:  
For Misses we are not at leisure;  
All that see us may know  
That Delight is below  
Men taken up with so high Pleasure.    
FINIS.