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Of odoriferous breath; no other sport
They could enjoy; yet think the time but short,
And wish that it again renewed were,
To suck each other's breath for ever there.
Sometimes they did exclaim against their fate,
And sometimes they accus'd imperial Jove;
Sometimes repent their flames; but all too late;
The arrow could not be recall'd: their state
Was first ordain'd by Jupiter above,
And Cupid had appointed they should love.
They curst the wall that did their kisses part,
And to the stones their mournful words they sent,
As if they saw the sorrow of their heart,
And by their tears could understand their smart:
But it was hard and knew not what they meant,
Nor with their sighs, alas! would it relent.
This in effect they said; "Curs'd Wall! O Why
Wilt thou our bodies sever, whose true love
Breaks thorough all thy flinty cruelty!
For both our souls so closely joined lie,

That nought but angry Death can them remove;

And though he part them, yet they'll meet above."

Abortive tears from their fair eyes out-flow'd,
And damm'd the lovely splendour of their sight,
Which seem'd like Titan,wh Ist some watery cloud
O'erspreads his face, and his bright beams duth

Till Vesper chas'd away the conquer'd light, And forced them (though loth) to bid goodnight.

But ere Aurora, usher to the day,
Began with welcome lustre to appear,
The lovers rise, and at that cranny they
Thus to each other their thoughts open lay,

With many a sigh and many a speaking tea;
Whose grief the pitying Morning blusht to hear.
"Dear love!" said Pyramus, "how long shall we,
Like fairest flowers not gather'd in their prime,
Waste precious youth, and let advantage flee,
Till we bewail (at last) our cruelty

Upon ourselves? for beauty, though it shine Like day, will quickly find an evening-time. "Therefore, sweet Thisbe, let us meet this night At Ninus' tomb, without the city wall, Under the mulberry-tree, with berries white Abounding, there t' enjoy our wish'd delight. For mounting love, stopt in its course, doth fall, And long'd-for, yet untasted, joy kills all. "What though our cruel parents angry be? What though our friends, alas! are too unkind, Time, that now offers, quickly may deny, And soon hold back fit opportunity.

Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find; Occasion, once pass'd by, is bald behind.” She soon agreed to that which he requir'd, For little wooing needs, where both consent; What he so long had pleaded, she desir'd: Which Venus seeing, with blind Chance conspir'd, And many a charming accent to her sent,

That she (at last) would frustrate their intent. Thus Beauty is by Beauty's means undone, Striving to close those eyes that make her bright; Just like the Moon, which seeks t' eclipse the Sun, Whence all her splendor, all her beams, do come:

So she, who fetcheth lustre from their sight, Doth purpose to destroy their glorious light. Unto the mulberry-tree fair Thisbe came; Where having rested long, at last she 'gan Against her Pyramus for to exclaim, Whilst various thoughts turmoil her troubled brain: And, imitating thus the silver swan, A little while before her death, she sang:


COME, love! why stayest thou? the night

Will vanish ere we taste delight:

The Moon obscures herself from sight,
Thou absent, whose eyes give her light.
Come quickly, dear! be brief as Time,
Or we by Morn shall be o'erta'en;
Love's joy's thine own as well as mine;
Spend not therefore the time in vain.

HERE doubtful thoughts broke off her pleasant song,

And for her lover's stay sent many a sigh;
Her Pyramus, she thought, did tarry long,
And that his absence did her too much wrong.
Then, betwixt longing hope and jealousy,
She fears, yet's loth to tax, his loyalty.
Sometimes she thinks that he hath her forsaken;
Sometimes, that danger hath befallen him:
She fears that he another love hath taken;
Which, being but imagin'd, soon doth waken

Numberless thoughts, which on her heart did
Fears, that her future fate too truly sing. [fling
While she thus musing sat, ran from the wood
An angry lion to the crystal springs,
Near to that place; who coming from his food,
His chaps were all besmear'd with crimson blood:
Swifter than thought, sweet Thisbe strait begins
To fly from him; fear gave her swallows' wings.
As she avoids the lion, her desire
Bids her to stay, lest Pyramus should come,
And be devour'd by the stern lion's ire,
So she for ever burn in unquench'd fire:

But fear expels all reasons; she doth run
Into a darksome cave, ne'er seen by sun.
With haste she let her looser,mantle fall:
Which, when th' enraged lion did espy,
With bloody teeth he tore in pieces small;
While Thisbe ran, and look'd not back at all;
For, could the senseless beast her face descry,
It had not done her such an injury.
The night half wasted, Pyramus did come;
Who, seeing printed in the yielding sand
The lion's paw, and by the fountain some
Of Thisbe's garment, sorrow struck him dumb;
Just like a marble statue did he stand,
Cut by some skilful graver's artful hand.
Recovering breath, at Fate he did exclaim,
Washing with tears the torn and bloody weed:
"I may," said he, "myself for her death blame;
Therefore my blood shall wash away that shame:

Since she is dead, whose beauty doth exceed
All that frail man can either hear or read."
This spoke, he drew his fatal sword, and said,
"Receive my crimson blood, as a due debt

Unto thy constant love, to which 'tis paid:
I strait will meet thee in the pleasant shade
Of cool Elysium; where we, being met,
Shall taste those joys that here we could not get."
Then through his breast thrusting his sword, life hies
From him, and he makes haste to seek his fair:
And as upon the colour'd ground he lies,
His blood had dropt upon the mulberries;

With which th' unspotted berries stained were,
And ever since with red they colour'd are.
At last fair Thisbe left the den, for fear
Of disappointing Pyramus, since she
Was bound by promise for to meet him there :
But when she saw the berries changed were

From white to black, she knew not certainly
It was the place where they agreed to be.
With what delight from the dark cave she came,
Thinking to tell how she escap'd the beast!
But, when she saw her Pyramus lie slain,
Ah! how perplex'd did her sad soul remain !

She tears her golden hair, and beats her breast,
And every sign of raging grief exprest.

She blames all-powerful Jove; and strives to take
His bleeding body from the moisten'd ground.
She kisses his pale face, till she doth inake
It red with kissing, and then seeks to wake

His parting soul with mournful words; his wound
Washes with tears, that her sweet speech con-

But afterwards, recovering breath, said she,
"Alas! what chance hath parted thee and I?
O tell what evil hath befall'n to thee,
That of thy death I may a partner be:

Tell Thisbe what hath caus'd this tragedy!"
He, hearing Thisbe's name, lifts up his eye;

And on his love he rais'd his dying head:
Where, striving long for breath, at last, said he,
"O Thisbe, I am hasting to the dead,
And cannot heal that wound my fear hath bred:
Farewell, sweet Thisbe! we must parted be,
For angry Death will force me soon from thee."
Life did from him, he from his mistress, part,
Leaving his love to languish here in woe.
What shall she do? How shall she ease her heart?
Or with what language speak her inward smart?
Usurping passion reason doth o'erflow,

She vows that with her Pyramus she'll go :
Then takes the sword wherewith her love was slain,
With Pyramus's crimson blood warm still;
And said, "Oh stay, blest soul, awhile refrain,
That we may go together, and remain

In endless joys, and never fear the ill

Of grudging friends !"-Then she herself did kill. To tell what grief their parents did sustain, Were more than my rude quill can overcome; Much did they weep and grieve, but all in vain, For weeping calls not back the dead again.

Both in one grave were laid, when life was done;
And these few words were writ upon the tomb:

UNDERNEATH this marble stone,
Lie two beauties join'd in one.
Two, whose loves deaths could not sever;
For both liv'd, both dy'd together.
Two, whose souls, being too divine
For earth, in their own sphere now shine.
Who have left their loves to fame,
And their earth to earth again.







UM more antiquo jejunia festa coluntur,
Et populum pascit religiosa fames,
Quinta beat nostram soboles formosa Mariam:
Pere iterum nobis, læte December, ades.
Ite, quibus lusum Bacchusque Ceresque ministrant,
Et risum vitis lacryma rubra movet.
Nos sine lætitiæ strepitu, sine murmure læti;
Ipsa dies novit vix sibi verba dari.
Cum corda arcanâ saltant festiva choreâ,
Cur pede vel tellus trita frequente sonet?
Quidve bibat Regi, quam perdit turba, salutem?
Sint mea pro tanto sobria vota viro.

Crede mihi, non sunt, non sunt ea gaudia vera,
Quæ fiunt pompâ gaudia vera suâ.
VICISTI tandem, vicisti, casta Maria;
Cedit de sexu Carolus ipse suo.

JA te sic vinci magnus quàm gaudeat ille!
Vix hostes tanti vel superâsse fuit.
Jam tua plus vivit pictura; at proxima fiet
Regis, et in methodo te peperisse juvat.
O bona conjugii concors discordia vestri !

O sancta hæc inter jurgia vetus amor!
Non Caroli puro respirans vultus in auro

Tam populo (et notum est quàm placet ille)

Da veniam, hîc omnes nimium quòd simus avari;
Da veniam, hic animos quòd satiare nequis.
Cúmque (sed ô nostris fiat lux serior annis)
In currum ascendas læta per astra tuum,
Natorum in facie tua viva et mollis imago
Non minus in terris, quàm tua sculpta, regat.

7 From the N♫AIA, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Consentus et Congratulatio, ad serenissimum Britanniarum Regem Carolum, de quinta sua sobole [Princess Anne], clarissima Principe, sibi nuper felicissimmè nata. Cantabrigiæ, 1637. I doubt not but it will prove a pleasing amusement to the curious reader, to trace the first dawnings of genius in some of our first-rate poetic characters; and to compare them with the eminence they afterwards attained to, and the rank they at last held among their brethren of the laurel. Some early specimens of Dryden's genius may be seen in the first volume of his poems. Those of Cowley, here printed, abound with strokes of wit, some true, but the far greater part false; which thoroughly characterise the writer, and may be justly pronounced to point out his genius and manner, in miniature. K.-This species of entertainment the kind attention of Mr. Kynaston (the friend to whom I owe these remarks) enables me considerably to extend, by furnishing the earliest poetical productions of some writers who are now universally looked up to as excellent; none of which are to be found in any edition of their respective works. In such juvenile performances, it is well observed by an admirable critic, "the absurd conceits and extravagant fancies are the true seeds and germs, which afterwards ripen, by proper culture, into the most luxuriant harvests." See Annual Register, 1779, p. 180. J. N.

IN FELICISSIMAM REGINE MARIE, Leave off then, London, to accuse the starres


NATURE facies renovatur quolibet anno,
Et sese mirùm fertilis ipsa parit.

Sic quoque Naturæ exemplar Regina, decusque,
In fætu toties se videt ipsa novam,

Penè omnem signas tam sæpè puerpera mensem,
Et cupit à partu nomen habere tuo.
Quæque tuos toties audit Lucina labores,
Vix ipsa in proprio sæpiùs Orbe tumet.
Fœcundam semper spectabis Jane, Mariam,
Sive hâc sive illa fronte videre voles.
Discite, subjecti, officium: Regina Marito
Annua jam toties ipsa tributa dedit.

DUM redit à sanctis non fessus Carolus aris,
Principis occurit nuntia fama novi.
Non mirum, existat cùm proximus ipse Tonanti,
Vicinum attingunt quòd citò vota Deum.
Non mirum, cùm sit tam sanctâ mente precatus,
Quòd precibus merces tam properata venit.
Factura ô longùm nobis jejunia festum !
O magnas epulas exhibitura fames!


En fundunt gemitum et lacrymarum flumina; tur-
Cum Reginâ ipsam parturiîsse putes.
Credibile est puerum populi sensisse dolores;
Edidit hinc mastos flebilis ipse sonos.

For adding a worse terrour to the warres;
Nor quarrel with the Heavens, 'cause they beginne
To send the worst effect and scorge of sinne,
That dreadfull plague, which wheresoe're 't abide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And 's female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the Earth,
To make more room for a great prince's birth.
So when the Sunne, after his watrie rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the east,
A thousand pettie lamps, spread ore the skie,
Shrink in their doubtfull beams, then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes in stead of elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournfull drops, beginne to smile.
The losse of many why should they bemone,
Who for them more than many have in one?

How blest must thou thy self, bright Mary, be,
Who by thy wombe can'st blesse our miserie?
May 't still be fruitful! May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do!
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
It's own sonnes, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the year (though sure it weari'd be
With often revolutions) when 't shall see

A. COWLEY, A. B. T[rin]. C[oll.] The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into it self again.



WHILST the rude North Charles his slow wrath
doth call,

Whilst warre is fear'd, and conquest hop'd by all,
The severall shires their various forces lend,
And some do men, some gallant horses send,
Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold:
These warlike contributions are but old.
That countrey learn'd a new and better way,
Which did this royall prince for tribute pay.
Who shall henceforth be with such rage possest,
To rouse our English lion from his rest?
When a new sonne doth his blest stock adorn,
Then to great Charles is a new armie born.
In private births hopes challenge the first place:
There's certaintie at first in the king's race;
And we may say, Such will his glories be,
Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesie.
I see in him his father's boundlesse sprite,
Powerfull as flame, yet gentle as the light.
I see him through an adverse battle thrust,
Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust.
I see the pietie of the day appeare,
Joyn'd with the heate and valour of the yeare,
Which happie Fate did to this birth allow :
I see all this; for sure 'tis present now.

From the Voces Votivæ ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Caroli et Mariæ Principe Filio, emissæ. Cantabrigiæ, 1640.

Henry, who was declared by his father duke of Gloucester in 1641, but not so created till May 13, 1659. He died September 13, 1660.-The Verses are taken from the Voces Votivæ, &c. 1640. J. N.

A. COWLEY, A. B. T[rin]. C[oll]



Tu' infernal sisters did a council call
Of all the fiends, to the black Stygian hall;
The dire Tartarian monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismal Erebus and Night,
Where'er dispers'd abroad, hearing the fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came.
Revenge, whose greedy mind no blood can fill,
And Envy, never satisfy'd with ill:

Thither blind Boldness, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour, envious Age.
These, to oppress the Earth, the Furies sent':
The council thus dissolv'd, an angry Fever,
Whose quenchless thirst by blood was sated never,
Envying the riches, honour, greatness, love,
And virtue (load-stone, that all these did move)
Of noble Carleton, him she took away,
And, like a greedy vulture, seiz'd her prey.
Weep with me, each who either reads or hears,
And know his loss deserves his country's tears!
The Muses lost a patron by his fate,
Virtue a husband, and a prop the State.
Sol's chorus weeps, and, to adorn his hearse,
Calliope would sing a tragic verse.
And, had there been before no spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with tears.


Something is here wanting, as appears from the want both of rhyme and connection. J. N.





It was decreed by stedfast Destiny

(The world from chaos turn'd) that all should die.
He who durst fearless pass black Acheron,
And dangers of th' infernal region,
Leading Hell's triple porter captivate,
Was overcome himself by conquering Fate.
The Roman Tully's pleasing eloquence,
Which in the ears did lock up every sense
Of the rapt hearer; his mellifluous breath
Could not at all charm unremorseless Death;
Nor Solon, so by Greece admir'd, could save
Himself, with all his wisdom, from the grave.
Stern Fate brought Maro to his funeral flame,
And would have ended in that fire his fame;
Burning those lofty lines, which now shall be
Time's conquerors, and out-last eternity.
Even so lov'd Clarke from death no 'scape could find,
Though arm'd with great Alcides' valiant mind.
He was adorn'd, in years though far more young,
With learn'd Cicero's, or a sweeter tongue.
And, could dead Virgil hear his lofty strain,
He would condemn his own to fire again.
His youth a Solon's wisdom did presage,
Had envious Time but giv'n him Solon's age.
Who would not therefore now, if Learning's friend,
Bewail his fatal and untimely end?

Who hath such hard, such unrelenting eyes,
As not to weep when so much virtue dies?
The god of poets doth in darkness shrowd
His glorious face, and weeps behind a cloud.
The doleful Muses thinking now to write
Sad elegies, their tears confound their sight:
But him t' Elysium's lasting joys they bring,
Where winged angels his sad requiems sing.


PHOBUS, expell'd by the approaching night,
Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashful light,
While I, with leaden Morpheus overcome,
The Muse whom I adore enter'd the room:
Her hair with looser curiosity

Did on her comely back dishevell'd lie:
Her eyes with such attractive beauty shone,
As might have wak'd sleeping Endymion.
She bade me rise, and promis'd I should see
Those fields, those mansions of felicity,
We mortals so adinire at: speaking thus,
She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus,
On whom I rid; knowing, wherever she
Did go, that place must needs a temple be.
No sooner was my flying courser come

To the blest dwellings of Elysium,

When strait a thousand unknown joys resort,
And hemm'd me round; chaste Love's innocuous

A thousand sweets, bought with no following gall,
Joys, not like ours, short, but perpetual.
How many objects charm my wandering eye,
And bid my soul gaze there eternally!
Here in full streams, Bacchus, thy liquor flows,
Nor knows to ebb; here Jove's broad tree bestows

Distilling honey; here doth nectar pass,
With copious current, through the verdant grass:
Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his looks,
And thou, Narcissus, loving still the brooks,
Once lovely boys! and Acis, now a flower,
Are nourish'd with that rarer herb, whose power
Created thee, War's potent god! here grows
The spotless lily and the blushing rose;
And all those divers ornaments abound,
That variously may paint the gaudy ground,
No willow, Sorrow's garland, there hath room,
Nor cypress, sad attendant of a tomb.
None but Apollo's tree, and th' ivy twine
Embracing the stout oak, the fruitful vine,
And trees with golden apples loaded down,
On whose fair tops sweet Philomel alone,
Unmindful of her former misery,

Tunes with her voice a ravishing harmony:
Whilst all the murmuring brooks that glide along
Make up a burthen to her pleasing song,
No screech-owl, sad companion of the night;
No hideous raven with prodigious flight,
Presaging future ill; nor, Progne, thee,
Yet spotted with young Itis' tragedy,
Those sacred bowers receive. There's nothing there
That is not pure; all innocent and rare.
Turning my greedy sight another way,
Under a row of storm contemning bay,
I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre
Teach the deaf stones to hear him and admire,
Him the whole poets' chorus compass'd round,
All whom the oak, all whom the laurel crown'd.
There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home,
Better than thou could'st give, ungrateful Rome!
And Lucan (spite of Nero) in each vein
Had every drop of his spilt blood again :
Homer, Sol's first-born, was not poor or blind,
But saw as well in body as in mind.
Tully, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Of Greece's admir'd wise-men, here possest
A large reward for their past deeds, and gain
A life as everlasting as their fame.

By these the valiant heroes take their place;
All who stern Death and perils did embrace
For Virtue's cause. Great Alexander there
Laughs at the Earth's small empire, and did wear
A nobler crown than the whole world could give:
There did Horatius, Cocles, Sceva, live,
And valiant Decius; who now freely cease
From war, and purchase an eternal


Next them, beneath a myrtle bower, where doves And gall-less pigeons build their nests, all Love's True faithful servants, with an amorous kiss And soft embrace, enjoy their grecdiest wish. Leander with his beauteous Hero plays, Nor are they parted with dividing seas: Porcia enjoys her Brutus; Death no more Can now divorce their wedding, as before: Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe he Embrac'd, each bless'd with t' other's company: And every couple, always dancing, sing Eternal pleasures to Elysium's king. But see how soon these pleasures fade away! How near to evening is Delight's short day! The watching bird, true nuncius of the light, Strait crowd; and all these vanish'd from my sight: My very Muse herself forsook me too. Me grief and wonder wak'd: what should I do? Oh! let me follow thee (said I) and go From life, that I may dream for ever so.

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