A MISCELLANY OF POEMS UPON Several Occasions BOTH Moral and Amorous: WITH Many Odes, Songs, Acrostics, Epigrams and Elegies: AS ALSO DIVINE HYMNS.  
Composed by T.S.  
LONDON, Printed for Joseph Knight at the Blue Anchor in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange, 1689.   

To the Worthy Thomas Coventry Esq With his most loving Brother Mr GILBERT COVENTRY, Sons of the Right Honourable Thomas Lord Coventry.  
THE high esteem and honour (which I'm infinitely obliged always to bear your Name) hath greatly urged me to exert some Specimen of my gratitude; although so mean, that I cannot choose but blush at my boldness therein, as being conscious to myself, that, unless your Clemency transcend all, this my fond Oblation may justly require a second Atonement. But your Merits being daily as perspicuous as the Sun, and your Influence too as propitious, are so Infallible Probates of your Candour, that I should assert myself most unworthy, did I even doubt, but that you like Heaven (whose Image you both most manifestly bear) would accept the true and sincere intent of your Oblator, be the act in itself never so frivolous and contemptible, In quo nil vobis dignum, nisi dantis amores. Wherefore I here presume (as a Candidate of your Favour) to tender at your Altar my First-fruits (however they may seem, at least, imperfect, if not wholly abortive) And whence I likewise hope for your Patronage, as being sufficient to defend this my weak Product from the churlish humours of Critics; The former of which, if you'll both be pleased to accept, and grant the latter, you'll transport me into an Elysium, and more (if more can be) oblige  
Your most devoted Servant, Thomas Steevens.   

TO THE Landid Reader.  
MY Genius being always somewhat inclining to entertain the Muses, did by my diligent promotion at length exert some light and airy Flashes of Fancy, though truly (I fear) scarce rightly balanced with sound Judgement, by reason of my Immaturity and Nonage; when this imperfect and abortive Product, did by many interruptions, at length, creep out of my tender, and too too weak (I doubt) capacity. Wherefore (I hope) should I here expose it (how mean soever it may seem) that the greatest Censurers, and strictest Critics, first considering my Circumstances, and justly attributing its Imbecility to my Minority (Dum nihil ortum est, simul & perfectum) may not dart on it a Grandee supercilium, and so utterly abash it in its Infancy: But whether they frown or smile, damn or applaud, This is my safest Asylum, I matter not: Only I wish all as much pleasure in the reading as I had in the writing.  
T. S.   

A MISCELLANY OF POEMS.  

Of humane Frailty.  

MAn's Days are few, His Glass is run,  
His Life is spent soon as begun,  
And die he must.  
A living Man he proves to day,  
To Morrow but a Lump of Clay,  
And turns to dust.   

He's made of Earth, to Earth he goes,  
His Days are full of Grief and Woes,  
Which shorten Life:  
But yet he toils for Earthly pelf,  
Whereby he may enrich himself,  
With utmost strife.   

He presses on with greatest power,  
Not dreaming that his fatal hour  
Doth draw so nigh:  
But in the midst of all his Joy,  
He many times is snatched away,  
And forced to die.   

His breath (like smoke before the wind,  
Or like a fleeting Cloud) doth find  
An easy way.  
He flourishes i' th' Morning Sun,  
But is cut down like Grass ere Noon,  
And fades away.   

Let's therefore spend our time to day,  
As tho' we were no more to stay  
On wretched Earth:  
Lest hasty Fate doth call away  
Before w' are ready for that day,  
In virtue's dearth.    

Of a guilty Conscience.  

ALas! the Poet's Fictions prove too true,  
Who feign that hellish Furies do pursue,  
And lash with secret strokes a guilty Mind,  
Which hath to wickedness been long inclined:  
For (lo!) what horrid Terrors do surround,  
What poisoned bites & Scorpion's stings to wound  
A guilty Man! He falls into a maze,  
His fiery sparkling Eyes about do gaze;  
He thinks each hour he sees a dreadful Ghost,  
As tho' grim Pluto had sent forth his Host  
To take revenge, and hurry him away  
To his black Cell, to prove Perdition's prey.  
He beats his Breast, he raves, he storms, he swears,  
And blatters nonsense intermixed with tears.  
His burning heart doth shoot, he's all on flame,  
As tho' Hell's Fires were now already come.  
He gasps for breath, his Hair doth stand on end,  
He tears his flesh, and doth his Members rend:  
Yet sometimes seems to rest, and close his Eyes,  
But hence a sudden storm doth straight arise;  
And (like a Hurricane on Indian Seas)  
A second Tide of grief disturbs his ease.  
He fain would live, but dreads (alas!) to die,  
Twixt Life and Death he stupefyed doth lie.  
But yet the pangs and pains that he endures,  
Are worse than death itself, and have no Cures:  
He now becomes forlorn and desperate too,  
He now denies that God can mercy show:  
He nothing doth expect but fatal doom,  
And a long series of woes to come:  
When he shall suffer to Eternity,  
Sad, scorching flames due to's Iniquity.  
O what a state is this! what pains are these,  
Which nothing, neither Time, nor Death can ease!  
O mortal Men! correct your evil ways,  
Shake off your Vice before your latter days;  
That (when Death Summons gives) you may embrace  
Your instant Fate with an undaunted Face;  
For (lo!) what Comfort and what Peace is this  
To dying Men, to have not done amiss,  
From whence they take the hopes of future bliss.    

Of Beauty's Frailty.  

1.  
ALas! How soon doth Beauty fade!  
How like unto an empty shade  
It vanishes away  
Without delay!   

2.  
Thus th' new-sprang Rose i' th' Morning due  
Triumphs; but ere night bids adieu,  
Faints, falls, hangs down her head;  
So soon she's dead.   

3.  
Thus twinkling Stars do give one dash,  
Thus Lightning breaks into one flash,  
And then the vapouring fire  
Doth straight expire.   

4.  
Lo! Beauty but salutes our Eyes  
(Like Sodom's Fruit) and then denys  
All bliss, and touched, to clay  
Doth mould away.   

5.  
Alas! Alas! Anon pale Snow  
Will sit, where cheerful Lilies grow;  
And thus the fairest Face  
Will lose its grace.   

6.  
Each day, nay hour, receives a spoil,  
And labouring storms do seem to toil,  
To plunder beauty's shapes  
With cruel rapes.   

7.  
Sharp Sickness Beauty's fairest blow  
Doth blast when Fevers beat the brow,  
Like Whirlwinds furious storms,  
Oh burst of harms!   

8.  
Old Age ploughs up the smoothest skin,  
And turns a Furrow too, wherein  
It seems to cast and hid  
All Beauty's Pride.   

9  
And when at length pale Death invades,  
And calls unto th' Elysian shades,  
The fainting Body dies,  
And Beauty flies.   

10.  
What fatal ruins do pursue  
A bright Ideas Front, which do  
Corrupt all Beauty's joys,  
And plead 'em toys!   

11.  
Those fleeting charms of Helen's Face,  
Do witness to the World no space  
Of permanence, since they  
Are turned to clay.   

12.  
Go too, thou Fop! Thyself admire,  
And dote and pride, it will straight expire;  
The faded Rose's state  
Doth show thy fate.    

The old Man.  

LO! Lo! how creeps the long-lived Man,  
Whose time's reduced into a span,  
Whose days are spent:  
Lo! Lo! I seek the Port of bliss,  
And am of Life itself remiss,  
To die content.   

My only Prayer, is present death,  
O God, receive my latest breath;  
O let me die!  
You'll thus exterminate my grief,  
And to my Soul bring kind relief;  
O hear my Cry!   

My fatal Thread is spun, fie, fie;  
O Atropes, cut off, that!  
May be at rest!  
My Life is worse than Death; In vain  
I cry for help; what horrid pain  
Doth me invest!   

The Sons of Art can find no Cure  
To heal those pangs which I endure;  
O wretched State!  
Death's stroke's mies only remedy;  
How glad, how willing should I be  
T' embrace my Fate!   

Pandora's Troops do sound Alarms,  
And for my Blood do whet their Arms,  
And Battle give;  
They captivate my trembling parts,  
And wound each Member with their Darts,  
But yet I live.   

How oft I've called upon the Grave  
With tottering steps, my limbs to crave  
Before this day!  
When Nature first began to faint,  
And with herself all joys did taint,  
And drive away.   

My Senses fly, my Spirits fall;  
A burden to myself and all  
I am now made.  
I cannot taste the daintiest meat,  
I can't distinguish, what I eat,  
Be't good or bad.   

My deafer Ears are stopped up quite,  
Hence Music proves a dull delight,  
'Cause 'tis not heard.  
My bleer Eyes lose their sight, and close,  
As tho' they be going to repose,  
Yet do retard.   

Alas! Alas! All joys do go,  
And pleasure's turned to grief and woe:  
May I then die,  
So that these horrid pains may cease,  
And I at length may be at ease  
From misery.   

Lo! Lo! how like a Lamb I die,  
Without regret, a screak or cry,  
Worn out with years:  
I have now run this mortal race,  
I will Christ now in Heaven embrace,  
Who'll wipe my tears.    

Time brings all to the Grave.  

HOW fleet do Minutes post away!  
How soon the Glass runs out the Day!  
The Morning draws, the Noon puts on,  
The Sun doth set, the Day is gone:  
And thus the Year is wheeled about,  
And thus Man's Thread is soon spun out.  
And Death draws nigh:  
Which is a Debt we all must pay;  
Whose power we all must once obey;  
Sceptres and Crowns must yield to Death,  
And Kings, with Peasants, lose their Breath;  
The pious Saint receives his Fate,  
And stoutest Hector's change their state;  
For all must die.   

Impartial Death we can't appease  
With Hecatombs, nor get release  
By all our Sacred Piety;  
Nor can with threats her terrify:  
But all must visit Charon's Boat,  
And o'er the Stygian Waters float,  
When she invades.  
We must once leave all Earthly Toys,  
And vanish from these frailer Joys.  
For Death (O Man) thyself prepare,  
That thou thy Fate t' embrace may'st dare;  
And ne'er for this thy short Life grieve,  
But live to die, and die to live  
In happy Shades!    

A Farewell to Fortune.  

FOrtune farewel! No more I'll court thy Shrine;  
Nor shall thy Smiles my vassal heart combine.  
Thou fickle Goddess of these Earthly Dregs!  
I thee contemn, and scorn thy falsest Leagues.  
Why doth the foolish World so dote on thee,  
As though thou wert the greatest Deity?  
I can't, nor will not such a one adore,  
And for thy frail, inconstant Gifts implore.  
Thou never constant,' less in motion provest,  
And now dost hate, whom once thou dearly lov'dst.  
If now thou smil'st, thou straight wilt grimly frown,  
And whom thou'st raised to day, thou'lt soon cast down.  
Hence Princes (tho' long flourishing in Thrones)  
At length lament their Fate with woeful Groans.  
All Mortals, who now Fortune's Gifts enjoy,  
 long will know, how quick they fly away.  
I'll therefore steadfast virtue's face adore,  
And hence above this fickle Goddess soar;  
Where me her furious Storms cannot injure,  
But I'll despise her empty Blasts secure.  
Her Onsets I'll beat back with virtue's Shield:  
For Virtue can to Fortune's Power ne'er yield.    

Qui non est hodie, cras minùs aptus erit.  

SO ho, thou Fool! that dost let lose the reins,  
Whilst lively blood doth boil in youthful veins,  
And thinkest thou may'st them time enough recall  
In latter days, before thy deadly Fall;  
Unless thou'lt sleep secure, and pleasures take  
Till the last sounding Trump doth thee awake,  
Disperse with speed the dismal Clouds of Vice,  
And crush i'th' Egg the priding Cockatrice.  
Begin to day to leave thy evil ways,  
And to divorce thy vain and sinful toys;  
By long delays for they'll habitual grow,  
And every hour will greater force bestow.  
Vice (like Diseases) craves more timely Cures,  
And [long being nursed] no remedy endures.  
He that neglects to purge his Soul to day,  
His Vices him to morrow will more sway.  
But grant thou may'st to Good at length return,  
And all thy former ways and follies spurn;  
Thou canst not tell, but Death may sweep away,  
And put a period to thy Life this day.    

— Non est mortale quod opto.  

LET doting Worldlings seek with groveling eyes  
These vain and earthly Dregs, as th'only prize.  
Let Misers with poor Gold fill up their Chests,  
And amplify their Stocks with ●areful Breasts.  
Let Honour's Minions up to Heaven soar;  
Let Statesmen pride and domineer in power;  
Let Beauty's Darling boast of's Symmetry,  
And joy, because there's none so fair as he.  
But know they this, they will themselves deceive,  
When suddenly these Toys will take their leave.  
Riches have Wings, and strait do fly away,  
Honour's the Darling but of one short day:  
Beauty (like Lightning) but salutes our eyes  
With one bright flash, and then falls sick and dies.  
Such vain and frailer Goods I don't admire,  
Nor do such pamphlet, trifling Toys desire.  
Immortal Virtue is my only Aim,  
Whereby t' all Ages I'll extend my Fame.  
Beauty, Wealth, Honours pass away (like Shades)  
But Virtue keeps alive, when Death invades.    

— Hic vivimus ambitiosâ Paupertate omnes.—  

THE poorest Irus here ambitious grows,  
And on his Back now all his Wealth bestows,  
That (like a Croesus) gay he might appear  
TO th' World, and in his Purple domineer;  
And (tho' his meanness should these thoughts suppress  
He'll pride, and leave the World the rest to guests.  
His Outside proves a Royal Ornament,  
When with poor Food his Belly is content:  
His sordid House perhaps is all of Clay,  
And wants provision for the present day;  
Nay more, perhaps he's o'r-head plunged in debt,  
And knows not how from Us'rers Bonds to get:  
Thus Beggars fain would wealthy Courtiers seem,  
And eager seek a Gentleman's esteem.  
Go to, Thou Fool, thy Tyrian Robes now buy,  
And (tho' thou'rt poor) yet boast of Gallantry;  
At length thou (like the priding Jay) wilt know  
(When thou art stripped of these bright plumes) thy wo.  
'Tis better still a Medium to pursue,  
And live to day, like as to morrow too.    

Qui suum jactat genus, aliena laudat.  

WHY dost thou boast (O Spark) of Pedigree!  
And claim thy Parents worth thy own to be!  
Whilst thou dost strut (like th' Assi' th' Lions skin)  
Adorned without, but still an Ass within?  
He's like the Jay dressed up i' th' Peacock's Plumes,  
Who Parents merits to himself assumes;  
And when these trapping Toys are claimed away,  
He will become a scoff, a naked Jay.  
Heroic Father's honour proves a shame  
To Sons, when they build on their Father's Fame,  
And nought perform themselves, whereby may seem  
As Rivals of their Ancestors esteem.  
Nay more, he sacrilegious doth become,  
Who steals his Father's honour from his Tomb:  
For from the dead he derogates their Fame,  
Who from their Acts doth take his borrowed name.  
Thus Parents noble Actions and Renown  
We most unjustly claim, and call our own.  
If thou then wouldst true honour's pitch ascend,  
Go to, thy mind t' Heroic Virtues bend.    

On the Fire-Works.  

LET Earth at Lightning stand amazed no more,  
Nor dread a Thunderbolt when Claps do roar,  
Since Heaven thereby its Triumphs seemed to show,  
When our Great Jove for Joy did thunder too:  
But's sacred NUMEN brandished no Darts  
(' Less those of Love) to penetrate our hearts.  
So Heaven and Earth did Rivals prove in joy,  
When flash for flash, and clap for clap they'd pay,  
The more to celebrate the Princely Son,  
Whom (without doubt) the future Age will own  
Heir to his Father's Virtue as his Crown.  
But as the Royal Consorts viewed the Thames  
Streaming with Fire, how did they gild the flames  
With sacred lustre! How the Stars on high  
Received a Gloss from their bright MAJESTY!  
Spangled all o'er our Hemisphere did grow,  
Eclipsed Tapers glimmered in heavens Brow,  
Stars shone i'th' Air, and brighter STARS below,  
From whose kind influence may more joys still flow  
And may that VIVAT REX still flame and burn,  
Till Stars do melt, and Fate doth dread her Urn.    

THE Oxford-Triumph: OR, The Academics Congratulating his Grace the Duke of ORMOND, their new Chancellor.  

1.  
NO more let swelling Deluges of Tears  
The mourning Oxford drown;  
No more let Groans the yielding Air divide,  
Nor Thamesis in hoarser murmurs glide,  
'Cause its Great Patron soared above our Spheres  
To an Immortal Crown.  
'Tis true his Merits were so great, so high,  
That Time can ne'er confound his Memory;  
But, Oxford! lo, the springing Day  
Displays new Symptoms of thy joy.   

2.  
Look, how Aurora with redoubled Light  
Doth Night's black Veil disperse!  
See how the radiant Phoebus on us streams  
With greatest lustre his new-rising beams!  
The Eaglets winging to th' East their direct flight  
Good Omens do rehearse;  
That now no cries resounding in the Strand,  
Fair Oxford's Columns shall triumphant stand,  
And to their newmade Basis pay  
Brave Victims of their hearts this day.   

3.  
Thy Ormond (Oxford!) left thee not alone,  
Distracted in thy grief;  
Thy calm Castalia may flow gently on,  
And still the Muse's sport in Helicon:  
A second Vice- Apollo gilds thy Throne,  
That Daystar of relief.  
Thus Heaven repairs thy loss! Thou now canst show  
A strong Palladium, and a Phosphor too.  
Thy old Maecenas lives in's Heir;  
For Merit as for Title rare.   

4.  
With how great Pomp then, and with what applause,  
With what surprising joy  
Should the blessed Alma Mater grace the Morn!  
Let bright Apollo's crisps her Front adorn;  
Let Choirs of Muses sing the joyful Cause,  
And round Parnassus play;  
Let all Minerva's Candidates rejoice,  
And let a Morning Ave be their Voice;  
That (Persian-like they may adore  
Their rising Sun, their growing Power.   

5.  
Oh let the Choristers o' th' Vocal Grove  
Their blooming hopes salute;  
Let 'em build stately Pyramids of praise,  
And fame their Patron worthy of their Bays;  
Under whose influence they may court their Love,  
Keep Daphne in pursuit.  
May our whole Athens boast its Halcyon days,  
And through each Clime diffuse its splendid rays:  
That all may now it's happy State,  
With Eulogies congratulate.    

A Description of a Battle.  

MArch on! March on! The Foe has seized the Field,  
And vows he'll die o' th' spot before he'll yield.  
Prepare your Arms (Great Sirs) th' event to try;  
Come on, Come on, let's fight for Victory.  
Draw up the Horse; the Footmen I'll dispose;  
Fire, brave Boys; again, again; have it our Foes.  
The Drums do beat, the Cornets rattle round,  
And Tara-tara-tantara doth sound.  
The Smoke (like Clouds) involves the heavenly Light,  
The dismal Day can scarce be known from Night.  
The clamorous Shouts do shake the lofty Skies,  
And the tumultuous noise to Heaven flies.  
The Darts do whirl, the Bullets storm (like Hail)  
The roaring Ordnances break a Foil.  
Here drops a Hector, there Achilles falls;  
Here gasps one, there another half-dead crauls.  
The prancing Steed receives his mortal wound,  
And, falling, casts his Rider to the ground,  
Where both do wallow in the bloody Gore,  
And (Oh!) most wretchedly are trampled over.  
The sparkling Swords against each other twang,  
When Panoplia doth stave off the Bang.  
The Spear-men dip their hastal Points in blood,  
The Earth is drowned in a Crimson Flood.  
The Conqueror now sheaths his blunted Sword,  
And to his tired Soldiers gives the Word,  
Retreat, Retreat; We now have won the day,  
Let's haste t' our Camp without a longer stay.  
The ground is strewed with Corpse; The lively Souls  
The priding Victor with his power controls.  
This wants a Limb, another wants his Head;  
Here lies a mangled Trunk, all Members fled.  
The pious Mother weeps her Darling's Fate;  
The loving Wife condoles her Husband's State.  
What stonyhearted Scythian can't bemoan  
These ruins, under which the Earth doth groan?  
Now stately Trophies show the Victor's praise,  
And's Acts commemorate to future days.    

Of Woman.  

O Nature! Nature! too too kind and free,  
Whilst thou wouldst seem to Man, and pious be,  
Thou prov'dst unkind; Thy gifts did noxious prove;  
Thou killed'st him under a pretence of love.  
For (lo!) when thou wouldst first create for Man  
A Helpmeet Woman, thou didst him trepan.  
She only proves a sweet delightful pain  
At best, and doth his doting heart restrain.  
She stupifies his sense with secret Charms,  
And under present bliss brings future harms.  
Nay, when she can a wretched Man once rule,  
She'll prove his Governess, and him befool.  
What mischief hath not this confounded Crew  
Of Women done, all former times can show.  
Who tempted pious Adam first to fall?  
Who Mortals did with cursed Sin enthral?  
Who Man from Paradise did first debar?  
Who was the only cause of ten years' War,  
When Dust and Ashes buried ancient Troy?  
Who did the valiant Sampson's strength betray?  
A damned, confounded Woman, the worst of woes,  
The cursed'st Plague that Nature could impose.  
She yielded first to Sin, and still persists  
Therein, when she attempts what e'er she lists;  
And runs on like a Horse without a rain,  
That nothing can her wicked thoughts restrain.  
She loves revenge with all her Soul and Blood,  
Hence through Flames she'll rush to let fly the Flood  
Of Passion floating in her angry Breasts,  
To plague and pester those whom she detests.  
She suffers no reproof and no control,  
But (like Medea) will i' th' Chaos roll  
The World, and kill her dearest Darlings too,  
But she'll take sad revenge on those that do  
Hare, injure her, or (like a Jason) force  
A horrid, hateful, dismal, dire divorce.  
Lo! Women can the worst of Crimes contrive,  
And hotter, furious Spirits do them drive.  
If therefore you would take your gentle ease,  
(O Man!) and live a Life that may you please,  
Don't dote on Woman, learn to be content  
Without this painted pain, and sweet torment.    

On the King's Progress.  

LET Persian Monarches rust in secret Thrones,  
And with Tiara's vail their torpid Bones:  
Great James our Prince hath found a nobler way,  
Whereby his Subjects may obeisance pay.  
For who can duly reverence Majesty  
That lies enwrapped in Clouds of secrecy?  
(Ixion-like) we do ourselves betray,  
When (tho' we know not) yet we do obey.  
Heroic Breasts to sleep obscure do scorn;  
But love to show themselves for Sceptres born.  
All silent Cells aspiring virtue spurns,  
And through all obstacles to light returns.  
Black Vice and shame may seek a lurking Cave,  
But Royal Virtues an appearance crave.  
That Prince is best, who (like heavens Champion) streams,  
On every place his bright Phoebean beams.  
And with the influence of his Heavenly rays,  
Doth bless his Realm, and cause Halcyon days.  
How worthy therefore is our gracious Prince,  
Who th' World of's Majesty doth thus convince.  
Plain Symptoms too of is Clemency appear,  
Whose splendour lightens our dark Hemisphere.  
Hail great'st of Kings, and best of Princes too,  
Who so great Emblems of thy love dost show:  
Hail Europe's Gem, and England's sole Defender,  
Who dost to us thy radiant Beams Surrender.  
With what applauding Pomp then should all grace  
Thy splendent, Godlike, and Majestic Face!  
Go to, rejoice, nay celebrate his Praise,  
And 's Fame commemorate to future Days.    

Of the Spring.  

OLD Frosty Winter now at length retreats,  
And blust'rous Boreas mitigates his threats.  
Phoebus draws nigh; Phoebus doth now salute,  
With is splendent Rays which do the Earth recruit.  
The Days extend, fourteen hours pass away,  
Before the amorous Evening crowns the day.  
The murmuring Brooks their Icy Bands do shun,  
And in their solit course do sweetly run.  
The Earth puts off her frozen Cloak of Snow,  
And fragrant Violets with Lilies blow.  
Each Meadow decks herself with divers Flowers.  
And doth adorn her Front with Primrose towers.  
The spangled Dazes do now represent  
So many Stars i' th' Heavenly Firmament.  
The lofty Poplar doth now grace his head  
With new-sprung Garlands, which before seemed dead.  
The painted Fruit-Trees too do fairly bloom,  
Which gives us hopes of great increase to come.  
The joyful Fields do sweetly laugh and sing,  
Triumphing i' th'approach of th' welcome Spring.  
Reviving Zephyrus doth gently move  
The florid Daffodils; The Turtle-Dove  
Now courts his Mate; Th'aspiring Lark now flies  
Aloft, and seems to beat the azure Skies.  
The Feathered Crew all testify 'tis Spring,  
When with their various Notes the Woods do ring.  
Sweet Philomela tunes her warbling Notes,  
And to the silent Night her Charms devotes.  
Swift-winged Progne hath now crossed the Seas  
Once more the labouring Peasant's Ears to please.  
The Cuckoo too calls forth the honest Dames  
To hear their Hen-peckt Cuckold Husbands Names.  
The chattering Pie now builds her lofty Nest,  
And tends her tender Brood with careful Breast.  
Old Age now leaves the Hearth, that bright Sol's Beam,  
Might once more on her hoary pate now stream.  
The lazy Shepherd feeds his sporting Sheep,  
And with his Pipe doth tune himself asleep.  
The spruce young Lovers now i' th' dawn o' th' day  
Do seek their Nymphs, and with 'em fond play.  
Brown Amaryllis in the Plains doth dance,  
And Corydon doth with her nimbly prance.  
Since all things therefore at this time rejoice,  
Let Mirth and Joy now be the common Voice.    

Of the Winter.  

GRey-headed Hiems now (alas!) returns,  
And happy days our Hemisphere now spurns.  
Our dismal Globe puts on a Tragic Face,  
And all this mortal Scene doth lose its grace.  
Our Coasts, that glorious Orb of Heaven the Sun,  
(Lo!) every day now more and more doth shun.  
Zeph'rus is gone, and blust'rous Boreas roars,  
Beating the Waves against the rocky shores.  
No Philomela tunes her various notes,  
And to the calmer Evening charms devotes.  
False Progne now has crossed the stormy Seas,  
Seeking, than ours, a warmer Port of ease.  
Th' Hybernal Flocks unto our Shores are come,  
Being cursed Harbingers of future doom.  
The piercing Frosts have nipped the fragrant Flowers,  
And every Mead has lost her Primrose towers.  
Where the fair Crocus was then wont to blow,  
The Earth's involved in winding sheets of Snow.  
The lofty Poplar has now shed his hair,  
And in obeisance to the Fates stands bare.  
The rivulets now with Icy Chains are tied,  
And can't i' th' solit currents purling glide.  
A Remora t' all business too is put,  
The Shepherd freezes in his open Hut;  
And can't his Flocks i' th' spacious Plains now feed,  
And th' hunger-starven Swains from Plows are freed.  
Nor can they by their Art manure the Earth,  
Which labours under a penurious dearth.  
Thus Nature now doth seem to be dissolved,  
And th' World i' th' Chaos to b' almost involved.  
But as fair Calms more furious Storms succeed,  
As after Day the Night puts on with speed;  
So after joyful times there follows woe,  
And Joy and Grief alternately do go.  
Let's therefore not in these our Ills repine,  
But to the Fates Decrees our Wills resign.    

A general Petition of a School, requesting a Cockfight of their Master.  

LO! here (great Sir!) your tender Pupils all,  
With joint-consent do to you prostrate fall;  
Requesting one poor kindness, which from you  
To doubt, an Emblem of our Crimes would show.  
IT would plead our guilt, if we should not implore,  
Authority that bears as well as power,  
propensive Will to grant; You can't deny;  
Concession (Sir!) is your chief property.  
On this Foundation than we build, we sue,  
And at your Altar humbly beg, that you  
Would this once more our solemn Games allow,  
And let our Pit with streaming Blood now flow,  
As heretofore 'twas wont. Hark, Gallus crows,  
Calls us to see, and 's Foe to feel his blows.  
Each object to this Royal Match invites,  
As when an Hector with Achilles fights.  
True Valour here doth still triumphant sit,  
To bear great Souls we may learn from the Pit,  
No small advantage (Sir!) there lies in it;  
Since Courage is the sum of Homer's Wit.  
May you then grant (good Sir!) that we enjoy  
This brave instruction by the sport to day;  
But pardon, if we seem too bold i' th' suit,  
Since they, who fearful ask, themselves confute.    

A Dialogue between Alexander the Great and Diogenes the Cynic, stating the perplexities of Greatness with the tranquillity of a low Fortune.  Diogenes. 
HAil, thou Great Monarch of this Earthly Globe;  
Jove's Viceroy, hail! whom Purple doth enrobe.  Alexander. 
Why call'st me Great? If thou admirest my Fate,  
Why dost thou live thus in this sordid state?  
If thou affectest a noble Royalty,  
Turn up thy Tub, a Courtier thou shalt be.  Diogenes. 
In this my Tub I far transcend your Throne;  
None are so brave as those who scorn a Crown.  
Nay more, how many snares for Princes wait;  
What Hooks are covered with a gilded bait.  
If you'd your whole Dominions grant, I'd them  
(As dangerous Toys) reject, and quite contemn.  Alexander. 
Dost think my Life-Guards than can't me secure,  
Who with vast Forts my Person do immure?  
My speaking Eye gives Laws to subject Souls;  
My beck the World's important part controls.  Diogenes. 
The sooner than some bold ambitious Spark  
Will strive t' Eclipse your Light, which makes his dark:  
For when one Prince by others is out-shone,  
He'll try all stratagems them to Dethrone.  
By those how many sacred Monarches die,  
From whom they ne'er expected Treachery.  Alexander. 
But grant my greatness can't enough protect;  
Let me but on thy crazy Tub reflect.  
Can this against a storm a Bulwark stand?  
Here thou mayst perish by a common hand.  
Should heavens crisped Cataracts to rush begin,  
Each gaping Chasm would greedy Death let in.  Diogenes. 
I rest secure; with wrongs Inone offend;  
Whence none to wrong me their intentions bend.  
No dire Assassinates lay snares for me;  
I have no Gold their thirst to satisfy.  
No bloody Traitors tempt to cast me down,  
That they might get my empty Tub, my Crown.  
My harmless ways do please the Powers above;  
Still Innocence is Harbinger to Love.  Alexander. 
But hark, O Old Fantastic Cynic Bard!  
Don't Heaven more its Vicegerent's safety guard?  Diogenes. 
Your more may fail; Let Heaven both Patronise,  
You for your Kingdom, me for humbler Eyes.  Alexander. 
Humility's a trifling toy, whose worth  
None recommend, but he, whose mind's on Earth.  
That Head's most sacred that can wear a Crown,  
That Hand is blest that can a Sceptre own.  Diogenes. 
Tho' Heaven may seem to bless a Prince, yet he  
To's joy has still annexed misery.  
The burden of a massy Crown is great,  
And anxious cares a Monarch's heartstrings eat.  Alexander. 
This gilded World is nothing else, but care,  
False fear, vain hope, and languishing despair:  
In what a wretched state then must those dwell,  
Who Ant'dotes want these poisons to expel.  
I banish cares with the Falernian Wine,  
And with sweet pleasures I my life refine;  
Whilst (like the Country Mouse) thou quite dost starve,  
And wilt not of more dainty Dishes carve.  Diogenes. 
Alas your pleasure brings a sting with it,  
And all your happiness is counterfeit.  
Through jealous fear you can't your Nectar taste,  
No theatres can calm your stormy Breast.  
In feasting the drawn Sword hangs o'er your head,  
And restless cares perplex your Soul a-bed.  
Whilst I poor Water and mean Herbs enjoy,  
And with Philosophy chase time away.  
My thoughtless Breast no Hectics do combure,  
But in my Tub I sleep whole nights secure.  
'Tis better low and safe be, than t' advance,  
And mount upon the waxed Wings of chance.  Alexander. 
But is't not brave bare Heads, bowed Knees command,  
And have whole Kingdoms as your Vasals stand?  Diogenes. 
Your high-aspiring thoughts this Pomp may please,  
But on the ground I'd rather take my ease;  
Where neither Wars, nor Fears, nor Fortune's frown,  
Can terrify, 'cause can't me lower cast down.  Alexander. 
Your Answer's right and strong; I must confess,  
These Arguments do make my Throne seem less  
Regarded in my Eyes: For those, who do  
(Like Spanish Horses) feed on Winds, must rue.  
The lofty Cedar furious Boreas' tears,  
When the low shrub the storm uninjured bears.  
Thou safely liv'st, thy Life enjoyest; To burn  
Thy Corpse being dead, thy Tub's a Pile and Urn.  
Hence were I not that Monarch styled Great,  
I'd for thy Tub (Diogenes) entreat.   

My Wish.  

MAY I (ye Gods) enjoy a Country Life,  
Free from cares, and free from torturing strife;  
Whilst others to great Cities seek resort,  
Where nought but gilded Vices keep their Court.  
May I within my native Country dwell,  
And ne'er to these my Borders bid farewell.  
For Wealth, whilst others blow the angry Seas,  
And for the Indian Toys disturb their ease;  
May I above contempt, and Fortune's Power,  
In Summer solstice sleep i' th' shady Bower.  
Whilst other Patrons in their Forum plead,  
And for a Fee torment their sweeting Head.  
May I in Winter chase the nimble Hearts,  
And wound the Savage Boar with bloody Darts:  
Whilst others in their stately Buildings rest,  
And with hot Liquors burn their freezing Breast.  
May I at night my Caelia's Eyes admire,  
Until my Breast is warmed with gentle fire:  
Whilst others on their painted Misses dote,  
Until their Veins with flagrant Blood do float.  
May I by night enjoy my dearest Rose,  
Until my Body's ready for repose:  
Whilst others toss awake, perplexed with cares,  
And dare not sleep for fear of secret Snares.  
May I in constant health spin out my days,  
No Gout, nor Stone, to interrupt my joys:  
Whilst others of their Serpents stings complain,  
And (which they get by riot) feel the pain.  
But when Death's sting my Spirits doth surprise,  
Let my poor Caelia, Caelia close my Eyes.    

An Epithalamium.  

WHat merry Muse doth now my Breast inspire?  
Or what inflames my Soul? Oh! 'Tis the fire,  
That darts (like Lightning) from the Lover's Eyes,  
Through which each others Soul its object spies:  
Whilst (like two cooing Turtles) they do play,  
And steal, with smiles, each other's Heart away.  
The true Elysium they now claim their own;  
Whence they transcend a Sceptre, or a Throne.  
They banish cares by th' ecstasies of love;  
Where Venus rules, we need not envy Jove.  
And that these rapt'ring Joys may long endure,  
Let no sad Omens with black Clouds obscure  
Our radiant hopes. Ye hellish Fiends forbear  
To light the Torches, and be Dancers here.  
Leave not ye Fairies your Tartarian Lakes,  
About your Heads to whip your anguisht Snakes;  
Whose shrill trisulcate Tongues prognosticate,  
That storms will soon loves knot dilacerate.  
Let's hear no shrieks of the nocturnal Crew,  
Being Harbingers of dissolution too.  
But let each object happiness presage,  
That ye i' th' Bonds of Love surpass the Age  
Of old Tythonus with his ruddy Bride,  
Who Insect turned through years before he died.  
Ye Nymphs and Satyrs here your steps advance,  
Ye Fawns and Graces here unite and dance.  
Let all the rural Deities adorn  
Their Fronts with Garlands blushing like the Morn;  
With greatest joys and pomp to solemnize  
The Nuptials, that so fair a pair comprise.  
Let Venus come; And let old Hymen stand,  
And seal the knot up with a faithful hand;  
That (Gordian-like) it may ne'er be dissolved,  
Until the World i' th' Chaos be involved.  
Hence may you flourish in your jugal state,  
And have no cause e'er to repent your fate.  
Let neither jars nor frets infringe your joys,  
But in blessed union spin ye out your doys,  
But in blessed union spin ye out your days;  
Till Death at length severs you, when your Souls  
Must wing their course up to the starry Poles.  
May Heaven shower down its Manna on your Head,  
And bless with an increase your toral Bed:  
May you (like Abrams Consort) multiply  
Your Seed to emulate the Stars on high.  
That (like fresh Olive-branches) you may see  
Your Children round you smile, each in's degree.  
But hark, O Bride! What makes Vermilion now  
More rise in thy fair Cheeks? The lovely Snow  
Is courted by the Rose to melt away;  
Why dost thou blush? Doth Fire oppose delay?  
(Just like the Phoenix in her spicy Nest)  
Thou flutter'st in thy Bed: Thy flagrant Breast  
Will straight break forth in flames: Thy ardent zeal  
Thy blushing front no longer will conceal:  
My tedious Muse shall not therefore defer  
Your joys no more, nor longer shall occur  
Your burning Hectics: Lo! the Torch expires,  
And doth not flame so much as your desires:  
Hence giving you all joy we bid good night,  
And leave you to embrace your Souls delight.    

Of the Powder-Plot.  

WHat Hellish Furies do infest this Age,  
Where Plots, Rebellion, Death and Murder rage!  
Megaera and her Consorts now presume  
To leave their Seats, the more to urge our doom.  
Astrea's fled, nor will she more be seen;  
Since Hell to Earth has brought her Tragic Scene.  
The Devil sure these projects did contrive,  
For from no other Font they can derive  
Themselves; No treacherous, forlorn Catiline,  
Did e'er such fatal storms for Rome design.  
No Mimas e'er did think on such an act,  
Nor could such Hellish Tortures e'er compact.  
Bloody, thrice bloody Tyrants! who would fain  
Thus sacred Purple with black Sables stain,  
And this great Nation utterly confuse,  
As tho' this Realm i' th' Chaos they'd reduce.  
No time to soften grief by just degrees,  
But (like a Hurricane on Indian Seas)  
The furious Tempest was designed t' have rose,  
Whose blast should bring a sudden burst of woes.  
They'd give no symptoms by a lightning flash;  
But would puff up with one grand thundering crash  
The best of Kings and all's heroic Peers,  
As tho' they'd force them to their proper Spheres.  
But Heaven's prudent Senate, moved to see  
Such horrid, hateful thoughts of treachery,  
With speed consulted to prevent our fate,  
And these their damned designs t' infatuate.  
Hence heavens bright Beams all secret Clouds away  
Did drive, and Night was turned to splendent Day.  
Their cursed projects plainly did appear,  
And they the works of their own hands did bear;  
Nor was there ever any Law more just,  
Than that such tempts should foil their Authors first,  
Who dare (like th' old Gigantic Brood) rebel  
'Gainst Jove, and will not in subjection dwell.  
Go to now (Traitors!) lay your secret snares,  
Attempt great Monarches whosoever now dares!  
Angels are Guardians of that sacred Name,  
And Heaven provides for its Vicegerent's Fame.    

Against false Report.  

WHat crafty Sphinx new Riddles doth propose?  
Or what Chimaera various shapes now shows?  
Oh! 'Tis Report; she is a Monster grown,  
Whose Fangs (like Cadmus' Serpent's teeth) when sown,  
Spring up to arms, and straight do tumults cause,  
Contemning Man's, and scorning Nature's Laws.  
(Chamaelion-like) on empty air she feeds,  
And more depends on fancy than an deeds.  
She (Proteus-like) doth every moment change,  
And never constant in one tone doth range:  
But variously she out of envious spite,  
With her cursed sting poor Mortals doth backbite.  
She always loves beyond the truth to glide;  
Whence she to devilish Lying is allied.  
For Rumours still by rolling to and fro  
Increase (like Snowballs) and do greater grow.  
This fertile Hydra (when once seized the Field)  
Cannot by any Hercules be killed.  
O then that she would first of all destroy  
Those, that for her do first invent the way.    

Of my Change to a City Life.  

WHY am I plunged in this Abyss of woes?  
Are these (O cruel Fates!) your secret blows?  
Do you (like Cupid) throw your silent Dart,  
And where there is no cause, yet wound the Heart?  
If I've deserved to spend my hours in pain,  
And never to enjoy myself again:  
Why doth not thunder rend the yielding Skies,  
And Lightning dart its vengeance on mine Eyes.  
That to Jove's wrath a Victim I might fall;  
Then this would put a period to all.  
But here confined in close Imprisonment,  
I'm forced to lead my Life in discontent;  
Whilst tedious hours do pass as dull away,  
As theirs, who are confined from their Joy;  
To whom with sighs they send their ravished Souls,  
And mount 'em up unto the azure Poles.  
No joys, no sweet Parenthesis of ease,  
These pompous Objects can't my Soul appease,  
Where towers and Topknots cloud the glimmering Skies,  
And painted Beauty dazzles weaker Eyes.  
If this Men count true happiness, there's none,  
Where pain succeeds as soon as pleasure's gone.  
Ah happy Spark! that courts his Country Lass,  
Whose native Beauty needs no paint nor glass;  
And near Sabrina's gentle murmuring strearns,  
Lies down and sleeps, and of his fair one dreams.  
O then that the kind Gods would deign my Eyes  
Once more to see this blessed Paradise,  
Where pleasure flows and unconfined Springs;  
Where every object an Elysium brings.    

A Jeer to a Highflown Lady.  

'GAd (Madam) tho' your Poets seem to raise  
Up for your Excellence Mountanies of praise,  
And feign, that you are constant, kind, and fair;  
I'll swear (by Jove!) they only Flatterers are.  
For (Faith!) your fancy d Beauty's not so great,  
That it may merit of a Clown a Treat.  
You think your Crystal Eyes do charm each Heart,  
When your whole Fabric is scarce worth a F—  
And if you please to view your Face i' th' Glass,  
Yourself will say with me, 'tis all my N—  
Nor could I e'er experience you were kind,  
But (troth) you are as constant as the Wind:  
The crisped Waves that o'er the Ocean rove,  
Are not so fickle as your sighs and love.  
But don't take snuff, tho' I now tell you true,  
You're a fine Scarecrow; But what if you do?—  
Come then, trust Sycophantic Pens no more,  
Suppress your Pride, and your defects deplore:  
For if you do believe each fawning Fop,  
(By Jove) you are as senseless as a Sop.    

To his Valentine.  

MAdam! when you from Fortune's Urn did draw  
My Name, as yours, you gave a double Law.  
Your Beauty did one Obligation lay,  
Your Highness did transport me quite away;  
That one so meritorious and divine,  
Should have so mean, so low a Valentine.  
The thundering Monarch of th' Immortal Crew  
Had been a fit Valentine for you.  
Blind Fortune's hand did err, else with a kiss  
Great Jove from Heaven had you saluted his.  
Ah Chance! why didst so fair a Nymph degrade?  
Why did the Lot of Heaven her hand evade?  
Can I those sacred merits parallel,  
Which all the Fabrics upon Earth excel?  
Thus (Fortune) thy promiscuous hand doth love  
To mix poor Mortals with the Powers above!  
But since (fair Madam!) Chance so ruled your hand,  
And you vouchsafed your unmeet Lot to stand,  
This meaner Sacrifice (pray) done't refuse,  
Which at your Altar for acceptance sues.    

The Memorandum.  

SInce you, Dear Soul! by envious Fate's decree  
Must leave our Coasts, and (like an Eaglet) flee  
To some bright, beauteous Sphere, take this with you,  
And place it there, where lies a heart, that's true,  
As mine, from whence it came; There let it rest,  
And banish black Oblivion from your Breast:  
That you may ne'er our former Leagues disown,  
Tho' separation doth make two of one.  
Long absence breeds a shiv ring cold in love,  
And (Ague-like) doth ardency remove.  
Hence by experience we too often find,  
That absent Darlings soon slip out of mind.  
May you then this Memento bear along,  
Which [sealed with heart] shows no perfidious Tongue.  
It bear's sincere Affection's stamp and coin,  
And (like the purging Mint) doth dross disdain.  
Thus now my Zeal a fond Oblation brings,  
Till presence pays more stately Offerings.  
But whensoever your vacant Eyes shall see  
This monumental Verse, Remember me.    

Too much of School.  

Cursed Fate! How long wilt thou me doom to Schools?  
Must I ne'er mount above the Sphere of Fools,  
Who scarce their Alphabet can scrutinize,  
Unless the Festraw guide their roving Eyes?  
Both Latin, and Greek Authors I have read,  
And know in higher Elements to tread;  
Yet read I may, and read, and read again,  
And when all's done, my labour proves but vain:  
For no sublimer steps I can ascend;  
My long Beginning's like to want an end.  
Within the School's severe and dismal Cell  
(As an Imprisoned peccant) I must dwell,  
And spend my Age in vain: I blow the Sands,  
And wash the Black'moor's Head with frustrate hands.  
For progress now ly's dead; no pains, no sweat,  
Since what I've learned already I repeat.  
But hence I toss disturbed, I take no ease,  
The oft-boyled Crambe doth my doom increase.  
Betwixt Life and Death (like Tityus) I do lie,  
And wish a clear Reprieve, or quite to die.    

An Epilogue to an old Play, as it was acted by Country Bumkins.  

OUR Play is done; Concoct it, as you please;  
'Tis time our Theatre should be at ease:  
Since you have seen, what we poor Swains can do,  
How we can play the Fool as well as you.  
But tho' perhaps some Critics damn our Play,  
And swear, that we our ignorance betray;  
Yet with these thoughts it may more currant pass,  
 desint vires, tamèn est landanda voluntas.  
'Twas Fame (tho' not hereby (we fear) acquired)  
That then these our fantastic Souls inspired.  
We don't exhaust your Purse; Hence we have cause,  
(Since not your Coin) to challenge your applause.  
But since o'th' Comic Scene your Tragic brow  
To kill the Players doth now Cloudy grow:  
We go to celebrate our nuptial rites,  
And then to crop the Lover's sweet delights,  
For which prepare a Joy, and so good night.    

To a very accomplished Lady.  

BE pleased (Dear Madam!) these submissive lines  
T' accept, which do triumph in their designs.  
O kindest heavens! O most propitious Fates!  
O prosperous Stars! O too too joyful States!  
The Phoenix now has left th' Arabian shores,  
And in our Hemisphere aloft now soars!  
A Heav'n-bred Goddess now descends on Earth,  
And ravishes the World in Beauty's dearth.  
Heaven hath her charming Venus now distilled,  
Whose splendid Beams my heart with bliss have filled.  
My Soul (fair Charmer) gluts itself with joys,  
E'er since it felt the comfort of your rays.  
heavens Monarch did his greatest blessing show,  
When he blessed my Eyes with Heavn'n's darling you:  
But if Jove should such gifts more oft bestow,  
The priding World would too too happy grow,  
Nay two heavens there would be of equal bliss;  
And th' envious Gods would sometimes visit this.  
You (Dear Nymph!) the true Elysium prove,  
Fair as Venus, kind as the Turtle-Dove.  
The Golden Age doth now return in you;  
You (like the Daystar) happy times renew.  
Old banished Piety has found a shore,  
In your fair Breast, where lies all virtue's store.  
heavens spangled roof too glitters in your Eyes;  
You are our Jewel, and our choicest prize;  
With whom (I vow) no merits upon Earth  
Can parallel, for Beauty, Wit, or Birth;  
We all can put no prize upon your worth.  
But Sol shall freeze, and Night's pale Goddess burn,  
The solid Globe into its Chaos turn,  
Ere I'll desist your Beauty to adore,  
And for your Blessing Candour to implore.    

A Dream.  
D. M.  

WHen Morpheus last Night closed my slumbering Eyes,  
And sleepy vapours did my Brain surprise,  
How did my active Soul chose you her Theme,  
On which she might insist in golden Dream.  
I re'lly thought (the heavens to me being kind,  
That put these charming Amours in my mind.)  
Whilst I Parnassus' forked top did seek,  
I found you slumbering in a silent Creek  
Near to the Muses Helicon; Where I  
With bended Knees first paid my obsequy;  
And then being shot with Cupid's Fiery Dart,  
I sought the Joys which Beauty's Charms impart.  
I prostrate fell upon your Snowy Breast,  
Where straight my ravished Soul did seize her Nest.  
Congratulating both our prosperous Fate,  
We lay some Minutes in that joyful state;  
And then O how great bliss my Soul possessed,  
Being with your kind and sweet embraces blest.  
But whilst the dawning Morn Aurora brings,  
My lively Soul returned with hovering wings,  
And straight to me rehearsed her rapt'ring joys,  
How she had passed into th' Elysian ways.  
And if my Body had from sleep been freed,  
I'd thought that dreams and truth had now agreed.  
But tho' it did a fancied Image prove,  
It may (I hope) portend to me your love.    

Mr. Pye.  

TEll me, O tell me (Sir!) the reason, why  
Your glutted Eyes, not Stomach did deny  
That tempting bait of Christmas Guests called Pie?  
Was't Temperance: No 'twas rather Modesty.  
Modesty's Mean (I must confess) is good;  
But Modesty's extreme is ill pursued.  
Thus when t' her dictates you t' obedient proved,  
The Mouth denied that which the Centre loved.  
But were not you with timorous thoughts possessed?  
And did strange Chimaeras shake your Breast.  
Whereas you sat near an Enormous Bug,  
Who emptied one to fill a greater Mug.  
Expect therefore, nor don't response 've done,  
Before you plainly see all Courses gone:  
Nor (like an Ass) put up your Instrument,  
Lest you too late again the deed repent.    

Unto a very fair Lady though somewhat freckled.  

BEauty (Dear Madam!) is the Poet's Theme,  
Religion's Idol, and the Lover's Dream.  
'Tis you are Beauty's Darling, Beauty's Joy,  
Who need not Art, nor such an idle toy  
To force out Love, and wound a doting heart;  
But real Beauty grace's every part.  
Your Cheeks (like Peacock's brighter Plumes) do shine,  
Composed of Metals of a divers mind.  
For (lo!) therein the Snowy Lilies grow,  
And Crimson Roses intermixed do blow.  
Those neater marks which on your Front remain,  
Do not deface, but prove a charming stain:  
Nay kinder Nature seems to place 'em there  
As Stars and Lights to govern Mortals here.  
Your Face is Heaven's Starry Firmament,  
On which Astronomers may now content  
Themselves to gaze, and you alone admire,  
Who influence the Earth, and govern higher.  
Hence did not Phoebe sometimes cloud her light,  
And seem to frown and fume i' th' overcast Night,  
I should have thought that you had soared up there,  
And ruled your Chariot in the Heavenly Sphere.  
What Monarch can't subject his Throne to you,  
And to so fair a Nymph give honour due?  
'Tis strange, great Jove doth not his Juno leave,  
That he might mortal Swains of you bereave,  
Whose Charms so strong, that Heaven and Earth would prove,  
Sad,  Rivals, vying for your love.  
To what intent did Nature you create  
Of her refined Clay, and choicest State,  
Unless to charm all mortal hearts asleep,  
To wound the Gods and penetrate the deep?  
Yet who can't choose, but prove and witness this,  
That you through Beauty are the Spring of bliss?  
From whom (as from a Fountain) do proceed  
Those golden streams, which all true joys do breed.  
And may those happy streams in you still flow;  
And may those cheerful Lilies in you blow;  
And may those Roses planted in your Face  
Appear most fresh, and never lose their grace;  
As long as Phoebus rules the beauteous day,  
And Phoebe doth by night her rays display;  
As long as Atlas bears the Heavenly spheres:  
As long as Jove his Crown and Sceptre bears.  
That happy, blessed, and good that Man may prove,  
Who shall enjoy so fair, so sweet a Love.    

A Fancy.  

IF I had Daedalean Wings, my flight  
I'd take, and see my Fair One every night:  
I'd in the airy Mansions soar aloof,  
And emulate fair Heaven's spangled roof.  
No Phoebus then to melt my waxed plume,  
I'd not (like Icarus) receive my doom.  
I'd strike the top of our bright Hemisphere,  
And bring down Starry Venus for my Dear;  
With which I'd (like an Eagle) post away,  
And offer to my Caelia this my Prey;  
And when t' her happy Window I was come  
(Being with my rapt'ring joys now stricken dumb)  
I'd (like the burning Phoenix) straight begin  
To flutter till my Phoenix let me in;  
But when she had the passage soon made clear,  
I'd on my hovering Wings salute my Dear,  
And give to her this Emblem of my love,  
To Venus Venus, and both from above.  
My bright Ideas arms I'd then enjoy,  
And 'bout her snowy neck my own display;  
I'd from her Lips too gently steal a kiss,  
And then congratulate our Heavenly bliss.  
(Like two kind Turtles in the Myrtle shades)  
We'd coo and bill, until the Morn invades.  
But when Aurora brings on Phoebus' ray,  
And Phosphorus leads on the hateful day,  
And thence breaks off our amours, I would seal  
Up with ten thousand kisses t' her my zeal;  
And then I'd to my former seats away;  
So till next night adieu unto my Joy.    

Requesting a Letter from his Mistress.  

AS when the longtost Ark could find no shore,  
The Dove was sent to view the waves once more;  
Till then with tired Wings the Pledge of Peace,  
She brought, and Harbingered the waves decrease.  
So now being wracked i' th' raging Sea of love,  
My heart implores your hand to play the Dove,  
And grant the Olive-Branch wrapped in one line,  
That I may hope for Peace, whilst I'm still thine:  
Then shall no heart i' th' world be found more true  
Than mine, to that bright, charming Goddess you.    

The Nightingale.  

DIsband (O Winter!) this thy sable dress,  
Let florid Garlands new-sprung joys express;  
The Golden Age returns with speedy Wing,  
And we shall now enjoy Eternal Spring.  
Last night I heard sweet Philomela tune  
Such warbling notes, that even charmed the Moon.  
Her Syren's Voice made Heaven's Choirs give ear,  
Such charming and sweet melodies to hear.  
She (like Amphion) made each Tree to dance,  
And every smiling Stone to give a glance.  
Here was th' Empyreum of sweet harmony,  
Whose Flashes highborn Fancies did descry.  
Whose flourish (meteor-like) did curl the air,  
Trembling like sweet Apollo's gilded hair.  
Her quavering Voice did up to Heaven rove,  
Whilst she sang forth the sweetest cares of love.  
The Winged People of the Skies can't sing  
Such well-tuned Anthems to their Heavenly King,  
As those, which this sweet Philomela gave,  
Which charmed the Gods, and did my Soul enslave.    

Unto a Gentleman very strictly confining my Muse.  

WHen Eagles Wings are clipped, how can they soar,  
And gaze o' tho' nearer Beams with dauntless power?  
Should Hills oppose, how could vast Nilus flow,  
And with its streams make Egypt fruitful grow?  
When Fancy is denied her towering flight,  
How can a Poet ought (but nonsense) write?  
Since she delights to wave her frothy Oar  
In the vast Sea, that's bounded with no shore.  
She loves to wing away from her own source,  
And scorns all Obstacles that stop her course.  
No more let Fops then bound a Poet's Wit,  
Lest they themselves be justly damned for it;  
When the Abortive Product doth appear,  
Which their confinement made the Poet bear.    

A very pathetical Poem to a Young Lady.  

WHat prosperous Gales did breath upon my sails,  
Whilst love was havened without usual toils?  
How calmly (Madam!) did you steal my heart,  
When cheerful smiles did at me seem to dart?  
Your Crystal Front did bright (like Stars) appear,  
Whose gloss enlightened our dark Hemisphere.  
Grant me (Dear Madam!) but your charming hand,  
And you shall have my heart at your command.  
My Soul and Body would grow proud, if they  
Can but attain your Mandate to obey.  
To serve so fair a Nymph is not a doom,  
But Heaven on Earth as well as Heaven to come.  
If th'envious Fates should storm and prove unkind,  
And we from mutual Amours be confined,  
(Like heavens Monarch) I'd break the strongest towers,  
T' embrace my Danae in golden showers.  
I'd with Leander cross the stormy Seas,  
That you, my fairest Hero, I might please.  
If heathenish Crews my living Mass should burn,  
If I were headlong thrust into my Urn,  
And (like Mezentius) were interred alive,  
Against the solid Globe of Earth I'd strive;  
Th'established Laws of Nature I would cross,  
Nor should th' Elysian toys repair my loss.  
(Like Jove to's Semele.) I'd rise again,  
To you in Thunder to express my pain.  
Lightning Sparks splendent (like your lovely eyes)  
Should be my Pages, and the Angels spies.  
The airy Spirits should my Servants stand  
To wait on me, who wait to kiss your hand.  
Your sacred Deity (I know) can bear  
These radiant Trains without the least of fear.  
In your embraces I'd consume the day,  
And then at Night I'd soar the Milky way.  
Now an Amphibious Creature I should prove,  
And live part here below, and part above.  
But when you had spun out your fatal thread,  
I'd lead you to th' Elysium of the dead;  
Where we in shades with clasped arms would lie,  
Embracing Bliss to all Eternity.    

The Change.  

I Once admired Beauty's charming power,  
And dreamt on my Fair One every hour:  
But now since I'm the object of her scorn,  
Than which I'd rather death itself have born;  
Farewell the Follies of a gilded Brow,  
Where Crimson Roses, and fair Lilies grow;  
Which (like the Damask Jewels) fade away,  
And flourish, fall, and die, all in one day.  
Thus violets blushing on the Morning Sun,  
Do hid their Heads before his course be done.  
If I on Beauty have a mind to gaze,  
I'll have that mine, which so short time shan't raze.  
Egyptian Monuments shall be my Bride,  
Which done't (like Women) glory in their Pride:  
Or else to Heaven I'll attoll my Eyes,  
And there admire the glory of the Skies;  
With which there's none on Earth can parallel,  
Whilst glittering Stars the fairest Eyes excel.  
So fair a Front no Earthly Phoenix wears,  
As Phoebe doth riding i' th' lofty Spheres.  
No Earthly Beauty then I'll more adore,  
Nor e'er for Beauty's fairest Queen implore:  
The spangled Heaven shall my Mistress be,  
To which I'll tend my cries, and bend my knee.    

Acrostics.  

On. Mrs Bridget Wood  

Boast th' happy World of these Halcyon days,  
Rising from you the native spring of joys.  
In you the fainting World gins to move,  
Drowning all cares i' th' Ecstasies of love.  
Great-Britain's shore a Paradise became,  
Ere since kind Heaven blest it with your name;  
This is our blazing Star, our Nation's Fame.   

Witty, brisk, kind, and fair, nay Pious too  
(O heavens!) you are: Who merits thus like you?  
O Muses Darling, Hail! Hail, Beauty's gem,  
Dropped to Earth from Heaven in a golden dream.    

On Madam Frances Bosworth.  

Farewell to frowning Nature's Tragic Face;  
Resplendent Beauty now the Scene doth grace.  
AVenus lightens our dark Hemisphere,  
Nor doth she less than Heaven's powers appear:  
Confinement only to these Earthly toys  
Eclipses (Madam!) your Celestial rays:  
Seize Heaven, and you shall have Immortal praise.   

Beauty's chief Idol, and true virtue's gem  
(O heavens!) you prove, and honours noble stem.  
Serener Nature all her gifts did heap,  
When you her dearest Darling she did shape;  
Or (like Apelles) the whole World did fleece;  
Rejoicing to make you her Masterpiece.  
The heavens triumph in these too happy days,  
Hail, fairest Phoenix, and the Font of joys.    

On Madam Anna Cole.  

ASsist (O Muse!) the subject is too high  
For such a rustic silly Swain as I.   

All former times your worth (Dear Madam) show;  
No sacred Nymph was e'er so fair as you.  
Not Greece may charming Helen more admire,  
A fairer Venus doth our Souls inspire.   

Can't this tho' seem a grand mysterious truth,  
Once that a Coal should prove so fair forsooth:  
Lo! candid Lilies in this Coal do blow;  
Each lovely part appears like driven snow.   

If this poor piece my meanness hath betrayed,  
(Fair Madam!) pardon, 'cause you were obeyed.    

Another on Madam Frances Bosworth.  

From Beauty (Madam!) flows your Poet's theme,  
Religion's Idol, and the Lover's dream.  
Afairer Nymph the World did never know,  
Nor could the heavens a greater gift bestow  
Conceding you, than when they blest our Coasts,  
Each charmed heart since of your influence boasts.  
Sure Nature made you of refined Clay,   

Being kind to Man, and studious of his joy;  
Or Heaven's Senate did your beams dismiss,  
Streaming on Mortals their celestial bliss.  
Wise, fair you be, nay good and virtuous too;  
Of which each act's a proof that comes from you.  
Rejoice the World; Rejoice ye mortal Crew,  
Two heavens to us the kindest Gods do show;  
Heaven with them, and Heaven (Dear Madam) with you.    

In eandem.  

Fausta dies! felix tempus! Redit Aurea Proles,  
Redduntur mundi gaudia prima sacri.  
Auster mutatur Zephyro; Fugêre labores;  
Nullus adest moeror; Nullus adestque dolor.  
Cuncta renascentis gaudent confinia mundi;  
Et nunc virtutes, nunc pietasque viget:  
Saturni veteris redeunt sic tempora laeta!   

Buccina nulla strepit; Ridet at alma quies.  
Ofelix aevum! Quam prospera secula currunt!  
Sic tu laetitiam (Nympha Venusta!) paris!  
Virtus influxu, radiis tua forma coruscis,  
Vultus sideribus pectora nostra beat!  
O faciles superi! Claro de limine Coeli  
Redditur alma Venus; Numen habemus, Ave.  
Tellus fit Coelum; Coelum (Dea pulchra!) tulisti;  
Hinc tibi sacra cadant; Hinc tibi Thura fluant.    

Of Man.  

May'st thou (Hyperbolized nothing Man,  
An empty shade, or Bubble!) know thy span,  
Now Life, straight Death; so frail a Creature's Man.    

On Beauty in its praise.  

Bright Beauty doth the World's chief Idol prove,  
Each charming feature doth affection move.  
A Heaven on Earth through Beauty we enjoy;  
Vain are all Forts, where Beauty leads the way.  
The Gods themselves to Beauty's charms indulge;  
Year's frozen Ice fair Beauty's beams infulge.    

On Time.  

Time stays for none, but still with fleeting wings  
Is posting on: With Scythe our doom she brings:  
Made bald behind she's too; Take Lock before,  
Else once being past, you ne'er will see it more.    

On Death.  

Death's fatal stroke in time will pierce all hearts,  
Each mortal Man lies subject to her Darts.  
A Prince and Peasant in thy Laws agree,  
(Thou Death!) that summon'st all away to thee:  
Hence we but frail and fading Blossoms be.     

Epigrams.  


Unto Madam Wood  
THE Fawns and Satyrs once the saced Woods did store;  
But never was a Wood a Goddess made before.  
We now have (thanks to Fate) a Goddess and a Wood,  
In you the double comfort of this mortal brood.  
For (like a Goddess) you do fill the World with grace,  
And in your arms you (like a sheltering Wood, embrace.    


In Paulam nasum oblongum sortientem.  
AVricomâ Venere, & formâ formosior ipsâ  
Paula foret, brevior si modo Nasus erat.  
Mille juventutis flagrantis basia Paula  
Acciperet, brevior si modò Nasus erat.  
Denique connubio frueretur Paula beato,  
Ter felix, brevior si modò nasus erat.  
Consilium si (Paula!) meum petis, ultima nasi  
D●rahe, nec Tantum Rhinocerotis habe.    


In Rosellam odoribus nimis indulgentem.  
JVrabo, quod sis hederâ formosior albâ,  
Et puto quod morbis (pulchra Rosella!) cares.  
Sed quorsum cunctis membris diapasmata spirant?  
Crede mihi, bene olet (nil olitura) Venus.    


De Leone, & Cane.  
DUM pavidum Leporem sequitur Canis acris Asylum,  
Commiserans tutum praebuit ora Leo.  
Hoc decus (en!) fuerat, Romani Caesaris olim;  
Dignius at tu nunc Maxime Caesar habes;  
Dum Canis atque Leo concordant, vivitur una,  
Amplexasque Canem dormitat ungue Leo:  
Quos decet esse hominum tali sub Principe mores,  
Dum fera mitescens nil feritatis habet.    


Ad Amicam.  
NYmpha, Venus, Pallas, Virtus, Dea, Virgo, Virago,  
Indulge lachrymis; Verba suprema cape.  
En! Lachrymae triuêre genas, suspiria pectus;  
Venit summa dies; Captus amore cado.    

On Phillis.  

COY Phillis vows she hates a kiss,  
And swears from thence proceeds no bliss;  
And if in Company you dare  
Her Lips but touch, she'll tear your hair:  
But if in private you her greet,  
She'll with her open Mouth you meet:  
Thus Maids affect a silent joy,  
And kissing love, tho' they seem coy.    

On Superba.  

WHat double Scents (Superba!) thou dost bring?  
thou'rt sweet, yet stinkest; Thou smel'st of every thing.  
The sweet Pomanders do thy toys perfume;  
Thy poisonous breath my Spirits doth consume.    

On Ficosa.  

WEll-bred Ficosa doth so tune her speech,  
Through Nose, you'd swear, she'd imitate your Breech.  
Nay 'tis force put; for she is an old Strumpet,  
Whose half-eat Nose doth wrattle like a Trumpet.    

Unto Rembombo.  

MY loathing heart (Rembombo!) can't thee love,  
Nor can I this with Arguments now prove:  
Of this thing only can I thee assure,  
I can't thee for thy noisome Breath endure.    

Love.  

MY Heart is gone, no more it is mine own;  
For she that claims it, who can't scorn a Crown?    

Fiery Passion.  

MY Dearest Life! I cannot brook delay,  
Haste, fly, come quick, or else I die this day.    

Despair.  

MY Fair One's Fire is into Ice congealed,  
And hence (alas!) my horrid doom is sealed.  
Break, Break (O Heart!) Weep tears of blood (O Eyes)  
I now must die love's martyred Sacrifice.    

The last Petition.  

GRant me my last request (My fatal Dear!)  
Upon my Funeral Urn distil a tear.  
'Tis but a Debt most due and just, since I  
For you alone did Rivers weep, and die.     

An Ode unto a scornful Lady.  

1.  
WHY (proud Lucynda!) why  
Dost hold thy Head so high  
Above our Spheres? Wouldst thou fain centre Jove,  
And with Pride charm him down  
A Vassal to thy frown?  
Alas! The Gods such towering hearts ne'er love.   

2.  
Tho' Roses mixed with Snow,  
By art do florid blow:  
In thy fictitious Cheeks, who will adore  
Such gilded trifling toys,  
Such false and fleeting joys,  
Which kill, when please, and then are seen no more.   

3.  
thou'rt now puffed up with Pride,  
And scornest to be a Bride,  
Unless to Heaven: Swell up your pregnant Sails,  
And soar there, if you can!  
Thy Life is but a span,  
As well as mine: Know fate will pitch her Toils.   

4.  
Thy blust'ring Pride can't save  
Thee from the vorant Grave;  
But when thou hast a few more minutes spent,  
The terror of decay  
Will fright thee into Clay,  
And then in dust thy lofty Pride's impent.   

5.  
Thy Ruby Lips; Thy Eyes  
Like Starry Orbs; Thy Skies  
Of Marble Veins (when pale-faced Death shall seize)  
(Like mine) must fade away,  
And turn again to clay,  
Nor are they better in the Urn than these.   

6.  
Why then dost thou thus ride  
Upon the Wings of Pride,  
And scorn adoring Man, as tho' unmeet  
For one so fair as you?  
Know, Beauty will soon adieu;  
And then who'll  fall prostrate at your feet?    

An Ode to his jealous Mistress.  

1.  
MAdam! I thought your Faith had been more strong,  
Than to believe, that ever I could wrong  
Love vowed to you my Soul's delight,  
And only Joy, tho' envious spite  
Accused me false to you,  
When (Heaven knows) I'm true.   

2.  
True, True, resolved, and constant I abide,  
And do not steer away with every Tide,  
As false and fickle Lovers do,  
Whose Appetites are still for new.  
(By heavens) you have my heart,  
From whom it can't departed.   

3.  
The Centre that is fixed to Jove's great Throne,  
Can sooner be discused, than one, even one  
Of all my former vows to you  
Be broke, and I perfidious grow.  
I'll (like Leander) prove  
Still constant in my love.   

4.  
Then don't let that accursed Dog Jealousy  
(Backed with report) more gripe, and torture thee:  
Your faithful Servant I'll remain,  
As long as heavens me life do deign;  
Now what my Pen hath vowed,  
My Passion will make good.    

SONGS.  


1.  
WHen through the Woods a nimble Deer  
I vigorous once did chase,  
And brandishing my fatal Spear,  
Opposed his horned Face.   

2.  
When Rock-wood made the Groves to ring,  
I (like Actaeon) found  
Diana slumbering near a Spring,  
Lay clasped upon the ground.   

3.  
I thought it was some Goddess lay  
Enwrapped in golden dreams;  
Her Snowy Arms she did display,  
Lullled fast with murmuring streams.   

4.  
I first refused her gentle ease  
To break with obsequies;  
But then my Passion did increase,  
And I unclosed her Eyes.   

5.  
Which (like two rising Suns) did shine,  
When the lov'liest Creature  
To me did joyfully resign  
Every smiling feature.   

6.  
I raised her up, and did salute  
Her with a tender kiss;  
And when her Spirits did recruit,  
She consummates my bliss.   

7.  
What raptures did my burning Breast  
With amorous joys inspire!  
How was my zealous heart possessed  
With loves, love's gentle fire!   

8.  
At length (alas!) Sol's absent ray  
The glimmering World defaces:  
And thus we spent that happy day  
In mutual embraces.    

The Siren.  

1.  
WHen Phoebus dipped his blushing rays  
In the deep Euxine Port,  
And eager of his rapt'ring joys,  
To's Tethys' did resort:   

2.  
I gently moved my careless Feet  
To crop the Evening joys,  
And near a purling stream so sweet,  
I heard my Fair One's Voice.   

3.  
Where I lay down on the soft grass,  
To listen to her art;  
Whilst every note and high-raised flash  
Did penetrate my heart.   

4.  
She (like the charming Nightingale)  
Did her sweet cares complain;  
Whilst every whispering gentle gale,  
Did breathe to me her pain.   

5.  
Love's raptures then my Soul did seize,  
And urged me to proceed;  
Nor I my Passion could appease,  
Until her charms agreed.   

6.  
She than did cheerful words impart,  
'Twas time (Dear Joy!) to rise,  
Whereas I see thy burning heart  
To sparkle through thine Eyes.    

The Acquest.  

1.  
LOng, long had my Fair One seemed coy,  
And blasted my hopes with a Nay;  
But at length th' fierce flame of desire,  
And sense of true joy,  
Did steal her away,  
And blowed up her languishing fire.   

2.  
Love, Love in her heart is now come,  
And lights up his Torch with new flame:  
She loves me, she hugs me, and eclipse;  
No more she'll conceal,  
Nor stifle her zeal,  
With Kisses she'll wear out my Lips.   

3.  
Coy frowns are now changed into smiles,  
And hope all despair now beguiles:  
With glances she vows me her love,  
With sighs she doth seal  
To me her heart's zeal,  
And in raptures doth coo like a Dove.   

4.  
To me then (my Fair One) resort,  
That we (like two Turtles) may sport  
In the pleasures of love, and enjoy,  
What your scorn so long  
From us did prolong,  
And never no more be so coy.    

A Catch.  

1.  
LET the Brimmers go round  
Like the Sun in the Sky,  
And the Glasses be crowned,  
Till a Globe they descry.   

2.  
In th' Abyss of the Bowls  
Let us plunge all dull care,  
And let's swell up our Souls  
With our Nectar so rare.   

3.  
We'll this Night drink and sing,  
And brisk Bacchus admire;  
But when Morning doth spring,  
We'll begin to retire.   

4.  
Then make use of your time,  
Come, troul it away;  
For I think it no crime,  
Thus our lives to enjoy.    

The Shepherd.  

1.  
WHilst I my tender Flocks did feed  
In Tempe's lovely Plains,  
And when from care my Breast was freed  
Amongst the rural Swains:   

2.  
I spied a shady Willow-Bed  
Near to my grazing Sheep,  
Where I laid down my thoughtless Head,  
And tuned myself asleep.   

3.  
My Dear Florella passing by  
My trembling hand did take;  
And moved me with a gentle cry,  
Ah, Corydon, awake!   

4.  
At first she seemed to be a Grace  
To my dim, slumbering Eyes:  
At length I knew Florella's Face,  
And did to her arise.   

5.  
In mutual arms with equal flame,  
We did each other hold;  
And when the dawning Evening came,  
We drove our Flocks to fold.    

A Catch.  

COme, Come (Boys!) fill up your Glasses,  
And drink to the Lasses;  
Let cheerful Bacchus now abound,  
And Kisses too go round.   

Let every Man now take his Glass,  
And 's kiss present to's Lass:  
For he's a sluggish drowsy Ass,  
That will let either pass.   

Good Wine will make us brisk and gay,  
And fill our hearts with joy;  
And then a lovely Damsel's kiss  
Will consummate our bliss.   

No one was ever in the dumps  
Whilst Wine and Virgin's Rumps  
He did pursue; Here lies pleasure,  
And the World's choice treasure.   

Strike up then (Sparks!) And fear no claps  
In these sweet Virgin's Laps.  
But when you do new Spirits lack,  
Here's good Maligo Sack.    

Love abused turns to hate.  

1.  
I Never thought I could be shot  
With Cupid's fiery Dart;  
But now he hath Dominion got,  
And penetrates my heart:  
For Cupid's Arrows do resistless prove,  
And all are subject to the charms of love.   

2.  
When first Althaea's lovely Eyes  
On me did seem to play,  
She did my Spirits straight surprise,  
And rapt my Soul away.  
So soon a Damsel's glance and charming smile  
Doth fire our Breasts, and make our Blood to boil!   

3.  
I than beseeched my Dearest Love  
To consummate my Joys,  
And meet me in a silent Grove  
With Phoebus setting rays.  
For what's the rapt'ring bliss of Lovers charms,  
When they lie clasped in each others arms?   

4.  
I long did wait 'twixt hope and fear,  
And every gentle gale,  
That lightly touched my listening Ear,  
I thought Althaea's call.  
How great, how strong, (alas) was love's love's power,  
When every minute seemed a tedious hour?   

5.  
At length of her I did despair,  
And all my hopes resign:  
Ah false Althaea! Tho' so fair,  
Yet thou dost prove unkind.  
Now that, which I so dearly loved, I hate;  
And that I ever loved, I curse my Fate.     

LIFE.  

1.  
WHat is Life, if we live  
Still dying with cares?  
If we languish and grieve,  
Still damned to fears?  
'Tis Hell upon Earth, and a Grave, that is made  
Before we are dead, and our Fate doth invade.   

2.  
Why are blessings showered down,  
If not to be enjoyed?  
Why doth Nectar abound,  
If use is denied?  
Sure the Gods for Man's mirth consult and his joy,  
When Vineyards their Crowns of fair Grapes do display.   

3.  
Then no more let's repine;  
Let sorrow away;  
But let's squeeze out the Wine,  
Then taste and enjoy:  
Lest the Gods through neglect should their favours detain,  
For Blessings unused become needless and vain.   

4.  
Ah! Then fill up the Bowl,  
(Like Poets) we'll bibble:  
And whilst round it doth roll,  
With Misses we'll quibble:  
For he that revolts from his Glass or his Lass,  
Is justly esteemed a nonsensical Ass.    

The fair Enchantress.  

1.  
WHat powerful charms Calisto's Eyes  
Do prove to mortal Swains!  
They make our Passion straight arise,  
And soon inflame our veins.   

2.  
Her charming smiles do pierce our hearts,  
And straight our Souls enthral,  
Her Ruby Lips do wound like Darts,  
To which we Victims fall.   

3.  
We gaze, we gaze; still more admire,  
And all we know, 's to yield:  
She burns our Breasts with secret fire,  
And conquering quits the field.   

4.  
My Dear Calisto! Consolate  
Your Lover's bleeding heart,  
And (which 've caused) soon cure my fate,  
Or else my Life's but short.    

A Catch.  

1.  
LET Statesmen their honour advance,  
Let the Prodigals pride,  
And still deck up each side,  
With Pamphlets A-la-mode the France.   

2.  
Let Puritan virtue improve;  
Let the Misers ne'er rest  
Till with blessings oppressed,  
Still dreading t' enjoy what they love.   

3.  
(Alas!) Let such cares all adieu,  
Let damned troubles farewel,  
That are wont to rebel  
'Gainst us, when we pleasures pursue.   

4.  
Come, Come (Boys!) we'll drown 'em in Wine,  
We'll drink till w' are free,  
Then away we will flee,  
And our hearts to our Misses resign.    

music's Empyreum, occasioned by the sight of a young Lady playing on the Flute near St. James 's Park.  

1.  
AS lovely Delia charming sat  
Near Tagus' golden streams,  
And warbling out her Syren's art,  
Displayed her beauteous beams:   

2.  
The glorious Angels Thrones above  
Forsook, her tunes to hear,  
And heavens bright Choirs did Rivals prove,  
Which should her Triumphs bear.   

3.  
Her charms the Crystal Rivers won,  
To stop their course and stay;  
Whilst Nymphs about 'em joyful run,  
And th' feathered Crew did play.   

4.  
Brisk Echo from the trembling Grove  
Did break her shrillest Voice,  
And still in vain to answer striven,  
Whilst every Tree rejoiced.   

5.  
The nimble Hearts did skip for joy,  
When straight they heard her charms;  
And every spark did wish and pray  
To clasp her Snowy Arms.   

6.  
But tho' in vain fond wishes were,  
Yet they had power to please;  
So Lovers sometimes banish care,  
When nothing else can ease.    

The Prisoner's Complaint.  

IF Heaven's choir can pity take,  
If God's poor Swains don't still forsake,  
Send me relief;  
Whose heart is full of torturing pains,  
Whose restless Soul (alas!) contains  
A Tide of grief.   

I'm now involved in dismal Cell,  
Much like the deep Abyss of Hell:  
Alas! My woe!  
I once did happy times enjoy,  
And tasted pleasures every day,  
Tho' now 'tis so.   

Hence far more wretched I become,  
And think it now a greater doom  
To be confined:  
Where Iron Bands my Members press,  
And tyre my Limbs, nor do they less  
Disturb my mind.   

No sweet Parenthesis of ease  
Doth my continued pangs appease;  
I'm still in Death:  
The Stone of Sisyphus I roll,  
And Tityan Vultures tear my Soul.  
Oh Hell on Earth!   

My Summer Friends are from me gone,  
I'm now in Winter left alone;  
What Friends had I?  
O Gods! soon ease my sorrow's weight  
With your kind hands, or else I'll straight  
Despair and die.    

The Effeminate Courtship.  

1.  
LOng, Long Amaryllis had wooed,  
And for her Menalcas had sued,  
When still he repulsed her the more,  
And the colder he grew.  
But th' earnester she did implore,  
And still urged him anew.  
Still cruel? still cruel? Oh! Why  
Wilt leave me to languish and die?   

2.  
Thou triumphest enthroned in my heart,  
Which Cupid has pierced with his Dart:  
I'll love thee, I'll clip thee, I'll hug  
Thee about with my Arms;  
I'll sport thee, I'll kiss thee and smug,  
And I'll lull thee with charms.  
Still, etc.   

3.  
My heart I will freely resign,  
And still to thy will I'll incline:  
As true, as true Blue I will prove;  
No Ram's Horns shalt thou wear,  
Nor e'er in the Frigate shalt move,  
Which pecked Cuckolds doth bear.  
Still, etc.   

4.  
Don't I smile, and slick up my brow,  
And call you to Dinner from Blow?  
And every moment you stay,  
When I've called, seems a year:  
And do not I thee still obey,  
And endeavour t'endear?  
Still, etc.   

5.  
In Marriage let's firmly then join,  
And all, that is mine, shall be thine.  
The Cart and the Blow thou may'st drive,  
And get money apace;  
I'll Knit, Spin, and Card, and I'll strive  
To procure thee a Race.  
Still, etc.   

6.  
Each year I will bring thee a Calf,  
As big as a Bull and a half;  
And when we have reared these, brave Boys,  
Then they Carters shall be;  
I'll bring too a bonny brave Joice,  
To crush Cheeses with me.  
Still cruel? still cruel? Oh! Why  
Wilt leave me to languish and die?    

The Invitation.  

1.  
APproach, my pretty Dear,  
And sit upon my Knee;  
What Omen dost thou hear,  
That makes thee fly from me.   

2.  
Why fearest thy Maidenhead  
To give to one so true?  
Thou shalt have mine instead,  
And I'll exchange with you.   

3.  
To what intent had you  
Your Sex from Heaven above?  
Lesle you its use do show  
By th' ecstasies of love.   

4.  
What pleasures hence do spring,  
We both shall swim in joy,  
Nor envy Prince, nor King;  
Then why dost seem so coy?   

5.  
What dost thou yet even frown?  
A pox upon such toys;  
Come, Come (My Dear!) lie down,  
And we'll promote our joys.    

The Sympathy.  

1.  
O Fair Clorina! Whom doth fate  
Thus menace in your brow?  
Can I thy joys anew create,  
And make thee happy grow?   

2.  
Ye heavens! To me reveal the cause,  
That makes my Fair One grieve:  
'Tis Death to me amazed to pause,  
And not her pains relieve.   

3.  
My Soul's Soul, and my Joy! declare,  
From whence these storms arise:  
Let me absterge each pearly tear,  
That sparkles in thine Eyes.   

4.  
Clear up thy Front, and change this Scene,  
Let joys expel sad care:  
Dost think thy frets by me are seen,  
And I not bear a share?    

A drinking Song.  

1.  
LEt's drink up our Wine,  
Our Wits it will refine;  
It banishes care, it procreates joy;  
'Twill make us both wise, both frolic and gay.   

2.  
Great Souls it doth raise  
To a rapture of joys;  
It quickens the thoughts; The fancy inspires,  
And flames up a Poet with vapouring Fires.   

3.  
Apollo can prove,  
That Nectar doth move  
The mental conceit, with fancycal flight,  
He highest aspires, when he as tippled all night.   

4.  
Then fill up the Glass,  
By none let it pass,  
And here is a Health to our gracious King,  
For whom we will drain out old Bacchus' Spring.    

The Beggar's Felicity.  

1.  
LO! Lo! How the Beggars now play;  
They Sun their fat Herds,  
They struck their long Beards,  
And mantle themselves in Sol's ray.   

2.  
They wander through every coast,  
And never do stray,  
Nor miss of their way;  
But of their brown Lasses they boast.   

3.  
With hunger when they are oppressed,  
Their Packs they unloose,  
And Scraps do educe,  
Whilst on the soft Grass they do feast.   

4.  
Grim Envy at them ne'er doth strike;  
Securely they sleep,  
And safe o' th' ground creep:  
Like Snow that doth rest in the Dike.   

5.  
No cares do perplex their free brain;  
But when they can get  
A penny, they're great,  
And merrily spend it again.   

6.  
Their Pets they embrace and enjoy;  
They carry the Pack,  
With Bastard at back,  
And none are so happy as they.   

7.  
All day they do rant and they sing;  
When Night doth o'er spread,  
They seek not a Bed,  
But lig near some murmuring Spring.   

8.  
Where the heavens their Canopy prove;  
The Stars do enlight  
Their Chambers at night,  
Whilst they sport in the raptures of love.   

9  
Thus Beggars have joy without end;  
Thus Vagrants a Life  
Enjoy without strife,  
And Monarches in bliss do transcend.    

The Dissolution.  

1.  
WHat fatal influence rules the day?  
What cruel Planet bears the sway?  
That makes Clarissa seem so coy.   

2.  
Her sparkling Eyes (like Lightning) dart  
Their fiery flashes at my heart,  
Which can ne'er melt, nor feel the smart.   

3.  
Her Front with Clouds doth lie obscured,  
Yet thence no drops can be allured,  
To quench my Flames by her inur'd.   

4.  
Should I on her sour Face presume  
To cast a glance, she straight would fume,  
As though thereby t' increase my doom.   

5.  
But fie (Clarissa!) why dost frown,  
On whom thou canst no more cast down;  
Because I am no more thine own.   

6.  
For none but Fools, whose weaker brain  
Distempered dotes, would love retain  
For those, who will not love again.    

The Voyage.  

1.  
YE sacred Powers! that rule the Main,  
Ye Nymphs! that sport i' th' Deep,  
Green Neptune's Tridens, and his Train,  
Whose Laws the Waters keep;  
To you I trust myself; With prosperous Gales  
Therefore may you promote my pregnant Sails.   

2.  
O' th' sordid Land let others rust,  
In purer Spheres I'll live;  
Nor shall the storms deject my trust,  
Nor curled Waves me grieve.  
For still the Gods do innocence protect;  
On threatening Fate I'll dauntless then despect.   

3.  
Tho' greedy Death doth seem to ride  
O' th' back of every wave;  
And when it does again subside,  
It shows to me a Grave;  
I'll not through fear my Votives swear to pay,  
But I'll triumph, and swell as well as they.   

4.  
The barking Scylla I'll not fear,  
Nor deep Charybdis dread:  
Through Rocks, through Storms, through Sands I'll steer  
Safe to my Haven's Bed.  
And when the Winds do sigh and toss the Main,  
I'll mock them with my feigned sighs again.   

5.  
The Indians Gold I'll see, but spurn;  
The Trojan soil I'll view;  
To Venice I'll my Streamers turn,  
And then to Rome I'll go.  
The mirrors of all Coasts I will pursue,  
And search the wonders of the Ocean too.   

6.  
O then what pleasure will it be,  
When I'm arrived my shore,  
To recollect the casualty,  
That I've endured before.  
The grateful memory of dangers past  
Doth consolate, even till we breathe our last.    

The Hunt.  

HArk yonder, how the Woods do ring!  
Diana's sport doth now begin.  
Brisk Echo doth reverberate,  
What sweet-tongued Chanter doth relate.  
It puts to blush the Morning ray,  
To see the Nymphs so post away.  
The great Apollo strings his Bow,  
And at the prey his Darts doth throw:  
Out comes the Stag, which when they see,  
Away the little Lurkers flee.  
Fly, nimble Swift do run in view,  
And just i' th' Breech the prey pursue:  
Through Hills, through Dales; through Groves they fleet,  
And thread the Thicks with winged Feet.  
When Jovy Rock-wood his Voice shows,  
And with full scent holds up his Nose:  
Bold Rav'ner, and stout Thunder too,  
Do Music to their Ears renew.  
But (lo!) they're all now at a Mute,  
When true-nosed Whisker finds pursuit;  
And opes his Jaws, then with full cry  
Away they whisk (like Wind) and fly.  
The timorous Stag they view again,  
And without loss the scent retain.  
They run (like Lightning) and so smart,  
That they'll soon break his panting Heart.  
Down drops the Prey, the Dogs do seize,  
Till them the Huntsman doth appease.  
He winds retreats, and with his Spear  
Well-poysed, doth pierce th' expiring Deer.    

Gynephilia.  

1.  
LET those (that will) fair Women hate,  
And quite abhor;  
'Cause they suppose, they fascinate  
Those that adore.  
I'll thank my Stars, I may  
So great a bliss enjoy.   

2.  
So fair a piece as Woman is  
The World can't show;  
She's the Elysium of true bliss,  
Our Idol too.  
Her Front, her Cheeks, her Eyes,  
May well the God's surprise.   

3.  
With charms she chases care away  
From poor Man's Breast:  
She fills his Soul with rapt'ring joy,  
And makes him blest:  
Her smiles, her frisks, and glance,  
His Soul to Heaven advance.   

4.  
To Gods themselves we come most near,  
When true love reigns;  
Hence we to th' stars (like Comets) Sphere  
With fiery trains.  
Thus Heavenly joys abound,  
When love's pure Sphere turns round.    

To the Fair One.  

1.  
HOW Cupid in Clarinda's Eyes  
Doth skip, doth sport and play!  
From whence his flaming Arrow flies,  
And makes us all obey.   

2.  
We (like the Persians) do adore  
Those glorious Orbs of thine;  
And when we may not see them more,  
In Sables we repine.   

3.  
The Venus-Star is not so bright,  
When Night's dark Scene doth draw;  
As thy fair Eyes, which can by right  
To Monarches give a Law.   

4.  
(My Dear Clarinda!) done't be coy,  
Nor dart on me a frown;  
Lest you your Lover quite dismay,  
And cast your Suitor down.    

The Combat.  

1.  
AS Strephon and fair Flora lay,  
Enwrapped with clasped Arms,  
And silent cropped the rapt'ring joy,  
That flows from Beauty's charms:   

2.  
The much-beloved Amyntas came  
To pay his Sacrifice,  
And straight spied out their secret Game,  
With is envious sparkling Eyes.   

3.  
He then incensed could not endure  
A Rival of his Love;  
But did his Foe forthwith assure,  
His right to her he'd prove.   

4.  
They then an equal Duel fought  
For her their only prize,  
Until her trembling Spirits taught  
Their Hearts to sympathise.   

5.  
She sighed, and straight did prostrate fall,  
To beg a mutual Peace:  
Oh heavens! Oh heavens! To you I call  
Their Passion to appease.   

6.  
Each furious blow to me brings Death;  
Hold, Hold, these thoughts resign;  
Will ye drive out my wavering Breath?  
Was ever Fate like mine?    

The Lover's Complaint.  

1.  
WHY dost thou, cruel God of Love,  
So wound my flagrant heart?  
Thy torturing Brand I can't remove  
By all the helps of Art   

2.  
I burn, I frieze, I take no ease,  
But toss like Waves o' th' main:  
I hate, I love; My pains increase;  
I strive (alas!) in vain.   

3.  
My Fair One's scorn, nor cold repulse  
Extinguish not my fire;  
The more she frowns, and seems averse,  
The more I her admire.   

4.  
What then may I now ruminate;  
All hopes of her do die:  
Despair must prove my horrid fate,  
I'll languish, faint and die.    

The Lover's Wish.  

1.  
LET Monarches triumph in their Pride,  
And Caesars at Court still reside;  
Jove grant me the Phoenix I love,  
Then th' happiest of Swains I shall prove.   

2.  
The Pomps of the World I reject,  
Which cannot from troubles protect.  
Jove, etc.   

3.  
Love's raptures the sweetest of toys,  
Which locks up our senses in joys.  
Jove, etc.   

4.  
Love's charms still great Souls should inspire,  
And warm their brave Blood with hot fire.  
Jove, etc.   

5.  
The Elysium of bliss we enjoy,  
When love in our hearts bears the sway.  
Jove grant me the Phoenix I love,  
Then the happiest of Swains I shall prove.    

〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉  

1.  
TO Mars I will my Life devote;  
Come (Vulcan!) come, make me a Coat  
Of Mail; Command each Slave,  
That works in Aetna's Cave,  
My Thunderbolts to carve.   

2.  
(Achilles-like) in Armour bright  
I'll march and lead the Fight;  
My Sword shall clear the way,  
And to Thee Victims pay  
By every Man I slay.   

3.  
On threatening Death I'll boldly gaze;  
No terrors shall my Soul amaze:  
My Courser I will ride,  
And (like a Bridegroom) Pride,  
To marry Death my Bride.   

4.  
Let Trumpets sound, let Drums alarm;  
Let Cannons roar, let Bullets storm:  
It's Music in my ear,  
Grim Death I scorn to fear,  
I'll break through dangers near.    

Gynemisia.  

1.  
UNhappy Man! Why dost thou dote  
Thus on faithless Woman?  
This is to trust thy tottering Boat  
To Waves, that toss o' th' Main.   

2.  
Though in their mouths (like murmuring Bees)  
They do sweet Honey bring;  
Yet in their Tails there lurking lies  
A sharp, and deadly sting.   

3.  
Their winks, their becks, their glancing smiles,  
Their fleers and seem glad,  
Are Lures, whereby they do beguile,  
And Deaths in Liveries clad.   

4.  
Tell 'em, what Hell-exceeding pain  
For them you undergo,  
They're all of Marble, and in vain  
Your grief you let 'em know.   

5.  
Nay then the more they'll seem to scorn,  
And cast a kill Eye;  
That thou may'st wish, thou ne'er wast born,  
Or being born to die.   

6.  
But grant thy Prayers should prevail,  
And get a nuptial Bed;  
Ere Morn thou wouldst thy case bewail,  
And see thy joys were fled.   

7.  
Perhaps she'll prove a Wife o' th' Horn,  
And seek unlawful play;  
She'll have Gallants, and thee quite scorn,  
And then where is thy joy?   

8.  
'Tis best to lead a single life,  
Void of these gilded Ills;  
Where pleasure sits without all strife,  
As in th' Elysian Fields.    

On Caelia 's glancing Eyes.  

1.  
AS lovely Caelia fraught with joys  
Doth cross the spacious Plains,  
Her glancing Eye her heart betrays,  
And charms the rural Swains.   

2.  
The Lightning flash doth melt the steel,  
And makes it flow with streams;  
Thus, thus our hearts to melt we feel,  
Being pierced with Caelia's beams.   

3.  
The Star shoots through the spangled parts,  
Till it in jelly dies;  
But killing are the sparkling Darts,  
That fly from Caelia's Eyes.   

4.  
The Basilisk with's poisonous Eyes  
Doth close pursuers kill:  
When Caelia looks on Man he dies,  
She acts new murders still.   

5.  
She hates compassion, loves to see  
Man burn, and die in charms,  
Who ardently implore to be  
Embraced in her arms.   

6.  
Hence may these cruel Planets set,  
ne'er to be more adored,  
‛ Less all their rigour they'll forget,  
And bless whenever implored.    

On my dubious Condition.  

COme all ye Feathers of my Soul,  
And Wing me to the starry Pole:  
To the Elysium let me soar,  
Where doubtful Fate can harm no more.  
But if the Gods do joys deny,  
In some dark Chaos let me lie,  
Where I may know my fatal pain,  
And not 'twixt Life and Death remain.  
'Tis worse than Death to hang in doubt  
'Twixt Heaven and Hell, and ne'er get out.  
(Like Tantalus) I strive in vain  
The flying Waters to detain.  
I'm tossed from Rock to Rock, and then  
Fond hope doth rig me up again,  
Till hard despair doth overthrow  
All that weak hope did build so slow.  
O then, that I could know my fate,  
And Fortune's Wheel would keep one state.  
That its swift turns might cheat no more;  
I've been deceived enough before.    

The Vale.  

PHillis, farewel! For 'tis time to rebel,  
When Tyrants with fury do swell.  
Long have I lain, and adored you in vain,  
And now would you kill me with pain?  
But cold is my heart, nor e'er shall it smart,  
'Cause you'll not your Amours impart.  
Then never believe that hence I will grieve,  
But scorn for your scorn I can give.  
I'll love you no more, my folly is o'er,  
Which made me so ardent before.  
No Beauty I see (my Eyes being free)  
Which once were so blinded with thee.  
Fancy did move when I courted thy love,  
For thou didst a Venus ne'er prove.  
But grant thou hadst been as fair as a Queen,  
Thy cruelty spoiled thy mien:  
For those that still are as cruel as fair,  
Be never accounted so rare.  
Now (Phillis!) go to, thy tyranny show,  
But let me abandon you too.    

The Health.  

1.  
SO ho! Aurora gay  
Doth call  
Us all  
To welcome in the day.   

2.  
Bright Sol gins to shine;  
Let's pay  
Him joy  
And Sacrifice with Wine.   

3.  
Look! Yond the Nymphs do play,  
Fill up  
Your Cup,  
And drink their Healths away.   

4.  
Thus, thus let it go round,  
And we  
Will see,  
That Nectar shall abound.    

The Phoenix.  

1.  
AS when Phoebus doth tip the new day,  
And regilds all the World with his ray;  
So the Fair One appears,  
When she lightens our Spheres  
With the new-blossomed beams of her brow,  
Where the treasures of nature do grow.   

2.  
As when Violets flourish i' th' Shade,  
And to no wandering Eyes are betrayed;  
So the Fair One close lies  
From the rapes of lose Eyes,  
And in some amorous Rose-Bed doth rest;  
Whence such odours still breathe from her Breast.   

3.  
As when Heaven its Manna doth give,  
And through mercy doth Mortals relieve;  
So the Fair one proves kind,  
And doth solace the mind  
Of poor Lovers that mourn in despair,  
'Cause they dare not approach one so fair.   

4.  
As when Heaven is spangled with Stars,  
And bright Venus her Beauty declares;  
So the fair Ones fair Eyes,  
Are like Stars in the Skies,  
And do influence all our pierced hearts;  
As tho' Cupid thence shot forth his Darts.   

Thus Caelia, thus Caelia, is all o'er divine;  
O that Heaven, that Heaven would make her but mine.    

A Song by way of Dialogue between Corydon and Amyntas, deploring the departure of their Caelia.  

1.  
Cor. MAlignant Stars! Unhappy Fate,  
That rules the Scenes below!  
We now have lost our happy State,  
And no more bliss can flow:  
For (Earth's fair Goddess) Caelia's gone,  
And we poor Swains are left alone.   

2.  
Am. She (like an Eaglet) soared on high,  
Bore up with Angels Wings,  
And to th' Elysium then did fly,  
Where pleasure always springs.  
Thus now 've lost our Heaven of joy,  
Which chance before could ne'er annoy.   

3.  
Chorus.— Her bright  
And lofty flight  
Ravished all our delight:  
No more  
Must we adore!  
But must for  deplore!  
Good heavens! What a black doom is this?  
To burn in constant fire,  
To rage's in grief, in flames to hiss,  
And ne'er attain desire?   

4.  
Cor. Hence must my flowing Eyes distil  
Whole streams of pearly tears;  
And my sincere laments must fill  
With grief the gloomy Spheres.  
With mournful Songs I'll bathe my woes,  
And by my sighing seek repose.   

5.  
Am. No, No, We'll not exhaust our tears,  
Till all our hopes do die;  
Why should we thus augment our cares,  
Before the sum we try?  
On fiery Wings let's send our hearts  
To steal her Soul away by arts.   

6.  
Chorus.— Away,  
Your plumes display,  
Mount (swift Souls!) mount your way.  
One while  
To reconcile  
Our griefs bring back a smile.  
No more than we'll lament in vain,  
Tho' Caelia 's ours no more;  
But hope t' enjoy her once again,  
And ever will implore.    

The Command.  

1.  
AWay ye gentle sighs,  
And pierce the liquid Skies;  
Seek out the Fair One's Eyes,  
There pay your Obsequies.   

2.  
She's gone (alas!) she's gone,  
And must I mourn alone?  
With flaming Wings my heart  
The distant Region part.   

3.  
Into her Breast now Sphere,  
And stamp my Image there,  
Or make her heart to burn,  
And so again return.   

4.  
But in thy Centre bring  
One amorous smile to spring  
My fading joys anew,  
And then (Despair) adieu.   

5.  
So ho! The heavens rejoice,  
Her Guardian-angels Voice  
I hear, She's well, She's well,  
And still doth flame her Zeal.   

6.  
Upon thy Wings then bear  
My Soul away to her,  
And still (Amariel) prove  
My Advocate in love.    

Hope choked with Despair.  

1.  
A Curse upon that senseless hope,  
That swelled my heart in vain,  
And made me aim at that fair scope,  
Which I can ne'er attain.   

2.  
Fond Fop! Art thou the Antidote  
Against despair and grief?  
With vain Idaea's thou dost nought  
But cheat: Ah poor relief!   

3.  
The Chemist knows thy fallacy  
When's Fire's expired in vain:  
Thy sweet delusions flashes be,  
That sport the damned in pain.   

4.  
Thus thy fond promises alive  
My drooping heart have born,  
Till now no hopes I can derive,  
But in despair I mourn.    

On Sylvia 's Recovery.  

1.  
AS after a dark stormy Night  
Fair Phosphor leads the smiling Day,  
The sable Clouds b'ing put to flight,  
And bright the Morning of our Joy.   

2.  
So my Dear Sylvia springs again,  
From the fierce Onsets of dire fate:  
For what Disease could Trophies gain,  
Where one so firm so charming sat?   

3.  
Thus (bold Disease!) thy toils were vain!  
For though eclipsed were her Eyes,  
She risen more glorious from her pain,  
And doth thy conquered power despise.   

4.  
Ah Sylvia, still fair Beauty's bloom,  
Still guarded round with silent charms,  
Quickly (bore up with Angels) come  
To bless thy longing Damon's Arms.    


An Elegy upon the Death of the hopeful Mr William Rose deceased, in the fourteenth year of his Age.  

1.  
WHat makes our dull Minerva silent weep,  
As tho' she sought by tears relief?  
What makes us all in sorrow seem asleep,  
(Alas!) astonished with grief?  
The flinty Rock its trembling drops distils,  
And Marble Walls do sympathise our ills.  
The pious Muses mourn, and o' th' Castalian shore  
With shrill and doleful Naenia's their loss deplore.   

2.  
Apollo plays upon his Barbiton,  
And on his Lyre no more will toy:  
For his beloved Darling's dead and gone,  
And all the Muses only joy.  
'Tis thee (Dear Saint!) dost cause this mournful state,  
Whilst Learning's Candidates lament thy fate.  
But oh that all our tears being mingled with thy dust  
Can raise thee up, our heads into thy Urn we'd thrust.   

3.  
'Tis strange to see the Rosa Mundi fade,  
When in its infant Bud doth smile;  
To see black Clouds the morning beamso're spread,  
And Night our springing Day beguile.  
Ah Death! How couldst our blooming hopes destroy,  
And blast our choice Fruit in its early day?  
Whilst he (so rare is hoary virtue!) promised fair,  
But died too soon, his parts by actions to declare.   

4.  
But if he'd lived, how great, how good he'd been,  
Each action had been proof so plain,  
That every Eye would have admired, and deemed  
Him worthy, and without a stain.  
But since whilst he the Earth did thus forsake,  
To heavens blessed Mansion he his flight did take;  
Let's stop the Current of our tears, and place our Verse,  
As a true Monument upon his sable Hearse.    

An Epitaph on the same.  

ALL you, whose softer hearts can vent a tear,  
First read my Fate, then weep and drop one here;  
Where faded Youth, and Virtue's hopes do lie,  
Where goodness bud is forced to fall and die;  
Where comely Beauty turns to noisome Clay,  
Where early Zeal Death's sting could not allay.  
His Father's Joy, his Mother's sweet delight,  
The Muse's Darling, and our springing light.  
Oh cruel Fates! Impartial Destinies:  
That never had the sense to sympathise.  
But tho' his Body's dead, his Fame's alive,  
And more and more shall every day survive.    

Epitaphium in egregiam Pellicem.  

HOc jacet in tumulo Pellex memoranda futuris,  
Quae rapuit pectus, diripuitque bona.  
Pestiferis factis sibimet monumenta reliquit;  
Dicere namque licet de bonitate nihil.  
Orce tibi caveas, ne Fato Fata pararet;  
Littoribus nostris pessima pestis erat.    

An Elegy upon the Virtuous Lady Rebekka Townsend.  

WHat means this Tragic Scene, this tide of grief,  
Which Heaven condoles, yet will not send relief?  
The crackling Poles do echo forth their groans,  
And poor fond Nature her dire fate bemoans.  
The Sun with dismal Clouds doth veil his face,  
As tho' he'd find for Mourning a fit place:  
In Night's black sables hence the glimmering day  
Involved repines: Each Sphere in dark array  
Distils her showers of tears which calms her Breast,  
With a fierce Hurricane of grief possessed.  
The Winds do sigh, the Storms lament our woes,  
And the whole Scene of Earth in mourning goes.  
Sure Nature's choicest Darling now lies dead,  
And Earth's sole Paradise to Heaven's fled.  
The World's rare Phoenix has now taken Wing,  
And soared unto the glories of th' eternal King:  
For heavens great Agent did in's Eyes foresee,  
That She was worthy of maturity;  
And that as great as Heaven the World would grow,  
If blest (Dear Saint!) with thy bright beams below.  
Hence he to stop the World's just growing pride,  
Took thee to his, and this our Heaven defied.  
The Tagus streams wherein there flowed the joy  
Of all this Earthly Globe are passed away,  
And run into the Font, from whence they came;  
Yet nought can put a period to their Fame:  
Her merits were so great, they'll never die;  
But (like time) live to kiss Eternity.  
Nay, our own loss in her, our bereft State  
With tears will still her worth commemorate:  
Since when against her cruel Death did rage,  
We lost the splendent Jewel of our Age.  
Ah Death! so soon how couldst thou sweep away  
Our blooming hopes? Can pity not delay,  
Nor sighs nor tears thy fatal stroke? But must  
Our rising Daystar so soon set in dust?  
Impartial Fates! Faithless Mortality!  
All hopes of never dying dead here lie;  
Dead too, and having left no branch behind,  
Which might spring up, and parallel its kind.  
When Fate shall Nuptial Joys so swift pursue,  
Small are the benefits which thence accrue.  
From noble Veins she did her Blood derive,  
And by heroic Actions (whilst alive)  
She well did answer her Original;  
Nor did these tempting toys her powers enthral;  
But (Angellike) she did the World outbrave,  
And took pure Innocence into her Grave.  
For Prudence she (like Sheba) did appear,  
Whose Fame has mounted our bright Hemisphere.  
O' th' Wings of Pegasus she oft did soar  
(Where now she dwells) to the Celestial Tower.  
The Vocal Choirs of Muses in her Breast  
More, than i' th' sacred Helicon did rest;  
From whence they vented Oracles of love,  
And warbled out their charms, enchanting Jove.  
She (like the Sun) to all displayed her rays,  
From whence she built her Pyramids of praise.  
A safe Asylum to th' oppressed she gave;  
Her Heart and Hand did still rejoice to save  
Poor Wretches from their doom, and to supply  
The wants of all that did for mercy cry.  
If then true Virtue ever dwelled on Earth,  
'Twas here enshrined too with Beauty's worth.  
The Universe entitled her the Fair,  
Whose Charms no Cynic could unconquered bear.  
But now (alas) she like the beauteous Rose  
Doth fall, and fade, when furious Austere blows.  
Thus when with Ruddy Wings the Morning ray  
Seems proud to usher in the newborn day;  
Then on a sudden an untimely night  
O'reclouds and darkens the new-blossomed light:  
But were Aurora's smiles but half so fair  
As hers, the Clouds would have vouchsafed to spare.  
How hard's than Fate! that summoned away,  
Without remorse, this fairest Flower of May,  
To whom Posterity shall pay respects;  
Because the best Example of her Sex.    

An Elegy on the Death of the Right Honourable John Lord Coventry.  

LET Europe's Confines flow with streaming tears,  
Let deep-fetched sighs now pierce the sable Spheres.  
Weep, mourn, deplore, and let your Eyes now flow,  
Till ye (like Niobe) do Marble grow.  
The fatal influence that doth rule this day,  
Doth summon grief, commands our Eyes to pay  
Tears, as just Tribute: Nature doth assume  
New dismal shapes, which do portend our doom:  
Each object clad in Fates black Livery,  
Doth (Comet-like) some dire event descry.  
The Heaven being veiled with Clouds in mourning goes,  
The gloomy day Nights dark resemblance shows.  
Our Guardian-Angels fluttering in the air,  
Start back, as tho' they would remit their care;  
Each dreading Fate with murmuring sighs condoles,  
And vents fond passion which doth shake the Poles.  
Th' etherial crew with doleful shrieks bemoans  
Our horrid Fate, and panting Atlas' groans.  
Poor Echo's broken Voice doth iterate  
(Thus grief surprises Speech!) O Fate! O Fate!  
Each Zone her pearly showers of tears distils,  
And sympathising doth lament our ills.  
Our Mother Earth too a chief Mourner proves,  
Her pious grief since Nature's instinct moves.  
But what's the cause of these Effects? What strange  
Chimaeras Heaven's Face and Earth's thus change?  
Our Play's sure Tragical, our Scene is sad,  
And the Catastrophe's exceeding bad.  
The whistling Winds with a faint whisper seem  
T'infuse into my Ears a just esteem  
Of grief; they prompt, that the great Coventry  
Conquered by Fates too hasty hand doth lie.  
(Alas!) Too true; He's dead, he's dead, and gone;  
Now all our hopes die too; so good a one  
We ne'er shall more enjoy; nought can repair  
The loss wherein we all this day do share.  
What recompense would Heaven's Darlings be,  
Since none can bear so brave a Soul as He?  
No Hero e'er can parallel his Name,  
Whose Merits seized the Pinnacles of Fame.  
He (Pharus-like) i' th' azure Skies did tower;  
Yet was not in the least puffed up with power.  
Profound Humility was the high sum,  
To which all his ambition e'er would come.  
The splendent Palace of our British Sun,  
From this bright Pillar it's sole Basis shone;  
Hence glorious rays our Coasts with light did gild,  
And quick'ning Beams great Solaces did yield.  
Under his Wings th' oppressed a refuge found,  
And 's Charity (like Streams) did still abound.  
His only joy was to supply the wants,  
And gratify the Prayers of Supplicants.  
'Twas no State-Cushion, nor a golden Ass,  
Whose trappings made him for Heroick pass;  
But was a mighty Column of our State,  
Whose sacred Virtues did themselves dilate.  
The gilded blandishments of Court (which Souls  
Clogged with this drossy World too much controls)  
His noble mind (as Trifles) did neglect;  
Such Pamphlets Souls so great do still reject.  
His Sails were ne'er swelled up with flattery;  
But he'd discern such Plots with a quick Eye;  
His justice would allow no undue praise;  
His Merits only should his Trophies raise.  
Heaven him too good to live on Earth did count,  
Hence he (like Bird of Paradise) did mount,  
Maeand'ring to the Mansion up on high,  
Which Heaven provided for's integrity.  
Just Heaven! For the blessed Throne, he sits in now,  
Before he seized, he did acquire below.  
So falls this Pharaoh's Tower, our Age's cost,  
I' th' dust so this Ephesian Temple's tossed!  
Whose great renowned Fame shall never die,  
But prove the Mirror of Eternity.  
But oh our Fate! Why didst (Dear Saint) so soon  
Turn from our Eyes thy Morning Beams to Noon?  
We now (like Hermit's) live all desolate,  
Deprived of thee, we have lost our happy State.  
(Like Adam when expelled from Paradise)  
We rove in Deserts, and can find no bliss.  
We (like Heraclitus) do nought but mourn,  
And water with our tears thy silent Urn:  
But oh that hence we (Phoenixlike) could bring  
Out of thy ashes a new Soul to spring,  
Whose Numen might triumph o'er conquered Fate,  
And all our fading Joys refuscitate.  
But (ah!) how vain's our wish? Death's fatal stroke  
(When once is given) we never can revoke.  
O cruel Fate! Couldst thou not pitch thy Toil  
For other preys? Must thy black doom assail  
This starry Sphere? Do not ten thousand ,  
Who fond court their Fate, yet cannot die?  
Than him we might a Myriad better spare,  
Whose breath and name (like bubbles in the air)  
Might vanish, and the World yet feel no woe:  
He was our Phosphor, and Palladium too.  
His worth whole Millions did preponderate;  
Hence he so soon was struck by envious Fate.  
So that if any one would sphere on high,  
Transcending all, he must resolve to die;  
For (Herriot-like) Fate loves to seize the best;  
She takes them first, to mend she leaves the rest.  
Now in what Eulogies my Muse doth faint,  
And can't express thy worth, pardon (Dear Saint!)  
Pardon I beg; In matters so sublime  
To be deficient may not seem a crime:  
But where my Pen enough can't celebrate,  
Let Fame's shrill Trump the rest ebuccinate.    

An Elegy on the Death of his Grace the Duke of Ormond deceased, July the 20th 1688.  

WHen heavens bright Orb withdraws his ruddy Face,  
And Night's black Scene invades the World apace,  
How do the Persians veil their streaming Eyes,  
And still implore their flying God with cries.  
So when our radiant Earthly Stars do fall,  
Their horrid Fate lamented is by all,  
Whose stony hearts are not enmarbled round,  
And where a place for pity may be found.  
Thus all now mourn, cause the great Ormond's dead,  
Ormond, with whom now all our joys are fled.  
Ah Tragic Scene! Tears sparkle in our Eyes,  
And with sad groans we all do sympathise.  
The Marble melts through grief; The Rocks rebound,  
And from all Coasts most doleful shrieks resound.  
The Court (which sparkling Jewels did adorn)  
In Sables is now dressed, in blacks doth mourn;  
Whilst all the Great Ones Eyes do silent weep,  
Which manifests their sorrow's the more deep:  
Nor is it e'er to be comprised in Verse,  
How many Mourners did pursue his Hearse.  
But should we all our Tribute-tears now pay  
Equal to's worth, and our own loss this day,  
The Strand would (like the Thames) with Water flow,  
And every street would a deep River grow.  
White-Hall would feed the streams with new supplies,  
And to make Waves would vent out deep-fetched sighs.  
Since he from noble Veins derived his Blood,  
He by great acts his Pedigree made good.  
(If Loyalty on Earth hath now esteem)  
It's Magazine was situate in him.  
No greater loss could on our State befall,  
He was the great Palladium of all.  
His sacred Virtue did transcend each Sphere,  
He dwelled in Heaven when he sojourned here.  
No Pride, no Pomp, nor praise puffed up his Soul;  
'Twas Zeal that winged him to the Starry Pole.  
Humility her Darling might him call;  
So ready he would condescend to all.  
If Honour then and Virtue e'er in One  
Conjoined, he was that Heavenly One alone.      

Divine Poems AND HYMNS.  
Divine Poems AND HYMNS.  

A Penitential Hymn.  

1.  
AWake, Awake, my drowsy Soul!  
How long wilt sleep secure?  
Shall nothing, nothing thee control?  
Dost rest? Oh! this is pure,  
When Hell for thee doth gape her thirsty jaws,  
And Satan threatens with his angry Paws.   

2.  
Break forth my Breast in sudden cries,  
Prevent th' approaching woes!  
Rouse (alas!) rouse my slumbering Eyes!  
Will ye for ever close?  
Ah! Gush forth tears, deplore those fruitless ways,  
Wherein I foolish spent my former days.   

3.  
The dying Tree doth now revive;  
And I, forsaking Death,  
Do now begin to seem alive,  
And draw my wavering breath.  
I'll triumph now, and drown my crimes in tears;  
I'll trust in God, and cast off Hellish fears.   

4.  
Begun (O works of darkness!) fly,  
No more I'll call you mine;  
I now shake off sin's Lethargy,  
And am (O Lord!) all thine.  
O guide me therefore in these steps to thee,  
And grant, that I thy Servant still may be.    

A Spiritual Hymn.  

1.  
O Greatest God O Highest Power!  
Mercy afford  
(O mighty Lord!)  
Who dwellest in the Celestial Tower.   

2.  
The Heaven, The Earth doth thee obey;  
Thou calmest the Waves;  
Thou freest sin's Slaves;  
O'er all things thou dost bear the sway.   

3.  
O cleanse me from Sin's Leprosy!  
O purge my heart,  
And every part!  
Let me no more sin's Vassal be.   

4.  
O wash, O wash away each spot!  
Let not one stain  
In me remain;  
And all my former Crimes out blot.   

5.  
My Soul (O Lord!) create anew,  
And pure like thee,  
O let it be!  
That I thy wondrous works may show.   

6.  
In thee (my God) I'll put my trust,  
I'll serve thee still,  
And fear none ill,  
Let envious Satan do his worst.   

7.  
My God My God I'll spread thy Fame,  
I'll sing always  
Hallelujahs,  
And will for ever praise thy Name.    

Penitence.  

PUT on (O Muse!) a penitential hue,  
And with Castalian drops thy Face bedew;  
That with a weeping shower of mournful Verse,  
I may the praise of penitence rehearse.  
Welcome, O pleasing Legacy of tears!  
Welcome, deep sighs, which pierce the Heavenly Spheres.  
A contrite heart is heavens best Sacrifice,  
Acceptable'st in great Jehovah's Eyes.  
The Cordial of Repentance doth revive  
Our Souls being dead in sin, tho' seem alive.  
The groans of Converts open Heaven's Gate,  
And do provide for them a happy State.  
Thus pious David (tho' had gone astray)  
Did Heaven's wrath by's penitence allay:  
And as his sins were great when he rebelled  
'Gainst God, so he in penitence excelled.  
'Tis this, that doth our drossy Souls refine,  
And makes us in pure innocence to shine.  
No Man's own Merits can him ever save,  
‛ Less he for Christ with penitence doth crave.  
Thou must with trembling, and with careful fear  
(O Man!) thy own Salvation work out here.  
Since none (alas!) can prove so innocent,  
Who may not for's repeated Crimes repent.  
Whilst still we swell the number of our sins,  
And every day a new addition brings.  
The best of men in frequent errors fall,  
And can't preserve themselves  from all  
The tempting lures of sin; But forced to yield,  
Do beat it off again with Christian Shield.  
But grant we could persist without a fault,  
And ne'er from sacred Righteousness revolt;  
We all did in Sin's Leprosy begin  
Our Lives, and from our Parents drew the Sin,  
Which we must wash, and purge away with tears  
Of Penitence, which guilty Souls still clears,  
Or else we can't unspotted Garments keep,  
Nor please our Lord, the Shepherd of his Sheep:  
Turn then, O turn to God, repent your Crimes,  
That Christ may own you in the latter times.    

A Hymn of Confession.  

1.  
GOod God In what an everlasting gyre  
My black and loathsome sins go round;  
They pass the numerous Sands o' th' shore,  
Nor are the Stars of Heaven more.  
Yet still increase, they more abound,  
And every day doth raise the number higher.   

2.  
Oh! Rouse my sleepy Soul! A stronger guard  
Thy watchful Enemies require.  
Still stand prepared with thy arms  
T' oppose the Devil, and his Charms:  
And when thy subtle Foe creeps nigher,  
Straight with the Shield of Faith his force retard.   

3.  
How long wilt thou th' Egyptian darkness love?  
How long intend'st to live secure?  
How long the light of Goshan spurn?  
Wilt from thy obscure ways ne'er turn?  
How canst such Labyrinths endure,  
Where light ly's hid, and thou i'th' dark dost rove?   

4.  
With speed prevent this steep descent of Hell;  
This Precipice tread on no more;  
Climb up again, repent thy fall,  
And for God's boundless mercy call;  
Then He'll forgive thy sins before,  
And Satan's future onsets will repel.    

Another.  

1.  
TOo long (O Lord!) for Earthly Vanities  
I've been a Candidate;  
'Twas worse than Hell, or fate  
To live reserved for Heaven, and leave my toys;  
With magic charms they ticed me on,  
Obscuring their delusion.   

2.  
Those Circe's-Cups, Those Syren-Songs of sin  
Allured my Soul away,  
Pleasing when they'd destroy;  
But now (kind Heaven!) their betrayed Snares begin  
To show a treacherous Scene of woes,  
The precipice of my repose.   

3.  
Good God What trifles did my Soul pursue!  
On what weak grounds I stood!  
Bubbles, or worse I wooed;  
Fate, Death, and Hell, these pleasures would ensue;  
Dead in sin, charmed with toys, no care  
For an Immortal Life I'd spare.   

4.  
(O mighty Lord!) in what preposterous ways  
Was my blind Soul then lead!  
Bow down, Bow down my head!  
bend, bend my Knees! Implore my hands! Thy praise  
My Tongue sing forth, and mercy crave,  
Mercy, which doth poor peccants save.   

5.  
I now (O Lord!) divorce those blandishments,  
That thus to sin entice;  
Away, begun, black Vice!  
My purged Breast no more shall prove your Tents.  
To thee (great God) my Heart doth soar,  
Guide then, that it relapse no more.    

My PRAYER.  

MY God My God who dwellest in Heaven above,  
And yet vouchsaf'st to us poor Worms thy love,  
Accept, Accept a truly contrite heart,  
And to my early Prayers thy Ears impart:  
Prevent (O Lord!) prevent my sinful ways,  
And turn my heart from all these Earthly toys;  
Direct, direct my sliding steps to thee,  
And still preserve me from sin's Lethargy.  
O purge my Soul, and the Old Man divorce!  
Guard me with Angels, and damp Satan's force.  
Let me (O Lord!) no more sin's Vassal be;  
But keep me from Satan's temptations free.  
To Faith and Righteousness my heart incline;  
And let thy dictates still my will confine:  
So that, when I have led a godly Life,  
And well have finished my Warlike strife,  
And thou (O Lord!) art pleased to call away  
My Soul to thee, to taste of Heavenly Joy,  
I may it cheerfully to thee restore,  
And joyfully to thy Tribunal soar,  
Where I through Christ may absolution have,  
And through thy mercy Crowns of glory crave;  
There with thy Choirs of Angels sing always  
Praises to thee; until the latter days,  
When Heaven and Earth shall in confusion lie,  
And Christ shall come in his bright Majesty;  
And in Jehoshaphat Assizes keep;  
When the last Trump shall rouse all those that sleep,  
And Summon in all Nations to appear,  
In Judgement their last Sentence now to hear;  
Where all to give a strict account must come,  
Some to receive their Bliss, and some their doom.  
Then, then let me (O God) on thy right hand  
Amongst th' Elected Saints in glory stand;  
And when each judgement's given, take me with thee,  
Enjoying thy bright presence still to be.    

Vale Musis.  

1.  
FArewel, ye fair Inspirers of Man's Soul!  
Farewell, O sacred Muse,  
Adieu, Adieu.  
Tho' I could rather choose  
To dwell with you,  
Did Heaven by Contras not my will control.   

2.  
To Law I'm called; Then must I not obey  
What Heaven for me ordains?  
Let Fancy fret  
Confined in golden Chains;  
No more I'll treat  
My fruitless Muse, at best a pleasing toy.   
FINIS.