Glass. 
 Book. 
 
 _- _ 9 
 
 Q 
 
POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 EDITED BY ROBERT BELL 
 
 LONDON 
 
 JOHN W. PARKER AND SON WEST STRAND 
 
 1854 
 
 
LONDON : 
 
 SAVILL AND EDWAEDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS-STEEET, 
 
 COVENT GAEDEN. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Memoir 9 
 
 To my Lady 41 
 
 Preface to the First Edition of Mr. Waller's Poems, 
 
 after the restoration, printed in the year 1 664 . 42 
 Preface to the Second Part of Mr. Waller's Poems, 
 
 printed in the year 1690 44 
 
 On the Danger his Majesty [being Prince] escaped in 
 
 the road at st. andero 49 
 
 Of his Majesty's receiving the news of the Duke of 
 
 Buckingham's Death 55 
 
 On the Taking of Salle 56 
 
 To the King, on his Navy 58 
 
 Upon his Majesty's Repairing of St. Paul's 59 
 
 To Mr. Henry Lawes, who had then newly set a Song 
 
 of mine in the year i535 62 
 
 The Country, to my Lady Carlisle 63 
 
 The Countess of Carlisle, in Mourning 65 
 
 In Answer to One who Writ a Libel against the 
 
 Countess of Carlisle , . 66 
 
 Of her Chamber 67 
 
 To Phyllis 68 
 
 To the Queen Mother of France, upon her Landing . 69 
 
 Thyrsis, Galatea 70 
 
 On my Lady Dorothy Sidney's Picture 72 
 
 To Vandyck 74 
 
 At Penshurst 75 
 
 To my Lord of Leicester 76 
 
 1—2 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of the Lady who can Sleep when she Pleases ... 78 
 
 Of the Misreport of her being Painted 78 
 
 Of her Passing through a Crowd of People .... 79 
 
 The Story of Phoebus and Daphne, applied 80 
 
 fabula ph03bi et daphnes 81 
 
 Song 82 
 
 To Mrs. Braughton, servant to Saccharissa 83 
 
 To my Young Lady Lucy Sidney 84 
 
 To Amoret 85 
 
 On the Friendship betwixt Saccharissa and Amoret . 86 
 
 At Penshurst 87 
 
 To my Lord of Falkland 90 
 
 To my Lord Northumberland upon the Death of his 
 
 Lady 92 
 
 To my Lord Admiral, on his late Sickness and Recovery 94 
 
 The Battle of the Summer Islands. In Three Cantos. 96 
 To the Queen, occasioned upon Sight of her Majesty's 
 
 Picture 104 
 
 Of the Queen 106 
 
 The Apology of Sleep, for not approaching the Lady 
 
 who can do anything but sleep when she pleaseth 108 
 
 puerperium 110 
 
 To Amoret 110 
 
 To Phyllis Ill 
 
 A La Malade 112 
 
 Upon the Death of my Lady Rich 113 
 
 Of Love 115 
 
 For Drinking of Healths 117 
 
 Of my Lady Isabella, Playing on the Lute 118 
 
 Of Mrs. Arden 118 
 
 Of the Marriage of the Dwarfs 119 
 
 Love's Farewell 119 
 
 From a Child 120 
 
 On a Girdle 121 
 
 The Fall 121 
 
CONTENTS. V 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of Sylvia 122 
 
 The Bud 122 
 
 On the Discovery of a Lady's Painting 12 a 
 
 Of Loving at First Sight 124 
 
 The Self-banished 125 
 
 To Sir William Davenant, upon his Two First Books of 
 
 4 GONDIBERT' 125 
 
 To my Worthy Friend, Mr. Wase 127 
 
 To a Friend, on the Different Success of their Loves 129 
 
 To Zelinda 130 
 
 To my Lady Morton, on New-year's Day, at the Louvre, 
 
 in Paris 131 
 
 To a Fair Lady, Playing with a Snake 133 
 
 A Panegyric to my Lord Protector 133 
 
 To his Worthy Friend Mr. Evelyn 140 
 
 To his Worthy Friend Sir Thos. Higgons 142 
 
 To a Lady Singing a Song of his Composing 143 
 
 To a Mutable Fair 143 
 
 To a Lady, from whom he received a Silver Pen . . 145 
 
 On the Head of a Stag . . : 146 
 
 The Miser's Speech 147 
 
 To Chloris 147 
 
 To a Lady in Retirement 148 
 
 To Mr. George Sandys 149 
 
 Chloris and Hylas 149 
 
 In Answer of Sir John Suckling's Verses 150 
 
 An Apology for having Loved before 153 
 
 The Night-piece 154 
 
 Part of the Fourth Book of Virgil's 'JEneis,' Trans- 
 lated 155 
 
 On the Picture of a Fair Youth 159 
 
 On a Brede of Divers Colours 160 
 
 Of a War with Spain, and Fight at Sea 160 
 
 Upon the Death of the Lord Protector 164 
 
 To the King, upon his Majesty's Happy Return . . . 166 
 
 On St. James's Park . . . . 171 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of her Royal Highness, Mother to the Prince of 
 
 Orange 175 
 
 Upon her Majesty's New Buildings at Somerset House. 176 
 
 Of a Tree cut in Paper 177 
 
 To a Lady, from whom he Received the Copy of the 
 Poem entitled, * Of a Tree cut in Paper,' which for 
 
 many Years had been Lost 178 
 
 To the Queen, upon her Majesty's Birthday 179 
 
 To Mr. Killigrew 180 
 
 Verses to Dr. George Rogers 181 
 
 Instructions to a Painter 182 
 
 Of English Verse 192 
 
 To a Person of Honour 193 
 
 To a Friend of the Author 194 
 
 To the Duchess of Orleans, when She was taking 
 
 LEAVE OF THE COURT AT DOVER 195 
 
 To Chloris 196 
 
 To the King 196 
 
 To the Duchess, when he presented this Book to Her 
 
 Royal Highness 197 
 
 These Verses were writ in the Tasso of Her Royal 
 
 Highness 198 
 
 The Triple Combat 198 
 
 Upon our late Loss of the Duke of Cambridge . . . 200 
 
 Of the Lady Mary, Princess of Orange 200 
 
 Ad Comitem Monumetensem de Bentivoglio Suo . . . . 202 
 
 Upon Ben Jonson 202 
 
 On Mr. John Fletcher's Plays 204 
 
 Upon the Earl of Roscommon's Translation of Horace 205 
 On the Duke of Monmouth's Expedition into Scotland 
 
 in the Summer Solstice 206 
 
 Of an Elegy made by Mrs. Wharton on the Earl of 
 
 Rochester 208 
 
 To Mr. Creech, on his Translation of 'Lucretius' . . 209 
 
 Of Her Majesty, on New- Year's Day, i683 210 
 
 Of Tea, commended by Her Majesty 211 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of the Invasion and Defeat of the Turks, in the year 
 
 i683 211 
 
 A Presage of the Ruin of the Turkish Empire . . . 214 
 
 Stay, Phoebus! 216 
 
 Peace, Babbling Muse! 216 
 
 chloris! farewell 217 
 
 To Flavia 218 
 
 Behold the Brand of Beauty tossed ! 218 
 
 While I listen to thy voice 219 
 
 Go, lovely Rose 219 
 
 Sung by Mrs. Knight, to Her Majesty, on her Birth- 
 day 220 
 
 ^xologazn attfr (frplagxtzH. 
 
 Prologue for the Lady- Actors 221 
 
 Prologue to the 'Maid's Tragedy' 222 
 
 Epilogue to the 'Maid's Tragedy' 223 
 
 Epilogue to the 'Maid's Tragedy' 224 
 
 epigrams , <%tta:p£g, Htth $xK%mzvdn. 
 
 Under a Lady's Picture 225 
 
 Of a Lady who writ in Praise of Mir a 225 
 
 To One married to an Old Man 225 
 
 An Epigram on a Painted Lady with ill teeth . . . 225 
 
 Epigram upon the Golden Medal 226 
 
 Written on a Card that Her Majesty tore at 
 
 Ombre . 227 
 
 To Mr. Granville (now Lord Lansdowne), on his Yerses 
 
 to King James II 227 
 
 Long and Short Life e 227 
 
 Translated out of Spanish 227 
 
 Translated out of French 228 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Some Verses of an Imperfect Copy, designed for a 
 
 Friend, on his Translation of Ovid's ' Fasti' . . . 228 
 
 On the Statue of King Charles 1 228 
 
 Pride 229 
 
 Epitaph on Sir George Speke 230 
 
 Epitaph on Colonel Charles Cavendish 231 
 
 Epitaph on the Lady Sedley 232 
 
 Epitaph to be written under the Latin Inscription 
 upon the Tomb of the only Son of the Lord 
 
 Andover 233 
 
 Epitaph unfinished 234 
 
 gxfrhte Ij^aimu. 
 
 Of Divine Love. A Poem. In Six Cantos . .. . .. . . 235 
 
 Of the Fear of God. In Two Cantos 244 
 
 Of Divine Poesy. In Two Cantos 248 
 
 On the Paraphrase of the Lord's Prayer, written by 
 
 Mrs. Wharton 251 
 
 Some Reflections of his upon the several Petitions in 
 
 the same Prayer . 252 
 
 On the foregoing Divine Poems 254 
 
 Postscript . 255 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 1605 — 1687. 
 
 Edmund Wallee was born at Coleshill, in Hertfordshire, 
 on the 3rd March, 1605.* He was descended from a family 
 of great affluence and antiquity. So far back as the reign of 
 Henry VL, they held rich possessions in Kent; and had estates 
 at later periods in Sussex, Bedfordshire, audHertfordshire. The 
 main branch finally settled at Beaconsfield, in Buckingham- 
 shire, some time towards the close of the fifteenth, or early in 
 • the sixteenth, century, Generals, who fought at Agineourt 
 and distinguished themselves in the civil ^rar; sheriffs, who 
 held a monopoly of county honours, and estated gentlemen, 
 whose rent-rolls supplied them with princely revenues,f adorn 
 the long list of Waller's ancestry; but their deeds and munifi- 
 cence are forgotten in the fame of their descendant. 
 
 In 1548-9, the lands of Beaconsfield, and other property in 
 Hertfordshire and elsewhere, were bequeathed by Francis 
 Waller in part to his wife, for her use as long as she remained 
 unmarried, the whole to devolve to a child then unborn ; and in 
 default to the testator's two brothers, Thomas and Edmund, to 
 be divided between them; with other provisions against further 
 
 * According to the evidence of a writ of ' oustre les maynes,* citing 
 the date of the death of Waller's father, the poet was born in 1 606 ; but 
 the date above given is verified by the inscription on his monument 
 in Beaconsfield churchyard. 
 
 t One of Waller's ancestors is said to have derived 7,oooZ. a-year 
 from his estates, equivalent to nearly 3o,oooZ. of our money. It is 
 related of another Waller, who served at Agineourt, that he took the 
 Duke of Orleans prisoner, brought him to England, and kept him on 
 his estate for four-and-twenty years. A third was a general in the 
 army of the Parliament. 
 
10 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 default. Edmund Waller appears to have ultimately in- 
 herited all the estates, which descended from him to his 
 son Eobert, the father of the poet. # Eohert Waller entered 
 the profession of the law ; but relinquished it for the easier 
 life of a country gentleman, dividing his time between Hert- 
 fordshire and Buckinghamshire, but fixing his chief residence 
 at Beaconsfield. This gentleman died on the 26th August, 
 1 61 6, leaving to his widow the sole care and education of his 
 son, Edmund, then eleven years old. 
 
 To the training of his youth may be distinctly traced the 
 germs of the political principles that afterwards influenced 
 the career of the poet. Mrs. Waller was an uncompromising 
 royalist, although connected by blood and marriage with 
 Cromwell and Hampden. She was the daughter of Griffith 
 Hampden, and her brother William, the father of John 
 Hampden, was married to Elizabeth Cromwell, the daughter 
 of Sir Henry Cromwell, and aunt to the Protector. She was, 
 consequently, the aunt of John Hampden, and her brother 
 was uncle, by marriage, to Oliver Cromwell. This connexion 
 was always acknowledged on both sides. Cromwell used to 
 call her * aunt,' and was in the habit, according to the usage 
 of the time, when the phrase was current amongst the most 
 distant relationships, of addressing Edmund Waller as 
 * cousin. ' He continued to maintain these friendly terms 
 even after the government was vested in his hands, and bore 
 with magnanimity the half -jesting and half-earnest reproaches 
 of Mrs. Waller, who made no concealment of her aversion to the 
 new order of things. At last, however, finding that she 
 carried her loyalty to the extreme length of keeping up a 
 secret correspondence with the friends of the Stuarts, he 
 placed her under surveillance, strictly confining her to the 
 house of her daughter, who was married to Price, a violent 
 parliamentarian. How long this lady survived her husband 
 is not known; but that she lived long enough to witness the 
 establishment of the Commonwealth is testified by her auto- 
 
 * Communicated by Mr. Larking. — Notes and Queries, vi. 538. 
 
EDMUND WALLEE. 11 
 
 graph, which will be found at the close of this volume. She 
 was certainly living in 1652. 
 
 Edmund Waller was educated at Eton, and removed at an 
 unusually early age to King's College, Cambridge. The pro- 
 gress he made in his studies there is said to have attracted 
 so much notice, that he was solicited, while he was yet only 
 sixteen, to enter parliament for the borough of Agmondesham; # 
 but it will be more rational to conclude that he was indebted 
 for this juvenile distinction to the power and wealth of his 
 family. The scholastic attainments of sixteen, however 
 creditable they might have been to his capacity or his perse- 
 verance, could scarcely have presented so strong a temptation 
 to the electors of Agmondesham as the name he bore, and 
 the local influence it represented. 
 
 He accepted the honour, but it was barren of results. He 
 did nothing to advance his own reputation, or the interests 
 committed to his charge. The House of Commons, indeed, 
 at that period was utterly powerless. Whenever it attempted 
 to vindicate its independence, it was silenced by the King. 
 This parliament, to which Waller was returned, made a show 
 of insisting upon its privileges, and carried a resolution to 
 that effect; but James sent for the journals, and tore out the 
 leaf containing the protest. It was, in fact, a mere mockery 
 of representation, and the session was brought to an end as 
 soon as the supplies were voted. The house met in Novem- 
 ber, and was abruptly dissolved in the following January. 
 There was no opportunity for the oldest and most experienced, 
 members to distinguish themselves ; and, even if there had 
 been, Waller could not have turned it to profit. Agmondes- 
 
 * The progress ascribed to Waller at college is not entitled to much 
 credit. We learn from Aubrey that at the Grammar School of Market 
 Wickham, where he received the rudiments of his education, he was 
 dull and slow in his tasks. Mr. Thomas Bigge, of Wickham, who had 
 been his schoolfellow, and of the same form, told Aubrey ' that he little 
 thought then Waller would have made so rare a poet; for he was 
 wont to make his exercise for him.' This account is highly probable. 
 It clearly indicates the character of Waller's genius, which demanded 
 time and labour in the accomplishment of the smallest results. 
 
12 EDMUND WALLEK. 
 
 ham was a suspended borough. The right to send members 
 to parliament had been in abeyance ever since the reigns of 
 Edward I. and II. ; yet it appears that it was permitted to 
 have representatives in the house, on condition that they took 
 no part in its deliberations. They were allowed to take their 
 seats sub silentio. Such were the circumstances under which 
 Waller made his first appearance in parliament, at an age 
 when the restraint imposed upon him could scarcely be a 
 source of regret to himself or his constituents. 
 
 His ambition was, probably, abundantly satisfied with the 
 bare privilege of sitting in parliament. The distinction of 
 representing a borough carried a prestige which was of no 
 slight importance to a youth of good family and ample 
 fortune, and which Waller appears to have appreciated at its 
 full value. It was not surprising that at sixteen he should 
 prefer the seductions of St. James's and Theobald's to the 
 struggles of a degraded senate, and make no better use of his 
 parliamentary opportunities than to advance his social posi- 
 tion. The time had not yet arrived when members of the 
 House of Commons were to choose finally between the 
 country and the Crown ; nor had Waller reached that matu- 
 rity of years and observation necessary to enable men to 
 judge for themselves on such subjects, or even to think seri- 
 ously about them. With a large, unencumbered income, a 
 ready wit just bursting into flower, and a predilection for the 
 King's cause, in opposition to that of the people, which he 
 inherited from his mother, Waller at once dropped into the 
 ' primrose path of dalliance ' that best suited his inclinations. 
 His first session may be succinctly described as his introduc- 
 tion to Court. 
 
 Here we find him in frequent attendance during the brief 
 term of the third parliament of James I. ; admitted not only 
 as a favourite, but allowed to be present at some of those sin- 
 gular conversations on state affairs, mixed with buffoonery, 
 which that eccentric sovereign was in the habit of holding 
 with his advisers. One of these conversations is recorded in 
 detail by Waller's original biographer. It is stated to have 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 13 
 
 taken place on the day of the dissolution of the parliament, 
 which was the 6th of January, 1622. The session, which his 
 Majesty on that day brought suddenly to a close, was ren- 
 dered memorable not only by the committal to prison of 
 several members of the Commons, but by the arbitrary arrest 
 of two members of the upper house, Oxford and Southamp- 
 ton; out of which circumstance arose the first systematic 
 opposition of the Lords to the encroachments of the Crown. 
 The King, not content with forcing the supplies from the 
 Commons, appears, from this conversation, to have contem- 
 plated the further violence of dispensing with parliamentary 
 forms altogether when he wanted to raise money. 
 
 Mr. Waller found Dr. Andrews, Bishop of Winchester, and 
 Dr. Neale, Bishop of Durham, standing behind his Majesty's 
 chair ; and then happened something very extraordinary in the 
 conversation these prelates had with the King, on which Mr. 
 Waller did often reflect. His Majesty asked the bishops, ' My 
 lords, cannot I take my subjects" money when I want it, without 
 all this formality of parliament ?' The Bishop of Durham 
 readily answered, ' God forbid, sir, but you should ; you are the 
 breath of our nostrils V Whereupon the King turned, and said 
 to the Bishop of Winchester, ' Well, my lord, what say you ? ' 
 f Sir/ replied the Bishop, ' I have no skill to judge of parlia- 
 mentary cases/ The King answered, 'No put-offs, my lord; 
 answer me presently/ ' Then, sir/ said he, ' I think it is lawful 
 for you to take my brother Neale's money, for he offers it/ Mr. 
 Waller said the company was pleased with this answer, and the 
 wit of it seemed to affect the King; for, a certain lord corning 
 in soon after, his Majesty cried out, ' Oh, my lord, they say you 
 lig w r ith my lady/ ' No, sir/ said his lordship in confusion, < but 
 I like her company because she has much wit/ e Why then/ 
 says the King, 'do you not lig with ray lord of Winchester there?* 
 
 After this, there was no more talk of parliaments till 1624; 
 and there would have been none even then, but that the 
 King was pressed by pecuniary necessities, and obliged to 
 ask help from the Commons. Whether Waller was a candi- 
 date for re-election does not appear : but it is certain that he 
 was not returned. The electors of Agmondesham petitioned 
 the house for the restitution of their lapsed privileges, and, 
 
14 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 having succeeded, placed the representation in the hands 
 of two gentlemen, through whose exertions they had re- 
 covered their independence. Soon afterwards James I. died, 
 and Charles summoned a new parliament, which met for the 
 first time on the 18th June, 1625, In this parliament 
 Waller sat for Chipping Wycombe, another Buckingham- 
 shire borough. He was as unfortunate on this occasion as 
 on the former. Adjourned on account of the plague, and 
 transferred to Oxford, the parliament had sat scarcely three 
 weeks when it was dissolved. The King demanded subsidies 
 to the extent of 7 00, 000 £. a year to meet the expenses of the 
 war with Spain, besides a sum of 6oo,oooZ. to cover the royal 
 debts. The Commons refused to grant more than about 
 I45,oooZ., and were dismissed to their constituents. A second 
 parliament was convened in 1626; but a year elapsed before 
 Waller found a seat, when he was re-elected for Agmondes- 
 ham in March 1627. What part he took on the articles of 
 impeachment presented against Buckingham by the Com- 
 mons in this year is not known ; but it may be inferred from 
 his associations that he voted for the favourite. For many 
 years afterwards he made no prominent display in public life. 
 His politics during the interval must be gathered from his 
 poems, which consist almost exclusively of panegyrics on the 
 King and Queen, and other courtly topics. 
 
 His first poem, written in his eighteenth year, is remark- 
 able in this respect — that it may be accepted as the model of 
 all the poems that followed. He not only never departed 
 from this model, but never improved upon it. The circum- 
 stance upon which it is founded — the escape of Prince Charles 
 in a tempest on his homeward voyage from Spain— is related 
 by Clarendon. Waller amplifies the incident, embellishes it 
 with careful flattery, and elevates it into an heroic episode by 
 the employment of classical machinery. It is not, however, 
 his manner of treating so slight a subject that constitutes the 
 chief interest, or curiosity, of the piece. Grand exaggerations 
 were common enough in that age of patronage and hyperbole. 
 The metrical system developed and laid down in these verses 
 
EDMUND WALLER, 15 
 
 distinguishes them from all other first attempts in poetry. 
 At no period did Waller construct his lines with a more 
 rigid adherence to the standard of versification he had set up, 
 or adopted, from the beginning. ' If we were to judge only 
 by the wording/ observes one of his critics, ' we could not 
 know what was wrote at twenty and what was wrote at four- 
 score.' To which Dr. Johnson adds, ' Denham corrected his 
 numbers by experience, and gained ground gradually upon 
 the ruggedness of his age ; but what was acquired by Den- 
 ham was inherited by Waller.' Dr. Johnson, probably, in- 
 tended to convey that Waller inherited his numbers from 
 Fairfax; but it had been better said elsewhere that he 
 attained them ' by a felicity like instinct.' D^den tells us 
 that he had heard Waller declare that ' he derived the har- 
 mony of his numbers from the Godfrey of Bulloigne, which 
 was turned into English by Mr. Fairfax;' but while this 
 legitimate poetical lineage may be admitted without hesita- 
 tion, it does not satisfy the surprise with which we discover 
 in Waller's earliest poem an accuracy of structure which was 
 not excelled in his latest. Fairfax had set the example of 
 this style, but he only initiated it ; his lines are frequently 
 harsh, and there is no difficulty in tracing through his pages 
 the progress of improvement towards that smoothness which 
 Waller brought to perfection. That which in Fairfax is 
 always aimed at, and frequently accomplished, is the undevi- 
 ating rule in Waller, from which scarcely a solitary aberration 
 can be detected. Of Sandys, also, it may be said, as of Fair- 
 fax, that his numbers were generally correct ; but of Waller 
 . alone, that they were invariably musical. To the fact that 
 Waller had determined upon his scheme of versification before 
 he began to versify, and that he went on and ended as he 
 commenced, may be referred at once the source of his dis- 
 tinctive merits, and their obvious bounds. The form took 
 precedence of the matter ; the inspiration waited on the vehi- 
 cle. All the excellence that could be achieved by elegant 
 turns of expression, select images, and deliberate flights of 
 fancy, or of sentiment, restrained within prescribed limits, is 
 
16 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 to be found, brought to the utmost point of certainty and 
 finish, in his verse. But this exquisite workmanship solicits 
 admiration rather by its executive skill, than its solidity, or 
 the uses to which it is applied. The light and graceful 
 structure could not bear much weight of thought, or be ren- 
 dered available for large designs. Waller's paramount object 
 was to produce smooth and melodious lines; and in that 
 object he entirely succeeded. ' When he was a brisk young 
 spark,' Aubrey informs us, 'and first studied poetry, 'Me- 
 thought,' said he, 'I never saw a good copy of English 
 verses ; they want smoothness 5 then I began to essay.' * 
 This is the key to everything he wrote. 
 
 The poem on the Prince was followed, at distant intervals, 
 by two or three others, of the same quality, and on similar 
 topics. It is one of the inevitable conditions of this kind of 
 verse, with which impulse has so little to do, and premedita- 
 tion so much, that it shall be produced slowly. And there 
 was another reason, independently of the extraordinary care 
 he bestowed upon his writings, why these little pieces occupied 
 so much time. Waller wrote only by snatches. The ore was 
 as thinly scattered as it was difficult to work. Aubrey tells 
 us that he had several times heard Waller say that he could 
 not versify when he would ; but that, when the fit came upon 
 him, he did it easily. We must understand from this that 
 he made his first draught easily; the labour consisted in 
 shaping the crude material into its ultimate form. Most of 
 his poems plainly betray the process to which they were sub- 
 mitted. Begun upon a particular topic, they were generally 
 delayed till its attraction had faded, and it became neces- 
 sary to sustain it by the introduction of more recent allusions. 
 He lingered so long over his lines on the Prince's escape, for 
 example, that the interest of the Spanish negociation was 
 absorbed in the French alliance before he brought the poem 
 to a conclusion. This excessive fastidiousness was not always 
 attended with commensurate success. Ten lines he wrote in 
 the Duchess's Tasso, at Windsor, are said to have cost him 
 the greater part of a summer ; yet they contain nothing more 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 17 
 
 than the reproduction of a compliment he had long before 
 addressed to Saccharissa, in much more graceful and animated 
 verses. 
 
 In none of the productions of this early period are there 
 any symptoms of that gallantry which afterwards formed so 
 conspicuous an element in his poetry. His muse at this time 
 devoted herself exclusively to royalty, and expended the whole 
 of her resources upon studied panegyric. Emotion ripened 
 as slowly in Waller as verse ; and, contrary to the ordinary 
 experience of poets, as of other men, he passed through the 
 stages of marriage and widowhood before he fell in love. At 
 about six- and- twenty, he married the daughter and heiress 
 of Mr. Banks, a rich city merchant. The lady had a large 
 fortune, and there was a competition for her hand. But 
 Waller succeeded against the pretensions of a powerful rival, 
 Mr. Crofts (afterwards Baron Crofts), whose suit was sup- 
 ported by the influence of the court. This marriage occa- 
 sioned some notoriety at the time, from the circumstances 
 attending it, and the relative position of the parties ; but, 
 although it looked like an adventure, it was, in reality, on 
 Waller's side, merely a matter of prudential calculation. He 
 was entering public life, and availed himself of the first fa- 
 vourable opportunity that offered for augmenting his fortune. 
 
 Shortly after his marriage, Waller retired to his estate at 
 Beaconsfield, where he devoted himself to literary pursuits, 
 assisted in his studies by Dr. Morley, afterwards Bishop of 
 Winchester, who resided with him for several years. # The 
 
 * Dr. George Morley, born in i597, was the son of Francis Morley, 
 Esq. by a sister of Sir John Denham. Reduced at an early age, by 
 the imprudence of his father, to depend upon his own exertions, he 
 became an indefatigable student, and succeeded in securing the friend- 
 ship and patronage of some of the most distinguished men. The King 
 appointed him his chaplain in ordinary, and gave him a canonry in 
 Christ Church, Oxford, of which he was afterwards deprived in conse- 
 quence of his devotion to the royal cause. In 1549, he accompanied 
 the Prince to the Hague, and afterwards officiated in Clarendon's 
 family at Antwerp. Upon the Restoration he was restored to his 
 canonry, and nominated to the bishopric of Worcester, and in 1 662, 
 translated to Winchester. He died at Farnham Castle, in 1684. 
 
 The origin of Waller's acquaintance with Morley is differently 
 WA1LEE. 2 
 
18 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 interval that elapsed before he re-entered parliament presented 
 little temptation to seduce him from his seclusion. The 
 struggle had begun between the King and the two houses : 
 and the intermittent efforts of the representatives of the 
 people to obtain a redress of grievances merely showed how 
 powerless the constitution was at that time to resist the 
 despotism of the crown. Representation was, to all intents 
 and purposes, suspended ; and, in order the more effectually 
 to crush the action of public opinion, and prevent the co- 
 operation of men of station and influence in different parts of 
 the country, the King, late in the year 1632, adopted the 
 extreme measure of issuing a proclamation by which all lords 
 and gentlemen were commanded to reside upon their estates. 
 It was no great penalty to Waller to submit to this arbitrary 
 decree ; although there can be no doubt that it helped to 
 awaken him to the oppression of which the nation at large 
 had long before complained. During this period he renewed 
 his acquaintance with the classical authors, and devoted 
 himself assiduously to poetry. The actual results were, as 
 usual, small — a few short pieces on public events, finished 
 with habitual elegance, and full of compliments to royalty. 
 
 At the end of a few years, Mrs. Waller died, leaving a son 
 who did not long survive her, and a daughter, who was after- 
 wards married to Mr. Dormer, a gentleman of Oxfordshire. 
 When this event occurred, Waller was little more than nine- 
 and-twenty. There was no longer any obligation upon him 
 to lead a life of retirement; and his natural inclinations 
 
 related. Clarendon says that Morley introduced Waller into that 
 select society of which Falkland, Chilling worth, and himself were 
 members ; while Waller's first biographer asserts that, it was his con- 
 nexion with that society which brought Waller acquainted with 
 Morley. At one of the meetings of the club, a noise was heard in the 
 street, which the members were told was occasioned by the arrest of a 
 son of Ben Jonson. Upon sending for him, Waller was so struck by 
 his appearance and conversation that he presented him with 100Z., and 
 invited him to his house, where he remained several years. The only 
 part of this anecdote that can be considered entitled to credit is the 
 fact that Morley resided for a considerable period at Beaconsfield. 
 There is no authority for the statement that he was a son of Ben 
 Jonson. 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 19 
 
 drawing him back to society, a very short time elapsed before 
 he again appeared in the gay world. Having married in the 
 first instance for fortune, he could now afford to marry from 
 choice ; and his election was soon made. The lady who, at 
 this dangerous season, attracted his attentions, was the eldest 
 daughter of the Earl of Leicester, the Lady Dorothea Sidney, 
 whom Waller has rendered famous under the name of 
 Saccharissa. 
 
 Circumstances were peculiarly favourable to the feelings 
 she inspired. Waller was young, rich, a wit, and a poet. 
 Lady Dorothea was a descendant of Sir Philip Sidney ; she 
 was considered a beauty ; and her beauty reigned supreme in 
 the romantic solitudes of Penshurst. Her father was engaged 
 in an embassy abroad ; and there was no interruption to the 
 indulgence of a passion which so many propitious incidents 
 seemed to encourage. There does not appear to have been 
 much company at Penshurst, till Waller, alarmed by the 
 presence of a rival, declared his suit ; when we find him ad- 
 dressing a poem to the Earl of Leicester, in which he conjures 
 his lordship to come home, and decide the contest for his 
 daughter's hand. The only persons alluded to in the verses 
 upon Saccharissa, are Lady Dorothea's younger sister, that 
 ' fairest blossom,' Lady Lucy ; and Mrs. Broughton, Saccha- 
 rissa's attendant, whose intercession with her lady, at those 
 private hours when ladies are supposed to be accessible to 
 such influences, is earnestly entreated by the poet. Amoret, 
 the friend of Saccharissa, is also spoken of. No obstacle 
 seems to have impeded the course of the lover ; and, as far as 
 the poems throw any light upon the history of the memorable 
 episode they illustrate, Waller had ample opportunity to uro-e 
 his pretensions. The chivalry, however, which he displayed 
 on a former occasion, deserted him in the presence of the 
 proud Saccharissa; and, notwithstanding his poetry, his 
 reputation, and his wealth, she rejected him with scorn. 
 
 From what followed, it may be inferred that the disap- 
 pointment did not weigh very heavily on his spirits ; nor can 
 it be assumed from his verses that his feelings were very 
 
 2—2 
 
20 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 deeply engaged. The love poems are as laboriously worked 
 up as the lines on the reduction of Sallee, or the panegyric on 
 the Protector. They have an air of formality and invention 
 which might, probably, not be wholly inconsistent with a real 
 passion, since real passions affect different natures differently ; 
 but which certainly is not suggestive of much earnestness or 
 profound sensibility. The poet selects his praises with artistic 
 caution, and appears throughout to be creating an ideal rather 
 than offering spontaneous homage to a reality. The same 
 verses in which he celebrates the beauty of Saccharissa, might 
 be addressed, with almost equal propriety, to a picture or a 
 statue; and there is hardly a single personal attribute on 
 which he founds his worship of the lady of Penshurst, that 
 he has not also ascribed, in varying phrases, and more 
 elaborate forms, to the Queen and the Duchess of York. His 
 stock of charms and fascinations is limited, and is applied in 
 common to every woman he eulogizes ; there is no individuality 
 in his portraiture ; and it is only when he comes to contrast 
 the characters of Saccharissa and Amoret, and is forced to 
 distinguish and oppose their qualities, that we discern a 
 separate identity in his descriptions. 
 
 The absence of information respecting the date of his 
 amatory poems — if they may be so called — deprives us of the 
 means of ascertaining whether any of them are referable to 
 the period when he was wooing Saccharissa. But there is 
 internal evidence of the fact that, towards the close of their 
 intercourse, when he was beginning to despair of touching 
 her heart, he took refuge in the milder climate of Amoret's 
 eyes. He was avowedly in a state of perplexity between them; 
 and if he was not actually in love with them both at the same 
 time, he was, at least, not unwilling they should think so. 
 In the poem which announces his divided allegiance, and fur- 
 nishes the conflicting reasons which render the choice so diffi- 
 cult, he frankly declares that he is equally devoted to both : — 
 
 I will tell you how I do 
 Saccharissa love and you. 
 
 The confession was not complimentary to either of the 
 
EDMUND WALLEK. 21 
 
 ladies ; and it must have been especially unacceptable to 
 Amoret to be informed tbat Waller sought relief in the less 
 splendid benignity of her beauty, as an escape from the 
 dazzling light of Saccharissa's. We learn, from a subsequent 
 poem, that Amoret (who is said to have been the Lady Sophia 
 Murray) treated his addresses as might be expected from this 
 untoward revelation ; and that, notwithstanding the sweetness 
 and gentleness on which he founded his hopes, he had the 
 mortification of discovering, upon a nearer approach, that her 
 heart was not ' at home' to receive him. Although the time 
 when the other love verses were written is pure matter of 
 conjecture, we may fairly assign them to the period imme- 
 diately following the death of Mrs. Waller. If they were 
 not composed while Waller was prosecuting his suit to Sac- 
 charissa, they were probably produced very soon after ; and, 
 as we are assured that the Chlorises,* Phillises, Sylvias, 
 and Flavias were real, and not imaginary, persons, they ex- 
 hibit in a remarkable point of view the elastic capacity of 
 Waller's affections. The fact that he could transfer his 
 sympathies with such facility from one lady to another, and 
 include at nearly the same moment so many in his compre- 
 hensive litany, materially diminishes the confidence we might 
 otherwise be disposed to place in the sincerity of his devotion 
 to Saccharissa. A variety of inspirations may be necessary 
 to supply the demands of a poetical temperament; but it may 
 be reasonably doubted whether he was ever moved by a true 
 passion who professes to have been moved by it frequently. 
 Impressions that succeed each other so rapidly may occupy 
 the fancy of a poet, but can scarcely be supposed to reach his 
 heart. 
 
 Of the subsequent life of Saccharissa little is known, except 
 that she married the Earl of Sunderland (then Lord Spencer), 
 who was killed at the battle of Newbury, about four years 
 after his marriage; that she bore her lord three children; that 
 
 * It may be assumed that Chloris was Mrs. Wharton. See the 
 lines on that lady's Elegy on Rochester, p. 208. 
 
22 EDMUND WALLEK. 
 
 at the end of ten years she married Mr. Robert Smythe ; and 
 that having lived to a great age, she was buried in the same 
 vanlt with her first husband, at Brinton, in Northamptonshire. 
 Her picture may be seen in the gallery at Penshurst. It 
 disappoints at first sight the expectations raised by the 
 descriptions of Waller; but upon closer examination we 
 may detect in its compound expression the blended features 
 of Philoelea and Pamela, traced in it by the poet. Latent 
 energy and a royal temper sleep under large, languishing 
 eyes; and even in the softness of a commodious person, a 
 blond complexion and sunny hair, there are unmistakeable 
 suggestions of pride and haughty reserve. The figure is 
 voluptuous, perhaps a little coarse ; and the whole character 
 has that exacting air of indolence which typifies the union of 
 a strong will and a constitutional love of ease. 
 
 In the last poem addressed by Waller to Saccharissa he de- 
 clares his intention of going abroad, and seeking consolation 
 in change of scene ; but when next we hear of him, we find 
 him settling down tranquilly at home in a second marriage. 
 As it often happens that poet's mistresses become famous, 
 while their wives sink into oblivion, so in this case poetical 
 history has collected many particulars concerning Saccharissa, 
 while it records nothing about Waller's wife, except that her 
 name was Bresse, or Breaux (even that point is undeter- 
 mined), and that she brought him a great number of children. 
 
 Towards the close of 1639, the year of Saccharissa's mar- 
 riage, the King, acting under the advice of Wentworth and 
 Laud, resolved to call a parliament. This revival of the 
 popular estate summoned Waller from his domestic repose 
 and literary pursuits, and he was again returned for Ag- 
 mondesham. The great object of the King was to obtain 
 the consent of the Commons to the subsidies he required; 
 and, in order to produce a striking effect at the opening of 
 the session, which commenced its sittings on the 13th April, 
 1640, Wentworth, now Earl of Strafford, went over to Ire- 
 land, and succeeded in procuring from the Irish House of 
 Commons a grant of four subsidies. Relying upon the influ- 
 
EDMUND WALLEE. 23 
 
 ence of this grant as a precedent, Strafford demanded a simi- 
 lar concession from the English Parliament ; but was met by 
 a catalogue of grievances, — ship-money, monopolies, innova- 
 tions in religion, breaches of privilege, and star-chamber 
 oppressions. The redress of these grievances was insisted 
 upon before the house would consent to entertain the ques- 
 tion of supply. "Waller's known relations with the Court led 
 to the supposition, on the one hand, that he would support 
 the demands of the King ; while, on the other, his intimate 
 connexion with Hampden encouraged the expectation that he 
 would take the popular side. His conduct, when the subject 
 came to be debated on the 2 2d April, was honourable alike to 
 his independence and his judgment In a speech, distin- 
 guished by eloquence and closeness of argument, he defended 
 the constitutional doctrine set up by the Commons, while 
 he endeavoured, by the expression of his respect for the 
 person and authority of the Sovereign, to mitigate the 
 heat of discussion ; concluding with a proposition that the 
 house should first consider the grievances, and then proceed 
 to the supply. 
 
 In the following bold passage he cast the odium of the 
 King's measures upon the clergy, by whose support his 
 Majesty was principally sustained in his arbitrary proceed- 
 ings : — 
 
 But his Majesty shall hear the truth from 11s ; and we shall 
 make appear the error of these divines, who would persuade 
 us that a monarch must be absolute, and that he may do all 
 things ad libitum; receding not only from the text (though that 
 be a wandering too), but from the way their own profession 
 might teach them, State super mas antiquas, and, Remove not 
 the ancient bounds and landmarks ivhich our fathers have set. 
 If to be absolute were to be restrained by no laws, then can no 
 King in Christendom be so ; for, they all stand obliged to the 
 laws Christian ; and we ask no more ; for to this pillar our privi- 
 leges are fixed, our Kings at their Coronation taking a sacred 
 oath not to infringe them. I am sorry these men take no more 
 care to gain our belief of these things which they tell us for our 
 souls 5 healths, while w T e know them so manifestly in the wrong in 
 that which concerns the liberties and privileges of the subjects of 
 
24 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 England. But, they gain preferment ; and then 'tis no matter, 
 though they neither believe themselves, nor are believed by others . 
 But, since they are so ready to let loose the consciences of their 
 Kings, we are the more carefully to provide for our protection 
 against this pulpit law, by declaring, and reinforcing the muni- 
 cipal laws of this kingdom. 
 
 Waller, probably, had the Bishop of Durham's answer to 
 the King (which he had heard some years before at St. 
 James's) in his thoughts when he was delivering this pas- 
 sage. # 
 
 The King had confidently relied upon Waller's support, 
 and sent a particular message to him, requesting that he 
 would second the demand for subsidies. With this request it 
 was impossible to comply, but Waller, unable to help the 
 King with his vote, showed his earnest desire to rescue him 
 from the dangerous counsels upon which he was acting. 
 Learning that Sir Henry Yane objected against first voting a 
 supply, because the King would not accept it unless it came 
 up to the amount he demanded, Waller spoke anxiously on 
 the subject to Sir Thomas Jermyn, the comptroller of the 
 household, entreating him to save his master from the effects 
 of so dangerous a course ; ' for,' he said, ' I am but a country 
 gentleman, and cannot pretend to know the King's mind.' 
 This salutary warning was in vain. Sir Thomas Jermyn was 
 afraid to contradict the secretary ; and, long afterwards, the 
 Earl of St. Albans, Sir Thomas's son, told Waller that his 
 father's cowardice had ruined the King.f 
 
 On the 4th of May Charles sent Sir Henry to demand six 
 subsidies from the house ; but Sir Henry, either by mistake 
 or design, demanded twelve, which threw the Commons into 
 
 * Dr. Johnson describes this address of Waller's as ' one of those 
 noisy speeches which disaffection and discontent regularly dictate ; a 
 speech filled with hyperbolical complaints of imaginary grievances.' Yet 
 there is nothing in the speech more palpable than its freedom from exag- 
 geration, and its loyal desire to reconcile the King and the Parliament ; 
 and nothing in history more certain than that the grievances com- 
 plained of were real. 
 
 t Life of Waller. Ed. 171 1. 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 25 
 
 aflame; and his Majesty, finding that no money would be 
 granted, committed several members to the Fleet, and dis- 
 solved the parliament on the following day. Thus terminated 
 the brief session which is known as the Short Parliament. 
 
 It was succeeded in the following November by what is no 
 less emphatically designated the Long Parliament. Waller, 
 who had acquired considerable popularity by his conduct on 
 the question of supply, was again elected for Agmondesham ; 
 and so much importance was attached to the influence of his 
 name, that he was selected by the Commons to manage the 
 prosecution of Judge Crawley, who, together with Sir John 
 Bramstone, chief justice of the King's Bench; Sir Humphrey 
 Davenport, chief baron ; Pinch, and others, had advised and 
 sanctioned the levy of ship-money and other abuses. Waller's 
 speech upon this grave occasion displays a courage equal to 
 the emergencies of the time, tempered by a sound and dis- 
 passionate judgment. Strictly confining himself to the matter 
 in the charge, that Crawley, being one of the judges of the 
 Common Pleas, had declared and published in the Exchequer 
 Chamber, and on the Western Circuit, * that the King's right 
 to ship-money was so inherent a right in the Crown, as an 
 act of parliament could not take it away ;' he showed with 
 clearness and precision the fallacy and danger of suffering 
 the tribunals of the law to usurp the prerogative of legis- 
 lation. After a general expression of respect for the functions 
 of the judge, he proceeded to expose the pernicious use to 
 which they had been perverted in this instance. 
 
 But as all professions are obnoxious to the malice of the pro- 
 fessors, and by them most easily betrayed, so, my lords, these 
 Articles have told you how these brothers of the coif are become 
 fratres in malo ; how these sons of the law have torn out the 
 bowels of their mother. But this judge, whose charge you last 
 heard, in one expression of his excels no less his fellows than they 
 have done the worst of their predecessors in this conspiracy 
 against the commonwealth. Of the judgment for ship-money, 
 and those extra-judicial opinions preceding the same (wherein 
 they are jointly concerned), you have already heard; how unjust 
 and pernicious a proceeding that was in so public a cause, has 
 
26 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 been sufficiently expressed to your lordships. But this man, 
 adding despair to our miseries, tells us from the bench that ship- 
 money was a right so inherent in the crown, that it would not be 
 in the power of an act of parliament to take it away. Herein, 
 my lords, he did not only give as deep a wound to the common- 
 wealth as any of the rest, but dipped his dart in such a poison, 
 that, so far as in him lay, it might never receive a cure. As by 
 these abortive opinions, subscribing to the subversion of our pro- 
 priety before he heard what could be said for it, he prevented his 
 own ; so, by this declaration of his, he endeavours to prevent the 
 judgment of your lordships too; and to confine the power of a 
 parliament, the only place where this mischief might be re- 
 dressed. 
 
 The inconsistency of denying the supremacy of the law 
 from the very bench where the law itself was administered, 
 is exemplified in another passage. 
 
 This imposition of ship-money, springing from a pretended 
 necessity, was it not enough that it was now grown annual, but 
 he must entail it on the State for ever ; at once making neces- 
 sity inherent to the Crown, and slavery to the subject ? Neces- 
 sity! which, dissolving all law, is so much more prejudicial to his 
 Majesty than to any of us, by how much the law has invested his 
 royal state with a greater power, and ampler fortune. For, so 
 undoubted a truth it has ever been, that kings, as well as subjects, 
 are involved in the confusion which necessity produces, that the 
 heathen thought their gods also obliged by the same, Pareatur 
 necessitati quam ne dii quidem superant. This judge then hav- 
 ing, in his charge at the assize, declared the dissolution of the 
 law by this supposed necessity ; with what conscience could he at 
 the same assize proceed to condemn and punish men? unless, per- 
 chance, he meant the law was still in force for our destruction, 
 and not for our preservation ; that it should have the power to 
 kill, but none to protect us ! a thing no less horrid than if the 
 sun should burn without lighting us; or, the earth serve only to 
 bury, and not feed and nourish us. 
 
 At a subsequent period the proposal for the abolition of 
 Episcopacy came under discussion, Upon this question 
 Waller separated from what must be called his party ; for 
 the course he had hitherto taken undoubtedly identified him 
 with the Parliament. Kemembering what he had formerly 
 
EDMUND WALLEK. 27 
 
 urged against the dangerous assumptions of the Bishops, 
 his speech in defence of their order acquires peculiar force. 
 
 There is no doubt but the sense of what this nation had 
 suffered from the present bishops hath produced these complaints; 
 and the apprehensions men have of suffering the like in time to 
 come, make so many desire the taking away of Episcopacy ; but 
 I conceive it is possible that we may not now take a right 
 measure of the minds of the people by their petitions ; for, when 
 they subscribed them, the bishops were armed with a dangerous 
 commission of making new canons, imposing new oaths, and the 
 like; but now we have disarmed them of that power. These 
 petitioners lately did look upon Episcopacy as a beast armed with 
 horns and claws; but now that we have cut and pared them 
 (and may, if we see cause, yet reduce it into narrower bounds) 
 it may, perhaps, be more agreeable. Howsoever, if they be still 
 in passion, it becomes us soberly to consider the right use and 
 antiquity thereof; and not to comply further with a general 
 desire than may stand with a general good. 
 
 We have already show r ed that Episcopacy and the evils thereof 
 are mingled like water and oil; we have, also, in part, severed 
 them ; but I believe you will find that our law T s and the present 
 government of the Church are mingled like wine and water ; so 
 inseparable, that the abrogation of at least a hundred of our laws 
 is desired in these petitions. I have often heard a noble answ r er 
 of the Lords, commended in this house, to a proposition of like 
 nature, but of less consequence : they gave no other reason of 
 their refusal but this, Nolumus mutare Leges Anglice. It was 
 the bishops who so answered them; and it would become the 
 dignity and wisdom of this house to answer the people now with 
 a Nolumus mutare. 
 
 The main point of the argument was to illustrate the risks 
 of innovation. ' If the people,' he observed, * by multiplying 
 hands and petitions prevail for an equality in things eccle- 
 siastical, the next demand perhaps may be Lex Agraria, the 
 like equality in things temporal ;' and, therefore, he added 
 in conclusion, ' my humble opinion is, that we may settle 
 men's minds herein ; and by a question declare our resolution 
 to reform, that is, not to abolish Episcopacy.' In his speech 
 on refusing the supplies he had already enunciated the same 
 doctrine, applying it on that occasion to the inroads by the 
 
28 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 King upon the established forms of the constitution. ' We 
 all know,' he said, l how dangerous innovations are, though 
 to the better ; and what hazard these princes must run that 
 enterprize the change of a long-established government.' 
 But the two cases were widely different ; in the one, innova- 
 tion was an outrage upon constitutional privileges, in the 
 other, a legitimate exercise of them. In failing to see this 
 distinction, or, perhaps, in desiring to evade it in the hope of 
 bringing about a peaceful adjustment of differences, lies the 
 fundamental error which led to all the subsequent calamities 
 of Waller's life. 
 
 As the dissensions between the King and the Parliament 
 gradually widened, and ultimately broke out into open 
 hostility, there was no longer any middle refuge for men 
 who, like Waller, trimmed between the extremes. The time 
 for resting the dispute upon broad constitutional doctrines 
 was gone by. Discussion had taken the shape of conflict. 
 The King was in the field at the head of his troops, and the 
 Parliament had organized an army to oppose him. Neutrality 
 under these circumstances was impossible. It had become 
 indispensable to adopt one side or the other. 
 
 There was but one escape open to Waller. Willing to 
 reform, but not prepared to abolish, and still keeping up his 
 personal relations with the King, while he continued to be 
 trusted with the confidence of Parliament, he joined the 
 small party, that at the beginning of hostilities stood still ; 
 and absented himself from the house. This voluntary 
 withdrawal, however, did not last long. Having communi- 
 cated his position to the King, he obtained, what it was a 
 disloyalty to his constituents and to his own independence 
 to ask, his Majesty's permission to resume his seat. His 
 private sympathies were entirely with the King, and his 
 public proceedings to some extent were faithful to his feel- 
 ings. When his Majesty set up his standard at Nottingham, 
 in August, 1 642, Waller sent him a thousand broad pieces ; and 
 whenever he spoke in the house, it was to oppose the violence 
 of his friends. He was permitted to use this free language with 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 29 
 
 impunity, because he was believed to be really in the interests 
 of the people ; and the Parliament testified their faith in 
 him by appointing him one of the Commissioners to treat 
 for peace with the King at Oxford, after the battle of Edge- 
 hill. When he was presented, the King, perceiving that he 
 was the last in the order of precedence, said to him, ' Though 
 you are the last, you are not the lowest, nor the least in my 
 favour.' From this incident is dated the origin of Waller's 
 participation in that enterprize which afterwards nearly cost 
 him his life. Whitelock says, he was so deeply affected by 
 these expressions, that he then formed the determination to 
 join the confederacy that is known by the name of Waller's 
 Plot ; but Fenton tells us he had already joined it, and that 
 the King's words were intended to intimate his knowledge of 
 the fact. 
 
 The object of the Plot was to bring the war to a conclu- 
 sion, and to reinstate the King. There can be no doubt that 
 it was pacific in its origin. The whole force its promoters 
 meant to bring to bear upon the Parliament was the moral 
 force of opinion ; but the plans and combinations necessary to 
 give effect to such a demonstration led to a train of conse- 
 quences beyond their control, 
 
 The design appears to have grown out of confidential con- 
 versations between Waller and his brother-in-law, Mr, Tom- 
 kins, who was clerk of the Queen's council. Tomkins , 
 intercourse lay chiefly amongst commercial men in the city, 
 as that of Waller amongst men of rank and station. Upon 
 a comparison of their observations, they arrived at the con- 
 clusion that there was a large majority of people in both 
 classes who disapproved of the proceedings of the Parliament, 
 but who were restrained by fear from openly opposing them. 
 To unite these people in some public expression of their sen- 
 timents, with a view to facilitate the pacification of the king- 
 dom, comprised the whole plan contemplated by Waller. 
 But a movement of this nature, which, in ordinary times, 
 would have been perfectly legal and justifiable, was naturally 
 regarded with suspicion in a season of agitation and distrust, 
 
30 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 when society was in a state of disorganization, and all 
 constitutional modes of action were suspended. The secresy 
 with which the projectors of the movement were compelled 
 to carry on their preparations increased the danger. In 
 order to ascertain their strength, they appointed persons on 
 whom they could rely to make lists, in the different wards 
 and parishes, of the inhabitants who were favourable or un- 
 favourable to Parliament ; and, as a measure of safety, they 
 prohibited more than three of their friends from meeting in 
 one place, and no individual was to communicate the design 
 to more than two others. Lord Conway, who had just 
 arrived from Ireland, ardent in the cause, joined in the confe- 
 deration, and, being a soldier by profession, is supposed to 
 have imparted something of a military character to its 
 operations. 
 
 At the same time that this really peaceful combination 
 was silently maturing its purposes, Sir Nicholas Crispe, a 
 merchant, and furious loyalist, was engaged in promoting 
 the same end by violent means. He had already procured a 
 loan of ioo,oooZ. for the King, raised a regiment at his own 
 cost, and transmitted a commission of array from Oxford to 
 London by the hands of Lady Aubigny, who was ignorant of 
 the contents of the papers which she was entrusted to ■ deliver 
 to a gentleman in the city. Crispe, in fact, had organized an 
 extensive conspiracy. The King's children were to be re- 
 moved to a place of security ; contributions were to be raised, 
 soldiers enrolled, and magazines established; declarations 
 were to be issued, announcing the objects in view; the pri- 
 soners committed by the Parliament were to be released, 
 and the principal members of both houses, opposed to the 
 King, were to be seized. Crispe was so confident of success, 
 that he had colours in readiness to be raised at the Exchange, 
 Temple Bar, and other public places. # 
 
 The inevitable consequence of two movements, however 
 different in their nature, being thus carried on simultaneously 
 
 * For details, see Clarendon, May, Mo. £rit., andForster's Life ofPym. 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 31 
 
 in the same interest, was that they should become con- 
 founded ; and as the actors in each were committed to a com- 
 mon purpose, all were held to he equally guilty. Waller, 
 being the most influential person implicated, and his compli- 
 city being considered all the more culpable as he had hitherto 
 enjoyed the confidence of the Parliament, he was at once 
 dealt with as the chief delinquent. 
 
 Information of the plot was conveyed to Pym on the 31st 
 May, 1643, while he was at St. Margaret's church solemniz- 
 ing a fast. In the midst of the worship, a messenger sud- 
 denly entered, and handed a letter to Pym; who hastily 
 communicated the contents in whispers to his friends, and 
 hurried out ; the incident producing a profound sensation 
 amongst the persons present. That night Waller and 
 Tomkins were arrested at their houses. 
 
 There are different accounts of the means by which the 
 plans of the confederates were traced and detected. Accord- 
 ing to one account,^ Waller was betrayed by his sister, Mrs* 
 Price, whose chaplain, Goode, stole some of his papers, and 
 might have secured them all, if Waller had not dreamt one 
 night of his sister's treachery, and got up and burned what 
 were left. According to Clarendon, the plot was discovered 
 by a servant of Tomkins, who was employed by the Parlia- 
 ment as a spy. There is too much reason to believe that, 
 through whatever channel the revelations may have been 
 made, they came from a domestic quarter. All Waller's 
 family, except his mother, were zealous parliamentarians. 
 Two sisters were married to Price and Tomkins, and a third 
 
 II to Colonel Scroope, who afterwards obtained Cromwell's per- 
 
 ' I mission for Waller to return from exile, and who was himself 
 
 hanged at the Restoration for signing the death warrant of 
 
 the King ; one of Waller's brothers served under Cromwell 
 
 in Ireland; and another was a colonel in the army of the Par- 
 
 i liament. Waller stood alone in his family in his allegiance to 
 the King. 
 
 
 
 * A MS. written by a relative of Waller's, who lived in his house. 
 
32 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 If Waller and Tomkins had acted with firmness, there 
 might have been some difficulty in obtaining proofs of their 
 guilt ; but they were overcome by a paroxysm of terror, and 
 declared themselves willing to confess not only everything 
 they knew, but everything they suspected of others. They 
 were ready to denounce their friends, in the pusillanimous 
 hope of saving themselves. Waller gave up the names of 
 the Duke of Portland and Lord Conway, who were immedi- 
 ately afterwards arrested, and their lands and goods seized ; 
 and implicated the Earl of Northumberland as being favour- 
 able to the design of checking the Parliament and reconciling 
 them to the King. Tomkins confessed that he had received 
 a commission of array from Lady Aubigny,* and that he had 
 buried it in his garden : voluntarily furnishing the Parlia- 
 ment with a clue to the whole conspiracy, which they could 
 never have obtained through any other means. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no example on record of such humiliating 
 cowardice, under circumstances that made so urgent an appeal 
 to the honour and fidelity of a gentleman, as that which was 
 exhibited by Waller throughout, if Clarendon's narrative of 
 the transaction is to be considered entitled to credit. He 
 volunteered to reveal to the Parliament the private conversa- 
 tions of ladies of rank, who had admitted him to their confi- 
 dence on the credit of his wit and reputation ; to expose their 
 correspondence and intercourse with the King's friends ; and 
 to tell how they derived and conveyed intelligence. In plain 
 terms, he offered to turn informer against all those who had 
 reposed implicit trust in his integrity, expecting thereby to 
 secure his own safety, which is said to have been promised 
 to him by Pym. And this treachery was all the more 
 despicable, because it was gratuitous and unnecessary; for 
 the Parliament knew little or nothing definite of the plot, 
 except the information acquired from these voluntary confes- 
 sions. When Lord Portland, after having received a miserable 
 
 * In consequence of this confession Lady Aubigny was arrested ; 
 but effected her escape, and fled to the Hague. 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 33 
 
 letter from Waller, entreating him to acknowledge the truth 
 of his statements, demanded to he confronted with him before 
 the Lords, Waller solicited a private conference, for the pur- 
 pose, as he alleged, of satisfying his lordship on the facts. 
 When the conference was over, Lord Portland went to the 
 usher of the house, and said, ' Do me the favour to tell my 
 Lord Northumberland that Mr. Waller has extremely pressed 
 me to save my own life and his, by throwing the blame on 
 Lord Conway and the Earl of Northumberland.'* In only one 
 instance Waller appears to have shown rectitude or manliness. 
 Being pressed with respect to Selden, Pierpout, and White- 
 locke, he exonerated them from all participation in the con- 
 spiracy. 
 
 Waller, Tomkins, Chaloner (the agent of Crispe), Alexander 
 Hampden (Waller's cousin, to whom he addressed one of his 
 poems in happier days), Hassel (the King's letter-carrier 
 between Oxford and London), Blinkorne, and White were 
 arraigned at Guildhall, before a Council of War. Waller 
 succeeded, says Clarendon, in getting his trial put off, ' till 
 he might recover his understanding,' by acting with incredible 
 dissimulation a strange remorse of conscience. Hassel died 
 the night before the trial. All the rest were sentenced. 
 Tomkins and Chaloner were executed in front of their own 
 houses ; Alexander Hampden expired in prison : and White 
 and Blinkorne were ultimately reprieved. 
 
 Waller, by obtaining the postponement of his trial till the 
 immediate fury of prosecution had been abated through the 
 sacrifice of its first victims, and by appealing from the military 
 tribunal to the House of Commons, finally escaped, The 
 speech he addressed to the house on this occasion was ad- 
 mirably adapted to propitiate the compassion and the pre- 
 judices of the assembly. He affected profound contrition, 
 threw himself wholly on the mercy of his hearers, but artfully 
 reminded them that their own rights would be compromised 
 
 * The Earl of Portland and Lord Conway denied the truth of 
 Waller's statements ; and, there being no other testimony against 
 them, they were admitted to bail after a long imprisonment. 
 
 WALLEE. 3 
 
34 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 in his person if they allowed him to be tried by the soldiers. 
 His submission was abject ; but the flattery was adroit, and 
 the premeditated eloquence full of point and brilliancy. ' In 
 truth/ says Clarendon, e he does as much owe the keeping 
 his head to that oration, as Catiline did the loss of his to 
 those of Tully.' It was not to his eloquence, however, he 
 was entirely indebted for his safety. The Commons decided 
 against his claim to be tried at their hands, and expelled him 
 from the house. In the interval, he is said to have expended 
 thirty thousand pounds in bribes. He was finally arraigned 
 before a military tribunal, and condemned, but reprieved by 
 Essex. At the end of a year his sentence was commuted to 
 banishment for life, and a fine of ten thousand pounds. 
 
 Turning from these details, which cannot be dwelt upon 
 without pain and regret, we now follow the course of the 
 exiled poet on the continent, his fortune diminished, and his 
 health broken by anxiety and suffering. After a short resi- 
 dence in Normandy, he made a tour through Italy and 
 Switzerland with his friend Evelyn, and ultimately settled 
 in Paris. By this time he had completely recovered his 
 natural gaiety ; and his house, which he maintained in great 
 splendour, was frequented by the chief wits and courtiers of 
 the French capital. At his liberal table, the only English 
 table in Paris except that of Lord St. Albans, minister and 
 favourite of the exiled Queen, the banished Royalists found 
 a hospitable reception, as long as his resources lasted. His 
 means were so much impaired that this profusion, which 
 exhibited an extraordinary contrast to the prudence of his 
 youth, ended at last in an extremity of distress. His per- 
 sonal estate, augmented by his first wife's fortune, is stated 
 by Aubrey to have been worth 3000 1, a year, raised by other 
 authorities to 3500Z. But he had been compelled, in order to 
 discharge the fine of 1 0,000 L, to sell off a property in Bed- 
 fordshire of 1000Z. or 1300Z. per annum; and to make still 
 larger sacrifices to conciliate the favour of influential persons 
 by costly gifts. His difficulties were increased by the grow- 
 ing demands of a numerous family. His daughter Margaret 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 35 
 
 was "born in Rouen, and several children were born in Paris. 
 At length he was thrown for support, as a final resource, 
 upon his wife's jewels, and was reduced to the last, which he 
 called the ' Rump jewel,' when, through the intercession of 
 his brother-in-law Seroope, he was permitted to return. 
 Evelyn, who had been his constant visitor in Paris, records 
 his having taken leave of him before his departure for Eng- 
 land, on the 13th January, 1652. 
 
 His mother was still living, and residing at Beaconsfield, 
 and receiving the visits of Cromwell, who used to come to see 
 her, notwithstanding her loyalty. Here, close in the neigh- 
 bourhood, Waller settled at Hall Barn, a house built by him- 
 self, where he hung up the portrait of Saccharissa, which she 
 is said herself to have presented to him. All the acrimonies 
 of the past were forgotten, and Cromwell once more received 
 him (although there really was no blood-relationship between 
 them) as his kinsman, and admitted him to his confidence. 
 Waller adapted himself with facility to the altered state of 
 things ; and, in his panegyrics on Cromwell and his wars, dis- 
 played as zealous an allegiance as he had formerly paid to the 
 Stuarts. Indeed, in one of his poems, he carries his zeal so 
 far as to call upon the people to melt down the gold taken 
 from the Spaniards, and make it into a crown for Cromwell. 
 Anecdotes are related of the intimacy that subsisted between 
 the Protector and the poet. They would sometimes discuss 
 the Greek and Latin historians together; and Cromwell 
 would excuse himself to Waller for employing in his conver- 
 sation, with other people, such phrases as ' The Lord will 
 help,' ' The Lord will reveal,' which, it appears, he never 
 used when they were alone. ' Cousin Waller,' he would say, 
 ■ I must talk to these men in their own way ! ' 
 
 The Restoration soon followed ; and the pliant muse again 
 found shelter and protection at Whitehall, ' It is not pos- 
 sible,' observed Dr. Johnson, 'to read without some contempt 
 and indignation, poems of the same author, ascribing the 
 highest degree of power and piety to Charles the First, then 
 transferring the same power and piety to Oliver Cromwell, 
 
 3—2 
 
36 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 now inviting Oliver to take the crown, and then congratulat- 
 ing Charles the Second on his recovered right.' The reproach 
 is just. All that can he said in mitigation of its severity is, 
 that Waller owed Cromwell a deht of gratitude, and had some 
 claims on Charles, in whose cause he had suffered, not nobly 
 or heroically, it is true, but with much cost of reputation 
 and fortune ; and that his last, and worst, panegyrics brought 
 him back to his first principles, and rounded off his public 
 life with something like a consistency, that at least reconciled 
 its beginning and its end. 
 
 There seems to have been a tacit compromise of politics on 
 on both sides. Cromwell and Charles evidently regarded 
 Waller with indifference as a partizan, and received him only 
 for the sake of his social and literary powers. He had shown 
 himself incapable of leading or following ; the most infirm of 
 conspirators, and the weakest of allies. But he had been 
 famous for his verse before he fell into discredit as a politi- 
 cian ; # and they who could no longer be damaged by his 
 hostility or support, were willing to be entertained by his wit. 
 
 At no period does Waller appear to have obtained any 
 solid influence in public affairs. We hear of "his bons mots, 
 which were repeated with great gusto by his contemporaries 
 of all parties ; but we do not find that he made much impres- 
 sion by his speeches or his actions. Nursed in Parliament, 
 as Clarendon says, his orations were distinguished by skilful 
 and brilliant points, carefully prepared, rather than by origi- 
 nal views, or weight of judgment, Burnet tells us that, even 
 at seventy, he was always listened to with delight ; but gives 
 us to understand that it was because he said * the liveliest 
 things of any among them.' He was ' only concerned/ he 
 adds, ' to say that which should make him be applauded ; he 
 never laid the business of the House to heart, being a vain 
 
 * * I departed from Venice,' writes Evelyn, ' accompanied with Mr. 
 Waller (the celebrated poet), newly gotten out of England, after the 
 Parliament had extremely worried him for attempting to put in exe- 
 cution the commission of array, and for which the rest of his col- 
 leagues were hanged by the rebels.' 
 
EDMUND WALLER. 37 
 
 and empty, though a witty man.' This description is, pro- 
 bably, accurate on the whole. Waller could light up the 
 ridiculous side of a question by a happy epigram, or present 
 the heads of a discussion with effective perspicuity ; but he 
 rarely ventured farther, and the highest merit of his elo- 
 quence was its fitness to the immediate occasion, and its 
 vivacity of illustration. 
 
 Having to some extent repaired his fortune, he again 
 entered Parliament, and was returned in 1661 for Hastings, 
 in Sussex. His circumstances, however, were not so pros- 
 perous as to render him careless of opportunities of improve- 
 ment; and in 1665 he applied to the King for the provostship 
 of Eton, which happened at that time to fall vacant. It was 
 the only favour he ever asked, and the King at once acceded 
 to his request ; but Clarendon refused to set the seal to the 
 grant, on the ground that laymen were excluded from the 
 office by the statutes of the college. Waller afterwards re- 
 sented this opposition by joining Buckingham's party, and 
 giving full vent to his personal feelings in the debate on 
 Clarendon's impeachment. But whatever satisfaction he may 
 have derived from contributing to the ruin of the Chancellor, 
 he gained nothing by it towards the advancement of his 
 object; for upon a second application for the place, the ques- 
 tion was referred to the Council, who decided that Clarendon 
 was right. 
 
 Waller, notwithstanding, continued to maintain his position, 
 to frequent the court, and to attend the House, of which, at 
 this time, he must have been the oldest member. In 1678, 
 he was returned for Chipping Wycombe, and finally, at eighty- 
 two years of age, he represented Saltash in the only parlia- 
 ment summoned by James II. His mental powers were still 
 clear and vigorous, although symptoms of physical decay 
 were rapidly accumulating upon him. Characteristic anec- 
 dotes are related of his wit, even at this period. The King, 
 taking him into his closet one day, asked him how he liked a 
 certain portrait; Waller replied that his eyes were dim, and 
 he could not discern who it was ; when the King informed 
 
38 EDMUND WALLEE. 
 
 him it was the Princess of Orange; upon which Waller 
 observed that she was like the greatest woman in the world. 
 ' Who do you call so?' inquired his Majesty. ' Queen 
 Elizabeth,' was the answer. ' I wonder you should think so, 
 Mr. Waller,' observed the King; 'but I must confess she 
 had a wise council.' 'And, sir,' rejoined Waller, 'did your 
 Majesty ever know a fool choose a wise one?' On another 
 occasion, when Waller's daughter was on the eve of marriage 
 with Dr. Birch, the King sent him a message, expressing his 
 surprise that he would think of marrying his daughter to a 
 falling church ; ' The King,' returned Waller, ' does me very 
 great honour, to take notice of my private affairs ; but I have 
 lived long enough to observe that the falling church has got 
 a trick of rising again.' His animal spirits were bright to 
 the last ; and it is related of him that, although an habitual 
 water-drinker, he inspired the orgies of the Sedleys and 
 Buckinghams of Charles the Second's court with unflagging 
 gaiety. Saville used to say that he was the only man he 
 would allow to sit with him without drinking. 
 
 At eighty -two, conscious of daily increasing evidences of 
 decay, he looked forward with composure to the change which 
 he knew could not be far distant; and purchased a small 
 estate at Coleshill, his native place, desirous, as he said, ' to 
 die, like the stag, where he was roused.' But it was too late. 
 A tumour in his legs rendered it necessary to obtain immediate 
 medical aid ; and Waller made his last journey to Windsor to 
 consult Sir Charles Scarborough, who was then in attendance 
 on the King. He requested Sir Charles, as a friend, to tell 
 him frankly the meaning of the swelling ; and, being informed 
 that ' his blood would no longer run,' he calmly repeated a 
 passage from Yirgil, and returned to Beaconsfield to prepare 
 for death. Calling his family round him, he received the 
 sacrament from his son-in-law, Dr. Birch, and caused it to 
 be administered at the same time to his children. Upon 
 this solemn occasion he made a declaration of his faith in 
 Christianity, and recalled an incident that had occurred at court 
 many years before, when he reproved the Duke of Bucking- 
 
EDMUND WALLEE. 39 
 
 ham for some profane conversation, telling him that he had 
 heard more arguments in favour of Atheism than his Grace, 
 hut that he had lived long enough to see there was nothing 
 in them, which he hoped his Grace would also. In this 
 spirit he died, on the 21st of October, 1687, in his eighty- 
 third year, and was buried in the churchyard of Beaconsfield. 
 A monument was erected over his grave by his sons' executors, 
 inscribed with a Latin epitaph, written by Mr. Eymer, the 
 historiographer royal. 
 
 He left behind him five sons and eight daughters by his 
 second wife. His eldest son, Benjamin, being of weak mind, 
 was committed by his will to the care of his daughter, Mar- 
 garet, his favourite and amanuensis. To his second son, 
 Edmund, he bequeathed his estate. His third son, William, 
 was a merchant in London ; his fourth, Stephen, was a doctor 
 of laws, afterwards appointed one of the commissioners of the 
 Union ; and of his fifth no account has been preserved. 
 Edmund afterwards represented Agmondesham in Parlia- 
 ment, where he became the head of an isolated section called 
 the flying squadron. Towardsjthe close of his life, he joined 
 the Quakers, and, dying without issue, bequeathed his estates 
 to his nephew, the son of his brother Stephen. Of Waller's 
 eight daughters, three were married, and one was a dwarf. 
 
 In person, Waller was spare and delicate, and rather above 
 the middle height. He is described by Aubrey as having a 
 6 fair thin skin, his face somewhat of an olivaster ; his hair 
 frizzed, of a brownish colour ; fall eye, popping out and 
 working ; oval-faced ; his forehead high and full of wrinkles.' 
 He adds that he was of a very hot brain and apt to be 
 choleric ; and that his head was small. The portraits of 
 Waller do not in all particulars agree with this description, 
 the head being rather massive, and the features coarse, with 
 a thoughtful expression in the eyes, indicating the ' melan- 
 cholic' temperament ascribed to him by Clarendon. 
 
 The predominant characteristic of Waller's poetry is that 
 which has been already noticed — the correctness, or, as it 
 has been with less propriety called, the sweetness of his 
 
40 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 versification. His principal merit is that of having been the 
 first who uniformly observed the obligations of a strict 
 metrical system. There are very few of his lines that do not 
 read smoothly, and but one in which a syllabic defect can 
 be detected. In the attainment of this end some sacrifices 
 were unavoidable. To secure his numbers, Waller frequently 
 inverts his meaning, and sometimes obscures it. In this 
 respect he proceeds upon a principle the reverse of that 
 laid down by Dryden, who maintained that poetry should, 
 flow directly to its purpose, and be as obvious as prose. Dr. 
 Johnson observes that Waller ' sometimes retains the final 
 syllable on the preterite, as amazed, supposed ;' and it may 
 be added fchat he employs or rejects it at will, to suit his 
 measure, which produces uncertainty and impedes the reader. 
 In this edition, the obstruction is removed by accenting the 
 final syllable whenever it is to be pronounced. Waller's 
 language is everywhere pure, and carefully chosen. Pope 
 estimated it so highly that, in planning a dictionary that 
 should be an authority for style, he selected Waller as one of 
 the best examples of poetical diction. Nor is it a slight 
 excellence that, writing in the age of Etherege and Eochester, 
 his verse is never stained with a vicious sentiment, or a 
 licentious image. If there is not much real emotion in his 
 love poems, they are always refined and delicate, and full of 
 an exquisite kind of gallantry. His gaiety has an instinctive 
 air of high breeding ; and no poet ever paid compliments in 
 verse so gracefully. Voltaire compared him to Voiture, whom 
 he thought he excelled. His Divine Poems, written near 
 the close of his life, at the desire of Lady Ranelagh, are, in 
 some aspects, his greatest performances. They not only 
 exhibit no decadence of power, but embrace a larger field and 
 a more ambitious purpose than he had ever attempted before; 
 and the affecting lines with which he terminates the series, 
 dictated to his daughter, Margaret, when he was nearly 
 blind, may be justly considered the noblest he produced. Of 
 few poets can it be said that their last lines were their best. 
 
POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 To my Lady 
 
 Madam, — Your commands for the gathering these sticks into a 
 faggot had sooner been obeyed, but, intending to present you with 
 my whole vintage, I stayed till the latest grapes were ripe; for 
 here your ladyship has not only all I have done, but all I ever 
 mean to do of this kind. Not but that I may defend the at- 
 tempt I have made upon poetry, by the examples (not to trouble 
 you with history) of many wise and worthy persons of our own 
 times ; as Sir Philip Sidney, Sir Francis Bacon, Cardinal Perron 
 (the ablest of his countrymen), and the former Pope, who, they 
 say, instead of the Triple Crown, wore sometimes the poet's ivy, 
 as an ornament, perhaps, of lesser weight and trouble. But, 
 madam, these nightingales sung only in the spring; it was the 
 diversion of their youth; as ladies learn to sing and play when 
 they are children, what they forget when they are women. The 
 resemblance holds further; for, as you quit the lute the sooner 
 because the posture is suspected to draw the body awry, so this 
 is not always practised without some villany to the mind; 
 wresting it from present occasions, and accustoming us to a style 
 somewhat removed from common use. But, that you may not 
 think his case deplorable who had made these verses, we are told 
 that Tully (the greatest "wit among the Romans) was once sick of 
 this disease; and yet recovered so well, that of almost as bad a 
 
 * This letter was prefixed to the collection of Waller's poems pub- 
 lished during his exile, but omitted from all subsequent editions. Most 
 readers, notwithstanding the opinion of Mr. Fenton, will infer, from 
 internal evidence, that it was designed for publication. The name of 
 the lady to whom it was addressed is unknown. She was probably an 
 imaginary personage — ' the lady of the brain, not of the heart ' of the 
 writer. 
 
42 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 poet as your servant, he became the most perfect orator in the 
 world. So that, not so much to have made verses, as not to give 
 over in time, leaves a man without excuse; the former presenting 
 us with an opportunity at least of doing wisely, that is, to con- 
 ceal those we have made; which I shall yet do, if my humble 
 request may be of as much force with your ladyship, as your com- 
 mands have been with me. Madam, I only whisper these in 
 your ear; if you publish them, they are your own; and therefore, 
 as you apprehend the reproach of a wit and a poet, cast them into 
 the fire; or, if they come where green boughs are in the chimney, 
 with the help of your fair friends (for thus bound, it will be too 
 hard a task for your hands alone), tear them in pieces, wherein 
 you will honour me with the fate of Orpheus; for so his poems, 
 whereof we only bear the form (not his limbs, as the story will 
 have it), I suppose were scattered by the Thracian dames. Here, 
 madam, I might take an opportunity to celebrate your virtues, 
 and to instruct you how unhappy you are, in that you know not 
 who you are; how much you excel the most excellent of your own, 
 and how much you amaze the least inclined to wonder of our 
 sex. But as they will be apt to take your ladyship's for a Roman 
 name, so would they believe that I endeavoured the character of 
 a perfect nymph, worshipped an image of my own making, and 
 dedicated this to the lady of the brain, not of the heart, of 
 Your Ladyship's most humble servant, 
 
 Edm. Wallee. 
 
 ' 
 
 PREFACE TO THE EIEST EDITION OE ME. "WALLER'S POEMS, 
 AETEE THE EESTOEATION, PEINTED IN THE YEAE 1 664. 
 
 When the author of these verses (written only to please him- 
 self, and such particular persons to whom they were directed) 
 returned from abroad some years since, he was troubled to find 
 his name in print ; but somewhat satisfied to see his lines so ill 
 rendered that he might justly disown them, and say to a mis- 
 taking printer as one did to an ill reciter, 
 
 .... Male dum recitas, incipit esse tuus.* 
 
 Having been ever since pressed to correct the many and gross 
 faults (such as use to be in impressions wholly neglected by the 
 authors), his answer was, that he made these when ill verses had 
 more favour, and escaped better, than good ones do in this age; 
 
 * Martial, lib. i. ep. 39. 
 
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 43 
 
 the severity whereof he thought not unhappily diverted hy those 
 faults in the impression which hitherto have hung upon his book, 
 as the Turks hang old rags, or such like ugly things, upon their 
 fairest horses, and other goodly creatures, to secure them against 
 fascination. And for those of a more confined understanding, 
 who pretend not to censure, as they admire most what they least 
 comprehend, so his verses (maimed to that degree that himself 
 scarce knew what to make of many of them) might, that w T ay at 
 least, have a title to some admiration; which is no small matter, 
 if what an old author observes be true, that the aim of orators is 
 victory, of historians truth, and of poets admiration. He had 
 reason, therefore, to indulge those faults in his book, whereby it 
 might be reconciled to some, and commended to others. 
 
 The printer also, he thought, would fare the worse if those 
 faults were amended; for we see maimed statues sell better than 
 whole ones; and clipped and washed money goes about, when the 
 entire and weighty lies hoarded up. 
 
 These are the reasons which, for above twelve years past, he 
 has opposed to our request; to which it was replied, that as it 
 would be too late to recall that which had so long been made 
 public, so might it find excuse from his youth, the season it was 
 produced in; and for what had been done since, and now added, 
 if it commend not his poetry, it might his philosophy, which 
 teaches him so cheerfully to bear so great a calamity as the loss of 
 the best part of his fortune, torn from him in prison (in which, 
 and in banishment, the best portion of his life hath also been 
 spent), that he can still sing under the burthen, not unlike that 
 "Roman, 
 
 .... Quern demisere Philippi 
 
 Decisis humilem pennis, inopemque paterni 
 
 Et laris et fundi * .... 
 
 Whose spreading wings the civil war had clipped, 
 And him of his old patrimony stripped. 
 
 Who yet not long after could say, 
 
 Musis amicus, tristitiam et metus 
 Tradam protervis in mare Creticum 
 Portare ventis.f .... 
 
 They that acquainted with the muses be, 
 Send care and sorrow by the winds to sea. 
 
 Not so much moved with these reasons of ours (or pleased with 
 our rhymes), as wearied with our importunity, he has at last given 
 
 * Horace, lib. ii. ep. 3. t Lib. i. ode 2,6. 
 
44 PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART. 
 
 us leave to assure the reader, that the Poems which have been so j 
 long and so ill set forth under his name, are here to be found as 
 he first writ them; as also to add some others which have since 
 been composed by him: and though his advice to the contrary 
 might have discouraged us, yet observing how often they have 
 been reprinted, what price they have borne, and how earnestly 
 they have been always inquired after, but especially of late (making 
 good that of Horace, 
 
 . . . Meliora dies, ut vina, poemata reddit.* 
 
 6 some verses being, like some wines, recommended to our taste 
 by time and age') we have adventured upon this new and well- 
 corrected edition, which, for our own sakes as well as thine, we 
 hope will succeed better than he apprehended. 
 
 Vivitur ingenio, csetera mortis erunt. 
 
 ALBINOVANTJS.t 
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART OP ME. WALLER'S POEMS, 
 PRINTED IN THE YEAR 169O. 
 
 The reader needs be told no more in commendation of these 
 Poems, than that they are Mr. Waller's; a name that carries 
 everything in it that is either great or graceful in poetry. He 
 was, indeed, the parent of English verse, and the first that showed 
 us our tongue had beauty and numbers in it. Our language 
 owes more to him than the French does to Cardinal Richelieu, and 
 the whole Academy. A poet cannot think of him without being 
 in the same rapture Lucretius is in when Epicurus comes in his 
 way. 
 
 Tu pater, et rerum inventor ; tu patria nobis 
 
 Suppeditas praecepta ; tuisque ex, Inclute ! chartis, 
 
 Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant, 
 
 Omnia nos itidem depascimur aurea dicta ; 
 
 Aurea ! perpetua semper dignissima vita ! % 
 
 The tongue came into his hands like a rough diamond: he 
 polished it first, and to that degree, that all artists since him 
 have admired the workmanship, without pretending to mend it. 
 Suckling and Carew, I must confess, wrote some few things 
 smoothly enough; but as all they did in this kind was not very 
 considerable, so it was a little later than the earliest pieces of Mr. 
 
 * Lib. ii. ep. 1. 
 t There can be no reasonable doubt that this preface was written 
 by Waller himself. X Lib. iii. ver. 9. 
 
 \ 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART. 45 
 
 Waller. He undoubtedly stands first in the list of refiners, and, 
 for aught I know, last too; for I question whether in Charles II. 's 
 reign English did not come to its fall perfection; and whether it 
 has not had its Augustan age as well as the Latin. It seems to 
 be already mixed with foreign languages as far as its purity will 
 bear; and, as chemists say of their menstruums, to be quite sated 
 with the infusion. But posterity will best judge of this. In the 
 meantime, it is a surprising reflection, that between what Spenser 
 wrote last, and Waller first, there should not be much above 
 twenty years' distance;* and yet the one's language, like the 
 money of that time, is as current now as ever; whilst the other's 
 words are like old coins, one must go to an antiquary to under- 
 stand their true meaning and value. Such advances may a great 
 genius make, when it undertakes anything in earnest! 
 
 Some painters will hit the chief lines and masterstrokes of a 
 face so truly, that through all the differences of age the picture 
 shall still bear a resemblance. This art was Mr. Waller's: he 
 sought out, in this flowing tongue of ours, what parts would last, 
 and be of standing use and ornament; and this he did so success- 
 fully, that his language is now as fresh as it was at first setting 
 out. Were we to judge barely by the wording, we could not 
 know what was wrote at twenty, and what at fourscore. He 
 complains, indeed, of a tide of words that comes in upon the Eng- 
 lish poet, and overflows whatever he builds; but this was less his 
 case than any man's that ever wrote; and the mischief of it is, 
 this very complaint will last long enough to confute itself; for 
 though English be mouldering stone, as he tells us there, yet he 
 has certainly picked the best out of a bad quarry. 
 
 We are no less beholden to him for the new turn of verse 
 which he brought in, and the improvement he made in our 
 numbers. Before his time men rhymed indeed, and that was all: 
 as for the harmony of measure, and that dance of words which 
 good ears are so much pleased with, they knew nothing of it. 
 Their poetry then was made up almost entirely of monosyllables; 
 which, when they come together in any cluster, are certainly the 
 most harsh, untuneable things in the world. If any man doubts 
 of this, let him read ten lines in Donne, and he will be quickly 
 convinced. Besides, their verses ran all into one another, and 
 hung together, throughout a whole copy, like the hooked atoms 
 that compose a body in Des Cartes. There was no distinction of 
 
 * This statement is not quite accurate. Spenser died in January, 
 1598-9, and, assuming the date of Waller's first poem to have been 
 i5z4, the interval must have been at least twenty-five years. 
 
46 PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART. 
 
 parts, no regular stops, nothing for the ear to rest upon; but as 
 soon as the copy began, down it went like a larum, incessantly; 
 and the reader was sure to be out of breath before he got to the 
 end of it : so that really verse, in those days, was but downright 
 prose tagged with rhymes. Mr. Waller removed all these faults, 
 brought in more polysyllables, and smoother measures, bound up 
 his thoughts better, and in a cadence more agreeable to the nature 
 of the verse he wrote in; so that wherever the natural stops of 
 that were, he contrived the little breakings of his sense so as to 
 fall in with them; and, for that reason, since the stress of our 
 verse lies commonly upon the last syllable, you will hardly ever 
 find him using a word of no force there. I would say, if I were 
 not afraid the reader would think me too nice, that he commonly 
 closes with verbs, in which we know the life of language consists. 
 Among other improvements we may reckon that of his rhymes, 
 which are always good, and very often the better for being new. 
 He had a fine ear, and knew how quickly that sense was cloyed 
 by the same round of chiming words still returning upon it. It 
 is a decided case by the great master of writing,* Quce stmt 
 ampla, et pulchra, dm placere jposstmt; quce lepida et concinna 
 (amongst which rhyme must, whether it will or no, take its place), 
 eitb satietate qfficiunt cmrium sensum faslidiosissimum. This he 
 understood very well ; and therefore, to take off the danger of a 
 surfeit that way, strove to please by variety and new sounds. 
 Had he carried this observation, among others, as far as it would 
 go, it must, methinks, have shown him the incurable fault of this 
 jingling kind of poetry, and have led his later judgment to blank 
 verse; but he continued an obstinate lover of rhyme to the very 
 last; it was a mistress that never appeared unhandsome in his 
 eyes, and was courted by him long after Saccharissa was forsaken. 
 He had raised it, and brought it to that perfection we now enjoy 
 it in; and the poet's temper (which has always a little vanity in 
 it) would not suffer him ever to slight a thing he had taken so 
 much pains to adorn. My Lord Roscommon was more impartial; 
 no man ever rhymed truer and evener than he; yet he is so just 
 as to confess that it is but a trifle, and to wish the tyrant de- 
 throned, and blank verse set up in its room. There is a third 
 person,-)* the living glory of our English poetry, who has dis- 
 claimed the use of it upon the stage, though no man ever 
 employed it there so happily as he. It was the strength of his 
 genius that first brought it into credit in plays, and it is the force 
 
 * Ad Herennium, lib. iv. t Mr. Dryden. 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART. 47 
 
 of his example that has thrown it out again. In other kinds of 
 writing it continues still, and will do so till some excellent spirit 
 arises that has leisure enough, and resolution, to "break the charm, 
 and free us from the troublesome bondage of rhyming, as Mr. 
 Milton very well calls it, and has proved it as well by what he has 
 wrote in another way. But this is a thought for times at some 
 distance; the present age is a little too warlike; it may perhaps 
 furnish out matter for a good poem in the next, but it will hardly 
 encourage one now. Without prophesying, a man may easily 
 know what sort of laurels are like to be in request. 
 
 Whilst I am talking of verse, I find myself, I do not know 
 how, betrayed into a great deal of prose. I intended no more 
 than to put the reader in mind what respect was due to anything 
 that fell from the pen of Mr. Waller. I have heard his last- 
 printed copies, which are added in the several editions of his 
 poems, very slightly spoken of, but certainly they do not deserve 
 it. They do indeed discover themselves to be his last, and that is 
 the worst we can say of them. He is there 
 
 Jam senior; sed cruda Deo viridisque senectus.* 
 
 The same censure, perhaps, will be passed on the pieces of this 
 Second Part. I shall not so far engage for them, as to pretend 
 they are all equal to whatever he wrote in the vigour of his youth; 
 yet they are so much of a piece with the rest, that any man will 
 at first sight know them to be Mr. Waller's. Some of them were 
 wrote very early, but not put into former collections, for reasons 
 obvious enough, but which are now ceased. The play was altered 
 to please the court; it is not to be doubted who sat for the Two 
 Brothers' characters. It was agreeable to the sweetness of Mr. 
 Waller's temper to soften the rigour of the tragedy, as he expresses 
 it; but whether it be so agreeable to the nature of tragedy itself 
 to make everything come off easily, I leave to the critics. In the 
 prologue and epilogue there are a few verses that he has made 
 use of upon another occasion; but the reader may be pleased to 
 allow that in him that has been allowed so long in Homer and 
 Lucretius. Exact writers dress up their thoughts so very well 
 always, that when they have need of the same sense, they cannot 
 put it into other words but it must be to its prejudice. Care has 
 been taken in this book, to get together everything of Mr. 
 Waller's that is not put into the former collection; so that between 
 both the reader may make the set complete. 
 
 It will, perhaps, be contended, after all, that some of these 
 
 * Virg. 2En. vi. v. 304. 
 
 / 
 
48 PREFACE TO THE SECOND PART. 
 
 ought not to have been published; and Mr. Cowley's* decision 
 will be urged, that a neat tomb of marble is a better monument 
 than a great pile of rubbish. It might be answered to this, that 
 the pictures and poems of great masters have been always valued, 
 though the last hand were not put to them : and I believe none 
 of those gentlemen that will make the objection would refuse a 
 sketch of Raphael's, or one of Titian's draughts of the first sitting. 
 I might tell them, too, what care has been taken by the learned 
 to preserve the fragments of the ancient Greek and Latin poets; 
 there has been thought to be a divinity in what they said; and 
 therefore the least pieces of it have been kept up and reverenced 
 like religious relics; and I am sure, take away the mille cmnify 
 and impartial reasoning will tell us there is as much due to the 
 memory of Mr. Waller, as to the most celebrated names of 
 antiquity. 
 
 But, to waive the dispute now of what ought to have been 
 done, I can assure the reader what would have been, had this 
 edition been delayed. The following poems were got abroad, and" 
 in a great many hands; it were vain to expect that, among so 
 many admirers of Mr. Waller, they should not meet with one fond 
 enough to publish them. They might have stayed, indeed, till 
 by frequent transcriptions they had been corrupted extremely, 
 and jumbled together with things of another kind; but then they 
 would have found their way into the world; so it was thought a 
 greater piece of kindness to the author to pat them out whilst 
 they continue genuine and unmixed, and such as he himself, were 
 
 he alive, might own. 
 
 
 
 * In the preface to his works, 
 f Alluding to that verse in Juvenal — 
 
 . . . . Et uni cedit Homero 
 Propter mille annos — Sat. 7- 
 
 And yields to Homer on no other score, 
 Than that he lived a thousand years before. 
 
 Mr. C. Dryden. 
 
49 
 
 OF THE DANGER HIS MAJESTY [BEING PEINCeJ 
 ESCAPED IN THE ROAD AT ST. ANDERO.* 
 
 N'OW had his Highness bid farewell to Spain, 
 And reached the sphere of his own power, the main; 
 With British bounty in his ship he feasts 
 The Hesperian princes, his amazed guests, 
 To find that watery wilderness exceed 
 The entertainment of their great Madrid. 
 Healths to both kings, attended with the roar 
 Of cannons, echoed from the affrighted shore, 
 With loud resemblance of his thunder, prove 
 Bacchus the seed of cloud compelling Jove; 
 While to his harp divine Arion sings t 
 The loves and conquests of our Albion kings. 
 Of the Fourth Edward was his noble song, 
 Fierce, goodly, valiant, beautiful, and young; 
 
 * The occasion of this piece was an accident that occurred to 
 Prince Charles on his return from Spain, after abandoning his suit for 
 the hand of the Infanta. The prince had been attended from Madrid 
 by the Cardinal Zopala, the Marquis Aytone, and other Spanish noble- 
 men, and, having arrived at the port of St. Andero, in the Bay of 
 Biscay, he gave them a farewell entertainment of great magnificence. 
 * In carrying them back to shore,' says Mr. Fenton, ' a tempest over- 
 took them with so much fury that they could neither reach land, nor 
 regain the fleet ; and night coming on when the rowers were fainting 
 with toil, their horror was almost increased to despair. In this cala- 
 mity they yielded themselves to the mercy of the seas, till at last they 
 spied a light in a ship near to which the storm had driven them ; on 
 which, not without some danger of being dashed to pieces, they were 
 safely received.' This occurrence took place towards the end of Sep- 
 tember or beginning of October, i5z3. Fenton fixes the date of the 
 poem immediately afterwards, in "Waller's eighteenth year ; but the allu- 
 sions to the Princess Henrietta bring it down a little later. The mar- 
 riage with the Princess was not arranged till the following August, 
 near to which time the piece must have been written, or completed. 
 It is probable, from the evident care and finish bestowed upon the 
 lines, that Waller began the piece early, and lingered long over its 
 composition. This elaboration is the more remarkable in a first pro- 
 duction, and indicates at the outset that fastidiousness of taste and 
 execution which mark the whole of his poems. 
 
 t Dr. Johnson objects to this allusion to Arion (whose story is related 
 by Plutarch) that it is puerile and ridiculous. 
 
 WALLEE. 4 
 
50 OF THE DANGER HIS MAJESTY ESCAPED 
 
 He rent the crown from vanquished Henry's head, 
 Raised the White Rose, and trampled on the Red ; 
 Till love, triumphing o'er the victor's pride, 
 Brought Mars and Warwick to the conquered side : 
 Neglected Warwick (whose bold hand, like Fate, 
 Gives and resumes the sceptre of our state) 
 Woos for his master; and with double shame, 
 Himself deluded, mocks the princely dame, 
 The Lady Bona, whom just anger burns, 
 And foreign war with civil rage returns. 
 Ah ! spare your swords, where beauty is to blame ; 
 Love gave the affront, and must repair the same ; 
 When France shall boast of her, whose conquering eyes 
 Have made the best of English hearts their prize ; 
 Have power to alter the decrees of Fate, 
 And change again the counsels of our state. * 
 
 What the prophetic Muse intends, alone 
 To him that feels the secret wound is known. 
 
 With the sweet sound of this harmonious lay, 
 About the keel delighted dolphins play, 
 Too sure a sign of sea's ensuing rage, 
 Which must anon this royal troop engage ; 
 To whom soft sleep seems more secure and sweet, 
 Within the town commanded by our fleet. 
 
 These mighty peers placed in the gilded barge, 
 Proud with the burden of so brave a charge, 
 With painted oars the youths begin to sweep 
 Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep; 
 
 * It is clear from this passage and the two lines which follow, that the 
 whole piece was either written, or re-cast, with a direct reference to the 
 marriage of the Prince. The allusion to Edward IV. makes rather an 
 unfortunate historical parallel. The Earl of Warwick had been employed 
 by Edward to negociate a union with the Lady Bona, daughter of the 
 Duke of Savoy ; but, in the interval, happening to fall in love with the 
 Lady Elizabeth Grey, the widow of Sir John Grey, his Majesty broke 
 off the engagement with Lady Bona, who had accepted his proposals. 
 The same reason for treating the Infanta with similar discourtesy and 
 caprice did not exist in the case of Prince Charles, although Waller's 
 gallantry to the future Queen makes him ascribe the abandonment of 
 the Spanish negociation to the influence of her beauty. 
 
IN THE ROAD AT ST. ANDERO. 51 
 
 Which soon becomes the seat of sudden war 
 Between the wind and tide that fiercely jar. 
 As when a sort* of lusty shepherds try 
 Their force at football, care of victory 
 Makes them salute so rudely breast to breast, 
 That their encounter seems too rough for jest; 
 They ply their feet, and still the restless ball, 
 Tossed to and fro, is urged by them all : 
 So fares the doubtful barge 'twixt tide and winds, 
 And like effect of their contention finds. 
 Yet the bold Britons still securely rowed ; 
 Charles and his virtue was their sacred loadjt 
 Than which a greater pledge Heaven could not give, 
 That the good boat this tempest should outlive. 
 
 But storms increase, and now no hope of grace 
 Among them shines, save in the Prince's face; 
 The rest resign their courage, skill, and sight, 
 To danger, horror, and unwelcome night. 
 The gentle vessel, (wont with state and pride 
 On the smooth back of silver Thames to ride) 
 Wanders astonished in the angry main, 
 As Titan's car did, while the golden rein 
 Filled the young hand of his adventurous son, J 
 When the whole world an equal hazard run 
 To this of ours, the light of whose desire 
 Waves threaten now, as that was scared by fire. 
 The impatient sea grows impotent and raves, 
 That, night assisting, his impetuous waves 
 Should find resistance from so light a thing; 
 These surges ruin, those our safety bring. 
 The oppressed vessel doth the charge abide, 
 Only because assailed on every side ; 
 So men with rage and passion set on fire, 
 Trembling for haste, impeach their mad desire. 
 
 * In the sense of company, or set of people. The word is so used by 
 the writers of Elizabeth's age ; and in several other places by Waller, 
 t Imitated from Caesar's answer to the boatman. 
 t Phaeton. 
 
 4—2 
 
52 OF THE DANGER HIS MAJESTY ESCAPED 
 
 The pale Iberians had expired with fear, 
 But that their wonder did divert their care, 
 To see the Prince with danger moved no more 
 Than with the pleasures of their court before; 
 Godlike his courage seemed, whom nor delight 
 Could soften, nor the face of death affright. 
 Next to the power of making tempests cease, 
 Was in that storm to have so calm a peace. 
 Great Maro could no greater tempest feign, 
 When the loud winds usurping on the main 
 For angry Juno, laboured to destroy 
 The hated relics of confounded Troy ; 
 His bold -ZEneas, on like billows tossed 
 In a tall ship, and all his country lost, 
 Dissolves with fear; and both his hands upheld, 
 Proclaims them happy whom the Greeks had quelled 
 In honourable fight; our hero, set 
 In a small shallop, Fortune in his debt, 
 So near a hope of crowns and sceptres, more 
 Than ever Priam, when he flourished, wore ; 
 His loins yet full of ungot princes, all 
 His glory in the bud, lets nothing fall 
 That argues fear ; if any thought annoys 
 The gallant youth, 'tis love's untasted joys, 
 And dear remembrance of that fatal glance, 
 For which he lately pawned his heart in France;* 
 Where he had seen a brighter nymph than shet 
 That sprung out of his present foe, the sea. 
 
 * A compliment to the charms of the Princess at the expense of 
 historical truth, When Prince Charles and Buckingham left England 
 on their expedition to Madrid for the purpose of concluding the 
 match with the Infanta, they travelled under the names of John and 
 Thomas Smith, and, visiting Paris on the way, the Prince there saw 
 the Princess for the first time. So far from wounding his Royal High- 
 ness by her 'fatal glance,' the lady made no impression whatever on 
 him ; and he pursued his journey with the intention of prosecuting his 
 union with the Infanta, which was frustrated partly by delays on the 
 side of the court, and partly by the unbecoming conduct of the Prince 
 and his companion. 
 
 t Venus. 
 
IN THE ROAD AT ST. ANDERO. 53 
 
 That noble ardour, more than mortal fire, 
 
 The conquered ocean could not make expire; 
 
 Nor angry Thetis raise her waves above 
 
 The heroic Prince's courage or his love ; 
 
 'Twas indignation, and not fear he felt, 
 
 The shrine should perish where that image dwelt. 
 
 Ah, Love forbid ! the noblest of thy train 
 
 Should not survive to let her know his pain; 
 
 Who nor his peril minding nor his flame, 
 
 Is entertained with some less serious game, 
 
 Among the bright nymphs of the Gallic court, 
 
 All highly born, obsequious to her sport; 
 
 They roses seem, which in their early pride 
 
 But half reveal, and half their beauties hide ; 
 
 She the glad morning, which her beams does throw 
 
 Upon their smiling leaves, and gilds them so ; 
 
 Like bright Aurora, whose refulgent ray 
 
 Foretells the fervour of ensuing day, 
 
 And warns the shepherd with his flocks retreat 
 
 To leafy shadows from the threatened heat. 
 
 From Cupid's string of many shafts, that fled 
 Winged with those plumes which noble Fame had shed, 
 As through the wondering world she flew, and told 
 Of his adventures, haughty, brave, and bold; 
 Some had already touched the royal maid, 
 But Love's first summons seldom are obeyed; 
 Light was the wound, the Prince's care unknown, 
 She might not, would not, yet reveal her own. 
 His glorious name had so possessed her ears, 
 That with delight those antique tales she hears 
 Of Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old, 
 As with his story best resemblance hold. 
 And now she views, as on the wall it hung, 
 What old Musseus so divinely sung; 
 Which art with life and love did so inspire, 
 That she discerns and favours that desire, 
 Which there provokes the adventurous youth to swim, 
 And in Leander's danger pities him; 
 
54 OF THE DANGER HIS MAJESTY ESCAPED. 
 
 Whose not new love alone, but fortune, seeks 
 
 To frame his story like that amorous Greek's. 
 
 For from the stern of some good ship appears 
 
 A friendly light, which moderates their fears; 
 
 New courage from reviving hope they take, 
 
 And climbing o'er the waves that taper make, 
 
 On which the hope of all their lives depends, 
 
 As his on that fair Hero's hand extends. 
 
 The ship at anchor, like a fixed rock, 
 
 Breaks the proud billows which her large sides knock ; 
 
 "Whose rage restrained, foaming higher swells, 
 
 And from her port the weary barge repels, 
 
 Threatening to make her, forced out again, 
 
 Repeat the dangers of the troubled main. 
 
 Twice was the cable hurled in vain ; the Fates 
 
 Would not be moved for our sister states ; 
 
 For England is the third successful throw, 
 
 And then the genius of that land they know, 
 
 Whose prince must be (as their own books devise) 
 
 Lord of the scene where now his danger lies. 
 
 Well sung the Roman bard, ( All human things 
 Of dearest value hang on slender strings.' 
 O see the then sole hope, and, in design 
 Of Heaven, our joy, supported by a line ! 
 Which for that instant was Heaven's care above, 
 The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, 
 On which the fabric of our world depends ; 
 One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.* 
 
 * Dr. Johnson's aversion to the employment of technical details tells 
 with force in his criticism on this introduction and use of the cable, 
 which he says is 'in part ridiculously mean, and in part ridiculously 
 tumid.' 
 
55 
 
 OF HIS MAJESTY S EECEIVING THE NEWS OF 
 THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S DEATH.* 
 
 CO earnest with thy God! can no new care, 
 
 ^ No sense of danger, interrupt thy prayer? 
 
 The sacred wrestler, till a blessing given, 
 
 Quits not his hold, but halting conquers Heaven; 
 
 ISTor was the stream of thy devotion stopped, 
 
 When from the body such a limb was lopped, 
 
 As to thy present state was no less maim, 
 
 Though thy wise choice has since repaired the same.f 
 
 Bold Homer durst not so great virtue feign 
 
 In his best pattern : J of Patroclus slain, 
 
 With such amazement as weak mothers use, 
 
 And frantic gesture, he receives the news. 
 
 Yet fell his darling by the impartial chance 
 
 Of war, imposed by royal Hector's lance ; 
 
 Thine in full peace, and by a vulgar hand 
 
 Torn from thy bosom, left his high command. 
 
 The famous painter § could allow no place 
 For private sorrow in a prince's face : 
 Yet, that his piece might not exceed belief, 
 He cast a veil upon supposed grief. || 
 'Twas want of such a precedent as this 
 Made the old heathen frame their gods amiss. 
 
 * The murder of the Duke of Buckingham on the 3 3rd August, 
 1628, ascertains the date of this poem. The King was at prayers, when 
 Sir John Hippesley suddenly entered, and, in the midst of the devo- 
 tions, communicated what had happened in a whisper to his Majesty. 
 The King received the news unmoved, and without a change of counte- 
 nance, till prayers were over ; when he retired to his room, and, flinging 
 himself on his bed, gave way to a passion of tears. 
 
 t The Duke of Buckingham was at Portsmouth, superintending the 
 equipment of a fleet for the relief of Kochelle, when he was assassi- 
 nated. The Earl of Lindsey, afterwards killed at the battle of Edge- 
 hill, was immediately appointed his successor, and set sail in command 
 of the fleet on the 4th of September. 
 
 J Achilles. § Timanthes. 
 
 j| In the famous picture of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the painter, 
 with consummate art, buries the features of Agamemnon in the folds 
 of his drapery. 
 
56 ON THE TAKING OF SALLE. 
 
 Their Phoebus should not act a fonder part 
 For the fair boy,* than he did for his hart ; 
 Nor blame for Hyacinthus' fate his own, [known. 
 
 That kept from him wished death, hadst thou been 
 He that with thine shall weigh good David's deeds, 
 Shall find his passion, nor his love, exceeds : 
 He cursed the mountains where his brave friend died, 
 But let false Ziba with his heir divide; 
 Where thy immortal love to thy blessed friends, 
 Like that of Heaven, upon their seed descends. 
 Such huge extremes inhabit thy great mind, 
 Godlike, unmoved, and yet, like woman, kind ! 
 Which of the ancient poets had not brought 
 Our Charles's pedigree from Heaven, and taught 
 How some bright dame, compressed by mighty Jove, 
 Produced this mixed Divinity and Love? 
 
 ON THE TAKING OF SALLE.f 
 
 OF Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old, 
 Light seem the tales antiquity has told ; 
 Such beasts and monsters as their force oppressed, 
 Some places only, and some times, infest. 
 Salle, that scorned all power and laws of men, 
 Goods with their owners hurrying to their den, 
 And future ages threatening with a rude 
 And savage race, successively renewed; 
 Their king despising with rebellious pride, 
 And foes professed to all the world beside; 
 This pest of mankind gives our hero fame, 
 And through the obliged world dilates his name. J 
 
 * Cyparissus. 
 
 f Salle, a town in the kingdom, or province, of Fez, was taken and 
 demolished in i63z, by the troops of the Emperor of Morocco, assisted 
 by a squadron of English vessels of war despatched to his aid by King 
 Charles. 
 
 J The people of Salle had established a reign of terror in their waters 
 by a system of wholesale piracy, which their commercial intercourse and 
 
ON THE TAKING OF SALLE. 57 
 
 The Prophet once to cruel Agag said, 
 1 As thy fierce sword has mothers childless made, 
 So shall the sword make thine ;' and with that word 
 He hewed the man in pieces with his sword. 
 Just Charles like measure has returned to these 
 "Whose Pagan hands had stained the troubled seas; 
 With ships that made the spoiled merchant mourn; 
 With ships their city and themselves are torn. 
 One squadron of our winged castles sent, 
 O'erthrew their fort, and all their navy rent ; 
 For not content the dangers to increase, 
 And act the part of tempests in the seas, 
 Like hungry wolves, those pirates from our shore 
 Whole flocks of sheep, and ravished cattle bore. 
 Safely they might on other nations prey, — 
 Fools to provoke the sovereign of the sea ! 
 Mad Cacus so, whom like ill fate persuades, 
 The herd of fair Alcmena's seed invades, 
 Who for revenge, and mortals' glad relief, 
 Sacked the dark cave, and crushed that horrid thief. 
 
 Morocco's monarch, wondering at this fact, 
 Save that his presence his affairs exact, 
 Had come in person to have seen and known 
 The injured world's revenger and his own. 
 Hither he sends the chief among his peers, 
 Who in his bark proportioned presents bears, 
 To the renowned for piety and force, 
 Poor captives manumised, and matchless horse.* 
 
 maritime habits enabled them to accomplish with facility. They fur- 
 ther incensed the Emperor of Morocco by openly rebelling against his 
 authority. 
 
 * The conclusion of this little piece is with justice pronounced feeble 
 by Dr. Johnson. After the demolition of Salle, the Emperor of Morocco, 
 to testify his gratitude to the King of England, sent him a present of 
 Barbary horses, and three hundred Christian slaves. The commemora- 
 tion of this circumstance at the close of a poem dedicated to the libe- 
 ration of captives, and the destruction of a nest of sanguinary pirates, 
 is a manifest anti-climax. 
 
58 
 
 TO THE KING, ON HIS NAVY.* 
 
 TTTHERE'ER thy navy spreads her canvas wings, 
 " 7 Homage to thee, and peace to all she brings ; 
 The French and Spaniard, when thy flags appear, 
 Forget their hatred, and consent to fear. 
 So Jove from Ida did both hosts survey, 
 And when he pleased to thunder part the fray. 
 Ships heretofore in seas like fishes sped, 
 The mightiest still upon the smallest fed; 
 Thou on the deep imposest nobler laws, 
 And by that justice hast removed the cause 
 Of those rude tempests, which for rapine sent, 
 Too oft, alas ! involved the innocent. 
 Now shall the ocean, as thy Thames, be free 
 From both those fates, of storms and piracy. 
 But we most happy, who can fear no force 
 But winged troops, or Pegasean horse. 
 'Tis not so hard for greedy foes to spoil 
 Another nation, as to touch our soil. 
 
 * The date of this poem is uncertain. Some of Waller's editors 
 refer it to 1626, Bymer to i63a, and Fenton to i<535, when, in conse- 
 quence of the league entered into between France and Holland, the 
 English monarch, suspecting that the intention of the coalition was to 
 wrest from him his ancient prerogative of the narrow seas, fitted out 
 a considerable armament for the purpose of maintaining his rights. 
 The absence of all special allusion to these circumstances in the poem 
 justifies the rejection of Fenton's supposition. An occasion offering so 
 many temptations to the poet was not likely to have been dismissed 
 in a general panegyric on the power of the navy. The armament 
 consisted of nineteen vessels of war, and six merchant ships, com- 
 manded by the Earl of Lindsey, with Sir William Monson as vice 
 admiral, and Sir John Pennington as rear admiral. It put out to sea 
 in i635, and kept the waters till the following October. 'In the 
 interval,' says Monson, in his Naval Tracts, ' we made good our seas 
 and shores, gave laws to our neighbour nations, and restored the 
 ancient sovereignty of the narrow seas to our gracious king.' Waller 
 would scarcely have omitted to notice this memorable demonstration, 
 and its successful issue, if his lines had been intended to apply to it 
 specially. The references to France and Spain, and the dominion of 
 the seas might, with equal propriety, be addressed to any previous 
 period of the reign of Charles I., under whose auspices the navy made 
 a rapid and decisive progress. The improvements in naval archi- 
 tecture were not inconsiderable in the time of Elizabeth. ' Whoever 
 
UPON HIS MAJESTY'S REPAIRING OF ST. PAUL'S. 59 
 
 Should nature's self invade the world again, 
 And o'er the centre spread the liquid main, 
 Thy power were safe, and her destructive hand 
 Would but enlarge the bounds of thy command ; 
 Thy dreadful fleet would style thee lord of all, 
 And ride in triumph o'er the drowned ball ; 
 Those towers of oak o'er fertile plains might go, 
 And visit mountains where they once did grow. 
 
 The world's restorer once could not endure 
 That finished Babel should those men secure, 
 Whose pride designed that fabric to have stood 
 Above the reach of any second flood; 
 To thee, his chosen, more indulgent, he 
 Dares trust such power with so much piety.* 
 
 UPON HIS MAJESTY S KEPAIRING OF 
 
 st. paul's. t 
 
 I^HAT shipwrecked vessel which the Apostle bore, 
 - Scarce suffered more upon Melita's shore, 
 
 were the inventors,' observes Raleigh, ' we find that every age has 
 added somewhat to ships ; and in my time the shape of our English 
 ships has been greatly bettered.' Yet, notwithstanding the advance 
 made in Elizabeth's time, the royal navy, twenty years after her 
 accession, amounted to only twenty-four ships, and at her death to 
 forty-two. James I. increased the number of vessels, and improved 
 their build ; but it was in the reign of Charles I., and by the skill and 
 genius of the Petts, that the navy was first rendered powerful, and 
 the structure of ships brought near to what, says Charnock, ' should 
 experimentally be considered as the ne plus ultra of perfection.' 
 Charles took a strong personal interest in the progress of these im- 
 provements, and the ' Sovereign of the Seas,' built under his imme- 
 diate inspection, is described by all naval historians as the marvel of 
 its day. His devotion to the interests of this branch of the public 
 service was constant and judiciously directed, and abundantly entitled 
 him, on several grounds, to the panegyric of Waller. 
 
 * ' Those lines are very noble,' observes Dr. Johnson, ' which suppose 
 the King's power secure against a second Deluge ; so noble that it 
 were almost criminal to remark the mistake of centre for surface, or 
 to say that the empire of the sea would be worth little if it were not 
 that the waters terminate in land.' 
 
 t The repairs of St. Paul's were commenced in the spring of i<533« 
 
60 upon his majesty's eepairing of st. Paul's. 
 
 Than did his temple in the sea of time, 
 Our nation's glory, and our nation's crime. 
 When the first monarch * of this happy isle, 
 Moved with the ruin of so brave a pile, 
 This work of cost and piety begun, 
 To be accomplished by his glorious son, 
 "Who all that came within the ample thought 
 Of his wise sire has to perfection brought ;t 
 He, like Amphion, makes those quarries leap 
 Into fair figures from a confused heap; 
 For in his art of regiment is found 
 A power like that of harmony in sound. 
 
 Those antique minstrels sure were Charles-like kings, 
 Cities their lutes, and subjects' hearts their strings, 
 On which with so divine a hand they strook, 
 Consent of motion from their breath they took : 
 So all our minds with his conspire to grace 
 The Gentiles' great apostle, and deface 
 Those state-obscuring sheds, that like a chain 
 Seemed to confine and fetter him again ; 
 Which the glad saint shakes off at his command, 
 As once the viper from his sacred hand : 
 So joys the aged oak, when we divide 
 The creeping ivy from his injured side. 
 
 Ambition rather would affect the fame 
 Of some new structure, to have borne her name. 
 
 
 The images of this piece are sufficiently obvious, although few readers 
 will agree with Dr. Johnson that they are also vulgar. To make 
 quarries leap into figures like Amphion, represents an idea that 
 possesses neither much novelty in itself, nor fitness in the place where 
 it is employed ; but it is scarcely chargeable with being low or mean. 
 The succeeding passage, in which the satisfaction of St. Paul at the 
 clearing away of the sheds that formerly obscured the cathedral is 
 compared to the joy of the oak at being relieved from the creeping 
 ivy, exhibits a curious mixture of extravagance and poverty. 
 
 * King James I. 
 
 t The cathedral had suffered twice from fire, 1 1 37 and i55i. 
 James I. contemplated its complete restoration, and promoted sub- 
 scriptions for the purpose ; but the credit of attempting to carry out 
 his designs was reserved for his successor, who is not entitled, how- 
 ever, to the honour assigned to him by Waller of having completed 
 the work. 
 
UPON HIS MAJESTY'S REPAIRING OF ST. PAUL'S. 61 
 
 Two distant virtues in one act we find, 
 
 The modesty and greatness of his mind ; 
 
 Which not content to be above the rage, 
 
 And injury of all-impairing age, 
 
 In its own worth secure, doth higher climb, 
 
 And things half swallowed from the jaws of Time 
 
 Reduce ; an earnest of his grand design, 
 
 To frame no new church, but the old refine; 
 
 Which, spouse-like, may with comely grace command, 
 
 More than by force of argument or hand. 
 
 For doubtful reason few can apprehend, 
 
 And war brings ruin where it should amend ; 
 
 .But beauty, with a bloodless conquest, finds 
 
 A welcome sovereignty in rudest minds. 
 
 Not aught which Sheba's wondering queen beheld 
 Amongst the works of Solomon, excelled 
 His ships, and building ; emblems of a heart 
 Large both in magnanimity and art. 
 
 While the propitious heavens this work attend, 
 Long-wanted showers they forget to send; 
 As if they meant to make it understood 
 Of more importance than our vital food. 
 
 The sun, which riseth to salute the quire 
 Already finished, setting shall admire 
 How private bounty could so far extend : 
 The King built all, but Charles the western end.* 
 So proud a fabric to devotion given, 
 At once it threatens and obliges heaven! 
 
 Laomedon, that had the gods in pay, 
 Neptune, with him that rules the sacred day,t 
 
 * This part of the repairs, or improvements, was effected at the 
 private expense of the King. It consisted of a magnificent portico, 
 supported by Corinthian pillars, within which were placed the statues 
 of James and Charles. The portico was built by Inigo Jones, and 
 was intended to be surmounted by statues ; but the undertaking was 
 abandoned before that portion of the design was finished. Dugdale 
 tells us that this portico was meant as an ambulatory for persons who, 
 usually walking in the body of the church, disturbed the service, 
 t Apollo. 
 
62 TO MR. HENRY LAWES. 
 
 Could no such structure raise : Troy walled so high, 
 The Atrides might as well have forced the sky. 
 
 Glad, though amazed, are our neighbour kings, 
 To see such power employed in peaceful things ; 
 They list not urge it to the dreadful field ; 
 The task is easier to destroy than build. 
 
 .... Sic gratia regum 
 
 Pieriis tent am modis . . . . — Horace. 
 
 TO MR. HENRY LAWES, 
 
 WHO HAD THEN NEWLY SET A SONG OF MINE IN THE YEAR 1 635.* 
 
 VEKSE makes heroic virtue live ; 
 But you can life to verses give. 
 As when in open air we blow, 
 The breath, though strained, sounds flat and low ; 
 But if a trumpet take the blast, 
 It lifts it high, and makes it last : 
 So in your airs our numbers dressed, 
 Make a shrill sally from the breast 
 Of nymphs, who, singing what we penned, 
 Our passions to themselves commend; 
 
 * Henry Lawes, the son of a vicar-choral at Salisbury, was born 
 about 1600. He was a disciple of Coperario, and was appointed a 
 gentleman of the Chapel Royal, and afterwards one of the private 
 music to Charles I. He held a distinguished place amongst the 
 composers of his day, and is mainly indebted for his celebrity in our 
 time to the music he composed for Milton's Comus, in which he per 
 formed the character of the Attendant Spirit, when it was presented 
 at Ludlow Castle. 'His chief talent,' says Hawkins, ' lay in the com- 
 position of songs for a single voice, and in these the great and almost 
 only excellence is the exact correspondence between the accent of 
 the music and the quantities of the verse ; and, if the poems of Milton 
 and Waller in his commendation be attended to, it will be found that 
 in this particular is his chief praise.' This talent for rendering music 
 the exponent of poetry is undervalued by Burney and Hawkins, who, 
 testing music by independent canons, did not sufficiently appreciate 
 the very rare merit displayed by Lawes, in giving perspicuous ex- 
 pression to the words. Lawes lived to compose the anthem for the 
 coronation of Charles II., and died in 1662. 
 
THE COUNTRY TO MY LADY CARLISLE. 63 
 
 While love, victorious with thy art, 
 Governs at once their voice and heart. 
 
 You by the help of tune and time, 
 Can make that song that was but rhyme. 
 Noy* pleading, no man doubts the cause; 
 Or questions verses set by Lawes. 
 
 As a church window, thick with paint, 
 Lets in a light but dim and faint; 
 So others, with division, hide 
 The light of sense, the poet's pride : 
 But you alone may truly boast 
 That not a syllable is lost ; 
 The writer's, and the setter's, skill 
 At once the ravished ears do fill. 
 Let those which only warble long, 
 And gargle in their throats a song, 
 Content themselves with Ut, Re, Mi :t 
 Let words, and sense, be set by thee. 
 
 THE COUNTRY TO MY LADY CARLISLE. J 
 
 MADAM, of all the sacred Muse inspired, 
 Orpheus alone could with the woods comply; 
 Their rude inhabitants his song admired, 
 And Nature's self, in those that could not lie : 
 
 * Edward Noy, Attorney- General in the reign of Charles II. He 
 commenced his political career as the opponent of the prerogative, 
 and ended it by supporting the prerogative against the people. He 
 advised the arbitrary measure of ship-money, the writ for which, 
 Clarendon tells us, he drew with his own hand. There is an irre- 
 concilable contradiction between the date assigned to the poem, i635, 
 and the introduction of Noy's name, as being then living and plead- 
 ing, Noy having died in August, 1634. 
 
 t Lawes strenuously resisted the rage for songs in Italian, a lan- 
 guage which the hearers did not understand. In his volume of 
 Ayres and Dialogues, published in 1 65 3, he ridiculed the popular 
 taste by setting to music the initial words of some old Italian airs, 
 consisting of nothing more than the abbreviations of an index, which 
 he assures his readers he had successfully passed off as a veritable 
 Italian song. 
 
 % The Lady Lucy Percy, daughter of the Earl of Northumberland, 
 
64 THE COUNTRY TO MY LADY CARLISLE. 
 
 Your beauty next our solitude invades, 
 
 And warms us, shining through the thickest shades. 
 
 Nor ought the tribute which the wondering court 
 Pays your fair eyes, prevail with you to scorn 
 The answer and consent to that report 
 Which, echo-like, the country does return: 
 Mirrors are taught to natter, but our springs 
 Present the impartial images of things. 
 
 A rural judge* disposed of beauty's prize; 
 A simple shepherd was preferred to Jove; 
 Down to the mountains from the partial skies, 
 Came Juno, Pallas, and the Queen of Love, 
 To plead for that which was so justly given 
 To the bright Carlisle of the court of heaven. 
 
 Carlisle ! a name which all our woods are taught, 
 Loud as their Amaryllis, to resound ; 
 Carlisle ! a name which on the bark is wrought 
 Of every tree that's worthy of the wound. 
 From Phoebus' rage our shadows and our streams 
 May guard us better than from Carlisle's beams. 
 
 during whose imprisonment in the Tower she married the Earl of Car- 
 lisle against the wishes of her father, who for a long time withheld his 
 forgiveness. She incurred considerable censure for meddling in politics ; 
 and Sir Philip Warwick hints that she accepted in turn the 
 gallantries of Strafford and Pym. Although Waller celebrates her 
 beauty, as a court poet was bound to do, she was more indebted to 
 her vivacity and wit than to her personal charms, for the influence 
 she enjoyed. Sir Toby Mathews' character of this lady, preserved 
 by Fenton, cannot be otherwise regarded than as a pure exercise of 
 the writer's fancy. According to the description he has given of her, 
 she was too lofty and dignified to be capable of friendship, and had 
 * too great a heart ' to be susceptible of love. * She believeth nothing 
 to be worthy of her consideration,' he says, ' but her own imagina- 
 tions: these gallant fancies keep her in satisfaction, when she is 
 alone ; where she will make something worthy of her liking, since, in 
 the world, she cannot find anything worthy of her loving.' Waller 
 presents her under a more attractive aspect. 
 * Paris. 
 
65 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE IN MOURNING.* 
 
 TT7 HEN from black clouds no part of sky is clear, 
 
 * » But just so much as lets the sun appear, 
 Heaven then would seem thy image, and reflect 
 Those sable vestments, and that bright aspect. 
 A spark of virtue by the deepest shade 
 Of sad adversity is fairer made ; 
 Nor less advantage doth thy beauty get; 
 A Venus rising from a sea of jet! 
 Such was the appearance of new formed light, 
 While yet it struggled with eternal night. 
 Then mourn no more, lest thou admit increase 
 Of glory by thy noble lord's decease. 
 We find not that the laughter-loving damet 
 Mourned for Anchises ; 'twas enough she came 
 To grace the mortal with her deathless bed, 
 And that his living eyes such beauty fed; 
 Had she been there, untimely joy, through all 
 Men's hearts diffused, had marred the funeral. 
 Those eyes were made to banish grief: as well 
 Bright Phoebus might affect in shades to dwell, 
 As they to put on sorrow : nothing stands, 
 But power to grieve, exempt from thy commands. 
 If thou lament, thou must do so alone ; 
 Grief in thy presence can lay hold on none. 
 Yet still persist the memory to love 
 Of that great Mercury of our mighty Jove, 
 
 * The Earl of Carlisle, according to Clarendon, came into England 
 with James I., and by the prudence of his conduct secured more 
 popularity than any of his countrymen. He was twice married — first 
 to the sole daughter and heir of Lord Denny, and afterwards to the 
 Lady Lucy Percy. Luxurious in his habits, and costly in his personal 
 expenses, he lived superbly and died poor. * He left behind him,' says 
 Clarendon, 'the reputation of a very fine gentleman and a most 
 accomplished courtier ; and after having spent in a very jovial life 
 above four hundred thousand pounds, which, upon a strict computation, 
 he received from the crown, he left not a house nor an acre of land to 
 be remembered by.' He died in 1636. 
 t Venus. 
 
 WALLEE. 5 
 
66 IN ANSWER TO A LIBEL. 
 
 Who, by the power of his enchanting tongue, 
 
 Swords from the hands of threatening monarchs wrung. 
 
 Y^ar he prevented, or soon made it cease, 
 
 Instructing princes in the arts of peace ; 
 
 Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort 
 
 To the large hearted Hebrew's famous court. 
 
 Had Homer sat amongst his wondering guests, 
 
 He might have learned at those stupendous feasts, 
 
 With greater bounty, and more sacred state, 
 
 The banquets of the gods to celebrate. 
 
 But oh ! what elocution might he use, 
 
 "What potent charms, that could so soon infuse 
 
 His absent master's love into the heart 
 
 Of Henrietta ! forcing her to part 
 
 From her loved brother, country, and the sun, 
 
 And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run 
 
 Into his arms ! * while the Parisian dames 
 
 Mourn for the ravished glory ; at her flames 
 
 No less amazed than the amazed stars, 
 
 When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars 
 
 With Heaven itself, and numbers does repeat, 
 
 Which call descending Cynthia from her seat. 
 
 IN ANSWER TO ONE WHO WRIT A LIBEL 
 AGAINST THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE. 
 
 WHAT fury has provoked thy wit to dare, 
 With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love ? 
 Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair ] 
 Not the just Pallas in thy breast did move 
 So blind a rage, with such a different fate ; 
 He honour won where thou hast purchased hate. 
 
 She gave assistance to his Trojan foe; 
 Thou, that without a rival thou mayst love, 
 
 * Lord Carlisle was appointed with Lord Holland to represent Prince 
 Charles at the marriage with the Princess Henrietta in Paris. 
 
OF HER CHAMBER. 67 
 
 Dost to the beauty of this lady owe, 
 While after her the gazing world does move. 
 Canst thou not be content to love alone 1 
 Or is thy mistress not content with one? 
 
 Hast thou not read of Fairy Arthurs shield, 
 Which, but disclosed, amazed the weaker eyes 
 Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field? 
 So shall thy rebel wit become her prize. 
 Should thy iambics swell into a book, 
 All were confuted with one radiant look. 
 
 Heaven he obliged that placed her in the skies; 
 
 Rewarding Phoebus, for inspiring so 
 
 His noble brain, by likening to those eyes 
 
 His joyful beams; but Phoebus is thy foe, 
 
 And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight, 
 
 So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light. 
 
 OF HER CHAMBER. 
 
 THEY taste of death that do at heaven arrive ; 
 But we this paradise approach alive. 
 Instead of death, the dart of love does strike, 
 And renders all within these walls alike. 
 The high in titles, and the shepherd, here 
 Forgets his greatness, and forgets his fear. 
 All stand amazed, and gazing on the fair, 
 Lose thought of what themselves or others are ; 
 Ambition lose, and have no other scope, 
 Save Carlisle's favour, to employ their hope. 
 The Thracian* could (though all those tales were true 
 The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do ; 
 Before his feet so sheep and lions lay, 
 Fearless and wrathless while they heard him play. 
 
 * Orpheus. 
 
 5-2 
 
68 TO PHYLLIS. 
 
 The gay, the wise, the gallant, and the grave, 
 Subdued alike, all but one passion have ; 
 No worthy mind but finds in hers there is 
 Something proportioned to the rule of his ; 
 While she with cheerful, but impartial grace, 
 (Born for no one, but to delight the race 
 Of men) like Phoebus so divides her light, 
 And warms us, that she stoops not from her height. 
 
 TO PHYLLIS. 
 
 T)HYLLIS ! 'twas love that injured you, 
 -*- And on that rock your Thyrsis threw; 
 Who for proud Celia could have died, 
 While you no less accused his pride. 
 
 Fond Love his darts at random throws 1 , 
 And nothing springs from what he sows; 
 Prom foes discharged, as often meet 
 The shining points of arrows fleet, 
 In the wide air creating fire, 
 As souls that join in one desire. 
 
 Love made the lovely Venus burn 
 In vain, and for the cold youth* mourn, 
 Who the pursuit of churlish beasts 
 Preferred to sleeping on her breasts. 
 
 Love makes so many hearts the prize 
 Of the bright Carlisle's conquering eyes, 
 Which she regards no more than they 
 The tears of lesser beauties weigh. 
 So have I seen the lost clouds pour 
 Into the sea a useless shower; 
 And the vexed sailors curse the rain 
 For which poor shepherds prayed in vain. 
 
 Then, Phyllis, since our passions are 
 Governed by chance ; and not the care, 
 
 * Adonis. 
 
TO THE QUEEN MOTHER OF FRANCE. 69 
 
 But sport of heaven, which takes delight 
 
 To look upon this Parthian fight 
 
 Of love, still flying, or in chase, 
 
 Never encountering face to face; 
 
 No more to love we'll sacrifice, 
 
 But to the best of deities ; 
 
 And let our hearts, which love disjoined, 
 
 By his kind mother be combined. 
 
 TO THE QUEEN MOTHER OF FRANCE, UPON 
 HER LANDING.* 
 
 GREAT Queen of Europe ! where thy offspring wears 
 All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs; t 
 As welcome thou to sea-girt Britain's shore, 
 As erst Latona (who fair Cynthia bore) 
 To Delos was; here shines a nymph as bright, 
 By thee disclosed, with like increase of light. 
 Why was her joy in Belgia confined'? 
 Or why did you so much regard the wind? 
 Scarce could the ocean, though enraged, have tossed 
 Thy sovereign bark, but where the obsequious coast 
 
 * Mary de Medicis, flying from the persecutions of Richelieu, took 
 sanctuary in England, upon the invitation of the Queen, in 1638. 
 The people gave her a very rough reception, and her landing led to a 
 tumult in which lives were lost, and it was found necessary to employ 
 force to protect her against the violence of the populace. Her subse- 
 quent residence at St. James's Palace, where she lived upon the 
 bounty of the country, being allowed a pension of 3000?. a month, 
 became a source of constant irritation ; and at length, in 1641, the 
 Parliament interfered, and procured her removal, mitigating the 
 severity of the measure by granting a sum of io,oooZ , nominally for 
 the expenses of her journey, but really as a provision against want. 
 The wretched close of her life at Cologne, in the following year, 
 presents one of the most extraordinary reverses of fortune in the 
 annals of history. 
 
 t The royalties with which Mary de Medicis was directly related 
 connected her with most of the reigning Sovereigns of Europe. She 
 was the daughter of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the widow of 
 Henry IV., and the mother of the King of France, the Queens of 
 England and Spain, and the Duchess of Savoy. 
 
70 THYRSIS, GALATEA. 
 
 Pays tribute to thy bed. Rome's conquering band 
 
 More vanquished nations under ber command 
 
 Never reduced. Glad Berecynthia so 
 
 Among her deathless progeny did go ; 
 
 A wreath of towers adorned her reverend head, 
 
 Mother of all that on ambrosia fed. 
 
 Thy godlike race must sway the age to come, 
 
 As she Olympus peopled with her womb. 
 
 Would those commanders of mankind obey 
 Their honoured parent, all pretences lay 
 Down at your royal feet, compose their jars, 
 And on the growing Turk discharge these wars, 
 The Christian knights that sacred tomb should wrest 
 From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East ; 
 Our England's Prince, and Gallia's Dauphin, might 
 Like young Binaldo and Tancredi fight; 
 In single combat by their swords again 
 The proud Argantes and fierce Soldan slain ; 
 Again might we their valiant deeds recite, 
 And with your Tuscan Muse* exalt the fight. 
 
 THYKSIS, GALATEA. f 
 THYRSIS. 
 
 AS lately I on silver Thames did ride, 
 Sad Galatea on the bank I spied; 
 Such was her look as sorrow taught to shine, 
 And thus she graced me with a voice divine. 
 
 GALATEA. 
 
 You that can tune your sounding strings so wel], 
 Of ladies' beauties, and of love to tell, 
 
 * Tasso. 
 t The Duchess of Hamilton, whose untimely death is mourned in 
 this pastoral, was the niece of the favourite Buckingham, and daughter 
 of the Earl of Denbigh. She is said to have united the personal 
 grace and beauty of the Villiers, with a highly cultivated mind. The 
 time of her death, i638, determines the date of the poem. 
 
THYRSIS, GALATEA. 71 
 
 Once change your note, and let your lute report 
 The justest grief that ever touched the Court. 
 
 THYRSIS. 
 
 Fair nymph ! I have in your delights no share, 
 Nor ought to be concerned in your care; 
 Yet would I sing if I your sorrows knew, 
 And to my aid invoke no muse but you. 
 
 GALATEA. 
 
 Hear then, and let your song augment our grief, 
 Which is so great as not to wish relief. 
 She that had all which Nature gives, or Chance, 
 Whom Fortune joined with Virtue to advance 
 To all the joys this island could afford, 
 The greatest mistress, and the kindest lord; 
 Who with the royal mixed her noble blood, 
 And in high grace with Gloriana stood; 
 Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such, 
 That none e'er thought her happiness too much; 
 So well-inclined her favours to confer, 
 And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her! 
 The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife, 
 So well she acted in this span of life, 
 That though few years (too few, alas !) she told, 
 She seemed in all things, but in beauty, old. 
 As unripe fruit, whose verdant stalks do cleave 
 Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave 
 The smiling pendant which adorns her so, 
 And until autumn on the bough should grow ; 
 So seemed her youthful soul not easily forced, 
 Or from so fair, so sweet, a seat divorced. 
 Her fate at once did hasty seem and slow; 
 At once too cruel, and unwilling too. 
 
 THYRSIS. 
 
 Under how hard a law are mortals born ! 
 Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn; 
 
72 ON MY LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY'S PICTURE. 
 
 What Heaven sets highest, and seems most to prize, 
 Is soon removed from our wondering eyes ! 
 But since the Sisters * did so soon untwine 
 So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line. 
 Vouchsafe, sad nymph ! to let me know the dame, 
 And to the muses I'll commend her name ; 
 Make the wide country echo to your moan, 
 The listening trees and savage mountains groan. 
 What rock's not moved when the death is sung 
 Of one so good, so lovely, and so young] 
 
 GALATEA. 
 
 'Twas Hamilton ! — whom I had named before, 
 But naming her, grief lets me say no more. 
 
 wtntmM 
 
 ON MY LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY S PICTURE. 
 
 SUCH was Philoclea, and such Dorus' flame ! 
 The matchless Sidney, that immortal frame 
 
 * Parcae. 
 f Under this title are here collected all the poems that directly 
 refer to the Lady Dorothea Sidney. They belong, in chronological 
 order, to a period antecedent to i639, the year of Lady Dorothea's 
 marriage. Dr. Johnson thinks that the poetical name conferred on 
 the lady by her lover is contradicted by Waller's own account of her. 
 1 It is derived,' he observes, ' from the Latin appellation of sugar, and 
 implies, if it means anything, a spiritless mildness, and dull good- 
 nature, such as excites rather tenderness and esteem, and such as, 
 though always treated with kindness, is never honoured or admired. 
 Yet he describes Saccharissa as a sublime predominating beauty, of 
 lofty charms, and imperious influence, on whom he looks with amaze- 
 ment rather than fondness, whose chains he wishes, though in vain, to 
 break, and whose presence is wine that inflames to madness. 1 Perhaps 
 it would be more accurate to say that Waller's description of Saccha- 
 rissa is too vague and inconsistent to convey a distinct image of her 
 person or character, and that the final impression it leaves upon the 
 mind is indefinite and unsatisfactory. The loftiness ascribed to her is 
 
ON MY LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY'S PICTURE. 73 
 
 Of perfect beauty on two pillars placed ; 
 
 Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced 
 
 With such extremes of excellence, compose ; 
 
 Wonders so distant in one face disclose ! 
 
 Such cheerful modesty, such humble state, 
 
 Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate 
 
 As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see 
 
 Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree. 
 
 All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found, 
 
 Amazed we see in this one garland bound. 
 
 Had but this copy (which the artist took 
 
 From the fair picture of that noble book) 
 
 Stood at Kalanders, the brave friends had jarred, 
 
 And, rivals made, the ensuing story marred. 
 
 Just nature, first instructed by his thought, 
 
 In his own house thus practised what he taught ; 
 
 This glorious piece transcends what he could think, 
 
 So much his blood is nobler than his ink ! * 
 
 blended with * cheerful modesty and humble state ;' and her haughti- 
 ness is considerably mitigated by natural grace and softness. This 
 picture of contradictions is clearly not so much a representation of the 
 actual attributes of the lady herself, as of the perplexity of a suitor, 
 seeking, without success, to touch her heart. It is the rejected lover 
 who speaks of Saccharissa's disdain and scorn ; and it may be reason- 
 ably inferred that, had "Waller been fortunate in his suit, he would 
 have discovered in Saccharissa those qualities of sweetness and tender- 
 ness that first inspired the appellation he bestowed on her — 'a name/ 
 says Mr. Fenton, ' which recalls to mind what is related of the Turks, 
 who, in their gallantries, think Svcar Birpara, i. e. bit of sugar, to be 
 the most polite and endearing compliment they can use to the ladies.' 
 * The allusions throughout this poem are to the Arcadia of Sir 
 Philip Sidney, in which Pyrocles and Musidorus, inspired by the sight 
 of the portraits of Philoclea and Pamela, fall in love with the origi- 
 nals, and ultimately succeed in their suits. Philoclea's beauty is that 
 of sweetness and gentleness, while Pamela's is of a grander and more 
 majestic cast. Both characters are described to be combined in the 
 portrait of Saccharissa. Kalander, whose name is introduced into 
 Waller's lines, is the hospitable host in the Arcadia, who receives 
 Musidorus into his house, where the portraits are hung up. Sir Philip 
 Sidney was great uncle to Lady Dorothea, or Dorothy, as she appears 
 to have been generally called. 
 
74 
 
 TO VANDYCK.* 
 
 "DARE Artisan, whose pencil moves 
 
 -" Not our delights alone, but loves ! 
 
 From thy shop of beauty we 
 
 Slaves return, that entered free. 
 
 The heedless lover does not know 
 
 Whose eyes they are that wound him so ; 
 
 But, confounded with thy art, 
 
 Inquires her name that has his heart. 
 
 Another, who did long refrain, 
 
 Feels his old wound bleed fresh again 
 
 With dear remembrance of that face, 
 
 Where now he reads new hope of grace : 
 
 ISTor scorn nor cruelty does find, 
 
 But gladly suffers a false wind 
 
 To blow the ashes of despair 
 
 From the reviving brand of care. 
 
 Fool ! that forgets her stubborn look 
 
 This softness from thy finger took. 
 
 Strange! that thy hand should not inspire 
 
 The beauty only, but the fire; 
 
 Not the form alone, and grace, 
 
 But act and power of a face. 
 
 Mayst thou yet thyself as well, 
 
 As all the world besides, excel ! 
 
 So you the unfeigned truth rehearse, 
 
 (That I may make it live in verse) 
 
 * This piece refers generally to Vandyck's skill in idealizing his 
 female heads ; but it appears also to have a special reference to a 
 portrait of Saccharissa. There is a portrait of her by Vandyck pre- 
 served at Hall-Barn, which she is said to have presented herself to 
 Waller. The portrait at Windsor, generally supposed to be that 
 of Saccharissa, is of another Countess of Sunderland, daughter of 
 George, Lord Digby, and daughter-in-law to Lady Dorothea. The por- 
 trait at Penshurst does not convey a character of habitual severity or 
 scorn, but rather of good nature and a love of ease, subject to sudden 
 gusts of temper ; and the kind of beauty it displays disappoints the 
 expectations raised by the poetry of Waller, 
 
AT PENSHURST. 75 
 
 Why thou couldst not at one assay,* 
 The face to aftertimes convey, 
 Which this admires. Was it thy wit 
 To make her oft before thee sit? 
 Confess, and we'll forgive thee this ; 
 For who would not repeat that bliss] 
 And frequent sight of such a dame 
 Buy with the hazard of his fame ? 
 Yet who can tax thy blameless skill, 
 Though thy good hand had failed still, 
 When nature's self so often errs ] 
 She for this many thousand years 
 Seems to have practised with much care, 
 To frame the race of women fair ; 
 Yet never could a perfect birth 
 Produce before to grace the earth, 
 Which waxed old ere it could see 
 Her that amazed thy art and thee. 
 
 But now 'tis done, O let me know 
 Where those immortal colours grow, 
 That could this deathless piece compose! 
 In lilies'? or the fading rose? 
 No; for this theft thou hast climbed higher 
 Than did Prometheus for his lire. 
 
 AT PENSHUKST. 
 
 HAD Dorothea lived when mortals made 
 Choice of their deities, this sacred shade 
 Had held an altar to her power, that gave 
 The peace and glory which these alleys have ; 
 Embroidered so with flowers where she stood, 
 That it became a garden of a wood. 
 Her presence has such more than human grace, 
 That it can civilize the rudest place; 
 
 * Originally used in the sense of essay, and radically the same word. 
 
76 TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER. 
 
 And beauty too, and order, can impart, 
 Where nature ne'er intended it, nor art. 
 The plants acknowledge this, and her admire, 
 No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre ; 
 If she sit down, with tops all towards her bowed, 
 They round about her into arbours crowd; 
 Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand, 
 Like some well-marshalled and obsequious band. 
 Amphion so made stones and timber leap 
 Into fair figures from a confused heap;* 
 And in the symmetry of her parts is found 
 A power like that of harmony in sound. , 
 
 Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchless dame, 
 That if together ye fed all one flame, 
 It could not equalize the hundredth part 
 Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart ! 
 Go, boy, and carve this passion on the bark 
 Of yonder tree, which stands the sacred mark 
 Of noble Sidney's birth ; when such benign, 
 Such more than mortal-making stars did shine, 
 That there they cannot but for ever prove 
 The monument and pledge of humble love ; 
 His humble ]ove whose hope shall ne'er rise higher, 
 Than for a pardon that he dares admire. 
 
 N 
 
 TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER.f 
 
 OT that thy trees at Penshurst groan, 
 Oppressed with their timely load, 
 
 * This comparison, in nearly the same words, occurs in the lines on 
 the Repairing of St. Paul's. — Ante p. 60. The reference to Orpheus, a 
 few lines before, had also been already applied in the lines to Lady 
 Carlisle, and is afterwards again addressed to Saccharissa. 
 
 t Robert Sidney, Earl of Leicester, married the Lady Dorothea Percy, 
 sister to the Countess of Carlisle. Of eight daughters, Waller's Saccha- 
 rissa was the eldest. Lord Leicester was appointed as Strafford's suc- 
 cessor in the Lieutenancy of Ireland, but fell under the displeasure of 
 
TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER. 77 
 
 And seem to make their silent moan, 
 That their great lord is now abroad : * 
 They to delight his taste, or eye, 
 Would spend themselves in fruit, and die. 
 
 Not that thy harmless deer repine, 
 
 And think themselves unjustly slain 
 
 By any other hand than thine, 
 
 Whose arrows they would gladly stain; 
 
 No, nor thy friends, which hold too dear 
 
 That peace with France which keeps thee there. 
 
 All these are less than that great cause 
 
 Which now exacts your presence here, 
 
 Wherein there meet the divers laws 
 
 Of public and domestic care. 
 
 For one bright nymph our youth contends, 
 
 And on your prudent choice depends. 
 
 Not the bright shield of Thetis' son,t 
 (For which such stern debate did rise, 
 That the great Ajax Telamon 
 Refused to live without the prize) 
 Those Achive peers did more engage, 
 Than she the gallants of our age. 
 
 That beam of beauty, which begun 
 To warm us so when thou wert here, 
 Now scorches like the raging sun, 
 When Sirius does first appear. 
 fix this flame ! and let despair 
 Redeem the rest from endless care. 
 
 the King, who summoned him to Oxford as he was about to embark 
 for his government. Clarendon says that the contumely with which he 
 was treated was unjust, and that he owed his greatest misfortunes to the 
 irresolution and weakness of his character. 
 
 * Lord Leicester was much employed on foreign service. He com- 
 manded a regiment under the States of the United Provinces, and 
 was afterwards appointed to embassies in Denmark and France, 
 t Achilles. 
 
78 
 
 OF THE LADY WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE 
 PLEASES.* 
 
 NO wonder sleep from careful lovers flies, 
 To bathe himself in Saccharissa's eyes. 
 As fair Astrsea once from earth to heaven, 
 By strife and loud impiety was driven; 
 So with our plaints offended, and our tears, 
 Wise Somnus to that paradise repairs ; 
 Waits on her will, and wretches does forsake, 
 To court the nymph for whom those wretches wake. 
 More proud than Phoebus of his throne of gold 
 Is the soft god those softer limbs to hold; 
 Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies 
 In darkening clouds, the power to close her eyes ; 
 Eyes which so far all other lights control, 
 They warm our mortal parts, but these our soul ! 
 Let her free spirit, whose unconquered breast 
 Holds such deep quiet and untroubled rest, 
 Know that though Yenus and her son should spare 
 Her rebel heart, and never teach her care, 
 Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep, 
 And for another's joy suspend her sleep. 
 
 OF THE MISKEPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED. 
 
 AS when a sort of wolves infest the night 
 With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light, 
 The noise may chase sweet slumber from our eyes, 
 But never reach the mistress of the skies ; 
 
 * Saccharissa's portrait at Penshurst is curiously suggestive of this 
 power of sleeping at pleasure. The languishing softness of her large 
 creamy eyes, notwithstanding the latent fire they conceal, betrays the 1 
 luxurious sense of deep repose indicated in the poem. 
 
OF HER PASSING THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE. 79 
 
 So with the news of Saccharissa's wrongs, 
 
 Her vexed servants blame those envious tongues ; 
 
 Call Love to witness that no painted fire 
 
 Can scorch men so, or kindle such desire; 
 
 While, unconcerned, she seems moved no more 
 
 With this new malice than our loves before; 
 
 But from the height of her great mind looks down 
 
 On both our passions without smile or frown. 
 
 So little care of what is done below 
 
 Hath the bright dame whom heaven affecteth so ! 
 
 Paints her, 'tis true, with the same hand which spreads 
 
 Like glorious colours through the flowery meads, 
 
 When lavish nature, with her best attire, 
 
 Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire ; 
 
 Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn 
 
 With the same art wherewith she paints the morn ; 
 
 With the same art wherewith she gildeth so 
 
 Those painted clouds which form Thaumantias' bow. 
 
 OF HER PASSING THROUGH A CROWD OF 
 PEOPLE. 
 
 AS in old chaos (heaven with earth confused, 
 And stars with rocks together crushed and bruised) 
 The sun his light no further could extend 
 Than the next hill, which on his shoulders leaned; 
 So in this throng bright Saccharissa fared, 
 Oppressed by those who strove to be her guard; 
 As ships, though never so obsequious, fall 
 Foul in a tempest on their admiral. 
 A greater favour this disorder brought 
 Unto her servants than their awful thought 
 Durst entertain, when thus compelled they pressed 
 The yielding marble of her snowy breast. 
 
80 THE STORY OF PHCEBUS AND DAPHNE, APPLIED. 
 
 While love insults,* disguised in the cloud, 
 And welcome force, of that unruly crowd. 
 So the amorous tree, while yet the air is calm, 
 Just distance keeps from his desired palm;t 
 But when the wind her ravished branches throws 
 Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs, 
 Though loath he seems her tender leaves to press, 
 More loath he is that friendly storm should cease, 
 From whose rude bounty he the double use 
 At once receives, of pleasure and excuse. 
 
 THE STORY OF PHCEBUS AND DAPHNE, J 
 APPLIED. 
 
 THYRSIS, a youth of the inspired train, 
 Fair Saccharissa loved, but loved in vain ; 
 Like Phoebus sung the no less amorous boy ; 
 Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy ! 
 With numbers he the flying nymph pursues, 
 With numbers such as Phoebus' self might use ! 
 Such is the chaes when Love and Fancy leads, 
 O'er craggy mountains, and through flowery meads ; 
 Invoked to testify the lover's care, 
 Or form some image of his cruel fair. 
 Urged with his fury, like a wounded deer, 
 O'er these he fled ; and now approaching near, 
 Llad reached the nymph with his harmonious lay, 
 Whom all his charms could not incline to stay. 
 Yet what he sung in his immortal strain, 
 Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain; 
 
 * Exults? 
 f Ovalle informs us that the palm-trees in Chili have this wonderful 
 property, that they never will bear any fruit but when they are planted 
 near each other; and when they find one standing barren by itself, if 
 they plant another, be it never so small, (which they call the female,) 
 it will become prolific. — Fenton. 
 
 J Ovid's Metamorphoses, b. i. 
 
FABULA PHCEBI ET DAPHNES. 81 
 
 All, but the nymph that should redress his wrong, 
 Attend his passion, and approve his song. 
 Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise, 
 He catched at love, and filled his arms with bays.* 
 
 TABULA PHGEBI ET DAPHNES. 
 
 ARCADIA juvenis Thyrsis, Phcebique sacerdos, 
 Ingenti frustra Saccharissse ardebat amore. 
 Haud Deus ipse olim Daphni majora canebat; 
 Nee suit asperior Daphne, nee pulchrior ilia : 
 Carminibus Phcebo dignis premit ille fugacem 
 Per rupes, per saxa, volans per florida vates 
 Paseua : formosam nunc his componere nympham, 
 Nunc illis crude] em insana mente solebat. 
 Audiit ilia procul miserum, cytharamque sonantem ; 
 Audiit, at nullis respexit mota querelis ! 
 Ne tamen omnino caneret desertus, ad alta 
 Sidera perculsi referunt nova carmina montes. 
 Sic, non qusesitis cumulatus laudibus, olim 
 Elapsa reperit Daphne sua laurea Phcebus. 
 
 * The transformation of the nymph into the laurel is thus rendered 
 by Sandys: — 
 
 * Forthwith a numbness all her limbs possessed, 
 And slender films her softer sides invest ; 
 Hair into leaves, her arms to branches grow, 
 And late swift feet, now roots, are less than slow. 
 Her graceful head a heavy top sustains ; 
 One beauty throughout all her form remains. 
 Still Phoebus loves. He handles the new plant, 
 And feels her heart within the bark to pant. 
 Embraced the bole, as he would her have done ; 
 And kissed the boughs ; the boughs his kisses shun. 
 To whom the god : ' Although thou canst not be 
 The wife I wished, yet shalt thou be my Tree ; 
 Our quiver, harp, our tresses never shorn, 
 My Laurel, thou shalt ever more adorn.' ' 
 
 WALLEE. 6 
 
82 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Q AY, lovely dream ! where couldst thou find 
 ^ Shades to counterfeit that face? 
 Colours of this glorious kind 
 Come not from any mortal place. 
 
 In heaven itself thou sure wert dressed 
 With that angel-like disguise : 
 Thus deluded am I blessed, 
 And see my joy with closed eyes. 
 
 But ah ! this image is too kind 
 To be other than a dream ; 
 Cruel Saccharissa's mind 
 Never put on that sweet extreme ! 
 
 Fair dream ! if thou intend'st me grace, 
 Change that heavenly face of thine ; 
 Paint despised love in thy face, 
 And make it to appear like mine. 
 
 Pale, wan, and meagre let it look, 
 With a pity-moving shape, 
 Such as wander by the brook 
 Of Lethe, or from graves escape. 
 
 Then to that matchless nymph appear, 
 In whose shape thou shinest so; 
 Softly in her sleeping ear, 
 With humble words, express my woe. 
 
 Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride, 
 Thus surprised she may fall ; 
 Sleep does disproportion hide, 
 And, death resembling, equals all. 
 
83 
 TO MKS. BKAUGHTON, 
 
 SERVANT TO SACCHARISSA. 
 
 FAIR fellow-servant ! may your gentle ear 
 Prove more propitious to my slighted care 
 Than the bright dame's we serve : for her relief 
 (Vexed with the long expressions of my grief) 
 Receive these plaints; nor will her high disdain 
 Forbid my humble muse to court her train. 
 
 So, in those nations which the sun adore, 
 Some modest Persian, or some weak-eyed Moor, 
 No higher dares advance his dazzled sight, 
 Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light 
 Of their ascending god adorns the east, 
 And, graced with his beams, outshines the rest. 
 
 Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe, 
 And whets those arrows which confound us so. 
 A thousand Cupids in those curls do sit 
 (Those curious nets !) thy slender fingers knit. 
 The Graces put not more exactly on 
 The attire of Venus, when the ball she won, 
 Than Saccharissa by thy care is dressed, 
 When all our youth prefers her to the rest. 
 
 You the soft season know when best her mind 
 May be to pity, or to love, inclined : 
 In some well-chosen hour supply his fear, 
 Whose hopeless love durst never tempt the ear 
 Of that stern goddess. You, her priest, declare 
 What offerings may propitiate the fair; 
 Bich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay, 
 Or polished lines, which longer last than they; 
 For if I thought she took delight in those, 
 To where the cheerful morn does first disclose, 
 (The shady night removing with her beams) 
 Winged with bold love, I'd fly to fetch such gems. 
 But since her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels 
 All that is found in mines or fishes' shells, 
 
 6-2 
 
84 TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY. 
 
 Her nobler part as far exceeding these, 
 
 None but immortal gifts her mind should please. 
 
 The shining jewels Greece and Troy bestowed 
 
 On Sparta's queen,* her lovely neck did load, 
 
 And snowy wrists ; but when the town was burned, 
 
 Those fading glories were to ashes turned ; 
 
 Her beauty, too, had perished, and her fame, 
 
 Had not the muse redeemed them from the flame. 
 
 TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY, f 
 
 WHY came I so untimely forth 
 Into a world which, wanting thee, 
 Could entertain us with no worth 
 Or shadow of felicity? 
 That time should me so far remove 
 From that which I was born to love ! 
 
 Yet, fairest blossom ! do not slight 
 That age which you may know so soon; 
 The rosy morn resigns her light, 
 And milder glory, to the noon; 
 And then what wonders shall you do, 
 Whose dawning beauty warms us so? 
 
 Hope waits upon the flowery prime; 
 And summer, though it be less gay, 
 Yet is not looked on as a time 
 Of declination or decay ; 
 For with a full hand that does bring 
 All that was promised by the spring. 
 
 * Helen, 
 t The younger sister of Lady Dorothea ; afterwards married to Sir 
 John Pelham. 
 
85 
 
 TO AMORET.* 
 
 FAIR ! that you may truly know 
 What you unto Thyrsis owe, 
 I will tell you how I do 
 Saccharissa love and you. 
 
 Joy salutes me, when I set 
 My blessed eyes on Amoret ; 
 But with wonder I am strook, 
 While I on the other look. 
 
 If sweet Amoret complains, 
 I have sense of all her pains ; 
 But for Saccharissa I 
 Do not only grieve, but die. 
 
 All that of myself is mine, 
 Lovely Amoret ! is thine ; 
 Saccharissa's captive fain 
 Would untie his iron chain, 
 And, those scorching beams to shun, 
 To thy gentle shadow run. 
 
 If the soul had free election 
 To dispose of her affection, 
 I would not thus long have borne 
 Haughty Saccharissa's scorn; 
 But 'tis sure some power above, 
 Which controls our wills in love! 
 
 If not love, a strong desire 
 To create and spread that fire 
 In my breast, solicits me, 
 Beauteous Amoret ! for thee. 
 
 'Tis amazement more than love, 
 Which her radiant eyes do move; 
 
 * In this piece Waller, finding his suit to Saccharissa hopeless, begins 
 to make excuses to himself for seeking relief in the kindlier climate of 
 Amoret's beauty — an expectation in which the next poem shows that 
 he was disappointed. Neither of the ladies can be fairly judged by the 
 comparison that is drawn between them in these verses. Fenton tells 
 us that he heard the Duke of Buckingham say the Amoret of Waller 
 was the Lady Sophia Murray. 
 
SACCHARISSA AND AMOHET. 
 
 If less splendour wait on thine, 
 Yet they so benignly shine, 
 I would turn my dazzled sight 
 To beho]d their milder light; 
 But as hard 'tis to destroy 
 That high name, as to enjoy ; 
 Which how easily I may do, 
 Heaven (as easily sealed) does know ! 
 
 Amoret ! as sweet and good 
 As the most delicious food, 
 Which, but tasted, does impart 
 Life and gladness to the heart. 
 
 Saccharissa's beauty's wine, 
 Which to madness doth incline; 
 Such a liquor as no brain 
 That is mortal can sustain. 
 
 Scarce can I to heaven excuse 
 The devotion which I use 
 Unto that adored dame; 
 For 'tis not unlike the same 
 Which I thither ought to send; 
 So that if it could take end, 
 'Twould to heaven itself be due 
 To succeed her, and not you, 
 Who already have of me 
 All that's not idolatry; 
 Which, though not so fierce a flame, 
 Is longer like to be the same. 
 
 Then smile on me, and I will prove 
 Wonder is shorter-lived than love. 
 
 ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT SACCHARISSA 
 AND AMORET. 
 
 HP ELL me, lovely, loving pair! 
 -* Why so kind, and so severe] 
 Why so careless of our care, 
 Only to yourselves so dear? 
 
AT PENSHURST. 87 
 
 By this cunning change of hearts, 
 You the power of love control ; 
 While the boy's deluded darts 
 Can arrive at neither soul. 
 
 For in vain to either breast 
 Still beguiled love does come, 
 Where he finds a foreign guest, 
 Neither of your hearts at home. 
 
 Debtors thus with like design, 
 When they never mean to pay, 
 That they may the law decline, 
 To some friend make all away. 
 
 Not the silver doves that fly, 
 Yoked in Cytherea's car; 
 Not the wings that lift so high, 
 And convey her son so far; 
 
 Are so lovely, sweet, and fair, 
 Or do more ennoble love; 
 Are so choicely matched a pair, 
 Or with more consent do move. 
 
 AT PENSHURST.* 
 
 WHILE in this park I sing, the listening deer 
 Attend my passion, and forget to fear. 
 When to the beeches I report my flame, 
 They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. 
 
 * Waller here takes his final leave of Saccharissa, who was at this 
 time on the eve of marriage. Taking into consideration the circum- 
 stances of her position, the reproaches heaped upon her in this poem 
 are not creditable to the generosity of the writer, and are but indif- 
 ferently atoned for by the benediction with which he closes. He 
 afterwards, however, made some amends for the harshness of his verse, 
 by a playful letter to Lady Lucy on the marriage of her sister. In this 
 letter he takes a lively revenge upon Saccharissa, and resigns himself to 
 his fate much in the manner of a man of easy gallantry in one of 
 Etherege's comedies. After alluding to the loss of the sister and the 
 
88 AT PENSHURST. 
 
 To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers 
 
 With loud complaints, they answer me in showers. 
 
 To thee a wild and cruel soul is given, 
 
 More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven ! 
 
 Love's foe professed ! why dost thou falsely feign 
 
 Thyself a Sidney ? from which noble strain 
 
 He sprung,* that could so far exalt the name 
 
 Of love, and warm our nation with his flame ; 
 
 That all we can of love, or high desire, 
 
 Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire. 
 
 Nor call her mother, who so well does prove 
 
 One breast may hold both chastity and love. 
 
 Never can she, that so exceeds the spring 
 
 In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring 
 
 One so destructive. To no human stock 
 
 We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock, 
 
 That cloven rock produced thee, by whose side 
 
 Nature, to recompense the fatal pride 
 
 Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs, t 
 
 Which not more help, than that destruction, brings. 
 
 mistress, lie thus runs on with what he calls ' the imprecations of the 
 deserted.' ' May my Lady Dorothy (if we may yet call her so) suffer as 
 much, and have the like passion for this young lord, whom she has 
 preferred to the rest of mankind, as others have had for her ! And may 
 the love, before the year go about, make her taste of the first curse 
 imposed on womankind, the pains of becoming a mother! May her 
 first-born be none of her own sex ! nor so like her, but that he may 
 resemble her lord as much as herself! May she that always affected 
 silence, and retiredness, have the house filled with the noise, and num- 
 ber, of her children; and hereafter of her grandchildren! And then, 
 may she arrive at that great curse, so much declined by fair ladies, old 
 age ! May she live to be very old, and yet seem young ; be told so by 
 her glass, and have no aches to inform her of the truth ! And when 
 she shall appear to be mortal, may her lord not mourn for her, but go 
 hand in hand with her to that place, where we are told there is neither 
 marrying, nor giving in marriage ; that being there divorced, we may 
 all have an interest in her again ! My revenge being immortal, I wish 
 all this may also befall their posterity to the world's end, and after- 
 wards ! ' The raillery is sufficiently coarse ; but it is characteristic of the 
 time, and strikingly illustrates the elasticity of spirit with which the 
 vicissitudes of love were endured in those days. 
 
 * Sir Philip Sidney. t Tunbridge Wells. 
 
AT PENSHURST. 89 
 
 Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone, 
 I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan 
 Melt to compassion; now, my traitorous song 
 With thee conspires to do the singer wrong; 
 While thus I suffer not myself to lose 
 The memory of what augments my woes ; 
 But with my own breath still foment the fire, 
 With flames as high as fancy can aspire ! 
 
 This last complaint the indulgent ears did pierce 
 Of just Apollo, president of verse; 
 Highly concerned that the muse should bring 
 Damage to one whom he had taught to sing, 
 Thus he advised me : c On yon aged tree 
 Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea, 
 That there with wonders thy diverted mind 
 Some truce, at least, may with this passion find.' 
 Ah, cruel nymph ! from whom her humble swain 
 Flies for relief unto the raging main, 
 And from the winds and tempests does expect 
 A milder fate than from her cold neglect ! 
 Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove 
 Blessed in her choice ; and vows this endless love 
 Springs from no hope of what she can confer, 
 But from those gifts which heaven has heaped on her.* 
 
 * It does not appear that Waller followed the advice of Apollo. 
 Instead of flying for relief to ' the raging main,' he re-entered Par- 
 liament in 1640. A long interval of years elapsed before he again 
 saw Saccharissa, and when they once more met she was an old woman. 
 The meeting happened accidentally at Woburn, at Lady Wharton's ; 
 and Saccharissa, who had not forgotten how to jest with her lovers, 
 said to him, ' When, Mr. Waller, will you write such fine verses on me 
 again?' To which he replied, as if he still resented her scorn, ' Oh ! 
 madam, when your ladyship is as young again !' 
 
90 
 
 TO MY LORD OF FALKLAND.* 
 
 T> RAVE Holland leads, and with him Falkland goes.t 
 ■^ Who hears this told, and does not straight suppose 
 We send the Graces and the Muses forth, 
 To civilize and to instruct the north? 
 
 * The gallant and accomplished Lucius Cary, second Viscount 
 Falkland, who fell at the battle of Newbury, in the 34th year of his 
 age, four years after the expedition into Scotland, to which this poem 
 refers. The memorable panegyric of Clarendon upon the character of 
 this remarkable man has been assailed with some justice by Horace 
 Walpole. But whatever inconsistencies may be alleged against his 
 public conduct in a crisis where much allowance may be reasonably 
 made for conscientious doubts, his personal courage, lofty integrity, 
 and extensive attainments must always command respect and admira- 
 tion. His early death, under circumstances peculiarly affecting, invests 
 his memory with an interest almost romantic ; and of him it may well 
 be said, ' Whom the gods love die young !' 
 
 t In May, 1638, the Marquis of Hamilton was sent as High Com- 
 missioner into Scotland to appease the tumults arising out of the 
 Covenant ; and in the following November he dissolved the General 
 Assembly, in consequence of their having rejected the King's authority 
 in church matters. The result was, that the Scotch made a declaration 
 of war, raised an army under Leslie, and seized upon Edinburgh. The 
 expedition which occasioned these verses was organized in March, 1639, 
 when the King, at the head of a considerable force, marched towards 
 Berwick on the road to Scotland. In that expedition Henry Rich, 
 Earl of Holland, held the command of lord-general of the horse, under 
 the Earl of Arundel. The prophecy of the poem was frustrated by the 
 treachery of the Earl of Holland, who, faithless to the cause in which he 
 had embarked, betrayed it in the presence of the enemy. Having 
 been ordered with the flower of the English troops to engage an 
 inferior body of the Scotch under Leslie, he advanced against them, 
 and then retired, without striking a blow. His whole public conduct 
 was marked by similar contradictions, not to apply a severer term to 
 his political infidelities. Mr. Forster, in his admirable biographies of 
 the Statesmen of the Commonwealth, tells us that he was one of the 
 lords who, with Pym and Hampden, took an active part at the London 
 meetings of the Scotch commissioners from the Covenant ; yet, not- 
 withstanding his apparent relations with the Parliament, he made a 
 last effort on behalf of the King, conspicuous equally by its folly and 
 rashness. He finally expiated his errors on the scaffold ; and, dis- 
 trusted by both parties, and lamented by none, was executed in March, 
 1648-9. 
 
 Waller appropriately associates Lord Holland with the graces. He 
 was celebrated for the courtliness and gallantry of his manners, and 
 his handsome person is familiar to us in the portraits of Vandyck. 
 His true character, says one writer, was elegans formarum spectator. 
 
TO MY LORD OF FALKLAND. 91 
 
 Not that these ornaments make swords less sharp; 
 Apollo bears as well his bow as harp ;* 
 And though he be the patron of that spring, 
 Where, in calm peace, the sacred virgins sing, 
 He courage had to guard the invaded throne 
 Of Jove, and cast the ambitious giants down. 
 
 Ah, noble friend ! with what impatience all 
 That know thy worth, and know how prodigal 
 Of thy great soul thou art, (longing to twist 
 Bays with that ivy which so early kissed 
 Thy youthful temples) with what horror we 
 Think on the blind events of war and thee ! 
 To fate exposing that all-knowing breast 
 Among the throng, as cheaply as the rest; 
 Where oaks and brambles (if the copse be burned) 
 Confounded lie, to the same ashes turned. 
 
 Some happy wind over the ocean blow 
 This tempest yet, which frights our island so ! 
 Guarded with ships, and all the sea our own, 
 From heaven this mischief on our heads is thrown. 
 
 In a late dream, the genius of this land, 
 Amazed, I saw, like the fair Hebrew stand, 
 When first she felt the twins begin to jar,t 
 And found her womb the seat of civil war. 
 Inclined to whose relief, and with presage 
 Of better fortune for the present age, 
 Heaven sends, quoth I, this discord for our good, 
 To warm, perhaps, but not to waste our blood ; 
 To raise our drooping spirits, grown the scorn 
 Of our proud neighbours, who ere long shall mourn 
 (Though now they joy in our expected harms) 
 We had occasion to resume our arms. 
 
 It was, probably, in consideration of these attractive qualifications that 
 he was selected, when he was Lord Kensington, by James I. to 
 negociate in Paris the treaty of marriage between Charles and the 
 Princess Henrietta, upon whose heart he is said to have made an early 
 impression, and with whom he is known to have been a distinguished 
 favourite. 
 
 * Horace, Ode iv., lib. 3. t Gen. xxv. 2,2,. 
 
92 TO MY LORD NORTHUMBERLAND. 
 
 A lion so with self-provoking smart, 
 (His rebel tail scourging his nobler part) 
 Calls up his courage ; then begins to roar, 
 And charge his foes, who thought him mad before.* 
 
 TO MY LORD NORTHUMBERLAND, 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF HIS IiADY.f 
 
 rPO this great loss a sea of tears is due; 
 
 J- But the whole debt not to be paid by you. 
 
 Charge not yourself with all, nor render vain 
 
 Those showers the eyes of us your servants rain. 
 
 Shall grief contract the largeness of that heart, 
 
 In which nor fear, nor anger, has a part ? 
 
 Virtue would blush if time should boast (which dries, 
 
 Her sole child dead, the tender mother's eyes) 
 
 Your mind's relief, where reason triumphs so 
 
 Over all passions, that they ne'er could grow 
 
 Beyond their limits in your noble breast, 
 
 To harm another, or impeach your rest. 
 
 This we observed, delighting to obey 
 
 One who did never from his great self stray ; 
 
 Whose mild example seemed to engage 
 
 The obsequious seas, and teach them not to rage. 
 
 The brave iEmilius, his great charge laid down, 
 (The force of Borne, and fate of Macedon) 
 
 * Mr. Fenton traces this passage to Tasso, still more familiar to 
 Waller in the translation of his favourite Fairfax . — 
 * And as a lion strikes him with his train, 
 His native wrath to quicken and to move ; 
 So he awaked his fury and disdain,' &c. 
 t The lady whose death is the subject of this piece was the Lady 
 Anne Cecil, daughter of the Earl of Salisbury. The Earl of Northumber- 
 land, then Lord Percy, married her against the vehement protest of his 
 father, who considered Lord Salisbury the chief cause of his committal 
 to the Tower, where he was confined for fifteen years on a false charge 
 of having been concerned in the Gunpowder Plot. See, also, note, 
 p. 53. The date of this poem is conjectured to have been about 16 39. 
 
TO MY LORD NORTHUMBERLAND. 93 
 
 In his lost sons did feel the cruel stroke 
 
 Of changing fortune, and thus highly spoke 
 
 Before Rome's people : 6 We did oft implore, 
 
 That if the heavens had any bad in store 
 
 For your .ZEmilius, they would pour that ill 
 
 On his own house, and let you flourish still.' 
 
 You on the barren seas, my lord, have spent 
 
 Whole springs and summers to the public lent; 
 
 Suspended all the pleasures of your life, 
 
 And shortened the short joy of such a wife; 
 
 For which your country's more obliged than 
 
 For many lives of old less happy men. 
 
 You, that have sacrificed so great a part 
 
 Of youth, and private bliss, ought to impart 
 
 Your sorrow too, and give your friends a right 
 
 As well in your affliction as delight. 
 
 Then with ^Emilian courage bear this cross, 
 
 Since public persons only public loss 
 
 Ought to affect. And though her form and youth, 
 
 Her application to your will and truth, 
 
 That noble sweetness, and that humble state, 
 
 (All snatched away by such a hasty fate !) 
 
 Might give excuse to any common breast, 
 
 With the huge weight of so just grief oppressed; 
 
 Yet let no portion of your life be stained 
 
 With passion, but your character maintained 
 
 To the last act. It is enough her stone 
 
 May honoured be with superscription* 
 
 Of the sole lady who had power to move 
 
 The great Northumberland to grieve, and love. 
 
 * An example of the female rhyme which rarely occurs in Waller, 
 and one of the very few blemishes he carried down from the old 
 writers. 
 
94 
 TO MY LORD ADMIRAL, 
 
 OF HIS LATE SICKNESS AND RECOVERY. 
 
 WITH joy like ours, the Thracian youth invades 
 Orpheus, returning from the Elysian shades; 
 Embrace the hero, and his stay implore ; 
 Make it their public suit he would no more 
 Desert them so, and for his spouse's sake, 
 His vanished love, tempt the Lethean lake. 
 The ladies, too, the brightest of that time, 
 (Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb) 
 Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed, 
 "Who shall the fair Eurydice succeed : 
 Eurydice ! for whom his numerous moan 
 Makes listening trees and savage mountains groan; 
 Through all the air his sounding strings dilate 
 Sorrow, like that which touched our hearts of late. 
 Your pining sickness, and your restless pain, 
 At once the land affecting, and the main, 
 When the glad news that you were admiral 
 Scarce through the nation spread, 45 " 'twas feared by all 
 That our great Charles, whose wisdom shines in you, 
 Would be perplexed how to choose a new. 
 So more than private was the joy and grief, 
 That at the worst it gave our souls relief, 
 That in our age such sense of virtue lived, 
 They joyed so justly, and so justly grieved. 
 
 * The Earl of Northumberland was appointed Lord High Admiral 
 about 1 6 38. Sir William Monson does not appear to have formed a 
 very high estimate of the Earl's talents in his naval capacity ; and 
 observes that, had his own opinion been consulted with reference to the 
 armament which was placed under the Earl's command in i636, and 
 which was not attended with successful results, he should have advised 
 a course that would have brought Holland and all her wealth to his 
 Majesty's mercy. Clarendon represents the Earl of Northumberland 
 to have been a man of indomitable pride, who, by the mere force of 
 the reserve with which he held aloof from familiar intercourse with 
 others (thinking everybody inferior to himself), obtained a reputation 
 for wisdom and ability which he did not possess. 
 
TO MY LOUD ADMIKAL. 95 
 
 Nature (her fairest lights eclipsed) seems 
 
 Herself to suffer in those sharp extremes ; 
 
 While not from thine alone thy blood retires, 
 
 But from those cheeks which all the world admires. 
 
 The stem thus threatened, and the sap in thee, 
 
 Droop all the branches of that noble tree ! 
 
 Their beauty they, and we our love suspend ; 
 
 Nought can our wishes, save thy health, intend. 
 
 As lilies overcharged with rain, they bend 
 
 Their beauteous heads, and with high heaven contend ; 
 
 Fold thee within their snowy arms, and cry — 
 
 ' He is too faultless, and too young, to die ! ' 
 
 So like immortals round about thee they 
 
 Sit, that they fright approaching death away. 
 
 Who would not languish, by so fair a train 
 
 To be lamented, and restored again? 
 
 Or, thus withheld, what hasty soul would go, 
 
 Though to the blest? O'er young Adonis so 
 
 Fair Venus mourned, and with the precious shower 
 
 Of her warm tears cherished the springing flower. 
 
 The next support, fair hope of your great name, 
 And second foliar of that noble frame, 
 By loss of thee would no advantage have, 
 But step by step pursue thee to the grave. 
 
 And now relentless Fate, about to end 
 The line which backward does so far extend 
 That antique stock, which still the world supplies 
 With bravest spirits, and with brightest eyes, 
 Kind Phoebus, interposing, bid me say, 
 Such storms no more shall shake that house ; but they, 
 Like Neptune, and his sea-born niece,* shall be 
 The shining glories of the land and sea ; 
 With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age, 
 And lovers fill with like poetic rage. 
 
 * Venus. 
 
96 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS.* 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 What fruits they have, and how Heaven smiles 
 Upon these late-discovered isles. 
 
 A 
 
 ID me, Bellona ! while the dreadful fight 
 
 Betwixt a nation and two whales I write. 
 Seas stained with gore I sing, adventurous toil ! 
 And how these monsters did disarm an isle. 
 
 * The Bermudas derived the name of the Summer Islands, or more 
 properly, Somers' Islands, from Sir George Somers, who was wrecked 
 on the coast in the beginning of the seventeenth century, and esta- 
 blished a colony there. Like all new possessions, they awakened much 
 attention in England, and curiosity was further stimulated by the glow- 
 ing accounts that were given of the soil and climate. The earliest 
 English work on the Bermudas was published in quarto in 161 3, and is 
 entitled A Plaine Description of the Bermudas, now called Sommer 
 Islands. A copy of this book is preserved in the British Museum. 
 
 Waller is conjectured, from the intimation conveyed to Saccharissa 
 in the last poem he addressed to her, to have left England immediately 
 after her marriage, and gone on a voyage to the Bjjrmudas, of which 
 The Battle of the Summer Islands was the fruit. There is no testimony 
 in support of this conjecture, which several circumstances tend to dis- 
 credit. The piece bears internal evidence that the writer had never 
 visited the scene in which it is laid. The descriptions, as far as they 
 go, might have been easily drawn up from published materials ; and 
 in one place he expresses a longing desire to lay his limbs under the 
 shade of the plantains. And it is clear, from an allusion in the first 
 canto, that when he began the poem he had not yet relinquished all 
 hope of Saccharissa. 
 
 The drift of these cantos, upon which Waller appears to have ex- 
 pended more than ordinary pains, is obscure ; and, unless the piece was 
 intended to convey some covert satire, which is not probable, it is difficult 
 to conjecture the purpose for which it was written. The beginning is 
 in his best manner, and is sustained with a richness of imagery that 
 excites the highest expectations ; but the moment he begins to tell his 
 story the interest drops down, and ends in failure and disappointment. 
 The contest with the whales is intended as burlesque or earnest ; but 
 in the execution it hovers between both, and satisfies the demands of 
 neither. ' The beginning,' observes Dr. Johnson, * is too splendid for 
 jest, and the conclusion too light for seriousness. The versification is 
 studied, and the images artfully amplified ; but as it ends neither in 
 joy nor sorrow, it will scarcely be read a second time.* 
 
THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS. 97 
 
 Bermuda, walled with rocks, who does not know? 
 That happy island where huge lemons grow, 
 And orange trees, which golden fruit do bear, 
 The Hesperian garden boasts of none so fair ; 
 Where shining pearl, coral, and many a pound, 
 On the rich shore, of ambergris is found. 
 The lofty cedar, which to heaven aspires, 
 The prince of trees ! is fuel to their fires f 
 The smoke by which their loaded spits do turn, 
 For incense might on sacred altars burn; 
 Their private roofs on odorous timber borne, 
 Such as might palaces for kings adorn. 
 The sweet palmettos a new Bacchus yield,t 
 With leaves as ample as the broadest shield, 
 Under the shadow of whose friendly boughs 
 They sit, carousing where their liquor grows. 
 Figs there unplanted through the fields do grow, 
 Such as fierce Cato did the Romans show, 
 With the rare fruit inviting them to spoil 
 Carthage, the mistress of so rich a soil.:}: 
 The naked rocks are not unfruitful there, 
 But, at some constant seasons, every year, 
 Their barren tops with luscious food abound, 
 And with the eggs of various fowls are crowned. § 
 
 * The practice of cutting down the cedars for firewood has not only 
 diminished the picturesque beauty of the Bermudas, but greatly 
 reduced the productiveness of the orange plantations, by depriving 
 them of the shelter necessary to their cultivation. 
 
 t The palmetto is a species of palm peculiar to the West Indies, 
 which yields from its trunk a liquor of a spirituous and intoxicating 
 nature.. 
 
 % As once old Cato, in the Roman sight, 
 The tempting fruit of Afric did unfold. 
 
 Dryden. — Annus j 
 
 The same allusion occurs also in the Satire on the Dutch. Dryden 's ap- 
 plication of the Delenda est Carthago to Holland had an appropriateness 
 which we miss in Waller. 
 
 § The Bermudas abound in poultry. For another picture of the 
 riches of the islands in trees, birds, and ambergris, the reader may 
 be referred to Marvell's little poem, Bermudas. 
 
 WALLER. 7 
 
98 THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS. 
 
 Tobacco is the worst of things, which they 
 To English landlords, as their tribute, pay.* 
 Such is the mould, that the blessed tenant feeds 
 On precious fruits, and pays his rent in weeds. 
 "With candied plantains, and the juicy pine, 
 On choicest melons, and sweet grapes, they dine, 
 And with potatoes fat their wanton swine. 
 Nature these cates with such a lavish hand 
 Pours out among them, that our coarser land 
 Tastes of that bounty, and does cloth return, 
 Which not for warmth, but ornament, is worn; 
 For the kind spring, which but salutes us here, 
 Inhabits there, and courts them all the year. 
 Ripe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live ; 
 At once they promise what at once they give. 
 So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, 
 None sickly lives, or dies before his time. 
 Heaven sure has kept this spot of earth uncursed, 
 To show how all things were created first. 
 The tardy plants in our cold orchards placed, 
 Reserve their fruit for the next age's taste; 
 There a small grain in some few months will be 
 A firm, a lofty, and a spacious tree. 
 The palma-christi, and the fair papa, 
 Now but a seed, (preventing nature's law) 
 In half the circle of the hasty year 
 Project a shade, and lovely fruits do wear. 
 And as their trees, in our dull region set, 
 But faintly grow, and no perfection get ; 
 So, in this northern tract, our hoarser throats, 
 Utter unripe and ill-constrained notes, 
 While the supporter of the poets' style, 
 Phoebus, on them eternally does smile. 
 Oh ! how I long my careless limbs to lay 
 Under the plantain's shade, and all the day 
 
 * Tobacco is no longer a prominent article of export from the Ber- 
 mudas. The export trade consists principally of arrow-root, potatoes, 
 and onions, and palmetto and straw-hat manufactures. 
 
 ' 
 
THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS. 99 
 
 With amorous airs my fancy entertain, 
 
 Invoke the Muses, and improve my vein ! 
 
 No passion there in my free breast should move, 
 
 None but the sweet and best of passions, love. 
 
 There while I sing, if gentle love be by, 
 
 That tunes my lute, and winds the string so high, 
 
 With the sweet sound of Saccharissa's name 
 
 I'll make the listening savages grow tame. 
 
 But while I do these pleasing dreams indite, 
 I am diverted from the promised fight. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Of their alarm, and how their foes 
 Discovered were, this canto shows. 
 
 THOUGH rocks so high about this island rise, 
 That well they may the numerous Turk despise, 
 Yet is no human fate exempt from fear, [hear 
 
 Which shakes their hearts, while through the isle they 
 A lasting noise, as horrid and as loud 
 As thunder makes before it breaks the cloud. 
 Three days they dread this murmur, ere they know 
 From what blind cause the unwonted sound may grow. 
 At length two monsters of unequal size, 
 Hard by the shore, a fisherman espies ; * 
 Two mighty whales ! which swelling seas had tossed, 
 And left them prisoners on the rocky coast. 
 One as a mountain vast ; and with her came 
 A cub, not much inferior to his dam. 
 Here in a pool, among the rocks engaged, 
 They roared, like lions caught in toils, and raged. 
 The man knew what they were, who heretofore 
 Had seen the like lie murdered on the shore ; 
 
 * The whale fishery of the Bermudas is inconsiderable, although, 
 being carried on close to the shore, it might be rendered an important 
 source of profit by the application of capital. The entire produce of a 
 season is stated not to exceed iooo barrels of oil, 
 
 7-2 
 
100 THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS. 
 
 By the wild fury of some tempest cast, 
 The fate of ships, and shipwrecked men, to taste. 
 As careless dames, whom wine and sleep betray 
 To frantic dreams, their infants overlay : * 
 So there, sometimes, the raging ocean fails, 
 And her own brood exposes ; when the whales 
 Against sharp rocks, like reeling vessels quashed, 
 Though huge as mountains, are in pieces dashed ; 
 Along the shore their dreadful limbs lie scattered, 
 Like hills with earthquakes shaken, torn, and shattered. 
 Hearts sure of brass they had, who tempted first 
 E-ude seas that spare not what themselves have nursed. 
 The welcome news through all the nation spread, 
 To sudden joy and hope converts their dread; 
 What lately was their public terror, they 
 Behold with glad eyes as a certain prey; 
 Dispose already of the untaken spoil, 
 And, as the purchase of their future toil, 
 These share the bones, and they divide the oil. 
 So was the huntsman by the bear oppressed, 
 Whose hide he sold — before he caught the beast ! 
 
 They man their boats, and all their young men arm 
 With whatsoever may the monsters harm ; 
 Pikes, halberts, spits, and darts that wound so far, 
 The tools of peace, and instruments of war. 
 Now was the time for vigorous lads to show 
 What love, or honour, could incite them to; 
 A goodly theatre ! where rocks are round 
 With reverend age, and lovely lasses, crowned. 
 Such was the lake which held this dreadful pair, 
 Within the bounds of noble Warwick's share ;t 
 
 * The new-born babe by nurses overlaid. 
 
 Dryden. — Palamon and Arcite. 
 t Robert Rich, Earl of Warwick, was the proprietor of a portion of 
 the Bermudas which bore his name. He was the elder brother of Lord 
 Holland, and succeeded Algernon Percy, Earl of Northumberland, as 
 Lord High Admiral, an office for which his chief qualification seems to 
 have been a jovial disposition that won the hearts of the sailors. He 
 was a great patron of the puritan preachers, but did not on that ac- 
 
THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMEK ISLANDS. 101 
 
 Warwick's bold Earl ! than which no title bears 
 A greater sound among our British peers; 
 And worthy he the memory to renew, 
 The fate and honour to that title due, 
 Whose brave adventures have transferred his name, 
 And through the new world spread his growing fame. 
 But how they fought, and what their valour gained, 
 Shall in another Canto be contained. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 The bloody fight, successless toil, 
 And how the fishes sacked the isle. 
 
 THE boat which on the first assault did go, 
 Struck with a harping-iron the younger foe; 
 Who, when he felt his side so rudely gored, 
 Loud as the sea that nourished him he roared. 
 As a broad bream, to please some curious taste, 
 While yet alive, in boiling water cast, 
 Vexed with unwonted heat he flings about 
 The scorching brass, and hurls the liquor out; 
 So with the barbed javelin stung, he raves, 
 And scourges with his tail the suffering waves. 
 Like Spenser's Talus with his iron flail ,* 
 He threatens ruin with his ponderous tail ; 
 Dissolving at one stroke the battered boat, 
 And down the men fall drenched in the moat ; 
 With every fierce encounter they are forced 
 To quit their boats, and fare like men unhorsed. 
 
 count in the least restrain the licentiousness of his life. He became the 
 head of that party, nevertheless, and, says Clarendon, ' got the style of 
 a godly man.' He stood high in the confidence and regard of Crom- 
 well, to whose daughter he married his heir. 
 
 * His name was Talus, made of iron mould, 
 Immovable, resistless, without end, 
 Who in his hand an iron fiail did hold, 
 With which he thrashed out falsehood, and did truth unfold. 
 
 Fairy Queen. 
 
102 THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS. 
 
 The bigger whale like some huge carrack lay, 
 Which wanteth sea-room with her foes to play; 
 Slowly she swims; and when, provoked she would 
 Advance her tail, her head salutes the mud ; 
 The shallow water doth her force infringe, 
 And renders vain her tail's impetuous swinge ; 
 The shining steel her tender sides receive, 
 And there, like bees, they all their weapons leave. 
 
 This sees the cub, and does himself oppose 
 Betwixt his cumbered mother and her foes; 
 With desperate courage he receives her wounds, 
 And men and boats his active tail confounds. 
 Their forces joined, the seas with billows fill, 
 And make a tempest, though the winds be still. 
 
 Now would the men with half their hoped prey 
 Be well content, and wish this cub away; 
 Their wish they have : he (to direct his dam 
 Unto the gap through which they thither came) 
 Before her swims, and quits the hostile lake, 
 A prisoner there but for his mother's sake. 
 She, by the rocks compelled to stay behind, 
 Is by the vastness of her bulk confined. 
 They shout for joy! and now on her alone 
 Their fury falls, and all their darts are thrown. 
 Their lances spent, one bolder than the rest, 
 With his broad sword provoked the sluggish beast; 
 Her oily side devours both blade and haft, 
 And there his steel the bold Bermudan left. 
 Courage the rest from his example take, 
 And now they change the colour of the lake; 
 Blood flows in rivers from her wounded side, 
 As if they would prevent the tardy tide, 
 And raise the flood to that propitious height, 
 As might convey her from this fatal strait. 
 She swims in blood, and blood does spouting throw 
 To heaven, that Heaven men's cruelties might know. 
 Their fixed javelins in her side she wears, 
 And on her back a grove of pikes appears ; 
 
THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS. 103 
 
 You would have thought, had you the monster seen 
 
 Thus dressed, she had another island been. 
 
 Roaring she tears the air with such a noise, 
 
 As well resembled the conspiring voice 
 
 Of routed armies, when the field is won, 
 
 To reach the ears of her escaped son. 
 
 He, though a league removed from the foe, 
 
 Hastes to her aid; the pious Trojan* so, 
 
 Neglecting for Creusa's life his own, 
 
 Repeats the danger of the burning town. 
 
 The men, amazed, blush to see the seed 
 
 Of monsters human piety exceed. 
 
 Well proves this kindness, what the Grecian sung, 
 
 That love's bright mother from the ocean sprung. 
 
 Their courage droops, and, hopeless now, they wish 
 
 For composition with the unconquered fish; 
 
 So she their weapons would restore again, 
 
 Through rocks they'd hew her passage to the main. 
 
 But how instructed in each other's mind'? 
 
 Or what commerce can men with monsters find? 
 
 Not daring to approach their wounded foe, 
 
 Whom her courageous son protected so, 
 
 They charge their muskets, and, with hot desire 
 
 Of fell revenge, renew the fight with fire ; 
 
 Standing aloof, with lead they bruise the scales, 
 
 And tear the flesh of the incensed whales. 
 
 But no success their fierce endeavours found, 
 
 Nor this way could they give one fatal wound. 
 
 Now to their fort they are about to send 
 
 For the loud engines which their isle defend; 
 
 But what those pieces framed to batter walls, 
 
 Would have effected on those mighty whales, 
 
 Great Neptune will not have us know, who sends 
 
 A tide so high that it relieves his friends. 
 
 And thus they parted with exchange of harms ; 
 
 Much blood the monsters lost, and they their arms. 
 
 * ^Eneas. 
 
104 
 TO THE QUEEN, 
 
 OCCASIONED UPON SIGHT OF HER MAJESTY'S PICTURE.* 
 
 TT7ELL fare the hand ! which to our humble sight 
 * » Presents that beauty, which the dazzling light 
 Of royal splendour hides from weaker eyes ; 
 And all access, save by this art, denies. 
 Here only we have courage to behold 
 This beam of glory ; here we dare unfold 
 In numbers thus the wonders we conceive ; 
 The gracious image, seeming to give leave, 
 Propitious stands, vouchsafing to be seen ; 
 And by our muse saluted Mighty Queen, 
 In whom the extremes of power and beauty move, 
 The Queen of Britain, and the Queen of Love ! t 
 
 * In August, 16Z4, Lord Kensington (afterwards created Earl of 
 Holland) was appointed ambassador to make proposals to Louis XIII. 
 for the marriage of Prince Charles to Henrietta Maria, the youngest 
 daughter of Henry IV. In the meanwhile, James I. died at Theobald's, 
 on the 27th March, i6z5, and Charles succeeded to the throne. 
 The negotiations for the marriage having been completed, the cere- 
 mony was solemnized on a platform before the great door of the Cathe- 
 dral of Paris, on the 1st May, the Duke of Chevereux acting as the 
 King's proxy. The Queen landed on the 1 3th of the following month 
 at Dover, where she was met by the King, who conducted her to Can- 
 terbury, from whence they proceeded on the following day to Hampton 
 Court, their public entry into London being prevented by the plague 
 then raging in the city. Mr. Fenton supposes that Waller addressed 
 this poem to the Queen on her arrival in England ; but Dr. Johnson, 
 mistaking the piece to which Fenton's remark refers, thinks that ' the 
 mention of the nation's obligations to her frequent pregnancy proves 
 that it was written when her Majesty had brought many children.' 
 These allusions occur in the piece that immediately follows, which was 
 obviously written at a later period. It is impossible to determine with 
 certainty the date of either of these poems. 
 
 t This panegyric on her Majesty's beauty is scarcely sustained by the 
 description of her person given by Lord Kensington in one of his 
 letters from Paris to the Prince of Wales. ' Sir,' writes Lord Kensing- 
 ton, ' if your intentions proceed this way (as by many reasons of state 
 and wisdom there is cause now rather to press it than slacken it) you 
 will find a lady of as much loveliness and sweetness to deserve your 
 affection, as any creature under heaven can do. And, sir, by all her 
 fashions since my being here, and by what I hear from the ladies, it is 
 most visible to me, her infinite value and respect unto you. Sir, I 
 say not this to betray your belief, but from a true observation and 
 
TO THE QUEEN. 105 
 
 As the bright sun (to which we owe no sight 
 Of equal glory to your beauty's light) 
 Is wisely placed in so sublime a seat, 
 To extend his light, and moderate his heat; 
 So, happy 'tis you move in such a sphere, 
 As your high Majesty with awful fear 
 In human breasts might qualify that fire, 
 Which, kindled by those eyes, had flamed higher 
 Than when the scorched world like hazard run, 
 By the approach of the ill-guided sun. 
 
 No other nymphs have title to men's hearts, 
 But as their meanness larger hope imparts; 
 Your beauty more the fondest lover moves 
 With admiration than his private loves; 
 With admiration ! for a pitch so high 
 (Save sacred Charles his) never love durst fly. 
 Heaven that preferred a sceptre to your hand, 
 Favoured our freedom more than your command; 
 Beauty had crowned you, and you must have been 
 The whole world's mistress, other than a Queen. 
 All had been rivals, and you might have spared, 
 Or killed, and tyrannized, without a guard. 
 No power achieved, either by arms or birth, 
 Equals love's empire both in heaven and earth. 
 Such eyes as yours on Jove himself have thrown 
 As bright and fierce a lightning as his own; 
 Witness our Jove, prevented by their flame 
 In his swift passage to the Hesperian dame; 
 When, like a lion, finding, in his way 
 To some intended spoil, a fairer prey, 
 
 knowledge of this to be so. I tell you this, and must somewhat more, 
 in way of admiration of the person of madame ; for the impressions I 
 had of her were but ordinary, but the amazement extraordinary, to 
 find her (as I protest to God I did) the sweetest creature in France. 
 Her growth is very little ; short of her age ; and her wisdom infinitely 
 beyond it. I heard her discourse with her mother, and the ladies about 
 her, with extraordinary discretion and quickness. She dances (the 
 which I am a witness of) as well as ever I saw any creature ; they say 
 she sings sweetly ; I am sure she looks so.' 
 
106 OF THE QUEEN. 
 
 The royal youth pursuing the report 
 Of beauty, found it in the Gallic court ; 
 There public care with private passion fought 
 A doubtful combat in his noble thought : * 
 Should he confess his greatness, and his love, 
 And the free faith of your great brother t prove; 
 With his Achates breaking through the cloud 
 Of that disguise which did their graces shroud ; X 
 And mixing with those gallants at the ball, 
 Dance with the ladies, and outshine them all? 
 Or on his journey o'er the mountains ride? — - 
 So when the fair Leucothoe he espied, 
 To check his steeds impatient Phoebus yearned, 
 Though all the world was in his course concerned. 
 What may hereafter her meridian do, 
 Whose dawning beauty warmed his bosom so? 
 Not so divine a flame, since deathless gods 
 Forbore to visit the defiled abodes 
 Of men, in any mortal breast did burn ; 
 .Nor shall, till piety and they return. 
 
 OF THE QUEEN. 
 
 THE lark, that shuns on lofty boughs to build 
 Her humble nest, lies silent in the field; 
 But if (the promise of a cloudless day) 
 Aurora smiling bids her rise and play, 
 Then straight she shows 'twas not for want of voice, 
 Or power to climb, she made so low a choice; 
 
 * There public care with private passion fought 
 A doubtful combat in his noble thought. 
 
 Fairfax's Translation of Tasso. 
 f Louis XIIL, King of France. 
 
 t The Achates was the Duke of Buckingham, who accompanied the 
 prince, as mentioned in a previous note. The poet makes a bold, but, 
 perhaps, excusable, use of his license when he affirms that on that 
 occasion the beauty of the princess enslaved the heart of her future 
 husband. 
 
OF THE QUEEN. 107 
 
 Singing she mounts; her airy wings are stretched 
 Towards heaven, as if from heaven her note she fetched. 
 
 So we, retiring from the busy throng, 
 Use to restrain the ambition of our song ; 
 But since the light which now informs our age 
 Breaks from the court, indulgent to her rage, 
 Thither my muse, like bold Prometheus, flies, 
 To light her torch at Gloriana's eyes. 
 
 Those sovereign beams which heal the wounded soul, 
 And all our cares, but once beheld, control ! 
 There the poor lover, that has long endured 
 Some proud nymph's scorn, of his fond passion cured, 
 Fares like the man who first upon the ground 
 A glow-worm spied, supposing he had found 
 A moving diamond, a breathing stone; 
 For life it had, and like those jewels shone; 
 He held it dear, till by the springing day 
 Informed, he threw the worthless worm away. 
 
 She saves the lover, as we gangrenes stay, 
 By cutting hope, like a lopped limb, away; 
 This makes her bleeding patients to accuse 
 High Heaven, and these expostulations use : 
 ' Could Nature then no private woman grace, 
 "Whom we might dare to love, with such a face, 
 Such a complexion, and so radiant eyes, 
 Such lovely motion, and such sharp replies ? 
 Beyond our reach, and yet within our sight, 
 What envious power has placed this glorious light V 
 
 Thus, in a starry night, fond children cry 
 For the rich spangles that adorn the sky, 
 Which, though they shine for ever fixed there, 
 With light and influence relieve us here. 
 All her affections are to one inclined; 
 Her bounty and compassion to mankind ; 
 To whom, while she so far extends her grace, 
 She makes but good the promise of her face ; 
 For Mercy has, could Mercy's self be seen, 
 No sweeter look than this propitious queen. 
 
108 THE APOLOGY OP SLEEP. 
 
 Such guard, and comfort, the distressed find 
 
 From her large power, and from her larger mind, 
 
 That whom ill Fate would ruin, it prefers, 
 
 For all the miserable are made hers. 
 
 So the fair tree whereon the eagle builds, 
 
 Poor sheep from tempests, and their shepherds, shields ; 
 
 The royal bird possesses all the boughs, 
 
 But shade and shelter to the flock allows. 
 
 Joy of our age, and safety of the next ! 
 For which so oft thy fertile womb is vexed; 
 Nobly contented, for the public good, 
 To waste thy spirits and diffuse thy blood, 
 What vast hopes may these islands entertain, 
 Where monarchs, thus descended, are to reign? 
 Led by commanders of so fair a line, 
 Our seas no longer shall our power confine. 
 
 A brave romance who would exactly frame, 
 First brings his knight from some immortal dame, 
 And then a weapon, and a flaming shield, 
 Bright as his mother's eyes, he makes him wield. 
 None might the mother of Achilles be, 
 But the fair pearl and glory of the sea ; * 
 The man to whom great Maro gives such fame,+ 
 From the high bed of heavenly Yenus came ; 
 And our next Charles, whom all the stars design 
 Like wonders to accomplish, springs from thine. 
 
 THE APOLOGY OF SLEEP, 
 
 FOR NOT APPROACHING THE LADY WHO CAN DO ANYTHING BUT 
 SLEEP WHEN SHE PEEASETH. 
 
 IV/TY charge it is those breaches to repair 
 
 JJLL "Which Nature takes from sorrow, toil, and care; 
 
 Best to the limbs, and quiet I confer 
 
 On troubled minds; but nought can add to her 
 
 * Thetis. t ^Eneas. 
 
THE APOLOGY OF SLEEP. 109 
 
 Whom Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts have 
 Above those ills which wretched mortals taste, [placed 
 
 Bright as the deathless gods, and happy, she 
 From all that may infringe delight is free; 
 Love at her royal feet his quiver lays, 
 And not his mother with more haste obeys. 
 Such real pleasures, such true joys suspense, 
 What dream can I present to recompense? 
 
 Should I with lightning fill her awful hand, 
 And make the clouds seem all at her command; 
 Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest 
 Among the immortals, who with nectar feast ; 
 That power would seem, that entertainment, short 
 Of the true splendour of her present court, 
 Where all the joys, and all the glories, are 
 Of three great kingdoms, severed from the care. 
 I, that of fumes and humid vapours made, 
 Ascending, to the seat of sense invade, 
 No cloud in so serene a mansion find, 
 To overcast her ever-shining mind, 
 Which holds resemblance with those spotless skies, 
 Where flowing Nilus want of rain supplies ; 
 That crystal heaven, where Phoebus never shrouds 
 His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clouds. 
 But what so hard which numbers cannot force? 
 So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course. 
 The bold Masonian* made me dare to steep 
 Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep; 
 And since the Muses do invoke my power, 
 I shall no more decline that sacred bower 
 Where Gloriana their great mistress lies ; 
 But, gently taming those victorious eyes, 
 Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun 
 Without a rival half his course has run ; 
 Who, while my hand that fairer light confines, 
 May boast himself the brightest thing that shines. 
 
 * Homer. 
 
no 
 
 PUERPERIUM.* 
 
 T^OTJ gods that have the power 
 -*- To trouble, and compose, 
 All that's beneath your bower, 
 Calm silence on the seas, on earth impose. 
 
 Fair Yenus ! in thy soft arms 
 
 The God of Rage confine ; 
 
 For thy whispers are the charms 
 
 Which only can divert his fierce design. 
 
 What though he frown, and to tumult do incline? 
 
 Thou the flame 
 
 Kindled in his breast canst tame, 
 
 With that snow which unmelted lies on thine. 
 
 Great goddess ! give this thy sacred island rest; 
 
 Make heaven smile, 
 
 That no storm disturb us while 
 
 Thy chief care, our halcyon, builds her nest. 
 
 Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana! 
 
 Bright as high heaven is, and fertile as earth, 
 
 Whose beauty relieves us, 
 
 Whose royal bed gives us 
 
 Both glory and peace, 
 
 Our present joy, and all our hopes' increase. 
 
 TO AMORET. 
 
 AMOBET ! the Milky Way 
 Framed of many nameless stars ! t 
 
 * Mr. Fenton conjectures that this poem was written in 1640, when 
 the Queen was delivered of her fourth son, the Duke of Gloucester, 
 t Her face is like the milky way i' th' sky, 
 A meeting of gentle lights without a name. 
 
 Suckling. 
 
TO PHYLLIS. Ill 
 
 The smooth stream where none can say 
 He this drop to that prefers ! 
 
 Amoret ! my lovely foe ! 
 Tell me where thy strength does lie? 
 Where the power that charms us so? 
 In thy soul, or in thy eye? 
 
 By that snowy neck alone, 
 Or thy grace in motion seen, 
 ~No such wonders could be done; 
 Yet thy waist is straight and clean 
 As Cupid's shaft, or Hermes' rod, 
 And powerful, too, as either god. 
 
 TO PHYLLIS.* 
 
 PHYLLIS ! why should we delay 
 Pleasures shorter than the day? 
 Could we (which we never can !) 
 Stretch our lives beyond their span, 
 Beauty like a shadow flies, 
 And our youth before us dies. 
 Or would youth and beauty stay, 
 Love hath wings, and will away. 
 Love hath swifter wings than Time ; 
 Change in love to heaven does climb. 
 Gods, that never change their state, 
 Yary oft their love and hate. 
 
 Phyllis ! to this truth we owe 
 All the love betwixt us two. 
 
 * Founded, probably, on Ben Jonson's song in Volpone : — 
 * Come, my CeHa, let us prove, 
 While we can, the sports of love.' 
 
 Songs from the Dramatists, p. 1 15. 
 The original is supplied by Catullus. The idea is repeated in different 
 forms by Herrick and Wyatt. — See Wyatt's Poems, Ann. Ed., p. 166. 
 
112 A LA MALADE. 
 
 Let not you and I inquire 
 What has been our past desire ; 
 On what shepherds you have smiled, 
 Or what nymphs I have beguiled; 
 Leave it to the planets too, 
 What we shall hereafter do ; 
 For the joys we now may prove, 
 Take advice of present love. 
 
 A LA MALADE. 
 
 A H, lovely Amoret ! the care 
 -£*- Of all that know what's good or fair ! 
 Is heaven become our rival too 1 
 Had the rich gifts, conferred on you 
 So amply thence, the common end 
 Of giving lovers — to pretend? 
 
 Hence, to this pining sickness (meant 
 To weary thee to a consent 
 Of leaving us) no power is given 
 Thy beauties to impair; for heaven 
 Solicits thee with such a care, 
 As roses from their stalks we tear, 
 When we would still preserve them new 
 And fresh, as on the bush they grew. 
 
 With such a grace you entertain, 
 And look with such contempt on pain, 
 That languishing you conquer more, 
 And wound us deeper than before. 
 So lightnings which in storms appear, 
 Scorch more than when the skies are clear. 
 
 And as pale sickness does invade 
 Your frailer part, the breaches made 
 In that fair lodging, still more clear 
 Make the bright guest, your soul, appear. 
 So nymphs o'er pathless mountains borne, 
 Their light robes by the brambles torn 
 
 
UPON THE DEATH OF MY LADY RICH. 113 
 
 From their fair limbs, exposing new 
 And unknown beauties to the view 
 Of following gods, increase their flame, 
 And haste to catch the flying game. 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF MY LADY RICH.* 
 
 "jl/TAY those already cursed Essexian plains, 
 JXl. Where hasty death and pining sickness reigns, 
 Prove all a desert ! and none there make stay, 
 But savage beasts, or men as wild as they ! 
 There the fair light which all our island graced, 
 Like Hero's taper in the window placed, 
 Such fate from the malignant air did find, 
 As that exposed to the boisterous wind. 
 
 Ah, cruel Heaven ! to snatch so soon away 
 Her for whose life, had we had time to pray, 
 With thousand vows and tears we should have sought 
 That sad decree's suspension to have wrought. 
 But we, alas, no whisper of her pain 
 Heard, till 'twas sin to wish her here again. 
 That horrid word, at once, like lightning spread, 
 Struck all our ears — The Lady Rich is dead ! 
 Heartrending news ! and dreadful to those few 
 Who her resemble, and her steps pursue; 
 That Death should license have to rage among 
 The fair, the wise, the virtuous, and the young I 
 
 The Paphian queen from that fierce battle borne, 
 With gored hand, and veil so rudely torn, 
 Like terror did among the immortals breed, 
 Taught by her wound that goddesses may bleed. 
 
 * The Lady Anne Cavendish, daughter of the Earl of Devonshire, 
 and married to the heir of the Earl of Warwick. She died in her 
 twenty-seventh year, in 1 6 38, leaving an only son, who was married to 
 Cromwell's youngest daughter. 
 
 WA1LEB. 8 
 
114 UPON THE DEATH OF MY LADY RICH. 
 
 All stand amazed ! but beyond the rest 
 The heroic dame whose happy womb she blessed, * 
 Moved with just grief, expostulates with Heaven, 
 Urging the promise to the obsequious given, 
 Of longer life ; for ne'er was pious soul 
 More apt to obey, more worthy to control. 
 A skilful eye at once might read the race 
 Of Caledonian monarchs in her face, f 
 And sweet humility ; her look and mind 
 At once were lofty, and at once were kind. 
 There dwelt the scorn of vice, and pity too, 
 For those that did what she disdained to do ; 
 So gentle and severe, that what was bad, 
 At once her hatred and her pardon had. 
 Gracious to all ; but where her love was due, 
 So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true, 
 That a bold hand as soon might hope to force 
 The rolling lights of Heaven as change her course. 
 
 Some happy angel, that beholds her there, 
 Instruct us to record what she was here ! 
 And when this crowd of sorrow's overblown, 
 Through the wide world we'll make her graces known. 
 So fresh the wound is, and the grief so vast, 
 That all our art and power of speech is waste. 
 Here passion sways, but there the Muse shall raise 
 Eternal monuments of louder praise. 
 
 There our delight, complying with her fame, 
 Shall have occasion to recite thy name, 
 Fair Saccharissa ! — and now only fair ! 
 To sacred friendship we'll an altar rear, 
 (Such as the Eomans did erect of old) 
 Where, on a marble pillar, shall be told 
 
 * The Countess of Devonshire, the only daughter of Lord Bruce. 
 She lived to a great age. Sir William Temple records in 1667 that 
 her house was constantly frequented by Waller. 
 
 t Alluding to the descent of the Countess from Robert Bruce, two of 
 whose descendants wore the crown of Scotland, which through the 
 female line afterwards devolved on the Stuarts. 
 
OF love. 11a 
 
 With the resemblance of that matchless pair. 
 Narcissus to the thing for which he pined, 
 Was not more like than yours to her fair mind, 
 Save that she graced the several parts of life, 
 A spotless virgin, and a faultless wife. 
 Such was the sweet converse 'twixt her and you, 
 As that she holds with her associates now. 
 
 How false is hope, and how regardless fate, 
 That such a love should have so short a date ! 
 Lately I saw her sighing part from thee ; 
 (Alas that that the last farewell should be !) 
 So looked Astrsea, her remove designed, 
 On those distressed friends she left behind. 
 Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast, 
 That still the knot, in spite of death, does last ; 
 For as your tears, and sorrow- wounded soul, 
 Prove well that on your part this bond is whole, 
 So all we know of what they do above, 
 Is that they happy are, and that they love. 
 Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave, 
 Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have ; 
 Well chosen love is never taught to die, 
 But with our nobler part invades the sky. 
 Then grieve no more that one so heavenly shaped 
 The crooked hand of trembling age escaped ; 
 Rather, since we beheld her not decay, 
 But that she vanished so entire away, 
 Her wondrous beauty, and her goodness, merit 
 We should suppose that some propitious spirit 
 In that celestial form frequented here, 
 And is not dead, but ceases to appear. 
 
 OF LOVE. 
 
 ANGER, in hasty words or blows, 
 Itself discharges on our foes ; 
 
116 OF LOVE. 
 
 And sorrow, too, finds some relief 
 In tears, which wait upon our grief; 
 So every passion, but fond love, 
 Unto its own redress does move ; 
 But that alone the wretch inclines 
 To what prevents his own designs; 
 Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep, 
 Disordered, tremble, fawn and creep; 
 Postures which render him despised, 
 Where he endeavours to be prized. 
 For women, (born to be controlled) 
 Stoop to the forward and the bold; 
 Affect the haughty and the proud, 
 The gay, the frolic, and the loud. 
 Who first the generous steed oppressed, 
 Not kneeling did salute the beast ; 
 But with high courage, life, and force, 
 Approaching, tamed the unruly horse. 
 
 Unwisely we the wiser East 
 Pity, supposing them oppressed 
 With tyrants' force, whose law is will, 
 By which they govern, spoil and kill : 
 Each nymph, but moderately fair, 
 Commands with no less rigour here. 
 Should some brave Turk, that walks among 
 His twenty lasses, bright and young, 
 And beckons to the willing dame, 
 Preferred to quench his present flame, 
 Behold as many gallants here, 
 With modest guise and silent fear, 
 All to one female idol bend, 
 While her high pride does scarce descend 
 To mark their follies, he would swear 
 That these her guard of eunuchs were, 
 And that a more majestic queen, 
 Or humbler slaves, he had not seen. 
 
 All this with indignation spoke, 
 In vain I struggled with the yoke 
 
FOR DRINKING OF HEALTHS, 117 
 
 Of mighty Love ; that conquering look, 
 When next beheld, like lightning strook 
 My blasted soul, and made me bow 
 Lower than those I pitied now. 
 
 So the tall stag, upon the brink 
 Of some smooth stream about to drink, 
 Surveying there his armed head, 
 With shame remembers that he fled 
 The scorned dogs, resolves to try 
 The combat next ; but if their cry 
 Invades again his trembling ear, 
 He straight resumes his wonted care, 
 Leaves the untasted spring behind, 
 And, winged with fear, outflies the wind. 
 
 FOR DRINKING OF HEALTHS. 
 
 LET brutes and vegetals, that cannot think, 
 So far as drought and nature urges, drink; 
 A more indulgent mistress guides our sp'rits, 
 Reason, that dares beyond our appetites, 
 (She would our care, as well as thirst, redress) 
 And with divinity rewards excess. 
 Deserted Ariadne, thus supplied, 
 Did perjured Theseus' cruelty deride ; 
 Bacchus embraced, from her exalted thought 
 Banished the man, her passion, and his fault. 
 Bacchus and Phoebus are by Jove allied, 
 And each by other's timely heat supplied; 
 All that the grapes owe to his ripening fires 
 Is paid in numbers which their juice inspires. 
 Wine fills the veins, and healths are understood 
 To give our friends a title to our blood ; 
 Who, naming me, doth warm his courage so, 
 Shows for my sake what his bold hand would do. 
 
118 
 OF MY LADY ISABELLA, 
 
 PLAYING ON THE LUTE. 
 
 QXJCH moving sounds from such a careless touch! 
 ^ So unconcerned herself, and we so much! 
 What art is this, that with so little pains 
 Transports us thus, and o'er our spirits reigns'? 
 The trembling strings about her fingers crowd, 
 And tell their joy for every kiss aloud. 
 Small force there needs to make them tremble so ; 
 Touched by that hand, who would not tremble too? 
 Here love takes stand, and while she charms the ear, 
 Empties his quiver on the listening deer. 
 Music so softens and disarms the mind, 
 That not an arrow does resistance find. 
 Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize, 
 And acts herself the triumph of her eyes : 
 So ISTero once, with harp in hand, surveyed 
 His flaming Rome, and as it burned he played. 
 
 OF MRS. ARDEN.* 
 
 BEHOLD, and listen, while the fair 
 Breaks in sweet sounds the willing air, 
 And with her own breath fans the fire 
 Which her bright eyes do first inspire. 
 What reason can that love control, 
 Which more than one way courts the soul? 
 
 So when a flash of lightning falls 
 On our abodes, the danger calls 
 For human aid, which hopes the flame 
 To conquer, though from heaven it came; 
 But if the winds with that conspire, 
 Men strive not, but deplore the fire. 
 
 * Fenton suggests that this lady was probably either a maid of 
 honour, or a gentlewoman of the bed chamber to King Charles the 
 First's Queen ; perhaps one of the ladies that acted in Montague's 
 Shepherd's Paradise, ridiculed in Suckling's Session of the Poets. 
 
119 
 
 OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS.* 
 
 DESIGN, or chance, makes others wive ; 
 But Nature did this match contrive ; 
 Eve might as well have Adam fled, 
 As she denied her little bed 
 To him, for whom Heaven seemed to frame, 
 And measure out, this only dame. 
 
 Thrice happy is that humble pair, 
 Beneath the level of all care ! 
 Over whose heads those arrows fly 
 Of sad distrust and jealousy; 
 Secured in as high extreme, 
 As if the world held none but them. 
 
 To him the fairest nymphs do show 
 Like moving mountains, topped with snow; 
 And every man a Polypheme 
 Does to his Galatea seem; 
 None may presume her faith to prove; 
 He proffers death that proffers love. 
 
 Ah, Chloris? that kind Nature thus 
 From all the world had severed us ; 
 Creating for ourselves us two, 
 As love has me for only you ! 
 
 love's farewell. 
 
 TREADING the path to nobler ends, 
 A long farewell to love I gave, 
 
 * Richard Gibson, a page of the back stairs, and Mrs. Anne 
 Shepherd. They were both about the same height — three feet ten 
 inches. Charles I. sanctioned the wedding by his presence, and gave 
 away the bride. The dwarfs had nine children, five of whom attained 
 maturity, and grew to the ordinary standard. Gibson, who appears to 
 have cultivated painting with some success, lived to the age of seventy- 
 five, and his wife survived him nearly twenty years. 
 
120 FROM A CHILD. 
 
 Resolved my country, and my friends, 
 All that remained of me should have. 
 
 And this resolve no mortal dame, 
 None but those eyes could have o'erthrown; 
 The nymph I dare not, need not name, 
 So high, so like herself alone. 
 
 Thus the tall oak, which now aspires 
 Above the fear of private fires, 
 Grown and designed for nobler use, 
 Not to make warm, but build the house, 
 Though from our meaner flames secure, 
 Must that which falls from heaven endure. 
 
 FKOM A CHILD. 
 
 MADAM, as in some climes the warmer sun 
 Makes it full summer ere the spring's begun, 
 And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load, 
 Before our violets dare look abroad ; 
 So measure not by any common use 
 The early love your brighter eyes produce. 
 When lately your fair hand in woman's weed 
 Wrapped my glad head, I wished me so indeed, 
 That hasty time might never make me grow 
 Out of those favours you afford me now ; 
 That I might ever such indulgence find, 
 And you not blush, nor think yourself too kind ; 
 Who now, I fear, while I these joys express, 
 Begin to think how you may make them less. 
 The sound of love makes your soft heart afraid, 
 And guard itself, though but a child invade, 
 And innocently at your white breast throw 
 A dart as white, a ball of new fallen snow. 
 
121 
 
 ON A GIEDLE. 
 
 H ^IIAT which her slender waist confined, 
 J- Shall now my joyful temples bind; 
 No monarch but would give his crown, 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 
 The pale which held that lovely deer. 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
 Did all within this circle move ! 
 
 A narrow compass ! and yet there 
 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair; 
 Give me but what this ribband bound, 
 Take all the rest the sun goes round.* 
 
 THE PALL. 
 
 SEE ! how the willing earth gave way, 
 To take the impression where she lay. 
 See ! how the mould, as loth to leave 
 So sweet a burden, still doth cleave 
 C]ose to the nymph's stained garment. Here 
 The coming spring would first appear, 
 And all this place with roses strow, 
 If busy feet would let them grow. 
 
 Here Yenus smiled to see blind chance 
 Itself before her son advance, 
 And a fair image to present, 
 Of what the boy so long had meant. 
 'Twas such a chance as this, made all 
 The world into this order fall ; 
 Thus the first lovers, on the clay, 
 Of which they were composed, lay ; 
 
 * As shows the air when with a rainbow graced, 
 So smiles that ribband round my Julia's waist ; 
 Or like — nay, 'tis that zonulet of love, 
 Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove. 
 
 Herrick . — Hesperides. 
 
122 THE BUD. 
 
 So in their prime, with equal grace, 
 Met the first patterns of our race. 
 
 Then blush not, fair ! or on him frown, 
 Or wonder how you both came down; 
 But touch him, and he'll tremble straight, 
 How could he then support your weight ? 
 How could the youth, alas ! but bend, 
 When his whole heaven upon him leaned? 
 If aught by him amiss were done, 
 'Twas that he let you rise so soon. 
 
 , OF SYLVIA. 
 
 OUR sighs are heard; just heaven declares 
 The sense it has of lover's cares ; 
 She that so far the rest outshined, 
 Sylvia the fair, while she was kind, 
 As if her frowns impaired her brow, 
 Seems only not unhandsome now. 
 So when the sky makes us endure 
 A storm, itself becomes obscure. 
 
 Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame, 
 Hiding from Flavia's self her name, 
 Lest she, provoking Heaven, should prove 
 How it rewards neglected love. 
 Better a thousand such as I, 
 Their grief untold, should pine and die, 
 Than her bright morning, overcast 
 With sullen clouds, should be defaced. 
 
 THE BUD. 
 
 LATELY on yonder swelling bush, 
 Big with many a coming rose, 
 This early bud began to blush, 
 And did but half itself disclose ; 
 
ON THE DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING. 123 
 
 I plucked it, though no better grown, 
 And now you see how full 'tis blown. 
 
 Still as I did the leaves inspire, 
 
 With such a purple light they shone, 
 
 As if they had been made of fire, 
 
 And spreading so, would flame anon. 
 
 All that was meant by air or sun, 
 
 To the young flower, my breath has done. 
 
 If our loose breath so much can do, 
 What may the same in forms of love, 
 Of purest love, and music too, 
 When Flavia it aspires to move? 
 When that, which lifeless buds persuades 
 To wax more soft, her youth invades? 
 
 THE DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING. 
 
 PYGMALION'S fate reversed is mine;* 
 J- His marble love took flesh and blood ; 
 All that I worshipped as divine, 
 That beauty! now 'tis understood, 
 Appears to have no more of life 
 Than that whereof he framed his wife. 
 
 As women yet, who apprehend 
 
 Some sudden cause of causeless fear, 
 
 Although that seeming cause take end, 
 
 And they behold no danger near, 
 
 A shaking through their limbs they find, 
 
 Like leaves saluted by the wind : 
 
 So though the beauty do appear 
 
 No beauty, which amazed me so ; 
 
 Yet from my breast I cannot tear 
 
 The passion which from thence did grow ; 
 
 * Ovid, Met. x. 
 
124 OF LOVING AT FIBST SIGHT. 
 
 Nor yet out of my fancy raze 
 The print of that supposed face. 
 
 A real beauty, though too near, 
 The fond Narcissus did admire ! 
 I dote on that which is nowhere ; 
 The sign of beauty feeds my fire. 
 No mortal flame was e'er so cruel 
 As this, which thus survives the fuel! 
 
 OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT. 
 
 NOT caring to observe the wind, 
 Or the new sea explore, 
 Snatched from myself, how far behind 
 Already I behold the shore! 
 
 May not a thousand dangers sleep 
 In the smooth bosom of this deep 1 
 No ; 'tis so rockless and so clear, 
 That the rich bottom does appear 
 Paved all with precious things; not torn 
 From shipwrecked vessels, but there born. 
 
 Sweetness, truth, and every grace 
 Which time and use are wont to teach, 
 The eye may in a moment reach, 
 And read distinctly in her face. 
 
 Some other nymphs, with colours faint, 
 And pencil slow, may Cupid paint, 
 And a weak heart in time destroy; 
 She has a stamp, and prints the boy; 
 Can, with a single look, inflame 
 The coldest breast, the rudest tame. 
 
125 
 
 %; 
 
 THE SELF-BANISHED. 
 
 IT is not that I love you less, 
 Than when before your feet I 
 But to prevent the sad increase 
 Of hopeless love, I keep away. 
 
 In vain, alas ! for everything 
 "Which I have known belong to you, 
 Your form does to my fancy bring, 
 And makes my old wounds bleed anew. 
 
 Who in the spring, from the new sun, 
 Already hat a fever got, 
 Too late begins those shafts to shun, 
 Which Phoebus through his veins has shot ; 
 
 Too late he would the pain assuage, 
 And to thick shadows does retire; 
 About with him he bears the rage, 
 And in his tainted blood the fire. 
 
 But vowed I have, and never must 
 Your banished servant trouble you ; 
 For if I break, you may mistrust 
 The vow I made — to love you too. 
 
 TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT, 
 
 UPON HIS TWO FIUST BOOKS OF GONDIBE^T.* 
 
 Written in France. 
 
 7 HTJS the wise nightingale that leaves her home, 
 Her native wood, when storms and winter come, 
 Pursuing constantly the cheerful spring, 
 Do foreign groves does her old music bring. 
 
 * These verses were printed in 1 65 3, with a few other pieces in a 
 small tract of 24 pages ; but the allusions to Davenant's exile show 
 that they must have been written some years before. They were after- 
 
126 TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 
 
 The drooping Hebrews' banished harps, unstrung, 
 At Babylon upon the willows hung ; 
 Yours sounds aloud, and tells us you excel 
 No less in courage, than in singing well ; 
 While, unconcerned, you let your country know, 
 They have impoverished themselves, not you; 
 "Who, with the Muses' help, can mock those fates 
 Which threaten kingdoms, and disorder states. 
 So Ovid, when from Caesar's rage he fled, 
 The Roman Muse to Pontus with him led; 
 Where he so sung, that we, through pity's glass, 
 See Nero milder than Augustus was. 
 Hereafter such, in thy behalf, shall be 
 The indulgent censure of posterity. 
 To banish those who with such art can sing,* 
 Is a rude crime, which its own curse doth bring ; 
 Ages to come shall ne'er know how they fought, 
 Nor how to love their present youth be taught. 
 
 wards, together with a similar tribute from Cowley, prefixed to the col- 
 lected edition of Davenant's works, published by his widow in 1673. 
 The first two cantos of Gondibert were written when Davenant was in 
 Paris, and published in London in 1651. The Discourse, or Preface, 
 with Hobbes' Answer, had previously appeared in Paris. 
 
 * Davenant was not banished, as might be inferred from this line. 
 His attachment to the King's party brought him into suspicion, and in 
 May, 1 64 1, he was accused before the Parliament of being concerned 
 in a design for bringing the army to London for the King's protection. 
 Upon this charge he was apprehended, but admitted to bail. "While he 
 was at large he attempted to withdraw to France, and was again 
 arrested. He succeeded, however, in effecting his escape, and fled to 
 the continent, where he remained for some time. He returned to Eng- 
 land in 1643, was made lieutenant-general of ordnance under the Earl 
 of Newcastle, and knighted for the services he rendered to the royal 
 cause at Gloucester. The subsequent decline of the King's affairs in- 
 duced him to retire to Paris, where he lived in the Louvre with his 
 friend, Lord Jermyn. It was here he wrote the first two cantos of 
 Gondibert, and planned an expedition to Virginia, for the purpose of 
 conveying French artificers to that colony. The vessel in which he 
 embarked was seized, and he was again taken, and, after an imprison- 
 ment in Cowes Castle, removed to the Tower to be tried by a high com- 
 mission court. Here he was confined for two years, but was ultimately 
 saved, according to some authorities by the interposition of Milton, 
 and according to others by the interest of two aldermen of York, whom 
 he had formerly permitted to escape when they were his prisoners. 
 
TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. WASE. 127 
 
 This to thyself. — Now to thy matchless book, 
 Wherein those few that can with judgment look, 
 May find old love in pure fresh language told, 
 Like new-stamped coin made out of angel gold ; 
 Such truth in love as the antique world did know, 
 In such a style as courts may boast of now ; 
 Which no bold tales of gods or monsters swell, 
 But human passions, such as with us dwell. 
 Man is thy theme ; his virtue, or his rage, 
 Drawn to the life in each elaborate page. 
 Mars, nor Bellona, are not named here, 
 But such a Gondibert as both might fear; 
 Yenus had here, and Hebe, been outshined 
 By thy bright Birtha and thy Khodalind. 
 Such is thy happy skill, and such the odds 
 Betwixt thy worthies and the Grecian gods ! 
 Whose deities in vain had here come down, 
 Where mortal beauty wears the sovereign crown ; 
 Such as of flesh composed, by flesh and blood, 
 Though not resisted, may be understood. 
 
 TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. WASE, 
 
 THE TRANSLATOR OF GRATIUS.* 
 
 THUS, by the music, we may know 
 When noble wits a-hunting go, 
 Through groves that on Parnassus grow. 
 
 * Mr. Christopher Wase, fellow of King's College, Cambridge, from 
 which he was ejected and obliged to leave the kingdom, for some pas- 
 sage that gave offence in his preface to a translation of the Electra of 
 Sophocles. He was afterwards taken and imprisoned, but escaped and 
 served in the Spanish army against the French. He subsequently re- 
 turned to England, and was appointed tutor to Lord Herbert, the son 
 of the Earl of Pembroke, to whom he dedicated Gratii Falisci Cyne- 
 geticon, the poem on hunting to which Waller's lines refer. Mr. Wase 
 published numerous works and translations, and was held in high esti- 
 mation for the extent of his erudition, and especially for his philological 
 attainments. 
 
128 TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MR. WASE. 
 
 The Muses all the chase adorn; 
 My friend on Pegasus is borne ; 
 And young Apollo winds the horn. 
 
 Having old Gratius in the wind, 
 No pack of critics e'er could find, 
 Or he know more of his own mind. 
 
 Here huntsmen with delight may read 
 How to choose dogs for scent or speed, 
 And how to change or mend the breed; 
 
 What arms to use, or nets to frame, 
 Wild beasts to combat or to tame ; 
 With all the mysteries of that game. 
 
 But, worthy friend ! the face of war 
 In ancient times doth differ far 
 From what our fiery battles are. 
 
 Nor is it like, since powder known, 
 That man, so cruel to his own, 
 Should spare the race of beasts alone. 
 
 No quarter now, but with the gun 
 Men wait in trees from sun to sun, 
 And all is in a moment done. 
 
 And therefore we expect your next 
 Should be no comment, but a text 
 To tell how modern beasts are vexed. 
 
 Thus would I further yet engage 
 Your gentle Muse to court the age 
 With somewhat of your proper rage ; 
 
 Since none does more to Phoebus owe, 
 Or in more languages can show 
 Those arts which you so early know. 
 
129 
 TO A FRIEND, 
 
 ON THE DIFFERENT SUCCESS OF THEIR LOVES.* 
 
 fPHRICE happy pair ! of whom we cannot know 
 
 -*- Which first began to love, or loves most now; 
 
 Fair course of passion ! where two lovers start, 
 
 And run together, heart still yoked with heart ; 
 
 Successful youth ! whom love has taught the way 
 
 To be victorious in the first essay. 
 
 Sure love's an art best practised at first, 
 
 And where the experienced still prosper worst ! 
 
 I, with a different fate, pursued in vain 
 
 The haughty Celia, till my just disdain 
 
 Of her neglect, above that passion borne, 
 
 Did pride to pride oppose, and scorn to scorn. 
 
 Wow she relents; but all too late to move 
 
 A heart directed to a nobler love. 
 
 The scales are turned, her kindness weighs no more 
 
 Now than my vows and service did before. 
 
 So in some well- wrought hangings you may see 
 
 How Hector leads, and how the Grecians flee ; 
 
 Here, the fierce Mars his courage so inspires, 
 
 That with bold hands the Argive fleet he fires; 
 
 But there, from heaven the blue-eyed virgin t falls, 
 
 And frighted Troy retires within her walls; 
 
 They that are foremost in that bloody race, 
 
 Turn head anon, and give the conquerors chase. 
 
 So like the chances are of love and war, 
 
 That they alone in this distinguished are, 
 
 In love the victors from the vanquished fly; 
 
 They fly that wound, and they pursue that die. 
 
 * In the first edition this poem is addressed to A. H. Fenton con- 
 jectures that the initials were intended for Alexander Hampden, a 
 relative of Waller's, who was implicated with him in the plot, 
 t Minerva. 
 
 WALLER. 
 
130 
 
 TO ZELINDA.* 
 
 FAIREST piece of well-formed earth! 
 Urge not thus your haughty birth ; 
 The power which you have o'er us lies 
 Not in your race, but in your eyes. 
 6 None but a prince !' — Alas ! that voice 
 Confines you to a narrow choice. 
 Should you no honey vow to taste, 
 But what the master-bees have placed 
 In compass of their cells, how small 
 A portion to your share would fall ! 
 Nor all appear, among those few, 
 Worthy the stock from whence they grew. 
 The sap which at the root is bred 
 In trees, through all the boughs is spread; 
 But virtues which in parents shine, 
 Make not like progress through the line. 
 'Tis not from whom, but where, we live; 
 The place does oft those graces give. 
 Great Julius, on the mountains bred, 
 A flock perhaps, or herd, had led. 
 He that the world subdued, f had been 
 But the best wrestler on the green. 
 'Tis art and knowledge which draw forth 
 The hidden seeds of native worth ; 
 They blow those sparks, and make them rise 
 Into such flames as touch the skies. 
 To the old heroes hence was given 
 A pedigree which reached to heaven; 
 Of mortal seed they were not held, 
 Which other mortals so excelled. 
 
 * ' The author seems to have composed these verses purely for an I 
 
 exercise of his fancy, upon reading the sixth book of Des Maretz' j 
 
 Ariane, where Palamede, addressing his courtship to Zelinde, who was 1 
 
 descended from the Parthian kings, she answered, ' I am a princess; I 
 
 and, being such, I will listen to proposals of this kind from none but a 1 
 prince:* — Fenton. f Alexander. 
 
TO MY LADY MORTON. 131 
 
 And beauty, too, in such excess 
 As yours, Zelinda ! claims no less. 
 Smile but on me, and you shall scorn, 
 Henceforth, to be of princes born. 
 I can describe the shady grove 
 Where your loved mother slept with Jove; 
 And yet excuse the faultless dame, 
 Caught with her spouse's shape and name. 
 Thy matchless form will credit bring 
 To all the wonders I shall sing. 
 
 TO MY LADY MORTON, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY,* 
 
 AT THE IiOUVRE IN PARIS. 
 
 MADAM ! new years may well expect to find 
 Welcome from you, to whom they are so kind; 
 Still as they pass, they court and smile on you, 
 And make your beauty, as themselves, seem new. 
 To the fair Villiers we Dalkeith prefer, 
 And fairest Morton now as much to her ; 
 So like the sun's advance your titles show, 
 Which as he rises does the warmer grow. 
 
 But thus to style you fair, your sex's praise, 
 Gives you but myrtle, who may challenge bays ; 
 From armed foes to bring a royal prize, 
 Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes. 
 If Judith, marching with the general's head, 
 Can give us passion when her story's read, 
 
 * Lady Morton, daughter of Sir Edward Villiers, niece of the Duke 
 of Buckingham, and wife of Lord Douglas, of Dalkeith, was one of the 
 most celebrated beauties of her day. The incidents alluded to in the 
 poem are matters of history. She was faithfully devoted to the royal 
 family, and in 1646 succeeded with great difficulty, and at considerable 
 personal peril, in conveying the Princess Henrietta in disguise from 
 Oatlands into France. Waller was then an exile in Paris. These 
 lines were addressed to Lady Morton in i65o. 
 
 9-2 
 
132 TO MY LADY MORTON. 
 
 What may the living do, which brought away, 
 Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey ; 
 Who from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand, 
 Snatched her fair charge, the Princess, like a brand? 
 A brand ! preserved to warm some prince's heart, 
 And make whole kingdoms take her brothers * part. 
 So Yenus, from prevailing Greeks, did shroud 
 The hope of Rome,t and saved him in a cloud. 
 
 This gallant act may cancel all our rage, 
 Begin a better, and absolve this age. 
 Dark shades become the portrait of our time ; 
 Here weeps Misfortune, and there triumphs Crime ! J 
 Let him that draws it hide the rest in night; 
 This portion only may endure the light, 
 Where the kind nymph, changing her faultless shape, 
 Becomes unhandsome, handsomely to 'scape, 
 When through the guards, the river, and the sea, 
 Faith, beauty, wit, and courage, made their way. 
 As the brave eagle does with sorrow see 
 The forest wasted, and that lofty tree 
 Which holds her nest about to be o'erthrown, 
 Before the feathers of her young are grown, 
 She will not leave them, nor she cannot stay, 
 But bears them boldly on her wings away; 
 So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore 
 Her princely burthen to the Gallic shore. 
 Born in the storms of war, this royal fair, 
 Produced like lightning in tempestuous air, 
 Though now she flies her native isle (less kind, 
 Less safe for her than either sea or wind !) 
 
 * King Charles II. f iEneas. 
 
 t The sufferings and privations undergone by the Queen of England 
 and the Princess Henrietta in Paris are well known. Cardinal 
 Mazarin withheld their pension, and they were reduced to the last 
 stage of distress at their lodgings in the Louvre. Cardinal Retz relates 
 that, visiting the princess one day, he found the queen in her 
 chamber, and that her majesty said to him, « You see I am come to 
 keep Henrietta company; the poor child could not rise to-day for 
 want of a fire.' 
 
A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 133 
 
 Shall, when the blossom of her beauty's blown, 
 See her great brother on the British throne; 
 Where peace shall smile, and no dispute arise, 
 But which rules most, his sceptre, or her eyes. 
 
 TO A FAIR LADY, PLAYING WITH A SNAKE. 
 
 STRANGE ! that such horror and such grace 
 Should dwell together in one place; 
 A fury's arm, an angel's face ! 
 
 'Tis innocence, and youth, which makes 
 
 In Chloris' fancy such mistakes, 
 
 To start at love, and play with snakes. 
 
 By this and by her coldness barred, 
 Her servants have a task too hard ; 
 The tyrant has a double guard I 
 
 Thrice happy snake ! that in her sleeve 
 May boldly creep ; we dare not give 
 Our thoughts so unconfined a leave. 
 
 Contented in that nest of snow 
 He lies, as he his bliss did know, 
 And to the wood no more would go. 
 
 Take heed, fair Eve ! you do not make 
 
 Another tempter of this snake; 
 
 A marble one so warmed would speak. 
 
 A PANEGYKIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR, 
 
 OF THE PRESENT GREATNESS, AND JOINT INTEREST, OF HIS HIGHNESS, 
 AND THIS NATION.* 
 
 WHILE with a strong and yet a gentle hand, 
 You bridle faction, and our hearts command, 
 Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, 
 Make us unite, and make us conquer too ; 
 
 * Fenton supposes that this poem was written about i654« It is 
 
134 A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 
 
 Let partial spirits still aloud complain, 
 Think themselves injured that they cannot reign, 
 And own no liberty but where they may 
 Without control upon their fellows prey. 
 
 Above the waves as Neptune showed his face, 
 To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race, 
 So has your Highness, raised above the rest, 
 Storms of ambition, tossing us, repressed.* 
 
 Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, 
 Restored by you, is made a glorious state; 
 The seat of empire, where the Irish come, 
 And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom. 
 
 The sea's our own ; and now all nations greet, 
 With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet ; 
 Your power extends as far as winds can blow, 
 Or swelling sails upon the globe may go. 
 
 Heaven, (that hath placed this island to give law, 
 To balance Europe, and her states to awe) 
 In this conjunction doth on Britain smile; 
 The greatest leader, and the greatest isle ! 
 
 Whether this portion of the world were rent, 
 By the rude ocean, from the continent; 
 Or thus created ; it was sure designed 
 To be the sacred refuge of mankind. 
 
 the most studied and elaborate of all Waller's productions. Dr. John- 
 son pronounces a high panegyric upon the grandeur, grace, and music 
 of the lines, but qualifies his praise by adding that the great fault of 
 the piece is the choice of the hero — a point upon which a difference of 
 opinion may be fairly entertained. 
 
 * Above the waves as Neptune lifts his eyes, 
 To chide the winds that Trojan ships oppressed, 
 And with his countenance calmed seas, winds and skies — 
 So looked Rinaldo, when he shook his crest. 
 
 Fairfax's Translation of Tasso. 
 
f 
 
 A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 135 
 
 Hither the oppressed shall henceforth resort, 
 Justice to 'crave, and succour, at your court ; 
 And then your Highness, not for ours alone, 
 But for the world's protector shall be known. 
 
 Fame, swifter than your winged navy, flies 
 Through every land that near the ocean lies, 
 Sounding your name, and telling dreadful news 
 To all that piracy and rapine use. 
 
 With such a chief the meanest nation blessed, 
 Might hope to lift her head above the rest; 
 What may be thought impossible to do 
 By us, embraced by the sea and you? 
 
 Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean, we 
 Whole forests send to reign upon the sea, 
 And every coast may trouble, or relieve ; 
 But none can visit us without your leave. 
 
 Angels and we, have this prerogative, 
 That none can at our happy seats arrive; 
 While we descend at pleasure, to invade 
 The bad with vengeance, and the good to aid. 
 
 Our little world, the image of the great, 
 Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set, 
 Of her own growth hath all that Nature craves ; 
 And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves. 
 
 As Egypt does not on the clouds rely, 
 
 But to the Nile owes more than to the sky ; 
 
 So what our earth, and what our heaven, denies, 
 
 Our ever constant friend, the sea, supplies. 
 
 The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know, 
 Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow; 
 Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine; 
 And, without planting, drink of every vine. 
 
 
136 A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 
 
 To dig for wealth we weary not our limbs; 
 Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims ; 
 Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow; 
 We plough the deep, and reap what others sow. 
 
 Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds ; 
 Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds; 
 Rome, though her eagle through the world had flown, 
 Could never make this island all her own. * 
 
 Here the Third Edward, and the Black Prince, too, 
 France-conquering Henry flourished, and now you; 
 For whom we stayed, as did the Grecian state, 
 Till Alexander came to urge their fate. 
 
 When for more worlds the Macedonian cried, 
 He wist not Thetis in her lap did hide 
 Another yet; a world reserved for you, 
 To make more great than that he did subdue. 
 
 He safely might old troops to battle lead, 
 Against the un warlike-Persian, and the Mede, 
 Whose hasty flight did, from a bloodless field, 
 More spoils than honour to the victor yield. 
 
 A race unconquered, by their clime made bold, 
 The Caledonians, armed with want and cold, 
 Have, by a fate indulgent to your fame, 
 Been from all ages kept for you to tame. 
 
 Whom the old Roman wall so ill confined, 
 With a new chain of garrisons you bind ; 
 Here foreign gold no more shall make them come; 
 Our English iron holds them fast at home. 
 
 * The Roman wall, built by the Emperor Adrian, to protect the 
 settlers from the incursions of the natives, Mho still held their fastnesses 
 in the north, indicates the line beyond which the island remained un- 
 conquered. 
 

 A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 137 
 
 They, that henceforth must be content to know 
 No warmer regions than their hills of snow, 
 May blame the sun, but must extol your grace, 
 Which in our senate hath allowed them place. 
 
 Preferred by conquest, happily o'erthrown, 
 Falling they rise, to be with us made one ; 
 So kind dictators made, when they came home, 
 Their vanquished foes free citizens of Rome. 
 
 Like favour find the Irish, with like fate, 
 Advanced to be a portion of our state ; 
 While by your valour and your bounteous mind, 
 Nations, divided by the sea, are joined. 
 
 Holland, to gain your friendship, is content 
 To be our outguard on the continent; 
 She from her fellow-provinces would go, 
 Rather than hazard to have you her foe. 
 
 In our late fight, when cannons did diffuse, 
 Preventing posts, the terror and the news, 
 Our neighbour princes trembled at their roar ; 
 But our conjunction makes them tremble more. 
 
 Your never-failing sword made war to cease; 
 And now you heal us with the acts of peace ; 
 Our minds with bounty and with awe engage, 
 Invite affection, and restrain our rage. 
 
 Less pleasure take brave minds in battles won, 
 Than in restoring such as are undone ; 
 Tigers have courage, and the rugged bear, 
 But man alone can, whom he conquers, spare. 
 
 To pardon willing, and to punish loath, 
 You strike with one hand, but you heal with both ; 
 Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieve 
 You cannot make the dead again to live. 
 
138 A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR. 
 
 When fate, or error, had our age misled, 
 
 And o'er this nation such confusion spread, 
 
 The only cure, which could from Heaven come down, 
 
 Was so much power and piety in one ! 
 
 One ! whose extraction from an ancient line 
 Gives hope again that well-born men may shine ; 
 The meanest in your nature, mild and good, 
 The noble rest secured in your blood. 
 
 Oft have we wondered how you hid in peace 
 A mind proportioned to such things as these; 
 How such a ruling spirit you could restrain, 
 And practise first over yourself to reign. 
 
 Your private life did a just pattern give, 
 How fathers, husbands, pious sons should live; 
 Born to command, your princely virtues slept, 
 Like humble David's, while the flock he kept.* 
 
 But when your troubled country called you forth, 
 Your flaming courage, and your matchless worth, 
 Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend, 
 To fierce contention gave a prosperous end. 
 
 Still as you rise, the state, exalted too, 
 Finds no distemper while 'tis changed by you; 
 Change like the world's great scene! when, without 
 The rising sun night's vulgar lights destroys. [noise, 
 
 Had you, some ages past, this race of glory 
 Bun, with amazement we should read your story; 
 But living virtue, all achievements past, 
 Meets envy still, to grapple with at last. 
 
 * Marvell applies a similar parallel to Charles II. : — 
 * Of a tall stature, and of sable hue, 
 Much like the son of Kish, that lofty Jew, 
 Twelve years complete he suffered in exile, 
 And kept his father's asses all the while.' 
 
 Historical Poem. 
 
A PANEGYKIC TO MY LOKD PROTECTOR. 139 
 
 This Ctesar found; and that ungrateful age, 
 With losing him went back to blood and rage ; 
 Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoke, 
 But cut the bond of union with that stroke. 
 
 That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars 
 Gave a dim light to violence, and wars, 
 To such a tempest as now threatens all, 
 Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall. 
 
 If Eome's great senate could not wield that sword, 
 Which of the conquered world had made them lord, 
 What hope had ours, while yet their power was new, 
 To rule victorious armies, but by you? 
 
 You ! that had taught them to subdue their foes, 
 Could order teach, and their high spirits compose ; 
 To every duty could their minds engage, 
 Provoke their courage, and command their rage. 
 
 So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, 
 And angry grows, if he that first took pain 
 To tame his youth approach the haughty beast, 
 He bends to him, but frights away the rest. * 
 
 As the vexed world, to find repose, at last 
 Itself into Augustus' arms did cast ; 
 So England now does, with like toil oppressed, 
 Her weary head upon your bosom rest. 
 
 Then let the Muses, with such notes as these, 
 Instruct us what belongs unto our peace; 
 Your battles they hereafter shall indite, 
 And draw the image of our Mars in fight ; 
 
 * So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, 
 
 And beats his tail, with courage proud, and wroth, 
 If his commander come, who first took pain 
 To tame his youth, his lofty crest down go'th. 
 
 Fairfax's Tasso. 
 
 
140 TO HIS WOKTHY FKIEND MR. EVELYN. 
 
 Tell of towns stormed, of armies over-run, 
 And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won; 
 How, while you thundered, douds of dust did choke 
 Contending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke. 
 
 Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, 
 
 And every conqueror creates a muse. 
 
 Here, in low strains, your milder deeds we sing ; 
 
 But there, my lord ! we'll bays and olive bring 
 
 To crown your head ; while you in triumph ride 
 O'er vanquished nations, and the sea beside ; 
 While all your neighbour-princes unto you, 
 Like Joseph's sheaves, * pay reverence, and bow. 
 
 
 TO HIS WOKTHY EKIEND MASTER EVELYN, f 
 
 UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF LUCRETIUS. 
 
 T TJCEETIUS (with a stork-like fate, 
 -" Born, and translated, in a state) 
 Comes to proclaim, in English verse, 
 No monarch rules the universe ; 
 But chance, and atoms, make this All 
 In order democratical, 
 Where bodies freely run their course, 
 Without design, or fate, or force. 
 And this in such a strain he sings, 
 As if his muse, with angels' wings, 
 
 * Gen., xxxviii. 
 t John Evelyn, the author of Sylva, whose Diary is familiar to all 
 readers. The translation to which these verses refer was published in 
 i<556. It embraced only the First Book, and was entitled An Essay 
 on the First Boole of Titus Lucretius Cams, de rerumnaturd, interpreted, 
 and made into English verse, by J. Evelyn, Esq. Mr. Evelyn was dis- 
 couraged from proceeding any further with the translation, in conse- 
 quence of the ill success of the work, arising from the gross errors com- 
 mitted by the printer, and the neglect of the gentleman who undertook 
 to revise the proof sheets. 
 
TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND MR. EVELYN. 14-1 
 
 Had soared beyond our utmost sphere, 
 And other worlds discovered there; 
 For his immortal, boundless wit, 
 To Nature does no bounds permit, 
 But boldly has removed those bars 
 Of heaven, and earth, and seas, and stars, 
 By which they were before supposed, 
 By narrow wits, to be enclosed, 
 Till his free muse threw down the pale, 
 And did at once dispark them all. 
 So vast this argument did seem, 
 That the wise author did esteem 
 The Boman language (which was spread 
 O'er the whole world, in triumph led) 
 A tongue too narrow to unfold 
 The wonders which he would have told. 
 This speaks thy glory, noble friend ! 
 And British language does commend; 
 For here Lucretius whole we find, 
 His words, his music, and his mind. 
 Thy art has to our country brought 
 All that he writ, and all he thought. 
 Ovid translated, Yirgil too, 
 Showed long since what our tongue could do ; 
 Nor Lucan we, nor Horace spared ; 
 Only Lucretius was too hard. 
 Lucretius, like a fort, did stand 
 Untouched, till your victorious hand 
 Did from his head this garland bear, 
 Which now upon your own you wear; 
 A garland ! made of such new bays, 
 And sought in such untrodden ways, 
 As no man's temples e'er did crown, 
 Save this great author's, and your own! 
 
142 
 
 TO HIS WORTHY FRIEND SIR THOS. HIGGONS,* 
 
 UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF * THE VENETIAN TRIUMPH.' 
 
 THE winged lion's t not so fierce in fight, 
 As Liberi's hand presents him to our sight; 
 Nor would his pencil make him half so fierce, 
 Or roar so loud, as Businello's verse; 
 But your translation does all three excel, 
 The fight, the piece, and lofty Businel. 
 As their small galleys may not hold compare 
 With our tall ships, whose sails employ more air; 
 So does the Italian to your genius vail, 
 Moved with a fuller and a nobler gale. 
 Thus, while your muse spreads the Venetian story, 
 You make all Europe emulate her glory; 
 You make them blush weak Venice should defend 
 The cause of heaven, while they for words contend ; 
 Shed Christian blood, and populous cities raze, 
 Because they're taught to use some different phrase. 
 If, listening to your charms, we could our jars 
 Compose, and on the Turk discharge these wars, 
 
 * Sir Thomas Higgons was the son of Dr. Thomas Higgons, rector of 
 Westburgh, in Shropshire, where he was born in 1634. He married 
 the widow of the Earl of Essex; and when she died in i656 he delivered 
 a funeral oration over her grave. He afterwards married the daughter 
 of Sir Bevil Greenvill, and sister of the Earl of Bath ; was returned to 
 Parliament in succession for Malmsbury and New Windsor ; and sub- 
 sequently knighted and rewarded with a pension of 5ool. a year, and 
 large pecuniary gifts, for his services to the crown. In 1669, he was 
 sent envoy extraordinary to invest the Duke of Saxony with the 
 garter ; and a few years later appointed envoy to Vienna. He died 
 suddenly, in 1 69 1 , in the court of King's Bench, while he was attending 
 there as a witness. His literary productions are slight, and of no great 
 value, and not to be confounded with the larger and more important 
 works of his son, Mr. Bevil Higgons. The Venetian Triumph was a 
 poem written by Businello, addressed to Liberi,the painter, instructing 
 him how to paint the sea fight that took place between the Turks and 
 Venetians in 1656. Waller appears to have modelled upon this poem 
 his Instructions to a Painter, in reference to the Duke of York's victory 
 over the Dutch. Marvell also adopted the same form a little later, not 
 for the purpose of panegyric, but as a vehicle of satire, 
 f The arms of Venice. 
 
TO THE MUTABLE FAIR. 143 
 
 Our British arms the sacred tomb might wrest 
 From Pagan hands, and triumph o'er the East; 
 And then you might our own high deeds recite, 
 And with great Tasso celebrate the fight. 
 
 TO A LADY 
 
 SINGING A SONG OF HIS COMPOSING. 
 
 CHLOBIS ! yourself you so excel, 
 When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, 
 That, like a spirit, with this spell 
 Of my own teaching, I am caught. 
 
 That eagle's fate and mine are one, 
 Which, on the shaft that made him die, 
 Espied a feather of his own, 
 Wherewith he wont to soar so high. 
 
 Had Echo, with so sweet a grace, 
 Narcissus' loud complaints returned, 
 Not for reflection of his face, 
 But of his voice, the boy had burned. 
 
 TO THE MUTABLE FAIR. 
 
 HERE, Cselia! for thy sake I part 
 With all that grew so near my heart; 
 The passion that I had for thee, 
 The faith, the love, the constancy ! 
 And, that I may successful prove, 
 Transform myself to what you love. 
 
 Fool that I was ! so much to prize 
 Those simple virtues you despise; 
 Fool ! that with such dull arrows strove, 
 Or hoped to reach a flying dove; 
 
144 TO THE MUTABLE FAIE. 
 
 For you, that are in motion still, 
 Decline our force, and mock our skill; 
 Who, like Don Quixote, do advance 
 Against a windmill our vain lance. 
 
 Now will I wander through the air, 
 Mount, make a stoop at every fair; 
 And, with a fancy unconfined, 
 (As lawless as the sea or wind) 
 Pursue you wheresoe'er you fly, 
 And with your various thoughts comply. 
 
 The formal stars do travel so, 
 As we their names and courses know; 
 And he that on their changes looks, 
 Would think them governed by our books ; 
 But never were the clouds reduced 
 To any art ; the motion used 
 By those free vapours are so light, 
 So frequent, that the conquered sight 
 Despairs to find the rules that guide 
 Those gilded shadows as they slide; 
 And therefore of the spacious air 
 Jove's royal consort had the care; 
 And by that power did once escape, 
 Declining bold Ixion's rape ; 
 She, with her own resemblance, graced 
 A shining cloud, which he embraced. 
 
 Such was that image, so it smiled 
 With seeming kindness, which beguiled 
 Your Thyrsis lately, when he thought 
 He had his fleeting Cselia caught. 
 'Twas shaped like her, but, for the fair, 
 He filled his arms with yielding air. 
 
 A fate for which he grieves the less, 
 Because the gods had like success; 
 For in their story one, we see, 
 Pursues a nymph, and takes a tree; 
 A second, with a lover's haste, 
 Soon overtakes whom he had chased, 
 
TO A LADY. 145 
 
 But she that did a virgin seem, 
 Possessed, appears a wandering stream ; 
 For his supposed love, a third 
 Lays greedy hold upon a bird, 
 And stands amazed to find his dear 
 A wild inhabitant of the air. 
 
 To these old tales such nymphs as you 
 Give credit, and still make them new ; 
 The amorous now like wonders find 
 In the swift changes of your mind. 
 
 But, Cselia, if you apprehend 
 The muse of your incensed friend, 
 Nor would that he record your blame, 
 And make it live, repeat the same; 
 Again deceive him, and again, 
 And then he swears he'll not complain; 
 For still to be deluded so, 
 Is all the pleasure lovers know; 
 Who, like good falconers, take delight, 
 Not in the quarry, but the flight. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED A SELVER PEN. 
 
 MADAM ! intending to have tried 
 The silver favour which you gave, 
 In ink the shining point I dyed, 
 And drenched it in the sable wave; 
 When, grieved to be so foully stained, 
 On you it thus to me complained. 
 
 6 Suppose you had deserved to take 
 From her fair hand so fair a boon, 
 Yet how deserved I to make 
 So ill a change, who ever won 
 Immortal praise for what I wrote, 
 Instructed by her noble thought] 
 waller. 10 
 
146 ON THE HEAD OF A STAG. 
 
 ' I, that expressed her commands 
 To mighty lords, and princely dames, 
 Always most welcome to their hands, 
 Proud that I would record their names, 
 Must now be taught an humble style, 
 Some meaner beauty to beguile !' 
 
 So I, the wronged pen to please, 
 Make it my humble thanks express, 
 Unto your ladyship, in these : 
 And now 'tis forced to confess 
 That your great self did ne'er indite, 
 Nor that, to one more noble, write. 
 
 ON THE HEAD OF A STAG. 
 
 SO we some antique hero's strength 
 Learn by his lance's weight and length; 
 As these vast beams express the beast, 
 Whose shady brows alive they dressed. 
 Such game, while yet the world was new, 
 The mighty Nimrod did pursue. 
 What huntsman of our feeble race, 
 Or dogs, dare such a monster chase, 
 Resembling, with each blow he strikes, 
 The charge of a whole troop of pikes ] 
 O fertile head ! which every year 
 Could such a crop of wonder bear ! 
 The teeming earth did never bring 
 So soon, so hard, so huge a thing; 
 Which might it never have been cast, 
 (Each year s growth added to the last) 
 These lofty branches had supplied 
 The earth's bold sons' prodigious pride; 
 Heaven with these engines had been scaled, 
 When mountains heaped on mountains failed. 
 
147 
 
 THE MISER'S SPEECH. 
 
 IN A MASK. 
 
 T) ALLS of this metal slacked Atlanta's pace, 
 -*-* And on the amorous youth * bestowed the race ; 
 Venus, (the nymph's mind measuring by her own) 
 Whom the rich spoils of cities overthrown 
 Had prostrated to Mars, could well advise 
 The adventurous lover how to gain the prize. 
 Nor less may Jupiter to gold ascribe; 
 For, when he turned himself into a bribe, 
 Who can blame Danae, or the brazen tower, 
 That they withstood not that almighty shower? 
 Never till then did love make Jove put on 
 A form more bright, and nobler than his own; 
 Nor were it just, would he resume that shape, 
 That slack devotion should his thunder 'scape. 
 'Twas not revenge for grieved Apollo's wrong, 
 Those ass's ears on Midas' temples hung, 
 But fond repentance of his happy wish, 
 Because his meat grew metal like his dish. 
 Would Bacchus bless me so, I'd constant hold 
 Unto my wish, and die creating gold. 
 
 TO CHLOKIS.f 
 
 CHLOBIS ! since first our calm of peace 
 Was frighted hence, this good we find, 
 Your favours with your fears increase, 
 And growing mischiefs make you kind. 
 
 * Hippomenes. 
 t In the first edition, this piece was entitled To Chloris, upon a favour 
 received. Mr. Fenton is led to doubt its genuineness from the following 
 memorandum, w r hich he found written, in an unknown hand, oppo- 
 site the title of the verses, in an old copy of Waller's poems : 
 * Which Mr. Waller says is suppositious, in an edition given my 
 father (out of which I transcribed the additions into this), faultily 
 
 10—2 
 
148 TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT. 
 
 So the fair tree, which still preserves 
 Her fruit and state while no wind blows, 
 In storms from that uprightness swerves, 
 And the glad earth about her strows 
 With treasure, from her yielding boughs. 
 
 TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT. 
 
 SEES not my love how time resumes 
 The glory which he lent these flowers? 
 Though none should taste of their perfumes, 
 Yet must they live but some few hours; 
 Time what we forbear devours I 
 
 Had Helen, or the Egyptian Queen,* 
 Been ne'er so thrifty of their graces, 
 Those beauties must at length have been 
 The spoil of age, which finds out faces 
 In the most retired places. 
 
 Should some malignant planet bring 
 A barren drought, or ceaseless shower, 
 Upon the autumn or the spring, 
 And spare us neither fruit nor flower; 
 Winter would not stay an hour. 
 
 Could the resolve of love's neglect 
 Preserve you from the violation 
 Of coming years, then more respect 
 Were due to so divine a fashion, 
 Nor would I indulge my passion. 
 
 printed, but corrected by the author under his own hand.' This 
 unauthenticated memorandum is simply absurd. Waller could not 
 have employed the term ' suppositious,' which implies a doubt, con- 
 cerning a matter upon which he could have had no doubt. The internal 
 evidence of the piece is conclusive of the authorship. There are few 
 verses of this kind in the whole collection more distinctly marked by 
 the hand of Waller. 
 
 * Cleopatra. 
 
149 
 TO MR. GEORGE SANDYS,* 
 
 ON HIS TRANSLATION OF SOME PARTS OF THE BIBLE. 
 
 TTOW bold a work attempts that pen, 
 -*"*- Which would enrich our vulgar tongue 
 With the high raptures of those men 
 Who, here, with the same spirit sung 
 Wherewith they now assist the choir 
 Of angels, who their songs admire! 
 
 Whatever those inspired souls 
 
 Were urged to express, did shake 
 
 The aged deep, and both the poles ; 
 
 Their numerous thunder could awake 
 
 Dull earth, which does with Heaven consent 
 
 To all they wrote, and all they meant. 
 
 Say, sacred bard ! what could bestow 
 
 Courage on thee to soar so high? 
 
 Tell me, brave friend ! what helped thee so 
 
 To shake off all mortality? 
 
 To light this torch, thou hast climbed higher 
 
 Than he who stole celestial fire.f 
 
 CHLORIS AND HYLAS. 
 
 MADE TO A SARABAND. 
 
 CHLORIS. 
 
 HYLAS, oh Hylas I why sit we mute, 
 Now that each bird saluteth the spring? 
 
 * The translator of Ovid's Metamorphoses, son of Archbishop Sandys, 
 and author, in addition to a variety of other publications, of an elaborate 
 work of travels, which went through several editions. The translations 
 that suggested these lines of Waller's were a metrical paraphrase of 
 the Song of Solomon, published in 1 641, and dedicated to the King ; and 
 A Paraphrase of the Psalms of David and the Hymns of the Old and 
 JVeio Testament, published in 16 36, and reprinted in 1640 — a book in 
 which Charles I. is said to have taken great delight when he was a 
 prisoner at Carisbrooke. t Prometheus. 
 
150 IN ANSWER OF SIR JOHN SUCKLING' S VERSES. 
 
 Wind up the slackened strings of thy lute, 
 Never canst thou want matter to sing ; 
 For love thy breast does fill with such a fire, 
 That whatsoe'er is fair moves thy desire. 
 
 HYLAS. 
 
 Sweetest ! you know, the sweetest of things 
 Of various flowers the bees do compose ; 
 Yet no particular taste it brings 
 Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rose; 
 So love the result is of all the graces 
 Which flow from a thousand several faces. 
 
 CHLORIS. 
 
 Hylas ! the birds which chant in this grove, 
 
 Could we but know the language they use, 
 
 They would instruct us better in love, 
 
 And reprehend thy inconstant Muse ; 
 
 For love their breasts does fill with such a fire, 
 
 That what they once do choose, bounds their desire. 
 
 HYLAS. 
 
 Chloris ! this change the birds do approve, 
 
 Which the warm season hither does bring; 
 
 Time from yourself does further remove 
 
 You, than the winter from the gay spring; 
 
 She that like lightning shined while her face lasted, 
 
 The oak now resembles which lightning hath blasted. 
 
 IN ANSWER OF SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S VERSES. 
 CON. 
 
 OTAY here, fond youth! and ask no more; be wise; 
 ^ Knowing too much, long since lost Faradise. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 And, by your knowledge, we should be bereft 
 Of all that paradise which yet is left. 
 
IN ANSWER OF SIR JOHN SUCKLING' S VERSES. 151 
 CON. 
 
 The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst should still 
 Last in their pride; and wouldst not take it ill 
 If rudely from sweet dreams, and for a toy, 
 Thou waked ; he wakes himself that does enjoy. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 How can the joy, or hope, which you allow 
 Be styled virtuous, and the end not so ? 
 Talk in your sleep, and shadows still admire ! 
 'Tis true, he wakes that feels this real fire ; 
 But — to sleep better; for whoe'er drinks deep 
 Of this Nepenthe,* rocks himself asleep. 
 
 CON. 
 
 Fruition adds no new wealth, but destroys, 
 And while it pleaseth much, yet still it cloys. 
 Who thinks he should be happier made for that, 
 As reasonably might hope he might grow fat 
 By eating to a surfeit ; this once passed, 
 What relishes'? even kisses lose their taste. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 Blessings may be repeated while they cloy; 
 But shall we starve, 'cause surfeitings destroy? 
 And if fruition did the taste impair 
 Of kisses, why should yonder happy pair, 
 Whose joys just Hymen warrants all the night, 
 Consume the day, too, in this less delight 1 ? 
 
 CON. 
 
 Urge not 'tis necessary ; alas ! we know 
 
 The homeliest thing that mankind does is so. 
 
 The world is of a large extent we see, 
 
 And must be peopled ; children there must be : — 
 
 * An anodyne frequently mentioned by the Greek and Roman 
 writers. Petit, quoted by Fenton, supposes that it was the plant 
 called by Pliny cenothera, which had a short stem, and flowers resem- 
 bling a rose. The soothing quality ascribed to it resided in the root, 
 which had a powerful effect infused in wine. 
 
I! 
 
 152 IN ANSWER OF SIR JOHN SUCKLING'S VERSES. 
 
 So must bread too ; but since there are enough 
 Born to that drudgery, what need we plough? 
 
 PRO. 
 
 I need not plough, since what the stooping hine 
 Gets of my pregnant land, must all be mine ; 
 But in this nobler tillage 'tis not so ; 
 For when Anchises did fair Yenus know, 
 What interest had poor Vulcan in the boy, 
 Famous -ZEneas, or the present joy? 
 
 CON. 
 
 Women enjoyed, whate'er before they've been, 
 Are like romances read, or scenes once seen : 
 Fruition dulls or spoils the play much more 
 Than if one read, or knew, the plot before. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 Plays and romances read and seen, do fall 
 In our opinions; yet not seen at all, 
 Whom would they please? To an heroic tale 
 Would you not listen, lest it should grow stale? 
 
 CON. 
 
 'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear; 
 
 Heaven were not heaven if we knew what it were. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 If 'twere not heaven if we knew what it were, 
 'Twould not be heaven to those that now are there. 
 
 CON. 
 
 And as in prospects we are there pleased most, 
 Where something keeps the eye from being lost, 
 And leaves us room to guess; so here, restraint 
 Holds up delight, that with excess would faint. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 Restraint preserves the pleasure we have got, 
 But he ne'er has it that enjoys it not. 
 

 AN APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE. 153 
 
 In goodly prospects, who contracts the space, 
 Or takes not all the bounty of the place? 
 We wish removed what standeth in our light, 
 And nature blame for limiting our sight ; 
 Where you stand wisely winking, that the view 
 Of the fair prospect may be always new. 
 
 CON. 
 
 They, who know all the wealth they have, are poor ; 
 He's only rich that cannot tell his store. 
 
 PRO. 
 
 Not he that knows the wealth he has is poor, 
 But he that dares not touch, nor use, his store. 
 
 
 AN APOLOGY FOE HAVING LOVED BEFORE. 
 
 THEY that never had the use 
 Of the grape's surprising juice, 
 To the first delicious cup 
 All their reason render up ; 
 Neither do, nor care to know, 
 Whether it be best or no. 
 
 So they that are to love inclined, 
 Swayed by chance, not choice, or art, 
 To the first that's fair, or kind, 
 Make a present of their heart ; 
 'Tis not she that first we love, 
 But whom dying we approve. 
 
 To man, that was in the evening made, 
 Stars gave the first delight, 
 Admiring, in the gloomy shade, 
 Those little drops of light ; 
 Then at Aurora, whose fair hand 
 Removed them from the skies, 
 He gazing toward the east did stand, 
 She entertained his eyes. 
 
154 THE NIGHT-PIECE. 
 
 But when the bright sun did appear, 
 
 All those he 'gan despise; 
 
 His wonder was determined there, 
 
 And could no higher rise ; 
 
 He neither might, nor wished to know 
 
 A more refulgent light; 
 
 For that (as mine your beauties now) 
 
 Employed his utmost sight. 
 
 THE night-piece; 
 
 OR, A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK. 
 
 DARKNESS, which fairest nymphs disarms, 
 Defends us ill from Mira's charms ; 
 Mira can lay her beauty by, 
 Take no advantage of the eye, 
 Quit all that Lely's art can take, 
 And yet a thousand captives make. 
 
 Her speech is graced with sweeter sound 
 Than in another's song is found ; 
 And all her well-placed words are darts, 
 Which need no light to reach our hearts. 
 
 As the bright stars, and Milky Way, 
 Showed by the night, are hid by day; 
 So we, in that accomplished mind, 
 Helped by the night, new graces find, 
 Which, by the splendour of her view, 
 Dazzled before, we never knew. 
 
 While we converse with her, we mark 
 No want of day, nor think it dark ; 
 Her shining image is a light 
 Fixed in our hearts, and conquers night. 
 
 Like jewels to advantage set, 
 Her beauty by the shade does get; 
 There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain, 
 All that our passion might restrain, 
 

 virgil's 'jeneis/ translated. 155 
 
 Is hid, and our indulgent mind 
 Presents the fair idea kind. 
 
 Yet, friended by the night, we dare 
 Only in whispers tell our care; 
 He that on her his bold hand lays, 
 With Cupid's pointed arrows plays; 
 They with a touch, (they are so keen !) 
 Wound us unshot, and she unseen. 
 
 All near approaches threaten death; 
 We may be shipwrecked by her breath ; 
 Love, favoured once with that sweet gale, 
 Doubles his haste, and fills his sail, 
 Till he arrive where she must prove 
 The haven, or the rock, of love. 
 
 So we the Arabian coast do know 
 At distance, when the spices blow; 
 By the rich odour taught to steer, 
 Though neither day nor stars appear. 
 
 PAET OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S 
 ^ENEIS, TRANSLATED. 
 
 Beginning at v. 437- 
 .... Talesque miserrima fletus 
 Fertque refertque soror 
 
 And ending with 
 Adnixi torquent spumas, et caerula verrunt. — V. 583. 
 
 ALL this her weeping sister * does repeat 
 To this stern man, t whom nothing could entreat ; 
 Lost were her prayers, and fruitless were her tears ! 
 Fate, and great Jove, had stopped his gentle ears. 
 As when loud winds a well-grown oak would rend 
 Up by the roots, this way and that they bend 
 His reeling trunk ; and with a boisterous sound 
 Scatter his leaves, and strew them on the ground ; 
 
 * Anna. t iEneas. 
 
 
156 PART OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF 
 
 He fixed stands ; as deep his root doth lie 
 Down to the centre, as his top is high ; 
 No less on every side the hero pressed, 
 Feels love and pity shake his noble breast, 
 And down his cheeks though fruitless tears do roll, 
 Unmoved remains the purpose of his soul. 
 Then Dido, urged with approaching fate, 
 Begins the light of cruel Heaven to hate ; 
 Her resolution to dispatch and die, 
 Confirmed by many a horrid prodigy ! 
 The water, consecrate for sacrifice, 
 Appears all black to her amazed eyes; 
 The wine to putrid blood converted flows, 
 Which from her none, not her own sister, knows. 
 Besides, there stood, as sacred to her lord, * 
 A marble temple which she much adored, 
 With snowy fleeces and fresh garlands crowned ; 
 Hence every night proceeds a dreadful sound; 
 Her husband's voice invites her to his tomb, 
 And dismal owls presage the ills to come. 
 Besides, the prophecies of wizards old 
 Increased her terror and her fall foretold ; 
 Scorned, and deserted, to herself she seems, 
 And finds ^Eneas cruel in her dreams. 
 
 So to mad Pentheus, double Thebes appears, 
 And furies howl in his distempered ears ; 
 Orestes so, with like distraction tossed, 
 Is made to fly his mother's angry ghost. 
 
 Now grief and fury to their height arrive ; 
 Death she decrees, and thus does it contrive. 
 Her grieved sister, with a cheerful grace, 
 (Hope well dissembled shining in her face) 
 She thus deceives. ' Dear sister ! let us prove 
 The cure I have invented for my love. 
 Beyond the land of Ethiopia, lies 
 The place where Atlas does support the skies , 
 
 * Sichaeus. 
 
virgil's '.eneis,' translated. 157 
 
 Hence came an old magician, that did keep 
 The Hesperian fruit, and made the dragon sleep; 
 Her potent charms do troubled souls relieve, 
 And, where she lists, make calmest minds to grieve; 
 The course of rivers, and of heaven, can stop, 
 And call trees down from the airy mountain's top. 
 Witness, ye Gods ! and thou, my dearest part ! 
 How loth I am to tempt this guilty art. 
 Erect a pile, and on it let us place 
 That bed where I my ruin did embrace; 
 With all the reliques of our impious guest, 
 Arms, spoils, and presents, let the pile be dressed; 
 (The knowing woman thus prescribes) that we 
 May rase the man out of our memory.' 
 
 Thus speaks the Queen, but hides the fatal end 
 For which she doth those sacred rites pretend. 
 Nor worse effects of grief her sister thought 
 Would follow, than Sichseus' murder wrought; 
 Therefore obeys her; and now, heaped high 
 The cloven oaks and lofty pines do lie; 
 Hung all with wreaths and flowery garlands round, 
 So by herself was her own funeral crowned ! 
 Upon the top the Trojan's image lies, 
 And his sharp sword, wherewith anon she dies. 
 They by the altar stand, while with loose hair 
 The magic prophetess begins her prayer : 
 On Chaos, Erebus, and all the gods, 
 Which in the infernal shades have their abodes, 
 She loudly calls, besprinkling all the room 
 With drops, supposed from Lethe's lake to come. 
 She seeks the knot which on the forehead grows 
 Of new-foaled colts, and herbs by moonlight mows. 
 A cake of leaven in her pious hands 
 Holds the devoted Queen, and barefoot stands; 
 One tender foot was bare, the other shod, 
 Her robe ungirt, invoking every god, 
 And every power, if any be above, 
 Which takes regard of ill-requited love ! 
 
158 virgil's 'jeneis/ translated. 
 
 Now was the time when weary mortals steep 
 Their careful temples in the dew of sleep ; 
 On seas, on earth, and all that in them dwell, 
 A death- like quiet, and deep silence fell; 
 But not on Dido ! whose untamed mind 
 Refused to be by sacred night confined; 
 A double passion in her breast does move, 
 Love, and fierce anger for neglected love. 
 Thus she afflicts her soul : ' What shall I do? 
 With fate inverted, shall I humbly woo 1 ? 
 And some proud prince, in wild Numidia born, 
 Pray to accept me, and forget my scorn? 
 Or shall I with the ungrateful Trojan go, 
 Quit all my state, and wait upon my foe? 
 Is not enough, by sad experience ! known 
 The perjured race of false Laomedon? 
 With my Sidonians shall I give them chase, 
 Bands hardly forced from their native place? 
 No ; — die ! and let this sword thy fury tame ; 
 Nought but thy blood can quench this guilty flame. 
 Ah, sister ! vanquished with my passion, thou 
 Betray' dst me first, dispensing with my vow. 
 Had I been constant to Sichaeus still, 
 And single lived, I had not known this ill ! ' 
 
 Such thoughts torment the Queen's enraged breast, 
 While the Dardanian does securely rest 
 In his tall ship, for sudden flight prepared ; 
 To whom once more the son of Jove appeared ; 
 Thus seems to speak the youthful deity, 
 Yoice, hair, and colour, all like Mercury. 
 
 ' Fair Venus' seed ! canst thou indulge thy sleep, 
 Nor better guard in such great danger keep? 
 Mad, by neglect to lose so fair a wind ! 
 If here thy ships the purple morning find, 
 Thou shalt behold this hostile harbour shine 
 With a new fleet, and fires, to ruin thine ; 
 She meditates revenge, resolved to die ; 
 Weigh anchor quickly, and her fury fly.' 
 
ON THE PICTURE OF A FAIR YOUTH. 159 
 
 This said, the god in shades of night retired. 
 Amazed ^Eneas, with the warning fired, 
 Shakes off dull sleep, and rousing up his men, 
 ' Behold! the gods command our flight again; 
 Fall to your oars, and all your canvas spread; 
 What god soe'er that thus vouchsafes to lead, 
 We follow gladly, and thy will obey; 
 Assist us still, smoothing our happy way, 
 And make the rest propitious ! ' — With that word 
 He cuts the cable with his shining sword; 
 Through all the navy doth like ardour reign, 
 They quit the shore, and rush into the main; 
 Placed on their banks, the lusty Trojans sweep 
 Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep. 
 
 
 ON THE PICTUEE OF A FAIR YOUTH, 
 
 TAKEN AFTER HE WAS DEAD. 
 
 AS gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, 
 Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew ; 
 Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile 
 (Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, 
 And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
 Fairer than those that to their autumn grow; 
 So love and beauty still that visage grace; 
 Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. 
 Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marred 
 Those lovely features, which cold death had spared. 
 
 No wonder then he sped in love so well, 
 When his high passion he had breath to tell; 
 When that accomplished soul, in this fair frame, 
 No business had but to persuade that dame, 
 Whose mutual love advanced the youth so high, 
 That, but to heaven, he could no higher fly. 
 
160 
 ON A BREDE OF DIVERS COLOURS, 
 
 WOVEN BY FOUR LADIES. 
 
 TWICE twenty slender virgin-fingers twine 
 This curious web, where all their fancies shine. 
 As Nature them, so they this shade have wrought, 
 Soft as their hands, and various as their thought. 
 Not Juno's bird, when his fair train dispread, 
 He woos the female to his painted bed; 
 No, not the bow, which so adorns the skies, 
 So glorious is, or boasts so many dyes. 
 
 OF A WAR WITH SPAIN, AND FIGHT AT SEA.* 
 
 "Vf O W, for some ages, had the pride of Spain 
 -^ Made the sun shine on half the world in vain ; 
 While she bid war to all that durst supply 
 The place of those her cruelty made die. 
 Of nature's bounty men forebore to taste, 
 And the best portion of the earth lay waste. 
 From the new world, her silver and her gold 
 Came, like a tempest, to confound the old ; 
 Feeding with these the bribed Electors' hopes, 
 Alone she gives us emperors and popes; 
 
 * The title of this poem is disproportionate to its subject. The war 
 with Spain was nothing more than the fitting out of an armament of 
 observation ; and the fight at sea was an accidental affair of a few 
 hours, in which some Spanish galleons were surprised and captured by 
 three English ships. In i656 a fleet was sent out to the Mediterranean 
 under the joint command of Blake and Montague. It was originally 
 intended that they should fall upon the Spanish fleet in the harbour of 
 Cadiz ; the project, however, was abandoned. The next design was the 
 reduction of Gibraltar, which was also given up. Without any definite 
 object in view they cruised about for some time idly before Cadiz, 
 watching the Spanish fleet, and then made for the opposite coast of 
 Barbary to chastise the Tripoli and Salee rovers ; but even that 
 object was relinquished in consequence of an accommodation entered 
 into between those lawless barbarians and the Protector. There 
 
OF A WAR WITH SPAIN, AND FIGHT AT SEA. 161 
 
 With these accomplishing her vast designs, 
 Europe was shaken with her Indian mines. 
 
 When Britain, looking with a just disdain 
 Upon this gilded majesty of Spain, 
 And knowing well that empire must decline, 
 Whose chief support and sinews are of coin, 
 Our nation's solid virtue did oppose 
 To the rich troublers of the world's repose. 
 
 And now some months, encamping on the main, 
 Our naval army had besieged Spain ■ 
 They that the whole world's monarchy designed, 
 Are to their ports by our bold fleet confined ; 
 From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see, 
 Riding without a rival on the sea. 
 
 Others may use the ocean as their road, 
 Only the English make it their abode, 
 Whose ready sails with every wind can fly, 
 And make a covenant with the inconstant sky; 
 Our oaks secure, as if they there took root, 
 We tread on billows with a steady foot. 
 
 Meanwhile the Spaniards in America, 
 Near to the line the sun approaching saw, 
 And hoped their European coasts to find 
 Cleared from our ships by the autumnal wind; 
 Their huge capacious galleons stuffed with plate, 
 The labouring winds drive slowly towards their fate. 
 
 was nothing, therefore, left for the fleet but to resume its useless and 
 inglorious surveillance at Cadiz. In vain Montague remonstrated, 
 requesting that he might be permitted to undertake more advantageous 
 enterprises. Cromwell was peremptory in his orders, having resolved 
 to keep a strict watch in the Spanish waters. While the fleet was thus 
 lying in sight of a harbour which it was not considered prudent to ap- 
 proach, Captain Stayner, in the Speaker, accompanied by two other 
 vessels, went to a neighbouring bay to take in fresh water, and, on his 
 way, fell in with eight richly laden galleons returning from America. 
 This unlooked-for piece of good fortune awakened the enthusiasm of 
 the sailors. The galleons were attacked with irresistible fury, and in 
 the course of a few hours two were forced ashore, one burned, another 
 sunk, and the remainder captured, with money and plate on board to 
 the value of 6oo,oool. 
 
 WALLEE. 11 
 
162 OF A WAR WITH SPAIN, AND FIGHT AT SEA. 
 
 Before St. Lucar they their guns discharge, 
 To tell their joy, or to invite a barge; 
 This heard some ships of ours, (though out of view) 
 And, swift as eagles, to the quarry flew; 
 So heedless lambs, which for their mothers bleat, 
 Wake hungry lions, and become their meat. 
 Arrived, they soon begin that tragic play, 
 And with their smoky cannons banish day ; 
 Night, horror, slaughter, with confusion meets, 
 And in their sable arms embrace the fleets. 
 Through yielding planks the angry bullets fly, 
 And, of one wound, hundreds together die ; 
 Born under different stars one fate they have, 
 The ship their coffin, and the sea their grave ! 
 Bold were the men which on the ocean first 
 Spread their new sails, when shipwreck was the worst ; 
 More danger now from man alone we find 
 Than from the rocks, the billows, or the wind. 
 They that had sailed from near the Antarctic Pole, 
 Their treasure safe, and all their vessels whole, 
 In sight of their dear country ruined be, 
 Without the guilt of either rock or sea ! 
 What they would spare, our fiercer art destroys, 
 Surpassing storms in terror and in noise. 
 Once Jove from Ida did both hosts survey, 
 And, when he pleased to thunder, part the fray; 
 Here, heaven in vain that kind retreat should sound, 
 The louder cannon had the thunder drowned. 
 Some, we made prize ; while others, burned and rent, 
 With their rich lading to the bottom went ; 
 Down sinks at once (so Fortune with us sports!) 
 The pay of armies, and the pride of courts. 
 Vain man ! whose rage buries as low that store, 
 As avarice had digged for it before; 
 What earth, in her dark bowels, could not keep 
 From greedy hands, lies safer in the deep, 
 Where Thetis kindly does from mortals hide 
 Those seeds of luxury, debate, and pride. 
 
OF A WAR WITH SPAIN, AND FIGHT AT SEA. 163 
 
 And now, into her lap the richest prize 
 Fell, with the noblest of our enemies ; 
 The Marquis* (glad to see the fire destroy 
 Wealth that prevailing foes were to enjoy) 
 Out from his flaming ship his children sent, 
 To perish in a milder element; 
 Then laid him by his burning lady's side, 
 And, since he could not save her, with her died.f 
 Spices and gums about them melting fry, 
 And, phoenix-like, in that rich nest they die; 
 Alive, in flames of equal love they burned, 
 And now together are to ashes turned; 
 Ashes ! more worth than all their funeral cost, 
 Than the huge treasure which was with them lost. 
 These dying lovers, and their floating sons, 
 Suspend the fight, and silence all our guns; 
 Beauty and youth about to perish, finds 
 Such noble pity in brave English minds, 
 That (the rich spoil forgot, their valour's prize,) 
 All labour now to save their enemies. 
 How frail our passions ! how soon changed are 
 Our wrath and fury to a friendly care ! 
 They that but now for honour, and for plate, 
 Made the sea blush with blood, resign their hate; 
 And, their young foes endeavouring to retrieve, 
 With greater hazard than they fought, they dive. 
 
 With these, returns victorious Montague, 
 With laurels in his hand, and half Peru. J 
 
 * The Marquis of Badajos, Viceroy of Mexico. He was on board 
 the vessel that was burned, with his wife, sons, and daughters. He 
 and his wife and eldest daughter perished ; but the rest of his children, 
 and nearly a hundred other persons were saved by the prompt humanity 
 of the English. 
 
 t He let her fall, himself fell by her side ; 
 
 And, for he could not save her, with her died. 
 
 Fairfax's Tasso. 
 
 % The injustice of thus giving Montague, by implication, the credit of 
 
 the action is obvious. He was not even present at the capture of the 
 
 galleons ; and the whole share he had in the transaction was the glory 
 
 of bringing home the treasure and the prisoners. The incident was 
 
 11—2 
 
164 UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR. 
 
 Let the brave generals divide that bough, 
 Our great Protector hath such wreaths enow; 
 His conquering head has no more room for bays ; 
 Then let it be as the glad nation prays ; 
 Let the rich ore forthwith be melted down, 
 And the state fixed by making him a crown ; 
 With ermine clad, and purple, let him hold 
 A royal sceptre, made of Spanish gold. 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR.* 
 
 WE must resign ! Heaven his great soul does claim 
 In storms, as loud as his immortal fame; 
 His dying groans, his last breath, shakes our isle, 
 And trees uncut fall for his funeral pile ; 
 
 made the most of. The treasure was paraded in a sort of triumph 
 through Southwark to the Tower in open carts, attended by a scanty 
 guard, to show confidence in the people ; and Montague was loaded 
 with panegyrics by the Protector, and received the formal thanks of 
 the House of Commons. Tardy justice was afterwards rendered to 
 Captain Stayner, who was knighted by Cromwell. 
 
 Edward Montague was one of the most distinguished men of his 
 time. Like most of the admirals of that period, he was originally a 
 soldier. : He first served in the Parliament army, and acquired a bril- 
 liant reputation at the early age of nineteen ; and being aftervv ards 
 promoted to high command in the navy, he contributed effectually to 
 the maintenance of the English sovereignty of the seas. On the death 
 of Cromwell, he joined the King's party, and his accession was munifi- 
 cently acknowledged by Charles, who immediately made him a privy 
 councillor, master of the wardrobe, admiral of the narrow seas, and 
 lieutenant-admiral to the Duke of York, raising him at the same time 
 to the peerage, with the title of Earl of Sandwich, under which name 
 he is familiar to all readers of Pepys' Diary. 
 
 * Dr. Johnson distinguishes this piece from the poems written on 
 the same occasion by Dryden and Sprat, as being ' dictated by real 
 veneration for the memory of the Protector.' Dryden and Sprat, he 
 observes, were young men, struggling into notice, and hoping for some 
 favour from the ruling party ; but Waller had little to expect, and was 
 not likely to ask anything. This commendation, however, he com- 
 pletely reverses in the next sentence. After condemning Waller's 
 congratulatory poem on the Restoration, he says that ' neither 
 Cromwell nor Charles could value his testimony as the effect of con- 
 viction, or receive his praise as effusions of reverence ; they could 
 
UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR. 165 
 
 About his palace their broad roots are tossed 
 
 Into the air.* — So Romulus was lostlf 
 
 New Rome in such a tempest missed her king, 
 
 And from obeying fell to worshipping. 
 
 On (Eta's top thus Hercules lay dead, 
 
 With ruined oaks and pines about him spread; 
 
 The poplar, too, whose bough he wont to wear 
 
 On his victorious head, lay prostrate there; 
 
 Those his last fury from the mountain rent : 
 
 Our dying hero from the continent 
 
 Ravished whole towns ; and forts from Spaniards reft, 
 
 As his last legacy to Britain left. 
 
 The ocean, which so long our hopes confined, 
 
 Could give no limits to his vaster mind; 
 
 Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil, 
 
 Nor hath he left us prisoners to our isle ; 
 
 Under the tropic is our language spoke, 
 
 And part of Flanders hath received our yoke. J 
 
 consider them but as the labour of invention, and the tribute of 
 dependence.' The only excuse, if it be one, that can be offered for an 
 inconsistency, with which Dryden is not less chargeable than Waller, 
 is to be found in the circumstances of the time, and the spirit of the 
 age. It should be observed, also, that there is a distinct line to be 
 drawn between the poems on the death of the Protector and the resto- 
 ration of the King. Gratitude for favours to come was, no doubt, the 
 predominant motive of most of the panegyrics on Charles ; but the 
 tributes to Cromwell's memory, from which neither pensions nor places 
 could be looked for, may, at least, be supposed to have been sincere. 
 Waller is not so happy in his verses on the death of Cromwell as in his 
 panegyric, and both are immeasurably inferior to Dryden's. 
 
 * Alluding to the tempest that ravaged the coast of England on 
 the day of Cromwell's death. The incident is also noticed by 
 Dryden : — 
 
 1 But first the ocean as a tribute sent 
 
 The giant prince of all her watery herd, 
 
 And the isle, when her protecting genius went, 
 
 Upon his obsequies loud sighs conferred.' 
 
 t An eclipse of the sun, and a violent storm, are said to have taken 
 place when Romulus was assassinated. 
 
 t Scott (Life of Dryden) selects this couplet as an instance of bathos. 
 The criticism is open to doubt. The passage means that Cromwell 
 had extended our language, and enlarged our possessions. Whoever 
 considers the latter circumstance the more important, will think that 
 it properly comes last. 
 
166 TO THE KING. 
 
 From civil broils he did us disengage, 
 Found nobler objects for our martial rage; 
 And, with wise conduct, to his country showed 
 The ancient way of conquering abroad. 
 Ungrateful then ! if we no tears allow 
 To him, that gave us peace and empire too. 
 Princes, that feared him, grieve, concerned to see 
 No pitch of glory from the grave is free. 
 Nature herself took notice of his death, 
 And, sighing, swelled the sea with such a breath, 
 That, to remotest shores her billows rolled, 
 The approaching fate of their great ruler told.* 
 
 TO THE KING, 
 
 UPON HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RETURN.f 
 
 THE rising sun complies with our weak sight, 
 First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light 
 At such a distance from our eyes, as though 
 He knew what harm his hasty beams would do. 
 
 * Waller's two poems on Cromwell were satirized in a piece called 
 The Panegyric and the Storm, two Poetical Epistles by Edmund Waller, 
 Vassal to the Usurper, answered by more faithful Subjects to His Majesty 
 King Charles II. Amongst the State Poems there is an Answer by Sir 
 William Godolphin, to the lines on the Death of Cromwell, which were 
 generally ridiculed by the King's party, under the name of The Storm. 
 Waller's last four lines are thus travestied in the answer ; showing how 
 the same image may be effectually made to serve two purposes : 
 * Nature herself rejoiced at his death, 
 
 And on the waters sung with such a breath, 
 As made the sea dance higher than before, 
 
 While here glad waves came dancing to the shore.' 
 t In this poem Waller introduces the prominent topics that are 
 more elaborately dwelt upon in the Astrwa Redux of Dryden ; the 
 happy deliverance of the country from its recent yoke, the delight of 
 the people on receiving back their legitimate sovereign, and the glory 
 and prosperity which the panegyrist could do no less than predict 
 under the new reign. The subject was barren and difficult. Charles 
 had as yet done nothing to justify personal encomiums, unless he was 
 to be considered entitled to applause for submitting to misfortunes 
 which he could not help, and accepting a throne which there was 
 
TO THE KING. 167 
 
 But your full majesty at once breaks forth 
 In the meridian of your reign. Your worth, 
 Your youth, and all the splendour of your state, 
 (Wrapped up, till now, in clouds of adverse fate !) 
 With such a flood of light invade our eyes, 
 And our spread hearts with so great joy surprise, 
 That if your grace incline that we should live, 
 You must not, sir ! too hastily forgive. 
 Our guilt preserves us from the excess of joy, 
 Which scatters spirits, and would life destroy. 45 " 
 All are obnoxious ! and this faulty land, 
 Like fainting Esther, does before you stand, 
 Watching your sceptre. The revolted sea 
 Trembles to think she did your foes obey. 
 
 Great Britain, like blind Polypheme, of late, 
 In a wild rage, became the scorn and hate 
 
 nobody else to occupy. To make the most of these negative merits, 
 ami to build up the greatness of the future on the ruins of the past, 
 were the only sources upon which the court poets could draw ; and it 
 must be allowed that they drained them dry. The sea, that lately 
 swelled into a storm in its loud grief for the death of the Protector, 
 is here made to tremble at the thought of having obeyed him ; and 
 England, recently represented as controlling the destinies of the 
 world, is here described as having become the scorn and hate of her 
 proud neighbours. All the poems on his Majesty's ' happy return' 
 were constructed on the same plan, and repeat exactly the same 
 points. In these productions Dryden displayed a vast superiority over 
 Waller. He imparted a certain artificial elevation to the theme by 
 the boldness of his treatment, the richness and variety of his imagery, 
 and the weight of his diction ; while Waller, restrained by the 
 character of his genius within narrower limits, merely indicates the 
 items of flattery, which he wants the power to invest with dignity. 
 Nor does he suffer more in comparison with Dryden than with him- 
 self. His poem on the King is strikingly inferior to his poems on 
 Cromwell. This inferiority was so apparent to Charles when Waller 
 presented the poem to him at Court, that His Majesty noticed it at 
 once ; upon which Waller made his well-known reply, ■ Sir, we poets 
 never succeed so well in fact as in fiction.' 
 
 * Fenton supposes that this line was suggested by the death of 
 Oughtred, the mathematician, who expired in a transport of joy upon 
 hearing of the Restoration. The fact rests on the authority of Collier. 
 William Oughtred was Rector of Aldbury, in Surrey, and was con- 
 sidered the greatest mathematician of his age. The general plan of 
 his Clavis Mathematica was adopted by Newton. He was upwards of 
 eighty when he died. 
 
168 TO THE KING. 
 
 Of her proud neighbours, who begau to think 
 She, with the weight of her own force, would sink. 
 But you are come, and all their hopes are vain ; 
 This giant isle has got her eye again. 
 Now she might spare the ocean, and oppose 
 Your conduct to the fiercest of her foes. 
 Naked, the Graces guarded you from all 
 Dangers abroad; and now your thunder shall. 
 Princes that saw you, different passions prove, 
 For now they dread the object of their love; 
 Nor without envy can behold his height, 
 Whose conversation was their late delight. 
 So Semele, contented with the rape 
 Of Jove disguised in a mortal shape, 
 When she beheld his hands with lightning filled, 
 And his bright rays, was with amazement killed. 
 
 And though it be our sorrow, and our crime, 
 To have accepted life so long a time 
 Without you here, yet does this absence gain 
 No small advantage to your present reign ; 
 For, having viewed the persons and the things, 
 The councils, state, and strength of Europe's kings, 
 You know your work; ambition to restrain, 
 And set them bounds, as Heaven does to the main. 
 We have you now with ruling wisdom fraught, 
 Not such as books, but such as practice, taught. 
 So the lost sun, while least by us enjoyed, 
 Is the whole night for our concern employed; 
 He ripens spices, fruits, and precious gums, 
 Which from remotest regions hither comes. 
 
 This seat of yours (from the other world removed) 
 Had Archimedes known, he might have proved 
 His engine's force fixed here. Your power and skill 
 Make the world's motion wait upon your will. 
 
 Much suffering monarch ! the first English born 
 That has the crown of these three nations worn ! 
 How has your patience, with the barbarous rage 
 Of your own soil, contended half an age 1 
 
TO THE KING. ] 69 
 
 Till (your tried virtue, and your sacred word, 
 
 At last preventing your unwilling sword) 
 
 Armies and fleets which kept you out so long, 
 
 Owned their great sovereign, and redressed his wrong. 
 
 When straight the people, by no force compelled, 
 
 Nor longer from their inclination held, 
 
 Break forth at once, like powder set on fire, 
 
 And, with a noble rage, their King require. 
 
 So the injured sea, which from her wonted course, 
 
 To gain some acres, avarice did force, 
 
 If the new banks, neglected once, decay, 
 
 No longer will from her old channel stay; 
 
 Raging, the late got land she overflows, 
 
 And all that's built upon't to ruin goes. 
 
 Offenders now, the chiefest, do begin 
 To strive for grace, and expiate their sin. 
 All winds blow fair, that did the world embroil; 
 Your vipers treacle yield, and scorpions oil. 
 
 If then such praise the Macedonian* got, 
 For having rudely cut the Gordian knot, 
 What glory's due to him that could divide 
 Such ravelled interests; has the knot untied, 
 And without stroke so smooth a passage made, 
 Where craft and malice such impeachments laid? 
 
 But while we praise you, you ascribe it all 
 To His high hand, which threw the untouched wall 
 Of self-demolished Jericho so low ; 
 His angel 'twas that did before you go, 
 Tamed savage hearts, and made affections yield, 
 Like ears of corn when wind salutes the field. 
 
 Thus patience-crowned, like Job's, your trouble ends, 
 Having your foes to pardon, and your friends; 
 For, though your courage were so firm a rock, 
 What private virtue could endure the shock? 
 Like your Great Master, you the storm withstood, 
 And pitied those who love with frailty showed. 
 
 * Alexander. 
 
170 TO THE KING. 
 
 Rude Indians, torturing all the royal race, 
 Him with the throne and dear-bought sceptre grace 
 That suffers best. What region could be found, 
 Where your heroic head had not been crowned? 
 
 The next experience of your mighty mind 
 Is, how you combat fortune, now she's kind. 
 And this way, too, you are victorious found ; 
 She flatters with the same success she frowned. 
 While to yourself severe, to others kind, 
 With power unbounded, and a will confined, 
 Of this vast empire you possess the care, 
 The softer parts fall to the people's share. 
 Safety, and equal government, are things 
 Which subjects make as happy as their kings. 
 
 Faith, law, and piety, (that banished train !) 
 Justice and truth, with you return again. 
 The city's trade, and country's easy life, 
 Once more shall flourish without fraud or strife. 
 "Your reign no less assures the ploughman's peace, 
 Than the warm sun advances his increase ; 
 And does the shepherds as securely keep 
 From all their fears, as they preserve their sheep. 
 
 But, above all, the Muse-inspired train 
 Triumph, and raise their drooping heads again ! 
 Kind Heaven at once has, in your person, sent 
 Their sacred judge, their guard, and argument. 
 
 Nee magis expressi vultus per ahenea signa, 
 Quam per vatis opus mores, animique, virorum 
 Clarorum apparent .... Hon. 
 
 
 
171 
 on st. james's park, 
 
 AS LATELY IMPROVED BY HIS MAJESTY.* 
 
 OF the first Paradise there's nothing found ; 
 Plants set by Heaven are vanished, and the ground; 
 Yet the description lasts; who knows the fate 
 Of lines that shall this paradise relate ] 
 
 Instead of rivers rolling by the side 
 Of Eden's garden, here flows in the tide ; 
 The sea, which always served his empire, now 
 Pays tribute to our Prince's pleasure too. 
 Of famous cities we the founders know ; 
 But rivers, old as seas, to which they go, 
 Are nature's bounty ; 'tis of more renown 
 To make a river, than to build a town. 
 
 For future shade, young trees upon the banks 
 Of the new stream appear in even ranks; 
 The voice of Orpheus, or Amphion's hand, 
 In better order could not make them stand ; 
 May they increase as fast, and spread their boughs, 
 As the high fame of their great owner grows ! 
 May he live long enough to see them all 
 Dark shadows cast, and as his palace tall ! 
 Methinks I see the love that shall be made, 
 The lovers walking in that amorous shade ; 
 The gallants dancing by the river side ; 
 They bathe in summer, and in winter slide. 
 Methinks I hear the music in the boats, 
 And the loud echo which returns the notes ; 
 While overhead a flock of new-sprung fowl 
 Hangs in the air, and does the sun control, 
 Darkening the sky; they hover o'er, and shroud 
 The wanton sailors with a feathered cloud. 
 
 * The improvements were commenced immediately after the King's 
 return. A stream of water from the Thames was introduced into the 
 Park, avenues of trees were planted, a decoy was constructed, a new 
 Pall-mall built, and wild fowl and various animals were collected 
 within the grounds. Waller's description of the park is curious from 
 the minuteness of its details. 
 
172 on st. james's paek. 
 
 Beneath, a shoal of silver fishes glides, 
 
 And plays about the gilded barges' sides ; 
 
 The ladies, angling in the crystal lake, 
 
 Feast on the waters with the prey they take ; 
 
 At once victorious with their lines, and eyes, 
 
 They make the fishes, and the men, their prize. 
 
 A thousand Cupids on the billows ride, 
 
 And sea-nymphs enter with the swelling tide ; 
 
 From Thetis sent as spies, to make report, 
 
 And tell the wonders of her sovereign's court. 
 
 All that can, living, feed the greedy eye, 
 
 Or dead, the palate, here you may descry ; 
 
 The choicest things that furnished Noah's ark, 
 
 Or Peter's sheet, inhabiting this park ; 
 
 All with a border of rich fruit-trees crowned, 
 
 Whose loaded branches hide the lofty mound. 
 
 Such various ways the spacious alleys lead, 
 
 My doubtful Muse knows not what path to tread. 
 
 Yonder, the harvest of cold months laid up, 
 
 Gives a fresh coolness to the royal cup ; 
 
 There ice, like crystal firm, and never lost, 
 
 Tempers hot July with December's frost; 
 
 Winter's dark prison, whence he cannot fly, 
 
 Though the warm spring, his enemy, draws nigh. 
 
 Strange ! that extremes should thus preserve the snow, 
 
 High on the Alps, or in deep caves below. 
 
 Here, a well-polished Mall gives us the joy 
 To see our Prince his matchless force employ; 
 His manly posture, and his graceful mien, 
 Vigour and youth, in all his motions seen; 
 His shape so lovely, and his limbs so strong, 
 Confirm our hopes we shall obey him long. 
 No sooner has he touched the flying ball, 
 But 'tis already more than half the Mall ; 
 And such a fury from his arm has got, 
 As from a smoking culverin it were shot.* 
 
 * The game at which the King is described playing was called 
 
on st. james's park. 173 
 
 Near this my Muse, what most delights her, sees 
 A living gallery of aged trees ; 
 Bold sons of earth, that thrust their arms so high, 
 As if once more they would invade the sky. 
 In such green palaces the idrst kings reigned, 
 Slept in their shades, and angels entertained; 
 "With such old counsellors they did advise, 
 And, by frequenting sacred groves, grew wise. 
 Free from the impediments of light and noise, 
 Man, thus retired, his nobler thoughts employs. 
 Here Charles contrives the ordering of his states, 
 Here he resolves his neighbouring princes fates ; 
 What nation shall have peace, where war be made, 
 Determined is in this oraculous shade ; 
 The world, from India to the frozen north, 
 Concerned in what this solitude brings forth. 
 His fancy, objects from his view receives; 
 The prospect, thought and contemplation gives. 
 That seat of empire here salutes his eye, 
 To which three kingdoms do themselves apply ; 
 The structure by a prelate* raised, Whitehall, 
 Built with the fortune of Eome's capitol ; 
 Both, disproportioned to the present state 
 Of their proud founders, were approved by Fate. 
 From hence he does that antique pilet behold, 
 Where royal heads receive the sacred gold; 
 It gives them crowns, and does their ashes keep; 
 There made like gods, like mortals there they sleep; 
 Making the circle of their reign complete, 
 Those suns of empire ! where they rise, they set. 
 When others fell, this, standing, did presage 
 The crown should triumph over popular rage; 
 
 Paille-maille, from which the street took its name. Paille-maille was 
 a species of bowls played with a mallet, the player striking the bowl 
 with a mallet through an arch of iron erected at each end of the 
 ground. Charles II. was passionately fond of this game, which was 
 one of the most popular and fashionable amusements during his 
 reign. 
 
 * Cardinal Wolsey. t Westminster Abbey. 
 

 174 on st. james's park. 
 
 Hard by that house,* where all our ills were shaped, 
 
 The auspicious temple stood, and yet escaped. 
 
 So snow on iEtna does unmelted lie, 
 
 Whence rolling flames and scattered cinders fly; 
 
 The distant country in the ruin shares ; 
 
 What falls from heaven the burning mountain spares. 
 
 Next, that capacious hallf he sees, the room 
 
 Where the whole nation does for justice come; 
 
 Under whose large roof flourishes the gown, 
 
 And judges grave, on high tribunals, frown. 
 
 Here, like the people's pastor he does go, 
 
 His flock subjected to his view below; 
 
 On which reflecting in his mighty mind, 
 
 No private passion does indulgence find ; 
 
 The pleasures of his youth suspended are, 
 
 And made a sacrifice to public care. 
 
 Here, free from court compliances, he walks, 
 
 And with himself, his best adviser, talks; 
 
 How peaceful olives may his temples shade, 
 
 For mending laws, and for restoring trade ; 
 
 Or, how his brows may be with laurel charged, 
 
 For nations conquered, and our bounds enlarged. 
 
 Of ancient prudence here he ruminates, 
 
 Of rising kingdoms, and of falling states; 
 
 What ruling arts gave great Augustus fame, 
 
 And how Alcides purchased such a name. 
 
 His eyes, upon his native palace $ bent, 
 
 Close by, suggest a greater argument. 
 
 His thoughts rise higher, when he does reflect 
 
 On what the world may from that star expect 
 
 Which at his birth appeared,§ to let us see 
 
 Day, for his sake, could with the night agree; 
 
 * House of Commons. t Westminster Hall. 
 
 } St. James's Palace, where Charles II. was born. 
 
 § This, I believe, and a passage in the Instructions to a Painter, are 
 
 the only instances of a reference to astrology to be found in the poems 
 
 of Waller, although the subject presented tempting suggestions to a 
 
 poet who excelled in the art of flattery. The star that appeared in the 
 
 
OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS. 175 
 
 A prince, on -whom such different lights did sinile, 
 Born the divided world to reconcile ! 
 Whatever Heaven, or high extracted blood 
 Could promise, or foretel, he will make good; 
 Reform these nations, and improve them more, 
 Than this fair park, from what ib was before. 
 
 OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, MOTHER TO 
 THE PRINCE OF ORANGE;* 
 
 AND OF HER PORTRAIT, WRITTEN BY THE LATE DUCHESS OF YORK 
 WHLLE SHE LIVED WITH HEK. 
 
 HEROIC nymph ! in tempests the support, 
 In peace the glory of the British court ! 
 Into whose arms the church, the state, and all 
 That precious is, or sacred here, did fall. 
 Ages to come, that shall your bounty hear, 
 Will think you mistress of the Indies were ; 
 Though straiter bounds your fortunes did confine, 
 In your large heart was found a wealthy mine; 
 Like the blest oil, the widow's lasting feast, 
 Your treasure, as you poured it out, increased, t 
 While some your beauty, some your bounty sing, 
 Your native isle does with your praises ring; 
 
 heavens at the birth of Charles II. was the favourite phenomenon of 
 the royal party, and did duty in almost all the poems ox the time. 
 
 * Mary, Princess of Orange, and sister to Charles II. She visited 
 this country on the occasion of the Restoration, at which time the 
 poem was probably written ; although the reference in the title to the 
 4 late' Duchess of York seems to imply a subsequent date. Three months 
 after her arrival in England, the Princess was seized by small-pox, 
 which terminated in her death, in December, 1660. The Duchess of 
 York did not die till 1671. The title was evidently added afterwards, 
 
 [ when the poem was published. 
 
 f For many years of her life the Princess devoted one-half of her 
 revenues to the maintenance of the Duke of Gloucester, as a means of 
 
 • rendering him independent of the influence of the Roman Catholic 
 sovereigns ; and she contributed largely to the support of the royal 
 family during their reverses. 
 
176 UPON HER MAJESTY'S NEW BUILDINGS. 
 
 But, above all, a nymph of your own train* 
 Gives us your character in such, a strain, 
 As none but she, who in that court did dwell, 
 Could know such worth, or worth describe so well. 
 So while we mortals here at heaven do guess, 
 And more our weakness, than the place, express, 
 Some angel, a domestic there, comes down, 
 And tells the wonders he hath seen and known. 
 
 UPON HEK MAJESTY S NEW BUILDINGS AT 
 SOMERSET HOUSE. f 
 
 GREAT Queen ! that does our island bless 
 With princes and with palaces; 
 Treated so ill, chased from your throne, 
 Returning, you adorn the town; 
 And, with a brave revenge, do show 
 Their glory went and came with you. 
 
 "While Peace from hence, and you were gone, 
 Your houses in that storm o'erthrown, 
 Those wounds which civil rage did give, 
 At once you pardon, and relieve. 
 
 Constant to England in your love, 
 As birds are to their wonted grove, 
 Though by rude hands their nests are spoiled, 
 There the next spring again they build. 
 
 Accusing some malignant star, 
 Not Britain, for that fatal war, 
 
 * Lady Anne Hyde, daughter of the Earl of Clarendon, and after- 
 wards Duchess of York, and mother of Queen Mary and Queen Anne. 
 
 t In Nov. 1660, (not i66z as stated by Fenton,) the Queen-Mother, 
 Henrietta Maria, returned to England, and took up her residence in 
 her old palace of Somerset House, which had formerly been assigned 
 to her by Charles I. During the few years she remained here, she 
 considerably enlarged the buildings, especially on the side facing the 
 river. Cowley also addressed some verses to her on these improve- 
 ments. 
 
OF A TREE CUT IN PAPER. 177 
 
 Your kindness banishes your fear, 
 
 Resolved to fix for ever here.* 
 
 But what new mine this work supplies'? 
 
 Can such a pile from ruin rise 1 
 
 This, like the first creation, shows 
 
 As if at your command it rose. 
 
 Frugality and bounty too, 
 (Those differing virtues) meet in you; 
 From a confined, well-managed store, 
 You both employ and feed the poor. 
 
 Let foreign princes vainly boast 
 The rude effects of pride and cost; 
 Of vaster fabrics, to which they 
 Contribute nothing but the pay; 
 This, by the Queen herself designed, 
 Gives us a pattern of her mind ; 
 The state and order does proclaim 
 The genius of that royal dame. 
 Each part with just proportion graced, 
 And all to such advantage placed, 
 That the fair view her window yields, 
 The town, the river, and the fields, 
 Entering, beneath us we descry, 
 And wonder how we came so high. 
 
 She needs no weary steps ascend; 
 All seems before her feet to bend; 
 And here, as she was born, she lies ; 
 High, without taking pains to rise. 
 
 OP A TREE CUT IN PAPER. 
 
 FAIR hand ! that can on virgin paper write, 
 Yet from the stain of ink preserve it white ; 
 
 * This resolution was afterwards relinquished. Henrietta Maria left 
 England in i665, and was succeeded in Somerset House by Catherine 
 of Braganza. 
 
 WAIXEE. 12 
 
178 TO A LADY. 
 
 Whose travel o'er that silver field does show 
 Like track of leverets in morning snow. 
 Love's image thus in purest minds is wrought, 
 Without a spot or blemish to the thought. 
 Strange that your fingers should the pencil foil, 
 Without the help of colours or of oil ! 
 For though a painter boughs and leaves can make, 
 'Tis you alone can make them bend and shake; 
 Whose breath salutes your new-created grove, 
 Like southern winds, and makes it gently move. 
 Orpheus could make the forest dance ; but you 
 Can make the motion and the forest too. 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED THE COPY OF THE POEM ENTITLED « OF A 
 TREE CUT IN PAPER,' WHICH FOR MANY YEARS HAD BEEN LOST. 
 
 NOTHING lies hid from radiant eyes; 
 All they subdue become their spies. 
 Secrets, as choicest jewels, are 
 Presented to oblige the fair; 
 No wonder, then, that a lost thought 
 Should there be found, where souls are caught. 
 
 The picture of fair Yenus (that 
 For which men say the goddess sat) 
 Was lost, till Lely from your look 
 Again that glorious image took. 
 
 If Virtue's self were lost, we might 
 From your fair mind new copies write. 
 All things but one you can restore ; 
 The heart you get returns no more. 
 
179 
 
 TO THE QUEEN, UPON HER MAJESTY'S 
 BIRTHDAY, 
 
 APTER HER HAPPY RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS SICKNESS.* 
 
 Tj 1 AREWELL the year ! which threatened so 
 -■- The fairest light the world can show. 
 Welcome the new ! whose every day, 
 Restoring what was snatched away 
 By pining sickness from the fair, 
 That matchless beauty does repair 
 So fast, that the approaching spring, 
 (Which does to showery meadows bring 
 What the rude winter from them tore) 
 Shall give her all she had before. 
 
 But we recover not so fast 
 The sense of such a danger past ; 
 We that esteemed you sent from heaven, 
 A jDattern to this island given, 
 To show us what the blessed do there, 
 And what alive they practised here, 
 When that which we immortal thought, 
 We saw so near destruction brought, 
 Felt all which you did then endure, 
 And tremble yet, as not secure. 
 So though the sun victorious be, 
 And from a dark eclipse set free, 
 The influence, which we fondly fear, 
 Afflicts our thoughts the following year. 
 
 But that which may relieve our care 
 Is, that you have a help so near 
 For all the evil you can prove, 
 The kindness of your royal love ; 
 He that was never known to mourn, 
 So many kingdoms from him torn, 
 
 * Catherine of Braganza, the Queen of Charles II. These verses 
 are assigned to the year 1663. 
 
 12—2 
 
]80 TO MK. KILLIGREW. 
 
 His tears reserved for you, more dear, 
 More prized, than all those kingdoms were ! 
 For when no healing art prevailed, 
 When cordials and elixirs failed, 
 On your pale cheek he dropped the shower, 
 Revived you like a dying flower.* 
 
 TO MR. KILLIGREW,f 
 
 UPON HIS ALTERING HIS PLAY, ' PANDORA,' FROM A TRAGEDY INTO 
 A COMEDY, BECAUSE NOT APPROVED ON THE STAGE. 
 
 SIR, you should rather teach our age the way 
 Of judging well, than thus have changed your play; 
 You had obliged us by employing wit, 
 Not to reform Pandora, but the pit; 
 For as the nightingale, without the throng 
 Of other birds, alone attends her song, 
 While the loud daw, his throat displaying, draws 
 The whole assemblage of his fellow-daws ; 
 So must the writer, whose productions should 
 Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould; 
 Whilst nobler fancies make a flight too high 
 For common view, and lessen as they fly. 
 
 * It is generally said of Charles that, notwithstanding his infidelities, 
 he treated the unfortunate Queen with respect, and occasionally, even 
 with kindness. But the ' tears' and ' royal love' belong to that pro- 
 vince of fiction in which, according to Waller, poets succeed best. 
 
 t Afterwards Sir William, the eldest brother of Tom and Henry 
 Killigrew. He was one of the gentlemen ushers to the privy chamber 
 of Charles I., and had the command of the troops that guarded the 
 King's person throughout the whole of the Civil War. He after- 
 wards entered into a composition for his estate with the Committee of 
 Sequestration. Upon the Restoration he was restored to his post of 
 gentleman usher ; and on the King's marriage was made first vice- 
 chamberlain to the Queen, an office which he held for twenty-two 
 years. Pandora does not appear to have been printed in its original 
 form; but was published as a comedy in 1664. Killigrew's plays, 
 four in number, were collected and published in folio in 1666 ', with 
 sundry complimentary tributes, including the verses of Waller. 
 
181 
 
 VERSES TO DR. GEORGE ROGERS, 
 
 ON HIS TAKING THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHYSIC AT FADUA, 
 IN THE YEAR 1 664.* 
 
 WHEN as of old the earth's bold children strove, 
 With hills on hills, to scale the throne of Jove, 
 Pallas and Mars stood by their sovereign's side, 
 And their bright arms in his defence employed; 
 While the wise Phoebus, Hermes, and the rest, 
 Who joy in peace, and love the Muses best, 
 Descending from their so distempered seat, 
 Our groves and meadows chose for their retreat. 
 There first Apollo tried the various use 
 Of herbs, and learned the virtues of their juice, 
 And framed that art, to which who can pretend 
 . A juster title than our noble friend? 
 Whom the like tempest drives from his abode, 
 And like employment entertains abroad. 
 This crowns him here, and in the bays so earned, 
 His country's honour is no less concerned, 
 Since it appears not all the English rave, 
 To ruin bent ; some study how to save ; 
 And as Hippocrates did once extend 
 His sacred art, whole cities to amend ; 
 So we, great friend ! suppose that thy great skill, 
 Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will, 
 At thy return, reclaim our frantic isle, 
 Their spirits calm, and peace again shall smile. 
 
 * These verses were prefixed by Dr. Rogers with several others to 
 his Inaugural Exercise at Padua, published in 1664. When they were 
 first inserted in the collected edition of Waller's works, (many years 
 after the publication of Fenton's edition) they were accompanied by a 
 note to the effect that, ' although first printed in 1664, they seem to 
 have been written before the Restoration, as appears from the lines 
 toward the conclusion.' This is clearly a mistake, as the occasion 
 upon which they were written occurred four years after the Resto- 
 ration. 
 
182 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER, 
 
 FOR THE DRAWING OF THE POSTURE AND PROGRESS OF HIS MA- 
 JESTY'S FORCES AT SEA, UNDER THE COMMAND OF HIS HIGHNESS- 
 ROYAL; TOGETHER WITH THE BATTLE AND VICTORY OBTAINED 
 OVER THE DUTCH, JUNE 3, 1 665.* 
 
 T7IRST draw the sea, that portion which between 
 -*- The greater world and this of onrs is seen ; 
 Here place the British, there the Holland fleet, 
 Vast floating armies ! both prepared to meet. 
 Draw the whole world, expecting who should reign, 
 After this combat, o'er the conquered main. 
 Make Heaven concerned, and an unusual star 
 Declare the importance of the approaching war. 
 Make the sea shine with gallantry, and all 
 The English youth flock to their Admiral, 
 The valiant Duke ! whose early deeds abroad, 
 Such rage in fight, and art in conduct showed. 
 His bright sword now a dearer interest draws, 
 His brother's glory, and his country's cause. 
 
 Let thy bold pencil hope and courage spread 
 Through the whole navy, by that hero led ; 
 Make all appear, where such a Prince is by, 
 Resolved to conquer, or resolved to die. 
 
 * This poem, as observed in a previous note, is modelled on the 
 plan of the Venetian Triumph. The victory it records, although by no 
 means decisive of the war with Holland, had the effect for a time of 
 materially crippling the power of the Dutch at sea. The fleet set 
 sail in April, \665. It was divided into three squadrons; the first 
 commanded by the Duke of York ; the second by Prince Rupert ; and 
 the third by the Earl of Sandwich. The Duke cruised about for 
 nearly a month without falling in with the enemy, and, after capturing 
 several homeward-bound vessels, withdrew to the English coast. The 
 Dutch took advantage of his absence, and towards the end of May 
 appeared near the Dogger Sands with a powerful armament. It was 
 in this interval they seized a little fleet of nine English merchant 
 vessels on their way home from Hamburg, an incident alluded to by 
 Waller. The Duke immediately put out to sea, and fell in with the 
 Dutch, commanded by Baron Opdam, on the 3rd of June. The state 
 of the wind was against the Dutch, and Opdam had a presentiment 
 that the issue would be disastrous ; but his instructions were peremptory, 
 and he prepared for battle. For nine hours the event was doubtful ; 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 183 
 
 With his extraction, and his glorious mind, 
 
 Make the proud sails swell more than with the wind ; 
 
 Preventing cannon, make his louder fame 
 
 Check the Batavians, and their fury tame. 
 
 So hungry wolves, though greedy of their prey, 
 
 Stop when they find a lion in their way. 
 
 Make him bestride the ocean, and mankind 
 
 Ask his consent to use the sea and wind. 
 
 While his tall ships in the barred channel stand, 
 
 He grasps the Indies in his armed hand. 
 
 Paint an east wind, and make it blow away 
 The excuse of Holland for their navy's stay ; 
 Make them look pale, and, the bold Prince to shun, 
 Through the cold north and rocky regions run. 
 To find the coast where morning first appears, 
 By the dark pole the wary Belgian steers; 
 Confessing now he dreads the English more 
 Than all the dangers of a frozen shore ; 
 While from our arms, security to find, 
 They fly so far, they leave the day behind. 
 Describe their fleet abandoning the sea, 
 And all their merchants left a wealthy prey; 
 Our first success in war make Bacchus crown, 
 And half the vintage of the year our own. 
 The Dutch their wine, and all their brandy lose, 
 Disarmed of that from which their courage grows; 
 
 when the Earl of Sandwich broke through the enemy's centre, and 
 threw the whole fleet into confusion. Opdam, notwithstanding, made 
 a desperate attempt to hoard the English Admiral ; but while the 
 vessels were fighting hand to hand, the gun-room of the Dutch Admiral 
 took fire, and the ship was blown up. Opdam and at least five hundred 
 men perished in the explosion. During the consternation that ensued, 
 several Dutch vessels were burned, and the flames spread so rapidly 
 that at last the whole fleet presented the aspect of a sheet of flame. 
 The fight continued from three o'clock in the morning till seven in the 
 evening ; when the Dutch, availing themselves of the increasing dark- 
 ness, escaped with the remnant of their vessels. The Duke of York 
 was afterwards severely censured for not following up his victory by 
 pursuing the enemy. Dryden has celebrated this engagement in 
 one of his noblest poems — the Annus Mirabilis. See Dryden — Ann. 
 Ed. i. 159. 
 
184 INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 
 
 While the glad English, to relieve their toil, 
 In healths to their great leader drink the spoil,* 
 
 His high command to Afric's coast extend, 
 And make the Moors before the English bend; 
 Those barbarous pirates willingly receive 
 Conditions, such as we are pleased to give. 
 Deserted by the Dutch, let nations know 
 We can our own and their great business do; 
 False friends chastise, and common foes restrain, 
 Which, worse than tempests, did infest the main. 
 Within those Straits, make Holland's Smyrna fleet 
 With a small squadron of the English meet ; 
 Like falcons these, those like a numerous flock 
 Of fowl, which scatter to avoid the shock. 
 There paint confusion in a various shape ; 
 Some sink, some yield; and, flying, some escape. 
 Europe and Africa, from either shore, 
 Spectators are, and hear our cannon roar; 
 While the divided world in this agree, 
 Men that fight so, deserve to rule the sea. 
 
 But, nearer home, thy pencil use once more, 
 And place our navy by the Holland shore; 
 The world they compassed, while they fought with Spain, 
 But here already they resign the main ; 
 Those greedy mariners, out of whose way 
 Diffusive JSTature could no region lay, 
 At home, preserved from rocks and tempests, lie, 
 Compelled, like others, in their beds to die. 
 Their single towns the Iberian armies pressed; 
 We all their provinces at once invest ; 
 And, in a month, ruin their traffic more 
 Than that long war could in an age before. 
 
 But who can always on the billows lie 1 ? 
 The watery wilderness yields no supply. 
 
 . 
 
 * The circumstance here alluded to occurred in 1 654, before wj 
 was actually declared, when a fleet of Dutch Bordeaux vessels, laden 
 with wine and brandy, fell into the hands of the English, and were 
 declared lawful prizes by the Admiralty. 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 185 
 
 Spreading our sails, to Harwich we resort, 
 And meet the beauties of the British court. 
 The illustrious Duchess, and her glorious train, 
 (Like Thetis with her nymphs) adorn the main. 
 The gazing sea-gods, since the Paphian Queen* 
 Sprung from among them, no such sight had seen. 
 Charmed with the graces of a troop so fair, 
 Those deathless powers for us themselves declare, 
 Hesolved the aid of Neptune's court to bring, 
 And help the nation where such beauties spring; 
 The soldier here his wasted store supplies, 
 And takes new valour from the ladies' eyes.t 
 
 Meanwhile, like bees, when stormy winter's gone, 
 The Dutch (as if the sea were all their own) 
 Desert their ports, and, falling in their way, 
 Our Hamburg merchants are become their prey. J 
 Thus flourish they, before the approaching fight ; 
 As dying tapers give a blazing light. 
 
 To check their pride, our fleet half- victualled goes, 
 Enough to serve us till we reach our foes; 
 Who now appear so numerous and bold, 
 The action worthy of our arms we hold. 
 A greater force than that which here we find, 
 Ne'er pressed the ocean, nor employed the wind. § 
 
 * Venus. 
 
 t The Duke of York's family were on board his vessel, while the 
 fleet lay upon the English coast; and their presence, instead of pro- 
 ducing the effect attributed to it by Waller, is said to have been 
 resented by the sailors, who were not disposed at such a time to pay 
 themi;he respect they appear to have anticipated. 
 
 % The loss sustained by our merchants was estimated at between 
 two and three hundred thousand pounds. All possible precautions had 
 been taken to warn the little Hamburg fleet, just then expected home, 
 that the Duke of York had retired to the coast ; but the fleet, still 
 supposing him to be at sea, pursued their voyage, and thus fell into 
 the hands of the enemy. 
 
 § The English fleet consisted of 1 14 men-of-war and frigates, 28 
 fire-ships and ketches, and about 21, coo soldiers and seamen. The 
 Dutch, under Opdam, numbered upwards of 100 vessels of war, besides 
 fire-ships and yachts, and upwards of zz,ooo men, the whole divided 
 into seven squadrons. 
 
186 INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 
 
 Restrained a while by the unwelcome night, 
 The impatient English scarce attend the light. 
 But now the morning (heaven severely clear!) 
 To the fierce work indulgent does appear; 
 And Phoebus lifts above the waves his light, 
 That he might see, and thus record, the fight. 
 
 As when loud winds from different quarters rush, 
 Vast clouds encountering one another crush ; 
 With swelling sails so, from their several coasts, 
 Join the Batavian and the British hosts. 
 For a less prize, with less concern and rage, 
 The Roman fleets at Actium did engage; 
 They, for the empire of the world they knew, 
 These, for the Old contend, and for the New. 
 At the first shock, with blood and powder stained, 
 Nor heaven, nor sea, their former face retained ; 
 Fury and art produce effects so strange, 
 They trouble Nature, and her visage change. 
 Where burning ships the banished sun supply, 
 And no light shines, but that by which men die, 
 There York appears ! so prodigal is he 
 Of royal blood, as ancient as the sea ! 
 Which down to him, so many ages told, 
 Has through the veins of mighty monarchs rolled ! 
 The great Achilles marched not to the field 
 Till Vulcan that impenetrable shield, 
 And arms, had wrought ; yet there no bullets flew, 
 But shafts and darts which the weak Phrygians threw. 
 Our bolder hero on the deck does stand 
 Exposed, the bulwark of his native land ; 
 Defensive arms laid by as useless here, 
 Where massy balls the neighbouring rocks do tear. 
 Some power unseen those princes does protect, 
 Who for their country thus themselves neglect. 
 
 Against him first Opdam his squadron leads, 
 Proud of his late success against the Swedes ; 
 Made by that action, and his high command, 
 Worthy to perish by a prince's hand. 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 187 
 
 The tall Batavian in a vast shij) rides, 
 
 Bearing an army in her hollow sides ; 
 
 Yet, not inclined the English ship to board, 
 
 More on his guns relies, than on his sword;* 
 
 From whence a fatal volley we received; 
 
 It missed the Duke, but his great heart it grieved; 
 
 Three worthy persons from his side it tore, 
 
 And dyed his garment with their scattered gore.t 
 
 Happy I to whom this glorious death arrives, 
 
 More to be valued than a thousand lives ! 
 
 On such a theatre as this to die, 
 
 For such a cause, and such a witness by ! 
 
 Who would not thus a sacrifice be made, 
 
 To have his blood on such an altar laid? 
 
 The rest about him struck with horror stood, 
 
 To see their leader covered o'er with blood. 
 
 So trembled Jacob, when he thought the stains 
 
 Of his son's coat had issued from his veins. 
 
 He feels no wound but in his troubled thought ; 
 
 Before, for honour, now, revenge he fought; 
 
 His friends in pieces torn, (the bitter news 
 
 Not brought by Fame) with his own eyes he views. 
 
 His mind at once reflecting on their youth, 
 
 Their worth, their love, their valour, and their truth, 
 
 The joys of court, their mothers, and their wives, 
 
 To follow him, abandoned, — and their lives ! 
 
 * This is an injustice to the gallant Opdam, for which but inadequate 
 amends are made in a subsequent passage. The courage displayed by 
 the Dutch commander in his attempt to board the English Admiral 
 deserved a more generous acknowledgment. The collision was so 
 close between the two vessels, that the Dutch historians assert that the 
 Royal Charles was at one moment actually boarded. After Opdam 
 perished, his vice-admiral renewed the attempt, and would probably 
 have succeeded but for the intrepidity of an English captain, who, 
 running his vessel between, boarded and burned the Dutchman. 
 
 t The peril in which the Duke of York was personally placed is 
 illustrated by the incident here alluded to, when the Earl of Falmouth, 
 Lord Muskerry, and Mr. Boyle, second son of the Earl of Burlington, 
 and several of the Duke's footmen, were killed at his side by a chain- 
 shot. The Duke was sprinkled by their blood and brains, and is said to 
 have been wounded in the hand by a fragment of Mr. Boyle's skull. 
 
188 INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 
 
 "He storms and shoots, but flying bullets now, 
 
 To execute his rage, appear too slow; 
 
 The j miss, or sweep but common souls away; 
 
 For such a loss Opdam his life must pay. 
 
 Encouraging his men, he gives the word, 
 
 With fierce intent that hated ship to board, 
 
 And make the guilty Dutch, with his own arm, 
 
 Wait on his friends, while yet their blood is warm. 
 
 His winged vessel like an eagle shows, 
 
 When through the clouds to truss a swan she goes; 
 
 The Belgian ship unmoved, like some huge rock 
 
 Inhabiting the sea, expects the shock. 
 
 From both the fleets men's eyes are bent this way, 
 
 Neglecting all the business of the day ; 
 
 Bullets their flight, and guns their noise suspend; 
 
 The silent ocean does the event attend, 
 
 Which leader shall the doubtful victory bless, 
 
 And give an earnest of the war's success ; 
 
 When Heaven itself, for England to declare, 
 
 Turns ship, and men, and tackle, into air. 
 
 Their new commander from his charge is tossed, 
 Which that young prince* had so unjustly lost, 
 Whose great progenitors, with better fate, 
 And better conduct, swayed their infant state. 
 His flight towards heaven the aspiring Belgian took, 
 But fell, like Phaeton, with thunder strook ; 
 From vaster hopes than his he seemed to fall, 
 That durst attempt the British Admiral; 
 From her broad sides a ruder flame is thrown 
 Than from the fiery chariot of the sun ; 
 That, bears the radiant ensign of the day, 
 And she, the flag that governs in the sea.t 
 
 * Prince of Orange, 
 t The cause of the explosion of Opdam's ship has been variously 
 stated, but by Waller alone ascribed to the fire of the English. According 
 to some accounts, one of the English captains, perceiving the Duke's 
 danger, ran under the Dutch Admiral's side, and set fire to the powder- 
 room ; while others assert that it was done by a black in Opdam's ser- 
 vice, out of revenge for some ill usage. 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 189 
 
 The Duke, (ill pleased that fire should thus prevent 
 The work which for his brighter sword he meant) 
 Anger still burning in his valiant breast, 
 Goes to complete revenge upon the rest. 
 So on the guardless herd, their keeper slain, 
 Rushes a tiger in the Libyan plain. 
 The Dutch, accustomed to the raging sea, 
 And in black storms the frowns of heaven to see, 
 Never met tempest which more urged their fears, 
 Than that which in the Prince's look appears. 
 Fierce, goodly, young ! Mars he resembles, when 
 Jove sends him down to scourge perfidious men; 
 Such as with foul ingratitude have paid, 
 Both those that led, and those that gave them aid. 
 Where he gives on, disposing of their fates, 
 Terror and death on his loud cannon waits, 
 With which he pleads his brother's cause so well, 
 He shakes the throne to which he does appeal. 
 The sea with spoils his angry bullets strow, 
 Widows and orphans making as they go; 
 Before his ship fragments of vessels torn, 
 Flags, arms, and Belgian carcasses are borne; 
 And his despairing foes, to flight inclined, 
 Spread all their canvas to invite the wind. 
 So the rude Boreas, where he lists to blow, 
 Makes clouds above, and billows fly below, 
 Beating the shore ; and, with a boisterous rage, 
 Does heaven at once, and earth, and sea engage. 
 
 The Dutch, elsewhere, did through the watery field 
 Perform enough to have made others yield; 
 But English courage, growing as they fight, 
 In danger, noise, and slaughter, takes delight ; 
 Their bloody task, unwearied still, they ply, 
 Only restrained by death, or victory. 
 Iron and lead, from earth's dark entrails torn, 
 Like showers of hail, from either side are borne ; 
 So high the rage of wretched mortals goes, 
 Hurling their mother's bowels at their foes ! 
 
190 INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 
 
 Ingenious to their ruin, every age 
 Improves the arts and instruments of rage. 
 Death-hastening ills Nature enough has sent, 
 And yet men still a thousand more invent ! 
 
 But Bacchus now, which led the Belgians on, 
 So fierce at first, to favour us begun ; 
 Brandy and wine, (their wonted friends) at length 
 Bender them useless, and betray their strength. 
 So corn in fields, and in the garden, flowers, 
 Bevive and raise themselves with moderate showers; 
 But overcharged with never ceasing rain, 
 Become too moist, and bend their heads again. 
 Their reeling ships on one another fall, 
 Without a foe, enough to ruin all. 
 Of this disorder, and the favouring wind, 
 The watchful English such advantage find, 
 Ships fraught with fire among the heap they throw, 
 And up the so -entangled Belgians blow. 
 The flame invades the powder-rooms, and then, 
 Their guns shoot bullets, and their vessels men. 
 The scorched Batavians on the billows float, 
 Sent from their own, to pass in Charon's boat. 
 
 And now, our royal Admiral success 
 (With all the marks of victory) does bless ; 
 The burning ships, the taken, and the slain, 
 Proclaim his triumph o'er the conquered main. 
 Nearer to Holland, as their hasty flight 
 Carries the noise and tumult of the fight, 
 His cannons' roar, forerunner of his fame, 
 Makes their Hague tremble, and their Amsterdam; 
 The British thunder does their houses rock, 
 And the Duke seems at every door to knock. 
 His dreadful streamer (like a comet's hair, 
 Threatening destruction) hastens their despair; 
 Makes them deplore their scattered fleet as lost, 
 And fear our present landing on their coast. 
 
 The trembling Dutch the approaching Prince behold, 
 As sheep a lion leaping towards their fold; 
 
 
INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER. 191 
 
 Those piles, which serve them to repel the main, 
 
 They think too weak his fury to restrain. 
 
 ' What wonders may not English valour work, 
 
 Led by the example of victorious York ? 
 
 Or, what defence against him can they make, 
 
 Who, at such distance, does their country shake? 
 
 His fatal hand their bulwarks will o'erthrow, 
 
 And let in both the ocean, and the foe ;' 
 
 Thus cry the people; — and, their land to keep, 
 
 Allow our title to command the deep ; 
 
 Blaming their States' ill conduct, to provoke 
 
 Those arms, which freed them from the Spanish yoke. 
 
 Painter ! excuse me, if I have awhile 
 Forgot thy art, and used another style ; 
 For, though you draw armed heroes as they sit, 
 The task in battle does the Muses fit ; 
 They, in the dark confusion of a fight, 
 Discover all, instruct us how to write ; 
 Amd light and honour to brave actions yield, 
 Hid in the smoke and tumult of the field, 
 Ages to come shall know that leader's toil, 
 And his great name, on whom the Muses smile ; 
 Their dictates here let thy famed pencil trace, 
 And this relation with thy colours grace. 
 
 Then draw the parliament, the nobles met, 
 And our great monarch high above them set; 
 Like young Augustus let his image be, 
 Triumphing for that victory at sea, 
 Where Egypt's Queen/"" and Eastern Kings o'erthrowm 
 Made the possession of the world his own. 
 Last draw the Commons at his royal feet, 
 Pouring out treasure to supply his fleet ; 
 They vow with lives and fortunes to maintain 
 Their King's eternal title to the main; 
 And with a present to the Duke, approve 
 His valour, conduct, and his country's love. 
 
 Cleopatra. 
 
192 
 
 OE ENGLISH VERSE. 
 
 POETS may boast, as safely vain, 
 Their works shall with the world remain 
 Both, bound together, live or die, 
 The verses and the prophecy. 
 
 But who can hope his line should long 
 Last in a daily changing tongue? 
 While they are new, envy prevails ; 
 And as that dies, our language fails. 
 
 When architects have done their part, 
 The matter may betray their art ; 
 Time, if we use ill-chosen stone, 
 Soon brings a well-built palace down. 
 
 Poets that lasting marble seek, 
 Must carve in Latin, or in Greek; 
 We write in sand, our language grows, 
 And, like the tide, our work o'erflows. 
 
 Chaucer his sense can only boast ; 
 The glory of his numbers lost ! 
 Years have defaced his matchless strain ; 
 And yet he did not sing in vain. 
 
 The beauties which adorned that age, 
 The shining subjects of his rage, 
 Hoping they should immortal prove, 
 Rewarded with success his love. 
 
 This was the generous poet's scope ; 
 And all an English pen can hope, 
 To make the fair approve his flame, 
 That can so far extend their fame. 
 
 Verse, thus designed, has no ill fate, 
 If it arrive but at the date 
 Of fading beauty ; if it prove 
 But as long-lived as present love. 
 
193 
 TO A PERSON OF HONOUR 
 
 UPON HIS INCOMPARABLE, INCOMPREHENSIBLE POEM, ENTITLED, 
 'THE BRITISH PRINCES.'* 
 
 OIK! you've obliged the British nation more 
 
 U Than all their bards could ever do before, 
 
 And, at your own charge, monuments as hard 
 
 As brass or marble to your fame have reared ; 
 
 For, as all warlike nations take delight 
 
 To hear how their brave ancestors could fight, 
 
 You have advanced to wonder their renown, 
 
 And no less virtuously improved your own ; 
 
 That 'twill be doubtful whether you do write, 
 
 Or they have acted, at a nobler height. 
 
 You, of your ancient princes, have retrieved 
 
 More than the ages knew in which they lived; 
 
 Explained their customs and their rights anew, 
 
 Better than all their Druids ever knew; 
 
 Unriddled those dark oracles as well 
 
 As those that made them could themselves foretell. 
 
 For as the Britons long have hoped, in vain, 
 
 Arthur would come to govern them again, 
 
 You have fulfilled that prophecy alone, 
 
 And in your poem placed him on his throne. 
 
 Such magic power has your prodigious pen 
 
 To raise the dead, and give new life to men, 
 
 Make rival princes meet in arms and love, 
 
 Whom distant ages did so far remove ; 
 
 For as eternity has neither past 
 
 IsTor future, authors say, nor first nor last, 
 
 But is all instant, your eternal Muse 
 
 All ages can to any one reduce. 
 
 Then why should you, whose miracles of art 
 
 Can life at pleasure to the dead impart, 
 
 * The British Princes, an heroic poem, by the Hon. Edward Howard, 
 was published in 1669. Its bathos and vapid exaggeration brought down 
 the unmerciful ridicule of the wits and satirists. 
 
 WALLEE. 13 
 
194 TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Trouble in vain your better-busied head. 
 
 To observe what times they lived in, or were dead? 
 
 For since you have such arbitrary power, 
 
 It were defect in judgment to go lower, 
 
 Or stoop to things so pitifully lewd, 
 
 As use to take the vulgar latitude ; 
 
 For no man's fit to read what you have writ, 
 
 That holds not some proportion with your wit ; 
 
 As light can no way but by light appear, 
 
 He must bring sense that understands it here. 
 
 TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR, 
 
 A PERSON OF HONOUR, WHO LATELY WRIT A RELIGIOUS BOOK, ENTI- 
 TLED, * HISTORICAL APPLICATIONS, AND OCCASIONAL MEDITA- 
 TIONS, UPON SEVERAL SUBJECTS.'* 
 
 BOLD is the man that dares engage 
 For piety in such an age ! 
 Who can presume to find a guard 
 From scorn, when Heaven's so little spared? 
 Divines are pardoned; they defend 
 Altars on which their lives depend ; 
 But the profane impatient are, 
 When nobler pens make this their care; 
 For why should these let in a beam 
 Of divine light to trouble them, 
 And call in doubt their pleasing thought, 
 That none believes what we are taught? 
 High birth, and fortune, warrant give 
 That such men write what they believe ; 
 
 * The author of this little work, published anonymously in 16/O, 
 was George, Earl of Berkeley, a member of the Privy Council in the 
 reigns of Charles II., James II., and William III. The main object of 
 the volume, which reached a third edition in ten years, was to collect 
 the testimonies of persons of eminence to the value of religion as 
 exhibited in its influence on their lives, and at the approach of death. 
 Lord Berkeley was a man of unaffected piety ; and it has been sup- 
 posed that the character of Lord Plausible, in the Plain Dealer, was 
 intended by Wycherley as a portrait of him. 
 
TO THE DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 195 
 
 And, feeling first what they indite, 
 New credit give to ancient light. 
 Amongst these few, our author brings 
 His well known pedigree from kings.* 
 This book, the image of his mind, 
 Will make his name not hard to find ; 
 I wish the throng of great and good 
 Made it less easily understood ! 
 
 TO THE BUCIJESJS OF OKLEANS, 
 
 WHEN SHE WAS TAKING LEAVE OF THE COURT AT DOVER.f 
 
 THAT sun of beauty did among us rise ; 
 England first saw the light of your fair eyes ; 
 In English, too, your early wit was shown; 
 Favour that language, which was then your own, 
 When, though a child, through guards you made your 
 What fleet or army could an angel stay? [ wa y; 
 
 Thrice happy Britain ! if she could retain 
 Whom she first bred within her ambient main. 
 Our late burned London, in apparel new, 
 Shook off her ashes to have treated you ; 
 But we must see our glory snatched away, 
 And with warm tears increase the guilty sea; 
 No wind can favour us; howe'er it blows, 
 We must be wrecked, and our dear treasure lose ! 
 Sighs will not let us half our sorrows tell, — 
 Fair, lovely, great, and best of nymphs, farewell ! 
 
 * The Earl of Berkeley was descended in a direct line from the 
 royal house of Denmark. The founder of the family was a younger 
 son of the King of Denmark, and came to England with William the 
 Conqueror. 
 
 f The Duchess of Orleans, the youngest daughter of Charles I., came 
 to England on the 14th May, 1670, for the purpose of bringing about 
 a league between England and France against the Dutch. She re- 
 mained a fortnight at Dover, where Charles and the court gave her a 
 brilliant reception. Shortly after her return, she was poisoned by her 
 
 K husband, at St. Cloud, in the 26th year of her age. The Duke enter- 
 tained doubts of her fidelity, which she declared on her deathbed to be 
 unfounded. 
 
 13—2 
 
196 
 
 TO CHLOKIS. 
 
 /^HLORIS! what's eminent, we know 
 ^ Must for some cause be valued so ; 
 Things without use, though they be good, 
 Are not by us so understood. 
 The early rose, made to display 
 Her blushes to the youthful May, 
 Doth yield her sweets, since he is fair, 
 And courts her with a gentle air. 
 Our stars do show their excellence 
 Not by their light, but influence ; 
 When brighter comets, since still known 
 Fatal to all, are liked by none. 
 So your admired beauty still 
 Is, by effects, made good or ill. 
 
 
 TO THE KltfG. 
 
 GREAT Sir! disdain not in this piece to stand, 
 Supreme commander both of sea and land. 
 Those which inhabit the celestial bower, 
 Painters express with emblems of their power ; 
 His club Alcides, Phoebus has his bow, 
 Jove has his thunder, and your navy you. 
 
 But your great providence no colours here 
 Can represent ; nor pencil draw that care, 
 Which keeps you waking to secure our peace, 
 The nation's glory, and our trade's increase; 
 You, for these ends, whole days in council sit, 
 And the diversions of your youth forget. 
 
 Small were the worth of valour and of force, 
 If your high wisdom governed not their course ; 
 You as the soul, as the first mover you, 
 Vigour and life on every part bestow ; 
 How to build ships, and dreadful ordnance cast, 
 Instruct the artists, and reward their haste. 
 
TO THE DUCHESS. 197 
 
 So Jove himself, when Typhon heaven does brave, 
 Descends to visit Yulcan's smoky cave, 
 Teaching the brawny Cyclops how to frame 
 His thunder, mixed with ^terror, wrath, and flame. 
 Had the old Greeks discovered your abode, 
 Crete had not been the cradle of their god ; 
 On that small island they had looked with scorn, 
 And in Great Britain thought the thunder er born- 
 
 
 TO THE DUCHESS, 
 
 WHEN HE PRESENTED THIS BOOK TO HER ROYAE HIGHNESS. 
 
 "jl/TAD AM ! I here present you with the rage, 
 ^■*~ And with the beauties, of a former age ; 
 Wishing you may with as great pleasure view 
 This, as we take in gazing upon you. 
 Thus we writ then : your brighter eyes inspire 
 A nobler flame, and raise our genius higher. 
 While we your wit and early knowledge fear, 
 To our productions we become severe ; 
 Your matchless beauty gives our fancy wing, 
 Your judgment makes us careful how we sing. 
 Lines not composed, as heretofore, in haste, 
 Polished like marble, shall like marble last, 
 And make you through as many ages shine, 
 As Tasso has the heroes of your line. 
 
 Though other names our wary writers use, 
 You are the subject, of the British muse; 
 Dilating mischief to. yourself unknown, 
 Men write, and die, of wounds they dare not own. 
 So the bright sun burns all our grass away, 
 While it means nothing but to give us day. 
 
198 
 
 THESE VERSES WERE WRIT IN THE TASSO 
 OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.* 
 
 rPASSO know how the fairer sex to grace, 
 -*- But in no one durst all perfection place. 
 In her alone that owns this book is seen 
 Clorinda's spirit, and her lofty mien, 
 Sophronia's piety, Erminia's truth, 
 Armida's charms, her beauty, and her youth. 
 Our princess here, as in a glass, does dress 
 Her well-taught mind, and every grace express. 
 More to our wonder than Einaldo fought, 
 The hero's race excels the poet's thought, 
 
 TfiE TRIPLE COMBAT.t 
 
 WHEN through the world fair Mazarin had run, 
 Bright as her fellow-traveller, the sun, 
 
 * These verses are said, on the authority of the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, to have cost Waller tie greatest part of a summer in com- 
 position and correction. They were written in her Royal High- 
 mess's copy of Tasso, when the court was at Windsor. The Duchess, 
 described by her contemporaries as a woman of exquisite beauty, was 
 the daughter of Alphonso d'Este, Duke of Modena, to whose family 
 Tasso is understood to have paid special homage in the character of 
 ■Rinaldo. Waller alludes to the circumstance in the previous poem. 
 
 t In 1 675, the beautiful Duchess of Mazarin (who, under the 
 influence of her uncle, the Cardinal, had rejected the suit of Charles II. 
 in his exile) arrived in England, divorced from her husband, and 
 wrecked in fortune. Taking refuge in the English court, where she was 
 received with distinction, she contemplated the conquest of the King. 
 The Duchess of Portsmouth was at this time in the ascendant, and much 
 court scandal and amusement sprang from the rivalry of the ' illustrious 
 pair,' as they are called by Waller. The struggle, however, did 
 not last long, for the Duchess of Mazarin conceived a sudden caprice 
 for the Prince de Monaco, and abandoned her design upon Charles. 
 Who the third lady, described in the poem as Chloris, may have been 
 must remain matter of conjecture, where there were so many to whose 
 fugitive influence it might apply. 
 
THE TRIPLE COMBAT. 199 
 
 Hither at length the Roman eagle flies, 
 
 As the last triumph of her conquering eyes. 
 
 As heir to Julius, she may pretend 
 
 A second time to make this island bend; 
 
 But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race 
 
 Of Britons, which the Saxon here did chase, 
 
 As they great Caesar did oppose, makes head, 
 
 And does against this new invader lead. 
 
 That goodly nymph, the taller of the two, 
 
 Careless and fearless to the field does go. 
 
 Becoming blushes on the other wait, 
 
 And her young look excuses want of height. 
 
 Beauty gives courage ; for she knows the day 
 
 Must not be won the Amazonian way. 
 
 Legions of Cupids to the battle come, 
 
 For Little Britain these, and those for Borne, 
 
 Dressed to advantage, this illustrious pair 
 
 Arrived, for combat in the list appear. 
 
 What may the Fates design ! for never yet 
 
 From distant regions two such beauties met 
 
 Yenus had been an equal friend to both, 
 
 And victory to declare herself seems loth ; 
 
 Over the camp, with doubtful wings, she flies, 
 
 Till Chloris shining in the field she spies. 
 
 The lovely Chloris well-attended came, 
 
 A thousand Graces waited on the dame; 
 
 Her matchless form made all the English glad, 
 
 And foreign beauties less assurance had; 
 
 Yet, like the Three on Ida's top, they all 
 
 Pretend alike, contesting for the ball ; 
 
 Which to determine, Love himself declined, 
 
 Lest the neglected should become less kind. 
 
 Such killing looks ! so thick the arrows fly ! 
 
 That 'tis unsafe to be a stander-by. 
 
 Poets, approaching to describe the fight, 
 
 Are by their wounds instructed how to write. 
 
 They with less hazard might look on, and draw 
 
 The ruder combats in Alsatia; 
 
200 OF THE LADY MARY, PRINCESS OF ORANGE. 
 
 And, with that foil of violence and rage, 
 Set off the- splendour of our golden age; 
 Where Love gives law, Beauty the sceptre sways, 
 And, uncompelled, the happy world obeys. 
 
 UPON OUR LATE LOSS OF THE DUKE OF 
 CAMBRIDGE.* 
 
 rPHE failing blossoms which a young plant bears, 
 
 -*- Engage our hope for the succeeding years ; 
 
 And hope is all which art or nature brings, 
 
 At the first trial, to accomplish things. . 
 
 Mankind was first created an essay ; 
 
 That ruder draught the deluge washed away. 
 
 How many ages passed, what blood and toil, 
 
 Before we made one kingdom of this isle ! 
 
 How long in vain had nature striven to frame 
 
 .A. perfect princess, ere her Highness came ! 
 
 For joys so great we must with patience wait; 
 
 'Tis the set price of happiness complete. 
 
 As a first fruit, Heaven claimed that lovely boy; 
 
 The next shall live, and be the nations joy. 
 
 OF THE LADY MARY, PRINCESS OF ORANGE.* 
 
 AS once the lion honey gave, 
 Out of the strong such sweetness came ; 
 A royal hero, no less brave, 
 Produced this sweet, this lovely dame. 
 
 To her the prince, that did oppose 
 Such mighty armies in the field, 
 
 * The Duke of York's second son by Mary d'Este. He died when he 
 was only a month old, November, 1677. 
 
 f The Princess Mary was married to the Prince of Orange at St. 
 James's, in November, 1677. 
 
OF THE LADY MARY, PRINCESS OF ORANGE. 201 
 
 And Holland from prevailing foes 
 Could so well free, himself does yield. 
 
 Not Belgia's fleet (his high command) 
 Which triumphs where the sun does rise, 
 Nor all the force he leads by land, 
 Could guard him from her conquering eyes. 
 
 Orange, with youth, experience has; 
 In action young, in council old; 
 Orange is, what. Augustus was, 
 Brave, wary, provident, and bold. 
 
 On that fair tree which bears his name, 
 Blossoms and fruit at once are found ;. 
 In him we all admire the same. 
 His flowery youth with wisdom crowned ! 
 
 Empire and freedom reconciled 
 
 In Holland are by great Nassau ; 
 
 Like those he sprung from, just and mild, 
 
 To willing people he gives law. 
 
 Thrice happy pair ! so near allied 
 In royal blood, and virtue too! 
 Now love has you together tied, 
 May none this triple knot undo ! 
 
 The church- shall be the happy, place 
 
 Where streams, which from the same source run, 
 
 Though divers lands awhile they grace, 
 
 Unite again, and are made one. 
 
 A thousand thanks the nation owes 
 To him that does protect us all ; 
 For while he thus his, niece bestows, 
 About our isle he bull cU a wall;, 
 
 A wall ! like that which Athens had, 
 By the oracle's advice, of wood ; 
 Had theirs been such as Charles has made, 
 That mighty state till now had stood. 
 
202 
 
 AD COMITEM MONUMETENSEM DE 
 BENTIVOGLIO SUO.* 
 
 T?LORIBITS Angligenis non hanc tibi necto corollam, 
 
 -*- Cum satis indigenis te probet ipse Liber : 
 
 Per me Roma sciet tibi se debere, quod Anglo 
 
 Bomanus didicit cultiiis ore loqui. 
 
 Ultima quse tellus Aquilas duce Csesare vidit, 
 
 Candida Bomulidum te duee scripta videt. 
 
 Consilio ut quondam Patriam nil juveris, esto ! 
 
 Sed studio cives ingenioque juvas. 
 
 Namque dolis liber hie instructus, et arte Batava, 
 
 A Belga nobis ut caveamus, ait. 
 
 Horremus per te civilis dira furoris 
 
 Yulnera; diseordes Flandria quassa monet. 
 
 Hie discat miles pugnare, orare senator ; 
 
 Qui regnant, leni sceptra tenere manu. 
 
 Macte, Comes! virtute nova: vestri ordinis ingens 
 
 Ornamentum, sevi deliciseque tui ! 
 
 Dum stertunt alii somno vinoque sepulti, 
 
 Nobilis antiquo stemmate digna facis. 
 
 tTPGN BEN JONSON.f 
 
 MIBROB of poets ! mirror of our age ! 
 Which, her whole face beholding on thy stage, 
 Pleased, and displeased, with her own faults, endures, 
 A remedy like those whom music cures. 
 
 * A copy of verses prefixed to the Earl of Monmouth's translation 
 of Cardinal Bentivoglio's History of the Wars of Flanders, published 
 in i 678. 
 
 t Fenton makes a singular note on these lines. He says it would 
 be superfluous to enter into particulars respecting the writers celebrated 
 by Waller, they being already well known, contenting himself with 
 this ' general observation on Mr. Waller's commendatory verses, that 
 they are to be esteemed as the, pure- effects of candour and friendship;' 
 
 
UPON BEN JONSON. 203 
 
 Thou hast alone those various inclinations 
 
 Which Nature gives to ages, sexes, nations j 
 
 So traced with thy all-resembling pen, 
 
 That whate'er custom has imposed on men, 
 
 Or ill-got habit (which deforms them so, 
 
 That scarce a brother can his brother know) 
 
 Is represented to the wondering eyes 
 
 Of all that see, or read, thy comedies. 
 
 Whoever in those glasses looks, may find 
 
 The spots returned, or graces, of his mind ; 
 
 And by the help of so divine an art, 
 
 At leisure view, and dress, his nobler part. 
 
 Narcissus, cozened by that flattering well, 
 
 Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, 
 
 Had here, discovering the deformed estate 
 
 Of his fond mind, preserved himself with hate, 
 
 But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad 
 
 In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had 
 
 Beheld, what his high fancy once embraced, 
 
 Virtue with colours, speech, and motion graced. 
 
 The sundry postures of thy copious Muse 
 
 Who would express, a thousand tongues must use ; 
 
 Whose fate's no less peculiar than thy art ; 
 
 For as thou couldst all characters impart, 
 
 [from what follows, the candour would seem to form a remarkably 
 insignificant ingredient] ' in many of which he seems, like a good- 
 natured magistrate, to have been prevailed upon by the innocent 
 poverty of the books which he commends, to give them a passport for 
 present subsistence in their journey to the land where all things are 
 forgotten.' The value of this stigma upon Waller may be estimated 
 from an enumeration of the authors commended in his poetical tributes. 
 They are, Ben Jonson and Fletcher, Sandys, DavCnant, Wase, Evelyn, 
 Lord Roscommon, Creech, Killigrew, the Earl of Berkeley, and Higgons. 
 Of these, the first two could owe nothing either to his candour or his 
 friendship ; and the rest were eminently entitled to his panegyric, with 
 the exception of the last, whose few published writings certainly do 
 not justify the encomiums bestowed upon him. Unless, therefore, 
 Fenton includes the lines to Howard on his British Princes amongst 
 the 'commendatory verses' — which is scarcely credible — the reproach 
 he casts upon Waller's literary judgment must be dismissed ■as an error 
 of his own. 
 
204 on mr. john Fletcher's plays. 
 
 So none could render thine, which still escapes, 
 Like Proteus, in variety of shapes ; 
 Who was nor this nor that ; but all we find, 
 And all we can imagine, in mankind. 
 
 on mr. joira Fletcher's plays. 
 
 Tj^LETCHEE! to, thee we do not onjy owe 
 -*- All these good plays, but those of> others too,; 
 Thy wit repeated does support the stage, 
 Credits the last, and entertains this age. 
 No worthies, formed by any Muse but thine, 
 Could purchase robes to make themselves so fine. 
 
 What brave commander is not proud to see 
 Thy brave Melantius in his gallantry? 
 Our greatest ladies love to see their scorn 
 Outdone by thine, in what themselves have worn; 
 The impatient widow, ere the year be done, 
 Sees thy Aspasia weeping in her gown. 
 
 I never yet the tragic strain essayed, 
 Deterred by that inimitable Maid ; * 
 And when I venture at the comic style, 
 Thy Scornful Ladyf seems to mock my toil. 
 
 Thus has thy Muse at once improved and marred 
 Our sport in plays, by rendering it too hard! 
 So when a sort of lusty shepherds throw 
 The bar by turns, and none the rest outgo 
 So far, but that the best are measuring casts, 
 Their emulation and their pastime, lasts; 
 But if some brawny yeoman of the guard 
 Step in, and toss the axletree a yard, 
 Or more, beyond the furthest mark, the rest 
 Despairing stand, their sport is at the best. 
 
 * The Maid's Tragedy, the joint production, o t f Beaumont and 
 Fletcher. 
 
 t Generally considered'the sole production of Fletcher. 
 
205 
 
 UPON THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON'S TRANS- 
 LATION OF HORACE, 
 
 1 DE ARTE POETICA ;' AND OF THE USE OF POETRY. 
 
 T) OME was not better by her Horace taught, 
 -■-*' Than we are here to comprehend his thought; 
 The poet writ to noble Piso there ; 
 A noble Piso does instruct us here, 
 Gives us a pattern in his flowing style, 
 And with rich precepts does oblige our isle : 
 Britain ! whose genius is in verse expressed, 
 Bold and sublime, but negligently dressed. 
 
 Horace will our superfluous branches prun«, 
 Give us new rules, and set our harp in tune; 
 Direct us how to back the winged horse, 
 Favour his flight, and moderate his force. 
 
 Though poets may of inspiration boast, 
 Their Tage, ill^governed, in the clouds is lost. 
 He that proportioned wonders can disclose, 
 At once his fancy and his judgment shows. 
 Chaste moral writing we may learn from hence, 
 Neglect of which no wit can recompense. 
 The fountain which from Helicon proceeds, 
 That sacred stream ! should never water weeds, 
 Nor make the crop of thorns and thistles grow, 
 Which envy or perverted nature sow. 
 
 Well-sounding verses are the charm we use, 
 Heroic thoughts and virtue to infuse; 
 Things of deep sense we may in prose unfold, 
 But they move more in lofty numbers told. 
 By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids, 
 We learn that sound, as well as sense, persuades. 
 
 The Muses' friend, unto himself severe, 
 With silent pity looks on all that err; 
 But where a brave, a public action shines, 
 That he rewards with his immortal lines. 
 
206 ON THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH'S EXPEDITION. 
 
 Whether it be in council or in fight, 
 His country's honour is his chief delight ; 
 Praise of great acts he scatters as a seed, 
 Which may the like in coming ages breed. 
 
 Here taught the fate of verses (always prized 
 With admiration, or as much despised) 
 Men will be less indulgent to their faults, 
 And patience have to cultivate their thoughts. 
 Poets lose half the praise they should have got, 
 Could it be known what they discreetly blot ; 
 Finding new words, that to the ravished ear 
 May like the language of the gods appear, 
 Such as, of old, wise bards employed, to make 
 Unpolished men their wild retreats forsake ; 
 Law-giving heroes, famed for taming v brutes, 
 And raising cities with their charming lutes ; 
 For rudest minds with harmony were caught, 
 And civil life was by the Muses taught. 
 So wandering bees would perish in the air, 
 Did not a sound, proportioned to their ear, 
 Appease their rage, invite them to the hive, 
 Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive, 
 To rob the flowers, and to forbear the spoil, 
 Preserved in winter by their summer's toil; 
 They give us food, which may with nectar vie, 
 And wax, that does the absent sun supply. 
 
 ON THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH^ EXPEDITION 
 
 INTO SCOTLAND IN THE SUMMER SOLSTICE.* 
 
 SWIFT as Jove's messenger, the winged god, 
 With sword as potent as his charmed rod, 
 He flew to execute the King's command, 
 And in a moment reached that northern land, 
 
 * The murder in his coach, on the 3rd May, 1679, near Magus 
 Muir, of Dr. Sharp, Archbishop of St. Andrew's, by Balfour, Danziel, 
 and ten other Covenanters, was the immediate cause of the expedition 
 
ON THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH'S EXPEDITION. 207 
 
 Where day contending with approaching night, 
 Assists the hero with continued light. 
 
 On foes surprised, and by no night concealed, 
 He might have rushed; but noble pity held 
 His hand a while, and to their choice gave space, 
 Which they would prove, his valour or his grace. 
 This not well heard, his cannon louder spoke, 
 And then, like lightning, through that cloud he broke. 
 His fame, his conduct, and that martial look, 
 The guilty Scots with such a terror strook, 
 That to his courage they resign the field, 
 Who to his bounty had refused to yield. 
 Glad that so little loyal blood it cost, 
 He grieves so many Britons should be lost; 
 Taking more pains, when he beheld them yield, 
 To save the flyers, than to win the field ; 
 And at the Court his interest does employ, 
 That none, who 'scaped his fatal sword, should die. 
 
 And now, these rash bold men their error find, 
 Not trusting one beyond his promise kind; 
 One ! whose great mind, so bountiful and brave, 
 Had learned the art to conquer and to save. 
 
 In vulgar breasts no royal virtues dwell; 
 Such deeds as these his high extraction tell, 
 And give a secret joy to him that reigns, 
 To see his blood triumph in Monmouth's veins;* 
 To see a leader whom he got and chose, 
 Firm to his friends, and fatal to his foes. 
 
 But seeing envy, like the sun, does beat, 
 With scorching rays, on all that's high and great, 
 
 sent into Scotland by the King, under the command of the Duke of 
 Monmouth. The Covenanters assembled in considerable strength at 
 Bothwell-bridge, where the Duke's forces came up with them, and 
 defeated them in a decisive action, leaving eight hundred slain upon 
 the field, and taking twelve hundred prisoners, amongst whom were 
 some of the Archbishop's murderers, who were afterwards hung. 
 
 * It is scarcely necessary to remind the reader that the Duke of 
 Monmouth, whose claims to the throne form so remarkable an episode 
 in English history, was the son of King Charles II. by Lucy Waters. 
 
208 OF AN ELEGY MADE BY MRS. WHARTON. 
 
 This, ill-requited Monmouth ! is the bough 
 The Muses send to shade thy conquering brow. 
 Lampoons, like squibs, may make a present blaze ; 
 But time and thunder pay respect to bays.* 
 Achilles' arms dazzle our present view, 
 Kept by the Muse as radiant and as new 
 As from the forge of Yulcan first they came ; 
 Thousands of years are past, and they the same; 
 Such care she takes to pay desert with fame ! 
 Than which no monarch, for his crown's defence, 
 Knows how to give a nobler recompence. 
 
 OF AN 3ELEGY MADE BY MRS. WHARTON f 
 ON THE EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 THtTS mourn the Muses ! on the hearse 
 Not strewing tears, but lasting verse, 
 Which so preserve the hero's name, 
 They 'make him live again in fame. 
 
 Chloris, in lines so like his own, 
 Gives him so just and high renown, 
 That she the afflicted world relieves, 
 And shows that still in her he lives > 
 Her wit as graceful, great, and good; 
 Allied in genius, as in blood. J 
 
 His loss supplied, now all our fears 
 Are, that the nymph should melt in tears. 
 
 * It was about this time that the story of the legitimacy of Mon- 
 mouth was revived by the Whigs, as a means of setting aside the 
 succession of the Duke of York. The bill of exclusion was read a 
 second time in the Commons while Monmouth was on his way to 
 Scotland. The consequences were fatal to Monmouth; the King 
 finding it necessary not only to declare publicly that no marriage 
 had ever taken place with Lucy Waters, but to dismiss Monmouth, 
 whom he passionately loved, from his office of Commander-in-chief. 
 
 t This lady was the daughter, and co-heiress with the Countess of 
 Abingdon, of Sir Henry Lee, of Ditchley, in Oxfordshire. 
 
 % The Earl of .Rochester's mother was Mrs. Wharton's great aunt. 
 
TO MR. CREECH. 209 
 
 Then, fairest Chloris ! comfort take, 
 For his, jour own, and for our sake. 
 Lest his fair soul, that lives in you, 
 Should from the world for ever go. 
 
 TO MR. CEEECH, 
 
 ON HIS TRANSLATION OF 'LUCRETIUS.'* 
 
 TTTHAT^all men wished, though few could hope to see, 
 
 * * We are now blessed with, and obliged by thee. 
 Thou, from the ancient, learned Latin store, 
 Giv'st us one author, and we hope for more. 
 May they enjoy thy thoughts! — -Let not the stag€ 
 The idlest moment of thy hours engage ; 
 Each year that place some wondrous monster breeds. 
 And the wit's garden is o'errun with weeds. 
 There, Farce is Comedy ; bombast called strong ; 
 Soft words, with nothing in them, make a song. 
 'Tis hard to say they steal them now-a-days; 
 For sure the ancients never wrote such plays. 
 These scribbling insects have what they deserve, 
 Not plenty, nor the glory for to starve. 
 That Spenser knew, that Tasso felt before; 
 And death found surly Ben exceeding poor. 
 Heaven turn the omen from their image here ! 
 May he with joy the well-placed laurel wear ! 
 Great Virgil's happier fortune may he find, 
 1 And be our Caesar, like Augustus, kind! 
 
 * Creech also translated Theocritus, most of the Odes of Horace, and 
 portions of Ovid and Juvenal. Dry den speaks highly of his merits as 
 a translator ; and VVarton is of opinion that even in his day he had 
 not been excelled. Time has reversed these judgments, and the 
 translations that were once in everybody's hands, and that were said 
 to have provoked the envy of Dryden, are now little read. Creech 
 early distinguished himself at Oxford by his classical attainments, 
 and having taken orders in 1699, at the age of forty, was presented by 
 his college with the living of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire. In the follow- 
 
 Iing year he terminated his existence. 
 WALLEB. 14 
 
210 OF HER MAJESTY, ON NEW-YEAR's DAY. 
 
 But let not this disturb thy tuneful head; 
 Thou writ'st for thy delight, and not for bread ; 
 Thou art not cursed to write thy verse with care ; 
 But art above what other poets fear. 
 What may we not expect from such a hand, 
 That has, with books, himself at free command] 
 Thou know'st in youth, what age has sought in vain; 
 And bring' st forth sons without a mother's pain. 
 So easy is thy sense, thy verse so sweet, 
 Thy words so proper, and thy phrase so fit, 
 We read, and read again ; and still admire [fire ! 
 
 Whence came this youth, and whence this wondrous 
 
 Pardon this rapture, sir ! but who can be 
 Cold, and unmoved, yet have his thoughts on thee 1 
 Thy goodness may my several faults forgive, 
 And by your help these wretched lines may live. 
 But if, when viewed by your severer sight, 
 They seem unworthy to behold the light, 
 Let them with speed in deserved flames be thrown! 
 They'll send no sighs, nor murmur out a groan; 
 But, dying silently, your justice own. 
 
 
 OF HEK MAJESTY, ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY, 1 683. 
 
 WHAT revolutions in the world have been, 
 How are we changed since we first saw the Queen ! 
 She, like the sun, does still the same appear, 
 Bright as she was at her arrival here ! 
 Time has commission mortals to impair, 
 But things celestial is obliged to spare. 
 
 May every new year find her still the same 
 In health and beauty as she hither came ! 
 When Lords and Commons, with united voice, 
 The Infanta named, approved the royal choice ;* 
 
 * The royal message announcing the king's intention to marry the 
 Infanta of Portugal was delivered in Parliament in May, 1661. 
 
OF THE INVASION AND DEFEAT OF THE TURKS. 211 
 
 First of our queens whom not the King alone, 
 But the whole nation, lifted to the throne. 
 
 With like consent, and like desert, was crowned 
 The glorious Prince * that does the Turk confound. 
 Yictorious both ! his conduct wins the day, 
 And her example chases vice away ; 
 Though louder fame attend the martial rage, 
 'Tis greater glory to reform the age. 
 
 OF TEA, COMMENDED BY HER MAJESTY. f 
 
 T7ENUS her myrtle, Phoebus has his bays ; 
 ^ Tea both excels, which she vouchsafes to praise. 
 The best of queens, and best of herbs, we owe 
 To that bold nation which the way did show 
 To the fair region where the sun does rise, 
 Whose rich productions we so justly prize. 
 The Muse's friend, tea does our fancy aid, 
 Repress those vapours which the head invade, 
 And keeps that palace of the soul serene, 
 Fit on her birth-day to salute the Queen. 
 
 OF THE INVASION AND DEFEAT OF THE 
 TURKS, IN THE YEAR 1 6 834 
 
 THE modern IsTimrod, with a safe delight 
 Pursuing beasts, that save themselves by night, 
 Grown proud, and weary of his wonted game, 
 Would Christians chase, and sacrifice to fame. 
 
 * John Sobieski, king of Poland. 
 t Tea was an article of luxury and costliness when these lines were 
 written. It was first introduced into England about the middle of the 
 seventeenth century. 
 
 X In July, 168 3, the Turks, under the command of the Grand 
 Vizier, Cara Mustapha, laid siege to Vienna, which they carried. In 
 September, John Sobieski, king of Poland, appeared at the head of his 
 legions, and produced so great a panic amongst the besiegers, that they 
 
 14—2 
 
212 OF THE INVASION AND 
 
 A prince with eunuchs and the softer sex 
 Shut up so long, would warlike nations vex, 
 Provoke the German, and, neglecting heaven, 
 Forget the truce for which his oath was given. 
 
 His Grand Vizier, presuming to invest 
 The chief imperial city of the west, 
 With the first charge compelled in haste to rise, 
 His treasure, tents, and cannon, left a prize ; 
 The standard lost, and janizaries slain, 
 iRenderthe hopes he gave his master vain. 
 The flying Turks, that bring the tidings home, 
 Henew the memory of his father's doom;* 
 And his guard murmurs, that so often brings 
 Down from the throne their unsuccessful kings. 
 
 The trembling Sultan's forced to expiate 
 His own ill-conduct by another's fate. 
 The Grand Vizier, a tyrant, though a slave, 
 A fair example to his master gave ; 
 He Bassa's head, to save his own, made fiyjt 
 And now, the Sultan to preserve, must die. 
 
 The fatal bowstring was not in his thought, 
 When, breaking truce, he so unjustly fought; 
 
 
 fled in precipitation, leaving their standard, and nearly the whole of 
 their ordnance on the field. The Janissaries, indignant at this dis- 
 creditable retreat, demanded justice in the eastern fashion on the 
 unfortunate commander ; and the Sultan, in self-preservation, was 
 compelled to give him up to their vengeance. The Grand Vizier was 
 accordingly strangled at Belgrade in the following December. It 
 appears that he was the victim of other passions besides those of war 
 and ambition. He had attained to the highest dignities a subject was 
 capable of enjoying, through the influence of the Sultaness-Mother, 
 with whom he had formed intimate relations. But before he had gone 
 npon this campaign he conceived an attachment for the Sultan's sister. 
 This flagrant infidelity was hot to be forgiven; and love, suddenly 
 converted into hate, mainly contributed to his ruin. The Sultaness- 
 Mother joined with the Janissaries in the demand for his execution, to 
 which the Sultan Mahomet at last unwillingly assented. 
 
 * Ibrahim, the father of Mahomet, was deposed and strangled in 1649. 
 
 f The Bassa of Buda, to whom the Sultan's sister was married. The 
 Vizier, upon a pretence that the Bassa had neglected his duty in 
 battle, but really to remove him out of the way of his suit to the princess, 
 put him to death. 
 
DEFEAT OF THE TURKS. 213 
 
 Made the world tremble with a numerous host, 
 And of undoubted victory did boast. 
 Strangled he lies ! yet seems to cry aloud, 
 To warn the mighty, and instruct the proud, 
 That of the great, neglecting to be just, 
 Heaven in a moment makes an heap of dust. 
 
 The Turks so low, why should the Christians lose 
 Such an advantage of their barbarous foes? 
 Neglect their present ruin to complete^ 
 Before another Solyman they get 1 
 Too late they would with; shame, repenting, dread 
 That numerous herd, by such a lion led; 
 He Rhodes and Buda from the Christians tore, 
 Which timely union might again restore. 
 
 But, sparing Turks, as if with rage possessed, 
 The Christians, perish, by themselves oppressed ;. 
 Cities and provinces so dearly won, 
 That the victorious people are undone! 
 
 What angel shall descend to reconcile 
 The Christian states, and end their guilty toil I 
 A prince more fit from heaven we cannot ask 
 Than Britain's king, for such a glorious task; 
 His dreadful navy, and his lovely mind, 
 Give him the fear and favour of mankind ; 
 His warrant does the Christian faith defend ; 
 On that relying, all their quarrels end. 
 The peace is signed,* and Britain does obtain 
 What Eome had sought from her fierce sons in vain. 
 
 In battles won Fortune a part doth claim, 
 And soldiers have their portion in the same ; 
 In this successful union we find 
 Only the triumph of a worthy mind. 
 'Tis all accomplished by his royal word, 
 Without unsheathing the destructive sword; 
 Without a tax upon his subjects laid, 
 Their peace disturbed, their plenty, or their trade. 
 
 * The peace of Nimeguen. 
 
214 A PRESAGE OF THE RUIN OP 
 
 And what can they to such a prince deny, 
 With whose desires the greatest kings comply] 
 
 The arts of peace are not to him unknown ; 
 This happy way he marched into the throne ; 
 And we owe more to heaven than to the sword, 
 The wished return of so benign a lord. 
 
 Charles ! by old Greece with a new freedom graced, 
 Above her antique heroes shall be placed. 
 What Theseus did, or Theban Hercules, 
 Holds no compare with this victorious peace, 
 Which on the Turks shall greater honour gain, 
 Than all their giants and their monsters slain : 
 Those are bold tales, in fabulous ages told; 
 This glorious act the living do behold. 
 
 A PRESAGE OF THE RUIN OF THE TURKISH 
 EMPIRE; 
 
 PRESENTED TO HIS MAJESTY KING JAMES II. ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 
 
 SINCE James the Second graced the British throne, 
 Truce, well observed, has been infringed by none; 
 Christians to him their present union owe, 
 And late success against the common foe ; 
 While neighbouring princes, loth to urge their fate, 
 Court his assistance, and suspend their hate. 
 So angry bulls the combat do forbear, 
 When from the wood a lion does appear. 
 
 This happy day peace to our island sent, 
 As now he gives it to the continent. 
 A prince more fit for such a glorious task, 
 Than England's king, from Heaven we cannot ask; 
 He, great and good ! proportioned to the work, 
 Their ill-drawn swords shall turn against the Turk. 
 
 Such kings, like stars with influence unconfined, 
 Shine with aspect propitious to mankind; 
 
THE TURKISH EMPIRE. 215 
 
 Favour the innocent, repress the bold, 
 
 And, while they flourish, make an age of gold. 
 
 Bred in the camp, famed for his valour young ; 
 At sea successful, vigorous, and strong; 
 His fleet, his army, and his mighty mind, 
 Esteem and reverence through the world do find. 
 A prince with such advantages as these, 
 Where he persuades not, may command a peace. 
 Britain declaring for the juster side, 
 The most ambitious will forget their pride; 
 They that complain will their endeavours cease, 
 Advised by him, inclined to present peace, 
 Join to the Turk's destruction, and then bring 
 All their pretences to so just a king. 
 
 If the successful troublers of mankind, 
 With laurel crowned, so great applause do find, 
 Shall the vexed world less honour yield to those 
 That stop their progress, and their rage oppose ? 
 Next to that power which does the ocean awe, 
 Is to set bounds, and give ambition law. 
 
 The British monarch shall the glory have, 
 That famous Greece remains no longer slave; 
 That source of art and cultivated thought ! 
 Which they to Home, and Romans hither brought. 
 
 The banished Muses shall no longer mourn, 
 But may with liberty to Greece return; 
 Though slaves, (like birds that sing not in a cage) 
 They lost their genius, and poetic rage ; 
 Homers again, and Pindars, may be found, 
 And his great actions with their numbers crowned. 
 
 The Turk's vast empire does united stand; 
 Christians, divided under the command 
 Of jarring princes, would be soon undone, 
 Did not this hero make their interest one; 
 Peace to embrace, ruin the common foe, 
 Exalt the Cross, and lay the Crescent low. 
 
 Thus may the Gospel to the rising sun 
 Be spread, and flourish where it first begun; 
 
216 SONGS. 
 
 And this great day, (so justly honoured here !) 
 Known to the East, and celebrated there. 
 
 Hsec ego longaevus cecini tibi, maxime regum ! 
 Ausus et ipse manu juvenum tentare laborem. — Virg. 
 
 SttWffc 
 
 STAY,..., PHCEBUS V. 
 
 STAY, Phoebus! stay; 
 The world to which you fly so fast, 
 Conveying day 
 
 Erom us to them, can pay your hasto 
 With no such object, nor salute your rise, 
 With no such wonder as De Mornay's; eyes. 
 
 Well does this prove 
 
 The error of. those antique books, 
 
 Which made you move 
 
 About the world; her charming looks 
 
 Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, 
 
 Did not the rolling earth snatch her away.* 
 
 PEACE, BABBLING MUSE ! 
 
 PEACE, babbling Muse ! 
 I dare not sing what you indite; 
 Her eyes refuse 
 To read the passion which they write. 
 She strikes my lute, but, if it sound, 
 Threatens to hurl it on the ground ; 
 
 * The lady to whom this song was addressed is supposed by Fenton 
 to have been a descendant of Philip de Mornay, the favourite of Henry 
 IV., and probably one of Queen Henrietta's attendants. 
 
CHLORIS ! FAREWELL. 217 
 
 And I no less her anger dread, 
 
 Than the poor wretch that feigns him dead, 
 
 While some fierce lion does embrace 
 
 His breathless corpse, and lick his face; 
 
 Wrapped np in silent fear he lies, 
 
 Torn all in pieces if he cries.. 
 
 GHLOEIS! 1AKEWELB. 
 
 /^HLORIS 1 farewell. I now must go ; 
 ^ For if with thee I longer stay, 
 Thy eyes prevail upon me so, 
 I shall prove blind, and lose my way. 
 
 Fame of thy beauty, and thy youth, 
 Among the rest, me hither brought; 
 Finding; this, fame fall short, of truth, 
 Made me stay longer than I thought. 
 
 For I'm engaged by word' and oath, 
 A servant to another's will; 
 Yet, for thy love, I'd forfeit both, 
 Could I be sure to keep it still. 
 
 But what assurance can I take, 
 When thou, foreknowing this abuse, 
 For some more worthy lover's sake, 
 Mayst leave me with so just excuse? 
 
 For thou mayst say, 'twas, not thy fault 
 That thou didst thus inconstant prove ; 
 Being by my example taught 
 To break thy, oath, to mend thy love*, 
 
 No, Chloris ! no : I will return, 
 And raise thy story to that height, 
 That strangers shall at distance burn^ 
 And she distrust me reprobate. 
 
 
218 SONGS. 
 
 Then shall my love this doubt displace, 
 And gain such trust, that I may come 
 And banquet sometimes on thy face, 
 But make my constant meals at home. 
 
 TO ELAVIA. 
 
 ?r PIS not your beauty can engage 
 J- My wary heart; 
 The sun, in all his pride and rage, 
 Has not that art ; 
 
 And yet he shines as bright as you, 
 If brightness could our souls subdue. 
 
 'Tis not the pretty things you say, 
 
 Nor those you write, 
 
 Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey; 
 
 For that delight, 
 
 The graces of a well-taught mind, 
 
 In some of our own sex we find. 
 
 No, Flavia ! 'tis your love I fear ; 
 
 Love's surest darts, 
 
 Those which so seldom fail him, are 
 
 Headed with hearts; 
 
 Their very shadows make us yield; 
 
 Dissemble well, and win the field. 
 
 BEHOLD THE BRAND OF BEAUTY TOSSED ! 
 
 BEHOLD the brand of beauty tossed ! 
 See how the motion does dilate the flame! 
 Delighted love his spoils does boast, 
 And triumph in this game. 
 Fire, to no place confined, 
 Is both our wonder and our fear ; 
 
GO, LOVELY HOSE! 219 
 
 Moving the mind, 
 
 As lightning hurled through the air. 
 
 High heaven the glory does increase 
 
 Of all her shining lamps, this artful way ; 
 
 The sun in figures, such as these, 
 
 Joys with the moon to play-; 
 
 To the sweet strains they advance, 
 
 Which do result from their own spheres) 
 
 As this nymph's dance 
 
 Moves with the numbers which she hears. 
 
 WHILE I LISTEN TO THY VOICE. 
 
 "TT7HILE I listen to thy voice, 
 
 * * Chloris ! I feel my life decay ; 
 That powerful noise 
 Calls my fleeting soul away. 
 Oh ! suppress that magic sound, 
 Which destroys without a wound. 
 
 Peace, Chloris ! peace ! or singing die, 
 
 That together you and I 
 
 To heaven may go; 
 
 For all we know 
 
 Of what the blessed do above, 
 
 Is, that they sing, and that they love. 
 
 GO, LOVELY ROSEl 
 
 GO, lovely Rose ! 
 Tell her that wastes her time and me, 
 That now she knows, 
 When I resemble her to -thee, 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 

 220 SONGS. 
 
 Tell her that's young, 
 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 
 In deserts, where no men abide, 
 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is, the worth 
 
 Of beauty from the light retired ; 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die! that she 
 
 The common fate of all things rar© 
 
 May read in thee ; 
 
 How small a part of time they share 
 
 That are so wondrous. sweet and fair! 
 
 SUNG BY MRS. KNIGHT, TO HER MAJESTY, 
 ON: HER BIRTHDAY. 
 
 THIS happy day two lights are seen, 
 A glorious saint, a matchless queen ; * 
 Both named? alike, both crowned appear, 
 The saint above, the Infanta here. 
 May all those years which Catherine 
 The martyr did for heaven resign, 
 Be added to tite line 
 Of your blessed life among us here ! 
 For all the pains that she did feel, 
 And all the torments of her wheel, 
 May you as many pleasures share ! 
 May Heaven, itself content 
 With Catherine the Saint !. 
 
 * Queen Catherine was born on the day set aparjt in the calendar for 
 the; c^jninemorationof.the.Dfiarityrdojn of St> Gsttherme. 
 
PROLOGUE FOR THE LADY ACTORS. 221 
 
 Without appearing old, 
 An hundred times may you, 
 With eyes as bright as now, 
 This welcome day behold! 
 
 |r0fept§ mi Mpk$m+ 
 
 PROLOGUE FOR THE LADY- ACTORS '1* 
 
 SPOKEN BEFORE KING CHARLES II. 
 
 AMAZE us not with that majestic frown, 
 But lay aside the greatness of your crown! 
 And for that look which does, your people awe, 
 When in your throne and robes you give them law, 
 Lay it by here, and give a gentler smile! 
 Such as we see great Jove's in picture, while 
 He listens to Apollo's charming lyre, 
 Or judges of the songs he does inspire. 
 Comedians on the stage show all their skill, 
 And after do as Love and Fortune will. 
 We are less careful, hid in this disguise; 
 In our own clothes more serious and more wise. 
 Modest at home, upon the stage more bold, 
 We seem warm lovers, though our breasts be cold; 
 A fault committed here deserves no scorn, 
 If we act well the parts to which we're born. 
 
 * The lady-actors at the court of Charles II. composed the most 
 brilliant company, perhaps, on record. The two princesses, afterwards 
 Queens of England, the Duke and Duchess of Monmouth, the former 
 condescending to appear as a dancer, the Duchess of Marlborough, 
 and nearly all the ladies of celebrity, acted in the masks and plays 
 presented at Whitehall, either in principal Characters, or in the groups 
 of dancers, nymphs, and attendants* 
 
222 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE c MAID'S TRAGEDY.'* 
 
 SCARCE should we have the boldness to pretend 
 So long-renowned a tragedy to mend, 
 Had not already some deserved your praise 
 With like attempt. Of all our elder plays 
 This and Philaster have the loudest fame ; 
 Great are their faults, and glorious is their flame. 
 In both our English genius is expressed ; 
 Lofty and bold, but negligently dressed. 
 
 Above our neighbours our conceptions are; 
 But faultless writing is the effect of care. 
 Our lines reformed, and not composed in haste, 
 Polished like marble, would like marble last. 
 But as the present, so the last age writ; 
 In both we find like negligence and wit. 
 Were we but less indulgent to our faults, 
 And patience had to cultivate our thoughts, 
 Our Muse would flourish, and a nobler rage 
 Would honour this than did the Grecian stage. 
 
 Thus says our author, not content to see 
 That others write as carelessly as he; 
 Though he pretends not to make things complete, 
 Yet, to please you, he'd have the poets sweat. 
 
 In this old play, what's new we have expressed 
 In rhyming verse, distinguished from the rest ; 
 That as the Rhone its hasty way does make 
 (Not mingling waters) through Geneva's lake, 
 So having here the different styles in view, 
 You may compare the former with the new. 
 
 If we less rudely shall the knot untie, 
 Soften the rigour of the tragedy, 
 
 * Waller made an alteration of the Maid's Tragedy, l to please the 
 court,' as we learn from the Preface to the Second Part of his Poems. 
 The alteration was designed, as he expresses it in the Prologue, to 
 * soften the rigour of the tragedy,' and the interpolations and substitu- 
 tions, the better to distinguish them from the original, were written in 
 rhyme. The experiment was, in every sense, a failure. 
 
EPILOGUE TO THE ' MAID'S TRAGEDY.' 223 
 
 And yet preserve each person's character, 
 Then to the other this you may prefer. 
 Tis left to you : the boxes, and the pit, 
 Are sovereign judges of this sort of wit. 
 In other things the knowing artist may 
 Judge better than th^ people ; but a play, 
 (Made for delight, and for no other use) 
 If you approve it not, has no excuse. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO THE 4 MAID'S TRAGEDY. ' 
 
 SPOKEN BY THE KING. 
 
 THE fierce Melantius was content, you see, 
 The king should live ; be not more fierce than he ; 
 Too long indulgent to so rude a time, 
 When love was held so capital a crime, 
 That a crowned head could no compassion find, 
 But died — because the killer had been kind ! 
 Nor is't less strange, such mighty wits as those 
 Should use a style in tragedy like prose. 
 Well-sounding verse, where princes tread the stage, 
 Should speak their virtue, or describe their rage. 
 By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids, 
 We learn that sound, as well as sense, persuades; 
 And verses are the potent charms we use, 
 Heroic thoughts and virtue to infuse. 
 
 When next we act this tragedy again, 
 Unless you like the change, we shall be slain. 
 The innocent Aspasia's life or death, 
 Amintor's too, depends upon your breath. 
 Excess of love was heretofore the cause ; 
 Now if we die, 'tis want of your applause. 
 
224 PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES. 
 
 EPILOGUE TO THE 4 MAID'S TKAGEDY.' 
 
 DESIGNED UPON THE FIRST ALTERATION OF THE PLAY, WHEN -THE 
 > KING ONLY WAS LEFT ALIVE.* 
 
 % SPASIA bleeding on the stage does lie, 
 -^ To show you still 'tis the Maid's Tmgedy. 
 The fierce Melantius was content, you see, 
 The king should live; be not more fierce than he.; 
 Too long indulgent to so rude a time, 
 When love was held so capital a ^crime, 
 That a crowned head could no compassion find, 
 But died — because the killer had' been kind ! 
 This better natured poet had reprieved 
 Gentle Amintor too, had he believed 
 The fairer sex his pardon could approve, 
 Who to ambition sacrificed, his love. 
 Aspasia he has spared ; but for her wound 
 (Neglected love!) there could no salve be found. 
 
 When next we act this tragedy again, 
 Unless you like the change, I must be slain. 
 Excess of love was heretofore the cause ; 
 Now if I die, 'tis want of your applause. 
 
 * This Epilogue, which is nearly the same as the former, was 
 written for the alterations as they were originally contemplated ; but 
 Waller, having seen occasion to change his plan, adapted the Epilogue 
 accordingly. 
 
 
225 
 
 UNDER A LADY S PICTURE. 
 
 OUCH Helen was! and who can blame the boy* 
 ^ That in so bright a name consumed his Troy? 
 But had like virtue shined in that fair Greek, 
 The amorous shepherd had not dared to seek 
 Or hope for pity ; but with silent moan, 
 And better fate, had perished alone. 
 
 OF A LADY WHO WRIT IN PRAISE OE MIR A. 
 
 WHILE she pretends to make the graces known 
 Of matchless Mira, she reveals her own ; 
 And when she would another's praise indite, 
 Is by her glass instructed how to write. 
 
 TO ONE MARRIED TO AN OLD MAN. 
 
 SINCE thou wouldst needs (bewitched with some ill 
 Be buried in those monumental arms, [charms !) 
 All we can wish is, may that earth lie light 
 Upon thy tender limbs ! and so good night. 
 
 AN EPIGRAM ON A PAINTED LADY WITH 
 ILL TEETH. 
 
 WERE men so dull they could not see 
 That Lyce painted; should they flee, 
 Like simple birds, into a net 
 So grossly woven and ill set, 
 
 * Paris. 
 WALLEE. 15 
 
226 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND FRAGMENTS. 
 
 Her own teeth would undo the knot, 
 And let all go that she had got. 
 Those teeth fair Lyce must not show 
 If she would bite ; her lovers, though 
 Like birds they stoop at seeming grapes, 
 Are disabused when first she gapes; 
 The rotten bones discovered there, 
 Show 'tis a painted sepulchre. 
 
 EPIGRAM UPON THE GOLDEN MEDAL.* 
 
 OUR guard upon the royal side ! 
 On the reverse our beauty's pride ! 
 Here we discern the frown and smile, 
 The force and glory of our isle. 
 In the rich medal, both so like 
 Immortals stand, it seems antique ; 
 Carved by some master, when the bold 
 Greeks made their Jove descend in gold, 
 And Danae wondering at their shower, 
 Which falling, stormed her brazen tower. 
 Britannia there, the fort in vain 
 Had battered been with golden rain; 
 Thunder itself had failed to pass ; 
 Virtue's a stronger guard than brass. 
 
 * This epigram alludes to the well-known original of the figure of 
 Britannia. Philippe Rotier, the medallist, being employed to cut the 
 die for the new coinage, transferred the portrait of the reigning 
 favourite, La Belle Stewart, to the reverse of the coin, where it may 
 still be seen, the likeness being transmitted with tolerable accuracy 
 through the hands of subsequent artists. He afterwards engraved her 
 profile for a medal, which Horace Walpole pronounces the most perfect 
 face he had ever seen. It is said of Rotier, that while Miss Stewart 
 sat to him, he conceived so violent a passion for her, that he nearly lost 
 his senses. That exquisite loveliness was afterwards fearfully impaired 
 by the ravages of the small-pox, which deprived her of the use of one 
 of her eyes. Waller repeats in his verses the compliment to Miss 
 Stewart's virtue, which, whether well or ill founded, appears to have 
 been generally credited at court. 
 
227 
 
 WRITTEN ON A CARD THAT HER MAJESTY 
 TORE AT OMBRE. 
 
 rPHE cards you tear in value rise; 
 -*- So do the wounded by your eyes. 
 Who to celestial things aspire, 
 Are by that passion raised the higher. 
 
 TO MR. GRANVILLE (NOW LORD LANSDOWNE), 
 
 ON HIS VERSES TO KING JAMES II. 
 
 \ N" early plant ! which such a blossom bears, 
 -£*- And shows a genius so beyond his years; 
 A judgment! that could make so fair a choice; 
 So high a subject to employ his voice; 
 Still as it grows, how sweetly will he sing 
 The growing greatness of our matchless King ! 
 
 LONG AND SHORT LIFE. 
 
 CIRCLES are praised, not that abound 
 In largeness, but the exactly round : 
 So life we praise that does excel 
 Not in much time, but acting well. 
 
 TRANSLATED OUT OF SPANISH. 
 
 THOUGH we may seem importunate, 
 While your compassion we implore ; 
 They whom you make too fortunate, 
 May with presumption vex you more. 
 
 15 — 2 
 
228 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND FRAGMENTS. 
 
 TRANSLATED OUT OF TRENCH. 
 
 T^ADE, flowers! fade, Nature will have it so; 
 -■- 'Tis but what we must in our autumn do ! 
 And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground, 
 The loss alone by those that loved them found. 
 So in the grave shall we as quiet lie^ 
 Missed by some few that loved our company; 
 But some so like to thorns and nettles live, 
 That none for them can, when they perish, grieve. 
 
 SOME YERSES OF AN IMPERFECT COPY, 
 
 DESIGNED FOR A FRIEND, ON HIS TRANSLATION OF OVID'S 'FASTI.* 
 
 ROME'S holy-days you tell, as if a guest 
 With the old Romans you were wont to feast. 
 Numa's religion, by themselves believed, 
 Excels the true, only in show received. 
 They made the nations round about them bow, 
 With their dictators taken from the plough; 
 Such power has justice, faith, and honesty! 
 The world was conquered by morality. 
 Seeming devotion does but gild a knave, 
 That's neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave; 
 But where religion does with virtue join, 
 It makes a hero like an angel shine. 
 
 ON THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES I. 
 
 AT CHARING CROSS, IN THE YEAR I6J4* 
 
 THAT the First Charles does here in triumph ride, 
 See his son reign where he a martyr died, 
 
 * Some particulars respecting this statue were collected by Horace 
 Walpole, to which subsequent research has added a few items of in- 
 terest. It appears that the statue was cast between 1630 and 1633, by 
 
PRIDE. 229 
 
 And people pay that reverence as they pass, 
 (Which then he wanted !) to the sacred brass, 
 Is not the effect of gratitude alone, 
 To which we owe the statue and the stone ; 
 But Heaven this lasting monument has wrought, 
 That mortals may eternally be taught 
 Rebellion, though successful, is but vain, 
 And kings so killed rise conquerors again. 
 This truth the royal image does proclaim, 
 Loud as the trumpet of surviving Fame. 
 
 PRIDE. 
 
 TVTOT the brave Macedonian youth * alone, 
 
 -*-^ But base Caligula, when on the throne, 
 
 Boundless in power, would make himself a god, 
 
 As if the world depended on his nod. 
 
 The Syrian King f to beasts was headlong thrown, 
 
 Ere to himself he could be mortal known. 
 
 The meanest wretch, if Heaven should give him line, 
 
 Would never stop till he were thought divine. 
 
 All might within discern the serpent's pride, 
 
 If from ourselves nothing ourselves did hide. 
 
 Hubert Le Soeur (a Frenchman, and pupil of John of Bologna), at the 
 cost of 600L, for the Lord Treasurer Weston (afterwards Earl of Port- 
 land) , to be set up in his lordship's gardens at Roehampton, in Surrey. 
 Walpole says that it was cast in a piece of ground near the church in 
 Covent-garden, but, not being erected before the commencement of the 
 civil war, the Parliament sold it to John Rivett, a brazier, living at the 
 Dial, near Holborn Conduit, with strict orders to break it in pieces. 
 Rivett, however, buried it underground till the Restoration, when it 
 was discovered and claimed by the Earl of Portland, who obtained 
 permission from the House of Commons (there being then no courts of 
 law open) for the sheriff to serve a replevin. Here there is an hiatus 
 in the narrative. It may be inferred, however, that Rivett finally 
 succeeded in establishing his right of property by purchase in the 
 statue. Strype says that the patriotic brazier presented it to the King. 
 It was finally set up in Charing-cross, in 1674, at the expense of the 
 Crown. The pedestal was made by Grinling Gibbons. 
 
 * Alexander. t Nebuchadnezzar. 
 
230 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND FRAGMENTS. 
 
 Let the proud peacock his gay feathers spread, 
 And woo the female to his painted bed ; 
 Let winds and seas together rage and swell; 
 This Nature teaches, and becomes them well. 
 ' Pride was not made for men : ' * a conscious sense 
 Of guilt, and folly, and their consequence, 
 Destroys the claim, and to beholders tells, 
 Here nothing but the shape of manhood dwells. 
 
 EPITAPH ON SIR GEORGE SPEKE. 
 
 UNDER this stone lies virtue, youth, 
 Unblemished probity and truth; 
 Just unto all relations known, 
 A worthy patriot, pious son; 
 Whom neighbouring towns so often sent, 
 To give their sense in parliament; 
 With lives and fortunes trusting one 
 Who so discreetly used his own. 
 Sober he was, wise, temperate, 
 Contented with an old estate, 
 Which no foul avarice did increase, 
 Nor wanton luxury make less. 
 While yet but young his father died, 
 And left him to a happy guide; 
 Not Lemuel's mother with more care 
 Did counsel or instruct her heir, 
 Or teach with more success her son 
 The vices of the time to shun. 
 An heiress she; while yet alive, 
 All that was hers to him did give; 
 And he just gratitude did show 
 To one that had obliged him so; 
 Nothing too much for her he thought, 
 By whom he was so bred and taught. 
 
 * Ecclus. x. 1 8. 
 
EPITAPH ON COLONEL CHARLES CAVENDISH. 231 
 
 So (early made that path to tread, 
 
 Which did his youth to honour lead) 
 
 His short life did a pattern give 
 
 How neighbours, husbands, friends, should live. 
 
 The virtues of a private life 
 Exceed the glorious noise and strife 
 Of battles won ; in those we find 
 The solid interest of mankind. 
 
 Approved by all, and loved so well, 
 Though young, like fruit that's ripe, he fell. 
 
 EPITAPH ON COLONEL CHAELES CAVENDISH.* 
 
 HERE lies Charles Ca'ndish : let the marble stone, 
 That hides his ashes, make his virtue known. 
 Beauty and valour did his short life grace, 
 The grief and glory of his noble race ! 
 Early abroad he did the world survey, 
 As if he knew he had not long to stay ; 
 Saw what great Alexander in the East, 
 And mighty Julius conquered in the West ; 
 Then, with a mind as great as theirs, he came 
 To find at home occasion for his fame ; 
 Where dark confusion did the nations hide, 
 And where the juster was the weaker side. 
 Two loyal brothers took their sovereign's part, 
 Employed their wealth, their courage, and their art; 
 The elder t did whole regiments afford; 
 The younger- brought his conduct and his sword. 
 Born to command, a leader he begun, 
 And on the rebels lasting honour won. 
 
 * Younger son of the Earl of Devonshire, and brother of Lady Rich. 
 He was slain in 1643 at Gainsborough, fighting on the King's side, 
 in the twenty-third year of his age. Cromwell, reporting (he action, 
 described the manner of his death. « My captain-lieutenant,' he 
 writes, ' slew him with a thrust under the short ribs.' 
 t Afterwards Earl of Devonshire. 
 
232 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND FRAGMENTS. 
 
 The horse, instructed by their general's worth, 
 Still made the King victorious in the north. 
 Where Ca'ndish fought, the Royalists prevailed; 
 Neither his courage, nor his judgment, failed. 
 The current of his victories found no stop, 
 Till Cromwell came, his party's chiefest prop. 
 Equal success had set these champions high, 
 And both resolved to conquer or to die. 
 Virtue with rage, fury with valour strove ; 
 But that must fall which is decreed above ! 
 Cromwell, with odds of number and of fate, 
 Removed this bulwark of the church and state ; 
 Which the sad issue of the war declared, 
 And made his task, to ruin both, less hard. 
 So when the bank, neglected, is o'erthrown, 
 The boundless torrent does the country drown. 
 Thus fell the young, the lovely, and the brave ; 
 
 Strew bays and flowers on his honoured grave 
 
 
 EPITAPH ON THE LADY SEDLEY.* 
 
 HERE lies the learned Savil's heir ; 
 So early wise, and lasting fair, 
 That none, except her years they told, 
 Thought her a child, or thought her old. 
 All that her father knew or got, 
 His art, his wealth, fell to her lot ; 
 And she so well improved that stock, 
 Both of his knowledge and his flock, 
 That wit and fortune, reconciled 
 In her, upon each other smiled. 
 While she, to every well-taught mind, 
 Was so propitiously inclined, 
 
 * This lady was the daughter of Sir Henry Savil, Provost of Eton. 
 She married Sir John Sedley, and was mother of the poet. 
 
EPITAPH ON THE SON OF LOKD ANDOVER. 233 
 
 And gave such title to her store, 
 
 That none, but the ignorant, were poor. 
 
 The Muses daily found supplies, 
 
 Both from her hands and from her eyes. 
 
 Her bounty did at once engage, 
 
 And matchless beauty warm, their rage. 
 
 Such was this dame in calmer days, 
 
 Her nation's ornament and praise ! 
 
 But when a storm disturbed our rest, 
 
 The port and refuge of the oppressed. 
 
 This made her fortune understood, 
 
 And looked on as some public good. 
 
 So that (her person and her state, 
 
 Exempted from the common fate) 
 
 In all our civil fury she 
 
 Stood, like a sacred temple, free. 
 
 May here her monument stand so, 
 
 To credit this rude age ! and show 
 
 To future times, that even we 
 
 Some patterns did of virtue see ; 
 
 And one sublime example had 
 
 Of good, among so many bad. 
 
 EPITAPH TO BE WRITTEN UNDER THE LATIN 
 
 INSCRIPTION UPON THE TOMB OP THE ONLY SON OF THE 
 EORD ANDOVER.* 
 
 ,r PIS fit the English reader should be told, 
 
 -■- In our own language, what this tomb does hold. 
 'Tis not a noble corpse alone does lie 
 Under this stone, but a whole family. 
 His parents' pious care, their name, their joy, 
 And all their hope, lies buried with this boy; 
 
 * Lord Andover was the eldest son of the Earl of Berkshire. The 
 youth for whom this epitaph was written died in 1641. 
 
234 EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND FRAGMENTS. 
 
 This lovely youth ! for whom we all made moan, 
 That knew his worth, as he had been our own. 
 
 Had there been space and years enough allowed, 
 His courage, wit, and breeding to have showed, 
 We had not found, in all the numerous roll 
 Of his famed ancestors, a greater soul ; 
 His early virtues to that ancient stock 
 Gave as much honour, as from thence he took. 
 
 Like buds appearing ere the frosts are passed, 
 To become man he made such fatal haste, 
 And to perfection laboured so to climb, 
 Preventing slow experience and time, 
 That 'tis no wonder Death our hopes beguiled; 
 He's seldom old that will not be a child. 
 
 EPITAPH UNFINISHED. 
 
 GREAT soul ! for whom Death will no longer stay, 
 But sends in haste to snatch our bliss away. 
 cruel Death ! to those you take more kind, 
 Than to the wretched mortals left behind ! 
 Here beauty, youth, and noble virtue shined, 
 Free from the clouds of pride that shade the mind. 
 Inspired verse may on this marble live, 
 But can no honour to thy ashes give 
 
235 
 
 giimu form* * 
 
 OF DIVINE LOVE. 
 
 A POEM. IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
 Floriferis ut apes in saltibus omnia libant ; 
 
 Sic nos Scripturse depascimur aurea dicta ; 
 
 Aurea ! perpetua semper dignissima vita ! . . . 
 
 Nam divinus amor cum caepit vociferari, 
 
 Diflfugiunt animi terrores. . . . Lucretius, lib. iii. 
 
 Exul eram, requiesque mihi, non fama, petita est, 
 Mens intenta suis ne foret usque malis : . . . 
 Namque ubi mota calent sacra mea pectora Musa, 
 Altior humano spiritus ille malo est. 
 
 Ovid. De Trist. lib. iv. el. 
 
 Arguments. — I. Asserting the authority of the Scripture, in which 
 this love is revealed. — II. The preference and love of God to man 
 in the creation. — III. The same love more amply declared in our 
 redemption. — IV. How necessary this love is to reform man- 
 kind, and how excellent in itself. — Y. Showing how happy 
 the world would be, if this love were universally embraced. — VI. 
 Of preserving this love in our memory, and how useful the con- 
 templation thereof is. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 THE Grecian muse has all their gods survived, 
 Nor Jove at us, nor Phoebus is arrived ; 
 Frail deities ! which first the poets made, 
 And then invoked, to give their fancies aid. 
 
 * These were the last poems composed by Waller. Most of them 
 were written when he was above eighty years of age. Fenton is of 
 opinion that they do not exhibit the same elevation and fire as his 
 earlier compositions. Dr. Johnson thinks that, had he written on the 
 same subjects, he could not have written better at any period, and that 
 he had lost none of his poetical power at eighty-two. It is true we 
 do not derive the same pleasure from these poems we receive from his 
 shorter compositions, addressed to lighter themes ; but we discern in 
 them the same careful art, the same diligent attention to metrical 
 structure, and the same sort of mosaic work in the execution. If as a 
 whole they are less attractive, the diminution of interest cannot be 
 
236 
 
 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 Yet if they still divert us with their rage, 
 What may be hoped for in a better age, 
 When not from Helicon's imagined spring, 
 But Sacred Writ, we borrow what we sing? 
 This with the fabric of the world begun, 
 Elder than light, and shall outlast the sun. 
 Before this oracle, like Dagon, all 
 The false pretenders, Delphos, Ammon, fall ; 
 Long since despised and silent, they afford 
 Honour and triumph to the eternal Word. 
 
 As late philosophy our globe has graced, 
 And rolling earth among the planets placed,* 
 So has this Book entitled us to heaven, 
 And rules to guide us to that mansion given ; 
 Tells the conditions how our peace was made, 
 And is our pledga for the great Author's aid. 
 His power in Nature's ample book we find, 
 But the less volume does express his mind. 
 
 This light unknown, bold Epicurus taught 
 That his blessed gods vouchsafe us not a thought, 
 But unconcerned let all below them slide, 
 As fortune does, or human wisdom, guide. 
 Religion thus removed, the sacred yoke, 
 And band of all society, is broke. 
 
 traced to the feebleness of age, or the lack of poetical energy, but 
 rather to the choice of topics, which restrained the fancy of the 
 writer, and in which his usual grace and dexterity had little room for 
 display. 
 
 * In this passage, and in the little song, Stay, Phoebus, stay ! Waller 
 alludes to the Copernican system, which, in the i<5th century, was dis- 
 cussed with the violence and fanaticism that generally attends philo- 
 sophical innovations. Copernicus began his observations about 1500. 
 Previously to his time the established belief referred all magnitudes to 
 the earth, which was considered as the principal object in the universe. 
 Copernicus revived, and confirmed, the Pythagorean theory, which 
 made the sun the centre of the system, and supposed the earth to 
 have a double revolution, moving round the sun, and round its own 
 axis, at the same time. The great work of Copernicus was published 
 in 1 543, and the first copy had scarcely reached his hands when he 
 died. He thus escaped the persecution which afterwards fell upon his 
 disciple, Galileo. 
 
OF DIVINE LOVE. 237 
 
 What use of oaths, of promise, or of test, 
 Where men regard no God but interest? 
 What endless war would jealous nations tear, 
 If none above did witness what they swear? 
 Sad fate of unbelievers, and yet just, 
 Among themselves to find so little trust ! 
 Were Scripture silent, Nature would proclaim, 
 Without a God, our falsehood and our shame. 
 To know our thoughts the object of his eyes, 
 Is the first step towards being good or wise ; 
 For though with judgment we on things reflect, 
 Our will determines, not our intellect. 
 Slaves to their passion, reason men employ 
 Only to compass what they would enjoy. 
 His fear to guard us from ourselves we need, 
 And Sacred Writ our reason does exceed; 
 For though heaven shows the glory of the Lord, 
 Yet something shines more glorious in his Word ; 
 His mercy this (which all his work excels !) 
 His tender kindness and compassion tells; 
 While we, informed by that celestial Book, 
 Into the bowels of our Maker look. 
 Love there revealed (which never shall have end, 
 Nor had beginning) shall our song commend; 
 Describe itself, and warm us with that flame 
 Which first from heaven, to make us happy, came. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 THE fear of hell, or aiming to be blessed, 
 Savours too much of private interest. 
 This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, 
 Who for their friends abandoned soul and all ; * 
 A greater yet from heaven to hell descends, 
 To save, and make his enemies his friends. 
 What line of praise can fathom such a love, 
 Which reached the lowest bottom from above? 
 
 * Exodus, xxxii. 32. Ep. to the Romans, ix. 3. 
 
238 DIVINE POEMS'. 
 
 The royal prophet,* that extended grace 
 From heaven to earth, measured but half that space. 
 The law was regnant, and confined his thought ; 
 Hell was not conquered when that poet wrote ; 
 Heaven was scarce heard of until He came down, 
 To make the region where love triumphs known. 
 
 That early love of creatures yet unmade, 
 To frame the world the Almighty did persuade; 
 For love it was that first created light, 
 Moved on the waters, chased away the night 
 From the rude Chaos, and bestowed new grace 
 On things disposed of to their proper place ; 
 Some to rest here, and some to shine above; 
 Earth, sea, and heaven, were all the effects of Jove. 
 And love would be returned ; but there was none 
 That to themselves or others yet were known; 
 The world a palace was without a guest, 
 Till one appears that must excel the rest; 
 One ! like the Author, whose capacious mind 
 Might, by the glorious work, the Maker find ; 
 Might measure heaven, and give each star a name; 
 With art and courage the rough ocean tame; 
 Over the globe with swelling sails might go, 
 And that 'tis round by his experience know; 
 Make strongest beasts obedient to his will, 
 And serve his use the fertile earth to till. 
 When, by his Word, God had accomplished all, 
 Man to create he did a council call ; 
 Employed his hand, to give the dust he took 
 A graceful figure, and majestic look; 
 With his own breath conveyed into his breast 
 Life, and a soul fit to command the rest; 
 Worthy alone to celebrate his name 
 For such a gift, and tell from whence it came. 
 Birds sing his praises in a wilder note, 
 But not with lasting numbers and with thought, 
 
 * David. 
 
 
OF DIVINE LOVE. 239 
 
 Man's great prerogative ! but above all 
 
 His grace abounds in his new favourite's fall. 
 
 If he create, it is a world he makes ; 
 If he be angry, the creation shakes ; 
 From his just wrath our guilty parents fled; 
 He cursed the earth, but bruised the serpent's head. 
 Amidst the storm his bounty did exceed, 
 In the rich promise of the Virgin's seed ; 
 Though justice death, as satisfaction, craves, 
 Love finds a way to pluck us from our graves. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 NOT willing terror should his image move; 
 He gives a pattern of eternal love ; 
 His Son descends to treat a peace with those 
 Which were, and must have ever been, his foes. 
 Poor he became, and left his glorious seat 
 To make us humble, and to make us great; 
 His business here was happiness to give 
 To those whose malice could not let him live. 
 
 Legions of angels, which he might have used, 
 (For us resolved to perish) he refused; 
 While they stood ready to prevent his loss, 
 Love took him up, and nailed him to the cross. 
 Immortal love ! which in his bowels reigned, 
 That we might be by such great love constrained 
 To make return of love. Upon this pole 
 Our duty does, and our religion, roll. 
 To love is to believe, to hope, to know; 
 'Tis an essay, a taste of heaven below ! 
 
 He to proud potentates would not be known; 
 Of those that loved him he was hid from none. 
 Till love appear we live in anxious doubt; 
 But smoke will vanish when that flame breaks out ; 
 This is the fire that would consume our dross, 
 Refine, and make us richer by the loss. 
 

 240 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, 
 We should agree as angels do above. 
 Where love presides, not vice alone does find 
 No entrance there, but virtues stay behind ; 
 Both faith, and hope, and all the meaner train 
 Of mortal virtues, at the door remain. 
 Love only enters as a native there, 
 For, born in heaven, it does but sojourn here. 
 
 He that alone would wise and mighty be, 
 Commands that others love as well as he. 
 Love as he loved! — How can we soar so high? — 
 He can add wings, when he commands to fly. 
 JNor should we be with this command dismayed; 
 He that examples gives, will give his aid; 
 For he took flesh, that where his precepts fail, 
 His practice, as a pattern, may prevail. 
 His love, at once, and dread, instruct our thought ; 
 As man he suffered, and as God he taught. 
 Will for the deed he takes ; we may with ease 
 Obedient be, for if we love we please. 
 Weak though we are, to love is no hard task, 
 And love for love is all that Heaven does ask. 
 Love ! that would all men just and temperate make, 
 Kind to themselves, and others, for his sake. 
 
 'Tis with our minds as with a fertile ground, 
 Wanting this love they must with weeds abound, 
 (Unruly passions) whose effects are worse 
 Than thorns and thistles springing from the curse 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 TO glory man, or misery, is born, 
 Of his proud foe the envy, or the scorn; 
 Wretched he is, or happy, in extreme ; 
 Base in himself, but great in Heaven's esteem ; 
 With love, of all created things the best; 
 Without it, more pernicious than the rest ; 
 
OF DIVINE LOVE. 241 
 
 For greedy wolves unguarded sheep devour 
 But while their hunger lasts, and then give o'er; 
 Man's boundless avarice his wants exceeds, 
 And on his neighbours round about him feeds. 
 
 His pride and vain ambition are so vast, 
 That, deluge-like, they lay whole nations waste. 
 Debauches and excess (though with less noise) 
 As great a portion of mankind destroys. 
 The beasts and monsters Hercules oppressed, 
 Might in that age some provinces infest; 
 These more destructive monsters are the bane 
 Of every age, and in all nations reign ; 
 But soon would vanish, if the world were blessed 
 With sacred love, by which they are repressed. 
 
 Impendent death, and guilt that threatens hell, 
 Are dreadful guests, which here with mortals dwell; 
 And a vexed conscience, mingling with their joy 
 Thoughts of despair, does their whole life annoy ; 
 But love appearing, all those terrors fly; 
 We live contented, and contented die. 
 They in whose breast this sacred love has place, 
 Death, as a passage to their joy, embrace. 
 Clouds and thick vapours, which obscure the day, 
 The sun's victorious beams may chase away; 
 Those which our life corrupt and darken, love 
 (The nobler star !) must from the soul remove. 
 Spots are observed in that which bounds the year; 
 This brighter sun moves in a boundless sphere ; 
 Of heaven the joy, the glory, and the light, 
 Shines among angels, and admits no night. 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 THIS Iron Age (so fraudulent and bold !) 
 Touched with this love, would be an Age of Gold; 
 Not, as they feigned, that oaks should honey drop, 
 Or land neglected bear an unsown crop; 
 wallee. 16 
 
242 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 Love would make all things easy, safe, and cheap; 
 None for himself would either sow or reap ; 
 Our ready help, and mutual love, would yield 
 A nobler harvest than the richest field. 
 Famine and death, confined to certain parts, 
 Extended are by barrenness of hearts. 
 Some pine for want where others surfeit now; 
 But then we should the use of plenty know. 
 Love would betwixt the rich and needy stand, 
 And spread heaven's bounty with an equal hand; 
 At once the givers and receivers bless, 
 Increase their joy, and make their suffering less. 
 Who for himself no miracle would make, 
 Dispensed with several for the people's sake; 
 He that, long fasting, would no wonder show, 
 Made loaves and fishes, as they ate them, grow, 
 Of all his power, which boundless was above, 
 Here he used none but to express his love ; 
 And such a love would make our joy exceed, 
 Not when our own, but other mouths we feed. 
 
 Laws would be useless which rude nature awe ; 
 Love, changing nature, would prevent the law; 
 Tigers and lions into dens we thrust, 
 But milder creatures with their freedom trust. 
 Devils are chained, and tremble; but the Spouse 
 No force but love, nor bond but bounty, knows. 
 Men (whom we now so fierce and dangerous see) 
 Would guardian angels to each other be; 
 Such wonders can this mighty love perform, 
 Vultures to doves, wolves into lambs transform ! 
 Love what Isaiah prophesied can do,* 
 Exalt the valleys, lay the mountains low, 
 Humble the lofty, the dejected raise, [ways. 
 
 Smooth and make straight our rough and crooked 
 Love, strong as death, and like it, levels all; 
 With that possessed, the great in title fall ; 
 
 * Isaiah, xl. 4. 
 
OF DIVINE LOVE. 243 
 
 Themselves esteem but equal to the least, 
 
 Whom Heaven with that high character has blessed. 
 
 This love, the centre of our union, can 
 
 Alone bestow complete repose on man; 
 
 Tame his wild appetite, make inward peace, 
 
 And foreign strife among the nations cease. 
 
 No martial trumpet should disturb our rest, 
 
 Nor princes arm, though to subdue the East; 
 
 Where for the tomb so many heroes (taught 
 
 By those that guided their devotion) fought. 
 
 Thrice happy we, could we like ardour have 
 
 To gain his love, as they to win his grave ! 
 
 Love as he loved ! A love so unconfined, 
 
 With arms extended, would embrace mankind. 
 
 Self-love would cease, or be dilated, when 
 
 We should behold as many selfs as men ; 
 
 All of one family, in blood allied, 
 
 His precious blood, that for our ransom died. 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 THOUGH the creation (so divinely taught !) 
 Prints such a lively image on our thought, 
 That the first spark of new-created light, 
 From Chaos struck, affects our present sight; 
 Yet the first Christians did esteem more blessed 
 The day of rising, than the day of rest, 
 That every week might new occasion give, 
 To make his triumph in their memory live. 
 Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm, 
 To keep his blood among us ever warm, 
 And singing as the blessed do above, 
 With our last breath dilate this flame of love. 
 But on so vast a subject who can find 
 Words that may reach the idea of his mind? 
 Our language fails ; or, if it could supply, 
 What mortal thought can raise itself so high? 
 
 16—2 
 
244 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 Despairing here, we might abandon art, 
 And only hope to have it in our heart. 
 But though we find this sacred task too hard 
 Yet the design, the endeavour, brings reward. 
 The contemplation does suspend our woe, 
 And makes a truce with all the ills we know. 
 As Saul's afflicted spirit, from the sound 
 Of David's harp, a present solace found ; * 
 So on this theme while we our Muse engage, 
 No wounds are felt, of fortune or of age. 
 On divine love to meditate is peace, 
 And makes all care of meaner things to cease. 
 
 Amazed at once, and comforted, to find 
 A boundless power so infinitely kind, 
 The soul contending to that light to flee 
 From her dark cell, we practise how to die ; 
 Employing thus the poet's winged art, 
 To reach this love, and grave it in our heart. 
 Joy so complete, so solid, and severe, 
 Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there; 
 Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone, 
 When from the East the rising sun comes on. 
 
 OF THE FEAR OF GOD. 
 
 IN TWO CANTOS. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 THE fear of God is freedom, joy, and peace, 
 And makes all ills that vex us here to cease. 
 Though the word fear, some men may ill endure, 
 'Tis such a fear as only makes secure. 
 Ask of no angel to reveal thy fate ; 
 Look in thy heart, the mirror of thy state. 
 He that invites will not the invited mock, 
 Opening to all that do in earnest knock. 
 
 * i Sam. xvi. z3- 
 
OF THE FEAR OF GOD. 245 
 
 Our hopes are all well-grounded on this fear ; 
 ' All our assurance rolls upon that sphere. 
 This fear, that drives all other fears away, 
 Shall be my song, the morning of our day ! 
 Where that fear is, there's nothing to be feared; 
 It brings from heaven an angel for a guard. 
 Tranquillity and peace this fear does give; 
 Hell gapes for those that do without it live. 
 It is a beam, which he on man lets fall, 
 Of light, by which he made and governs all. 
 'Tis God alone should not offended be ; 
 But we please others, as more great than he. 
 For a good cause, the sufferings of man 
 May well be borne; 'tis more than angels can. 
 Man, since his fall, in no mean station rests, 
 Above the angels, or below the beasts. 
 He with true joy their hearts does only fill, 
 That thirst and hunger to perform his will. 
 Others, though rich, shall in this world be vexed, 
 And sadly live in terror of the next. 
 The world's great conqueror' 5 "" would his point pursue. 
 And wept because he could not find a new; 
 Which had he done, yet still he would have cried, 
 To make him work until a third he spied. 
 Ambition, avarice, will nothing owe 
 To Heaven itself, unless it make them grow. 
 Though richly fed, man's care does still exceed; 
 Has but one mouth, yet would a thousand feed. 
 In wealth and honour, by such men possessed, 
 If it increase not, there is found no rest. 
 All their delight is while their wish comes in ; 
 Sad when it stops, as there had nothing been. 
 'Tis strange men should neglect their present store ? 
 And take no joy but in pursuing more; 
 No ! though arrived at all the world can aim ; 
 This is the mark and glory of our frame. 
 
 * Alexander. 
 
246 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 A soul capacious of the Deity, 
 
 Nothing but he that made can satisfy. 
 
 A thousand worlds, if we with him compare, 
 
 Less than so many drops of water are. 
 
 Men take no pleasure but in new designs; 
 
 And what they hope for, what they have outshines. 
 
 Our sheep and oxen seem no more to crave, 
 
 With full content feeding on what they have; 
 
 Vex not themselves for an increase of store, 
 
 But think to-morrow we shall give them more. 
 
 What we from day to day receive from Heaven, 
 
 They do from us expect it should be given. 
 
 We made them not, yet they on us rely, 
 
 More than vain men upon the Deity; 
 
 More beasts than they ! that will not understand 
 
 That we are fed from his immediate hand, 
 
 Man, that in him has being, moves, and lives, 
 
 What can he have, or use, but what he gives'? 
 
 So that no bread can nourishment afford, 
 
 Or useful be, without his Sacred Word. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 EARTH praises conquerors for shedding blood, 
 Heaven those that love their foes, and do them 
 It is terrestrial honour to be crowned [g°°d- 
 
 For str owing men, like rushes, on the ground. 
 True glory 'tis to rise above them all, 
 Without the advantage taken by their fall. 
 He that in sight diminishes mankind, 
 Does no addition to his stature find; 
 But he that does a noble nature show, 
 Obliging others, still does higher grow; 
 For virtue practised such a habit gives, 
 That among men be like an angel lives; 
 Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell, 
 Loved and admired by those he does excel. 
 Fools anger show, which politicians hide; 
 Blessed with this fear, men let it not abide. 
 
OF THE FEAR OF GOD. 247 
 
 The humble man, when he receives a wrong, 
 
 Refers revenge to whom it doth belong; 
 
 Nor sees he reason why he should engage, 
 
 Or vex his spirit for another's rage. 
 
 Placed on a rock, vain men he pities, tossed 
 
 On raging waves, and in the tempest lost. 
 
 The rolling planets, and the glorious sun, 
 
 Still keep that order which they first begun; 
 
 They their first lesson constantly repeat, 
 
 "Which their Creator as a law did set. 
 
 Above, below, exactly all obey; 
 
 But wretched men have found another way ; 
 
 Knowledge of good and evil, as at first, 
 
 (That vain persuasion !) keeps them still accursed ! 
 
 The Sacred Word refusing as a guide, 
 
 Slaves they become to luxury and pride. 
 
 As clocks, remaining in the skilful hand 
 
 Of some great master, at the figure stand, 
 
 But when abroad, neglected they do go, 
 
 At random strike, and the false hour do show; 
 
 So from our Maker wandering, we stray, 
 
 Like birds that know not to their nests the way. 
 
 In him we dwelt before our exile here, 
 
 And may, returning, find contentment there, 
 
 True joy may find, perfection of delight, 
 
 Behold his face, and shun eternal night. 
 
 Silence, my Musei make not these jewels cheap, 
 Exposing to the world too large a heap. 
 Of all we read, the Sacred Writ is best, 
 Where great truths are in fewest words expressed. 
 
 Wrestling with death, these lines I did indite ; 
 No other theme could give my soul delight. 
 O that my youth had thus employed ray pen ! 
 Or that I now could write as well as then ! 
 But 'tis of grace, if sickness, age, and pain, 
 Are felt as throes, when we are born again; 
 Timely they come to wean us from this earth, 
 As pangs that wait upon a second birth. 
 
24:8 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 OF DIVINE POESY. 
 
 TWO CANTOS. 
 
 Occasioned upon sight of the 53rd chapter of Isaiah turned into verse 
 by Mrs. Wharton. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 
 
 POETS we prize, when in their verse we find 
 Some great employment of a worthy mind. 
 Angels have been inquisitive to know 
 The secret which this oracle does show. 
 What was to come, Isaiah did declare, 
 Which she describes as if she had been there ; 
 Had seen the wounds, which, to the reader's view, 
 She draws so lively that they bleed anew. 
 As ivy thrives which on the oak takes hold, 
 So with the prophet's may her lines grow old! 
 If they should die, who can the world forgive, 
 (Such pious lines!) when wanton Sappho's live? 
 Who with his breath his image did inspire, 
 Expects it should foment a nobler fire ; 
 ~Not love which brutes as well as men may know, 
 But love like his, to whom that breath we owe. 
 Verse so designed, on that high subject wrote, 
 Is the perfection of an ardent thought ; 
 The smoke which we from burning incense raise, 
 When we complete the sacrifice of praise. 
 In boundless verse the fancy soars too high 
 For any object but the Deity. 
 What mortal can with Heaven pretend to share 
 In the superlatives of wise and fair? 
 A meaner subject when with these we grace, 
 A giant's habit on a dwarf we place. 
 Sacred should be the product of our Muse, 
 Like that sweet oil, above all private use, 
 On pain of death forbidden to be made, 
 But when it should be on the altar laid. 
 
OF DIVINE POESY. 249 
 
 V erse shows a rich inestimable vein, 
 
 When, dropped from heaven, 'tis thither sent again. 
 
 Of bounty 'tis that he admits our praise, 
 Which does not him, but us that yield it, raise ; 
 For as that angel up to heaven did rise, 
 Borne on the name of Manoah's sacrifice, 
 So, winged with praise, we penetrate the sky; 
 Teach clouds and stars to praise him as we fly; 
 The whole creation, (by our fall made groan!) 
 His praise to echo, and suspend their moan. 
 For that he reigns, all creatures should rejoice, 
 And we with songs supply their want of voice. 
 The church triumphant, and the church below, 
 In songs of praise their present union show; 
 Their joys are full; our expectation long; 
 In life we differ, but we join in song. 
 Angels and we, assisted by this art, 
 May sing together, though we dwell apart. 
 Thus we reach heaven, while vainer poems must 
 No higher rise than winds may lift the dust. 
 From that they spring ; this from his breath that gave, 
 To the first dust, the immortal soul we have ; 
 His praise well sung, (our great endeavour here) 
 Shakes off the dust, and makes the breath appear. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 HE that did first this way of writing grace, * 
 Conversed with the Almighty face to face ; 
 Wonders he did in sacred verse unfold, 
 When he had more than eighty winters told. 
 The writer feels no dire effect of age, 
 Nor verse, that flows from so divine a rage. 
 Eldest of Poets, he beheld the light, 
 When first it triumphed o'er eternal night ; 
 Chaos he saw, and could distinctly tell 
 How that confusion into order fell. 
 
 * Moses. 
 
250 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 As if consulted with, he has expressed 
 The work of the Creator, and his rest ; 
 How the flood drowned the first offending race, 
 Which might the figure of our globe deface. 
 For new-made earth, so even and so fair, 
 Less equal now, uncertain makes the air; 
 Surprised with heat, and unexpected cold, 
 Early distempers make our youth look old ; 
 Our days so evil, and so few, may tell 
 That on the ruins of that world we dwell. 
 Strong as the oaks that nourished them, and high, 
 That long-lived race did on their force rely, 
 Neglecting Heaven; but we, of shorter date! 
 Should be more mindful of impendent fate. 
 To worms, that crawl upon this rubbish here, 
 This span of life may yet too long appear ; 
 Enough to humble, and to make us great, 
 If it prepare us for a nobler seat. 
 Which well observing, he, in numerous lines, 
 Taught wretched man how fast his life declines ; 
 In whom he dwelt before the world was made, 
 And may again retire when that shall fade. 
 The lasting Iliads have not lived so long 
 As his and Deborah's triumphant song. 
 Delphos unknown, no Muse could them inspire, 
 But that which governs the celestial choir. 
 Heaven to the pious did this art reveal, 
 And from their store succeeding poets steal. 
 Homer's Scamander for the Trojans fought, 
 And swelled so high, by her old Kishon taught. 
 His river scarce could fierce Achilles stay; 
 Hers, more successful, swept her foes away. 
 The host of heaven, his Phoebus and his Mars, 
 He arms, instructed by her fighting stars. 
 She led them all against the common foe; 
 But he (misled by what he saw below !) 
 The powers above, like wretched men, divides, 
 And breaks their union into different sides. 
 
 
ON THE PARAPHRASE OF THE LORD'S PRAYER. 251 
 
 The noblest parts which in his heroes shine, 
 May be but copies of that heroine. 
 Homer himself, and Agamemnon, she 
 The writer could, and the commander, be. 
 Truth she relates in a sublimer strain, 
 Than all the tales the boldest Greeks could feign; 
 For what she sung that Spirit did indite, 
 Which gave her courage, and success, in fight. 
 A double garland crowns the matchless dame; 
 From Heaven her poem, and her conquest, came. 
 
 Though of the Jews she merit most esteem, 
 Yet here the Christian has the greater theme ; 
 Her martial song describes how Sisera fell ; 
 This sings our triumph over death and hell. 
 The rising light employed the sacred breath 
 Of the blest Yirgin and Elizabeth. 
 In songs of joy the angels sung his birth; 
 Here how he treated was upon the earth 
 Trembling we read ! the affliction and the scorn, 
 Which for our guilt so patiently was borne ! 
 Conception, birth, and suffering, all belong, 
 (Though various parts) to one celestial song; 
 And she, well using so divine an art, 
 Has in this concert sung the tragic part. 
 
 As Hannah's seed was vowed to sacred use, 
 So here this lady consecrates her Muse. 
 With like reward may Heaven her bed adorn, 
 With fruit as fair as by her Muse is born ! 
 
 ON THE PARAPHRASE OF THE LORD'S PRAYER, 
 
 WRITTEN BY MRS. WHARTON. 
 
 SILENCE, you winds ! listen, ethereal lights ! 
 While our Urania sings what Heaven indites; 
 The numbers are the nymph's; but from above 
 Descends the pledge of that eternal love. 
 
2/52 
 
 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 Here wretched mortals have not leave alone, 
 But are instructed, to approach his throne ; 
 And how can he to miserable men 
 Deny requests which his own hand did pen? 
 
 In the Evangelists we find the prose 
 Which, paraphrased by her, a poem grows; 
 A devout rapture ! so divine a hymn, 
 It may become the highest seraphim ! 
 For they, like her, in that celestial choir, 
 Sing only what the spirit does inspire. 
 Taught by our Lord, and theirs, with us they may 
 For all but pardon for offences pray. 
 
 SOME REFLECTIONS OF HIS UPON THE SEVERAL 
 PETITIONS IN THE SAME PRAYER. 
 
 I 
 
 HIS sacred name with reverence profound 
 Should mentioned be, and trembling at the 
 It was Jehovah ; 'tis Our Father now ; [sound ! 
 
 So low to us does Heaven vouchsafe to bow!'* 
 He brought it down, that taught us how to pray; 
 And did so dearly for our ransom pay. 
 
 2 
 
 His kingdom come. For this we pray in vain, 
 Unless he does in our affections reign. 
 Absurd it were to wish for such a King, 
 And not obedience to his sceptre bring, 
 Whose yoke is easy, and his burthen light, 
 His service freedom, and his judgments right. 
 
 3 
 
 His will be done. In fact 'tis always done ; 
 But, as in heaven, it must be made our own. 
 
 * Psalm xviii. 9. 
 
 
REFLECTIONS ON THE LORD'S PRAYER. 253 
 
 His will should all our inclinations sway, 
 Whom Nature, and the universe, obey. 
 Happy the man 1 whose wishes are confined 
 To what has been eternally designed; 
 Referring all to his paternal care, 
 To whom more dear than to ourselves we are. 
 
 4 
 
 It is not what our avarice hoards up ; 
 
 'Tis he that feeds us, and that fills our cup; 
 
 Like new-born babes depending on the breast, 
 
 From day to day we on his bounty feast; 
 
 Nor should the soul expect above a day, 
 
 To dwell in her frail tenement of clay; 
 
 The setting sun should seem to bound our race, 
 
 And the new day a gift of special grace. 
 
 5 
 
 That he should all our trespasses forgive, 
 While we in hatred with our neighbours live; 
 Though so to pray may seem an easy task, 
 We curse ourselves when thus inclined we ask. 
 This prayer to use, we ought with equal care 
 Our souls, as to the sacrament, prepare. 
 The noblest worship of the Power above, 
 Is to extol, and imitate his love ; 
 Not to forgive our enemies alone, 
 But use our bounty that they may be won. 
 
 6 
 Guard us from all temptations of the foe; 
 And those we may in several stations know; 
 The rich and poor in slippery places stand. 
 Give us enough ! but with a sparing hand ! 
 Not ill-persuading want, nor wanton wealth, 
 But what proportioned is to life and health. 
 For not the dead, but living, sing thy praise, 
 Exalt thy kingdom, and thy glory raise. 
 
 Favete Unguis ! 
 
 Virginibus puerisque canto. — Hon. 
 
254 DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 ON THE FOEEGOING DIVINE POEMS. 
 
 TT7HEN we for age could neither read nor write, 
 *^ The subject made us able to indite; 
 The soul, with nobler resolutions decked, 
 The body stooping, does herself erect. 
 No mortal parts are requisite to raise 
 Her that, unbodied, can her Maker praise. 
 
 The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; 
 So, calm are we when passions are no more ! 
 For then we know how vain it was to boast 
 Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. 
 Clouds of affection from our younger eyes 
 Conceal that emptiness which age descries. 
 
 The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
 Lets in new light through chinks that time has made ; 
 Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, 
 As they draw near to their eternal home. 
 Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, 
 That stand upon the threshold of the new. 
 
 Miratur limen Olympi. — Virg. 
 
 THE END. 
 
POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 WALLER'S AUTOGRAPH. 
 
 Few autographs of distinguished men of the 17th 
 century are so rare as that of Edmund Waller. 
 There is no trace of his hand-writing in the British 
 Museum ; nor am I aware of any public libraries, 
 or collections, in which MSS. of his are preserved. 
 The scarcity of such reliques may be partly accounted 
 for by the fact that Waller wrote little, either in 
 prose or poetry, and held no public Employments 
 which made demands upon his pen. Although he 
 maintained intimate relations, at different periods, 
 with the most celebrated persons of his time, he 
 does not appear to have kept up a correspondence 
 with any of them. The two or three letters of his 
 that survive in print are written on special subjects, 
 and betray as much labour as his verse. The pains 
 it cost him to satisfy his taste would seem to have 
 rendered correspondence irksome to him. 
 
 Aubrey says of Waller, ' He writes a lamentable 
 hand, as bad as the scratching of a hen.' This de- 
 scription is a little exaggerated, as I am enabled to 
 show by the kindness of my friend, Dudley Costello, 
 Esq., from whose accurate tracings the following fac- 
 similes have been engraved. They are taken from 
 an old black-letter copy of Chaucer, sold by Mr. 
 Pickering in 1836. The volume is in folio, and 
 wants the title-page and two or three leaves at the 
 beginning ; but the edition is determined by the 
 inscription on the colophon : — 
 
 Imprinted at London, by Jhon Kynston, for Jhon 
 Wight, dwellyng in Paules Churchy arde. Anno i56i. 
 
 This is the edition that was edited by Stowe, of 
 which the following is the full title-page : — 
 
 The Woorkes of Geffrey Chaucer, newlie printed with 
 diuers Addicions, whiche were neuer in Print before : 
 with the Siege and Destruction of the worthy Citee of 
 Thebes, compiled by Jhon Lidgate, Monk of Berie, 1561. 
 London, by Jhon Kynston for Jhon Wight, 1561. Folio. 
 
 At the top of the inside of the cover is the 
 annexed inscription in Waller's hand- writing : — 
 
 ^ 
 
256 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 And also on the inside of the cover appears the subjoined sig- 
 nature : — 
 
 C'cl' ^affltsr 
 
 On the first page, beginning with the line in the Prologu 
 Let Austin have his swinke to him reserved, 
 is another signature : — 
 
 w: 
 
 
 The inside of the second cover is scrawled over with a variety of 
 inscriptions in prose and verse, and, amongst them, occurs the 
 following, written by Waller, with the signature purposely defaced: — 
 
 The noble Chaucer writt in praies of weomen : and, to set forth 
 his witt. it is a pattern of poetrie for all men to learn bye and shall 
 be kept for eternitie. 
 
 Upon the same cover is another signature, scarcely less interest- 
 ing than that of the poet himself, with the year in which it was 
 written placed under it at a little distance : — 
 
 The Christian name of Waller's first wife was Anna; but as she 
 died about 1635, this could not have been her autograph. There 
 can be no doubt that it was the signature of Waller's mother, who 
 survived to a much later period, and whose name was Ann. 
 
 The volume of Chaucer from which these autographs have been 
 copied is in the possession of Newman Smith, Esq. 
 
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