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My thoughts awhile, like you, imprison'd lay;

We'll write whate'er from you we hear; Great joys, as well as sorrows, make a stay ;

For that's the posy of the year. They hinder one another in the crowd,

This difference only will remainAnd none are heard, whilst all would speak aloud.

That Time his former face does shew, Should every man's officious gladness haste,

Winding into himself again; And be afraid to show itself the last,

But your unweary'd wit is always new. The throng of gratulations now would be

'Tis said, that conjurers have an art found out Another loss to you of liberty.

To carry spirits consin’d in rings about : When of your freedom men the news did hear,

The wonder now will less-appear, Where it was wish'd-for, that is every where,

When we behold your magic here. 'Twas like the speech which from your lips does

You, by your rings, do prisoners take, fall;

And chain them with your mystic spells, As soon as it was heard, it ravish'd all.

And, the strong witchcraft full to make, So eloquent Tully did from exile come;

Love, the great Devil, charm’d to those circles, Thus long'd for he return'd, and cherish'd Rome;

Which could no more his tongue and counsels miss ;
Pome, the world's head, was nothing without his. They, who above do various circles find,
Wrong to those sacred ashes, I should do,

Say, like a ring, th' eqnator Heaven does bind. Should I compare any to him but you ;

When Heaven shall be adorn’d by thee You, to whom Art and Nature did dispense

(Which then more Heaven than 'tis will be) The consulship of wit and eloquence.

'Tis thou must write the posy there, Nor did your fate differ from his at all,

For it wanteth one as yet, Because the doom of exile was his fall;

Though the Sun pass through't twice a year For the whole world, without a native home,

The Sun, who is esteem'd the god of wit. Is nothing but a prison of larger room.

Happy the hands which wear thy sacred rings, But like a melting woman sufferd he,

They'll teach those hands to write mysterious He who before out-did humanity;

things. Nor could his spirit constant and stedfast prove.

Let other rings, with jewels bright, Whose art 't had been, and greatest end, to move.

Cast around their costly light; You put ill-fortune in so good a dress,

Let them want no noble stone, That it out-shone other men's happiness :

By nature rich and art refin'd; Had your prosperity always clearly gone,

Yet shall thy rings give place to none,
As your high merits would have laid it on,

But only that which must thy marriage bind.
You 'ad half been lost, and an example then
But for the happy—the least part of men.
Your very sufferings did so graceful shew,

That some strait envy'd your aMiction too;
For a clear conscience and heroic mind
In ills their business and their glory find.

Who says the times do learning disallow? So, though less worthy stones are drown'd in night, Tis false ; 'twas never honour'd so as now. The faithful diamond keeps his native light,

When you appear, great prince ! our night is done ; And is oblig'd to darkness for a ray,

You are our morning-star, and shall be our sun, That would be more oppress'd than help'd by day. But our scene's London now; and by the rout Your soul then most show'd her unconquer'd pow- We perish, if the Round-heads be about: er,

For now no ornament the head must wear,
Was stronger and more armed than the Tower.

No bays, no mitre, not so much as hair.
Sure unkind Fate will tempt your spirit no more; How can a play pass safely, when we know
Sh' has try'd her weakness and your strength Cheapside-cross falls for making but a show?

Our only hope is this, that it may be
T'oppose him still, who once has conquer'd so,
Were now to be your rebel, not your foe;

A play may pass too, made extempore.

Though other arts poor and neglected grow, Fortune henceforth will more of providence have,

They'll admit poesy, which was always so.
And rather be your friend than be your slave.

But we contemn the fury of these days,
And scorn no less their censure than their praise :

Our Muse, blest prince! does only on you rely ;

Would gladly live, but not refuse to die.
Accept our hasty zeal! a thing that's play'd
Ere'tis a play, and acted ere 'tis made.

Qur ignorance, but our duty too, we show;
I little thought the time would ever be,

I would all ignorant people would do so!
That I should wit in dwarfish posies see.

At other times expect our wit or art;
As all words in few letters live,

This comedy is acted by the heart.
Thou to few words all sense dost give.
'Twas Nature taught you this rare art,
In such a little much to shew;

Who, all the good she did impart

The play, great sir! is done ; yet needs must fear, To womankind, epitomiz'd in you.

Though you brought all your father's mercies here, If, as the ancients did not doubt to sing,

It may offend your highness; and we ’ave now The turning years be well compar'd t' a ring, Three hours done treason here, for aught we know.





But power your grace can ahove Nature give, No tuneful birds play with their wonted cheer, It can give power to make abortives live;

And call the leamed youths to hear; In which, if our bold wishes should be crost,

No whistling winds through the glad branches ily: "Tis but the life of one poor week ’t has lost :

But all, with sad solemnity, Though it should fall beneath your mortal scorn,

Mute and unmoved be,
Scarce could it die more quickly than ’t was born. Mute as the grave wherein my friend does lie.

To him my Muse made haste with every strain,
Whilst it was new and warm yet from the brain :

He lov'd my worthless rhymes, and, like a friend,

Would find out something to commend.

Hence now, my Muse! thou canst not me delight: IMMODICIS BREVIS EST ÆTAS, & RARA SENECTUS.


Be this my latest verse,

With which I now adorn his hearse ; It was a dismal and a fearful night,

And this my grief, without thy help, shall write. Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling Had I a wreath of bays about my brow, Light,

I should contemn that flourishing honour now; When Sleep, Death's image, left my troubled Condemn it to the fire, and joy to hear breast,

It rage and crackle there. By something liker death possest.

Instead of bays, crown with sad cypress me; My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,

Cypress, which tombs does beautify: And on my soul hung the dull weight

Not Phæbus griev'd, so much as I, Of some intolerable fate.

For him who first was made that mournful tree. What bell was that: ah me! too much I know.

Large was his soul ; as large a soul as e'er My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, Submitted to inform a body here; Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, High as the place 'twas shortly in Hearen te Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?

have, 0, thou hast left me all alone!

But low and humble as his grave: Thy soul and body, when death's agony

So high, that all the Virtues there did come. Besieg'd around thy noble heart,

As to their chiefest seat
Did not with more reluctance part,

Conspicuous and great;
Than I, my dearest friend ! do part from thee. So low, that for me too it made a room.
My dearest friend, would I had dy'd for thee ! He scorn'd this busy world below, and all
Life and this world henceforth will tedious be. That we, mistaken mortals! pleasure call;
Nor shall I know hereafter what to do,

Was fill'd with innocent gallantry and truth, If once my griefs prove tedious too.

Triumphant o'er the sins of youth. Silent and sad I walk about all day,

He, like the stars, to which he now is gone, As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by

That shine with beams like flame, Where their hid treasures lie;

Yet burn not with the same, Alas! my treasure's gone! why do I stay? Had all the light of youth, of the fire none. He was my friend, the truest friend on Earth; Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, A strong and mighty influence join'd our birth; As if for him Knowledge had rather sought: Nor did we envy the most sounding name

Nor did more learning ever crowded lic By friendship given of old to Fame.

In such a short mortality. None but his brethren he, and sisters, knew,

Whene'er the skilful youth discours d or writ, Whom the kind youth preferr'd to me;

Still did the notions throng And ev'n in that we did agree,

About his eloquent tongue, For much above myself I lov'd them too.

Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights,

So strong a wit did Nature to him frame, How oft unweary'd have we spent the nights, As all things but his judgment overcame; Till the Ledæan stars, so fam'd for love,

His judgment like the heavenly moon did show, Wonder'd at us from above !

Tempering that mighty sea below.
We spent thein not in toys, in lusts, or wine; Oh! had he liv'd in Learning's world, what bound
But search of deep philosophy,

Would have been able to control
Wit, eloquence, and poetry,

His over-powering soul; Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were We ’ave lost in him arts that not yet are found. thine.

His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say Yet never did his God or friends forget; Have ye not seen us walking every day?

And, when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Was there a tree about which did not know

Retird, and gave to them their due :
The love betwixt us two ?

For the rich help of books he always took,
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;

Though his own searching mind before
Or your sad branches thicker join,

Was so with notions written o'er
And into darksome shades combine,

As if wise Nature had made that her book.
Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid !

So many virtues join'd in him, as we Henceforth, no learned youths beneath you sing, Can scarce pick here and there in history; Till all the tuneful birds to your boughs they More than old writers' practice e'er could reach; bring;

As much as they could ever teach.


These did Religion, queen of virtues ! sway;

He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay,
And all their sacred motions steer,

And trusts the faithless April of thy May.
Just like the first and highest sphere,
Which wheels about, and turns all Heaven one way. Unhappy, thrice unhappy, he,

T whom thou untry'd dost shine!-
With as much zeal, devotion, piety,

But there 's no danger now for me, He always liv'd, as other saints do die.

Since o'er Loretto's shrine,
Sall with his soul severe account he kept,

In witness of the shipwreck past,
Weeping all debts out ere he slept ;

My consecrated vessel hangs at lasi.
Then down in peace and innocence he lay,

Like the Sun's laborious light,

Which still in water sets at night,
Unsullied with bis journey of the day.

Wondrous young man!why wert thou made so good,
To be snatch'd hence ere better understood ?

Si tecum mihi, chare Martialis, &c.
Snatch'd before half of thee enough was seen!

L. v. Ep. xx.
Thou ripe, and yet thy life but green

If, dearest friend, it my good, fate might be
Nor could thy friends take their last sad farewell ; Tenjoy at once a quiet life and thee;
But danger and infectious death

If we for happiness could leisure find,
Maliciously seiz'd on that breath

And wandering Time into a method bind;
Where life, spirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell. We should not sure the great-men's favour need,

Nor on long hopes, the court's thin diet, feed;
But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age,
Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!

We should not patience find daily to hear
A fitter time for Heaven no soul ere chose,

The calumnies and flatteries spoken there ;

We should not the lords' tables humbly use,
The place now only free from those.

Or talk in ladies' chambers love and news;
There'mong the blest thou dost for ever shine,
And, wheresoe'er thou casts thy view,

But books, and wise discourse, gardens and fields,
Upon that white and radiant crew,

And all the joys that unmixt Nature yields; See'st not a soul cloth’d with more light than thine. Thick summer shades, where winter still does lie,

Bright winter fires, that summer's part supply: And, if the glorious saints cease not to know Sleep, not control'd by cares, confin'd to night, Their wretched friends who fight with life below, Or bound in any rule but appetite : Thy flame to me does still the same abide, Free, but not savage or ungracious mirth, Only more pure and rarefy'd.

Rich wines, to give it quick and easy birth; There, whilst immortal hymns thou dost rehearse,

A few companions, which ourselves should chuse,
Thou dost with holy pity see

A gentle mistress, and a gentler Muse.
Our dull and earthy poesy,

Such dearest friend! such, without doubt, should Where grief and misery can be join'd with verse. be

Our place, our business, and our company.
Now to himself, alas ! does neither live.

But sees good suns, of which we are to give

A strict account, set and march thick away:

Knows a man how to live, and does he stay?
Quis multâ gracilis te puer in roså
Perfusus, &c.

Lib. I. Od. v.

To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind ?
To what heart-ravish'd lover

Dost thou thy golden locks unbind,

ARGARITA first possest,
Thy hidden sweets discover,

If I remember well, my breast,
And with large bounty open set

Margarita first of all;
All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet ?

But when awhile the wanton maid

With my restless heart had play'd,
Ah, simple youth! how oft will he

Martha took the flying ball.
Of thy chang'd faith complain?
And his own fortunes find to be

Martha soon did it resign
So airy and so vain,

To the beauteous Catharine.
Of so cameleon-like an hue,

Beauteous Catharine gave place
That still their colour changes with it too!

(Though loth and angry she to part

With the possession of my heart)
How oft, alas ! will he admire

To Eliza's conquering face.
The blackness of the skies !
Trembling to hear the wind sound higher,

Eliza till this hour might reign,
And see the billows rise !

Had she not evil counsels ta'ena
Poor unexperienc'd he,

Fundamental laws she broke,
Who ne'er alas ! before had been at sea !

And still new favourites she chose,

Till up in arms my passions rose,
He enjoys thy calmy sunshine now,

And cast away her yoke.
And no breath stirring hears;
In the clear heaven of thy brow

Mary then, and gentle Anne,
No smallest cloud appearia

Both to reign at once began



Alternately they sway'd,

TO SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT, And soinetimes Mary was the fair, And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,

UPON HIS TWO FIRST BOOKS OF GONDIBERT, And sometimes both I obey'd.

HIS VOYAGE TO AMERICA. Another Mary then arose,

Metlinks heroic poesy till now,
And did rigorous laws impose ;

Like some fantastje fairy-land did show ;
A mighty tyrant she !

Gods, devils, nymphs, witches, and giants' race, Long, alas ! should I have been

And all but man, in man's chief work had place. Under that irou-scepter'd queen,

Thou, like some worthy knight with sacred arms, Had not Rebecca set me free.

Dost drive the monsters thence, and end the charms, When fair Rebecca set me free,

Instead of those dost men and manners plant, 'Twas then a golden time with me:

The things which that rich soil did chiefly want. But soon those pleasures fled;

Yet ev'n thy mortals do their gods excel, For the gracious princess dy'd,

Taught by thy Muse to fight and love so well. In her youth and beauty's pride,

By fatal hands whilst present empires fall,
And Judith reigned in her stead.

Thine from the grave past monarchies recall ;

So much more thanks from human-kind does One month, three days, and half an hour,

Judith held the sovereign power:

The poet's fury than the zealot's spirit:
Wondrous beautiful her face!

And from the grave thou mak'st this empire rise, But so weak and small her wit,

Not like some dreadful ghost, t' affright our eyes, That she to govern was unfit,

But with more lustre and triumphant state,
And so Susanna took her place.

Than when it crown'd at proud Verona sate.
But when Isabella came,

So will our God rebuild man's perish'd frame, Arm'd with a resistless flame,

And raise him up much better, yet the same : And th' artillery of her eye;

So god-like poets do past things rehearse, Whilst she prondly inarch'd about,

Not change, but heighten, Nature by their verse. Greater conquests to find out,

With shame, methinks, great Italy must see She beat out Susan by the by:

Her conquerors rais'd to life again by thee:

Rais'd by such powerful verse, that ancient Rome But in her place I then obey'd

May blush no less to see her wit o'ercome. Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy maid; Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive, To whom ensued a vacancy :

And think all ill but that which Rome does give; Thousand worse passions then possest

The marks of old and Catholic would find; The interregnum of my breast;

To the same chair would truth and fiction bind. Bless me from such an anarchy !

Thou in those beaten paths disdain'st to tread,

And scorn'st to live by robbing of the dead. Gentle Henrietta then,

Since Time does all things change, thou think'st And a third. Mary, next began;

not fit Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria;

This latter age should see all new but wit; And then a pretty Thomasine,

Thy fancy, like a flame, its way does make, And then another Katharine,

And leave bright tracts for following pens to take. And then a long et.cætera.

Sure 'twas this noble boldness of the Muse But should I now to you relate

Did thy desire to seek new worlds infuse;

And ne'er did Ileaven so much a voyage bless,
The strength and riches of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,

If thou canst plant but there with like success.
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,
That make up all their magazines;

If I should tell the politic arts

To take and keep men's hearts;
The letters, embassies, and spies,

As to a northern people (whom the Sun
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,

Uses just as the Römish church has done The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,

Her prophane laity, and does assign
(Numberless, nameless, mysteries !) Bread only both to serve for bread and wine)
And all the little lime-twigs laid,

A rich Canary fleet welcome arrives;
By Machiavel the waiting maid ;

Such comfort to us here your letter gives,
I more voluminous should grow

Frought with brisk racy verses ; in which we (Chiefly if I like them should tell

The soil from whence they came taste, smell, and All change of weathers that befell) Than Holinshed or Stow.

Such is your present to us; for you must know,

Sir, that verse does not in this island grow,
But I will briefer with them be,

No more than sack: one lately did not fear
Since few of them were long with me. (Without the Muses' leave) to plant it here;
An higher and a nobler strain

But it produc'd such base, rough, crabbed, hedge, My present emperess does claim,

Rhymes, as ev'n set the hearers' ears on edge : Heleonora, first o' th' name;

Written by

esquire, the Whom God grant long to reiga!

Year of our Lord six hundred thirty-thrco.


see ;


Brave Jereey Muse! and he's for this high style And seeks by useless pride,
Callid to this day the Homer of the isle.

With slight and withering leaves that nakedness to Alas ! to men here no words less hard be

hide, To rhyme with, than 4 Mount Orgueil is to me;

“ Henceforth,” said God,“ the wretched sons of Mount Orgueil ! which, in scorn o'th' Muses law,

Earth With no yoke-fellow word will deign to draw.

Sball sweat for food in rain, Stubborn Mount Orgueil ! 'tis a work to make it

That will not long sustain ; Come into rhyme, more hard than 'twere to take it.

And bring with labour forth each fond abortive birth. Alas! to bring your tropes and figures here,

That serpent too, their pride, Strange as to bring camels and elephants were ;

Which aims at things deny'd; And metaphor is so unknown a thing,

That learn'd and eloquent lust; 'Twould need the preface of God save the king. Instead of mounting high, shall creep upon the Yet this I'll say, for th' honour of the place,

That, by God's extraordinary grace
(Which shows the people have judgment, if not wit)
The land is undefil'd with clinches yet ;

Which, in my poor opinion, I confess,
Is a most singular blessing, and no less

Than Ireland's wanting spiders. And, so far

Some blind themselves, 'cause possibly they may From th'actual sin of bombast too they are,

Be led by others a right way; (That other crying sin o' th’ English Muse) That even Satan himself can accuse

They build on sands, which if umzov'd they find,

'Tis but because there was no wind. None here (no not so much as the divines)

Less hard 'tis, not to err ourselres, than know For th' motus primò primi to strong lines.

If our forefathers err'd or no. Well, since the soil then does not naturally bear

When we trust men concerning Gool, we then
Verse, who (a devil) should import it here?

Trust not God concerning men.
For that to me would seem as strange a thing
As who did first wild beasts int' islands bring; Visions and inspirations some expect
Unless you think that it might taken be,

Their course here to direct;
As Green did Gondibert, in a prize at sea :

Like senseless chymists their own wealth destroy, But that's a fortune falls not every day;

Imaginary gold t' enjoy : 'Tis true Green was made by it ; for they say So stars appear to drop to us from sky, The parl'ament did a noble bounty do,

And gild the passage as they ily;
And gave him the whole prize, their tenths and But when they fall, and meet th’ opposing gro
fifteenths too.

What but a sordid slime is found ?
Sometimes their fancies they 'bove reason set,

And fast, that they may dream of meat;
THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE. Sometimes ill spirits their sickly souls delude,

And bastard forms obtrude;

So Endor's wretched sorceress, althongh
Against the Dogmatists.

She Saul through his disguise did know,
The sacred tree midst the fair orchard grew;

Yet, when the devil comes up disguis'd, she cries, The Phoenix Truth did on it rest,

“ Behold! the Gods arise." And built his perfum'd nest :

In vain alas ! these outward hopes are try'd; That right Porphyrian tree which did true logic Reason within's our only guide; shew.

Reason, which (God be prais'd !) still walks, for all Each leaf did learned notions give,

Its old orig'nal fall;
And th' apples were demonstrative:

And, since itself the boundless Godhead join'd
So clear their colour and divine,

With a reasonable mind,
The very shade they cast did other lights out-shine. It plainly shows that mysteries divine
"Taste not,” said God, - tis mine and angels'

May with our reason join. meat ;

The holy book,like the eighth sphere, does shino A certain death doth sit,

With thousand lights of truth divine:
Like an ill worm, i'th' core of it.

So numberless the stars, that to the eye
Ye cannot know and live, nor live or know, and eat.” It makes but all one galaxy.
Thus spoke God, yet man did go

Yet Reason must assist too; for, in seas
Ignorantly on to know;

So vast and dangerous as these,
Grew so more blind, and she

Our course by stars above we cannot know, Who tempted him to this grew yet more blind Without the compass too below. than he.

Though Reason cannot through Faith's mysteries The only science man by this did get,

Was but to know he nothing knew:

It sees that there and such they be ;
He straight his nakedness did view,

Leads to Heaven's door and there does humbly keep, His ignorant poor estate, and was asham'd of it. And there through chinks and key-holes peep; Yet searches probabilities,

Though it, like Moses, by a sad command,
And rhetoric, and fallacies,

Must not come into th’ Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide, Į The name of one of the castles in Jersey.

And from afar 'tis all descry'd,


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