POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, Being the Result of Idle HOURS: To please the Desire of some FRIENDS.  
Written by J. T. Esq  
A Jove Principium.  
LONDON: Printed in the Year, MDCC.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE Sir ROBERT SOUTHWELL.  
The AUTHOR wisheth all Present and Future Happiness.  
SIR,  
THE manifold undeserved Favours I have received from your Hands, being altogether a Stranger to you, have laid an eternal Obligation on me: And I being uncapable of making any return of Gratitude at so great a Distance, besides the acknowledgement of Your Courtesies, I have made bold to present you with the Perusul of a few Essays, of a dull Fancy, and my idle Hours. The Subjects treated on, tho' not handled with that Judgement and Fancy that an abler Pen would have done; however, some of them may serve to intimate, that true Office of a Friend, which is to mind the eternal good of his Friend. Which unquestionably, Sir, is the utmost bent of Your Thoughts. However I do hope (Sir,) you will set a good Construction on this presumption of Mine; and axcept of these as a faint Acknowledgement of Your unmerited Favours, from him who will ever remain,  
SIR, Your Real and Faithful Friend and Servant, I. T.   

This Book of Poems lent to J. W and returned with these following Lines.  
GO Learned Muse, go back to him again,  
Whose Verse is Witty, Grave, Jacose and plain.  
If I could Feast thee, with becoming Cheer,  
Thou shouldst be welcome, and stay longer here.  
But tell thy Master, tho' I cannot send  
The like to him, yet I can his commend.  
Thou art an Eden, graced with many a Bower,  
A Bee, extracting Honey from each Flower:  
Armed with a Sting, yet careful to offend  
None, but the Atheist, who is no Man's Friend;  
Whom yet thou dost not take delight to Wound,  
But only search his Sore to make him Sound.  
Brisk as a Rural Nymph, and all as Fair,  
In descent Garbs, thy Trops and Figures are.  
In thee the Grace's naked I espy;  
But nought offensive to a Virgin's Eye.  
Nought like the Gear our mincing Females show,  
In the Belcony of their staring Brow.  
But (what all Love and Covet, Tooth and Nail,)  
Like a fair Beauty, covered with a Veil.  
Obscenity, (if I the Truth can hit)  
Is but the Flyblow of a rotten Wit.  
The Foreskin of a Fancy, rude and base,  
To its own Shame, cast in the Readers Face.  
The Inwards of a Pockyfied Thought,  
Up through the Mouth by Salivation brought,  
Civility inverted, and the A—se  
Of Poesy turned up in leprous Verse;  
To such vile Stuff, their Muse who prostitute,  
Are Runagadoes to their own repute.  
But thy, Euterpe taketh care to hush,  
What e'er might tempt a modest Face to blush:  
Dear Sir, keep on, as nobly you begin  
To hate low Vice, and lash unmanly Sin;  
How precious is good Husbandry of Time,  
When Virtue is the Poet's Anti-Rhyme?  
When he delights to sow a gallant Strife,  
Between his Pen, and emulating Life.  
I'll be your Pupil, Sir, and strive to Choose  
Each blessed Virtue praised by your Muse.  
If she commend the Meek and Gall-less Dove,  
I'll fly to meet her on the Wings of Love.  
If pure Affections in a body ,  
To clasp her Beauty I will run as fast.  
If Justice, Mercy, Temperance; my Soul  
With hers Cemented shall compose one Whole.  
How blessed is that Music, when two Parts  
Strike Concord in an Unison of Hearts.  
'Tis Heaven below to do like those above,  
And Hell on Earth, in foretaste not to Love.  
Truth Sung in Anthems is the Angel's Food,  
And to forget ill turns, a Godlike Good.  
But why does my dry Muse thus toil in vain,  
This Subject better suits your richer Strain.  
Yet when we meet within those blessed abodes,  
Which Poets style, the Palace of their Gods.  
When the great Judge shall come to punish that  
Which guilty Felix hearing trembled at.  
'Twill add one Gem the more to your bright Crown  
If any Grace you teach be made my own.  
To me no less Addition will accrue,  
If 1, in aught that's brave, can pleasure you.  
When each to others Soul, is a Divine,  
Both like the Stars in Heaven clear will Shine.   

POEMS ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, etc.  

The Character of a Theist.  
OF Mankind's several Inquisitions,  
Divines, Statists, or Politicians,  
Lawyers, Astronomers, Physicians.  
He's the Philosopher, that truly can,  
Find the Original and End of Man;  

When he doth Causes most truly Consult,  
And searcheth into Mistery's most occult,  
Shall find that this is the truest result.   
That some first Cause of all Things there must be,  
And who but the great God alone is he?  

Primary supernatural Being,  
Who did make All-Hearing, and Allseeing,  
And gave to All their created Being.   
With Intellects suitable to his own,  
That they his Omnipotence all should own,  
And dread his Power, by whom the Angels fell,  
From their exalted State, as low as Hell.  
And by their Example learn to Control,  
Th' inordinate Appetites of the Soul.  
And strive to practise that pure Law Divine,  
Which blessed God on Mount Sinai made shine.  

With that most pure and perfect Law of Love,  
Which that spotless, Gall-less glorious Dove,  
Revealed on Earth, as 'tis in Hea'vn above.   
He scorns for this World's Profit or Pleasure  
To quit so Inestimable a Treasure.  
For being truly written in his Heart,  
From it he never will swerve or departed.  
Till he comes to that happy blessed Place,  
Where ravishing Glory shall swallow up Grace.  
Thus the Character of the Theist ends,  
The happiest of Mortals, best of Friends.   

The Character of an Atheist.  
OF all Dissemblers, Villains and of Rogues,  
That ever wore Goloshoos, Boots or Brogues.  
Th' Endellion Devil bears the mark alone,  
The greatest Villain made of Flesh and Bone,  
Malice and Envy, and all Sin beside  
Most of all, Lust, Covetousness and Pride,  
Do still perplex and agitate his Soul,  
Which empty is of what should it control;  

Honesty, Friendship, and Marriage Ties,  
Are looked on by him, but as Fooleries,  
Fit only to hinder all Native Liberties;   

Who is always Plotting, Deceit and Guile,  
When he intends to kill gins to Smile,  
The truest Emblem of the Crocodile.   
This cunning Serpent so like the Devil,  
Designing nought but Mischief and Evil;  
When fairest shoes he makes and most pretence,  
'Tis but on purpose to delude the Sense.  
Which when he'th seduced and caused to believe,  
He designs more Mischief than Satan did to Eve.  
O mighty Atheist, with thee there's no dispute,  
Deceit's thy Essence, Cunning thy Attribute.  
Interest is thy God, if thou hast any,  
But I do fear that is but one of many.  
For Heathens use to Worship more than one, they say,  
But thou hast not learned to any how to pray.  
To Decipher thee rightly, if that I could,  
A White Witch full of Evil, yet thought good;  
For when thou'st a mind to do any Evil,  
Thou appearest an Angel as did the Devil;  

Whose deluding Subtleties, Frauds and Deceits,  
Thou imitatests so well, with all his Cheats,  
Thou lackest nothing, but, his Badge the Teats.   
But thy Description, all Verse doth exceed,  
As far as thy Faith, the Christian Creed.  
Therefore thy Character, at present, ends.  
Thou double faced Janus, the worst of Friends.   

A satire on an Atheistical Friend.  
HEy damn! What's this? 'Tis a Friend you see.  
Presto! be gone! He is now an open Enemy.  
Interest appears. The God that he adores,  
For which he'll pawn his Body, Soul and Whores.  
Soul, did I say? That fancy of the Priests,  
Unto their Mill, to bring more gainful Griests.  
With Conscience, that Phantasm of the Soul,  
With which was troubled that old dotard Paul;  
A thing that doth proceed from melancholy Fleagm  
A very Chimaera, a mere delusive Dream;  
Let blind Religion, or a vain pretence  
Delude the Reason, and the grosser Sense,  

Of such as do believe its Truth: But as for me,  
I Scorn to be vainly decoyed by such a lie,  
Which hinders the free range of Nature's Liberty.   
Nature, which allows Fraud and Circumvention,  
With a well dissembled cunning Intention.  
By which a Man may deceive his very Brother,  
Nay, if they were alive, his Father and Mother.  
If cunning cannot Reason's Twilight delude,  
The stall decoy of Conscience, he will intrude;  
In Word and Show, to promote Design or End,  
Tho' it be to deceive his best and dearest Friend.  
If advantage be to be had in Law,  
Or if in a Deed there be ever a Flaw;  
Boggles not at Equity, Conscience, or Reason,  
No more than he would at Blasphemy or Treason.  
Let illiterate Rabble Souls plaindealing use,  
Whom, misty Morals and the Bible do abuse;  
But to a seared Atheists Conscience,  
Hardened, as his own Face with Impudence,  
Who shakes of all religious Rules, Bonds and Ties,  
And scorns to be guided by such trifling Fooleries.  
My blunt pointed satire, and little pocket Gu●n,  
That cannot reach beyond a Quibble or Punn.  
Can do no good on him, h'deserves a Cannon Shot,  
Whom sure some Fiend on jucubus begot;  
Nothing in Nature can against him prevail,  
Until his due Damnation doth him Assail;  
Although the Character deserves excuse,  
Yet hold! my too fertile and pregnant Muse.  
Who knows but God may so with him dispense,  
That he may not be damned for repute of Sense.  
But may consent to allowed fundamental Truths,  
Which is the old Man's duty as well as the Youths.  
So hoping he will find out the Milky-way;  
The ugliness of Sin, I shall next display.   

On Sin.  
A Deluding Devil in Misquerade,  
A Jilt, a Whore, a very Jade.  

That leads Men to their sure Perdition,  
Far worse than Spanish Inquisition,  
Thou Mountebank, and not Physician.   
That givest us thy gilt, but deadly Pill,  
Full of all real, and all certain Ill;  
Worse than the Mischiefs of Pandora's Box  
Filled with the Plague, Pestilence and Pox;  
Which will as certain, and as surely kill,—  
Yet fond and foolish Man thou dost bewitch  
With thy tantalising, tickling Itch  
Of Pleasure, Perferment, and worldly Wealth,  
Thou robbest him of his Eternal Health;  
For which thou canst make no Recompense,  
By all the Pleasures of Man's depraved Sense.  
Unless thou couldst give what is beyond thy reach,  
That which alone Divinity doth Teach.   

On the World.  
THou Fools Home, but thou Wise Man's Inn,  
Thou Miser's Tomb, thou Shop of Sin;  
Thou painted Proud, and rotten Whore,  
Whom Fools and Madmen do Adore.  
Whose painted Joys, but real Grief,  
Led us to Ruin, past relief.  
Who promis'st Bread, but giv'st a Stone,  
But real Comfort canst give none:  
For all thy large and fair pretence,  
Thou leadest Man only by the Sense;  
Where by that dark and glimmering Light,  
Thou leadest him to eternal Night;  
Where when those Scales fall off his Eyes,  
He's then surrounded with surprise.  
To see he is of his Joys bereaven,  
To lose his Earth, and miss his Heaven.   

On Religion.  
REligion ought be plain, not Superstitious,  
And very real, not at all Fictitious;  
Amongst all Judgements, they being put to the Test,  
The Church of England deserves that Name the best.  
Which serveth God according to his written Word,  
In Unity of Spirit, and with one accord.  
And giveth all Glory as due unto his Name,  
For not doing of which, some Sects are much to blame;  
Who fancy themselves brimful of the Spirit,  
And think to save themselves by their own Merit  
When as the most Holy Scripture most plainly saith,  
Works are but the Servants and Instruments of Faith.  
By the which alone, it saith, we're justified,  
Which can by no rational be denied.  
For God's Grace and Bounty are absolutely free;  
As in the Creation we most plainly may see.  
And when fond Man by his Folly and Sin did fall  
From his first State of Happiness, which was not all  
He lost by his wild Rebellion, when he fell  
Doomed he was to dire Eternal Death and Hell.  
But by God's free bounty and most exceeding Grace,  
In State of greater Happiness he did him Place;  
By promising to him, and blind seduced Eve,  
Eternal Happiness, upon their bare belief.  
On our Lord Jesus Christ his true and only Son,  
Who was 'fore this created World begun,  
Which being fulfilled, to us their Posterity  
We ought to worship God with all sincerity.  
Not with blind Zeal, or Romish Superstition,  
Not with Tautology and repetition.  
But as saith St. Paul, with a sound form of Words,  
And vindicate our Faith with Reason, not Swords  
So will our Church daily much brighter Shine,  
And prosper for ever by Providence Divine.   

On Physic, and his Friend a Physician.  
Physic of all Humane, the most noble Science,  
Which with Divinity hath near Alliance;  
For even as the Humane Body is inclined,  
Even so doth follow oftentimes the Mind.  
Therefore the Wise best Physician Christ Jesus,  
From distempers of Body sometimes did ease us:  
Knowing that when the Body is sick and diseased,  
Few People are good humoured or well pleased.  
He spent much of his time in that noble Science;  
Therefore it may to all other bid defiance.  
If practised by honest and ingenious Men,  
That know how, where, and likewise the time when  
Their Doses to prescribe and to administer.  
When to Phlebotemize, to Vomet and Glister.  
Among which rank I do most deservedly Place  
One, who to the Profession did sometimes Grace.  
Not with the splendour of fine , or plush Coat  
On which some Country Coxcombs do to often dote  
As not considering the Inward real worth,  
And what God by a weak Instrument may bring forth;  
Nor like every saucy and pragmatical Jack,  
Or every vaunting Stage-playing bragging Quack  
Who Gouts, Consumptions, Palsies, pretend to Cure,  
With all other Diseases that Mortals endure;  
But his true, universal and solid Knowledge  
Learned from the Discipline of a governed College.  
He never varied from the true Rules of Art,  
But his Skill for Public Good would freely impart;  
Not for Avarice of Gold, but still doing good,  
By purging malignant Boil, Choler, Phlegm, and Blood;  
And where Nature itself did not begin to fail,  
His sure Physic was an approved Coat of Mail.  
But Nature by order of Providence Divine,  
Will have its Period, to which it doth incline  
From Birth, till inevitable Death summons toth' Grave.  
Where equally do lie, ' the Simple, Fool, and Brave. 
〈…〉 those for his Funeral Text.    

On Mr. Grenvil's Book.  
ALthough the Author Creature wanted sight,  
Yet God in the Creature hath shown great Light;  

And made him see quite through the liquid Skies,  
With clearer Prospect than blind Mortals Eyes,  
The Great, Bright, Glorious, Eternal, Wise,   
God-man. Mercy revealed in the Creature  
In every Stature, and in every Feature,  
In every Sex, and in every Condition,  
The eternal, ever Wise Physician.  
Hath shown his Love, Care, and Protection,  
His wonderful and great Affection;  
By curing all their Mortal Maladies,  
Gotten by being sadly purblind Wise.  
Again he gave them their full Prospect, Sight,  
Feet for the Lame to walk, and Hands to Fight.  
The Dumb he made to sing his grateful Praise,  
The Dead to healthful Life again did raise:  
He Cured the Woman's great Flux of Blood,  
To whom Physicians could do no good.  
He opened wide the dead barren Womb,  
And preserved Infants till time to come.  
His Providence and universal Care  
Is always present, also ev'ry where;  
Even to a Sparrow, and a small Hair,  
And to the Men which in a Garden are.   

Advice to a Painter.  
DRaw the World before God, the Word, and Light,  
Brought it from th' fathomless Abyss of Night.  
Draw it right Chaos, a confused Matter,  
A crinkle crankle cipher, but no Letter,  
Draw Atoms of various Figures and Forms,  
Blown hither and thither by various Storms,  
Some short, some long, some angular and round,  
Some little, some middle, and some prosound.  
Composing Chaos in Order and Frame,  
In the which we Mortals now see the same,  
Men, Beasts, Fish, Birds, Trees, Herbs and also Plants,  
Sun, Moon and Stars, with creeping Pismires and Ants.  
Draw this All, with skill, and so to the Life,  
That they no Pictures show, or a Lot's Wife.  
Which may otherwise cause Dispute with Swords,  
Concerning how Atoms composed Words:  
All this kind Painter, if you cannot do,  
Learn to distinguish real Paint, from true Divinity.   

On Ireland.  
IRELAND, whence they have their Name, various said,  
And as hard it is to tell, as who is a Maid;  
But the Natives Disposition and Temper,  
Idem per idem facit idem semper.  
From Noah tho' they do derive their Pedigree,  
'Tis of later Date, as the Wise may plainly see,  
From Scota hardhearted King Pharaoh's Daughter,  
Or from a viler Wretch which followed after;  
Judas I mean, whom they very much resemble,  
And who can as cunningly as he dissemble;  
If a Child be known by being like the Mother,  
They do very much resemble one the other.  
For as he his Master betrayed with a Kiss,  
So they in no respect at all come short of this;  
For when the greatest Protestations they make,  
They soon will you kill, betray, deceive, forsake.  
They say the Land no venomous Thing produces,  
The Natives having all in their Blood and Juices.  
Worship they own with show and Superstition,  
As Mountebanks imitate the Physician;  
Although St. Patrick from Heathens did them convert,  
He never could change their Natures, Manners, nor Heart.   

On Friendship.  
FRiendship, thou empty Name, but nought beside,  
Which changest with the Wind, or with the Tide,  
Of Man's Affection, Interest, Passion,  
Caemelion like to any Fashion;  
Thou cheating, cozening, subtle Chemic Gold,  
Which art so slippery, no Man can thee hold;  
Thou glittering Varnish, and painted Glass,  
Thou tinkling Cymbal, and thou sounding Brass,  
Thou promisest Mountains, but at the Birth  
Bring'st forth a Mouse, as did the pregnant Earth.  
In all our Troubles, Discontents and Grief,  
Thou pretendest to give us ease and relief.  
Yet canst not Cure the Bodies subtle Pains,  
Such as the Stone, which much afflicts the Reins;  
Nor yet the Afflictions of the Mind,  
Thou for that Cure no good Receipt canst find.  
Afflictions which are caused by Sin,  
Which do disturb the hidden Man within:  
Therefore give o'er and cease thou empty Name,  
Any more henceforth the World for to shame.   

On Friendship.  
THou precious Elixir of our Lives,  
Beyond the endearment of our kind Wives,  
Thou Good, thou Great, thou universal Cure,  
'Gainst all the ill poor Mortals do endure.  
Thou comfort of our Lives, sum of our Joys,  
To whom all Things below are gauds and toys;  
Thou Soul, thou All in every Part,  
As well in Head and Foot as in the Heart;  
Thou Centre of our happiness, in thee  
Is comprehended, the great number Three.  
Whose Love and Friendship never can have end,  
Who giv'st us the great blessing of a Friend.  
A gift, which God to Man hath freely given  
To be the sweetest Antepast of Heaven.   

On Drunkenuess.  

THou foolish, apish, hocus pocus Sin,  
Thou outest Wit, yet persuadest its in,  
Who to Damnation play'st the Platonic,  
And seekest Health in a Disease that's Cronick.  

Thou Pisky which foolest us with firm ground,  
When with dirt and puddle we are drowned,  
And fancy our Head's steady, when it goes round.   
Which makes us think we can guide the Globe,  
When the watr'y latax hath drowned each lobe.  
And Spirits like Fairies dancing round the Brain,  
Having dethroned Reason, begin to Reign;  
Who by wilful and Arbitrary Sway,  
Phaeton like would guide the Day.  
But by that ambitious blind desire,  
Set the little Microcosm Man on fire.   

Fear God and keep all his blessed Commands,  
And fear not the force of Weapons or Hands;  
For he can in less Times space than an Hour  
Confound all this Humane Force and Power;  
And thereby assert his Power to Rule,  
Turning Humane Wisdom to Ridicule.    

On the P. Infallibility.  
THe Holy Psalmist doth plainly assir,  
That all Mankind are Liars and Infirm,  
How came the Holy P. then free from Error,  
'Cause he never viewed himself in that Mirror;  
For certainly it is humane to err,  
But it is most beastlike to persevere,  
Then sure the P. disowns Humane Nature,  
And may be judged some other Creature.   

On the Quakers.  
THe Scripture saith, none doth good, no not one,  
How come these People then to be alone?  
When our Saviour himself was tempted,  
How came these Quakers to be exempted?  
Or do they think they have the same Spirit,  
Which he from his Father did Inherit?  
Which made him still temptation Proof,  
And caused his Adversary to stand aloof;  
No certain, they have need to be redeemed,  
However by themselves they are esteemed.  
Their righteousness is but as filthy Rags,  
For all their Euthusiastical brags.  
Their dark Glow-worm ignus fatuus Light,  
Will doubtless lead them to eternal Night.   

On Love.  

LOve the highest and greatest blessing,  
Beyond our thinking or weak expressing,  
And yet within our own possessing.   
The Cement of the whole Creation,  
Which keeps each Man within his Station.  
When we missthee but one half Hour,  
All our sweets are turned to sour.  
Thou makest all conditions pleasant,  
And changest our coursest Fare to Pheasant.  
But what mortal Man is there so wise,  
Thy praises fully to Characterise?  
He must have thy Idea in his Heart,  
That would show then but of thyself a part,  
But if thou wilt appear in a Figure,  
Than all our Gifts and Graces bigger.  
What made the whole Creation's Frame?  
Eternal Love produced the same.   

On Time misspent.  

TOO long have I my Time employed,  
In Pleasures which have only cloyed,  
Which, Constitution have destroyed.   

Too long have I employed the same  
To seek Applause, tho' but a Name,  
And got thereby most real blame.   

Too long indeed, my Time hath been  
Employed in Vanity and Sin,  
Which to redeem, its time begin,   
Assist me then Almighty Power,  
That I to thee aloft may tower;  

Assist me with thy mighty Spirit,  
That I may most truly Inherit  
My blessed Saviour's pious Merit.   
Which will Rival me with mighty Kings,  
Nay to transcend all earthly Things.  
'Twill make me like to the blessed Saints above,  
So pure, holy, and so full of Love;  

My Thoughts 'twill to their Centre raise,  
Make me sing thy glorious Praise,  
When there shall be no longer Days.    

On Life's uncertainty.  

IN a dull melancholy Posture lying,  
Thinking of living, thinking of dying,  
And of our slippery Minutes flying.   
Thinking of Courts and the Grandeur of Kings,  
And of all other sublunary Things.  
I found Man Lord of all the Creation,  
To whom all is in subordination;  
Was made and destined soon for to die,  
Considering farther the reason why,  

I found he was ordained to live again,  
And still his happy Being to retain,  
In ravishing Pleasure or endless Pain,   
Why then do we our slying time beslow,  
In following those sading Things below?  
Why do we not with better Husbandry  
Prepare for the Circle of Eternity?  
By shaking off those weighty Clogs of Sin,  
With every hindrance and every Ginn,  
Then shall we show ourselves most truly wise,  
Making Earth the Basis to mount the Skies.   

On Happiness.  
ALl Court Happiness, yet know not where it dwells,  
Whether in fair Palaces, or homely Cells.  
We grope in dark, thinking to find it here,  
It being by truest search found elsewhere;  
Our Senses being Judges fallible,  
And therefore such not juice that's alible,  
The young Man spends his short time and leisure,  
To find it out in vain Sport and Pleasure;  
And in the height of his simplicity,  
Thinketh that the chiefest felicity.  
The middle aged Man courts Honour and Fame,  
Although it be nought but an empty Name.  

And spends his fleeting time in getting Wealth,  
Although it be sometimes by fraud and stealth,  
By damning Soul, Body, and losing Health.   
The aged Man in his grave melancholy,  
Of all these Things having seen the folly,  
Thinks it Happiness to be counted Wise,  
Although he never sought beyond the Skies;  
Until one of his Feet be in the Grave,  
Then cryeth out with Peter, O Lord save.  
By which we may most infallibly know,  
Our happiness lieth not here below.  
The whole World when it would appear most kind,  
Is not able to satisfy our Mind.  
Which showeth it in all reality,  
Of higher Extract than Mortality.  
Which we must leave, and all Things else below,  
Before our full Happiness we shall know;  
When if our Parts have been but Acted well,  
In peaceful bliss we shall forever dwell.   

On the Parture of a Friend.  
WHen Friends do part it is but civil tho',  
They take their leave before that they do go.  
The Poet thinks it fit to send his Muse  
To bear the Embassy of his excuse;  

Whose mind is fraught with most real good will,  
As it was yesterday, so it is still,  
And thus it doth drop from his quill.   
Consider your time is still a flying,  
As well as of living think on dying.  
For of grim Death there is no defying,  
Nor of Heaven and Hell, no denying,  
The former pleasures being so immease,  
They infinitely exceed that of Sense.  
The pains of t'other so intolerable,  
That to suffer them no one is able.  
Let those things make us to mind our duty,  
And not to prise our Humane Beauty.  
Which fadeth like unto the fair Flower,  
Nay often withereth within an Hour.  
But let us with our utmost Husbandry  
Prepare ourselves for an Eternity.  
It's enough our time hath hitherto been  
Employed in vanity and ugly Sin.  
For which our time is little to repent,  
Although the remainder were on it wholly lent.  
Consider this while you have grace and time,  
And think it not an empty piece of Rhyme.  
Consider it with your utmost thinking,  
And go not to destruction winking.  
And learn to see the Wood from the Trees,  
And to suck the Honey and leave the Bees.  
So you will have Reason to bless your Friend,  
Who wisheth you well inth' World without end.   

On Pleasure.  
PLeasure, the tickling Itch of those that know  
No greater Joys, than those that are below.  
Bewitching Cyren with whose charming Song,  
We are enticed to our ruin along.  
Deluding Crocodile, with whose false Bears,  
We are led into a thousand busy Snares.  
Tho' most real Evil, but seeming good,  
Because by few Men thou art understood.  
Being like to the Bee, whose honeyed thigh,  
Carrieth a painful Sting very nigh.  
That thou Tarantula, dost sting to death,  
And causest Men to laugh away their Breath;  
Thou Judas like, dost kiss and then betray,  
All those thou meetest in thy cos'ning way.  
Yet fond and foolish Man, will not beware  
Of thy deluding Gins and cursed Snare;  
But will be deceived by thy Chemic Gold,  
Thou fool'st him young and damnest him when old.   

On Wisdom.  
Wisdom, the gift of blessed Jehove,  
Which keep'st us all in unity and love.  
By which we learn to Steer our earthly Course,  
And following thee right, find no remorse.  
All other Things being compared to thee,  
Like Atoms to the Universe they be.  
By thee we rightly know from whence we came,  
Who swerveth from thee never wanteth blame.  
By thee we know, we shall forever live,  
By thee, we know, God's read'ness to forgive  
Our Sins and Trespasses, tho' ne'er so great,  
If we do not them too often repeat,  
And weary out his good Spirit of Grace,  
Which in our hearts would fain have resting Place.  

'Tis by this Wisdom rightly understood,  
we come to learn and know our greatest good,  
God's great Mercy revealed to flesh and blood.   
For when all the Race of perverse Mankind  
Were instead of clear Seeing, made stark Blind  
By wicked Adam's rebellious Fall,  
By which he forfeited his Life and all  
His present and future Happiness and bliss,  
Which was prepared both for him and his.  

It pleased the great, and eternal Wise  
To visit the Earth, as well as the Skies,  
The Sun of Righteousness, on all did rise.   

Since God showed so great Condescension,  
Exceeding our Sense or Apprehension,  
Let us not frustrate his blessed Intention.   
But learn and obey his blessed command,  
Duty to practice, as well as understand.  
Duty and Happiness being the same,  
Although understood by a divers Name.  
For would we attain to eternal Bliss,  
Following Duty we shall never miss.   

The Atheist on the Toleration  
NOW we have certain hope, by this late Liberty,  
All Churchmen and Church-Goverment for to defy;  
With all their odd paraphrasing Divines,  
Which so often do harrass us with their pert Lines,  
And with their thundering Anathamas from Pulpit;  
Oh their impertinent Divinity dull Wit!  

Who do think for to fright us with the foolish prate,  
Of Heaven and Hell, and of a Future State,  
Not knowing that all Things are governed by Fate.   
But suppose we should grant such Places there should be,  
A cleansing Purgatory will set us all free;  
Then what wise Man, nay but of common Sense,  
Will change the Present, for the Future Tense?   

The Answer.  
HOld, Atheist hold, and stop your ranting Course,  
Learn to be humble, and have some remorse.  
Harken unto those learned grave Divines,  
And they will convince you by their pert Lines;  

That there is most certain a future State,  
And that Repentance doth oft come to late,  
And that God's Providence ruleth o'er Fate.   
There's Heaven and Hell without restriction,  
And Purgatory is but a Fiction.  
Then what wise Man, nay but of common Sense,  
Will change the future for the present Tense.   

Divide & Impera.  

INfernal Maxim, which sure first did come,  
From him, who first dividcs to overcome,  
The grand Disturber of perverse Mankind,  
Who doth not loiter, but always doth mind.  
The way that most conduceth to his Ends,  
By sowing Discords between chiefest Friends;  
By fomenting in Families, debate,  
Between dearest Consort and her loving Mate;  
By setting Kingdoms in a burning flame  
Thereby to bring us unto endless blame.  
I wonder that after so long a time,  
Thou hast been detected in Prose and Rhyme.  
Mankind should love their slavery and Sins,  
And not beware of thy sad cursed Gins;  
And their true Happiness to understand,  
By loving Concord God's blessed command;  
Concord, Love, Peace and Mistick unity,  
Being the greatest Mirror of the Deity.  
Which will lead us to that good land of Peace,  
Where blessed Union will never cease.   

The Earth God's bountifulness doth declare,  
The Firmament showeth his handy Works,  
His Goodness extendeth every where,  
To Christians, Jews, Indians and Turks.  
No finite Being can it apprehend,  
How far his loving Mercy doth extend.    

A PSALM.  

TO render thanks unto the Lord  
How great a Cause have I?  
Who me hath heard  
And not deferred,  
To hear me from on high.   

He breathed in me hreath of Life,  
When strait I did begin,  
As soon as born  
(O wretch forlorn!)  
To lead a Life of Sin.   

And so have since continued  
To vex his wrathful ire,  
Tho' the great God  
Be with his Rod,  
A great consuming Fire.   

To all those that do still persist  
In wickedness to dwell,  
The Lord will Curse  
Without remorse,  
And throw him into Hell.   

But they that do his blessed Commands  
Endeavour to fulfil,  
In Heaven above,  
With Peace and Love  
They shall for ever dwell.   

The Lord by his great Providence,  
Hath saved me as in Tower,  
When I was sick,  
He did not stick,  
To help me by his Power.   

His Mercies are so very great,  
They do so far exceed,  
That they may move  
Us all to love,  
The Articles of our Creed.    

On Faith.  
FAITH, by which alone it is that we can,  
Believe that the great God created Man.  
And when lapsed Man from his bliss did fall,  
In State of Grace, he did him reinstall.  
By promising Light and Life in Christ his Son,  
Whose Life and Light before the World begun.  
If we his Light would fully apprehend,  
We should love and imitate our blessed Friend;  
And let our darkness by his Rays be lighted,  
Then we shall never more be benighted.  
By Faith we know Things formerly have been,  
By Faith we still do hope for Things not seen.   

On Hope.  
HOPE from which our comfort doth proceed,  
From the saving Articles of our Creed.  
Hope the Comfort both of the good and bad,  
Who still dost cheat us when we are most sad.  
Who dost restore the lingering sick to Health,  
Who makest the poor Beggar full of Wealth.  
Who suitest every Condition,  
Who art the universal Physician.  
Thou Comfort of all Miseries below,  
Because we hope we shall them all forgo.  
And live where Love and Charity doth dwell,  
Thou Heaven to those that on Earth do well.   

On Charity.  
HAD I the Faith to see into Heaven,  
That all my Sins are freely forgiven,  
By Christ his blessed Merits not my own,  
For which my Life and Soul both will I pawn;  
Can shining Angels tongue, or that of Men,  
From learned Homer down to good old Ben.  
My wretched hope but in the least inspire,  
To be one of their famed learned Choir;  
If that pure Charity I could not gain,  
Both my Faith and my Hope were still in vain.   

On S. V.  

HAppy's the Man that walks by Reason's light,  
Who curbeth his Passions dark at Night,  
His Life is assuredly in the right.   
Who having seen his Vanity and Crimes,  
And Alteration of Humane Times;  
Doth mind that Thing for which he was born,  
To serve his God, the Church and State adorn;  
He's still a New and constant Almanac,  
And always remains unchanged Shadrach.   

On the Death of an Insant.  

LIttle Primrose, soon sprung, fading Flower,  
Who bloomest and diest within an Hour,  
The true Emblem of all Humane Power.   

Which extended to ne'er so long a date,  
Must yet submit to all conquering Fate,  
As do all sublunaries soon or late.   
Thrice happy he whose fertile Mother's Womb,  
Doth prove to him a Sepulchre or Tomb.  
If he be so unfortunate forlorn,  
As in this troublesome World to be born,  

The next great happiness that he can crave,  
Is early to wish for, or find a Grave,  
And be not this World's Darling nor its Slave.    

On the Death of T. T. Esq  
SHall good Men die and no Poetic Knell,  
Out sound the tinkling of the Parish Bell?  
Shall the Memory of the Good and Just,  
Perish, as doth the rude and common Dust?  
No, no such Things our Eyes can never see,  
Till all the Race of Mankind cease to be.  
For he that's Truth itself hath expressed,  
The Memory of the Just shall be blessed.  
But the wicked which are not by Faith begot,  
Their Name and their Memory both shall rot.  
This wise Man whom this earthy Tomb contains,  
Early did dig within those richest Veins.  
Where that inestimable Treasure lies,  
Worth more than this fading Worlds both Indies.  
He oft did view that true sacred Record,  
God's holy revealed and written Word.  
And did transcribe that Copy in his life,  
By loving blessed Concord, and hating Strife;  
His Prince and Country Laws he did obey,  
And no Man's Interest he would betray.  
He performed an Husband's duty to's Wife,  
By living in Amity free from Strife.  
And when the great Almighty did them part,  
She was always enshrined in his Heart.  
For a true Widower free from all stain,  
Constant till his Death he did remain;  
His Children in God's Laws he did instruct,  
And gave them drink from that true Aqueduct.  

(My barren, dry and thirsty, Crabstock Muse,  
Still doth remain without the least excuse,  
After such manure, such Fruit to produce.)   
His Covenant with Servants he did fulfil,  
And left them not to their disordered Will,  
But taught them their Duty to their great Lord,  
Whom they all worshipped with one accord;  

His Duty to God he did ne'er neglect,  
His Neighbour as himself he did respect,  
And true and real Friendship did affect.   
But that on Earth being not so refin'd,  
As was his clear Intellectual Mind;  
In Virtue having outrun his ancient Race,  
In Heaven he hath got an everlasting Place.   

On W. S. of M. Esq  
HAD I the Poet's Rapture, or their Rage,  
I'd sing the Praises of venerable Age.  
Where Reason, Justice, Piety did dwell,  
Whose End and Aim was always to do well.  
Who being guided by Divine foresight,  
He did always lead his own Life aright.  

Free from Error or Romish Superstition,  
He erected in himself an Inquisition;  
And Temperance was his chief Physician.   
Blind Cant and Phanaticism he did hate,  
And was a chief Pillar in Church and State.  
Public Employs he had a great many,  
And did discharge them all as well as any.  
Judge he was of the whole Admiralty,  
Likewise Vice-Warden of the Stannery,  
Deputy-Lieutenant and Colonel;  
Both which he discharged exceeding well.  
He was true Conservator of the Peace,  
From Business and Duty he never did cease.  

His Religion was true and Authentic,  
And as ancient as the Atlantic,  
And his Family was great and Antique.   

His Praises to write, what Pen is able,  
Whose great Virtues were unimitable,  
And all his whole Life most admirable.   
But now having bidden his Friends good night,  
God hath given him everlasting Light.   

On the B. of E.  
HAIL, all renowned and blessed Patriot,  
Who addest lustre to them thee begot,  
Whose Charity extends o'er the large Globe,  
And giveth glory to the Lords bright Robe.  
Whose Virtues, like thy capatious mind,  
Are free and liberal, unconfined.  
Which have preserved thee when in Tower,  
'Gainst Arbitrary and lawless Power.  
Thy Fame then the Cannons much louder roars,  
It reacheth from Native to Foreign Shores.  

It cannot be heghtned by slight Poetry,  
Nor by the Title of Lord Trelawny,  
Which hath already reached the Sky.   

Where thy great love and friendship doth extend,  
Like our greatest and universal Friend.  
Who will Crown the Mitre at this World's end.    

On Sir R. S.  
friendship's darling, loves delight, Virtue's choice,  
Of all thou hast the universal Voice.  
Others friendships are to their Friends confined,  
Thine's capatious as thy boundless Mind,  
And is extended to all humane kind.  
All the four great Virtues Cardinal  
In thy enlarged Soul are Centrical;  
Thy Character most truly to complete,  
thou'rt the extract of all that's Good and Great.   

On the E. of R.  
SAddle bold Pegasus and all his Race,  
My Muse may find out Honours resting Place.  

And now she hath fetched her full career,  
And hath now travailed both far and near,  
She'th found it at home in a peerless Peer.   
Honour, Love, Friendship, Affability,  
With the true extract of Gentility.  

Whose Virtues are far more honourable,  
Than Or, or Argent. Vert. Gules, or Sable.  
I'm sure my Muse delights not in Fable.   
Whose Religion in reality  
Which will sure, when he leaves Mortality,  
Cause him in Heaven above for to dwell;  
My tardy Muse endeavours to bode well.  
My resty Pegasus gins to bond,  
And feign would cast my Muse on Cornish ground.  
And having thrown of both bridle and dock,  
Would very willingly lie nigh the Rock.   

On N. B.  
DULL slumbering Muse awake thyself upraise,  
And sing the pleasures of thy youthful Days.  
When at Oxford where the blessed Muse's ring,  
Whence Knowledge, and all Sciences do spring.  
Where my lovely Dame and I have spent,  
Many happy Hours to our sweet content.  
Where we were both destined from our Birth,  
To taste the Fruits of Paradise on Earth.  
Innocently we did enjoy our Love,  
Like little Children, or the gall-less Dove.  

Never were I between thy pretty Legs,  
Where lies concealed sweet Muskadine and Eggs;  
And where would stoop the greatest Beglerbegs.   
Your House in Castreet History did adorn,  
We have often perused with Mrs. Horn.  
Then in a Boat strewed with green Rushes,  
We have gone to hear the warbling Thrushes,  

Who were out done by thy melodious strains,  
Who charmest the Academic and the Swains,  
And all whose blood's not child in their old Veins.   

'Twas at the pretty pleasures of a Wake,  
That first I did of th' happiness partake,  
And was more lucky than Sir Francis Drake.   

When he new Worlds to us did discover.  
I was so very fortunate a Lover,  
My genius over thee will hover,   
Till we shoot the Gulf to Heaven or Hell,  
I never shall forget kind Madam Nell;  
And bless my Stars, and Exeter College,  
That gave me of thee the happy Knowledge.   

On Madam B. welcome into the Country.  

THe brave Cornish Muses,  
Deserve no excuses,  
For not bidding you welcome hither,  
For inspired from above,  
With Poetry and Love,  
They should do it all together   

For your Mind so serene.  
Like to the Queen of Spain,  
Is free from all turbulent Passion,  
With Verse a whole Fleet,  
They ought you to greet.  
Even as I do in some Fashion.   

Your Religion is plain,  
And runs in the old Vein,  
And is not at all Superstitious,  
Your Life is most devout,  
Like to a Martyr stout,  
And is not at all Fictitious.   

Your Example will teach,  
What in vain others Preach,  
To persuade us to abstain from Sin,  
So without any loss,  
You'll refine our thick Dross,  
And give us your fined Gold for our Tin.   

Can my slow Muse fly,  
And Soar to the Sky,  
And see the beautiful Nymphs of Fame,  
Astrea nor Celia,  
Nor lovely Cosmelia,  
Have not so Celestial a Name.   

As Eliza; Second best  
Amongst the wondrous rest  
Of fair and conquering Woman kind,  
That Man that doth not see  
Divinity through thee,  
Is not only dark but blind.   

May we still you enjoy,  
Without e'er being coy,  
Till you part from Sister and Brother,  
And for better for worse  
Without any remorse,  
You follow the steps of your Mother.   

You're Welcome to our Parts,  
With all our whole Hearts,  
And may nothing our Friendship sever,  
Till in Heaven above,  
With blessed Peace and true Love,  
We all meet where we shall part never.    

On the Daisy, quasi Days Eye.  
It opens and shuts with the Sun.  
ALtho' we lie open all the long Day,  
And in the pleasant Sunshine bask and play;  
The darksome Night will come in which we must  
Close our pale Heads and turn to Earth and Dust.   

On a Daisy.  
THE Daisy, the bright Queen of all the Fields,  
Which so much Pleasure and contentment yieds.  
When that she doth every where bespread,  
Her Eye pleasing beauteous Coverled:  
Upon the which each loving longing Swain,  
Of Cloris and Phillis doth still complain.  
Unkind and fickle Souls, who always prove  
Deaf to the Men that do them mostly love.  
But to the Men,  and lovingly blind.  
That unto them are most severe, unkind.  
Like Men in Fevers, that do burn and rave,  
And what doth injure them do mostly crave.  
Upon such beauteous and flowery Banks,  
There are played many gay youthful pranks.  
Where some Lovers prove more tender hearted,  
Who from their Swains are not soon parted.  

Until in the height of Love's fiercest rage,  
They do get of themselves the true Image,  
Which doth survive them in th' next Age.   
Then falling into sleep they forget quite;  
The approaches of the following Night.  
But in folded Arms together do lie,  
Being o'er spread by starry Canopy.  
Till fair bright Days-eye doth again appear  
In this clear pleasant Spring time of the Year;  
When frisking Lambs do dance, and Birds do sing,  
Praises to God, their great heavenly King.   

On the S.  
THE pleasant S that shines most bright,  
Shutteth quite close at the approach of Night.  
The love of all those that Mary for Gold,  
May be compared to the S;  
When Night cometh on, and the Gold is done,  
The Marygold's shut, and the love is gone.   

On his Friend, J. V.  
WHen Ancientest Reason us had taught.  
How to distinguish between good and naught  
What Daemon taught our Happiness to place  
In her that ruin'd us and all our Race?  
And think our Happiness in them doth dwell,  
That are the public Mart and Road to Hell;  
Surely he was Post or Pisky ridden,  
To taste of such putrid Fruit forbidden;  
Whose rotten inside, tho' her outside fair  
Hath led him to so great and deadly Snare;  
Who nath brought on him so great a Slander,  
But they must needs be Flowered, come near the Launder.   

On Mrs. Thell.  
FRiendship before was naught but Name and show,  
Which I'd by some Poet or Painter drew,  
Till you of all the fairest Sex the Fame  
Have made it to appear more than a Name;  
Whose bright Soul, like unto the Gods above,  
Doth all Things in the way of Heroick Love.  
But here, give me leave, Fortune to accuse,  
For giving place unto my slender Muse;  
When showeth but the Emblem of my Mind,  
And can but promise I should have been kind,  
And grateful, for your former Courtesies,  
Your real Friendships and Civilities;  
Which should have been done in reality,  
Setting aside all blind formality.  
For if e'er I forget Mr. Colling's Shop,  
May I turn School-boy'gen and scourge a Top;  
May I not know Maidenhair from Syrup,  
Neither my Gambado from my Styrrup.  
May I be Quack, and no Physician,  
Or be put in Spanish Inquisition.  
May I not know Cordial from Blister,  
Neither an Emetic from a Glister;  
May, I ever in Oblivion dwell,  
If e'er I do forget dear Mrs. Thell.   

The Latin Sentences in Mr. Goddard's miscellanies Paraphrased.  
Sine Deo, nec gratia nec gaudium, nec Coelum.  
WIthout the Rays of the Almighty's Face,  
We cannot attain the least spark of Grace.  
Nor joy nor any great or goodly Thing,  
Nor Heaven, without our Heavenly King   

Redemptor noster pro bonis miserecorditer incarnatus est; nihil igitur hac Margarita ad porcos & Canes.  
OUR Saviour in pity to the Good,  
Took on him our natural Flesh and Blood.  
This precious Pearl then must not be thrown,  
To Pigs and surly Dogs, who will not own  
His infinite Worth, and pious Merit:  
All such his purchase shall ne'er Inherit.   

Sine Speritu Sancto, nec lux, pax, puritas, sanctitas nec gloria.  
WIthout the Holy Ghost we have no Light,  
But live in endless perpetual Night.  
No Peace, nor Happiness, nor Purity,  
No heavenly Mindedness, nor Sanctity,  
Nor without belief of the blessed Trinity  
Shall we attain to eternal Glory.   

Peccatum lethale est venenum, quod delectat et necat.  
SIN is a deadly Poison which doth kill,  
All those People that take thereof their fill;  
Although it goeth down with great delight  
With them whose Palates it hath distempered quite.  
Which cannot relish Virtues bitter Pill,  
Which giveth Life and Antidotes all ill.   

Mundus delectat, decipit, destruit.  

THE World deceives us with its gaudy Toys,  
And gives us but painted, not real Joys,  
And all that trust it, certainly destroys.    

Per obedientiam, pax, prosperitas, libertas: Per Rebellionem, infaelicitas, paupertas, infamia desolatio damnatio.  
BY our obedience we obtain Peace,  
Consusions, Wars, Bloodsheds, then do cease;  
Then if we have but true sincerity.  
We shall enjoy eternal Prosperity.  
But Rebellion is simplicity,  
It brings on us all infelicity,  
Poverty, Infamy, and Punishment,  
It causeth Wars and Desolation,  
And without Repentance, Damnation.   

Divitiae sine gratia, nocent, affligunt, vexant, premunt, opprimunt, irretant, interficiunt.  
RIehes ensnare and do us greatly hurt,  
When we consume them in our Vice and Sport.  
They afflict, and vex, and they do oppress,  
And cause us our Duty for to transgress.  
They stir us up to Anger, and to Strife,  
And make us live a discontented Life.  
Unless they are sanctified by Grace,  
Like graceless Children they fly in Parent's Face.   

Avaritia est Aveni porta, pietatis gangrena, honestatis tinea mors anima.  
Covetousness' the way and gate to Hell,  
Where covetous Misers shall ever dwell,  
They that do not from this base Vice abstain,  
'Twill prove to their Piety a Gangrene.  
This Vice is worse than idleness or sloth,  
And will prove to Man's honesty, a Moth.  
Nay this Vice is so mischievous and foul,  
'Twill prove the Death of both Body and Soul.   

Voluptas obcaecat, titillat, pascit, placet, perdit.  
ALL fleshly Pleasures do bewitch the Mind,  
And make the Understanding quite purblind.  
It tickles us with painted Joys, it feeds  
Our Fancies, but doth ne'er supply our needs;  
Tho' it pleaseth with its poisonous Pills,  
Instead of giving ease, it surely kills.   

Salus & sal, & Sol est humanae vitae.  
HEalth is both salt and Sun of Humane Life,  
Exceedeth Riches, or a virtuous Wife.   

Per fidem in Christo, Corona in Coelo.  
BY Faith in Christ we attain unto Bliss,  
By infidelity that Crown we miss.  
If our Faith be joined to sincere Love,  
We complete our Joy in Heaven above.   

Paenitere, est vere sapere, valere, vivere.  
WOuld we truly and sincerely repent,  
We must make our whole lives a pious Lent.  
And always appear with watery Eyes,  
Then shall we appear most truly Wise.  
We shall be in Health and for ever live,  
When God our heinous Sins shall all forgive.   

Preces poscunt, obtinent, praeliant vincunt, triumphant.  
Prayer's do always profit and obtain,  
And never return empty nor in vain.  
They press and overcome, (Heaven's the Place)  
And always obtain some favour or grace;  
If they are true sincere without blind Cant,  
They will always appear most triumphant.   

Sinceritas est pietatis medulla, anima gratiae, antidotus contra desperationem.  

WE all shall find, when we do come to die,  
The real worth of true sincerity,  
Which is the pitch and the heart of Piety.   
'Twill cause our Actions appear most fair  
By antidoting ugly black despair.  
'Tis the true Life and very Soul of Grace,  
'Twill bring us to the beatific Face.   

Afflictio illuminat, docet, purgat, curate.  
AFlictions us do enlighten and teach,  
And true Repentance to us all do Preach;  
They do both sound Purge and throughly Cure  
All, that can them patiently endure.   

Patientia, tacet, adjuvat, exonerat.  
PAtience doth from all Perturbation cease,  
And is a Conservator of the Peace.  
She helpeth us in all our ill Events,  
And removeth all sad cross Accidents.  
She doth unburden us, when sore oppressed,  
And giveth us ease, with sweet quiet rest.   

Baptismus, Janua est vitae Christianitatis ostium, Sacramentum regenerationis.  
CHristian Baptism, of Life is the Gate,  
By which we ought to enter soon or late,  
It is the Door of Christianity  
Which none but blind Reprobates do deny.  
And the sign of Regeneration,  
Which gives Interest in Christ's Passion.   

Caena Domini cibus est animae, gratiae alimentum, nutrix pietatis. solaminis canalis, pignus amoris.  
THE Lord's Supper is the true Feast of Souls,  
Where we may cheer ourselves with brim full Bowls.  
Being the healthy aliment of Grace,  
'Twill cheer our Hearts and smooth our mournsul Face.  
'Twill nourish Piety, engage our Love.  
Unto the Laws of Jesus Christ above.  
'Twill make us believe what God's true word saith,  
It seals our Gifts and strengtheneth our Faith.   

Evangeliis predicatio aeternae vitae est promulgatio, pietatis semen, virtutis poculum, consolationis vehiculum, cordis fulcrum, imber gratiae, animae pharmacum; mortuis tuba, caecis lux, dux errantibus, titubantibus baculum, esurientibus cibus, ignorantibus fons Scientiae, oceanus gaudii, parens fidei.  
WOuld we live in pure love free from strife,  
Hark to the preaching of eternal Life.  
The Gospel is of Piety the Seed,  
Which contains the Articles of our Creed.  
Virtue's Cup, Vehicule of Consolation,  
Best searcher of Hearts, and Cordial in the Nation.  
A Shower refreshing of Divine Grace,  
Which fructifyeth all the faithful Race.  
'Tis the dispensatory of the Soul,  
Which Cures the Sins and sickness of the foul.  
'Tis the Alarm and Trumpet of the Dead,  
Which makes them speak from their cold earthy Bed.  
Nothing on this side Heaven can be more kind,  
It gives everlasting Light to the blind.  
To the erroneous 'tis a sure Guide,  
It steers them right against both Wind and Tide.  
It is a Staff unto the Lame falling,  
Which maketh him to mind his high calling;  
Which maketh him to long for this good meat,  
Which all such hungry Stomaches will .  
'Tis a Foundation liberal College,  
Which giveth to the Ignorant Knowledge.  
'Tis an Ocean full of lively Joy,  
And none that diveth in it will destroy.  
It will beget in us a lively Faith,  
If we will but hearken to what it saith.   

Sacredotes pij sunt dotes praetiosissimae.  
THE best Fruit on this side of the Heaven,  
That unto Man in Paradise was given.  
Are those most holy and most wholesome Figgs,  
That grow on the Gospel's precious twigs.   

Qui pugnat sine mandato, paenam accipit non mercedem, qui praedicat fine vocatione, peccat, non prodest.  
HE that fighteth without lawful command,  
Is like an Highwayman that bids Men stand.  
Who for his reward deserves Punishment,  
And of his forwardness ought to repent.  
He that preacheth without a lawful Calling,  
Is like a decayed Building always falling.  
He sinneth, he doth not teach nor profit.  
Therefore no real good can come of it.   

Conscientia est Index, vindex, bona, Caeli est porta & primitiae, mala, damnationis prodromus, & Gehennae Miseriarum principium.  
COnscience is the Index of our Life,  
To which we are linked like Man and Wife.  
A Judge which our most secret Thoughts will spell,  
A Justifier of us, if we do well.  
'Tis the gate and beginning of our bliss,  
And by it Heaven we can never miss;  
An evil Conscience forestalls Damnation,  
And is ever hopeless of Salvation.  

It doth begin the Miseries of Hell,  
Where those that wrong their Conscience shall dwell,  
The pains whereof no mortal tongue can tell.    

Vita vere religiosa optimum est medicamen contra timorem terrorem, & stimulum mortis; bonus semper vivit, abit enim non obit, absconditur non abscinditur: Dormit, non perit; mutatur non moritur.  
Alive that's by religious Rules,  
Although the busy World may count such Fools,  
It's the best Medicines against fear,  
Or against the terrors of black Despair.  
In the whole World there is no such Thing  
Against Death's fatal and venomous Sting.  
A good Man doth not die, but always live  
For God eternal Life to him doth give.  
He is stepped aside for some little while,  
Like to a Man that's gone but a Mile,  
He is hidden a while, he is not slain,  
And quickly shall he return again.  
He sleepeth, doth not decay nor perish,  
But he shall everlastingly flourish.  
He is but changed, he doth never die,  
He leaveth Earth to soar unto the Sky.   

Diu vixit qui pie moritur, fructus est laboris, & finis operis, pacere melioribus.  
HE hath doubtless well run this short Life's race,  
Who hath not to Answer for abuse of Grace,  
He must doubtless make a most pious end,  
And find the great eternal God his Friend,  
Where he shall have the reward of his pain,  
In endless Joys with everlasting gain.  

The end of all his Labours there shall cease,  
And the gracious God, shall always please,  
And fully enjoy everlasting Peace.    

Soli Deo Gloria.  
THE Glories of Lords, Dukes, Emperors, Kings,  
All temporary fading created Things,  
Derive their Being, from the greatest blessed Jehove,  
The unexhausted Fountain of all Love.  
As we are taught at large in sacred Story,  
Therefore to him let us give all the Glory.   

Idem.  

WHo made this World in harmony to chime?  
Who made the eternal Spring of all time?  
Who made the pacing Numbers of all Rhyme?   
Who made all Things that are? or e'er shall be,  
Who but the great Almighty God is he?  
Therefore we do deserve eternal blame,  
If we give not all glory to his Name.   

The Cardinal Virtues turned into Verse.  
On Prudence.  
AGlass of Crystal in a Field of green;  
Of all People to be most fairly seen,  
The Lords fear, is the beginning of Prudence,  
If to Solomon, we give but credence.  
She searcheth all Things and tryeth forth Truth,  
And is the fittest guide for Age or Youth.  
She weigheth all Things both the good and bad.  
And taketh the best Counsel may be had.  
She judgeth Things present with Things are past,  
Deliberately, not with too much haste;  
Thereby preventing all Dangers to come,  
Penned in swift Times unfathomable Womb.  
Prudence discerns all Things, Good from Evil,  
Virtue from Vice, and God from the Devil.   

On Justice.  
A Balance of Silver in a Field of blue,  
Giving to every one their right and due.  

She upholdeth the property of all Estates,  
And causeth Foes to be most loving Mates;  
Not leaving them to ungovernable Fates.   
telling what to do, what to leave undone,  
Guiding us with true Light, clear as the Sun.  
Preserving all People in Commonwealth,  
Keeping the Body Politic in health.  
Giving reward to those that do deserve,  
Letting Transgressor's in penury to starve.  
Sustaining the poor, indigent, and weak,  
Giving them Feet to walk, and Mouths to speak.  
Justice measureth by an exact Line,  
Setting a perfect Path between thine and mine.   

On Fortitude.  
A Pillar of Porphire in a golden Field,  
Who can endure the touch, and scorns to yield.  
Who hath a true and invincible Spirit  
Grounded on belief of his true Merit.  
He careth not to spend his Goods, Life, Blood,  
To serve his God, or do his Country good.  
Doing Things laudable with courage sure,  
Bend the most adverse Fortune to endure.  
Holds his intent without alteration,  
Not to be biased by a whole Nation.  
All just Quarrels to allow and maintain,  
As long as any blood is left in a vein.  
He seeks for Succour of none but God alone,  
Who slew a thousand Men with an Ass' bone.   

On Temperance.  
AJug and Cup of a bright Ruby Rock,  
In a Field of Silver, nothing can shock.  
She ruleth herself with discretion,  
Being never taken in transgression.  
Staying our courage in unlawful things,  
A Virtue fit for Noblemen and Kings.  
Guiding all things in Order and Degree,  
Qualifying the heats of thee and me.  
Keeps always the mean both in word and deed,  
And hath no cause to Vomit, Purge, or Bleed.  
Temperance abstaineth from things unlawful,  
And always is Obedient and awful;  
Despiseth this World, desireth Heaven,  
Which to the Temperate Man is giuéns.   

On the Free-School at Fowey.  
COme all you learned Athenian Ghosts,  
Of whom the Ancients did make their boasts,  
Me with your Pythagorean Souls inspire,  
That I mayn't be untuneful in your Quoire,  

Teach me to Consecrate this happy place,  
To every Muse, and to every Grace,  
That of your Sons may be perpetual race.   

Let me the beauty of this Fabric tell,  
May true learning in it for ever dwell,  
And may it all other Schools far excel.   
Yet none of her Sisters will I dispraise,  
But she should wear the Laurel and the Bays.  
And now I should forget my A, B, C,  
Should I forget to speak in praise of thee,  
Most Famous, and truly learned Mr. Weeks,  
Who might pass for one of the Native Greeks.  
Who hath brought School-learning to perfection,  
By mending her Beauty and Complexion.  
And hath made her lovers enjoy her more,  
In three months' time, than a whole year before.  
Abreviating those pedantic Rules,  
That make Schoolboys but understanding Mules,  
A method yet unknown to other Schools.  
Thy patience all follies doth wink at,  
Nil tam dificile est, quod non Solertia vincat.  
Thou canst correct without the severe rod,  
Having of learning's rules the true method,  
This if any doubts, let him be advised,  
By the Grammars thou hast epitomised.  
And now all you Neighbours that dwell around,  
That are not in Gulf of Ignorance drowned,  

Would you have your Children instructed well,  
Would you have them with honest folks to dwell  
Foy School doth carry the largest bell.    

On J. M. of T. Esquire,  
TO Sing the praises of virtuous Men,  
I want the skill of Shadwell, or of Ben.  
But with that slender Poetry I have,  
I'll mind his Memory, and pay his Grave.  
His Youthful years were spent at Court,  
Where the accomplished Nobles do resort;  
Where he his swift time did not idly spend,  
But was always most useful to his friend.  
He did the King and his great Court adorn,  
And V●●e and Flattery did hate and scorn.  
Likewise that Hellish crime, Rebellion,  
And was an honour to Endellion.  

For when vile Rebels struck off England's head,  
All Peace and Happiness from England fled,  
And each his Sword in's Brothers bowels shed.   
He then did espouse the Loyal party.  
And was in that Cause Zealous and hearty;  
Fight for's King, true Liberty and Laws,  
Nay, for God and his good righteous Cause.  
And before most famous Plimouth's great Town,  
He purchased much Honour and Renown.  
But when God's omnipotence destroyed that Boar  
That his Vineyard had so much spoiled and tore,  
And brought our Good King to his home in Peace  
All fearful Wars and Bloodsheds than did cease.  
Our friend returned to his Countryseat,  
No way aspiring to be vainly great,  
He spent his after time in tranquillity,  
Living decent, not beyond ability;  
He loved true Friendship and reality,  
With good House-keeping and Hospitality;  

He loved his Children and his dear Wife,  
He lived in true Concord, free from strife,  
And enjoyed a long and prosperous Life.   
But who can avoid common destiny?  
It being ordained for all once to die.  
So we will leave our Friend in rest to lie,  
Desiring Relations would cease to cry.   

On J. V of T. Esquire.  
COme all you chiming Poets, here lament,  
My slow Muse will not ' bate you one per Cent.  
But doth implore and doth invoke you all,  
To Celebrate this mournful Funeral.  
And with your sounding Voice and Music try  
To stop the Current of this mighty cry.  
And sing out aloud, (for yours the trust is)  
How equally he held the Balance, Justice.  
And what Fortitude he showed in God's Cause,  
By maintaining true Religious Laws;  
What temperance he used in his life,  
Th' elements of's body were ne'er in strife;  
All actions he weighed, and then did them choose,  
And prudence in them all, he still did use.  
To keep ill company was very loath,  
And it did grate his Ears to hear an Oath;  
Virtue was not his task, but his free choice,  
For which he hath the universal voice.  
Should I relate his Alms, and house keeping,  
I should set the Neighbourhood all a weeping.  
His Religion soared to the highest pitch  
That our Gospel precepts do us teach;  

For he not only loved his Friend, but Foe,  
Yet never gave any reason to be so,  
And no Man's Charity can higher flow.   
Should I tell all can be said of our Friend,  
My Verse, like to Writing, would never end,  
Therefore next I'll give account of his Wives  
Omitting the Character of their Lives.  
Of the first he might have reason to vaunt,  
Being the present Bishop Trelawney's Aunt.  

The Second was the Family of Glauvill,  
A Woman full of Virtue, free from ill;  
Which would tempt the digression of my quill.   
But all that I now of her shall relate,  
She left many love Pledges to her Mate.  
The last Woman he for his Consort chose,  
Was Speccot, Nichol's Widow of Penvose.  
Surviving her since that he did remain,  
A mournful Widower free from all stain.  

Setting forth God's glory for which he was born,  
Being fully ripe, like a shock of Corn,  
God hath gathered him, his Garner t'adorn.    

Sent to him while living.  
SIR,  
I Hope you'll take no Fancy, or Conceit,  
At this, unpresidented, uncompleat;  
For I know you are so well Learned and well Bred,  
To know you'll live among the Immortal Dead.  
Yet I hope you will stand it like a first Rate,  
And anticipate your Destiny and Fate,  
(He that dies daily ne'er dies soon nor ' late)  
Which I wish extended to the longest date.  
In the mean time accept this poor slender Verse,  
Which will want room upon your large mournful Hearse.   

On the Election at F.  
LOng have we in Peace and Happiness dwelled,  
And ne'er the dismal Effects of discord felt;  
When all our Interests were linked in one,  
And none of us were single or alone;  
When each our Minds revealed to other,  
As confident as Brother to Brother.  
Then was no difference in Elections,  
Our Neighbours then had our Affections:  
But now Discord hath made separation,  
Foreign we are as Nation to Nation.  
I wish we would be better advised,  
And all of us become Naturalised.  

Laying aside all Circumvention,  
Let the Public Good be our pretention,  
For which let's have a real Intention.   

And set an healing Plaster to this Sore,  
That it may not fester so any more,  
Wherefore let us his mighty aid implore,   
Who of an ireful Foe can make a Friend,  
And to all present Discords set an end.   

In return to an Ode of Horace sent by J. H.  
SIR,  

YOur Dame doth English it so well,  
Although by birth a Roman  
That plainly the Truth for to tell  
She can be outdone by no Man.  
I've oft invoked the Nine in vain,  
For they'll not mend my Verse or strain.   

Yet Sir, to you that have the skill  
Of learned Tongues for to commend  
A modern Wit deserves your Quill,  
Which unto you I recommend.  
A Woman of the British Race,  
Whose Glories time will ne'er deface.   

She doth all our vain Sex exceed,  
In the lustre of her Soul and Face,  
And in her matchless Pen indeed,  
Our manly Fancies must give place,  
Man may strive to be head in vain  
Orinda sure hath all the Brain.   

Vice and Flattery she did scorn,  
Which we all aught for to despise,  
Love and Honour did her Mind adorn,  
In which she was most truly wise.  
Friendship's congenial to her Soul,  
And was in every part the whole.   

But why do I my Candle light  
In presence of the sparkling Sun?  
So many Men have done her right  
Mine had better been left undone.  
Her own Works praise her in the gate,  
Mine comes unseasonable and late.   

Her Memory time can't deface,  
Although her Corpse be turned to Dust  
She being adorned with every Grace;  
Dwells now amongst the Good and Just.  
Let Angel's Anthems be her Praise,  
And here let Laureates crown her Bays.    

On the Lady P.  
COme all you Sacred Nine, assist my Pen,  
Or rather all pious and virtuous Men:  
Here see a Woman outstrip humane Race  
In Virtue, Piety and each good Grace,  
Who being wrapped with Thoughts of Eternity,  
Studied not how to live, but how to die.  
Her Charity and Mercy did excel,  
It would seem Hyperbole the truth to tell.  
Her Life was led according to God's Word,  
(He that gives to the poor lends to the lord)  
She having given unto the Poor most of her wealth,  
Heaven's endless Treasures, everlasting Health,  
Are her great Portion, and just reward  
With the fruition of our blessed Lord.   

Love Verses.  
All over Love.  
LOve walks the pleasant Arbour of her Hair,  
From thence he creeps unto her listening Ear;  
Then basking on her white and rosy Cheeks,  
A thousand charming pleasures there he seeks  

Then gazing on the Planet of her Eye,  
Where the dancing baby he doth spy,  
Which must the Fate of her sad Lovers try.   
Then on her Nose, the joyful lover's Bliss,  
Because it intercepts no coming Kiss;  
Love on her balmy lips would ever sit,  
But that he creeps between to see her wit,  

Where could hang on the Music of her Song,  
And never think the charming hours too long  
But dancing as tho' Tarantula stung,   

He skips from thence unto her Snowy breast,  
Where he would fain, but cannot, be at rest,  
Till he centres in the place he likes best,   

In which sweet Grove, he could for ever stay,  
Melting in the sweets of Amorous play,  
And never think on Night, nor wish it day.    

On Absence.  
IT seems Ten Winters, since thy Face I saw,  
By the righteous Gospel and the Law,  
I wake all Night, and dream all Day,  
My hairs are almost all turned Grace;  
Then come, dear Barber, thy kind Art approve,  
And Trim me quickly of my o'ergrown Love.   

Incurable.  
I Tried Cowleys Receipt, to cure my Love,  
But all did useless and insipid prove.  
Books, Business, Prayers, Sermons, Wine and Mirth,  
With all the gaieties of the dull Earth;  
My Love forgive me, I tried new desire,  
But that still added fuel to the fire,  
And like ill Conscience, did vex me more,  
That I should any thing but thee adore.  
Thy Image is so fixed within my heart  
It admits the cure of no other art;  
What then remains, most beautiful and fair,  
But that I lie grovelling in black despair?  
Only the Centre of happiness can cure,  
The pains that Lovers, and the damned endure.   

Resolved to Love.  
THE greatest Pleasure underneath the Sun,  
Is for to love, until short Life be done.  
The bounteous Garden, or spacious Field,  
Doth not half the pleasing Contentment yield;  
As doth the Fair and most beauteous She,  
Which is all the whole charming World to me.  
Let Pomp, Ambition, or an empty Name  
Enslave Mankind, and set the World on Flame;  

My Love is much more pleasing to me far,  
Than Fame, or sounding Titles got by War,  
Or than the Riches of the jangling Bar.   
Then Love I will, my only charming Dear,  
Not for a Day, a Week, or for a Year.  
But still for ever unto the last end,  
Like a true Lover, and a constant Friend.  
That Love which ended, never did begin,  
'Tis like the taint of Original Sin,  
Which still Eternal Love doth wash away,  
Although still renewed every Day;  
Then imitate I will, the Prince of Peace,  
Whose flowing Love to Man will never cease.   

On the Sickness and Recovery of Cosmelia.  
CRuel Disease! To seek thy thirst t' assuage  
With conquering Beauty and with blooming Age;  
And with thy reeking Malice her perplex,  
The mirror and the wonder of her Sex!  
Methinks some Beldame whom Age had frozen,  
For a sit Victim thou shouldst have chosen.  
Where more successful thou mightst have proved,  
And not have grieved her, by all Men loved.  
But thy envenomed and malign intent,  
An higher Power did timely prevent;  
And hath Reprieved her for to dispense  
On her All-universal Influence,  
Of Love and true Friendship great Nature's ties,  
Which linketh Heaven with the Earth and Skies.  

Go on blessed Soul, in Friendship and Love,  
And always imitate the gall-less Dove,  
Till ravished with happiness of God above.    

An Epithalamium, Mad. Amy. H.  


MAtchless Estate, by God himself contrived,  
Had not fond Man his happiness survived,  
Seeking to live, he became short lived.   
Happy'st condition of Haman Race,  
If our Nature be improved by Grace;  
Which dost exact, and lively represent,  
Christ's Love and Friendship, and his blessed intent  
Unto his dear Spouse the Church, which he will  
For ever love and bless, if she fulfil,  
His righteous Commands, which are most pure,  
From Age, to Age, she always shall endure.  

Go on blessed Pair, and imitate the love  
Of Christ, the spotless and the gall-less Dove,  
Until exalted with the blessed above.   
To sing Alelujahs your Master's praise,  
Never measuring Time by Night or Days.  
But be enlight'ned, by his glorious Rays,  
May both be crowned with immortal Bays.   


That the Poet may fitly complete ye,  
Be always mindful of the word, Amete,  
And the God of Love and Mercy, Salvete,     

On Cosmelia.  
PArtial Nature, who didst dispense  
On one so large and great an Insluence;  
As to attract all Eyes and longing Hearts,  
In spite of all the most powerful Arts.  
Thou didst all thy fair Cosmeticks use,  
Poor Mankind to ensnare and to amuse;  
To make a Work of fuller perfection  
Exceeding all Beauty and Complexion.  
To remain the censuring Worlds wonder,  
Whose Fame is louder than roaring Thunder.  
For never was there Woman since the fall  
That doth so charm, attract, and conquer all.  

Thy famed Beauty exceeds the power of Verse  
And never will have a funeral Hearse,  
But be as deathless as the Universe.    

Idem.  
NAture's chief workmanship of Mold so bright,  
That still dost please with wonder and delight,  
Celestial Beauty! Where I would rest,  
With the Object of my happiness, blest.  
Business, the bane of love designed  
To ruin a sad poor Lover's mind;  
Which should be fraught with nought but love,  
As Saints are in the Heay'n above.   

On Cofmelia.  

WHen fair Cosmelia's Face I saw,  
Such sweetness there did dwell,  
That only Saints in Vision,  
The like could never tell.   

Her Lips, than Roses, are more sweet,  
Or then the Honeycomb,  
Then all the Odours upon Earth,  
Or then my native home.   

Her Eyes then sparkling Diamonds,  
More richly they do shine,  
Which shows the most lovely Image  
Of her bright Soul Divine.   

Her beautiful Complexion,  
The Rubies doth outdo  
The fair and beauteous Sharons' Rose  
Hath not so bright an hue.   

Her Sister breasts like hills of Snow  
So beautiful do show,  
They'll make an Hermit leave his Cell  
And make a Saint to woe.   

Her secret Parts, who can describe?  
Where Pleasures are in store,  
That only they in Paradise  
Can ever enjoy more.   

From which odorif'rous Fountain  
May many dews distil,  
That may the Race of Nature still,  
With young Cosmelia's fill.   

Her Hair like Sunbeams dasling Light,  
Where love doth dance in Mazes,  
Which like to all her other Parts,  
Most wonderfully pleases.   

Her Thighs like Ivory Pillars  
Whiter than driving Snow,  
But what doth lie between them  
Happy's the Man shall know.   

Her pretty little Feet and Legs  
Supporteth all the rest,  
Which leadeth to that milky way,  
Where I would be at rest.   

If she were laid but in her Bed,  
And I were in her Arms,  
I would defy the snaring World,  
With all its other Charms.   

Her Soul is of a M●uld so bright,  
So Affable and Noble,  
It adds more Lustre to the Name  
Of sweet Bar. S.    

On Mad. M.  
MOst Beautiful, Wise, Great, Just and Good,  
The fairest Creature made of flesh and blood!  
Whose Features are so tightly bright,  
That they do far Outshine the Summer's Light.  
If all alike did see (but some are blind)  
Thou wouldst captivate all Humane Kind:  
Thy Sunlike Rays thou dost on all disperses,  
Thy Fame, and his, doth reach the Universe.   

On Death and Cupid.  

GRim Death and Cupid conquers all,  
The pompous great Ones, and the small,  
The Infant and the Giant tall.   
The only difference is this,  
Death a nobler Conqueror is,  

And suffers none in pain to live,  
Nor can be bribed for a Reprieve,  
Although the whole World they could give.   
But Cupid wounds the Heart in vain,  
To make it dwell in constant pain.  
Then strike pale Death and cure the Heart  
That wounded lies with Cupid's Dart.   

On a Horse.  
SOme Men writ of Hawks, and some write of Hounds,  
But they all do make inferior Sounds.  
To the Horse, whose Strength and comely Features,  
Exceedeth most all his fellow Creatures.  
Which is fit in Peace, and also in War,  
For Christian, Turk, Tartar, Ruz, or Zar:  

For Draught, or Burden, or for the Highway,  
No Creature's more serviceable Night or Day,  
Be he Black, or Brown, Sorrel, White or Grace.   
But of all Horses fit for your Pleasure,  
There's none can compare with Ebenezer.  

For he will travel true at any rate,  
And it fit to run for Wager or Plate;  
For on the whole Earth he hath not his Mate.    

On Mad. R.  
LOvely Dorinda, whose chaste Maiden Life,  
Procured thee to be a virtuous Wife.  

Whose Virtues have gotten so loud a Name,  
That most other Wives and Matrons you shame,  
Purchasing t'your self everlasting Fame.   
The great Blessings of God, brave Children dear  
Are born to you almost every Year;  
And Prudence the Mother of Virtue's Race,  
In you hath found her wished resting place.  
By which you can blind Fate itself command  
And put even Destiny to a stand.  
By which you can command the shining Globe,  
The sparkling Sceptre the Gown and long Robe,  
Your Character if could end in a Word,  
Your Virtues relate you to Hungerford.   

On Madam Bhens History of Oroonoko.  

WHo can fully praise famed Madam Bhen,  
She exceeding most of our Modern Men.  
Neither Doctor Burnet, nor Doctor Sprat  
Can write his Story more pertinent and pat.  
For she hath got such a curious knack,  
To wash and polish and make White this Black.  
And on this Subject doth so well Indite,  
She maketh him look fairer than a White.  
And very much to exceed in Honour.  
Oneal, Obryan, or famed Oconnor.  
Another Black looks but like a Cuckoo,  
Compared to our Eagle Oroonoko.  
Who if he had been a Christian born,  
All Learned Pens his Memory would adorn.   

Next she hath set such a curious Gilt  
On that famous, infamous damned Town Jilt;  
With her bewitching tricks of Lechery,  
And direful effects of Hellish Treach'ry;  
The innocence of that noble Friar,  
Which preserved him from cruel Fire:  
For he being inlight'ned from above,  
Can burn with nothing but Charity and Love.    

On the happy Peace of Christendom, concluded at Reswick.  
O Happy Albion! let discord cease,  
Since thou art blest again with lasting Peace.  
Be all thy Churches now as well as Paul's  
Illuminated with Praises of all Souls.  
Let all Schools and Colleges, Halls and Cells,  
With Learned Anthems out-tune our Bells.  
Let all our Learned Doctors and Cannons roar,  
And sing their Maker's praifes over and over.  
That hath preserved our Faith's Defender,  
Who made proud France her Conquests surrender.  

May perpetual Laurels crown his Brow,  
Great and triumphant always be as now,  
That England may still pray God speed the Blow.   
No more shall we complain loss of Treasure,  
But wallow in unbounded Wealth and Pleasure.  
No more shall Parents Mourn for children's loss,  
But all true Happiness themselves engross.  
Let mournful Widows now dry up their Tears,  
Marry again, and get young lusty Heirs.  

Let every one sit under his own Vine,  
And cheer his Heart again with sparkling Wine,  
And each to other's happiness combine.   
Let our Peacemakers be for ever blest,  
Enjoying glorious everlasting rest.  
Let all the Elements as well as Fire  
In Unity each of them conspire.  
With every Voice and every Wind  
To extol his Name among Humane Kind.  
That hath given the conquering Sword a Law,  
Triumphant William the great Nassaw.   

On his Tutor G. V.  

ALL Men conclude, that Learning hath no end,  
But that Maxim's confuted by our Friend.  
Who doth the utmost bound of Learning know,  
And with it others doth Cultivate and Sow.  
Who hath so many Virtues laid in store,  
That loud Fame itself cannot speak more.  

Who did not hoard them up to be admired.  
But being with Christian Zeal inspired,  
He taught to others, what he had acquired.   
He checked the Pupils gently for their Crimes,  
And prepared them to encounter future Times.  
His modesty the boldest prate would hush,  
And put the chastest Female to a blush.  
Truth and Reason do his great Mind adorn,  
And left no room for Flattery or Scorn.  
All Virtues are included in his Knowledge,  
Taught in Universities or College.  

The greatest Preferments he doth Merit,  
Having profound humility of Spirit,  
An immortal Crown he'll shortly Inherit.   
For Nature and parts improved so by Grace,  
heaven will be his reward, and resting place.  
What can we then more say (dear Friend) of thee,  
Whose pious Life is thy best Elegy.   

I Tore my Book, and with my Muse did rage,  
For not being more kinder to my Age.  
Since she'll not befriend me with better lines,  
Henceforth I'll mind my Plough and Harrow-tines  
My Kitchen-Garden, and my flowery Fields,  
Which more of pleasure and contentment yields.  
With that my dull Muse to me replied,  
Ay and justly too, I have thee denied;  
If thou hadst minded me in youthful Days,  
I would have gotten thee both Fame and Praise;  

But thou took'st pleasure in each dirty Face,  
Which brought on thee, instead of Fame, disgrace,  
And never thought'st on any of my Race.   
Cease therefore, thou dost rage with me in vain,  
Be contented, thou canst be young again.    

The Conclusion.  

ANd now, dear Sir, your pardon I do crave,  
Since I can't entertain you with what's brave,  
Yet I'd rather be counted Fool then Knave,  
Yea rather than ingrateful, be your Slave;  
Therefore accept me in the dress I have.   
But I must beg the famed Poets pardons  
For planting Daisies amongst their Gardens  
Of Cowslips, Roses, Lilies of the Valleys,  
With curious Prospects, Walks and Allies.  
With their most stately and shady Bowers,  
And with variety of pleasant Flowers;  
Such brave Ornaments and graceful Places  
Will entertain the Muses and the Graces.  
But with a poor Hermit in his close Cell,  
The Muses will never vouchsafe to dwell.  
Which is the truest reason Sir, that I  
Am left so truly barren and so dry.  
That my Muse will nothing prolisick yield,  
But what's common unto every Field.  
But tho' I have no famed Enclosure,  
Yet being all of my own Composure,  
I desire you'd accept it in good part,  
Together with the Poet's Service and Heart.  
FINIS.