POEMS, AND ESSAYS: WITH A Paraphrase on Cicero's LAELIUS, OR Of Friendship.  
Written in Heroic Verse By a Gentleman of Quality.  Ovid. Amor. lib. 1. Elegia 15. 
Pascitur in vivis livor: post fata quiescit,  
Cum suus ex merito quemque tuetur honos.  
LONDON, Printed by J. C. for W. Place, at Grays-Inne Gate in Holborn, 1673.   

TO THE READER.  
AS I have diverted myself enough with these Poems and Tractates; so I now bestow them on the world. If it find cause to be satisfied in their reception, I am content: However, I am pleased, and will be.  
I threaten none with Wit, who cannot, or are not willing to find it: If they do not perceive, or yield to my sense, I shall be bold to conclude as little of theirs; and so we are even however.  
If this Age, (of which I am a Member) be not as Ingenious as I could wish, I am as inclinable to grant my defects amongst other men's.  
To dispute the concerns of Wit, were to be engaged in Follies and Trifles; and I am not so desirous to be a fool of my own making; I will leave that to Critics, to do for me; or such Curious heads that can spin Sense into Nonsense.  
If my Wit be accomplished enough to be my Zany, I care not much if my Jests fit not other men; or if I play with my Muse with as much content as Montaigne did with his Cat, so I scratch no Bodies Face, or Fingers, I will use my liberty without ask leave.  
I have here writ Essays and Poems, and I have Reason enough to expect some big looks on both, since few have been granted to do either well. But I assure all such, that I will not be inquisitive of my success in their faces, no more than I shall Interrogate my Stationer whether my Book passeth best by Wholesale, or by Retail: 'tis on his own account, if too much of my paper lies on his hands.  
I have debarred myself already the ask pardon for faults, by acknowledging my satisfaction in what I have done: Though the contrary be the modest Artifice of some to beget praise: A Farce, though translated, is not now adays Printed without it; whereas I desire no Juggling with my Reader, or myself.  
If I have been too airy or wanton in some of my Poems, he may find me more serious in others: It was martials vein; and he succeeded well enough in both. The truth is, my Muse took some encouragement from thence; at least had not appeared so much a Libertine, had it not been for his sake, and the Reflections I have made use of from him in some few places.  
I have only this Apology to make to Ladies, that where they apprehend my Muse too much a Wanton, they would manage accordingly their blushes before their Servants and Admirers; not doubting, (where I have hit their fancies) they may as much smile when alone: nor can I but pity the Artificial Constraints of the fair Sex, in being obliged to dissemble (with no small trouble to themselves) their soft Inclinations.  
Love-Verses will have something of their Comic part, or they will seem unmanly, or unpleasant: our Amours have but one natural way of entertainment; and their Wit must be something like it.  
Poets have been always great admirers of the feals of Cupid, and I believe had they feigned Nine hundred Muses instead of Nine, their Inspirations had been most devoted to his Divinity. A late Ingenious Writer says, pleasantly enough, that Poets are not free of their Profession until they have throughly dealt in the affairs of Love. My Compositions here, of that kind, have cost me but few Weeks; and I shall be glad to purchase my freedom in so short a time: They may perhaps show me a Lover, and my Inclinations no less ready to Intrigue with my Wit; it is all the excuse I can make, should my Pen be thought otherwise Impertinent, or to have nothing to do with myself: as also I am so charitable, to believe that no man with any delight to his thoughts could concern his brain this way, if absolutely a stranger to its passion; which is so much Mankind's, that upon the matter 'tis every man's; and I will take leave to suppose so of Women. You have the Apology of my Muse in Prose, and you shall have another immediately in Verse.   

The Reader is desired to rectify these following Errata, before, or as he does peruse the Book: which, by reason of the Author's being out of Town some time of the Impression, together with the Printer's mistakes, give this trouble to his Reader against his will.  
The ERRATA.  
PAg. 4. lin. 1. for did our read did his, p. 5. l. 9 for guilt's read gilt's, p. 7. l. 15. for by read beg, p. 13. l. 23. for Muses read Nasoes, p. 14. l. 2. for turns read tends, p. 14. l. 14. for women's read Woman's, p. 14. l. 15. for dams read dames, p. 17. l. 5. for sucked read kissed, p. 18. l. 12. for near read wear, p. 20. l. 21. for Nanne read Nun, p. 22. l. 11. for Plato's read Pluto's, p. 23. l. 16. for the read what, p. 30. l. 21. for had read t'had, p. 31. l. 12. for cheerful beams read Beaming light, p. 34. l. 16. for receive read receives, p. 34. l. 28. for her read as, p. 37. l. 13. for guilt read gilded, p. 40. l. 4. for approve read a proof, p. 59 l. 18. for most read must.   


To his ensuing POEMS.  
STand on your Feet now, Verses, if you can,  
And face the Critic, and Censorious man:  
If these shall charge your Lines with empty blame,  
Or falsely say they halt that are not lame,  
Be sure your Muse do not confess a Blush,  
Or yield to feel a Rod that's made of Rush.  
But if the Just, or Great, to ease their leisure,  
Admit to read your Mirth and Verse with pleasure,  
Be all Humility, I charge, to Them,  
Nay, yield you have some Faults they may Condemn.  
The worthy Critic Justice will you do,  
And teach th'Injurious to be Modest too.  
If by Illustrious Beauties you are read,  
That gently tax some things too Wanton said;  
Ask Pardon for each Blush your Muse did raise,  
And show 'em where she sings their Virtue's praise.  
Pay your Respects to all you find to be  
Something indulged to Love's frail Liberty:  
If not for yours, for their sakes they'll admit  
To Love a Licence, or at least its Wit.   

On Stella.  

STella my Dove, her Dove delights;  
And I no less the Soft Bird praise;  
Whose amorous Cooing Love invites,  
And does to us new Pleasures raise.   

The Dove she kissed, and kissed and stroked,  
Whilst Love was panting in her breast.  
This Metaphor soon me provoked  
Gently to kiss, and do the rest.   

So Lesbia's soft white breast did warm  
The Sparrow which Catullus sung;  
Whose Muse from it received a Charm,  
As in this Bird Love used his tongue.   

Then be thou to thy Dove still kind,  
And it shall prompt my Love and me;  
As if a Blush betrayed thy mind,  
And told how kind thy Blood would be.    

On Lesbian.  

LEsbia laments her Sparrow dead  
More than her loss of Maidenhead:  
The Bird's death seemed her tears to try;  
The other thing with Joy did die:  
She gladly there received a Wound,  
That Love might frolic more profound.  
So when the Teeming Earth men blow,  
The sullow under ground must go.   

Each time her Chirping Bird did couch,  
She ready was to do as much;  
And with her eye had found a trick  
To wind me up above my nick:  
As none Love's Treasure truly pay,  
Unless they for its Coinage stay.   

This Lustful Bird's short life doth show  
How swiftly Life and Love do flow;  
Whose death I therefore less repine,  
Since it provoked her loss with mine;  
Though both to lose must still agree,  
Love's gain is Prodigality.    

The Repetition.  
WIth some weak means, but strong desire,  
We blew Love's Embers to a Fire:  
Our Pant did our Bellows join  
Her Breath did fan one Flame with mines,  
The welcome Heat we yet increase,  
But soon it caused Delight to cease,  
I wished my Limbs consumed might be,  
Then now Love's Taper less to see,  
Which by her Limbeck's heat had been  
Dissolved into a smaller thing.  
She smiled, and said it pity was  
Love's Pomp in so much haste should pass;  
So proud to rise, yet pleased to fall:  
His Statesman only does them all.   

Of a Servant to an Ancient Lady.  
A Lady that wore Autumn in her face,  
And had no lines that her decays could grace,  
A certain Gallant did so courtly woe,  
As if his Spring of Love could hers renew.  
His Friends at length the Motive did espy;  
He knew her Rich, and hoped she'd shortly die.   

To Lesbian.  
TOo much my Lesbian goes astray,  
In Nature's wild Lascivious way.  
The guardian-eyes upon thee set,  
Have seen thee play at thy Labet:  
And now methinks thou dost begin  
To long for leave of me to sin.  
Though thy hot guilt I do assign  
More to dame Nature's crime than thine,  
Which has on thee bestowed more heat  
Then unto virtue had been meet:  
Or else by thee 'tis well agreed,  
That unto love Mankind is freed;  
Or that 'tis Charity to grant  
Love, which in none should be a want:  
So little of the guilt's in thee,  
Thou couldst even blush at honesty,  
Which if in any thou dost find,  
Thou call'st it cruel, or unkind.  
Thy eyes such languishment do bear,  
That virtue does her best looks fear,  
Or else does warm her cold design  
By the brisk flame she sees in thine.  
Perhaps thou wilt on me complain,  
And say my love did thine Restrain;  
Too strictly would be understood  
To make thee its peculiar good.  
Then be thou free as light or air,  
And as thou pleased Embark thy fare:  
But take a care thou dost not load  
Too much thy Vessel with a crowed,  
When every Topsail it shall guide  
Will prove thou sink'st below thy pride;  
Or such calm streams provide to steer,  
As may thy dangers most beware:  
Love's Triumph, and his Sun-shine's shown  
Near, but not in his Torrid Zone.  
Howe'er to sweeten thy fair fate,  
Thy Eclipse I wish the latest date,  
Since all the good to thee allowed,  
Is old; Retirement to a cloud.   

To a Friend.  
THou tell'st me, Friend, my Wit more gamesome was,  
Than by the serious Schools is fit to pass:  
Fearing perhaps its liberty in Toys  
Should bring Preceptors to Leapfrog with Boys,  
When the smooth Breech does to the Rod so ply,  
As first the Master tastes it with his eye.  
But this no more's our Crime than that before;  
A many whipped, as well as kissed their Whore:  
Lust, was still Nature's gaiety, and Jest;  
On new and old, she loves alike to feast.  
The mirth of Epigrams does most invite,  
When with its Salt we relish our delight;  
Such as the longing Wife is pleased to read,  
Or tempts Erection in her Husband's bed.  
Verse that's too sober, savours of that sense  
That would commend our Nature's Impotence.  
Who gelds my Wit, I wish him the disgrace  
To be disabled in another place.  
To Eunuches, May poles are no pleasant sight;  
Nor blame we such, if they our Verses spite.   

Another.  
WHoere reads mine with a Malicious Wit,  
Or Carp or Rails because he knows not it;  
My Muse against him no Revenge shall crave;  
Enough I know him either Fool or Knave:  
Or what is worse, let it be still his fate,  
To have less Wit than that provokes his hate.  
Such Censures best their Malice will condemn,  
When Envy is above despising them.   

On Fortitude.  
I Love not Valour that too prone bends  
To raise a Trophy where life Rashly ends.  
The Wise and Valiant such will most deride,  
Who show they have less Fortitude than Pride.  
Give me the man that can arrive to Fame,  
Yet so, as for it none his peril blame.   

The Invitation.  
EDila to embrace inviteth me;  
My Wishes haste my Love too fast for me:  
The Flame itself consumes, her Love awakes,  
And in a smother almost me forsakes.  
With shame I by her sprightlier heat to stay,  
Until my Post of Love be on his way.  
She yields contented, and does me implore  
To curb my Steed, if she's too swift before.  
By which smooth artifice our pleasures join;  
Hers in the Van retreat to meet with mine.   

The Deceit.  
Whilst , Levina had so flattered fame,  
That her strict Husband her restraint did blame:  
Delights she soon like other Ladies took,  
Whose Husbands keep no Errata in their Book:  
Or else at length the man perceived it vain  
Longer to keep his longing Wife in pain.   

Bathing in a River.  
HEr Breasts like Swans upon the Billows move,  
Like Leda there she Sung, and charmed her love.  
A youthful Gallant swimming, kissed these Streams,  
Sustained her Person, and reflect her beams:  
Then dives into this waters pleasing deep,  
And thence upon Love's sacred Isle does peep:  
Next, rounds her Legs, betwixt them next does glide,  
Wishing he might another thing so guide.  
The Stream she swimming takes, and found a way  
More Mermaid-like, with his desires to play.  
what's done besides, is hard to guests, or tell,  
If cold Love's heat and moisture could repel:  
Or Love perhaps did here the act forbidden,  
Pleased by Antiperistasis to be hid,   

The Ruin.  
TIme, the shadow of man's days,  
With neither Youth or Age it stays;  
Cuts off the weak, decays the strong,  
And most of all things Love does wrong:  
A Tyrant that does Beauty raze,  
Which lives to die in Woman's face:  
Couldst thou not with our Loves so play,  
That Beauty's life might last decay?  
The fair ones then would less repent  
Those dying Minutes thou hast lent:  
Whilst thou, alas, dost bid them see  
Their Spring and Autumn's fate in thee,  
Vexed to remember they were Fair  
Above what Art can now repair:  
Or else their Dress, or Woman blame  
For all those mischief's by thee came:  
Who, after Beauty's Flowers are spent,  
Perhaps to Love would yet consent:  
Whilst thou unkindly bid'st them know  
What unto past delight they own:  
Which since they cannot now restore,  
Their only hope is to Implore,  
That they in t'other world renew  
Such lustre's here they once did show.   

Fricatrices: or, a She upon a She.  
TWo Females meeting, found a sportful way  
Without Man's help a Tickling game to play.  
They cozened Venus, yet consented so,  
That something like it they resolved to do.  
What Nature to their aid did next present,  
We must suppose was short of their intent.  
The Fairest than lay down; the other strove  
Manhood to act with Female power and love.  
Their nimble heat dissolved the active dew,  
Which from their Pearls within its moisture drew.  
But soon their pleasures were deceived, to find  
Theone Thing wanted to which both had mind.  
Like Vessels that no Rigging want, or Gale,  
Ply here, and there, for want of a Topsail.  
One said she was the Woman; t'other swore  
She ought to be the Man, and she the Whore.  
Who upper lay, the under now would be;  
But which should be the Woman, can't agree:  
At last, at their mistake they yield to smile,  
And grant Love's pleasures nothing can beguile.  
A Man they wanted, and a Man would have,  
Since he the Dildo has which Nature gave.   

On Clelia. SONG.  

MOre white and soft than Swanny Down  
My Clelia does to me appear;  
Her Red besides as much her own,  
Which but in Paint so many wear.   

2.  
Her Beauty's Wind and Sun endure;  
Each Feature still its Spring does show:  
Love does his Summer there secure,  
And there his Cherries lively grow.   

3.  
Like some bright Nymph that joys much more  
The healthful Looks in fields she gains,  
Than of Love's Captives in her power,  
Or how adored by them she Reigns.   

4.  
If Eden's Crime had never been,  
I would have sworn for thy fair sake,  
It had been for some mighty Sin;  
Few women like thee heaven does make.   

5.  
Though had I Adam been, thou Eve,  
And had a Paradise withal;  
The Forfeit first my Love should give,  
So I might but enjoy thy Fall.    

The Conceited.  
WHo can the value of thy Genius know,  
That in conceit alone, dost all things do?  
With Stories framed, thou entertainest our Ear,  
Though nothing but thyself in them appear.  
Good Poet thou art not, 'tis very plain,  
Since thy Life's farce, thy Lines can best maintain.  
From Wit, unto the Stars thy thoughts advance,  
And talk'st of Letters, and of Heaven by chance:  
If thus thou mockest thyself, who would mock thee?  
My Pen, at least, thy Mimic shall not be.   

The Chaste.  
I'll grant thee something more than Flesh and Blood,  
If thou desir'st to be so understood:  
Or that an Angel did thy Form dispense  
From his Divine and brightest quintessence:  
And that no more of Love thou ownest within,  
Then to pronounce it Vanity or Sin;  
Or like a flower, which when the Orb of light  
Refresheth with his Influence and sight;  
To show its obligations from above  
Yieldeth to blush for warmth, though not for Love.  
But this being granted, what is it to be  
Esteemed in Flesh and Blood a Mystery?  
Canst thou long hope thy Soul should circling play  
In all thy sprightly Veins? yet never say  
'Tis touched with sense, or that thy Blood should float  
Through all Love's Channels, and not there promote  
His Lodestones use, more strong effects does feel  
From thy soft Beams, than t'other does from Steel.  
To Live and Love is Nature's highest right,  
Who either do decline her Blessings spite:  
Then still be not so modest to deny,  
Lest most conceive thou giv'st thyself the lie:  
Or, If thou thinkest no man can merit thee,  
Thou but thy Image liv'st to all, and me.   

The Interrogation.  
TEll me, my Muse, why thou desir'st to be  
So much Indulged to Love's soft Poesy:  
Oor dost thou think thy Flames can kindle wit  
Equal to what is on that Subject writ?  
Love is a Theme too ancient to create  
A Poet, other than of latest Date.  
The Shepherd first on tender Reed could play,  
His fellow-Rural's charmed with Love's soft lay:  
Diviner Orpheus' Woods and Trees could move,  
To us Records the wonders of his Love.  
Eliza, in great Maro's lasting Lines,  
Speaks her soft flames, and with Troy's ruin shines.  
Illustrious Muse's Verse taught Love such Art,  
That Cupid still from him best acts his Part.  
If we ascend from ours to Homer's time,  
An take along our own best sense and Rhyme,  
The witty Fletcher, and Elaborate Ben,  
And Shakespeare, had the first Dramatic Pen:  
In most of their admired Scenes we prove,  
Their Business or their Passion turns to Love.  
Cow, no less good man than Poet too,  
Blushed not his Verse should us his Mistress show.  
Beauty from Poets more than Painter's lives;  
He but their Lines in fading colours gives.  
We can't now Helen from Apelles take;  
But Homer's Pencil her fair Life did make.  
So much obliged are all of Womankind,  
As they their Fairest from the Muses find.  
My Muse no less ambitious, bids implore  
Her for some Treasure of Love's witty store;  
Which she assured me never could decrease,  
While Lustres were beheld in women's face;  
Then represents her dams unto my eye,  
Ask to which my thoughts did most comply;  
Whether the Amorous Brown my Verse should praise,  
Or if the Fair I'd more Celestial raise;  
Or else, the lovely Black that Charms the sight,  
Should be my Theme, as she's the Queen of Night.  
This passed, and in a Trance a while I lay,  
Expecting what Love to my Muse would say;  
Which soon resolved, that if she'd find me Wit,  
Each handsome woman should have Love, with it.   

Love's Bow.  

SUre Cupid has no other Bow,  
Than what heavens various Arch does show;  
From which he sends his Amorous Darts,  
And thence as many Wounds gives hearts;  
If this Complexion of the Sky  
Can Image Love's Variety.   

2.  
Some Shafts he colours like the cheeks  
Of Lilies died in Morning-streaks;  
Others he gives a deeper Ground,  
Whence lovely Brown, or Black do wound:  
Varying with these his Mother's eyes,  
Adorned like Crystal of the skies.   

3.  
Thus count the Rays each heart do take  
With all the mingles Love does make,  
And Archimedes Art will prove  
Deficient to proportion Love,  
Though he could number every sand  
Supposed 'twixt heaven and earth to stand.   

4.  
There's then no Rule can Love descry, define,  
But as it suits thy Breast, or mine,  
Whether it be from taking Feature,  
Or the Agreeable by Nature;  
Though each of these alone, at best,  
Renders the Lovers half in jest.   

5.  
Give me such Looks may raise Desire;  
Next, Wit to quicken more my Fire:  
Else, but too soon my Love may waste,  
As it on Lust's swift wings does haste;  
Whilst he rates only Beauty's flame,  
Gives to a Blank a Prizes name.   

6.  
Yet might I choose, my Love should be  
Of Nature's best simplicity,  
When Wit unartified does grace  
The Rose and Lilies of the Face:  
This must be Nature's only she,  
And I declare her so to me.    

SONG.  

NOw having proved thy fond delays  
With all thy pride and scorn,  
No more my love shall make Essays,  
Since to be still forlorn;  
What Soldier that would Honour win,  
Will teach his Prowess such a Sin?   

2.  
I'll find some easy thing to Love  
Unpractised in disdain:  
Or else thy Sex throughout I'll prove,  
And Hundreds for thee gain.  
He limits too much Nature's power  
That Courts the Spring but in one Flower.   

3.  
But if I thus thy charms can slight,  
Well may some other too:  
And then perhaps thou'lt quit thy height  
As froward Haggards do,  
That fly the watchful Falconers call  
Till their own Pride compels their fall.    

The Banquet. SONG.  

I Feasted on her Eye and look  
With every pretty grace,  
And thought Love read his fairest Book  
As I beheld her Face.   

2.  
I sucked a Cherry from her Lip  
Where grow Ten thousand more,  
And my Tongue says (without a slip)  
None tasted so before.   

3.  
I drank such Nectar from her Eyes  
As sparkled in my Veins;  
She made my Love both drunk and wise,  
So mystical it reigns.   

4.  
In Wine she drank a kiss to me;  
I kissed, and drank another:  
She vowed with me she'd equal be,  
And kissed, and so drank t'other.   

5.  
To Love and Wine said I, this day  
Shall by us two be given,  
They both are God's, as some do say,  
And we'll enjoy their Heaven.    

The Value.  

AM I profuse because I give  
Leave to my Soul with thine to live?  
I'll take th' Enquest of all that know  
What's fit bright Beauty to allow,  
If I my Cloris farther prize  
Than she does merit from my Eyes.   

2.  
Let Tailor's Judge if her smooth Shape  
Prompts not in them her secret Rape:  
Or Shoemakers, their works most prize  
Because it fits her foots neat size.  
Nor less the Glover pleased has been,  
To see her soft Hand near his Skin:  
Each tire about her has a grace,  
Yet adds not to her Shape, or Face.   

3.  
Thou hast such charms can reconcile  
The Prodigal and Miser's smile:  
Audly, who had a thrifty Curse  
For thee would soon have opened his Purse:  
Though scantly used for  and meat,  
Some tell a Mistress he could treat.   

4.  
What's then my Treasure, that can kiss  
Myself unto the height of bliss:  
To warm my Soul at her Soul's fire,  
And so exalt and quench desire,  
The wonders Love can only do,  
Two Souls does Join; yet keeps them two.  
Time for such Joys too small is given,  
Yet nothing more resembles Heaven:  
Had these Eternity to boot,  
Love's Angels dwelled on Earth no doubt.    

The Interval.  

IF thou Love's pleasures thinkest too short and sweet,  
And finished Venus' canst regret,  
Let us defer Embrace, and next permit  
Th' Intervals of Love and Wit:  
To Act, and not first Court thy amorous Flame,  
Were more to make thee blush for shame.   

2  
A Lovers fire is soon so put out.  
It's Element should move about  
Thy Lip, thy Cheeks, thy Brow, thy Nose, and Eye,  
And Judge how Naked thou wilt ply:  
Love's Harmony, if well composed of these,  
His secret touch will better please.   

3.  
The act in too much pleasant haste is done;  
Its Zenith but arrived, 'tis gone:  
Though Nature is pretending to new height  
In every act of Love's Delight;  
Yet all that our Enjoyments can explore,  
Is what we knew, or did before.    

The Enjoyment.  
I Must and will Enjoy, 'tis Nature's sense,  
Which has on reason an Omnipotence:  
The Leveller Love, 's her Minister of State,  
And Prince and Peasant's Joys alike makes great.  
If Nature be no Fool, nor thou nor I  
Can be thought such, if with her we comply.  
At this perhaps thou'lt start, or else begin  
To threaten both with that Big-word called Sin:  
Whilst reason's own Religion does submit  
To feast, where sense more busy is than wit:  
If Nature Love designs to be her Farce,  
Who can deny her mirth though near the—   

The precise One.  

THou Lov'st, and yet seem'st to deny  
(A tender-conscienced way no doubt)  
Who well the Spirit first will try  
Before the Candle is put out.   

2.  
This, fair Enthusiast, I'll permit,  
Nay more, approve thy Heresy:  
Love's Zeal does all Religion's fit,  
And Luther so a Pope could be.   

3.  
He taught the Lusty Nanne her Sin,  
That with her Dildo played alone:  
An example like to which had been  
Found in Decretals of Pope Joan.   

4.  
Thy Zeal, thy Love does well devise,  
Who for his Altars smiles to get  
Such flames themselves best Sacrifice,  
And to that purpose we are met.   

5.  
At this she yields, I know not how,  
Her Eyes Phanatick-like upcast:  
But I suppose to implore now  
Love's inspirations long might last.    

The Promise.  

THou promised me two tedious days ago  
That I the pleasing feat with thee should do,  
And now thou hast deferred me unto three  
The first odd Number's mystery,  
And such a Root I have for thee.   

2.  
Thus far thy Arithmetic I can permit,  
More to increase thy Sums of Love and Wit;  
Some turns I grant may beautify Love's Scene,  
But if too long, 'tis kept in pain;  
'Twill not endure one Female's Reign.   

3.  
Love has too many Idols in his power,  
One Superstitious Beauty to adore:  
Nay, spite of what thy haughty self can do,  
Thou hast a Thing for me does woe,  
The Proudest Flesh about thee too.   

4.  
Yet, yield as stately as thou canst devise,  
More to be made Love's pomp and prize:  
Like Lucrece, ravished seem unto my eye,  
But let thy thighs like Thaïs' ply,  
And as thy Dreams the Fact deny.    

The Wife.  

I'd have her Beauteous, gay as air,  
Yet so my love to make her care,  
That she may ne'er of mine despair.   

2.  
I'd have her Lips like Cherries red,  
But not the Hair upon her Head,  
As 'twas of Plato's Mistress said.   

3.  
Her Cheeks should Rose and Lilies show,  
Her Eyebrows drawn like Cupid's Bow,  
Hair Tortoise-brown, and sleeker too.   

4.  
Her Nose I'd have a little high,  
'Tis Love's delight and Majesty;  
Or Mahomet has told a lie.   

5.  
Her Mouth should have no Austrian shape,  
Lest Something else do like it Gape,  
Or her Lock there my Key escape.   

6.  
To teach my Pen to paint her Breast,  
The Balls which Love does play with best,  
I'd have 'em well complete the rest.   

7.  
Of a tall and slender race,  
Naked best in every place,  
Her Dress though neat, her meanest Grace.   

8.  
Her Luxury should be to know  
How Love has lent to me his Bow,  
And so receive my shaft below.   

9  
Next her Embrace, I'd have her wit  
In every Joint my reason fit;  
Or from Minerva's Dart most hit.   

10.  
Penelope my House to guide,  
More wanton lying by my side,  
And such a She, I'd choose my Bride.    

Of a Lady whose love was unknown to her Servant. SONG.  

Dost not perceive my Languishments and looks?  
Or are my Eyes like Hieroglyphic Books,  
Still to be read, and not discern  
The Emblem 'tis I bid thee learn?  
Although my Heart a blush to spare,  
Treats thus at distance from thy Ear.   

2.  
Pity that Mortal's Passions can't convey  
As Stars do theirs, by mingling each a ray,  
And not make use of duller Sense,  
When Love bestows its Influence:  
So might my kindled Eyes reveal,  
What Stars less kind from thee conceal.   

3.  
But since my looks, Love's Engines, cannot make  
Impressions on thy heart, I fain would take,  
Think't not Inglorious to prevail,  
If by my Tongue I first assail:  
Though all by it I can express,  
Is short of what I bid thee guests.    

Of Loving unadvised.  
ASk not my Soul why 'tis I love,  
No more than why our Heaven's above:  
Love has its causes there concealed,  
With mysteries to be revealed:  
Then think bold Reason that thy Sense  
Disputes but with Omnipotence.  
Thou't say perhaps I yield too soon,  
So doth our Lives to Death alone,  
Which, if it lays on but a Hand,  
Dissolves us strait at its command:  
And shall not Love's immortal fire  
Kindle more swift, than we expire?  
Ask me no more, than why, or who:  
I love because I must do so;  
Nor need I pity to my heart,  
Pleased with Love's wounds alone to smart.   

On a Lady walking in Grayes-Inne-Walks.  

THrice Lovely Maid, as thou these Walks dost grace,  
Soft Birds salute thy coming hither  
More than the Springs, whose beauty's thine disgrace,  
That blooming May does seem to whither.   

Vexatious Lawyers, that for Client's Gold,  
Their wrangling Themes contemplate here:  
Will wish their Tongues (at they shall thee behold,)  
Had that soft quilt to bribe 〈◊〉 Ear.   

Or else, perhaps unto thy beauteous fame  
These shades will henceforth Dedicate,  
As once to Cyprus, Venus gave a Name,  
Though not of such Immortal date.   

And thus amongst bright Beauties thee I spied,  
Such difference have the Stars and Sun,  
As if thy Glories did the rest so guide,  
As they for Beams about him run.   

Some, that thou art Brown or Black, perhaps will say,  
Though that's to me (than fair) more bright,  
And who'd not give some Blessings of the Day  
To be the only Queen of Night?   

Forgive me then, if charmed with soft desires,  
And who but wished as well as I?  
Who more attempts, too boldly does aspire,  
And by thy frowns deserves to die.   

Yet I would Ravish all thy pleasing Dreams  
Of Love, when it enjoyed thy Breast,  
So as my Sleeps might be its actual Themes,  
And thus suppose thou art possessed.   

But thou wilt smile at this Platonic boast,  
Thou art so much Woman I dare say,  
As he that thinks to count without his Host  
Will still have something left to pay.    

SONG.  

FAirest Virgin, tell my Love but why  
Thou art at once so Proud and Fair,  
Since few deserve a Victory  
That can Insult by making War.   

Yet as thou play'st the Tyrant, know  
In looks consists thy greatest might;  
And thus their Charms can Serpents show,  
When they unkindly wound the sight.   

But 'tis my guilt, as well as thine,  
That makes thee thus Inglorious great;  
I did to Love my Heart resign,  
And so Conspired with my Defeat.   

Whilst thou, though glorying in thy Charms,  
Perhaps at last may'st quit thy strength:  
As Honour treats to lay down Arms,  
So let thy Virtue yield at length.    

To one who slighted his Mistress.  

THou tell'st me that my Love is poor,  
But thine has Land and Coin,  
I wish Friend so had mine.  
And yet I envy not thy store,  
Though I love Money full well too,  
And know the wonders it can do.   

2.  
It Spirits Love, and makes it Fine,  
Give's us best Meat and Wine;  
I ne'er Friend like it knew  
I dare be sworn, as well as you;  
And yet I  not to behold  
A Bristow-Stone, though set in Gold.   

3.  
Then prithee Jack be well advised,  
Think not thou art more Wise  
'Cause Money bribed thy Eyes,  
While mine could not be so surprised:  
And 'tis thy Judgement less than spite,  
Since thou'dst give boot to change a Night.    

Upon a Lady.  
AS some bold Pencil does attempt to draw  
Such bright perfections his frail Skill o're-awe,  
And Nature but presents, to let us know,  
We are to wonder, and pay duty so,  
Thus is my Pen, Ambitiously at strife,  
How to Admire, and yet Express the Life  
Of your fair Virtues, which to all appear  
Pure as the Light, Harmonious as the Sphere.  
So great an all, as like the Sun, you move,  
Quickening at once Divinity and Love;  
But were I Persian and adored him too,  
I'd quit my Faith, so I might worship you.  
Your Virtues so dilate, as thence mankind,  
Sum those bright Glories, in your Sex they find;  
Such taking greatness, and such winning ease,  
That where you scarce will look, you more than please;  
As if you gently feared our hearts surprise  
By beaming lustres, from your conquering eyes:  
How happy may you make a wounded Breast,  
When Love in all, does for your sake contest,  
And Rival wonders, which your graces raise,  
In Tongues and Hearts, that must adore their praise.   

The Enjoyment, or Corinne Concubitus, Translated out of Ovid's Elegies.  
WHen Sols bright Orb gave middle time to day,  
Retired from heat, stretched on my Bed I lay,  
One Window shut, the other open stood,  
As light here shadowing passed, as in a Wood:  
Or Evening twilights gentle beams convey,  
Or that soft Instant night salutes the day,  
Such tender glimmerings, blushing Virgins Steal,  
Who fear that ●ight will scarce their shame conceal.  
And thus Corinna gently does appear  
With Robes ungirt, in tender folds her hair,  
Such fair Semiramis in Bed does show,  
Or Laïs' dressed, who many Lovers knew;  
Her Robes I sever with a tender hand,  
While she resists that Love she would command.  
Seeming to strive wished freedom to restrain;  
But soon betrays the Conquest Love must gain:  
Thus interposing veils, being now laid by,  
How did she ravish both my Heart and Eye?  
What beauteous Limbs and Parts, I view and touch,  
Breasts to Impress even Gods might wish for such:  
As smooth a Belly under these did lie,  
'Twixt spacious Sides; next them, her youthful Thigh.  
What should I more Re-count, that all must praise?  
Then on her Body mine I gently raise:  
Who cannot guests the rest as thus we lay?  
So let Meridian's pass with me each day.   

Upon an Inn that Lodged me on a Journey.  
BEing come to Lodge, where night obliged my Rest,  
I found an Inn that welcomed me a Guest;  
But such a one, as scarce Arabian Thief  
Would shelter in, though for his Life's Reprieve:  
Or wilder Scythian, but must soon conclude  
Himself less barbarous, than this place was rude;  
And next, A surly Sir, the Host called here,  
Drinks Cap't, to show me he dares vouch his Beer,  
Worse far, than ever Joyful Barley named,  
As even our Island its vile taste defamed:  
My Course first Served was Mutton, but so poor,  
That it might well have baned seven years before:  
Then next a Hen, with wonder I behold,  
Shrunk into Bones, and like the Hostess, old;  
What fancy could have fed, when every Sense  
Fared worse than Pilgrim, sent on Penitence?  
These mischief's to Reprieve, to Bed call I,  
Hoping some Damosel with her by and by,  
Was yet Reserved, to sweeten my Course fare,  
And make my Bed more soft, while she lay there.  
But soon my hopes did whither, while appears  
A Thing for Age, might date Chineses' years.  
Eve would have blushed, t' have seen a Grandchild prove  
So Cursed by Nature, and forsook by Love:  
Her Eyes seemed begged of Death; her Nose, and Chin  
Kissed, and so closed her famished Lips between:  
I thought at first had been Death come to call,  
Me by this Herald, to my Funeral;  
Or borrowed Shape of Witch, that did appear,  
To vex sad Guests, by some Enchantments here.  
Then I dispatched to Bed, in hope Sleep might  
Reprieve the Ills seemed threatened me this Night;  
But there scarce Lukewarm laid, but in a trice  
I felt worse Vermin than Cursed Egypt's Lice;  
Fleas they call here; this vexful nimble brood  
That long had sucked the painful Carrier's blood,  
And now from this bold Custom, dare maintain  
No blood so generous, but their Lips may slain:  
Thus in a moment, did this active Crew  
Assault each Vein, and from each, loaded flew,  
More swift than labouring Bees, as if that I  
Had been all Honey, for this nimble fly;  
Sometimes I feared they would have made their prey  
On Soul, and Body, by this subtle way:  
And as bold Epicurus once did call  
Atoms the World's and Man's Original,  
So seemed these Particles of Life to try  
To suck mine too, a like subsistency.  
In this Amaze, my Bed I soon forsake,  
And from my Thoughts, the swiftest Counsel take;  
Which as I did, the Sun in pity shows  
Such cheerful Beams, as from glad Morning flows:  
I wished my Horse as swift as his, that I  
From Night's worst Mansions this vile Inn might fly:  
And that all Guests which next have Lodging here  
Might fewer Fleas there find, and better Cheer.   

Love's Sympathy.  
FRom Love the Loadstone Sympathy does feel,  
To which does gently yield the hardened steel;  
The Marble does its hidden flames lament,  
As on its smoothest Face Love's tears are spent.  
For Love, there's nothing that does want a sense;  
What grows, or lives, partakes its Influence.  
Each metals ponderous Soul it's like does move,  
And what's not Gold, partakes the Gold of Love.  
The Diamond then more beaming Lustre wears,  
When her transparent Male his flame prepares.  
How Nature could thus Love and Life disperse,  
Is too transcendent for my Thought, or Verse.  
Enough, we know it is her kinder care  
That all subsistencies her Lovers are.  
To every Sex she has a Sex assigned,  
Not as Men are by Hymen's Laws confined:  
Nature does not her limits so contract,  
Love claims from her a larger Scope to act.  
Man's Reason, though the highest Lord of Sense,  
Is forced to yield to its Omnipotence:  
And thus we see its powerful Charms compel,  
When Mothers sometimes Love their Sons too well;  
And Daughters can with Fathers do the same,  
And so the Brother Courts the Sister's flame.  
Whether Venus then does blush, we cannot know,  
Though near allied, some tell her feat best do:  
Laws may severely call it Nature's Sin,  
Yet she has made for Love each Sex a Kin.   

On a Ladies little Dog.  

THe gentle favours I perceive  
You oft this little Creature give,  
With those Embraces, and those kisses  
So many Mortals make their wishes:  
My Muse is willing to record  
Since you are pleased to say the word.   

2.  
All that acquaint martials Pen could raise  
To offer to smooth 
Catella Publii, Epig. 110. lib. 1.  Issa's praise,  
Is short of this you stroke and Love:  
Yours though a Dog, was meant a Dove.  
Whilst Nature pleased with her mistake,  
Thus shaped it chief for your sake.   

3.  
No Virgin in your Bed does lie,  
But there does keep it Company,  
On whom perhaps 'twill fawn, or creep,  
But does your bosom choose for sleep,  
Though Cupid envy there its rest,  
Who 'twixt your Breasts designs his Nest.   

4.  
Sometimes perhaps it farther gets,  
Under your Smock as well as Sheets,  
And so your Belly licks, and Thighs,  
I do not say what 'twixt them lies:  
Though Tongues polluted oft have been,  
This could not be a licking Sin.   

5.  
And as you thus Indulge its sleep,  
Or would with yours its slumbers keep:  
This little Sentinel's awake  
T' defend the quiet which you take;  
The Mouse it frighteth to her hold,  
Lest her small noise be then too bold.   

6.  
No Joy or Sorrow is your own,  
But by this Creature too is known:  
So strangely taught by Nature's Book,  
That it discerns your thought, or look:  
A Tongue it wants not much to speak,  
Yet one does wish too for your sake.    

Love Defined.  
LOve is a Dwarf in Giant's Cloth,  
Wearing the Robes which Lust bestows:  
Loaded with vice, yet nimblest so,  
And by its power can wonders do.  
Most surely purchased though most dear,  
And yet more common far than rare.  
A Spiritual being in a Humane Soul,  
The Boy of Age, and Fool of Youth;  
Virtue its Lie, and Lust its Truth.  
This, the nice Widows early know,  
As they digest a Second Vow;  
Though it provoke their children's Tears,  
The Itch of Love takes up their cares.  
The Virgin at Fourteen can grieve  
So long her Maidenhead should live.  
Though hearts and looks, Love's Language tell,  
The pleasure is in Lust's small Cell,  
Where Woman's Love with Man's does meet,  
And from their Tongues receive no cheat.  
For this each Sex their Courtships show,  
And all that Both the Thing may do.  
If dull Platonics will rejoice  
In calling Love their Virtue's choice,  
Their dry desires, such need not blame  
That can enjoy the Liquid flame.  
whoever for Virtue Love would Paint,  
Must partly make of Lust the Saint:  
The Fair and Honest ask no more,  
Then what's illegal in a Whore.   

The old One.  
A Lady Old would needs a Loving go,  
Which soon her long desire complied unto;  
Her fancy she found young, and bold, her Lust,  
H●r outward form she next to Wit does trust.  
Wants she found some in every place but one,  
Where Nature keeps desire when her part's done:  
So when the Earth cannot its teeming show,  
It is refreshed at least, where Soil men throw.  
The furrows in her Face, her Woman's Hand  
Neatly filled up, and seemed to Countermand  
Nature's decays, with her false Red and White,  
Seeming by Day what she'd be thought at Night.  
Thus she adulterates her Teeth and Hairs,  
And in despite of Nature, young appears.  
A flattering Gallant feigns no fault to find,  
For we'll suppose his ends obliged him kind,  
Through Love's own Region he attempts his way,  
But finds he cannot Plough so deep in clay:  
Her stiffness his opposed, but fain would ply,  
Though that was closed so long did open lie.  
A Maidenhead he knew she could not have;  
Yet more than Virgin did his entrance crave:  
But such the Riddle is of Women old,  
Their Lust is warm when Nature is most cold.   

The Witty.  
WIt in a Woman I desire;  
With it she quickens best Love's fire:  
A Whetstone sharpens most the Tool,  
That something blunts when she's a Fool.  
Dull if she be, she'll not soon know  
The heights belong to what we do:  
And she that has in Love no trick  
Will hardly reach her Lover's nick.  
But give me still a handsome Face,  
I'll fancy Wit in t'other place:  
So well to man that part does fit,  
She needs must feel she has there some wit.  
For Love what Woman wants a Soul,  
Or can be called Dame-Nature's Fool.  
Where Beauty can't with Wit agree,  
Give me the first, it shall please me:  
Nay, so far she shall prove my Art  
As to like well with mine her part.   

The Farewell.  

FArewel my Muse, a Hundred times I've said,  
And she as willing seemed to go,  
Yet to this time has with me stayed  
In spite of all my reason too:  
Resolved that to me she would be  
An airy fondling of my thoughts and me.   

2.  
I urged severely what concerned her more,  
Told her how rigid Critics were,  
And how we had of Wits such store,  
No Poets e'er did like beware:  
All which she slights, and bid me know  
Wit was to such a Farce, and would be so.   

3.  
She farther told how Homer was despised,  
And mocked and envied in his time.  
Nor mighty Maro Deified,  
Till Rome had understood her crime:  
Then what is't if my Fate I blame,  
Since those great Poets live by future fame?   

4.  
Next these she reckons our eternal Be●,  
Beaumond and Fletcher's noble vein,  
Who lived in our yet Age of men,  
And did as much their faults complain:  
Happy she said in being gone,  
Whilst now mean wit's received above their own.   

5.  
She stopped, and thus to her I did address:  
Think not vain Mistress, but I see  
How meanly your charms Poets bless:  
Though unto many more than me  
You promised as fine things the while,  
And bid'st 'em write, that thou and men might smile.   

6.  
But lovely Gild, since Wit thy Beauty is,  
'Twere dull thy attractions to forsake:  
As Lovers pardon things amiss,  
So Poets thy excuse should make:  
Though worst of Mistress in their Fate,  
Since of all others thou dost longest cheat.   

7.  
Then cousin me a while, I'll give thee leave,  
My thoughts have yet some time to play,  
But take a care I don't deceive  
Thy Love with Love another way:  
A real Mistress may be mine,  
Whose Song shall better please my Ear than thine.    

The Wish.  
NOt too much of the Court or City,  
Not too rank of my own Country,  
Not too long living in one place;  
The countries' Spring, the City's Winter.  
Some Mirth and Wine to give my Friends,  
More food than they and I can spend.  
Wit enough, yet no Play-wright,  
Or Farce-Transcriber out of French.  
No B●g to which small Poets bow,  
Or such fright Women with Lampoon.  
Not drink more Wine than fits my health,  
Or does a little raise my Wit.  
Not feel too many Darts of Love,  
And none from her already hit.  
No slave to Venus for Estate,  
Or Joyntured Widows barren place.  
Money enough to need no Friend,  
And to oblige a wanting one.  
 may show me neat, not proud:  
Discourse my own, and not my Books.  
No Muse that's Lame with borrowed Wings,  
Or Language stolen from Romance.  
Not to Love Rhyme instead of sense,  
No more than Paint when on a Wench;  
Nor long with repartees to baste,  
Or draw Wits Cudgels when well cased.  
To all below myself to be  
Who don't presume above my place;  
To yield where I can overcome,  
And spare Law-Suits where I have wrong.  
If this be not enough to wish,  
Or that my Reader thinks of more;  
Let him but send them to the Shop  
That's right against the Temple-Gate,  
And they shall find my thanks and me.  
But lest I hold him now too long,  
Or dull his Ear without some Song:  
Like other Poets, I think time  
To close this Copy in pure Rhyme.   

His Giving.  

I Gave and gave, what cost me dear,  
And thought I gave unto my Friends,  
But found my Love was not their ends;  
No more than Lust for Love does care.   

2.  
Some I beheld preferred and great,  
Nay, prouder than their business too;  
As if their fortune's Pageant-show  
Was o'er my merit to keep state.   

3.  
At this my cautious thoughts repined;  
As from the Purse some Wit does rise,  
Bidding me learn to be more wise  
Then to expect th' obliged kind.   

4.  
What thus was urged, I partly grant:  
So seldom knew I friendship made,  
That did not of itself prove bad,  
Or worst, when most confessed a want.   

5.  
Anill proportion to man's fate,  
Since none their friendships surely know  
But when proud Fortune casts them low,  
Or Ruin makes approve too late.   

6.  
If this not bids me to beware,  
So far at least I will refrain,  
As not my Purse I'll henceforth pain  
To buy Ingratitude so dear.    

The Ingrateful.  

DEvil of Man thou art, or worse thy Name,  
The blackest word pronounced by men or fame:  
An early Curse continuing still the same.   

2.  
Eva's soft temptation no effect had seen,  
Had not man's Soul 'gainst Heaven ingrateful been  
Before allured t' enjoy Earth's thankless Queen.   

3.  
So much below man's Virtue thou dost fall,  
That undistinguished Evil men thee call:  
Th' Ancients did thee right, who named thee all.   

4.  
Ill Natured men to Heaven and Earth do live  
Alike unthankful for what either give,  
Whilst Beasts their wretched sense both feel and grieve.   

5.  
No less a private than a public Sin,  
Th' occult Invention of a Snare or Gin.  
That falsehood hides till Love it tempteth in.   

6.  
Thus Leagues ingrateful States and Monarches have,  
To raise their Body-politicks more brave,  
And by it represent the mightiest Knave.    

A Dialogue betwixt Wit and Money.  Wit. 
CAnst thou not yet adore me? I the pride  
Of all that Mankind ever said or did:  
The general Heir of the illustrious Nine,  
Whose fancies, from my stamp, are made their Coin.  
I give to Wine its mirth, to Love renew  
All those obtractions which smart Beauties show:  
Cupid from me inflames his winged Dart,  
And fixeth it above his Mothers Art.  
Each thought of mine's a Gem beyond thy price,  
Whilst Fools gain thee as Fortune flings the Dice.  
Princes and Senates my quick thoughts admire:  
Thy gain advanceth most a mean desire.  
'Twas I embellished Cicero's Tongue and Pen,  
And Caesar's, writ as great as he lived then.  
I, hearts of men with my swift power control:  
The Star of Reason in a Humane Soul.  
Poets implored me something more Divine,  
And spiritual seats above, called Jove's and mine.  
Thou with fuliginous vapours liv'st below,  
Where neither Plants or Flowers their blessings show:  
Or else by Seas produced, and spewed on shores,  
No fish so ravenous that thy Spawn devours.  
Heaven's most unkind to man where breeds thy race,  
For thy sake Africa has a blacker Face.  
The Indian can't rejoice, his looks and soil,  
Cursed by the Sun to thy dark Mines and toil.  
Thy Coin 'tis true, does Kings and Sceptres show,  
Who set thy price  thou hast worth to go.  
How much more rich is my Diviner sense  
Than all the Mottoes put upon thy pence?  
Thou for Man's use a common drudge dost pass,  
And Man thy burden feels when he's thy Ass:  
The wise depress thy value, and min● raff,  
Who (though not rich) am still above thy praise.  
Yet after all, darest thou presume to be  
Compared unto the matchless worth of me.  Money. 

1.  
Any Fantastic Madam, you may be  
As jocund as you please with 〈…〉  
Thy Mocks what are they; but to many ●oys  
Fit for the Brain of Youth and 〈◊〉  
That Judgement want my power 〈◊〉 wor●● to prize,  
Thy Creature's seldom rich 〈◊〉 wise.  
I, at thy needy Tribe and babble smile;  
No Moneyed Ass of mine,  
But has more Wit than thou claimest thine:  
Thou call'st them such, who fell Estates the while.   

2.  
I, by the young, the old, the rich adored,  
The Beggars curse yet most by them implored.  
I have no Tongue, no Pen, no Arms to fight,  
Yet these command too by my might;  
Compare, and thou'lt submit thy highest sense  
Unto my dumb Omnipotence.   

3.  
Thou tell'st of thy great Nine, distressed thing,  
And of Parnassus' Treasures where they sing,  
But sure they nothing there can Sow, or Reap,  
So poor they here their Poets keep:  
Not all the fine things they can Write, or say,  
Allures the Seller to receive less pay:  
Whilst Wit above all things I buy most cheap.   

4.  
I purchase Earth with all mankind can do;  
The graces from thee I remove:  
They own thee Queen; whilst I am made their Love,  
The wisest Pens do on my errands go:  
For me the Orators Charming Tongue best speaks,  
My Bribe's the wary Judge in secret takes,  
Man scarce a Conscience has that me forsakes.   

5.  
Dost not behold the Courtiers supple knee  
Bow less unto the Throne than me?  
I am the Politicians God,  
At thee perhaps he'll smile, or Gravely nod:  
I am his endless and his serious sense;  
Unto Divines their Heavenly pence,  
And few of them so Orthodox men know,  
But to my Altars more than Heaven's will bow.   

6.  
Dully thou arguest for thyself, to tell  
That I in Earth's deep bosom dwell,  
Since she her kindness does impart  
To place me next her heart:  
Formed by her own internal flames,  
Whence Phoebus took his Golden beams:  
My Kingdoms there employ my slaves,  
My charms alike command both Fools and Knaves.   

7.  
'Tis I, continue Man's long-living name  
And his Inheritance convey  
Unto posterities ancient day.  
With me the Daughter purchaseth the Heir,  
Love's price is mine, though ne'er so dear:  
Nor Virtue holds out, where I War declare.  
Whilst in despite of all thy Creatures claim,  
Detraction lessens, or supplants their fame.   Wit. 

Accursed thing, 'tis time I make thee feel  
Some lashes from my Satyr's pointed steel,  
That on thy hardened Ribs such Wit may Coin,  
As makes more vile the Metal thou call'st thine:  
Were all thy Bowels Gold, thy Heart a Pearl,  
Thy Face a Diamond, and thy hair a Curl  
Of Silver Locks; each Breast an Agate Ball  
Of richest value to receive their fall;  
And had thy Limbs with every outward part  
A golden form, the Idol of thy heart;  
What were all this? but to be more contemned,  
If nothing to thy inward worth be deemed.  
Heaven so rich Midas cursed, which thou shouldst fear,  
Since for thy sake he wore the Asses Ear.  
Or else remember from great Maro's Lines  
How King Evander's poverty outshines  
All Moneyed Hero's thou couldst e'er create,  
When for his more Imperial state,  
The Trojan Prince a Precept from him took,  
On thy mean Treasures with contempt to look;  
And as a King, so like a God to be,  
In showing chief he despised thee.  
Canst thou like this a Royal Theorem find,  
Or an Exchequer worth so great a mind.  
Wit is a Gift can never be entailed,  
Though of Illustrious Heirs has never failed:  
Thy strength can buy but what men vainly spend,  
The Riches of the Wise a Fool can end.  
By Nature's Law, men have no need of thee,  
Who art the Miser's wealth and poverty.  
With thy dumb Sense thou dost man's reason blind,  
And makest him rate thy value by his mind:  
Who has enough, thou giv'st not leave to spare,  
Whilst I my Treasures spend, but no want fear.   
The Reader will judge that Madam-Money was sufficiently provoked to make another Replication to the domineering Lady Wit; but my Muse, (by whom I am here to be governed) finding her Lines not able enough to decide the Controversy, has left it to the arbitrement of wiser Heads than her own, at least she does not conceive it necessary to furnish the world with more arguments on the part of Money, than it has already: As likewise she believes that she has done enough for the credit of her admired Madam Wit, in allowing her lines the last Bum-stroke, which she supposes Money is able enough to endure, without crying out for more Verse to revenge her quarrel.   

Of one who would live by his Wits.  
WHo thus advises with his Friend,  
His Money first well ne'er an end:  
What shall I do somewhere to live  
My Wit is left me still to thrive.  
Shall I unto the Court repair?  
In hope my fate will better there.  
I have a Petition all in Verse,  
Which to the King I can Rehearse.  
Or shall I credit get in Town,  
To be a startup Poet known?  
And next a New-Play-wright set forth,  
Since Rhyming now is so much worth.  
Or for a Farce, instead of Play,  
Apply my wit, that taking way.  
Wi●s I can drink withal, and Whore;  
Of some 'tis said they ask no more;  
And yet have Poets dubbed most able,  
No better had King Arthur's Table,  
When Lord, Knight, Squire, drank a Round,  
And Wine and Wit together sound.  
Or shall I turn a common snap,  
And Wenches cheat, as well as Clap?  
Or in the Law some knowledge have?  
Some think it may complete a Knave.  
Divinity I cannot teach,  
Yet told I have sense enough to Preach:  
If not with Orthodoxal Wit,  
The Presbyterians I may fit,  
Of whom I have heard a many say  
They are inspired the Bagpipe way:  
A blessing Heaven breathes on their Lungs  
Which through the Nose comes off their Tongues,  
Thus Calamy inspired did pass  
With Case and Manton, Cromwell's Ass;  
Who first on knee did for him Bray  
The Protectorian powerful way:  
No Ass before the like had done  
But Balaam's, had a Holy Tongue.  
Then whether shall my Genius Choose  
The Temp'ral or the Spiritual Muse?  
When here my Friend a while had stopped,  
And from his thoughts the best had lopped,  
He thus replied: 'Tis hard to tell  
How wit un-moneyed should do well.  
That Comedy a many know  
Where wit to Money gives the blow;  
Though I suppose what made the Jest,  
The Poet's Money then was least.  
The Brains excess may pain the Muse's feet,  
When Poets cannot have the Gout from meat:  
Wherhfore I'd have thee to be able  
For Repartees at some good Table,  
Or where a Madam does so quaintly treat,  
That Wit and Love digest her meat:  
Let thy Wit think her thy best Muse,  
Or be her Comedy to Choose.  
No matter for the Stages clap,  
Or for a Poet's Feather-cap,  
In which we see some Laureates pass,  
And yet not all discern the Ass.  
If Tailors to one man go Three-times-three,  
How many Botching Poets than may be  
Allowed each Muse? but Stitch 'em as they can,  
There are far better ways to make a man.  
Wit some does raise, but Fortune many more;  
She has both Wit and folly in her power.  
Who nothing has, must Riches get by chance,  
And Fortune so perhaps may thee advance:  
who's poor and good, let him this Motto give,  
That he (above all) must have luck to live.   

On one who had Good Meat, and less Wit  
I Like thy Wine and Meat, wouldst thou excuse  
My Entertainment with thy tedious Muse:  
I have had her Portage and her Fricacy,  
Her larded Chick and Fowl to welcome me.  
But dost thou think I can allow thy Wit  
As I do Dishes from thy Pot and Spit,  
When after Dined thou bring'st thy Rhimes in place  
As Presbyterians do their whining grace?  
Or that thy Muse might Heaven be thanked say  
For tuning of her Verse so wrong a way.  
Of high Parnassus' gifts, I'll hear thee speak,  
So it may not thy froward Muse awake,  
Lest she be peevish to recite a Play  
Would last both Noons of Sixteen-houred day:  
Although my Body would be eased the while  
Both of thy Dinner, and thy Muse's toil.  
Since then 'tis so, when next I take thy Diet,  
I'll make thee promise me thy Muse's quiet.   

Wit and Beauty.  

A Lady to whom late I praised her Face  
With all her Movements as attractive too,  
Beauty more than enough in every place,  
That Nature's Masterpiece in her did show:  
Her Language smart, yet pleasing as her Eye,  
So Wit and Love in her Conspired to vie.   

2.  
If these thy Rivals and thy Graces are,  
What Blessings may some worthy Lover hope  
When thou shalt yield, and next thy aid prepare  
To give his longing wishes their full scope?  
Love without Wit may yield a dull consent;  
What's given, should seem his Theft and Ravishment.   

3.  
She smiling, said, my fancy so should pass:  
Nay did advance it by expressing more:  
Woman she yields was but Love's pleasant ass,  
If joined no quickness to her Rider's power:  
Beauty and Wit attractions can bestow,  
But more the hope what both at night can do.    

A Blank for Rhyme.  
Rhyme is Parnassus' Ballad-curse:  
The Muse's dream when Sense does wink.  
The Stages Dwarf in giant's clothes,  
Or Verse too weak to walk in Prose:  
Fit to strain Lungs, and make men hoarse.  
Or Cure, like something, a sore Throat.  
A Cittern that most Quills can touch,  
An ancient Chime in Monkish Verse:  
Chaucer's Grave-beard in it is seen,  
And Gower driv'ling his Pricksong.  
And old Plush Cloak the inside outward,  
Or high-crowned Hat stuck with new Feathers,  
Fit for some Lawreled Gallants now,  
As well as Rhimers heretofore.   

On a certain Rhimer.  
THy Verses Lacker is thy Rhyme,  
And so thy Lines may last a time;  
But lest their dye should prove the worst,  
Expunge what thou hast written first.   

Being in the Country.  
ADvance my Muse, and teach my thoughts to look  
From thy Parnassus on great Nature's Book;  
See how she hither does Invite thy Song  
From Courts and Cities busy toils and throng:  
Where thou with peril small applause couldst get,  
At least more safe  be in thy retreat:  
Or if thou canst in thy retirement show,  
Thou Risen and Lilies planteth yet may grow:  
Moisten thy Verse in thy Castalion stream,  
Casting some drops on Envy's barren flame.  
Thy Critic Nature, will more wisely be,  
And show thee her admired simplicity:  
Bring thee from Stars unto her humble height,  
No act of hers for wonder is too light.  
Whisper from whence that Dame called Nature came,  
Since from her Issue she conceals her name:  
How men that Title to her greatness give,  
Yet know not by what order she does live.  
Acquainted be with Tillage, Beasts, and trees,  
And keep some Honey of thy Wit for Bees.  
Search out great Maro in th' Elysian field,  
And see what wonders there his Georgics yield:  
His Verse such mighty things on Earth did show,  
'Twill teach thee there what Heaven is doing too.  
Then Horace in his Sabine fields find there,  
And with his Lyrics next amaze thy Ear.  
Next take a turn with our great Cowly's Muse,  
And hear what Songs of Plants and Herbs she'll choose:  
Mark how the Lyrick's wonder at his lays,  
As lofty Pindar Crowns his head with Bays:  
See him in Maro's stately Buskin go,  
Whilst David's Harp his measures soundeth too.  
Or if thou canst not so instruct thy thought,  
Think that Immortal here their Pens have taught:  
Discern how much their Virtues do Invite  
Homebred contentments wisely to delight,  
And how they growing Fields and Gardens dress,  
Heaven with the Muses did conspire to bless.  
Observe how Nature does with fruitful chance  
Scatter her good, and here and there advance  
Tall Trees and Plants without man's art or toil,  
Yet does submit them to his use and spoil:  
Though furrows in her Face the Plough does tear,  
She feels no blemish, or Black-patch does wear.  
She Disciplines the Ploughman's roughest pain,  
And like vast Legions stands her closer grain.  
In each small home she Crowns her Queen and King,  
That undisturbed with cares may sleep and Sing:  
Content speaks most her Gaiety and Feast;  
A little feeds the Bird that singeth best.  
The Dove does fly from Courts and City's air,  
Near Fields and Rivers with her Mate to pair:  
The Mean-man's House their amorous billings show,  
Their dearest young his wholesome food made too.  
The Herds will choose to fatten near his home,  
To whose Retir'ment they in winter come.  
The Plough his healthful knowledge does delight,  
Nor is he ignorant of the Hare's swift flight,  
Or of the Chase the nimble Dear does take  
When grieved his fattening pasture to forsake.  
His Nets delicious Birds can gently seize,  
And knows such baits the foodful fishes please:  
His limbs their swiftest fins can overtake,  
And under water swimming Chases make:  
He true refreshment finds in coolest streams,  
No after-Ague feared, or Fever's flames:  
Nor less his wonder Scurvey's loathsome pains,  
Or what's man's sinful ease the Gout obtains.  
Unto excess his health does ne'er commit;  
His food and labour his found temper fit.  
No Homicide has Nature by his will,  
Whilst Luxury by Art does others kill.  
Long life is less his wish than his command,  
Which others piece up with the Doctor's hand.  
In Wood's 〈◊〉 Sorrel for his Sauce does find,  
And Betony, the body's health and mind.  
His Garden (though not great) affords him Sage,  
With Parsley, Savory, Time; adds time to age:  
These easy blessings his small borders show,  
Which, (though at Nature's cost) man's pride terms low.  
Nor wants he Arbours planted by his care,  
That for his shade the flowery Woodbine bear:  
Or Nature's larger bounty to admire,  
Takes cool Enjoyments where vast Trees aspire:  
So Virgil's Muse did Rural Tityrus find,  
And made her Song unto his Pipe so kind:  
With him she Amarillis Love could play,  
Joining life's pleasures to his humble lay.  
Thus man did first his Life and Love begin  
More wise, than to enjoy Luxurious sin,  
Or puffed up with Ambition to be great,  
His quiet and his safety most does cheat:  
But humble pleasures with contentment joined,  
And thus the world unto himself confined:  
His Feast was then of Herbs and fruits from trees,  
His Sweetmeat Honey from the cells of Bees.  
The Flocks his early Murders did not show,  
Sheep, Goats and Cows were milked, and long lived so  
No mournful Voices for their tender breed,  
Or Gods adored did cruel victims need.  
Man of his Crimes had made himself afraid,  
When first to Heaven the Lamb and Kid were paid:  
His board the Altar was where these were due,  
Whilst, but himself, no Houshold-God he knew.  
Lust has no bounds, nor avarice limit knows,  
Taught still to want, as they too much propose:  
Excess the Darling is of frail mankind,  
Though but the painted Peacock of the mind.  
Give me content, my reason calls me rich,  
Whilst passion to no purpose feeds an Itch.  
Men for their thoughts may large Commissions choose,  
But still their quantum is, how much they use:  
Enough, deserves the name of Nature's Feast,  
To which the wise invites himself her Guest.  
What's humbly good, let me think highly great;  
Who Lives sufficed, enjoys a large estate.  
Let Fortune and her Squint-eyed merit pass  
Without a grudge when she exalts an Ass:  
Or that his Pomp, the world strikes blind with praise,  
To cheat the eyes that can such Idols raise.  
In Woods and Fields my Muse can bid me dream,  
And whisper verse where glides the Silver stream:  
I'll call it Noblest Idleness to be  
Busied with Nature's state expressed by thee:  
Her Courts are ever open unto all,  
And of her Statesmen none lament their fall.  
Her Science best Ambition does Invite;  
Showing us steps that lead unto her height.  
O Contemplation so Divinely great  
As are the acts of Nature's high estate!  
Whose Courts the countries' solitude can raise  
Above what Parasites to Thrones can praise:  
Men best retired, her good with theirs may see,  
The world's not understood felicity:  
Who Rural blessings wisely make their own,  
Live so, at least will pawn no Land in Town.   

The World.  
I Writ not now for Bays, nor would I bring  
These Verse like drones to buzz without a sting:  
A Satyr's Laurel must have Pricks, and Briars,  
Some to scratch Gowns, some Robes, or Silken tires.  
The world's Broad-back, although it do not ply,  
May feel some briny stripes in Verse do lie.  
Satyrs are by Parnassus roughly taught  
To speak their useful Truths with plainest thought.  
From Woods and Mountains they convey their Song  
Unto men's soft abodes, and City's throng.  
A bold and piercing Eye on what's amiss,  
And most does frown where Luxury does kiss;  
Which vice can most be taxed in this our time,  
When every one is heightened by its crime.  
A Civil War, Plague, Fire, have had their course,  
Yet none of these abate our Vice's force.  
Can men no surfeit take in being bad,  
But must in War and Peace be equal mad?  
It's not enough to think on Forty one,  
And all those miseries were then begun?  
Or what preceded that Leap-year of grace  
Which sanctified the Scoth-man's Oatmeal face?  
How sacred was the Northern Bagpipe then,  
Resembled in our snoching Pulpit-men:  
Till Independants wore the longest Sword,  
And in their Cassock'd-buff did Preach the Word.  
'Twere Sin almost to mention what they did;  
Would it might in anathemas be hid:  
If fame no further curse that Zeal and Pride  
By which our best of Kings and Martyrs died,  
His Subject's ruin he could have forgiven,  
Had their revenge not gone with his to Heaven.  
Can Regicides at Tyburn not relent,  
And can we hope their living Sects repent?  
What but such Canting Zeal could e'er devise  
To make its Impudence a Sacrifice?  
Cromwell may smile to meet such Imps in hell,  
Did suit his mischiefs, and his death excel.  
Or did they hope succeeding times might be  
Posed to define bold guilt from Piety?  
Already, which is which but few discern,  
And teach posterity new Creeds to learn.  
So roundly yet the Presbyterians pray,  
As if they'd once more Covenant the Scotch way.  
In past time, Prick-eared- Presbyters did show  
Acquaint Owen would not so at Oxford go:  
Thus Priests of Priapus did Court the fair,  
When more than Codpiece long they wore their hair.  
Most Sects have paid enough, their Zeal and Lust,  
Whilst Piety's reward was Heaven to trust.  
Might but our manners, (if not zeal) yet mend,  
And not like that from worse to worse extend.  
The Moral light of reason such put out,  
Whom first Fanatic Meteors led about:  
A giddy Luxury will have its grace,  
As well as that which keeps a stately pace.  
Thus Conventiclers by Intrigue can pray,  
Whilst others raise amours another way.  
All will have modes that best themselves befit;  
Vice were too dully formed, that used no wit:  
Some must keep state, whilst others solely trot  
With a Linkboy, or Page, to hid their plot.  
A thousand ways to false embrace men go;  
As many arts for theirs can Women show,  
When brisk to exercise that vicious feat,  
Which with stolen pleasure Lust does best repeat.  
Such men, whose manners, most refuse to trust,  
To Luxury and Vice continue just.  
What mighty shame is't to him more does prise  
His vain delights, than to be good, or wise?  
I envy none their kiss, or soft embrace,  
Or wench that useth varnish to her face;  
No more than such whose greasy modes to eat  
A Larded dish, instead of well-fed meat:  
Or that a gilting-she keeps up her price  
With Whoring fops, as Gamesters live by Dice.  
Others there are (some tell) of Wit refined,  
Will Court a Girl ingeniously assigned:  
No loathing do such assignations make,  
Which by a pleasing raillery they partake.  
How airy notioned may we judge all those,  
When such Mercurial leave fume their Nose?  
Or is it but the quaintness of our age,  
To raise thence wit for our declining stage?  
Where unwashed Bawdry with applause may pass,  
Like Actress in her Poet's Looking-glass.  
Nor can the witless Writer want a Muse,  
Whilst most of either Sex their turns will choose.  
But what is it to me who have best writ,  
Or Tom Thumbs stile, or Jack Straw's pass for Wit?  
A Satyr's business is not to explore  
What Wit men have, or how much they want more:  
Its reprehensions best on manners light,  
Lines must be Whips, if bad men they affright.  
For outward parts and Wit a many go,  
Whilst few good deeds or worth of theirs men know.  
Virtue with Pageant-shows is darkened most,  
Though for its sake Vice sometimes is at cost.  
To praise good men, the bad will soon comply  
And with smooth fronts thus give themselves the lie.  
Who has a friend, go ask him that does know,  
Of whether Apes and Monkeys have none too.  
The world's too airy now for solid trust;  
Friendship must have its slips, as well as Lust.  
Fancy Astraea come from Heaven again,  
Or new Star seen without a Tail or Main:  
Some such kind cause may well precede the year  
When men may safely trust, and drink small bear.  
Our times God-wot are so transformed now,  
That Flints and Pebbles must for Diamonds go.  
Be sure take care how deep you view the heart,  
Lest you a Monster find will make you start.  
Study the Moral wise Ulysses taught,  
You'll prove the Centaur in man's Breast he sought.  
Half way a man in Virtue would excel;  
Now most all over beast are known too well.  
Long has been Virtue starving with her praise,  
Few Body-politicks her Ethics raise.  
The good have ever kept the longest Lent,  
Or mocked, if they bid Luxury repent.  
To Preach down sin, is more a use, or Trade:  
Too oft with Pulpits Vice has Traffic made.  
O, that we could not say our Paths to Heaven  
Were by our Sacred guides trod more uneven!  
Or that it was not made a pious Curse,  
To yield such superstition to the Purse.  
But men are men, and ever will be so,  
Both Coats and Cassocks can one inside show:  
In spite of forms, man by himself is lined,  
And in all Churches have their motley kind.  
If Spiritual goodness somewhat over-weigh  
Our temporal Crimes, who need for more to pray?  
Much of strict honesty were tax on Heaven;  
Rome seemed content two Cato's her were given.  
Others (her Members) like the worlds proved just  
Unto their Interest, if not to their trust.  
Why should we then complain that many now  
Byass themselves unto the public so?  
Patriots enough are to be cheaply bought;  
Or blush not if they ask before they are sought.  
Men must do something to be more of note,  
Crimes are oft paid when Honesty's forgot.  
All ages can't alike themselves refine;  
Some most for Virtue, some for Riches shine.  
What's ours, I'll not assert, that were to bid  
My Muse in such course Lines as these be chid;  
'Tis rude in Satyrs, if to Courts they stray,  
With such soft leisure they must fear to play:  
Men of their Brain more wise effects may show,  
Than to send Censure where they ought to bow.  
Shall I believe that giddily men feel  
Their weights, told so by Tongues mistake, or reel?  
Who seeks a place, or who for trust is fit,  
Is too much the Impertinence of Wit:  
Or whether craft, or merit makes some great,  
Suits not our search, if an Intrigue of State.  
To be well governed, or to think we are so,  
Does best become us and our Prayers too.  
In Subjects wise and modest sense is shown,  
When they submit their cares unto the Throne:  
For their sakes Princes are with Rule oppressed;  
T' Obey's the easiest part, if not the best:  
Which thought well pondered, admiration brings,  
That the World has not Crowns to spare for Kings.  
May we believe all those who boldly tell  
They would amend what others do not well?  
Or is't because their Virtue is in pain,  
Until well humoured, or employed with gain?  
Such Mountebanks enough Receipts proclaim;  
And most men halt because they'd have them lame?  
But O, the busy Politics of these days!  
State-Counsel's no less censured than our Plays:  
Whence is't such modern Prudence does arise?  
Can Antichristian-Coffee make more wise  
Than their Forefathers; soberly could think  
On States or Turkish Kings without their drink?  
Good Beer and Beef with them could well agree,  
Or for Twelve pence had better Sack than we.  
Judicious men ought for such times to pray,  
No less than Poets, who have least to pay.   

Of Change and Death.  

THis Theme, without my Muse, my thoughts can reach,  
My Soul and Nature do enough me teach  
To know my end; 'tis but Death's certain night  
To which Life's Taper must resign its light.  
Man's breadth and height his Body's shade can show;  
Death's Metaphor attends on all we do:  
Our rest, and sleep, nay Love's espoused charms,  
Yield to the pale embrace of his cold arms.  
His Sickle of the young a Harvest makes,  
Or old, before their strength Life's ague shakes.  
'Tis Nature's kindness, if our wrinkled brow  
Shows first the furrows of Death's secret Plough.  
Teaching our Souls and Bodies to prepare  
For other being when disjoined here:  
Where, man's long Love of Luxury and ease  
Has Nature's cure, as 'tis her worst Disease.  
How ready men Supinely bad will hope  
(Though undeserved of Heaven) Life's longest scope:  
As if that Death, so busy is withal  
Would Vice forget, or still reprieve its fall.  
The greatest Monarches spreading thoughts and might,  
Pursued by Death and Time, confess their flight.  
Can now great Julius his past Conquests see,  
And no place his to seat his Majesty;  
Or Rome's Augustus to the world appear,  
And walk a stately Lord of nothing here:  
How would they mourn their Empires early fall,  
Raised to aspire till Nature's Funeral.  
How 〈◊〉 their greatness blush, were to them read  
The●●●●nest thoughts and deeds, their Empire dead.  
Th● 〈◊〉 with Caesar now might weep,  
N● for more worlds, but this no power can keep:  
T●●ir meanest Slave as well himself might bring  
To Rome, or Babylon, and be their King.  
Man's glories here are like a Stages Scene,  
Beheld, but till the next does Intervene.  
If such great acts of men their periods have,  
How soon for others does fame find a grave?  
So much she Articles against men here,  
They ought not long to hope her future care.  
Man covets future fame himself to cheat,  
Death kills to him what merit Life can get.  
Man's end has most compliance from his will,  
When Conscience keeps no black Records of ill:  
'Tis not the dark (like Children) that men fear,  
But lest their Impious deeds pursue them there.  
This certain honour does by Death accrue,  
If when it comes 'tis bravely welcomed too.  
Death's must is only man's fit time to end;  
'Tis vain to wish it when it can't attend.  
Not our desire or fear should it procure;  
Who is on purpose Sick, deserves not Cure.  
Heaven grant my end may so my soul comply,  
That lest it fear itself when I must die.   
I could not forbear to annex unto this Contemplation the soft and Pathetic Verse of Ovid, which since relating to Age that walks almost hand in hand with Death, I find no less proper for myself, than others, who have any long acquaintance with Life. 
Jam mihi deterior canis aspergitur aetas  
Jamque meos vultus ruga senilis arat:  
Jam vigour, & quasso languent in corpore vires  
Nec Juveni lusus que placuere Juvant.  
Nec me si subito videas cognoscere possess  
Aetatis facta est tanta ruina meae,  
Confiteor, facere hoc annos, etc.   
I think I could add another complaint of his Age; which could not but more tenderly concern the Soul of so excellent a Poet.  
Impetus ille sacer, qui vatum pectora nutrit,  
Qui prius in nobis esse solebat, abest.   

In Spheram Archimedes: Translated out of Claudian.  
WHen Jove this Crystal Sphere did first behold,  
He smiled, and to Olympus' Court thus told:  
Can Mortal powers arrive unto this height,  
That we should take in Humane art Delight?  
The Sacred mov'ment which our Heaven does show,  
This Syracusian wonder tells below:  
Each various order of our Starry Sphere,  
His shining Globe Epitomizeth there.  
The Sun's bright eye there sees his days and years,  
And what a various brow his Phebe wears.  
How was this Artist pleased this Globe to make,  
Spangled with Stars like ours, their Progress take.  
Salmoneas may his feigned Thunder boast,  
Archimedes Skill Heaven's power resembleth most.   

Of Time: A Pindaricque Ode.  

FIrst great of Nature thou must surely be,  
Yet never from her Womb didst spring;  
Thou wert full grown soon as the world, and she  
Waiting to spread thy Immaterial wing,  
And side by side with her to move,  
Before she would herself improve.  
Of thee, she Mathematic Counsel took,  
 she set forward to pursue  
The mighty measures in her Book,  
Or did one act of wonder do:  
Nor had men known without thy night and day,  
Whether Nature did for ever work or play.   

2.  
To all things else she Life and Bodies gave,  
But thou her Incorporeal Child  
Mysteriously must neither have,  
Whilst Death, her every individual's Grave,  
Of nothing but thyself's beguiled;  
That with her thou mightst live to see  
Thy life continue her Eternity.   

3.  
Through all Orisons of the Universe,  
Thou dost at once thy wondrous self disperse,  
Each Star his Circle by thy Rule does guide.  
Nay, who can choose but think,  
Shouldst thou stand still, or step aside,  
But that the Sun would leave his Zodiac too,  
And bid his bounteous Eye for sorrow wink,  
If for the world's sake he no more might know,  
The blessing of his Days and Hours,  
And see his Heaven on Earth, in Spring and Summer-flowers?   

4.  
So far above our Reason's search thou art,  
That all the Idea of thyself men frame,  
Does like some mighty nothing seem:  
Thou motion guid'st, and yet no motion art,  
Thy being, yet, thou never didst impart  
So much as in aspiring Poets dream.  
Their busy Pencils can't thy figure take.  
Thou stealest away, both as we sleep and wake,  
Yet thy flight never was too swift, or slow,  
In Heaven, or Earth, one Minute's space;  
Thy unerring Dial's under ground can go;  
Thy silent feet 'twixt Life and Death still trace,  
Keeping account how both Live and Decease;  
Which contraries so far agree,  
That Life and Death alike conversions be  
Of thine and Nature's living equally.   

5.  
When learned Antiquaries search thy Rolls,  
They Ages find, but can't thy Age compute;  
From thy Epocha early thou settest out,  
 man could read his being in thy Scrolls:  
Whilst he laments thy too profound neglect,  
Since he might have from thee more surely known  
What did thy being and his own effect;  
Whether God's fiat man produced of clay,  
Or that he started out of Earth some unknown way,  
Which Nature by design, or chance does own.   

6.  
From what stupendious centre first was took  
The point from whence began thy mighty round?  
No Line or Character, in Nature's Book,  
Does show us where thyself is found:  
No more than how this world, alas,  
To our sense first produced was;  
Or whence light did proceed to be  
Guided by the Sun and thee,  
When thy Clocks told the world 'twas day,  
Before he durst the morning wake,  
Or wisely could direct his way:  
Who, then of men, his height did take,  
Or saw his steeds their flaming steps first make?   

7.  
We use thee most of things, yet know thee not;  
Thou seem'st to us, to have thyself forgot;  
Yet best of faculties in the World's great Soul,  
Whose Memory does far surmount  
All, but thine own Account,  
The sum of that vast Circles square,  
Which cannot be computed here,  
Unless our measures scale that endless Rule  
That's more eternal than the world is old,  
To most Prophetic Reason never yet was told.    

On former Poets.  
THough Death's pale Sceptre men obey,  
Their written Wit does last decay:  
Surviving that resistless fate  
Does Soul and Body separate;  
And of all mortal acts we see,  
Comes nearest Immortality.  
Thus Johnson's Wit we still admire,  
With Beaumond, Fletcher's lasting sire:  
And mighty Shakespear's nimble vein,  
Whose haste we only now complain.  
His Muse first post was fain to go,  
That first from him we Plays might know,  
Though in each Muse of theirs we find  
what's now above all humane kind:  
Our greatest Wit is to allow  
We cannot write as they could do;  
Which time succeeding proves so good,  
That 'tis not yet well understood:  
As if it were our fate to be  
In Wits perpetual Infancy.  
Strong plots like theirs we can't digest,  
But like to Children think that best  
Which trifles with our appetite,  
And judge as ill as now we writ.  
Though long our Story boasts great Kings,  
Not every Reign good Poet sings:  
Nature is pleased not to permit  
A propagation of their Wit,  
Confessing that her mighty store  
Is not so rich as 'twas before.  
Poets are Prodigies of men,  
And such she gives but now and then.  
To Gyant-Wit 'tis only given  
T'aspire unto the Muse's Heaven:  
If so inspired had been the bold,  
We read Olympus stormed of old,  
Jove would have laid his Thunder by,  
And welcomed their Society.   

To his Muse.  
ENough my Muse thou hast played, 'tis time to rest;  
Now I grow old, thou art passed, or at thy best:  
Thy Wit (like Beauty) most should Youth inspire;  
With me thou may'st take cold by thy own fire.  
Too much thy Gamesome thoughts I have obeyed,  
Too tart for some thy Salt my Verse has made.  
What Beauty will be Charmed with what I say,  
Or write of Love, if it's no Part I play?  
Naso's soft Arts his fair Corinna knew,  
And what he Sung, 'tis thought did practise too.  
Thalia blusheth most in woods to sing,  
When Poets from her Verse receive no spring.  
Tersicore Heroickly does hate  
The loftiest Muse that Love Invites too late.  
Here pausing, thus to me my Muse begun,  
Wouldst thou be peevish with my cheerful Song,  
On which the youthful will bestow a smile,  
And to this froward Age commend thy toil,  
Thy Salt may please th' Ingenious Critics taste,  
And slight th' unseasoned jeers which others waste.  
Is't not enough I do rejoice thy Song,  
And call thy Love and Verse for ever young?  
My Bays to future time appear most green,  
When nought of Poets but their Souls are seen:  
My pleasing charms the serious entertain,  
And in the Aged youthful Wit maintain.  
From my Records men best their manners read  
The Comic good which now the Stage does need.  
Waste not thyself, or make more tedious Night  
With high and laboured Songs; I can delight  
The smooth-writ Elegy, or short way,  
The witty Marshal with the world did play:  
Rome's Empire's greatness, and its crimes are known  
From that full sense, his nimble Line's have shown.  
The Muses value all proportions fit,  
And what's called little, may have much of Wit..  
She ended thus, and next presents my Pen,  
Which if I find inspired, I'll write again.    

Miscellanies, or Essays.  
I Thank Heaven that I have taken so far leave of my Muse, as to come from Verse to Prose, which I take to be somewhat a better way of Writing plain English; though I find I can cramp Words as well as another, or leave a Line with a foot or two of sense more than it needs; and besides that, I have as many to's and does, proves and love's, with such other necessary Implements, as the best Toner of them all. There's nothing that I find our Language so plentifully affords, or that falls on my pate with so little invocation of my sense, as Rhyme does; I find it fattens the most thin and barren parts of Parnassus, as much in fashion with some Wits, as a larded Chick or Partridge. In my younger time I have been delighted with a Ballad for its sake; and 'twas ten to one but my Muse and I had so set up first: nay, I had almost thought, that Queen Dido Sung that way, was some ornament to the Pen of Virgil. I was then a trifler with the Lute and Fiddle, and perhaps being Musical, might have been willing that words should have their Tones, Unisons, Concord's, and Diapasons, in order to a Poetical Gamuth. I can tell you, it was some years before I could well distinguish sound and sense, by turning of a Rhyming word in a Verse, into as good or a better in Prose. I thought it too Sacred to come to that touch: I dare now try it by my sense, and not scan it altogether by my Ear and Fingers, if I am not overmuch charmed with such Music made by others. I do not therefore exempt my Treble or Base, or any Muse that dares walk in Bells instead of Buskins: or when I would be merry, must I receive a Sock that's smoothed with Grease, instead of Oil, and so liquor my cheeks with a smile accordingly? I cannot so far submit to the common places of Wit now in fashion: but let it go, I have enough to answer for what concerns me; on which account, if any scold at my Muse, let her wrangle again as well as she can, so I do not assist her quarrel. I am now going into Prose, to which it seemed reasonable, not to commit my sense without some Apology.  

Estimation.  
IT should be the propriety of Virtue; but I do not find that this Logic fits generally the School of the world; in stead of Soli & semper, it is seldom to be found in its true place and predicament. There is nothing that has such an Excentrique to men, or runs so biased, as their esteem: He that makes not the world his Friend, (or Bawd) will have little Trade for his merit; and that is the reason that some set up for themselves so plausibly. One would wonder how they came, where we find them; had not Fame an Art to go forward with men, though she place her Trumpet the wrong way: there is wind enough in the world to serve her turn, and she employs it accordingly. How many have I known that have gained repute of Wit, Judgement, good Nature, Honesty, (marry, and carry it too with a face accordingly) when the contrary of these has been their true Character? They can walk with Virtue as our Antipodes do with us, yet seem to behold Heaven the same way. Others there are that care not how meanly they arrive to estimation, so they have it: they can Court this man to call them witty, another to call them honest; they will submit to cringe, and sneak for it, take it for Alms, or any way; so they have their bauble of applause, they are satisfied. Though the world be liquorish enough to swallow mistakes and follies, as being to vulgar apprehensions welcome Novelties, It is no small grievance to the ingenious and candid, that know how to fit their tastes better; their disadvantage only is, that the undeserving will still have most followers, whilst the wiser and honester must be contented to bring up a thin rear of merit, as well as they can: However they have this to comfort them, that if they wait long behind, their esteem will be more elevated whensoever it takes place. I confess, Honour, Riches, Fortune will operate; but we know what heads it makes giddy; gilled it how we can, there is no Paganism so barbarous to reason, as the Idol of a Fool.   

Trust.  
I May call it a Jewel, which the Soul of one man deposits in another's; and it should be preferred with as high a care: whatever its value be, not only the betraying what concerns our repute, or estate is a breach; but even the least word or thought is a violation and injury, if charged on our confidence. How contrary is the world's course! Men hardly converse without well warding of their words, as if it were necessary their thoughts should pass from one another in Armour: no caution is sufficient to prevent mistakes, cavils, misreports: our Friends, Visitants, Servants must be suspected, and all little enough too. There is nothing more unworthy of the Soul of man, than that men live so unhappy, as to be diffident of one another; a blemish to man's being, that will hardly admit a Cure. We need not trust all, and we must trust some, and be in their power to deceive us too. If there were no Devil, a false man does pretty well supply his Office, he does all in this world he can wish, but damning of us: or may be resembled to the Plague, against which the best preservation is, to be as far off on't, as one can. If he be cunning, he does it more impiously, though perhaps more covertly: And yet I have known some that have been made up of a small stock of impudence, or what signifies little more than mere deceit and lying, have made notwithstanding a pretty good shuffle in the world, even with such as might well understand them, but will suffer themselves to be misled. He that sees such a man in a Noose, of which he is able to forewarn himself, does less deserve pity. I would be as far from admitting a treacherous man to my conversation, as to my friendship; in the best sense, it were to have too great a familiarity with the worst, and meanest of Vices. I can trust my Dog, or Horse, because they have neither thought or speech to my prejudice; and what a shame is it to humanity, to have more mischief both in their Souls and Tongues?   

Preferment.  
THe advancement of the Wise and Virtuous, is the happiness and glory of a people; it is diffusive with Governments, and spreads their greatness. Men must be under Power, and Laws, and can reasonably ask no more, than to be honourably governed. But do Princes and States what they can, it will not always be so: let them shuffle the Cards as well as they may, Fortune will turn up sometimes her own Trumpets; which makes some men not more a wonder to the world than themselves, in their felicity of aspiring. It was a very remarkable passage in a Minister of Lewis the Eleventh of France, who finding himself beyond his expectation great, said, that he would give for an Emblem of his Elevation, his Figure standing on Fortune's Wheel. The King understanding his conceit (and whether displeased with the Vanity, or resolved to remove him) replied, that he had best fasten the wheel he talked on with a strong pegg, lest it kept turning; which he soon proved by his ensuing fall. There is a circling downward, though most unexpected, by those that would only consider themselves in the Meridian of their greatness, forgetting that a descent may be as near their height, as their first rising was to their Zenith. A Semicircle on the Globe does sufficiently resemble it, though half a day's journey of the Sun. Cicero relates of Maria's the Roman, that he was one of the most fortunate of men whilst great, and in adversity no less to be admired; upon which occasion he adds a little after this excellent precept, Nemo non potest beatissimum esse, qui est totus aptus ex seize, quique in se uno sua ponit omnia; but he that depends upon the will of man, or Fortune, must expect, or at least should be content with their varieties: A thought that is too great a stranger to the ambitious. The Psalmist says, That man being in honour, has no understanding, (I suppose meant of its vain inducement that renders him forgetful of what he was, by what he is) a carriage so frequent with the world, as if men had resolved on a secret Act of Oblivion relating to their own exaltations, and neglect of their Friends. How scornfully can they behold their past Obligers! as if they must needs act the Ape, which skipping from bough to bough, turns his tail towards you, when at the top: Or that men were to take notice they were grown now too big for their merit, they may ask and be denied too; it being seldom observed, that such as can forget to do handsomely of themselves, will do any thing worthy when they come to be remembered; the Office or Preferment does so far alter the ingenuity and worth of their persons: but how scurvily will such behold themselves in the opinion of men? If they slip from their height, or would be beholding to others, (not seldom the fate of such Ascenders) let greatness be as well bred as it can be, we may observe the Evil manners of Ingratitude too often accompany its aspiring; it is a Weed that grows too commonly with the prosperity and flowers of a Court, or State, and so diffusive unto meaner conditions of life. Rome had it bitterly enough, both the time of her State, and Monarchy, as may be seen by many examples: And I judge, that in order to public affairs, (if at all) it is most allowable, because it sometimes ceases, or prevents the ambition of a well-deserving merit, where if it cannot be safely rewarded, there may be security in laying it aside. How odious must this vice be as to every private man, when nothing can palliate it in a Prince, or State, but common preservation? The Subordinates' of power, are very often so unnecessarily infected with this vice, that when they are got high enough, for the most part they remove the steps and instruments of their preferment to some disgrace if possible; as if there could no fair quarter be kept with any, on principles of greatness. But let them keep their Stations as well as they can, I am like to continue in mine, I hope with better satisfaction, than to depend on any improvement of my condition by their favours. He that ascends a Hill by a path of Ice, is in some danger of a precipitate sliding backwards, and the most perilous when nearest the top: and such are not seldom the lubricities and ruin of greatness. It is well hinted by Seneca the Tragedian, in this expression, Quam fragili loco starent superbi! and in another place he calls it, Aulae culmine lubrico, which is somewhat more particular. The world is full of quarrelling at preferment, by reason more desire it, than deserve it: And as merit is still the glory of a few, so it is generally placed in such, who are best content with a neglect of their deservings; men not always to be found in the concourse and Road of Courts, and consequently more readily passed over, or left to a solitary enjoyment of their worth. Though Princes are in reason the best observers of men, (as experiencing the abilities of many by their several Employments) yet would they take care to find out apt and worthy capacities, as well as limit their Observations to such only within their eye and business, their affairs might perhaps be no less acceptably discharged: but this were to make the world too happy, and Monarches more curious in the choice of their instruments, than they judge they have occasion to be. On the other side, there are men that at first will seem to act nothing but what shall deserve the favour of a popular breath; they will not by any means allow themselves to do well, without that kind of ostentation and glory; their merit must be set to show, if not to Sale: to be good unseen, is not enough: or rather than fail, they will thrust themselves on the world and business; they will Intrigue, Cabal, create their Partisans and Factions, until taken off and sweetened by some convenient advancement. Of these there are many remarkable, (and I suppose none of our best Patriots) but the mischief is, that when they have their ends, they very often render themselves worse a contrary way: though when the Vizard is taken off, it is some wonder if they be not ashamed of their own faces. Doubtless the most commendable ambition is, to refuse Ambition; but this is such a Phoenix of worth, as is seldom observable in Mankind. If I were asked whether the Public does at any time wisely, in turning the Bias that guides the Actions of such to its more regular employing their abilities, I conceive it may be answered affirmatively; not only as it is more gracious and easy to win men by the obligation of favours, but that by this means the strength of faction is weakened with more facility, and its Abettors rendered more disabled, if not despicable in the sense of their busy admirers, than by any severity can be made use of; the last adding the reputation of sufferance, whereas the first produces a certain neglect, if not their contempt on all sides. But these are Politics above the ordinary drift of an Essay, and so we'll leave them. There is a pretty kind of humour observable in many, which is, to be sure to dislike or decline their precedent good opinion they had of any, in case the public thinks fit to prefer them to management of things; they must then be no longer good Commonwealths men, but are immediately cried down as men lost, or profitably with-drawn from all public good whatsoever. This humour I conceive is more to be observed in the English, than in most Nations; as if it were necessary to be peevish at the Actions of their Prince, or that such he thinks fit to employ, could not be good in his opinion, and theirs together. But let these know, that the scattering of such conceptions, can have only growth from the Seminaries of Faction, and aught so to be esteemed, if not otherwise punished. Particular men have little more to do with Governments and their Ministers, than to be ruled by them; at least it is their duty to dispense with their failings. To hear a man, whose greatest knowledge lies in the business of a Fair or Market, undertake to judge capriciously of affairs of State; can there be any thing more ridiculous? and yet there is nothing more commonly discussed, even by the meanest apprehensions. If men were as strictly inquisitive of the management of their private concerns, they would less partially blame any miscarriages of the Public, since most want due care and conduct in things of particular and small importance. In sum, what a wise man cannot commend in such as are lawfully set over him, he will find his discretion and modesty enough obliged to grant them his pardon.   

Mathematics.  
DEmonstrative Science is the glory of Man's Soul, because it, of all other, giveth reason the highest perfection: and doubtless men are most Superlatively obliged to Mathematical Arts for so elevated and refined an understanding; it brings us to the greatest certainty we can arrive to, both of Sublunary and Celestial beings and operations: it has so much to do with Heaven, that if any knowledge was most immediately given to man from God, it was most probably this: It does immaterially, as I may say, express and abstract its operations from things, and yet delivers them no less fully to our conceptions; which must be granted a kind of Supernatural manner of thought, in no small measure applicable to the Divine and Spiritual being of God. Who can but admire that a Point, a Line, a Superficies, should so exactly terminate all commensurable magnitudes, and yet all these but mere Ideas or Notions of measure; for if they were quantitative, they would be part of what they measure, which were very erroneous to admit. Euclid asks no more, than a reasonable condescension to the  Postulatas, to raise the admired Structure of his Fifteen Books. I wish that all supernatural and infallible pretences had as much demonstration, or imposed no more on the concessions of reason. Besides, there is in no small measure a prescience in Mathematical operations: let a man but consider the exact and wonderful certainty in the works of Arithmetic, the Rules of False Position, the Solutions and Equations of Algebra; which, (from as it were a Supernatural manner of working,) finds without error the truth required: And he will soon grant this Science to be more perfect and sublime, than all other humane knowledge: And I doubt not but it was for this reason, that Plato was induced to believe, that the Harmony and order of the Universe, consisted chief in a Divine disposition of number and motion. I could never believe but there was more true sense in Euclide's Quod erat demonstrandum, than is to be found in all the Terms, Propositions, and Syllogisms that stuff up the reason of the Schools; because they are subject to the fallacy of a Pedant, to whom the other in three words gives Law. As Arithmetic has many Excellencies, so Geometry has somewhat more: wherefore I cannot but commend Pythagoras for his making so famous an oblation to Heaven, for being so divinely inspired, as to find out the unexpressible power of Lines, in a Rectangle Triangle mentioned in the Forty seventh Proposition of the first Book of Euclid; and perhaps there is not any thing more admirable and useful in any Mathematical demonstration. If this Science does elevate man's knowledge, it does no less advance his Wit, in making above all other the fancy Solid and Large. Virgil well perceived this, who, more than all Poets was Mathematical Learned, as may be seen in many parts of him, but most especially in his inimitable Georgics: which is enough to show what Ornaments this Science gives to the highest productions of Wit. Some things are handled in this Science with such a laboured and needless curiousity, that if done what is required, it signifies not much to the practice and advance of this most excellent knowledge. Hither might be referred some trite and impertinent operations in Algebra. As on the other side, that high and noble endeavour of squaring the Circle, is very commendable, because were the Demonstration agreed on, it would furnish us with means to ascertain the proportion betwixt a strait and a circular Line, which were exceeding useful. And here I cannot but commend the worthy endeavours of Mr. Hobbes, who, say what his Detractors please, has come nearer it by a Geometrical way, or per loca plana, as Mathematicians speak, than any that have yet attempted it. Besides the many uses and perfections appropriate to Mathematical Arts, there is not any study that has added like this, so lasting an Honour, even to the greatest Kings and Emperors: how famous does Ptolemy continue with time, for his elaborate and extraordinary depth in this kind of Learning! In like manner Alphonso King of Castille had not lived at this day so memorable, were it not for his Astronomical works: not to reckon the many Ancient Philosophers, with other of late and excellent repute, such as Copernicus, Regiomontanus, Kepler, Tycho, who added no small perfection to this excellent Science. I dare affirm, that amongst the great Acts of Julius Caesar, there is nothing can balance the ever-remaining glory of his rectifying the annual account; insomuch that the world at this day is beholding to his care for a more true Computation of time, than was known before: and I conceive that the late Gregorian account, is not to be preferred before it, notwithstanding some undertake to assert the contrary. But I need not farther instance the Encomiums of Mathematical knowledge, since this Science cannot want praise, that is of such extraordinary abilities to prove its worth.   

Praise.  
THere are far more that seek for praise, than really deserve it: the most irregular sort of men, would have in their kind an Applause, as well as the truly meriting esteem; Fame being a Mistress that has a rabble of followers, and she debauches them accordingly: she is served by so many opposite Complexions, that her lists are endless: there are few men so reserved or serious, that will not show their Gallantries to this Mistress; or any so inconsiderate, or stupid, but will get as near as they may, the Van of praise; If they cannot own the Honour of merit, they will (rather than be left out) be as eminent as they can for their vice or follies: Thus Claudius Caesar, though a very Beetle-browed Emperor, could stand upon the honour of a contemptible Triumph; another must needs play the Fool, so far as to Counterfeit Thunder, that he might be admired as a God on earth. It is well for the vainglory of such Princes, that they can command and oblige Flatterers, though it be pernicious to their vices, that few dare laugh them out of countenance. What a Fool does, is no wonder, because his actions are the effects of folly: But how idly such as would be thought the Grandees of the world in all capacities, for the most part, do carry themselves in order to their esteem, deserves more admiration and pity: Consider them on the plausible account of Wit or Honour, and it is easy to observe, how fantastically they itch after commendation, or invite it to them. I have known not a few that would be content to blaze their wit and achievements, with so confident a vanity, either as related by themselves or others, that it has put a modest slander by to a blush for their sakes: Nay, this is not enough neither; they must have their Partisans, their Factions, their Defenders, that will undertake to argue all others out of countenance that smile at their follies: and indeed ingenuity, and honour (to the sname of this Age) does not seldom descend so low, as to seem beholding in great part to others, for its repute, as if the worth of either was too much doubted to depend on merit alone. We have scarce a Poet that dares venture a Play, but he first bespeaks his Cabal, though there be nothing that makes his Wit more ridiculous: nor a man of Honour that can safely undertake a Service for his King and Country, if not beforehand with detraction. I need not mention how much the emulation and prejudices of this kind have, and may redound to our public detriment. I read of few ancient Worthies that ever made such provision for their praise, at least, were somewhat farther off from giving it themselves. I only find Annibal once so extravagant, and that rather provoked by the discourse and interrogation of Scipio, at that so famous interview mentioned by Historians, who ask him whom he thought the greatest Captain, he answered, Alexander; and who next? says Scipio; he replied Pyrrhus' King of Epirus; being further demanded whom he thought the third best, the Carthaginian named himself: to which the Noble and Magnanimous Scipio added, And what wouldst thou have thought Annibal, hadst thou overcame me? Why then, says the other, I would have judged myself the best. An example very remarkable, since Annibal got so little by praising himself, that he was forced to bestow on his modest Enemy the most Superior commendation, both in respect of himself, and those famous Captains he had so honourably mentioned. It has been well enough observed, that few men ever got by speaking of themselves in any kind; if to discommendation, a man in that case testifies against himself; if to praise, he sets himself farther backward in the opinion of the modest and discreet: wherefore of all things men should least have to do with their Encomiums, but leave them to the good opinion of the world. A Collateral praise does very often advance esteem; and the more, when it seems least particular; wherefore I cannot but admire the pertinent and sublime Panegyric that Juvenal bestows on the Virtues of the two Cato's in these few words, Tertius è coelo cecidit Cato. He names neither of them, yet does more than advance the esteem of both, by supposing that to equal their Excellencies by a third Cato, must be the immediate act of Heaven. But as we have few Cato's in these days, so I believe the most of our Fame-mongers are not so internally partial to their deserts, as to expect liek praises, if we had Poets no less able to give it them than Juvenal. Above all, I am most astonished at such, that for the most execrable wickednesses would aspire to be registered by Fame. We may remember that Scot was bold enough to pretend as highly, even for the horrid Murder of the late King; and I judge the like of Oliver's Traitorous Usurpation: But how such men should hope to be of propitious repute with posterity, when beheld so sourly by their Ancestors, may be enroled amongst the Vanities and Impieties of the wicked: Or perhaps it is the policy of such (who having no better way to credit their Villainies) will give them a kind of confident glory, or unrelentancy of their fact, as was observed in most of those that suffered for the late King's death. Assuredly there is nothing more ridiculous, than for ill men to expect future renown: a present hand of power may somewhat curb the freedom of Tongues; but in aftertime, they will requite their Memories by exclaiming loud enough. He must be very impudent that would not blush, if now charged for giving a Panegyric to Oliver in his Throne of Tyranny. So soon fade the false esteem, and aspiring Bays of the Impious. Men may endeavour to shroud or conceal their evil manners, and wickedness; but Vice has too broad a face to be masked by their Artifice: there are and will be always men honest, and disinterested, that will discover it. To conclude, as the good have only a propriety to fame, so first and last it will divulge and establish their esteem and praise.   

Criticism and Censure.  
THe most Magisterial Critics have not as yet agreed on a certain definition of Wit, and I believe never will; they are content to take it where they find it, and so may any man that looks less big on sense than they do: he can give himself satisfaction, though perhaps with less curiosity than the others that take upon them the repute of being Critical. But there are few men that will ask their leave to like their own compositions, or what is ingenious in other men; the sincerity of such, being for the most part doubted, that appear rigid or bitter toward the performances of others. Julius Scaliger, a severe and learned Critic, as may be seen by his Censure of Poets, requires these particulars to complete a stile of wit; that it be, Tersus, mollis, & rotundus; as on the other side, durus, humilis, & laxus, must not have his pardon: and perhaps he is just enough there. He allows Virgil's Works only all possible perfection, and calls him no less than the God of Poets. Homer, though his Predecessor, and admired by many, he charges with many boyish and trifling passages, insomuch that he blames severely his Characters wit and conduct. In one place he mentions him with this neglect, Nolo in presentia cum Homeri puerilibus ineptis ineptire. Horace, notwithstanding in many things he highly esteems him, in other he reprehendeth him to purpose, showing his faults by his repetitions and excursions from one thing to another; nay, he assures us, that in his De arte Poetica, he has such failings, as he would correct and amend in other Poets: take his own expression to this purpose, of Horace in general, Neque in Satyris, neque in Epistolis, at ne in Poetica quidem, in qua hoc ipsum precipit, observavit. He had been as tart with Ovid, (who was too much a Gentlemanlike Poet not to have faults) against whose Writings, I suppose he could have brought in somewhat a larger list of exceptions, yet he spares him somewhat more honourably, thus— Hoc tamen vetat pudor animos nobiliores, qui non insectando, sed admirando antiquitatem ineunt gratiam à posteritate. 'Tis true, that Ovid had asked his Reader pardon before, by acknowledging that he let some things pass that stayed no longer with him than primos habere sonos; and I suppose he had the more easily Scaligers to boot.  
It were too tedious to recount the sharp reflections he has on most of all the Ancient Poets: one above all I cannot but mention, and that is of Persius, whom he calls a morose, obscure, and unintelligible Writer (which I will not deny) nay, such a one as understood as little what he writ himself, as any man else yet Scaliger must needs be so super-critically knowing beyond all others, that he says, all those obscure things of Persius are throughly apprehended by him: Quanquam nunc à nobis omnia intelliguntur. But whether Scaliger does not himself deserve a lash from the Critics for this supercilious mistake of his, I leave them to judge. In the mean time it sufficiently appears, that so great a Master of Learning and Wit might discover his own failings, as well as other men's; which may instruct the censorious, though of excellent abilities, to have as much regard to their own sense, as what they conceive deserves a discommendation from their Pens. But how much more should our small sized Wits and Critics take care of their presumptuous Descants and carping at men's performances, when they are scarcely well versed in the common places of Grammar and Sense? nay, when there is nothing more to be abominated by the judicious, than what they call wit, and would so father on the world? The Press as well as the Stage has enough of their endeavours and applauses; the latter of which is transformed by these new Wits and their Poets into the most hideous licence of Scurrility, Bawdry, and Profaneness as can be imaginable, and no less an offence to discreet and modest observers. Yet with this stuff, they are ready to vie with all former commendable Writers: Shakespeare, Beaumond, Fletcher and Johnson, must be nothing with them, though such majestic strength of Wit and Judgement is due to their Dramatic Pieces. Of Johnson, I dare affirm that he is yet unparallelled by the world, and may be some succeeding Ages: He gave our English Tongue firmness, greatness, enlarged and improved it, without patching of French words to our speech, according to some of our modern Pens: insomuch that I question whether any of the Wit of the Latin Poets be more Terse and Eloquent in their Tongue, than this great and Learned Poet appears in ours. Virgil, who most undoubtedly was as well accomplished to value Wit, as any of his Poetical contemporaries or predecessors; how candid and handsomely does he occasionally take notice of most of all the Greek Poets? he did not grudge to say, Musaeum ante omnes; nay, to the honour of the Muses, he figures their Divine being in the Elysium or other world, as may be seen in his Sixth Book of Aeneids; and I suppose, that most of our present Writers will grant, that he, who so far exceeded all Wit that was extant in his time, or that since has succeeded, could not but in a high measure understand the value of his own: nor do I find throughout his Works more than this one line of a Censorious or Satirical reflection against any of his contemporary Poets: and that very gentle and sparingly, Qui bavum non odit, amat tua Carmina maevi. And I believe, there was never any so neat and modest satire, that has such a Compendious, and yet full extent on inconsiderable Poets, as this one Verse of his; which shows that he understood too well his worth, to endeavour its exaltation by the undervaluing or depressing the fame of others: on the other side observe with what humility he speaks of himself comparatively with other Writers that deserved his esteem, as in his Eclog. Meris, Nam neque adhuc varo videor, nec dicere cinna digna, sed argutos inter strepere anser olores. I have been (I confess) a little too pedantic in filling this Essay with so many quotations: but conceiving it of good use to many of our Wits and Poets that so inconsiderately applaud themselves, and censure others; I thought fit to bestow it here: and indeed there is no better means of reforming defects in men, than when it is pressed by the authority of best Examples. A modest and judicious Critic is an Honour to the Chair of Wit, and he alone is sit to claim it; his sense is able to make more perfect the Ingenuity of Writers. Ovid has two Verses which tell us how much he esteemed such a man; which I will therefore add, though I have confessed myself too busy with such kind of Precedents already: Corrigere ast tanto res est magis ardua, quanto major Aristarcho magnus Homerus erat. Here Ovid means well, in bestowing this Panegyric on a Judgement able to correct; but I could have wished he had named Homer for the Composer, and Aristarchus for the Judge, since the first was certainly a better Poet than Critic. I find it observed of our late worthy Writer Mr. Cow, that whensoever his Judgement was desired, he was more forward to commend what was well, than to reprove things amiss; by which means he gave not only Writers encouragement, but incited as much their desire to amend what he conceived faulty: An example worthy of imitation in such as take upon them to judge of Wit; in which case, there is not seldom more to be praised, than to be rejected. But we have many of our contemporaries that will make it their malice or mirth to do otherwise; nay, will not be contented to dislike, but they must nauseously Character men's persons on the Stage, scatter or otherwise publish their scurrilous reproaches: insomuch that I have known some (and of no ordinary quality) that have more gloryed in a pitiful Lampoon, or Libel, than if they had been able to compose a good Poem. But how much more despicable do they render their parts by such a mean discovery of themselves, than any man's Wit they can pretend to quarrel with, would deserve a serious inspection of their thoughts. They would then soon perceive how they ought to be valued by the times they live in, and how they can convey nothing so permanent to the future, as their own contemptible Monuments. Censure is such an Itch, that not only green and giddy heads, but men of firm comprehensions may find some employment for their Abilities to allay it; there being nothing more generally acceptable to humane Nature, than to be busy and prying into such defects as might well spare them the trouble of a concernment. To conclude, he that is wise and moderate, will find he has so much to do to correct himself (let it be in Wit or Manners) that he will have little encouragement to exercise his Criticisms and Censure on others.   

Mediocrity.  
IT has been always esteemed best capacitated to receive the simplicity of Virtue, which seldom has an agreeable entertainment in any extremes of man's condition or life: Wherefore out of my respects to this great Mistress, I would choose it in general and particular concerns: to be neither so mean as to produce contempt, or so highly elevated, that if I fall, I must of necessity break the neck of my happiness in this world, is all I wish for: I rather choose to fall from my own height on the ground, than from Grantham-Steeple. If others are ambitious to be placed like Weathercocks on such sublimities, I can stand contentedly below, and observe how the wind sits by them: Or like this of Horace,  
Auream quisque mediocritatem diligit,  
Tutus caret obsoleti sordibus tecti, caret  
Invidenda sobrius aula.  
I am content with a reasonable estate for my subsistence, wishing that I could improve my manners to a suitable Mediocrity of good: I would not wish to go much farther; but I find that I am able to spend more pounds, than willing to be at the charge of a few good deeds. I am free to charge myself home enough, though I experience as much the parsimony of virtue in other men: But, be it with them and me as it, may be, I will say this for my Theme, that I would choose it in all things appertaining to me; I may take leave, I hope, to commend what I cannot improve or practice, as well as other of my Theoretical friends: To touch a ground of virtue, is almost the talon of every Pen; but when we come to compose handsomely all her parts, the harmony is not much to be admired. I was telling my Reader of some satisfactions as to a Medium in my condition of life, and now I will tell him in what other particulars I esteem it best. In the first place, I like it in years; that is to say, neither too young, or too old: if Women cannot approve my choice (for reasons they are best able to dispute) I would not go so far forward with my time, but in complaisance to them, I would set theirs as much backward; my reason is this: youth (I conceive) has so many rambles, and is so unsteady for thought, that a man lives a fool to himself; or perhaps comes to an estate at One and twenty, that were fit for him at forty; but my argument is yet more mannerly, by understanding what is requisite to a particular accomplishment. I mean that also of due respect to others, which is indeed the greatest; he that looks for either of these from youth, may as well expect that a Horse may go away with him in a smooth Amble as soon as backed. 'Tis well, if we have not as much occasion to learn at Forty as at Fifteen; I suppose many find it no contradiction: it is a task vain enough to tutor man too early; he will ill Husband his Ethics in spite of fate, till time make him more tractable. The best that can be said for youth is, that it may sometimes yield and ply to amendment, where age will not, by reason of long continuance and habit. And so much for the young. As for Age, I find I have as little reason to hope much good from it, as to trust youth. If Vice be strong in the bud or growth, it is odds but it will be more rugged and tough when old; as we see in Trees, though they be shivered and windshaken by time, they will have the more firmness and knots. 'Tis true, Age does decay man's strength, but not always his appetite: He that has been liquorish young, 'tis odds but he'll like the same sauce when he is old: the fancy will have its luxury and youth when the ability is least. There are some Vices that are not so familiar with youth, and will six with Age; it is apt to be Morose, and increase ill nature abundantly: observe it but in covetousness, and you'll find none so retentive as the old, though they are just taking leave of the world. A prudent man may well fear his living overlong, not only as it enfeebles our bodies, and renders them less useful to ourselves, our Country, and Friends; but as it weakens the faculties of his Soul, and may render him perverse and froward: we may call Nature too indulgent, when she permits us to live a Child's life twice: He that outlives himself, does as much shame the kindness of Providence for giving his life so long a thread. Age having such a tincture of the River Lethe, that it does manifest an oblivion of ourselves, in our most especial concernments. I have known some that have not only forgot acquired knowledge and letters, but even the common things of conversation and manners. At this day, I know an ancient man, a near Neighbour of mine, that asked about last Michaelmas whether we should have no May that year; he had lived to forget the revolution of time, though so long his acquaintance. I wonder that among the Heroic Acts of the Romans, they encouraged no Suicides in Age, since they could do it upon accounts of friendship, of disgrace on loss of a Battle, contempt of their Enemy, and the like; when perhaps there is no greater affront to the honour of life in many kinds, than the folly and imperfection of Age. Had this been allowable with them, we had perhaps heard of more of their Heroines than Hero's. The apprehension of the ruin and neglect of past beauty, had doubtless done much with such objects; and I am glad for their sakes there was never no such usage. I cannot but chide with Nature, when I behold a handsome Lady declining or superannuated: I could fervently make it may desire that the lustres of that Sex might still continue; and I judge all men obliged to do the same, by reason they chief would continue such attractions for man's sake. If this wish be to little purpose, I hope they will allow it obliging; and I am over and above paid for the thought. To return to my own Sex, I have commended a mediocrity in years; and I have reason, since I have proved it best as to my abilities and inclinations. I thank Heaven I am now somewhat past it, and yet I find the strength of my Wit and Judgement as firm as ever, which gives me as much encouragement to hope as well of my Age, as most can of theirs. Some defect I find in my Memory and Hearing, the first of which was never good young, and therefore I am not to hope its amendment: wherefore I would be understood only to reflect on the failings and imbecilities of youth and Age: There is great honour allowable to both, when aptly capacitated for the improvement of life, he that is young may have a commendable growth toward goodness; and he that is old and knowing, is more able to direct and practise it. They are both excellent in their kinds; though a middle state of years does more surely temper judgement, and therefore more suitable to a wise man's wish, might he always continue so, or not be longer a slave to life, than he can comfort his years with right understanding. And here I cannot but mention, that if a Medium of man's being be approvable as to estate and years, and other requisites of private life; I hold it no less commendable as to the public or body-politick of man at large, take it in the two Essentials of a people, Peace and War: a Moderation in either of these cannot but be the best temperament of power. To be overlong in peace, does very often enervate a People, or is apt to produce such restiffness, through the Luxury of Ease, Pride, and Riches, that it precipitates them into many pernicious extravagancies, such as were the horrible effects of the long peace preceding our late Civil War. As on the other side, to be over-harressed with Arms, or poverty (a most infallible consequence of the Calamities of War) does both create and strengthen discontents and faction; whereas if used as moderately exercising the strength and virtue of a people, it redounds not seldom to their advantage and glory: but such a temper of State is more happily imagined, than easily found; it being very hard for a Government exactly to qualify or proportion to both these the humour of a people; besides which, there are not a few external respects of Neighbours and Confederate Nations that must go into the balance. However, my Argument must be granted in both cases this advantage, that what comes nearest a Medium, must be allowed the best. There is amother Mediocrity (which I cannot but commend) and I assure you of the highest concernment; that is to say, in Religion: I confess I am afraid of having my brain too much fumed with Zeal, lest it grow giddy, turbulent, rash, and by such mistakes wicked; (as was the case of our late Reformers) or so unnecessarily hot, that I must needs engage in Polemic Fisti-cuffs with Divines in the Schools, or course the follies or indifferences of Opinions, till they turn head against my Reason; or invite it to wrangle about such things they cannot teach me, or I them: I am rather content to be so far out of the noise of the pit, as I would not willingly hear such Cock's crow, much less combat their Arguments. On the other side, I would not be so blockish in my Devotion, that it should need boxing from a Pulpit, or not be able to employ my contemplation of Heaven, without my Ear be so boisterously taught it. I would have my Religion at least as well-mannered as my converse; that is to say, civil, and discreet. I thank God, I have seen a Surplice wore in England and France, and thought it superstition in neither. I can profit from one in a Coat and Breeches, as well as in a Cassock: I am apt enough to allow men sacred, so they do not oblige me to receive Oracles from them. I know how to commend my Shoemaker, though I do not altogether tie my shoe his way. And as I approve a moderation in this Supreme concern, so I would make it my choice in the virtues and moralities of life: For example, in Love and Friendship, I cannot but believe that an extreme in either, does render men more uneasy and unuseful to one another, than a moderate, and consequently a more agreeable relation would produce; there being no capacity of virtue more apt to impair, than what comes nearest an extremity; every little misunderstanding does make it too nice or piquant to continue its fervour long, as is obvious enough in such cases of affection; wherefore I will have sufficient content, if I am but moderately assured of either. I find that ease and plainness are very grateful to my disposition in all kinds; to which, as I would proportion my manners, so I would do no less for my Food, , and Converse. I would not be troubled with too much wit, or want what is enough to embellish behaviour. A complimental or finical man should no more be of my society, than a Puppet that moves, makes legs and faces upon a wire: I have enough of such Punchinello, 's and it may be they of me: if they afford me quietly my choice, 'tis all I look for; if not, I must tell them that I care as little for the modish allowance of their wit, as they can for the freedom of mine. I use no Salt purposely to gall their Throats. If my Genius has spared enough to season these Papers fit for my Readers — let him taste for me; however, I will not be afraid to tell the world what I think best: If I have stirred up any Spiritual or Temporal Zeal to oppose me, I know no better way than to refer them to this Essay; where I hope I may be found so far in the right, as to occasion a moderate approbation or pardon.   

The Dubitant.  
I Count it no disrepute to our Religion, that it is doubted by some, as well as believed by many, since I have not read of any persuasion but had as many opposers as Defenders. I find it the same under the Law, as under the Gospel; and yet the Gentiles and Ethnics that would have argued down these, had as much to do in their disputes with one another. Doubt ever had, and ever will have some fellowship with Believers, or will be a near Neighbour to them; and men must be content with its company, whethey they will or no. There is nothing that can be asserted to come so immediately from Heaven, as no mixtures of men shall accompany it: such as have authority must be the deliverers, or imposers of it. God has taken more care of the essence of our belief, than of the manner and circumstances; such he has thought fit to leave to the prudence of our Governors and Teachers; who, as they do not find it requisite to impose overmuch on the wise, on the other side will always find enough to entertain, or amaze the weak and ignorant: and it does become their wisdoms so to do, since all Worships are no less composed of the knowing, the impertinent, and foolish, than Body-politicks are: wherefore some sweetening is allowable always according to men's several capacities, somewhat like that of Poetry in Hudibras, one thing for rhyme, another for sense. I know a man that taking occasion to admire Prophecies, and of all Books of the Prophets, the Psalms of David as they are Sung in English, cited this passage, From Turk and Pope, Good Lord deliver us; without which he acknowledged that he had never been so sully confirmed how great a Prophet David was: the man meant well, and as little thought that Hopkins had sung this inspiration instead of David; and yet I undertake not absolutely to blame the addition; it was perhaps thought necessary at that time to make the Pope and Turk equally terrible, by the authority of a Prophet. Vulgar apprehensions will be apt to receive impossibilities or contradictions; as the glittering of Copper-lace can set forth a Stage well enough to them: If a Gold or Silver Suit enter now and then between the Acts, they do not much more admire it. The brain of man must be pleased with inequalities: as the weak are generally the most easy, and consequently the firmest believers; so the strong in conception will for the most part be as diffident. Wit will be ever inquisitive; and as it is a gift of Heaven, so it does require as high convictions, or it has a Pike against its will.  
And yet I never knew, and I believe there was never any man that was purposely a doubter: they that know most, would be glad of all others to be as throughly satisfied of what they are to receive. It were very severe to construe such Atheistical for endeavouring to inform themselves, and consequently would believe if they could. Ask a vulgar apprehension, and he shall tell you he believes all he was Christened to believe; but if you ask him why, he will as soon be put to a Nonplus, and tacitly conclude himself an Atheist: for it is no reason or commendation of faith, to say I believe this or that, because I do or will believe it. The Scripture says, The Fool hath said in his heart there is no God, or as emphatically in such a weak confession of his belief: I am sure there was never any understanding man within this predicament of folly, since he must needs be better able to inform himself, than to believe nothing. God is too plainly manifested to such a capacity; he may doubt of his way to Heaven, but he can never controvert his being religious or good: though a judicious person may find as much impulsion from his reason in some respects to be a dubitant, as a Fool is unable rationally to believe. Let Zealots then define which of these complexions does conduce most to Atheism: or to deliver mine, I am confident that the unmannerly and irregular carriage of Sectaries does occasion a greater scandal and doubt in this age of belief, than any sort of men whatsoever; because whatsoever is so extravagantly practised, must in the end produce contempt and disbelief. I neither believe all, nor doubt all; what I find my reason cannot swallow, I cannot perfectly digest; if I put spurs to it, and I find it will not go forward, I am forced to stand still in spite of my teeth: However, I can dispense with what I cannot believe, and that as becomes a Christian, that is to say, modestly and peaceably. If I observe any that can swallow Burrs as easily as Pills of Butter, I allow their practice; nay, I commend it, and am sorry I cannot do as much for my belief as they do: Above all things, I am careful not to offend or trouble the repose of other men's Consciences; I can keep my persuasions to myself, and I am as willing they should not be molested in theirs.  
There is no question but very many things are to be credited upon the authority of Parents, of Tutors, of Magistrates, in order to the better mannagement and improving of civil society; and it is as undeniable, that many things are worthy of reception, that neither the proposer can prove or demonstrate to the receiver, by reason that there is too long a train of things to arrive in all points fully to their original verity: wherefore I may doubt, yet not positively deny, what neither I, nor any other man that believes them, can assuredly evidence. How any one individual thing was first produced, I have no certainty; yet I am assured it was by Creation, or a work as miraculous to humane conception: The main question is, what is within the power of a deliverer, which I conceive too nice a thought to be discussed here. To be plain, I would have as little Sceptical in the practice of Religion as possible. He that keeps his thought without contesting, hinders no body; to which purpose, I would be very glad that some power amongst us were esteemed very near, or equal to infallibility: I find its conveniency amongst the Romanists, and commend it, though I could wish their Consciences were a little more subject to a divine jurisdiction here: I think it somewhat too much to have any part of my Conscience at the Devotion of a Foreign interest, because it must needs clash 01 with our Laws, and impede something of the esteem that we ought to have to the established capacities of the civil Magistrate: If he undertakes to be my Judge, I may tacitly choose whether I'll believe him or no; but I have at least an unmannerly Religion, if I will needs openly and avowedly go further. I assure my Reader, that I should be loath to embrace a better than theirs on such terms, and should think I had a good Conscience on my side to confirm me: Nor can I judge him wise, that will scrupulously or over-curiously go far to Market, when he may be supplied as conveniently at home. What our Ancestors did formerly, is not the Question; the Laws did not prohibit them, which forbidden us now. I cannot square my belief in some things, though Divines on all sides should undertake to persuade me; I have too prevalent an apprehension of their being swayed with interest and Hierarchy, to trust them absolutely when either is in Question: I acknowledge a sacred esteem to be their due, because there ought to be no less allowed to Divine Teachers. I am so far from repining at their Temporal Estates or greatness, that I judge both for respect and order sake, that they ought not to be impaired in either: I am sorry if they cannot cure their own Distempers, as well as other men's; like Physicians that are sometimes so unfortunate, as to leave Diseases worse than they found them: Did not the modesty of my Faith oblige my aversion to Faction and Schism, my reason would do as much for my Conscience by condemning them as monstrous and inconsistent with humane being, since seldom or never introduced without Rapine, Blood, and Rebellion, or such a pernicious Licence that is greedily sucked in by vulgar minds: and it is some Nonsense to expect a good cause from bad effects. If any advantage can proceed out of so much evil, it is, that zeal will not probably amongst us have too much of future reputation; and it is ever safest that what has so commanding a power, if not fascination on the hearts of men, should prudently be doubted; as it is for the most part Hypocritical and false. A flame (though counterfeited to come from Heaven) is enough to strike the Soul with fury and blindness; an overhot zeal will at least tend to frenzy, if not to mischief, as has been a lamentable experience. It is never safe to put Religion out of repute, lest it be not afterwards so soberly esteemed as it had been before: Wherefore the sad divisions and mischiefs produced by our late unhappy Civil War, have abundance of my pity; nothing being more deplorable, than to see the Sword of the Spirit drawn on all sides with the Temporal. I must farther add, that I do not believe any have so much occasioned hesitations and doubts in matters of Religion, as their unfortunate miscarriages or evil Tenants: few men will be fooled with the first: Ill examples are far more obvious to all understandings than disputable. The Orthodox, and true Protestant party, I know are not to be blamed, though the others have done enough to scandal themselves, and these too. Was ever such impieties committed, as that Fanatic tribe of Levi have acted? did they not preach up Blood and Rebellion? did they not Sequester, Imprison, and intrude into one another's preferments? Can any man conceive that these men did believe at all, or fit to convince any body of a contrary persuasion, and practise thus? If such as should be our guides are apt to take wrong paths, they will be mistrusted by those they bid follow. They have left their stains in too deep a dye, to be easily rubbed off, and have nothing but the illiterate madness of their Sects to support their impieties.  
There are another sort of rash and giddy men, (though I conceive not so pernicious to the public as the last) and those are such as will impiously glory, not only in being Scandals to Religion, but as they will debase and profane the very essentials of it in their usual Raillery's: they will not be so humble as to be Dubitants; it is below their wit, if they make not all Belief whatsoever so ridiculous, as to be their Comedy and sport. I need not put myself to the trouble of farther describing them; they are too notoriously known without it: wherefore I pass them by as the worst Erratas in humane Society. To conclude of this subject, let men obey the Laws, the Church, their Prince; and where their Reason is too much refined, let them endeavour to allay it, or acquire so much becoming modesty as to enjoy it with silence: Besides, he that is wise, will give himself caution of being too much an Opiniator, or Singular in his conceptions, lest he prove as great a wonder to himself, as he must be to the world.   

Authors.  
I Have ever thought time more precious, than to bestow much of it on many words, or many Authors: the quintessence of two or three well extracted, is enough to refresh or inform our knowledge on any one Subject. On the other side, there are some that conceive they can never turn over Books enough, though their collections from them are not to much more purpose than if they knew only their names; nay, the reputation of which alone, or having of a great Library, has emboldened some to enter themselves with the Learned: though you find them in those Lists, you may soon prove them Intruders, without going so high as a School-distinction. They will tell you who is an excellent Divine, Historian, Orator, or Poet, so you'll not have an account of their wit. Every man that has Money can purchase , but not consequently the useful demeanour, and carriage in wearing them. I have known some heads so elaborately stuffed with Books, that they have appeared dull, or in a manner stupefied, as to all polite converse: if you do not talk with them of what other men have written, you had as good hold your peace; and indeed they signify no more under the weight of so many Volumes, to the improving or supportance of Science, than the fiction of Atlas does, whom the Poets will needs feign (perhaps from such an extraordinary burden of his brain) to uphold the Axis of Heaven: but I would rather liken them to crouching Antiques of Wood or Stone, which though seeming to labour exceedingly under the weight of a great building, yet signify nothing to its strength or beauty. 'Tis an odd, and fruitless thing to burden our brain with other men's works, and produce nothing ingeniously of our own, or by their means to ride a man's parts to a heaviness or stand. I have known some Scholars that would weary or tire themselves with a Horse, which a Gentleman could with grace and pleasure ride a longer Journey. Nature must refine our converse and studies, or they will be unpleasant or lubberish for our use: wherefore I had rather have one tenth part of Learning joined to the ordinary behaviour and embellishments of a Gentleman, than what a whole College of Students can pretend to from the Schools in gross. I would be able to put on my Band, sit my Horse, or speak handsomely without the assistance of an Author.  
When all is done, every man should endeavour as far as his abilities extend, to be an Author to himself, I mean, in well weighing, improving, and as much as in him lies, perfecting his own thoughts, and next compare them with what he has read; there being nothing more certain, than that the Ingenious apprehension of very many men does complete more useful, and better knowledge than they seek, or can be acquired from Studies: wherefore he is an ill husband of his brain, that does not manure it aswel as he can for his own use. And as I approve thinking, so I somewhat more commend the communication of our thoughts in Writing; not that I judge every man is fit, or would oblige any to undertake publicly to be Authors (except they shall judge their parts suitable,) but I mean as most directive to every man's particular Ingenuity, and by which a man is most compendiously and at hand furnished with his conceptions. There is nothing more commendable, than what does enable a man dexterously to express himself; and no way to do it so well as by Writing himself: if his thoughts be ingenious, they are collected and improved by it; if not, it is a ready way to be acquainted with his defects, and to amend them; besides that it advantages exceedingly our Native language, which can no way so readily be bettered, as by a frequent and correct use of our speech. I have known ingenious men, that for only the neglect, or being cautious to publish what they have written, have either continued unknown, or not had that early repute from the world, which otherwise had been their due: And I doubt not, but if the Writings of such persons were looked into, there would be found (of this kind) many worthy pieces of Wit and Learning, which out of modesty, (or to avoid the hazard of an unkind or unjust Censure) they do not think fit to divulge. Of all manner of penning our thoughts, I hold Essays the best, not only as it is most neat and pithy; but as it comes full, and pertinently home to all concernments of life: besides, it is the essence of thought so applied, and contracted, that nothing can be more fit for ourselves and others: to which purpose I have endeavoured in these few examples here, and some lately published of the like nature. The greatest discouragement I perceived was, (not only as there are few things held good of this kind) but as I proved it no less difficult, than I esteemed it pleasant, there being nothing more hard (perhaps) than to scatter an ingenious and comely variation of thought; yet so, as concisely and properly to connect their dependence on one matter, or Argument, which is the business and beauty of an Essay; the uses whereof should be as familiar to an ordinary apprehension, as the highest of Capacities. Of all the Pens of the Ancients, I judge that of Petronius Arbiter to be in all kinds the most polite and ingenious, it being so familiarly applicable to the Natures and converse of men, as is not to be paralleled by Antiquity: wherefore I cannot raise his commendation higher, than to allow him their best general Writer, or Essayist. And with us, I know of none so near his parallel as the late Sir John Suckling, whose wit was every way at his command, proper and useful in Verse and Prose, equally gentile and pleasant: And I believe he has not too partial an esteem and memory, if allowed the Petronius of his Age. Of all Writers in this way, I judge Montaigne is most taxable, (though I greatly commend his parts) not only as he is very disagreeable or contradictory to himself, but that he is long and tedious, and ravels in a deal of quotations, and things disorderly and out of place; nay, sometimes takes heads to write on, when you read him speaking to other purposes, & things of different nature: For what is more impertinent, than to pretend to write (as he does) of Coach and Horses, or of some Verses in Virgil, and not once touch the Argument he pretends to handle? Which was well perceived by my Lord Bacon, who not only far exceeded him in all respects, but has worthily left himself the best example of an Essayist throughout the world. The main requisites to complete an Author, are, Wit and Judgement; (since how perfectly soever he collects from others, cannot be called his) the one as an ornament, the other a well disposing and contexture of his thoughts. It is true, that wit is more rarely found with men than discreet reason and judgement, since a thousand may be found wise and solid, to one man of refined notions and sense; and yet so wanting to its self, or so fatal to such as have it, as there are none more obnoxious to censure, than the manners and Pens of those esteemed witty. And thus we observe from the Writings of most Poets; if you examine their wit, you may perceive it often; but their judgements by no means so perspicuous: the reason I conceive is, that their volubility and airyness of thought, being so much more predominant, there is left a narrow part of their apprehensions to a solid management of their ingenuities; but are so speciously flattered or charmed with a pleasing (though false Idea of things) that they not seldom elapse into many Errors, and out of indulgence to their Verse, neglect themselves: insomuch as there is nothing more singular in the world, than a Correct or faultless Poem; and I dare affirm, that the too frequent use of Rhyme does not a little conduce to this misfortune; it being very obvious with such, to take a sound or noise in stead of proper expression or sense: As on the other side it is manifest, that the cleverness and strength of a Genius (in all kinds) is not so perceptible as when writ without it. Perhaps my Reader will admire that I, who have dealt with the Muses here and elsewhere, should prepare him so strongly against myself: but he is to know, that as I grant so many failings in other men, so I will not defend what are mine: and I suppose he will be the more inclinable to pardon what he thinks amiss, since I so little bespeak his praise. The most proper commendation that can be allowed good Poesy, is, that it does surprise and present us as it were with new conceptions and wit; from which excellency, I suppose it was anciently honoured with the name of Inspiration: And it is most certain, the more perfect and singular any thing appears writ in this way, it will continue many Ages as conspicuous to the world. I cannot at this day read an Eclog of Virgil's, (not to mention his greater works) but it seems to me not only exceeding delightful, but the most perfect and newest wit, that the attempts of near seventeen Ages since him has yet produced; and is as likely to continue so still, for the reason before expressed. As an Author should be apt and judicious, so he ought to be no less perspicuous. A man may write any thing mystically or hard, nay trifles, as subtly as Metaphysics; as I have known some Learned that would be sure to do them curiously enough; but they forget that a Reader is not obliged, nor ought he to study any thing that is delivered knotty, and obscurely; and yet I have observed some Writers (though in our Tongue they are born to know) that are so cross-grained, as one would as soon undertake to understand the hardest place of Persius' Satyrs, as unriddle their wit; or as the aforementioned Author said of his Writings, that the time would come, when Inter ignotu haberentur, and so I'll leave them. To be short, let a Writer endeavour to be plain and judicious, not close his wit in such a shell, as no body shall care for the kernel; it being unreasonable to expect that any man should puzzle his Brain with that sense, which he believes too intricate for the Authors own understanding.   

Retirement and Solitude.  
REtirement from the too much noise, and crowd of the world, has received both esteem and practice from the good and bad, though on different Motives and respects: the 〈◊〉, as he would make himself more familiar with virtue by an undisturbed contemplation. The wise and great people both in thought and action practised it very frequently. What a noble and contented Solitude, or withdrawing from the world, had Fabritius, Curius, Dentatus, and other of the Romans, even in the Meridian of their fame? Their greatness was not to retire to a vast or plentiful estate, but to a great mind: It was ordinary to find a man thus furnished with them, though his dwelling was but so homely, as to be the capital message of four Acres of Land. And it had no less of policy in it too: for by contemning the world and riches, they commended that virtue which challenged a vast share of both. It was sometimes yet more honourable with them, as when the brightness of their merit was spreading too popular, or began to dazzle the eyes of the vulgar; on which accounts the prudence of that State took well their withdrawing. Thus it was in the Eminent example of the great Scipio, and perhaps one of the bravest Gentlemen and magnanimous person, that State produced: Nor was it any wonder, that he (so greatly entertained with the memory of his past glory) could pronounce that so noted expression of his Solitude, Nunquam minus solus, quam cum solus. And yet it is confidently believed that he no less accompanied himself with his ingenuity in Writing, than his other greatness; as is observable from the assistance that is attributed to him of Terence's Comedies: and doubtless there are many things more acquaint and gentile in those compositions, than are probably to be attributed to a mean African or Slave, such as Terence is conceived to be. How few Grandees at this day will sit down thus satisfied! they can never be Ambitious or great enough; talk to them of retirement, they count themselves ruined or neglected; they will rather confess themselves not Masters of so much ingenuity or virtue, that is worth retiring to. If a man should have advised some some of our late Usurpers, or that quintessence of Villainy and Tyranny, Oliver, that his timely withdrawing from his unworthy Ambition, had been no less honourable, than of merit to his Country; how would he have snorted or canted at such counsel! perhaps he might have pretended purposely to seek God, but never to declare he had leave from Heaven to recede from his wicked designs or power. Which shows us, that good men can be content to take from themselves, what the bad seldom or never will do. Another sort of men there are, who, because the ends of their Ambitions are defeated, or by reason they are not so considerable and public in affairs, as they would be thought worthy to be, will sneak to a pitiful kind of Solitude, or where they may more freely vent their discontents; and of these, there are not a few examples. As on the other side, there are others, who out of a Cynical nature, or a glory as it were not to be great, or as they are indeed perverse despisers and haters of humane Society, will lurk in their corners, but to be sure will carry their evil habits and manners with them, (or as Tiberias did when he retired from Rome to exercise more covertly his Debaucheries) and seem to avoid the world, but not themselves; notwithstanding it is in some kind the greatest obligation they can do men, to remove out of their way. I have no such pike to the world, as that I desire to live so, as not to partake my enjoyments in it; my nature cannot be easily reconciled to the Horrors of Solitude. I cannot believe but a due commerce with Mankind is a very considerable duty of life; as also that I find sufficient cause to admire the splendid and eminent good effects of Providence, that I perceive in the Ornaments and Grandeur of States and Princes; so that I fully enough convince myself, that Heaven is not to be embraced so unmannerly or Monkishly as some imagine. I do not doubt but there are as sublime instructions to be drawn from Courts, as from the strictest Cells; nay, possibly better, since where Man's reason is most adorned and refined, his Soul must receive a considerable improvement by it; and doubtless a wise man ought most to value a suitable freedom in the practice of his faith and manners, since he can be no other way so beneficial to himself and others. Notwithstanding, a sincere and honourable retirement whereby to amend and improve our understandings and virtue, is highly commendable: To avoid the noise and turbulence of the world the more quietly, and undisturbed to look into ourselves, has been the business of the most discreet and eminent of men. It were endless to cite Precedents in this kind: they have sufficiently their praises from many Writers; Virgil and Horace, two especial Poets, approved it, adding no small glory to their Pens by its commendation: though they were both by the favour of so great and munificent an Emperor as Augustus, contrary to their inclinations, in great part debarred their satisfactions in this kind; yet they did not cease their esteem of retirement, as one of the best expedients of humane content and happiness. Had it not been for these recessions of life, and a due time of thought employed from thence, Mankind had never been obliged with so many excellent pieces of wit and knowledge. The Philosophers that made both their contemplation, could in an ordinary Being, Cave, or Cell, deliver their precepts of Learning and life, aswel as the Poets did the sublimity of their wit and inventions. And I have read, that the Grot or Cave, in which Virgil composed his matchless work of Georgics, is at this day to be seen at Naples. And it is no wonder, if the Muses have ever best communicated their ingenuities to persons of temperate and moderate condition of life: Excess being a more general retainer on tumults and triumphs, than on the ease and freedom of thought. Whatsoever a man's condition is, he would at sometimes enjoy a liberty and quiet, to consider himself and his affairs: it has been acceptable and useful to the greatest of Courts and Camps, and all conditions of life, both in order to public and private concerns.  
In sum, he that has ostentation or vanity to be too much known to the world, is in great danger of dying unacquainted with himself.   

Pretenders.  
A Good man is a sure Friend, but a bad man seldom or never one; and he is yet worse, that pretends to civilities and obligations, which he never intends to practice. I particularise none, but condemn all; they have their modes both in public and private Actions. A sort of Foxes that will find holes in Courts, Cities, and Countries, and you may Nose 'em as rankly every where: they will come in the wind of reason do what a man can, and yet will be so confident of their formalities and Addresses, as if they had no rankness about them, or that a Periwig well perfumed were enough; a savoury outside for a rotten brain and heart. They will pretend to strict intrigues of friendship, and for the most part more propensely than desired; but so, as they will ever look asquint toward their ends, which never fail to discover such. If a man have a friendly hope to be any ways obliged by them, he is sure to be frustrated, by reason they are so much beforehand in their design on him. I speak to the world, which on this subject has an ear deaf enough, but I care not: I would have others as little as myself cozened with fine nothings and shadows; but go along as they can, they have the Sunshine on their sides, and I am not likely to interpose betwixt it: I can only choose whether I'll court what I do not care for, and so may others that are wiser than I If I am not in love with empty notions and words, I do not begrutch them of their bargain, that are willing to buy them dear I would no more make use of Circumlocutions in my Expressions, than Prayers; and 'tis odds but he that dares mock men this way, will be as bold with God in another: wherefore I am as apt to blame what is delivered for the most part from our Pulpits, as I do the verbal formalities of Statesmen, or the longwinded Orations and Decorums of Foreign Embassies, whose greatest reality is Form. If Zeal be more complementally bold with Heaven than it need be, I suppose that it has Divines for its Courtiers. I mistrust Schism and Faction for nothing more, than that it appears to be full of babbling and words, which shows on which Sex of Mankind it depends most: A he-Professor and fighter, and a Zealous she-complier, is this Ages general composition of the Mars and Venus of Faith. I can be as soon delighted with Aretine's Postur●s, as Religion in such paint. The pretences of Zeal have so regalioed with the fury and luxury of this Age, that good men might well hope its impotency in the next, did not the world produce so many babbles of extravagancy and folly, as are still too propense to support and continue its allurements and deceits. I called it even now the dalliance of Venus and Mars, and I may in some other respect term it Venus and Mercury: Lust will be always of the Feminine gender, though she seem to wear an ingenious or spiritual shape, or though you, find her in a Smock in stead of a Surplice, as the ready way to propagate more exceedingly in our body politic: but these are a generation I had never much to do withal in jest, and I will less meddle with them in earnest: if the kisses of such Satyrs are sleeker to others than they can be to me, let them enjoy their retirements and underwoods' of Love as they please, or as the public shall permit them. In the mean time, I will believe that what they seem to hunt after, is not worth finding. Vulgar zeal keeps best quarter with Heaven and Men, when the Sullow is more in their hand than head. If their brain goes to Plough with Religion, instead of the grain and blossoms of faith, you will have for the most part weeds. Wherefore wise men might be glad if such would manure their capacities more sparingly in such matters. I do not conceive that when they seem to lie cold or barren, that it is the worst Husbandry of Religion: Nor do I judge that those Ages of our Ancestors, which are called heavy, superstitious, or darker times, deserve the denomination. One may go to Blinde-man-Buff by daylight, as well as by Candle: an overheat in the exercise of Religion, may probably sooner tyre and weary its professors, than a temperate and calm devotion. I hope I may take leave to commend charity and good manners, without being thought a Bigot of Popery: if there were as wise and peaceable men in those times, am I therefore forbidden to think them pious? I am well satisfied that the supreme duties of life are more consistent with an humble belief and practice, than in such, who being inquisitive or turbulent, will take upon them to direct themselves. It must be a weak or foolish Religion, that is not somewhat above ordinary capacities, which would render it too simple to be safe: Wherefore, if Papists can be thus convinced in order to their obedience and quiet, I am sorry that as commendable practice and reason is not as essential to the faith of Protestants; However, I shall not ask pardon for my opinion of such as think otherwise. As public disturbances from Zeal does seldom want Patriots, so the notions of asserting public good and politic pretensions, are never without seduced maintainers and admirers; the vulgar being always ready to be alured by a seeming care of preserving or bettering their common conceruments, though there be nothing at bottom but the utility of their Seducers. It is one of the oldest cheats in the world, and will be ever one of the newest: 'tis but putting on new trimming to an old dress, and the work is done. And thus (to pass by other examples) we may observe the Analogy betwixt the late Scotch Covenant, and the Catholic League in Henry the Third's time of France: if one was the Bawd, the other was the Courtesan; or the first disguised in the habit of the last, whereby to act and revel more unknown. Popularity and ambition will have these pranks, when they design to erect their Trophies.  
To come to ourselves, and late intestine War and dissensions; what had we but a various Anarchy, from almost Forty one to Sixty? (not to mention the execrable Murder of the late King) what did it establish, after kicking down every thing in its way, but that Caper ipse gregis, alias Cromwell, should go astray with his flock? But as these wicked contrivers and fomenters of our troubles have had their Scene in this Age: so they must expect to be as notoriously recorded to future time.  
There are others, who being less capacitated to advance public evils, will serve their turn on private; that is to say with the Proverb, Wil● play at small games, rather than sit out; and these are so very general, that every man's ordinary occurrences does evidence them. It is well for the distrustless and ignorant, that the wise and honest are their defenders; Craft and Cozenage are two such greedy Monsters, as they would devour all otherwise. As there are few men so weak, as to give themselves up directly to deceivers; so there are many that will by't hom● when a pretext is speciously baited: what 〈◊〉 cautions fish will not swallow, enough of th● fry will. We meet it thus in our converse, our deal, and in what is called our friendship; how few are there that do not soon appear bad enough to discover themselves? men cannot enter a familiarity or friendship, but they as soon come to a distance or strangeness with one another: we may have enough of such as will readily call themselves our Friends, but are never extended further than the name. I have known a long acquaintance produce worse effects of this kind, than a shorter familiarity: by the first, if men are bad, they are more familiarly knowing of the disposition they are to work on, and consequently succeed more perniciously: wherefore it is good judgement to be rid of such an acquaintance betimes, or on a small discovery, left you do it after on worse terms: He that is at any time evil, it is very dangerous to give him opportunity to be worse: we may well discharge the intimacies of such, who put themselves away, by first meriting our separation from them. There is no ingratitude but wears first the smooth disguise of friendship; it being ever referred to some precedent endearments by familiarity or obligation, to which purpose the excellent Satirist Juvenal gives us this caution, Ingratos ante omnia pone sodales. Where we entrust ourselves most, the unworthy Nature of man is more empowered to do mischief; wherefore there ought to be no less caution used to whom we commit the fidelity and openness of our hearts, lest we have a false one in return: It being good prudence to doubt most, and trust few; not believing but the denomination and trust of a friend, are sometimes the pretexts and stratagems of a base Enemy. I find it the most general and vehement complaint of Writers in all times I have read of, to reflect most severely on the evil manners of their Age; and I judge they have reason, as being most the concern of men to conceive their present defects and vices worse than such preceded them. And yet I am satisfied enough, that there have been times as tightly bad as ours can be pretended to be. The Art of deceit and lying, I find somewhat ancienter than the Trojan Horse, and the Poets Sinon; notwithstanding the pretended ingenuity and sanctimony of his Character: but the mischief is, that what they rendered most odious, we frequently practise to be more customary and curious in it. If I were asked whether I would have trusted a Porter or Groom belonging to our Ancestors, before some magnifyed honour, and Heroes of this Age; I should take leave, without ask many of their pardons, to grant the affirmative. I cannot admire a modish trick or deceit, though delivered by the most splendid Tongue, or Name. Where the Heart has cause to be ashamed, there is great reason to blush for our words: However, we are somewhat beholding to the practices of our time, in that a Mediocrity or small degree of virtue is able to pass so well amongst us, whereas a stricter Age would be more incompatible in teaching us to be good. I could say as much of Wit, and other pretended accomplishments; but they have been touched elsewhere, or not further necessary to be mentioned in this place.   

Of Living and Dying.  
I Will join these together, because they are considered more than they ought asunder; they are too familiarly acquainted, to be set at distance; and are but the common and evident revolutions of Nature, which gets as much by Death, as she can do by Life: if one thing die, another lives out on't, is too much a common place of Philosophy to be insisted on; I will therefore deal here with their effects or similitude: though we cannot live after death the same, I find we die much after the same rate we lived: the use of life, is but to instruct death; and as we manage the first, so we for the most part conclude with the other. If our first acts are good, there is some hope of a better at last; if not, the contrary; and thus very generally we leave the world. The cure of the Soul when we are to die, is not less difficult than the reparation of the Body: To quit a Disease that has been long upon us, is not easily done in a few moments: A long Journey is troublesome to provide for in too short a warning; the very haste does enforce us to leave something necessary behind us. Wherefore might I have my wish, I would die timely and by degrees; and I am no less beholding to Nature, if my end be so sitted, that I be not precipitately thrust out of the world by death; either as it respects Youth or Age, I cannot but pity it wheresoever I observe it. I would be some time a consuming, and by parts, before I do it altogether: I hold it the most familiar way of Nature so to dispose of us; and I would not have her purposely go out of her way for me: wherefore I am much more desirous to go off with a Consumption than a Fever; the first as a convenient warning of my dissolution, which it prepares in part beforehand; whereas the other has too much of heat and Distemper. Inever affected Drunkenness, and I should be loath to have any thing like its humour in my Brain dying. I much approve a handsome correspondency of Life and Death; I would not be altogether the same dying and living; yet not so as to attempt a Metamorphosis of my constitution at the time I am to be transformed by Nature: If I have lived a Gentleman, I should be loath to turn a Cynic or Capuchin near the minute of my departure: if I cannot more mannerly take leave of myself in leaving of the world, I shall not endeavour at that time to court Heaven morosely, and in a form would not have becomed me before. Besides, it shows too much forgetfulness, apprehension, or despair, to put on a disguise, or absolutely to personate another Character so near our End. A good man has a hard part to Act Living and Dying; but I would not expect such a strict Decorum in the last, that like a Player's, it must needs have an Exit in the greatest word or thing: our Wit and Memory are generally too frail (especially at that time) for extraordinary heights: if a man's last day be not much the worst, he ought not to be so extraordinary ambitious, as by its means to aspire to his best. I cannot but observe too many Austerities, Surges, and wind in the Avenues of Christian practice; one while posting over the Alps to Rome; another time whipped and spurred to Geneva, as if Faith must gad out of our own Country of necessity: besides, we are not seldom too remiss, and again as rigorous in our devotions. Wherefore I could wish our manners and piety were more smooth and facile, which were both Ethical and Natural; and not as if we had not so much to do for ourselves, as others for us. If this excellency be admired in most of the Ancient Philosophers, it does no less highly merit an esteem; whose precepts were equally familiar and complaisant to good manners and belief; and by consequence could guide themselves accordingly. If there were here and there a Diogenes amongst them, a Morose or Cynical Christian may look as oddly amongst us: I would neither choose the confinement of a Tub, or a Temple: such extraordinary and irregular examples of Living and Dying take me not: austerity and sullenness may be as much (in its kind) a form or mode, as capping of the Hat, or cringing the Knee: it is one thing to retire wisely (as I have instanced already) and another to be so dogged as to by't ourselves. I cannot blame any thing so much in the Heroic virtue and constancy of the Romans, as their voluntary Deaths and Suicides; as if they were obliged to live no longer than they thought fit themselves, or when their virtue was not successful or practicable with others, or that of necessity they must die when other men would not be good with them. I had as live fee a Child cry for what he has lost, as hear of an Heroic that kills himself for losing that he cannot keep, (the first I am sure is more natural) and this was the case of Cato, Brutus, and the like. What a Tragedy is it to think of Cato's dying and tearing his Bowels in such a displeasure with the world; or, what was more odious to his severity, the sight of Caesar and his good fortune, or Vultum Tyrannidis, as Cicero calls it. We may imagine the same of Brutus when defeated by Augustus, and even with disdain and contempt of virtue he had so Stoically served,  
O, misera virtus, ergo nil nisi verba eras,  
Sed ego te tanquam rem exercebam, sed tu  
Serviebas fortunae.—  
Which I judge to be some oversight in so great a man, in expecting a certain Superintendency of virtue over the mistakes and accidents of the world, when very often nothing shifts for its self worse, or is more often oppressed than a righteous Cause. Amongst all I have read on, I cannot find a more virtuous Prince, or a juster quarrel, than what our late King defended; and yet the success was no less deplorable: As on the other side, his magnanimous and equal compliance with the last and worst Exigents of his fate, had been as much an example even to Cato and Brutus, as it far surpasses all Moral or Christian Heroes.  
But to return, I do not find any thing so commendable in the Ancients (putting aside some austere examples) as their constancy to themselves and virtues, I mean in beginning betime, and no less honourable and prudent in concluding their lives: They did not set their youth forward in the world with airy and fantastic notions, but made their virtue serious and early: they did not deny it the most weighty employments of Age, when it flourished with suitable endowments; as was seen in Scipio African, who at four and twenty years old, was thought sufficient for the Prudence and Majesty of a Consul or General, and no less successfully managed the War against their most subtle and formidable Enemy Annibal: and it was not to be wondered at with them, whose manners did accustom and ripen so soon their greatness in all kinds. Amongst us (as well as some Ages past) it is far otherwise, our brain has no room for flowers early: if we kill some weeds at forty, and be reformed to some sobriety of understanding and manners then, 'tis passable enough with us; nay, if we come to be better acquainted with piety in a fit of sickness, or take fast hold of our Creed dying, 'tis pretty well. I instance this in respect of our prejudices on all accounts from the inequalities of life. For the time of Death, I find one only most suitable and proper, that is, when we are most willing, and best prepared. Seneca the Tragedian has it thus:  Optanda mors est sine metu mortis mori. 
If well invited, it cannot be  whensoever it comes; and what might be well ended at such a time, perhaps is worse finished in another: I would not depend on Age for this contentation of mind absolutely, because it is very possible it may arrive much sooner; it being usual enough with such as are old, to be better satisfied with their years of living, than any they can number on the account of virtue. In short, when we have summed all the Actions and Contents of life, they do at most, but either fill us, or weary us, which a very few hours can do as well as many; nay, if we consider diligently, the greatest blessings we can perceive or enjoy, they are upon the matter but so many repetitions, as much ours in one day as in many; we are not likely to observe a different order of Nature either in ourselves, or any thing else. Heaven and Earth were the same in our forefather's time, and are likely to continue so after us; and it is no small meanness of Soul, not to have enough of the same thing often, which we cannot better understand, or any ways more perfectly enjoy. When all is done, it must be (as I have touched already) an evenness in living, that can best suit and welcome our separation from the world: He that has lived airily and generous, goes off with no good Decorum, if his death represent a satire or Tragedy against his past life: Nor do I judge that Heaven is much pleased to behold us so unequally: wherefore if such a man does not die capping of Verses, I can allow him some complaisance with Poetry and Wit; and perhaps a thought of that kind, so it be useful and Divine, may go more smoothly upward from his Genius, than a line of the Prophets he has not been so well acquainted with. He that thinks he can more agreeably end with Music than Tears, it were severe to deny him, let his profession be what it will. Though I am far of another judgement than Petronius Arbiter was; yet I could pardon most of his Enormites' (except his being no Christian) for his so gentile and delicate embracing of his end, in conformity with his life, and what he thought was to be esteemed felicity 
— Audiebatque referentes levia  
Carmina, & faciles versus—  And it is probable enough that such as we call Heathen, had a due apprehension of the shame of too great an inequality or tergiversation in themselves; a useful thought for Christians, who above all should endeavour to live and die as becomes their belief.  
I cannot deplore death, (not only as it is so familiar and certain with mankind) but rather find myself obliged to welcome it in respect of its subserviency to the uses of Providence; nay, I am assured, that had we not our periods set by its means, but might live till the world were so overburdened, that's its numbers of men must necessarily be impaired, we should do it but madly and Butcherlike of ourselves, and be glad to receive the natural conveniencies of death for our own sakes. I find (and I do not remember where) a pretty kind of merry wish in somebody, that he might never die; as arguing, that it were nothing for Heaven to exempt from the grave the life of one man. But suppose this person might have obtained his desire; might not he have been weary of living, or abhorred its perpetuity in himself, which to a determined and final comprehension could not be satisfactory? I confess I have sometimes admired how the efficacy of Nature comes so easily, and in a manner contrary to its intention, to be untimely frustrated of life in so many several individual things which perish young: I see it in Trees, and Beasts; and what is most deplorable, even in the most hopeful of humane youth, when removed by Diseases, Accidents, and the like: and yet there is no doubt but to the utmost power and providence of Nature, she intends a due continuation. But this is a contemplation above thought. The most proper and useful consideration that we can have on this subject, is, not to be wanting to ourselves in reflecting on the intemperancies, vices, and imprudencies of life; because these are no less our concern, than in our power to remedy. As for death, as it is of necessity and without us, and claims nothing from us that we can call absolutely ours; so we are obliged and ought to be prepared to bid it welcome: There being no greater imbecility of mind, than in being unwilling to leave Life; which we neither can, or aught to keep.   

Of myself.  
I Have troubled my Reader with some generalities of my thoughts; and I will now, with his leave, limit some to myself; yet so, that as much of the world I find in me, he shall take (if he please) together with me. Every man represents a Microcosm or little world, is old and Proverbial; I find by myself that I represent Mankind somewhat broader and larger. If I construe myself, I can read the world better within me, than without me: the manners of most men have to do in me whether I will or no; there is no Vice or Luxury but my constitution has a twang of, in which my Soul does imbibe more venom than it is able to vomit out of me: nay, I am not ashamed to confess, that I writ against such enormities that I cannot sufficiently abhor. There is no Logician of them all, that can better distinguish Virtue from Vice, than I, though I fail as well as most of them, in the general predicament of practice: my Soul has the misfortune (with others) to be more Speculative, than good. I have invented as many fine things for myself, as most have done; and I as much blame my ingenuity for troubling me to so little purpose.  
Repentance is but the brocage of ill manners, though as dear a Purchase as any man can make for himself: there are many cheaper Bargains to be had in Long-Lane (if you'll pardon the meanness of the Metaphor) than are to be allowed from Philosophers and Divines: the Soul must be at the charge of so many nice and fine Ideas, with either of the last, that believe me, Sense will go near to repent, or vitiate her contract another way; wherefore I blame 'em not, if they allow better bargains to themselves than other men have from them: I am forced to deal with my Soul and Body together, do what I can, or they for me: What I find exorbitant in myself, I am as apt to check as another man; yet cannot fall directly foul with Nature for making Vice predominant, or more necessary in me than I could wish, since she has declared in great part it shall be so, in giving me a suitable temperament and being; I will not therefore be troubled with her will, although I do not absolutely submit my own. When I behold a beautiful Woman, my inclinations want no alacrity to consider her as a Woman, and myself as a Man; nay, I am ready enough to conclude that Nature has intended her as much for my enjoyment as any others, (since her he's and she's have no particular appropriation from any record of hers) until I select some more superlative notions to restrain this propensity of mine. To deal plainly, I find my appetite so strong, or lusty as I may say, that I am forced to make use of not only a Curb to it, but of a Musrole or Martingale to boot; and I assure you, I am glad when both are sufficient to serve my turn together: If I am able to manage myself soft and fairly on betwixt Virtue and Vice, I hold it a good Pilgrimage for my manners: where Nature is irregular, I cannot but go astray something; however, my endeavour shall be to break over as few of her Hedges and Pounds, as any other Man. I cannot for my life allow of that general Maxim (from whomsoever it comes) that all men are by Nature equally evil or vicious, since I find it as fully contradicted, as the complexions and inclinations of men arising from thence can be possibly said to differ. It signifies to me all one, to hold that men are cold and hot alike, that they feed and are equally nourished to one condition or temperament of Body: which is sufficient to manifest what ado and scuffle is made by some to fit a more refined Soul and Body together, than is capable of subsistence from humane life. And here I could make a Query, whether man may not reasonably expect a suitable pardon for such of his offences, as are more properly the impulsions of Nature, than caused by himself? I find no way so obvious to distinguish the essential dignity of the Soul from the Body, as that I can think or contemplate so much better than I do: and here I conceive must be granted an Excellence or a Divine comprehension in the Soul alone; and yet I find that it does so participate of the imperfections of the body, that it seems rather to bungle with those Superlative notions and Ideas that are inherent in it, than to bestow them fully, and expressive on the Intellect. For example, I am Writing on this Subject, which I am beholding to my Soul to deliver, but as she conceives it in gross: if she were able to go further with me, she could declare not only her own being, but as clearly things of a Superlative excellence; which she being not able to execute, is at some stand to discern herself, as likewise her apprehension of whatsoever is of a more sublime subsistency. Every man may find that excellency in his Soul, that no reason (for the impediments above mentioned) is able to give account of: He may think backward, forward, fix his consideration on this or that object; observe such a continual, and uncompelled motion of all the faculties of his Soul, as it seems necessarily to require a more supreme and lasting abode, than can be given it by the Body: nay, if a man considers how far he can recollect past thoughts, and how early Children are for the most part capable and expressive of such knowledge, as could not reasonably be supposed learned, or taught them, it will make a good judgement inclineable to permit the Soul a Divine pre-existence or being. Wherefore I cannot believe the Incarnation, (though held by many so incomprehensible a fundamental of our Faith) to be more a Miracle, though a greater, since they differ no more, than that the one is the general Divinity of Mankind; the other a more Supreme and Sacred essence in the mystical Union of both Natures in Christ. But I will say no more of this particular, lest I make my Readers head ache, as well as mine. Every man has enough to do with the world, but I find that my understanding is more intricately troubled with myself; I am not so overseen or mistaken in any other man: I know where to have other men's thoughts in greater measure by their Actions; as the covetous, fraudulent, dissemblers, and the like. I act none of these parts against myself; wherefore they are nothing of my business with me: where my actions are most common with the rest of Mankind, I find my thoughts not only different from them, but from such other of mine as my Brain is pleased to furnish me with; I cannot choose but perplex myself with what I have found is not to be understood, as well as some I am acquainted withal: I find my Soul is willing to instruct me, but cannot; and yet I am still inviting her to be my Tutoress: I am so unhappy, as never more to doubt my knowledge, than when I consider much: where I would take it profoundly, I find it shallow; and I prove it the same in others that have plunged deepest. I very often perceive my conceptions more jarring within themselves than with other men's, wherefore I am better prepared to receive their instructions than my own. I am far more delighted with such Authors as are rather ingenious, than curious and subtle; which is no small reason that the nice distinctions and Doctrines of the Schools, is less the Ambition of my knowledge. I have observed enough the difference amongst Philosophers of the best repute, to build any certainty of Science from principles which at best go not much higher than probability: The curiosity and search of man's understanding I proved large; but that Nature had much strained his intelligence in order to himself. To Mathematics I have been more indulgent, in respect it depends on demonstration, and a method to conclude certainly on something: but as I endeavoured to proceed, I soon found many things in it rather intricate and profound, than useful; or as the French say, Le Jeun' vau pas le Chandelle: wherefore I concluded in general, that a taste of Books, or such a Cursory knowledge as became a Gentleman, was most advantageous to my Genius. Above all, I found that the wit of manners, such as is in Cicero, Seneca, and some of the Poets, conduced most to refine Nature; giving it such a politeness of Spirit and Judgement, as was best suitable to the uses of life in all kinds: In short, I hold it more agreeable to enjoy the world, than to be overmuch cumbered with its contemplation. I pen nothing of weight, but I find my conceptions various and incertain, which not seldom betray my reason into a Labyrinth of doubts, and so leaves it: though I cannot discern the way out, I do not forbear to bring my apprehension where I can least guide it; and thus I lose myself, when I would be most considerately found by my understanding.  
I writ with as many blots as most men do, and yet I have found sometimes occasion to blame myself for not making of more: Insomuch that I have been not a little concerned that I have published some things over-hastily, or without such a diligent examination as I could have bestowed on them. I would not by my will have enabled the world to judge better of my sense, than my own reason might have done for them and me too. Ben Johnson said of Shakespear's Works, that where he made one blot, he wished he had made a thousand: If my brethren of Parnassus be content with me to take as many amongst us, I will with good satisfaction share with them, though I do not find more of my Lines that deserve a Purge for being Aguish or Gouty, than I do of theirs. As for praise, I never much courted it, or thought so meanly of my ingenuity, as to endeavour its support that way: where I have thought my lines strong, I have never apprehended they could be Crippled by a Critic. If some have smiled at my wit, I have perhaps done the same at their censure. I could never carry myself so smoothly towards the perverse or indiscreet, as to arrive at the reputation of being one of the ingenious of their Club or Society; which seemed all one to me, as to be thought one of the wisest Fools amongst them; though perhaps I might have been celebrated for such a toy, on as easy terms, as I see it bestowed on others, who are well enough content to enjoy a repute of wit, at the cost of theirs, or other men's folly. I never increased my aversion to men's parts, or what I conceived their failings, out of any pique to their persons, (though it be the Splenative and contemptible carriage of some) nay, I have ever endeavoured to set the keenest of my Wit against my own failings in all kinds; and have been no less troubled to perceive that such blemishes as I have at one time pretty well pruned from my Genius, should at another season spring again. I love myself too well to write my own satire, and yet I am not ashamed to tell my Reader that my own Salt has inwardly galled myself. I have sometimes considered other men in a balance with me, and have found cause to depress myself, as much as I have exalted them: where I judged their Abilities weighed lighter than mine, I have added some grains to make them more ponderous to my understanding. If I have allowed any more favour than they have deserved, or returned me, I repent it not, as being more suitable to humanity, to have more kindness for the best things of men, than to be over-severe or froward at their worst.  
Experience is said to be the Mistress of Fools, and she has been so far my knowledge of the world, as that I have trusted and been deceived; nay, with that indulgency too, that I have not concluded men so bad, as I have had cause enough to think them; though when such had been well proved by me, I could not have imagined them so vile as I found them.  
I have this more to say for myself, that (were it not for ostentation) it lies sufficiently in my power to compare myself advantageously with the greatest part of men of as generous a birth as I am, (I will pass by what ingenuity or learning belongs to them or me, lest they take it too ill, if I do not allow them more wit and knowledge than I pretend to) wherefore I would be understood in manners only, to the defects of which I dare affirm, I do not find myself so prone as many of my degree. I study no form of words, or modes of deceit: I am neither so prodigal or covetous; no associate of such Cabals of impertinency and debauchery, as not a few of my equals are addicted to. If I have been so frail as to have to do with Vice, it has been alone, and with a blush. I stave off no Creditors with hard words, or put them to the expense of Suits for their own. I deal with men as I would have men deal with me; that is to say, plainly and justly: I find enough in the world that I better, even in the worst things: I am ne●ther so bad as I could be, or as they are and would be; which I might take to be some credit to my imperfections, if they could deserve any: and I do not pretend to an absolute virtue. In sum, I could never endure to render myself so ridiculous to myself, as to pretend to be more religious, or morally good, than well became my conscience to assert, (notwithstanding I observe nothing more commonly and easily counterfeited, both as to private and public respects) I will therefore leave such disguises to men of suitable designs and interest: if others hold them Patriots, they shall be none of mine, but against my will. I desire neither to abuse myself, or the world; if I do not find cause to adore my desert, I am as far from endeavouring to receive the Idolatry of other men.  
'Tis generally said of Painters, that they figure themselves best; and it may be aswel affirmed, that men suitably accomplished are most able to write themselves: wherefore of many Histories, Lives and Characters of men, delivered by the Pens of the ingenious, it would not but have been at least as useful, if for the most part they had published as diligently themselves: I should much rather have chosen to read the Lives of socrates' and Plato, as also some of the best Poets, communicated by their own Pens, than Alexander or Caesar by Quintus Curtius, or Plutarch. But as some men are over-modest, so others are as much ashamed to express themselves truly and home to what they ought to discover; which may be the reason that the world is not so usefully knowing in this kind.  
In the mean time, as I have received some satisfaction in communicating thus far myself unto me, so I shall as willingly receive my Readers pardon for troubling him with what he has so little to do with: though I am fully indifferent in appearing what I am to the world, as to my thoughts: or if at any time he shall conceive this method useful for himself and others, I could wish that he would so far improve it, and me, as to publish as indifferently his Figure; that I may take as deep inspection into his, as he has had of mine.  
FINIS.    

The PREFACE To the Paraphrase on Cicero's LELIUS.  
OF all the most exquisite Eloquence that has proceeded from the Tongue or Pen of man, the world has justly allowed a supreme esteem to this Author's, of whom Pliny says, Solus in toga Triumpham meruit linguaeque lauream: Insomuch that it may be affirmed, that Cicero's Pen has given more honour to Rome, than the Sword of her Captains and Armies which magnanimously subdued so great a part of the Earth to her Dominion: Her Conquests we see (suitable to the common fate of greatness) have received a period long since, whilst the Writings of this Author are at this day supreme throughout the world.  
His Expression was not more happy, than his thoughts profound. If we take him as a Philosopher, he was questionless one of the most learned of the age he lived in, or perhaps that has succeeded him. To the Schools he came betime, yet more early flourished in Eloquence; being said to have been able to Declaim in Greek at fifteen years old: which shows us, that Wit is far more the production of Nature than Art.  
This Treatise which he calls Lelius, or De Amicitia, written by him to Pomponius Atticus, the Reader may perceive to have been a Dialogue-Discourse betwixt Lelius, Scaevola, and Fannus, Romans of good account in the time they lived, which I take to be the Age next preceding his: famous in producing Scipio African, Cato the Elder, both of whom receive an honourable mention here; but most especially the first, whose most excellent virtue and converse with his noble and worthy friend Lelius, does in no small measure dignify this Treatise, to whom Cicero gives this especial Commendation in his 4th Book of Tusculane Questions, Sapientiae studium vetus quidem in nostris, sed tamen ante Lelii aetatem & Scipionis, non reperio quos appellare possim nominatim.  
Whether the subject here treated was wholly Compiled by Cicero, under those names; or whether he found some precedent matter (which I rather believe) and so bestowed a polishing on it by his Eloquence, is not certainly known: However it were, I dare affirm that the worth of this Author's Pen does not more eminently appear in any thing written by him, than in this his most excellent Treatise of Friendship, the Title whereof shows sufficiently its use and value.  
There are few men so bad, to deny the worth and benefit of Friendship, though I conceive the Age we live in is as little prepared to practise it, as most of the former; since we find men's respects so much applied to their own uses, that it is rather a complying of Interest, quae ad Commodum accedit, (as Seneca observes) than any regard or application to worth: A consideration that might have given me disincouragement enough from conveying this Treatise into our Language and Verse, (notwithstanding it's repute more than seventeen hundred years in Prose) though it has no small reason to prevail on our Judgements and manners, in delivering to us how absolutely the virtue of Rome was united to her greatness, and in particular that affection and esteem her Citizens received from the goodness of their manners; which cannot (if duly weighed) but advantage public and private concerns.  
And it is some admiration, that from so ominent and worthy an example as Rome, whose virtues have been more than twenty Ages conspicuous to the world, so little has been practised of the precepts of so great a Mistress: Nor had she the good fortune to continue many Ages her own example, as may be seen by her Empire's declination and fall; it being the worst of her fate, to be ruined by having her Vice too exorbitant for her power to subdue.  
What I have here effected, I have Entitled a Paraphrase in Verse rather than a Poem, not only as the essential matter is not mine, but as I have taken liberty to enlarge the subject, or decline proper names and circumstances, (as the Reader may perceive) which though sweetened with the Eloquence of Cicero, would not have received a like Harmony from Verse: A licence most allowable and useful to Poesy, whensoever it has to do with Prose; wherein if my thoughts have not too unhappily mingled with his, I doubt not but I am free from debasing them by mine, or rendering what were properly his beneath themselves.  
For the main, I have followed his manner of Dialogue and method, as may be understood by the Original; excepting that I have divided the whole into three parts, of which I have made his Preface one.  
The great abundance of this Author's Eloquence and matter, in this and other his Treatises, (which like a pleasing fountain flows into many streams) does rather show his copiousness of thought than superfluity of Imagination; so that it may seem impossible for him to have added more to his own sense in point of Expression or Ornament.  
What I have here done, is not with the confidence of an Orator that would presume to intermix his Pen with Cicero's; but rather (as I have instanced already) a Poetical Licence that may defend me in Verse, whilst the other would have justly condemned me in Prose: And so I leave it to the Judgement of my Reader.   

A Paraphrase in Verse on Cicero's Lelius, or of Friendship; written by him to Pomponius Atticus.  

PART. I.  

OF Caius Lelius worth, Fame much did tell,  
When Rome all Nation's Virtue did excel,  
And him amongst her prudent Robe esteemed,  
Then Mutius Scaevola he wisely deemed  
The chaste Espouser of his Daughter's Bed,  
Of whose high Wisdom much by Fame was said;  
When he a wondrous Roman Augur fate,  
Foreseeing thus successive deeds of Fate,  
Which keeps no Circle constant to mankind,  
But rounds a Centre too sublime to find;  
Though it can never swerve from Nature's Law,  
Whilst Fools to Fortune would enslave their awe.  
But pass we hence to Scaevola's greater fame,  
Where tully's richest words exalt his Name  
And Lelius, did with him of Friendship treat,  
With Caius Fannus: soon after died the great  
And warlike Scipio, from Africa not more famed,  
Than in this Treatise we have Lelius named:  
Which from me Atticus thy Love required,  
Nor is there subject more my Soul desired  
Than Friendship gives, the Gold of Worth and Love,  
Which does mankind to noblest acts improve.  
Of Cato's prudent age, before I writ,  
And thought its Patronage might thee befit;  
He wisely lived, but flourished most in years,  
Which, reason (Mankind's f●mest staff) most fears:  
So much his Wisdom did my Soul delight,  
That more his words than mine, I strove to write.  
The same for Lelius here my Pen would do,  
Whose sage deserts conveyed with Cato's too:  
Think now he speaks or dictates to my Theme,  
As it admired th' immortal Cato's Name.  
Lelius to Scipio-Affrican a Friend,  
What praise, or greatness farther can extend?  
And thus to Fannus Lelius had expressed.   Fan. 
Who then replied, Let our discourse not fist  
With too short mention of his mighty fame  
That raised the honour of our Roman Name.  
Of his and Cato's worth, who would not hear,  
To which our Senate such respect did bear?  
Thy graces too for ever Fame must own,  
Not l●ss to us, than to wise Cato known;  
Gifts of thy mind too great for to compare  
But with his, People, Senate, held so dear.  
Thou wise from Nature, Manners, study, too,  
What more than these could Cato's merit show?  
Thy Prudence does felicity so place,  
As 'tis the Goal for thy swift Virtue's race;  
And accidents of man dost so despise,  
That thou instructest Fortune to be wise.  
Of me and Scaevola, thy great Friends have sought  
How Scipio's death did wound thy noble thought;  
Because that in these Nones thou didst not come  
To Brutus' Gardens, the delight of Rome,  
Where no day passed, but we from thee might hear  
Thy prudent Comments so divinely rare,  
Applied to things most high import mankind,  
Bestowing thus the Treasures of thy mind.  Scaeu. 
True, I must witness what our Fannus spoke  
When thy Friends grieved l●st Lelius Soul might take  
Too strict a sorrow for great Scipio's death,  
Or bid adieu to life on wings of breath:  
To which I answered, though I had observed  
Thou in thy value of him hadst not swerved  
From moderation best declares the wise;  
Yet, might thy Soul be pierced with humane eyes,  
No grief could there be wanting does become  
The Friend of Scipio, and concern of Rome:  
But for what cause thou hast withdrawn of late,  
To sorrow, or thy sickness does relate.  Lel. 
Of me kind Scaevola has justly spoke,  
Nor has my Soul such vain impression took,  
That I can mourn one hapless hour away,  
Which duty to my Country bids me pay;  
This Constancy expects, and Rome of me,  
Which for no sorrow must neglected be.  
Great Scipio's Friendship I admired more  
Than my best thoughts can e'er his loss deplore!  
His virtue best instructeth me to know  
How Publick-duty private does allow:  
This in our Zamas Battle was beheld,  
When Romans did their lives to glory yield,  
He wept not in that day one Roman's fall,  
But joyed their Valours forced their Funeral:  
And should I mourn his death who died so great,  
'Twould look as if Fate could his Fame defeat.  
But ere I more of his high virtue speak,  
Thy Love does Fannus me too equal make  
To matchless Cato, who chief of Mortals knew  
What humane Wisdom most became to do;  
Nor think that mighty Sage Apollo chose  
Before his Prudence could himself propose:  
His deeds and say might have added sense  
To what Greeks feign their Oracles dispense.  
But to my Scipio I will now return,  
And tell you how my Soul his death does mourn:  
Should I deprived of him my loss deny,  
'Twere worse than Stoïcal stupidity;  
Touched I am deeply, and may truly say  
My Soul's best joy deceased in his last day:  
Nor can I hope that man shall ever be  
Graced as I was with such an Amity:  
He died so great, that 'twere my Friendship's crime  
To wish he lived to die a second time;  
Which does present such comfort to my Soul,  
That I the world's fond way of grief control:  
No hurt to Scipio could by death accrue,  
His famous loss to me most harm did do:  
Though too much my misfortune to lament  
Were a concern too great in my content.  
His virtue did arrive to such a height,  
That more Immortal 'tis than Stars or light:  
What did he not accomplish man can praise,  
Or who a wish above his deeds would raise?  
How much did Rome his Noble youth admire,  
Majestic great, yet full of Martial fire?  
His Uncle, Father, both great Consuls Slain  
In one day's Field fierce Annibal did gain,  
Whose Fate and Carthage were reserved to be  
The fame and glory of his victory:  
Rome's Consulship he never did demand,  
His virtue not himself did for it stand:  
Though twice that honoured office he has graced  
Once before due, as soon when due so placed:  
Wars present, future Triumphs he obtained  
Whilst Carthage conquered what power next remained,  
For Empire of the world with Rome durst cope,  
So much his deeds obliged her warlike hope:  
His manners to his actions honour were,  
Subduing passions, Nature's roughest War:  
He Armies taught the worth of Civil Laws,  
Which more Victorious made Rome's Martial cause:  
'Twere endless all his graces to declare,  
What pious Son his Mother held so dear:  
Liberal to such allied to his high blood;  
Just unto all, to Friends most kindly good:  
These deeds I doubt not are well known to you,  
And how our City him lamented too,  
That Crowned his end; and who'd be valued more  
Than him, great Rome held worthy to deplore?  
Each year he lived, more joy his past still brought,  
Who aged died, yet unimpaired in thought;  
His Life so great, that Death itself took care  
For his Soul's flight, his Body's pain to spare.  
The day before his last auspicious come,  
When him our Conscript-fathers' waited home,  
To us foreshowed that Rome's rewarding Gods  
Would soon demand him to their blessed abodes:  
Who can consider his desert, and say  
Souls die and live our Bodies Mortal way?  
This made me judge how wise and pious thought  
Religious rites unto man's practice brought;  
Concluding, that Immortal Souls must be  
Disrobed of Sense their mean felicity;  
A Theorem our Ancients held Divine,  
And as 'twas worthy Scipio's, so 'tis mine:  
He it confirmed almost with his last breath,  
To show he better things did hope by death.  
Wherefore his end my friendship can't lament,  
Since Heaven in him receives a full content:  
Nay, could I think that Souls with Bodies die,  
And felt no more of humane misery;  
'Tis palpable, that as death brings no good,  
So it our hurt cannot be understood:  
In Scipio dead I am blessed, as I rejoice  
My Soul's high honour in his Love's great choice:  
From him I learned what friendship did import,  
And saw its meanness in the vulgar sort;  
My sole concerns with his our Loves did join,  
And his Republick-cares embraced with mine:  
Not that I would my Fannus should surmise  
That his esteem declared us equal wise;  
Nay, durst my thoughts that Parallel extend,  
'Twere less than to have been our Scipio's Friend:  
Few Noble Friendships' Ages passed could show,  
Nor shall like his and mine the future know.  Fan. 
Wisely has Lelius to this period brought  
His Scipio's worth, which shall survive all thought;  
Though Rome's Dominion with its weight should sink,  
Our foes, like us, would then on Scipio think:  
But to our Loves it would most grateful be,  
Did Lelius farther treat of Amity:  
Thy precepts on that subject fain we'd hear,  
Nor can it but oblige a worthy ear.  Scaeu. 
What Fannus moves thy Scaevola has said,  
When no less earnest I thy Wisdom prayed  
On Friendship's Sacred Text thy thoughts to know,  
To which Rome's Worthies so much greatness own,  
This homebred glory first her Empire raised,  
Whose Faith no less than arms by foes was praised.  Lel. 
To what from Lelius kindly you require  
This time of leisure, think not his desire  
Can be averse, or that your Loves could find  
Discourse more welcome to a Friendly mind;  
Though well I know what strength of thought 'twil take,  
And what distinctions subtle Schoolmen make,  
Who in nice-worded deeds their Friendships' place,  
Or with Pedantic Maxims it debase.  
What Paradoxes of all kinds do we  
Observe in Greeks admired Philosophy?  
Our Duties they with such contest do show,  
That in their Ethics Authors Wars we know:  
This makes me Judge how vainly man is taught,  
Who Reason learns from Canting Schools by rote,  
Forgetting knowledge is our Nature's light,  
For which with Syllogisms these Gownsmen fight:  
Their differences fond Science did increase,  
Which taught Religions to dispute their peace,  
When humane-concord Faiths did soon invade  
Indulged to Priests, advanced their pious Trade:  
Not that we do good precepts useless read,  
As our frail manners, or our Faiths them need.  
Though I admire far more that Sacred life  
Of untaught Nature, when with Vice at strife;  
Or such a Soul for precepts is too great,  
Which wise simplicity had Roman state,  
With courage Fortune never could subdue  
But in extremes were then most happy too:  
These without teaching did their Fates control,  
Who kept more knowing Schools within their Soul.  
What should I Regulus or Camillus name,  
With such of ours whose worth surpassed fame?  
Their lovely deeds their countries' Love declared,  
Whose virtues by our foes were only feared.  
No public Cheat Rome's Ancients did contrive,  
Who only in the Commonwealth would thrive;  
They did not greatness in soft Vestments ,  
But all effects contemned of pride and floath:  
These Noblest patterns of best Friendships were,  
Each public, private Amity their care:  
Thus Rome bad Members unsinistrous great,  
Whilst mean Intrigues selfended m●n create,  
When to Cabal designs they close embrace,  
And in a Vizard wear a public face:  
This shows what sublime Ethics do impress  
The Souls of those that pious Friendships bless;  
Which in the Counsel 〈◊〉 my Love you ask  
To be your virtues great and highest task:  
No humane good deserves a name like it,  
That does adverse and prosperous Fortune fit,  
Which to accomplish I'd be understood  
T' advise you place your Friendships on the good;  
We best ourselves do guide as they direct,  
By which two Souls one common good effect.  
Man's life has many rugged ways to go,  
The smooth our paths of Friendship chief show:  
Nor need I with the nicely learned debate  
What prudence is required to this blessed State,  
A subtlety by them too fond raised,  
Who goodness by its wisdom would have praised;  
Though wise and good so strictly they agree,  
That 'tis in man impossible to be:  
Enough the prudence of my Friend I know,  
If he my Duties in his own does show.  
More to dispute than will our lives supply,  
Were like such notions that in Schools must die;  
If in my Friend I goodness Justice prove,  
By him, without the Learned I'm taught to Love.  
Rome's Discipline our Father's virtue taught,  
Who outdid Ethics Greece had learned by rote:  
Such; who embellish worth by reason's Law,  
Want no profoundness which from Schools men draw.  
With our best powers, if virtue we pursue,  
We for ourselves at least most wisely do:  
This innate prudence first did man direct,  
His civil rule and Friendship to effect.  
When Cities laid Foundations of their power,  
Appeasing Vice the Monster did devour  
All humane concord, so much blessed to be  
The first effects of pious Amity:  
Without which, Mankind still had Savage been,  
And Reason's Lord a wild destroyer seen,  
Each man to man a warful Privateer  
On Earth and Seas, where force could domineer:  
Did reason not adapt his mighty Soul  
Fit for all Creatures and his own control:  
From this high step our Natures did contract  
Man's Neighbouring kindness, and that stricter pact:  
His more United Love does Friendship name,  
Sacred to few, as it to few first came:  
What definition can this subject raise,  
So truly great, as it exceeds our praise?  
Of all man's Soul's divinest gifts the height,  
Rays of that sublime flame and Heavenly light,  
Which did the graces of his Love inspire,  
From whence Heroic Friendship kindled fire.  
Let others sordid riches, pleasures, make  
Th' Ignoble pastime which their Souls do take;  
Mine never meanly shall my Soul divest,  
Or think my reason sensually can feast;  
Which most denotes the frailues of our life,  
Though with our prudence should be most at strife.  
My chiefest good in virtue shall consist,  
And with my Friendship most I'll Vice resist:  
This shall direct me, and its worth preserve  
A path from which great minds should never swerve.  
Life wer● Ignoble could we not rejoice,  
Our Concord's in our Love's deserving choice:  
What can so sweetly our swift time convey,  
Or what such wise and kind returns can pay?  
In prosperous things Friends equally are pleased,  
And in adverse by them our fates are eased:  
My Friend's misfortune I more sadly bear,  
Than for myself my virtue can take care.  
On Elements which Nature kindly gives,  
All things subsist as well as mankind lives;  
Yet not these blessings we more vulgar know  
Than Friendship does its Nobler uses show:  
From Childhood, Youth, its caution us directs  
And has on old-Age no less wise effects.  
I'd sooner live without the light or air,  
Than of my comforts in a Friend despair:  
Let Riches, Honours, on their wings take flight,  
Or in fruition Fool their appetite:  
My bosom feeds on pleasures highest Feast,  
When to my Friend my Soul's a worthy guest:  
Of him, my mind a fill can never take,  
All times and seasons he does welcome make:  
His Love forbids my future good to fear,  
Or doubt my present, joined with mine his care:  
Who can his life but happily maintain,  
When such a prop its burden does sustain?  
His Breast a Mirror is, in which I see  
A joint reflection of felicity:  
Him absent▪ present, I alike delight,  
Nay dead, his virtues still survive his sight:  
In him the better part of me subsists,  
My Soul, my Body moves, but Loves most his.  
This virtue should man's best esteem create,  
Which does to such. Transcendent deeds relate;  
The force of Union here the world maintains,  
Where providence with such high grandeur reigns,  
Should it one cause of Concord disunite,  
Twoved puzzle Heaven to set its works at right:  
To humane life Man's discord is a Curse,  
Which (than all beings) renders Mankind's worse;  
This, the world's reason knows both just and true,  
Though 'tis man's crime and fate, so bad to do.  
In words who will not worthy acts commend,  
Or him that with his peril serves his Friend?  
But how unworthy are such Ethics made,  
If of their practice Reason is afraid?  
Orestes, Pylades, such Friendships make,  
As either sought to die for either's sake;  
This fiction we on Theatres behold,  
A Noble Moral in high Language told;  
Which to applaud, yet live less great and wise,  
Shows that our Fables do our lives despise;  
Our guilty Nature blushing to confess  
It knows more good than we in deeds express:  
Thus far my speech this Noble Theme has brought,  
And what remains from others may be sought.  Fan. 
Too soon a close our Lelius us affords  
On this high subject, heightened by his words,  
Fit to prolong the fleeting hours of day,  
And raptures to our nightly sleeps convey:  
The thread of thy discourse yet more extend,  
Though it will length still want when it do send.  Scaeu. 
Well hast thou Fannus spoke great Lelius worth,  
Thy Love provokes him farther to set forth,  
As once I did when sweetly passed the day  
In Scipio's Gardens, whilst with us did stay  
The accurate Philus, gravely argued too;  
Yet learned from Lelius what was fit to do;  
Who did so wisely Justice make his cause,  
That it might have been written with Rome's Laws.  
But on our Friendly subject more to touch,  
And briefly to declare what I think such,  
By it the most agreeing Love I mean,  
Or such admits few turns to raise its Scene,  
Which constancy and Justice must defend,  
Who's various soon may falsely be called Friend▪  
A worthiness of mind my Love expects  
From him I love, or he my Love neglects.  Lel. 
Hard 'twere my Scaevola in Friendships' cause  
(Which of all humane has the kindest Laws)  
T'enact such strict Conformities of life,  
Which with our Natures have too high a strife:  
Virtue 'tis true, we chief should allow,  
And yet not Criticise upon it so,  
That no allay should pass amongst its gold,  
Whilst we our souls in Bodies do behold  
Composed of dross, in which 'twere vain to think  
Our minds can pass Lifes-strands and nothing sink:  
Friendship I can't resist could I not find  
A well-deserving Love in humane kind:  
Virtue in us must this foundation lay,  
Our Friends would else like bribes their Friendship pay.  
As on this subject often I have thought,  
This worthy question by my Soul was brought,  
Whether man's helpless life or want should be  
Sufficient ground to enter Amity;  
Or whether giving and receiving prove  
The mutual endearments of his Love?  
Which virtues near affinities express,  
Though more the Beauties of its cause confess,  
That from our Nature's goodness did arise,  
Or from above inspired the great and wise,  
Whose Souls Divinely did themselves prepare  
To fix such Concord's before Friendships were,  
Which, had I not a Friend, it's worth would show  
How much beforehand, me, the world does owe.  
Our Souls their own internal Love assigned,  
But scorned to be unto themselves confined:  
Which great instinct diffusive soon was made,  
Whilst men did Traffic for their virtue's Trade,  
Unburthen'd with the freight of meaner ends,  
Which for design or profit seek out Friends.  
In Friendship nothing feigned or false should be,  
A choice unmixed of man's felicity,  
Pure as we Souls in Bodies can suppose,  
When to their Vice alone declared Foes.  
How contrary a course the world does run,  
And few there are who are not first undone  
Before the virtue of their Friend they prove,  
Or his ingratitude does meet their Love.  
A Friend too dearly by his Friend is bought,  
That proudly gives respects, or would be sought,  
Expecting for his good deeds to be prayed:  
Who takes my Money is less meanly paid,  
Than such a sordid or unkind return,  
A grief our Souls are most obliged to mourn:  
Their best estate of life is then destroyed,  
When Friendship fails, or meanly is enjoyed.  
My Love I place not to advance my gain,  
But on a worth that may with mine remain;  
In which consists the prudence of our choice,  
When minds are matched that best themselves rejoice.  
On virtue's lovely-Ethicks man should feast  
Before his amity deserves a guest:  
Her entertainment highly does invite  
Our Souls the good of others to delight;  
For whose bright sake we virtuous Friendships show;  
Nay prove its force toward such we do not know:  
Who can great Curius, or Fabritius name,  
Though dead, and not rejoice their living fame?  
As much proud- Tarquin's memory we hate,  
With Cassius, Melius, vicious in our State.  
Though Martial Pyrrhus did with Rome make War,  
Him less than Annibal we hated far,  
His virtue did his Arms more friendly make:  
But how unworthy did Rome's honour take  
The cruelty of that great Punic foe,  
Our Cities lasting- Odium well does show;  
If we th' effects of probity confess,  
Obliged by Enemies its worth express,  
How much a greater power does goodness gain,  
Which more familiar we with friends maintain,  
And with our hours such benefits renew,  
As most endear our Loves and Virtues too?  
what's beneficial we shall surely find,  
Though 'twere a meanness by us first designed:  
To fly unto our Friends when fate us drives,  
Is like a Pilot in a Port survives,  
Which in a calm perhaps he ne'er had sought,  
So in a storm our Souls should not be brought  
To Friendship's harbour, to which we should steer  
More to protect our goodness than our fear.  
In our best strengths our amities should meet,  
Not in our froward age, or youthful hear;  
But when we wisely obligations weigh,  
Yet need them less than ready such to pay.  
What did my Scipio of his Lelius want?  
Nor did my Fortune more my Friendship scant:  
His virtue I designed my Love's high choice,  
And his as gratefully did mine rejoice.  
Large is th' extent of good that does accrue  
To such who wisely Noble Loves pursue,  
Their profits sure, yet entered for no gain,  
Nor are they ours of whom we can complain  
That our concerns obliged us to require  
Such kinder deeds as they should first desire:  
Request's a bribe good men should seldom take,  
Who would be sought to, can his Friend forsake.  
The fruit and growth our virtue should expect  
Is that our Friendship greater it effect:  
How then should we contemn that giddy race  
Who their unworthy Loves in pleasures place?  
A motive we in sensual creatures see,  
Which for such brutal ends as kind can be.  
No wonder then if we descent from these,  
Who more their Bodies than their Souls would please,  
Unworthy farther mention to obtain,  
But in a vile contempt of thought remain.  
Our more Etherial minds should upward move,  
Whose centre's here, but have their Sphere above,  
From whence benignly on us do descend  
Those divine comforts betwixt Friend and Friend,  
In whom our Souls industriously delight,  
Their own fruition's in their appetite,  
Unwearied to enjoy, as to improve,  
That Friends may merit equally and Love:  
This only should their worth's contention be,  
And best denotes, and profits Amity.  
Whilst such, self-ended-Friendships do contract  
Imply disunion as they make their pact:  
Worldly respect mean humane Nature joins,  
And soon, as meanly, dissolution finds.  
Man's Friendships Sacred are that still remain  
Linked to our Souls with their divinest Chain:  
Thus far, its height and rise I do declare,  
Unless you'd more enlarged this subject hear.  Scaeu. 
Too soon would Lelius cease what's well begun,  
Rather believe thy race of words does run  
Less swift than does our ear receive delight,  
Nor have we yet from thee but distant sight  
Of that fair Goal, to which our Love should haste  
When on its noblest wings it flies most fast.  Fan. 
With Scaevola's request does Fannus join,  
As our affections we to thee assign.  
The End of the first Part.   

PART II.  
MArk then, you Excellent, as I set forth  
The sage discussion which great Scipio's worth  
Did with his Lelius on this Subject raise,  
For which I more his noble Friendship praise.  
Though nothing has man's Ethics so perplexed,  
As knowledge joined with practice of this Text.  
When amicably good our Manners be,  
We after life rejoice their memory:  
But how inglorious do our Friendships' fall,  
If before death we see their Funeral!  
Nor small's the task man's highest virtues take,  
When in the various change of things they make  
Their Amity's as constant as their life,  
Preserved from discord, or injurious strife.  
This sense my Scipio wisely did declare,  
Who least of men had cause his worth to fear:  
He in his own great soul did grieve to find  
Most to their Virtues less than Interest kind.  
How few expedients of man's life comply,  
That don't perplex, or thwart his Amity?  
In public cares the good sometimes descent,  
Which makes the evil worse they would prevent.  
Adversities man's friendships disunite,  
Or as we grow in years impair its might:  
Mixed with our Childhoods Pastimes is this crime,  
And more obnoxious to our youthful time:  
The Gown of Manhood most no sooner take,  
But they their friends before their Youth forsake.  
To Luxury man's nature's frail and kind,  
And for its sake our souls are oft disjoined.  
Honour and Riches strongly have their cause,  
The high usurpers on our friendly laws:  
For these, unto our Forums most will crowd,  
And strive in Eloquence to be most loud.  
How truly Worldlings for their money grieve,  
That not a tear for virtue's sake will give!  
Most can lament a Friend or Father's loss,  
Compelling drops ill nature seem to cross:  
But if concerns of profit those obtain,  
All may conclude that such no sorrow feign.  
What Plague so desperately man's soul infects,  
As that we find his covetous vice effects?  
For this he forfeits Honour, life of Fame;  
Destroying Goodness, to enrich his Name.  
He Friendship cheaper than his Grain can sell,  
Whose Coin th'impression of his Love does tell.  
The Best, concerns of Honour do admit,  
As glory to their Virtue and their Wit:  
Though Passions here sometimes their loves divide,  
Swelling those graces with ambitious pride:  
Dissenting from a friend such justly find,  
That seek to bias his discreeter mind.  
Who asks what is not fit of me to have,  
More justly my Dislike than Love does crave:  
Whilst some t'assist their Vice will friends desire,  
Yet think amiss when Virtue bids retire  
From aiding of such Crimes they would commit,  
As most their Friends before their Vice will quit.  
The seeming-good the best pretences find,  
And to oblige their ends as outward-kinde;  
And thus the inward soul of Vice conceal,  
Till deeds the evil of their hearts reveal.  
A worthless love who would not but neglect,  
Since 'tis to virtue but our just respect?  
Though many ways on mankind Fate impends,  
It most appears in disuniting friends.  
So ill proportioned is our humane life,  
That virtuous men with bad must live at strife.  
The just extent of Friendship we should weigh,  
Lest we beyond its bounds ourselves convey.  
Our Country's love we chief must preserve,  
Opposing such who from it ill deserve.  
Can Coriolanus justly friends invite  
T'assist his Arms against our State did fight?  
Who can be worthy of a Roman name,  
That on its Ruin would exalt his fame?  
Who Becellinus Tyranny would aid,  
So vilely did his Monarch-friend invade:  
Or Spurius Melius base designs assist,  
Or the more dangerous Gracchi not resist,  
Whose factious Greatness set Rome's hearts on fire;  
A Fever by which Empires oft expire,  
When popular men their fierce Seditions move,  
And their Ambition cheats the People's love;  
Though all Rome's worthy friends did first forsake  
Th'unworthy Cause and Party these did take.  
But how ignobly Blossius had complied,  
When before me and Consuls undenyed  
His friendship, to seditious Gracchus' Cause,  
And was that Roman's friend to break Rome's Laws;  
Which, though his death did expiate his end,  
Declares him not worse Citizen than friend.  
Thus no excuse our Amity's can give,  
If we Ill men for love of others live.  
In every act that Virtue we forsake,  
The moral good of men a foe we make.  
Whatever we ask, or what we grant a friend,  
Must not to vicious self-respects extend.  
What made Rome's Consulate so wisely great,  
With all the Magistrates of Roman State,  
But that they use of Virtue understood,  
And never sought or asked but what was good?  
From whence our vigorous State took noble life,  
And was with Vice more than with Foes at strife.  
The end of the Second Part.   

The third and last PART.  
FIrst to confirm such ●●●s our Friendships bind  
Our Amity's should strictly be designed;  
Free from Compliments with unworthy deeds,  
Lest in our Souls shoot up injurious weeds,  
And choke those flowers of Virtue, man's delight  
Should be to cultivate, and make more bright:  
Whilst nothing for our Friends but good we do,  
And for its interest only to them sue,  
Secured in what we ask without delay,  
As our desires one equal good obey.  
Thus mingling souls, we mutual love endear,  
And nothing great or wise without our care.  
Who will deny their actions just control,  
Advised by friends to whom we join our soul?  
True reprehensions we from such must hear,  
And what their loves require, submissive bear.  
To our Friends eyes our breasts transparent be,  
And better than ourselves, ourselves they see:  
The surest Pilots to direct our course  
Against the raging world's impetuous force.  
No smooth-faced flatteries from them we find,  
The Sirens which ensnare frail humankind;  
But Truth unmasked, as it may useful prove  
T'assist our Virtues, and increase our Love.  
Some whom the Grecians would for Wisdom praise,  
As on this Theme they subtle notions raise;  
Require man's Amity's should not be such,  
That he may feel their burden being much.  
Wherefore to few they goodness would extend,  
Lest to themselves they are too little friend.  
Self-love's security, and meaner good,  
Have in their Ethics well been understood:  
Who judge it too much in our life's estate,  
To suffer with our own, another's fate.  
Others more meanly (as we touched before)  
For love unto themselves, would Love implore,  
And in their hands the staff of Friendship take,  
Less for their friends support than theirs when weak.  
Who thus infirmly would man's Ethics raise,  
May woman's Weakness join unto its praise.  
The weak and wretched justly aid require,  
From whence diffusive good is man's desire;  
The Sunshine of whose soul in Love is placed,  
(As by that Orb of light the world is graced)  
When no defects of Charity appear,  
Or interposing of our earthly care;  
The spreading rays of Virtue do obscure,  
Or yield no comfort which should others cure.  
This Constitution to my soul I'd ask,  
To make the love of others still its task.  
No less I grieve man's vice, than I rejoice  
The life of Virtue when 'tis made his choice.  
Such Passion none in prudence can deny,  
It being th'effect of wise Humanity.  
The ornaments of love we soon destroy,  
Should it partake no friendly grief or joy;  
Which, man would meanly liken to a be●st,  
Or the dull Flint that hides flame in its breast.  
Wherefore we justly rigid Stoics blame,  
Who give unto hardhearted virtue Fame,  
And with Heroic pride so fill the mind,  
That Virtue must not help from Passion find:  
Whilst man to man might thus unuseful be,  
And all his Ethics but vain Theory.  
Our Souls with practised good delighted are,  
Be it Supreme we need not passion fear:  
Our Nature's something must our Souls relent,  
And not continue virtue useless bend,  
Which should so tractable and feeling move,  
That it must fix concerns with those we love.  
Who wants that sense, takes Friendship from his life,  
And has with virtue more than passion strife:  
That does man's amity contract, and raise  
Those graces higher which his Love do praise.  
What's so absurd, as vainly to admire  
That empty greatness to which men aspire?  
Or that the Body's neatly trimmed and dressed,  
Or under Stately Roofs it feed and rest?  
Whilst the Souls decency they most neglect,  
And no one act that's comely good effect.  
Such minds the worth of Friendship cannot weigh,  
Nor its returns, or just receipts will pay:  
Though most it does all humane-bliss complete,  
When in obliging others we are great.  
What more Divinely can our Souls embrace,  
Or what's so like to Heavens sublimer grace?  
Which adds unto such wants we can't supply,  
Or in assisting of our good does lie:  
This I conclude all virtuous will approve,  
Whose upright manners best allure their Love:  
Whilst thus obliged, the wise and good select  
Such objects that like goodness most affect;  
Which Nature teaches from her just desire,  
And virtue does for greater strength require:  
Wherefore my Scaevola and Fannus know,  
That to humanity this debt we own,  
The Fountain whence those streams of Friendship break,  
Nor must men judge that they their goodness make  
Too vulgar, if too many it enlarge,  
Which placed on few, would seem like Niggard charge.  
The virtue of their Souls most great, men see,  
When public good speaks its utility,  
Which if our charity does not partake,  
We love not mankind, but for Interest sake:  
This cuts the knot which virtuous Friendships hold,  
Rendering man's Love slave to himself and gold.  
No Interest I delight my Friend can give  
So much, as I rejoice his Friend I live:  
And who'd so meanly worldly things possess,  
As not to merit Love, or Love express?  
This suits a Tyrant's false mistrustful state,  
Who from the good does most suspect his fate:  
No place for Friendship is within his breast,  
Whose Love with thought of his vile guilt's oppressed:  
And from the cause he others gives of fear,  
Does make their just affection his despair:  
Which shows that nothing should our Loves unite,  
But as good Laws and Manners join their right.  
Time-serving Friendship's otherwise we know,  
Whilst all we can to their obligements own  
Is, that occasions to our worths they give,  
Though such forgetful, or ingrateful live.  
Fortune though deified, is figured blind,  
And most Infects their sight to whom she's kind;  
Who being elated with successful pride,  
Think (th' insipid happy) none deride.  
How soon good manners do most men lay by,  
As they increase in Wealth or Dignity?  
And with a prosperous guilt old Friends decline,  
Selecting new for every new design:  
Though such as worldly things do most delight,  
To power or Fortune oft resign their right.  
Whilst worthy Friendships nothing can remit,  
Or chill their vigour with that Ague-fit  
Which man's instable temper does embrace,  
That in Disease of virtue good does place.  
Can any such a barbarous life enjoy,  
And it rejoice, though Friendship it destroy;  
Or live a life deserted by his Friends,  
Rather than he'll neglect unworthy ends?  
Nor must our Loves that mean proportion show,  
Which does no more than we'd be done unto:  
Virtue delights in good most unconfined,  
And less is to itself than others kind:  
From which impulse, the good such means embrace,  
As they'd decline to use in their own case:  
Virtue some rigour willingly lays by,  
To raise more comely our humanity.  
Well I remember what great Scipio spoke  
'Gainst such whose Souls one equal balance make  
For Love and hatred, as if virtue's powers  
Were not above the strength of vices ours:  
With whose high sense so far I'll mine complete,  
As whom I once do love I'll never hate:  
Virtue would else herself too meanly spite,  
It for our passions she declined her right.  
What man to Friendship wisely can be brought,  
Whilst bade mistrusted wounds his juster thought?  
The good and prudent well their choice foresee,  
And on like worth will place their amity;  
But weak and vicious when they Friendships close  
Soon by their own defects are turned to foes.  
Once more unto my Scipio to return,  
Whose Noble Soul as worthily did mourn,  
Observing how men virtue did despise,  
And their mean interests before Friendships' prize:  
With how much diligence accounts such keep  
Of Herds they pasture, or their Flocks of Sheep!  
Yet of their Friends-so small a number give,  
As if for men they did not useful live:  
'Mongst whom 'tis rare a generous Love to find,  
The Phoenix most admired of humankind;  
Which man's frail temper seldom does effect,  
Whilst to be good and wise the most neglect.  
If many on th' account of sordid gain  
Their Friendships and their Piety can slain;  
How much a greater part are drawn aside  
With the vain baits of Luxury and Pride?  
Which their Calamities oft greater make  
Than those distresses such in Friends forsake:  
A Friends affection none can certain find,  
But in that change where Fortune's most unkind:  
In prosperous things most lay their Friendships by,  
And with adverse more rarely will comply;  
Both which conditions of our humane life  
With virtue and ourselves are most at strife:  
Who constant to his Friend in either is,  
Has in himself the best of humane bliss,  
And like to Heaven in ample goodness moves,  
Not hindered by the fate of those it loves.  
Our Friends oblige our Souls and Bodies trust,  
Which shows how great's our guilt when proved unjust.  
Man's Faith and Love his virtue most refine;  
The brightest Gems in which our Souls can shine.  
Gentle and easy in a Friend I praise  
With such plain manners Love does smoothly raise:  
To all vainglorious or of froward sense,  
I least desire my Friendships to dispense.  
Nature has men agreeable designed,  
Whose Faith and Virtue still continue kind.  
A constant goodness to itself's a grace,  
And is the Throne on which my Love I'd place.  
What's less becoming of a Friendly Ear,  
Than if it credit what it should not hear?  
Or who'd delight in accusations brought,  
Much less accuse that would a Friend be thought?  
Such may in front appear Serene and Just,  
Though he's no Friend that can his Friend distrust:  
Doubt is unworthy of a Noble mind;  
The weak and faithless change in humankind.  
Nor to my Soul a question it can be  
(Did both require an equal amity)  
Whether in Youth or Years, my Friends I'd take;  
No more my reason suits, than that we make  
The Horse or Camel do our service young,  
Whilst Friendship by long usage grows more strong.  
Do we not see how Custom gives some right  
To things we use, and adds to their delight?  
Who long has known a mountain-seat may find  
As much content, as when from Sun and Wind  
Another makes the shade and woods his choice,  
Yet in their used abodes alike rejoice.  
Many the graces are our Souls require  
To fit that union which our Love's desire:  
Superior place of birth a Friend may claim,  
But in affection must have equal name.  
Of all our Roman Worthies, none are known  
That would precedency in Friendship own:  
Man's virtue should like Parallels comply,  
Whose just extent in one broad line does lie.  
Though aged before the youthful he'll embrace,  
That with grave knowledge will his Friendship grace:  
To Age our wise forefathers would submit,  
Which did their youth for War and Council fit.  
Where we affect, in deeds we must it show,  
The hearts untilled, when barren Love does grow:  
Man's goodness is in good of others placed;  
Who lives unto himself, is meanly graced.  
My mind's best Gifts and Fortune I'll impart  
Unto all such who have obliged my heart.  
The great to meaner Friends support should give:  
He lives divinely for man's aid does live.  
Wisely did Poets in their Fables lay  
Obliging deeds great men to meaner pay,  
In which we Kings and Hero's often find  
Preserved by Ruralls, that of humankind  
None should above such obligations live  
The Cottage sometimes to a Court can give.  
Man's goodness has most Universal right,  
The mean and greatest equal but one height:  
Superiors speak themselves whose good descends,  
He's to no purpose high, that nothing bends:  
As much Interiors by their virtue rise;  
And who is great, that can their worth despise?  
Nature in men her own degrees does raise,  
Though headless Fortune gives the worthless praise.  
Some of necessity Supreme must be,  
As virtue does advance their dignity:  
Nor must Inferiors be concerned to find  
Fortune and Merit to themselves less kind  
Than unto such in both above them placed;  
But judge their Friendships are in them best graced:  
Though that Ingratitude I have often found,  
Where Pride has swelled, or made the heart unsound.  
How frequent may we hear such men regret  
The worth of others, or meanly else repeat  
Some Friendly act of theirs did it advance,  
As if 'twere meant them less by choice than chance:  
Of all men odious those I hold to be,  
Who on their Love put this Indignity;  
Basely he does his obligations weigh,  
That for them bids his Friend take care to pay.  
No value by th' obliger should be set;  
He meanly takes, that can obliged forget.  
Such justly may their own neglects believe,  
Who to themselves too great a merit give:  
Or else does only happen unto those  
Whose manners they suspect will raise them foes:  
Though men opinioned thus themselves neglect,  
A virtuous Friendship succours that defect:  
Their utmost merit Love will soon allow,  
And no less aids the worth it does avow.  
Yet our affections must their limits see,  
Whose great and Noble cannot therefore be  
Obliged his Friend shall equally partake  
Things, which respect and Nature different make:  
No more than one beloved of a King  
Should look that it to him a Crown would bring.  
We must not more obliged ourselves desire,  
Than what our just capacities require:  
The prudent will their value duly weigh,  
Who knows his price his worth in part does pay.  
Self-love's a Crime which in our Souls we find,  
And sometimes Friendship's too Indulgent kind.  
When it impedes such deeds men should pursue,  
And to their safeties more than honour true.  
This in the Poet well we may discern,  
Where Lycomedes Love would so concern  
Neoptolemus, who Troy with dangers sought,  
Neglecting kindness he too tender thought.  
Duly he weighs himself and Friend, who moves  
For such respect their virtue more improves:  
No less what's fit to ask we should conceive  
Than what becomes a giver's worth to give.  
Justly we can't with their desires comply,  
Whose want of merit bids us to deny;  
And is that fate our amities produce,  
When virtue's disproportioned for their use.  
The best of cautions men their Souls can give,  
Is not too soon their Friendships to believe;  
Lest our affections meanly we bestow,  
Or place our Love where virtue is a foe.  
Such to endear, we wisely should select,  
Whose just desert does first their choice effect:  
He rather violates man's friendly Laws,  
That does esteem without a virtuous cause.  
Our Charity to all we must allow,  
Whilst Friend to all would vicious Friendship show:  
The world's ill manners he must needs embrace,  
That his esteem does universal place.  
So few have merit, that we must not hope  
To give our amities too large a scope:  
The mean of men are man's Ignoble foes,  
And all such Friendships sordid Interests close:  
No more of humane good in them we find,  
Than what appears unto themselves most kind;  
These for their benefits the richest use,  
As if (like latest beasts) they men might choose.  
Such motives only can our hearts unite  
That have unto our Souls obliging right:  
Men Love themselves without design or end,  
No less should our respects endear a Friend;  
Which if not mutually transferred, must be  
Designed ●or ends of worthless amity.  
True Friendship such mysterious Ethics Joyns,  
As it in two one Moral worth defines:  
A Friend unto a Friend's not less the same,  
Than if both Souls into one Body came.  
'Tis Nature's partial care in Man and Beast,  
That both too sensually themselves love best;  
Yet man no Creature does so brutish find,  
Whose sense does not instruct it to be kind;  
So far the meanest Animals agree;  
Nay more, invite their like to Amity.  
If this appear in Creatures ruled by sense,  
How much should reason for man's good dispense,  
Lest it to which his brutal vassals bow,  
Him Tyrant to himself and them does show.  
Our humane being has the chiefest grace  
Where Friendship's fair Societies we place:  
Nor had man's virtue e'er such greatness shown,  
If good men had enjoyed their worth alone.  
A solitary virtue few desire  
That would not uselessly themselves admire.  
Our Ethics then attain their Noble height,  
When to ourselves and others they have right:  
Which blessed estate man chief does possess,  
As his Societies his Love express;  
In this we honest glory, pleasure find,  
And what Crowns all, tranquillity of mind.  
Who ever was so Impious to deny  
That Friendship gives to man felicity?  
In other things we reason may dispute;  
In this, the most Ill-natured sense is mute:  
That even all such who virtue most contemn,  
The useful good of Friendship will esteem.  
Such men whose manners were so strictly wise,  
As they could honour, pleasures, wealth despise;  
Yet no such Cynic amongst these we find,  
That did reject the Love of all mankind:  
The good and bad in this alone conspire,  
Since Vice does make this virtue its desire.  
There's few ill-natured vicious that aflect  
Their manners should obl●ge their own neglect;  
Or that their practised evil would allow,  
Did none to it or them a kindness show:  
Which tells men would in all estates receive  
Affection, to their lives a life does give.  
If any so Morose and Cursed appear,  
That they for man's converse do little care;  
Or to some Solitude with hate retire;  
Yet in that bitterness they'd soon desire  
Some one to whom they might their ill express,  
And more rejoice the evil they confess:  
The worst of men their like will kindness show;  
Who has no Friend, lives to himself a foe.  
If man on Earth so happily were placed,  
That he a fill of all delights embraced;  
And only man's converse denied to him,  
Who lives so bad would this a pleasure deem:  
Nay more, could one above the Stars ascend,  
And were so blessed besides to comprehend  
The brightest glories Heaven and Nature know;  
Yet even all this unpleasant bliss would show,  
Without he could it to some breast impart,  
Kind to partake the wonders of his heart.  
No blessing reason will receive to be  
Deprived of Man's converse and amity:  
These, for our help and comfort she requires,  
And do no less oblige our just desires.  
So many ways by Nature man is taught  
How virtues pleasing good should win his thought,  
That to themselves they most absurdly live,  
Who from their Outlawed Vice commands receive,  
Nor can men Friendship so secure express,  
As nothing shall impede its happiness:  
Some misconceptions we may well pass by,  
More to advance our own fidelity.  
Where I admonish, it shall be my care  
Not to offend his Love I bid beware.  
My Ingenious Friend neat Terence has observed  
That flattery more Friends than truth preserved:  
Truth does the vicious grieve, because their shame,  
Whilst wise and good improve by taking blame.  
Such more unto their Vice than Friends are kind,  
That of their Crimes would not be put in mind:  
He is a worthless Friend whose Love is lost  
In having of his evil manners crossed:  
Who's so offended to himself's unjust,  
And ruins Friendship to preserve his Lust.  
Who has a wish of good unwilling sees  
How men Indulge their infelicities:  
If such we flatter, we smooth Vices way,  
Which slides more fast, if not obliged to stay.  
Below a Friend, or Free-mans-Soul he lives,  
That neither counsels truth, or truth receives:  
Where truth distastes, or is refused an ear,  
There virtue's safety we may justly fear.  
Wise Cato this discerned, whose prudence chose  
Rather to merit the most bitter foes,  
Than Friends that soothe the failings of man's life,  
Or would not with his Vices be at strife:  
From such we truth are never sure to know,  
Whilst malice or revenge do oft it show.  
Who disapproves the Crimes, his Soul do wrong,  
Will joy to hear them from a candid Tongue.  
There's no concern should men more cautious make,  
Than not for Friend a flatterer to take.  
Truth's Copy in no paint of sense is known,  
Whose grace, simplicity best shows alone.  
How unbecoming Eloquence does show,  
Which popular men on flattery bestow:  
How loathed are such, when we compare their ends  
With our upright and graver Roman Friends?  
In Scenes of Fiction, that which seems to b●●ng  
The truth to light, we hold the highest thing:  
What then is worthy Friendship's just esteem,  
Which in all actions falsehood does condemn?  
An open heart affection does declare,  
Which Truth discovers without search or care:  
Men fruitless Love, and are beloved in vain,  
Unless their Souls improvement thence do gain.  
A Sycophant on him does most prevail,  
Whose heart resembles his that does assail;  
Whilst such to Parasites betray their ear,  
That sooth themselves, or love their praise to hear.  
Virtue herself so wisely understands,  
That all vainglory has her countermands.  
The seeming good their virtue most do cheat,  
And by dissembling Vice make it more great:  
Such in their feigned repute will take delight,  
Whose manners unto goodness have least right:  
With these small concord worthy men can hold,  
Whose Tongues to blemish falsehood must be bold.  
If one of two obliging truth neglects,  
The other soothes such lies the first affects.  
Can any judge their hearts are friendly joined,  
When both to truth and virtue are unkind?  
An airy Monster puffed up thought is made,  
That vainly owns such worth it never had;  
Or stupid guilt which flattered Souls does blind,  
Who joy what in themselves they cannot find:  
Though Reason's sight is seldom not so keen,  
That by it open flattery 's unseen:  
The occult and subtle, men should most beware,  
Which Serpentlike glide wilily to the ear:  
'Gainst such our Prudence highly should oppose;  
Who are but seeming Friends, are worst of foes.  
Some I have known that would discussions raise,  
Appearing to decline their sweetened praise,  
Until they greater blandishments invite,  
And give up reason to their fond delight:  
These from untutored sense receive a shock,  
As all vainglorious Wit itself does mock.  
But pass we these imperfect deeds of men,  
To finish this high Theme, which Tully's Pen  
Gives to the world, amongst that useful store  
Of matchless Eloquence he writ before:  
By whom, thus Lelius his discourse now ends,  
Know Scavola and Fannus much loved Friends,  
That virtuous Friendship does such worth declare  
As its relapse or fall we cannot fear,  
In whose stability our Souls find rest,  
Though with our passions or deep care oppressed:  
A splendent Love that does convey such beams  
As kindle in men's hearts their mutual flames;  
The highest good that worthy minds can choose,  
Whilst bad-mens' manners only it abuse.  
Who loves without ends, loves his Friend indeed;  
He's meanly kind, that's kind for his own need.  
Virtue does her effects enough dilate,  
Where good's the cause, men need not good entreat:  
The wise and virtuous cannot miss their ends,  
Who prove men worthy  they call 'em Friends.  
Similitude our appetites rejoice,  
No less becomes the prudence of man's choice;  
His like in age and manners to delight,  
What suiteth youth, in old appeareth light.  
Life's frailty does this just support require,  
That good-men's aid and Love we should desire:  
The worth of Friendship lasts when life does end;  
And so great Scipio died, and lives my Friend:  
In Life and Death his virtue is the fame,  
Conspicuous to posterity and fame:  
No great and noble deeds can man achieve,  
But may a pattern seem which his did give.  
men's worthy acts by death have their increase,  
Fame most unenvied lives at Life's decease.  
Thus I my Age and Memory employ,  
To make my dead and living Friends my Joy:  
Let your Loves also do the same with mine,  
And to your Friendships strictly virtue join;  
Without which no good act deserves esteem,  
As its obliging thought shall close this Theme.  
FINIS.