ON THE DEATH OF MY LOVING FRIEND

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AN ELEGY

Distilling honey; here doth nectar pass,

With copious current, through the verdant grass : AND COUSIX

Here Hyacinth, his fate writ in his looks,
MR. RICHARD CLARKE, GENT. And thou, Narcissus, loving still the brooks,

Once lovely boys! and Acis, now a flower,
LATE OF LINCOLN'S-INN.

Are nourish'd with that rarer herb, whose power
It was decreed by stedfast Destiny

Created thee, War's potent god! here grows (The world from chaosturn'd) that all should die. The spotless lily and the blushing rose; He who durst fearless pass black Acheron,

And all those divers ornaments abound, And dangers of th' infernal region,

That variously may paint the gaudy ground,
Leading Hell's triple porter captivate,

No willow, Sorrow's garland, there hath room,
Was overcome himself by conquering Fate. Nor cypress, sad attendant of a tomb.
The Roman Tully's pleasing eloquence,

None but Apollo's tree, and th’ivy twine
Which in the ears did lock up every sense

Embracing the stoat oak, the fruitful vine, Of the rapt hearer; his mellifluous breath

And trees with golden apples loaded down, Could not at all charm unremorseless Death;

On whose fair tops sweet Philomel alone; Nor Solon, so by Greece admir'd, could save

Unmindful of her former misery, Himself, with all his wisdom, from the grave.

'Tunes with her voice a ravishing harmony; Stem Fate brought Maro to his funeral flame,

Whilst all the murmuring brooks that glide alonga And would have ended in that fire his fame;

Make up a burthen to her pleasing song, Burning those lofty lines, which now shall be

No screech-owl, sad companion of the night;
Time's conquerors, and out-last eternity.

No hideous raven with prodigions flight,
Even so lov'd Clarke from death no'scape could find, Presagiog future ill; nor, Progne, thee,
Though arm'd with great Alcides' valiant mind. Yet spotted with young Itis' tragedy,
He was adorn'd, in years though far more young,

Those sacred bowers receive. There's nothing there With learn'd Cicero's, or a sweeter tongue.

That is not pure; all innocent and rare. And, could dead Virgil hear his lofty strain,

Turning my greedy sight another way, He would condemn his own to fire again.

Under a row of storm contemning bay, His youth a Solon's wisdom did presage,

I saw the Thracian singer with his lyre Had envious Time but giv'n him Solon's age.

Teach the deaf stones to hear him and adınirc, Who would not therefore now, if Learning's friend, Him the whole poets' chorus compass'd round, Bewail his fatal and untimely end ?

All whom the oak, all whom the laurel crown'd. Who hath such hard, such unrelenting eyes,

There banish'd Ovid had a lasting home, As not to weep when so much virtue dies?

Better than thou could'st give, ungrateful Rome! The god of poets doth in darkness shrowd

And Lucan (spite of Nero) in each vein
His glorious face, and weeps behind a cloud. Had every drop of his spilt blood again :
The doleful Muses thinking now to write

Homer, Sol's first-born, was not poor or blind,
Sad elegies, their tears confound their sight: But saw as well in boily as in mind.
But him t' Elysium's lasting joys they bring,

Tully, grave Cato, Solon, and the rest
Where winged angels his sad requiems sing.

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;
A DREAM OF ELYSIUM.

All who stern Death and perils did embrace

For Virtue's cause. Great Alexander there Pambus, expell’d by the approaching night, Laughs at the Farth's small empire, and did sear Blush'd, and for shame clos'd in his bashful light, A nobler crown than the whole world could give: While I, with leaden Morpheus overcome, There did Horatius, Cocles, Sceva, live, The Muse whom I adore enter'd the room :

And valiant Decius; who now freely cease Her hair with looser curiosity

From war, and purchase an eterual peace. Did or her comely back dishevell'd lie:

Next them, beneath a myrtle bower, where dores Her eyes with such attractive beauty shone, And gall-less pigeons build their nests, all Love's As might have wak'd sleeping Endymion.

True faithful servants, with an amorous kiss She bade me rise, and promis'd I should see And soft embrace, enjoy their grecdiest wish. Those fields, those mansions of felicity,

Leander with his beauteous Hero plays, We mortals so adınire at: speaking thus,

Nor are they parted with dividing seas: She lifts me up upon wing'd Pegasus,

Porcia enjoys her Brutus; Death no more On whom I rid; knowing, wherever she

Can now divorce their wedding, as before: Did go, that place must needs a temple be. Thisbe her Pyramus kiss'd, his Thisbe he No sooner was my flying courser come

Embrac'd, each bless'd with other's company: To the blest dwellings of Elysium,

And every couple, always dancing, sing
When strait a thousand unknown joys resort, Eternal pleasures to Elysium's king.
And hemm'd me 'round; chaste Love's innocuous But see how soon these pleasures fade away!
sport!

How near to evening is Delight's short day!
A thousand sweets, bought with no following gall, The watching bird, true nuncius of the light,
Joys, not like outs, short, but perpetnal.

Strait crowd; and all these vabish'd from my sight: How many objects charın my wandering eye, My very Muse herself forsook me too. And bid my soul gaze there eternally!

Me grief and wonder wak’d : what should I do? Here in full streams, Bacchus, thy liquor Aows, Oh ! let me follow thee (said I) and go Nor knows to ebb; here Jove's broad tree bestows From life, that I may dream for ever so.

RETURN OUT OF SCOTLAND.

With that my flying Muse I thonght to clasp Yet he returns, and with his light
Within my arms, but did a shadow grasp.

Expels what he hath caus’d--the night.
Thus chiofest joys glide with the swiflest stream, What though the Spring vanish away,
And a!l our greatest pleasure's but a dream. And with it the Earth's forın decay?

Yet his new-birth will soon restore
ON HIS MAJESTY'S

What its departure took before.

What though we miss'd our absent king Grat Charles !- here stop, ye trumpeters of

Awhile? great Charles is come again;

And with his presence makes us know
Faine !

The gratitude to Heaven we owe.
For he who speaks his titles, his great name,

So doth a cruel storin impart Must have a breathing time our king :--stay there;

And teach us Palinurus' art: Speak by degrees; let the inquisitive ear

So from salt floods, wept by our eyes
Be held in doubt, and, ere you say

" is
come,”

A joyful Venus doth arise.
Let every heart prepare a spac ous room
For ample joys: then lö sing, as loud
As thunder shot from the divided cloud!

A VOTE.
Let Cygnus pluck from the Arabian waves
The ruby of the rock, the pearl that paves

Lest the misjudging world should chance to say Great Neptune's court : let every sparrow bear

I durst not but in secret murmurs pray ; From the three Sisters' weeping bark a tear :

To whisper in Jove's ear Let spotted lynxes their sharp talons fill

How much I wish that funeral, With crystal, fetch'd froin the Promethean hill :

Or gape at such a great one's fall; Let Cytherea's birds fresh wreaths compose,

This let all ages hear, Knitting the pale-fac'd lily with the rose:

And future times in my soul's picture see
Let the self-gotten phenix rob his nest,

What I abhor, what I desire to be.
Spoil his own funeral pile, and all his best
Of myrrh, of frankincense, of cassja, bring, I would not be a puritan, though he
To strew the way for our returned king!

Can preach two hours, and yet his sermon be
Let every post a panegyric wcar,

But half a quarter long; Each wall, each pillar, gratulations bear: Though, from his old inechanic trade, And yet, let no man invocate a Muse;

By vision he's a pastor made, The very matter will itself infuse

His faith was grown so strons ; A sacred fury: let the merry bells

Nay, though he think to gain salvation (For unknown joys work unknown miracles) By calling th' pope the Whore of Babylon. Ring without help of sexton, and presage

I would not be a school-master, though he A new-made holy-day for future age!

His rods no less than fasces deems to be ; And, if the ancients us'd to dedicate

Though he in many a place A golden temple to propitious Fate,

Turns Lilly oftener than his gowns, At the return of any noble men,

Till at the last he make the nouns Of heroes, or of emperors, we must then

Fight with the verbs apace; Raise up a double trophy; for their fame

Nay, though he can, in a poetic heat, Was but the shadow . f our Charles's name.

Figures, born since, out of poor Virgil beat. l'ho is there where all virtues minglecl flow, Where no defects or imperfections grow?

I would not be justice of peace, though he Whose head is always crown'd with victory,

Can with equality divide the fee, Snatch'd from Bellona's hand; him cury

And stakes with his clerk draw; In peace debilitates : whose tongue can win Nay, though he sits upon the place Tully's own garland, Pride to him creeps in.

Of judgment, with a learned face On whom (like Atlas' shoulders) the propt state

Intricate as the law; (As he were primum mobile of Fate)

And, whilst he mulets enormities demurely,

Breaks Priscian's head with sentences securely. Solely relies ; him blind Ambition moves; His tyranny the bridled subject proves.

I would not be a courtier, though he But all those virtues which they all possest Makes his whole life the truest comedy, Divided, are collected in thy breast,

Although he be a man Great Charles ! Let Cæsar boast Pharsalia's fight, In whom the taylor's forming art, Honorius praise the Parthian's unfeign'd fight : And nimble barber, claim more part Let Alexander call himself Jove's peer,

Than Nature herself can; And place his image near the thunderer;

Though, as he uses men, 'tis his intent Yet while our Charles with equal balance reigns To put off Death too with a compliment. "Twixt Mercy and Astrea, and maintains

From lawyer's tongues, though they can spin with A noble peace, 'tis he, 'tis only he,

The shortest cause into a paraphrase ; Who is most near, most like, the Deity,

From usurers' conscience

(For swallowing up young heirs so fast, SONG,

Without all doubt, they'll choak at last)

Make me all innocence, JIENCE, clouded looks; hence, briny tears,

Good Heaven ! and from thy eyes, O Justice ! keep; Hence eye that Sorrow's livery wears!

For though they be not blind, they're oft asleep. What though awhile Apollo please

From singing-mens' religion, who are To visit the Antipodes?

Always at church, just like the crows, 'cause there

(case

ON THE SAME.

TO TIE DUTCHESS OF

They build themselves a nest :

To strike me: doubtless there had been a fray, From too much poetry, which shines

Had not I providently skipp'd away
With gold in nothing but its lines,

Without replying; for to scold is ill,
Free, O you powers! my breast.

Where every tongue's the clapper of a mill,
And from astronomy, which in the skies

And can out-sound Homer's Gradivus; so
Finds fish and bulls, yet doth but tantalize. Away got I: but ere I far did go,
From your court-madams' beauty, which doth I ftung (the darts of wounding poetry)

These two or three sharp curses back: "May he At morning May, at night a January : (carry

Be by his father in his study took
From the grave city brow

At Shakespeare's plays, instead of my lord Coke! (For though it want an R, it has

May he (though all his writings grow as soon
The letter of Pythagoras)

As Butter's out of estimation)
Keep me, O Fortune, now!

Get hiin a poet's name, and so ne'er come
And chines of beef innumerable send me,

Into a serjeant's or dead judge's room! Or from the stomach of the guard defend me.

May he become some poor physician's prey,
This only grant me, that my means may lie Who keeps men with that conscience in delay
Too low for envy, for contempt too high.

As he his client doth, till his health be
Some honour I would have,

As far-fetcht as a Greek noun's pedigree!
Not from great deeds, but good alone;

Nay, for all that, iay the disease be gone
Th' unknown are better than ill-known;

Never but in the long vocation !
Rumour can ope the grave !

May neighbours use all quarrels to decide;
Acquaintance I would have ; but when 't depends But if for law any to London ride,
Not from the number, but the choice, of friends, Of all those clients let not one be his,
Books should, not business, entertain the light;

Unless he come in forma paperis !
And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night.

Grant this, ye gods that favour poetry!

That all these never-ceasing tongues may be
My house a cottage more
Than palace; and should fitting be

Brought into reforination, and not dare
For all my use, no luxury.

To quarrel with a thread-bare black: but spare

Them who bear scholars' names, lest some one take
My garden painted o'er
With Nature's hand, not Art's ; that pleasures yield Spleen, and another Ignoramus make.”
Horace might envy in his Sabine field.
Thus would I double my life's fading space;
For he that runs it well, twice runs his race

BUCKINGHAM.
And in this true delight,

If I should say, that in your face were seen
These unbought sports, and happy state,

Nature's best picture of the Cyprian queen;
I would not fear, nor wish, my fate;

If I should swear, under Minerva's name,
But boldly say, each night,

Poets (who prophets are) foretold your fame;
To morrow let my Sun his beams display,

The future age would think it fiattery;
Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to day?. But to the present, which can witness be,

"Twould seem beneath your high descrts, as far A POETICAL REVENGE.

As you above the rest of women are.

When Manners' name with Villiers' join'd I see, WESTMINSTER-hall a friend and I agreed

How do I reverence your nobility!
To meet in ; he (some business 'twas did breed But when the virtues of your stock I view,
His absence) came not there ; I up did go

(Envy'd in your dead lord, admir'd in you) To the next court; for though I could not know

I half adore them; for what woman can, Much what they meant, yet I might see and hear Besides yourself (nay, I might say what man) (As most spectators do at theatre)

But sex, and birth, and fate, and years excel Things very strange: Fortune did seem to grace

In mind, in fame, in worth, in living well? My coming there, and helpt me to a place.

Oh, how had this begot idolatry, But, being newly settled at the sport,

If you had liv'd in the world's infancy, A semi-gentleman of the inns of court,

When man's too much religion made the best In a satin suit, redeem'd but yesterday,

Or deities, or semi-gods at least ! One who is ravish'd with a cock-pit play,

But we, forbidden this by piety, Who prays God to deliver him from no evil

Or, if we were not, by your modesty, Besides a taylor's bill, and fears no devil

Will make our hearts an altar, and there pray Besides a serjeant, thrust me from my seat:

Not to, but for, you ; nor that England may At which I'gan to quarrel, till a neat

Enjoy your equal, when you once are gone, Man in a ruff (whom therefore I did take

But, what's more possible, t'enjoy you long.
For barrister) open'd his mouth and spake;
Boy, get you gone, this is no school.” “Oh no;

TO HIS VERY MUCH HONOURED
Por, if it were, all you gown'd men would go
Up for false Latin.” They grew straight to be

GODFATHER, MR. A. B.
Incens'd ; I fear'd they would have brought on me

I LOVE (for that upon the wings of Fame An action of trespass: till the young man

Shall perhaps mock Death or Time's darts) my Aforesaid, in the satin suit, began

I love it more, because 'twas given by you ; * The three concluding stanzas of this poem are I love it most, because 'twas your name too ; introduced by Mr. Cowley in his Essays iu Verse For if I chance to slip, a conscious shame and Prose, N.

Plucks me, and bids me not defile your name.

name.

THAT A PLEASANT POVERTY

BEFORE DISCONTENTED RICHES,

Who did life's blessing give, 'tis At that she, The laurel to the poet's hand did bow,
Above all women, should thrice blessed be.

Craving the honour of his brow;

And every loving arm embrac'd, and made
ET BENEDICTUS FRUCTUS VENTRIS TUI.

With their officious leaves a shade.
With mouth divine the Father doth protest,

The beasts too strove his auditors to be, He a good word sent from his stored breast;

Forgetting their old tyranny.
From theu nfathom'd depth of goodness brought : Nightingales, harmless Syrens of the air,
'Twas Christ : which Mary, without carnal thought, The fearful hart next to the lion came,

And wolf was shepherd to the lamb.
The word of blessing a just cause affords
To be oft blessed with redoubled words !

And Muses of the place, were there;

Who, when their little windpipes they had found SPIRITUS SANCTOS SUPERVENIET IN TE.

Unequal to so strange a sound,

O’ercome by art and grief they did expire,
As when soft west-winds strook the garden-rose, And fell upon the conquering lyre.
A shower of sweeter air salutes the nose;

Happy, O happy they, whose tomb might be, The breath gives sparing kisses, nor with power

Mausolus !. envied by thee!
Unlocks the virgin-bosom of the flower :

ODE II.
So the Holy Spirit upon Mary blow'd,
And from her sacred box whole rivers flowed :

IS TO BE PREFERRED
Yet loos'd not thine eternal chastity;
Thy rose's folds do still entangled lie.
Believe Christ born from an unbruised womb,

WHY, O! doth gaudy Tagus ravish thee, So from unbruised bark the odours come,

Though Neptune's treasure-house it be?

Why doth Pactolus thee bewitch, ET VIRTUS ALTISSIMI OBUMBRABIT TIBI.

Infected yet with Midas' glorious itch? God his great Son begot ere time begun;

Their dull and sleepy streams are not at all,

Like other floods, poetical ;
Mary in time brought forth her little son,
Of double substance One ; life he began,

They have no dance, no wanton sport,
God without mother, without father, man.

No gentle murmur, the lov'd shore to court.
Great is the birth; and 'tis a stranger deed

No fish inhabit the adulterate flood,
That she no man, than God no wife, should need ; - Nor can it feed the neighbouring wood;
A shade delighted the child-bearing maid,

No flower or herb is near it found,
And God himself became to her a shade.

But a perpetual winter starves the ground.
O strange descent! who is light's author, he Give me a river which doth scorn to show
Will to his creature thus a shadow be.

An added beauty; whose clear brow
As unseen light did from the Father flow,
So did seen light from Virgin Mary grow.

May be my looking-glass to see

What my face is, and what my mind should be! When Moses songht God in a shade to see, The father's shade was Christ the Deity.

Here waves call waves, and glide along in rank, Let's seek for day, we darkness, whilst our sight

And prattle to the smiling bank ;
In light finds darkness, and in darkness light,

Here sad king-fishers tell their tales,
And fish enrich the brook with silver scales.

Daisies, the first-born of the teeming spring,
ODE I.

On each side their embroidery bring;

Here lilies wash, and grow more white,
OX THE PRAISE OF POETRY.

And daffodils, to see themselves, delight. 'Tis not a pyramid of marble stone,

Here a fresh arbour gives her amorous shade, Though high as our ambition ;

Which Nature, the best gardener, made. 'Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can

Here I would sit and sing rude lays, Give life to th' ashes of a man ;

Such as the nymphs and me myself should please. But verses only: they shall fresh appear, Whilst there are men to read or hear.

Thus I would waste, thus end, my careless days ; When Time shall make the lasting brass decay,

And robin-red-breasts, whom men praise And eat the pyramid away;

For pious birds, should, when I die, Turning that monument wherein men trust

Make both my monument and elegy,
Their names, to what it keeps, poor dust;

ODE III.
Then shall the epitaph remain, and be
New-graven in eternity.

TO HIS MISTP. ESS,
Poets by Death are conquer'd; but the wit
Of poets triumph over it.

Tyrian dye why do you wear,
What cannot verse? When Thracian Orpheus

You whose cheeks best scarlet are? took

Why do you fondly pin His lyre, and gently on it strook,

Pure linen o'er your skin, The learned stones eame dancing all along,

(Your skin that's whiter far) And kept time to the charming song.

Casting a dusky cloud before a star. With artificial pace the warlike pine,

Why bears your neck a golden chain? The elm and his wife the ivy twine,

Did Nature make your hair in vain, With all the better trees, which erst had stood

Of gold most pure and fine ? Unmov'd, forsook their native wood.

With gems why do you shine! VOL VI).

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