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

We'll write whate'er froin yo'ı ve hear; Great joys, as well as sorrows, make a stay;

For that's the po$y of the yearı“** They binder one another in the crowd,

This difference only will remain-And 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 confin'din 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 inagic 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, & eloquent Tully did from exile come;

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

dwells. Which could no more h s tongue and counsels miss ; Rome, 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' equator 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 consu.ship 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 loom 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 han:ls which wear thy sacred rings, But like a melting woman suffer'd 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 or, But only that which must thy marriage bind.
You'ad half been lost, and an example then
kut for the happy--the least part of men.
Your very sufferings did so graceful shew,

That some strait envy'd your affliction too;
For a clear conscience and heroic mind

In ills their business and the'r glory find.

Who says the times do learning disallow?
So, though less worthy stones are drown'd in night, Tis tamse; 'twas never honour'd so as now.
The faithful diamond keeps his native light,
And is oblig'd to darkness for a ray,

When you appear, great prince ! our night is done ;

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
Toppose him still, who once has conquer'd so,
Were now to be your rebel, not your foe;

A play may pass too, made extempore.
Fortune henceforth will more of providence have,

Though other arts poor and neglected grow,
And rather be your friend than be your slave.

They'll armít poesy, which was always so.
But we contemn the fury of these days,
And scom 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.

Our ignorance, but our duty too, we show;
I uttle 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, E, as the arc ents did not doubt to sing,

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



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

And call the learned youths to hear; In which, if our bold wishes should be crost, No whistling winds through the glad branches fly: "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 adom 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 bim 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 unkiudly here, High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaten to Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?

have, O, 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 l, 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 sallen ghosts stalk speechless by

That shine with beains 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 fighty 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 lie 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 them not in toys, in lusts, or wine; Oh! had he lir'd in Learning's world, what bound But search of deep philosophy,

Would bare 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 pare 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 bistory; Till all the tuneful birdo + 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,

To 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,
Still 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 last.
Then down in peace and imocence he lay,

Like the Sun's laborious light,
Which still in water sets at night,

Insullied with his 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 ; T enjoy 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 inethod bind;
Where life, spirit, pleasure, always us'd to dwell. We should not sure the great-men's favour need,
But happy thou, ta'en from this frantic age,

Nor on long hopes, the court's thin diet, feed; Where ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!

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

The calumpnies and flatteries spoken there ;
The place now only free from those.

We should not the lords' tables humbly use,
There 'mong the blest thou dost for ever shine,

Or ta!k in ladies' chambers love and news ;
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 ummixt. Nature yields; See'st not a soul cloth'd with more light than thine. Thick summer shades,

where winter still

does tie,

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 inult å gracilis te puer in roså
Perfusus, &c.

Lib. I. Od. v.

THE CHRONICLE. To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind?

"To what heart-ravish'd lover Dost thou thy golden locks unbind,

Margarita 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 his hour might reign,
And see the billows rise !

Had she pot 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 srirring hears ;
In the clear heaven of thy brow

Mary then, and gentle Anne,
No smallest cloud appears.

Both to reign at once began ;


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Alternately they sway'd,

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

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


Methinks heroic poesy till now,
And did rigorous laws inpose ;

Like some fantastic 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 iron-scepter'd queen,

Thou, like some worthy knight with sacred arms, Had not Rebecca sct 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 fed;

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 you h and beauty's pride,

By fatal hands whilst present empires fall,

Thine from the grave past monarchies recall; And Judith reigned in her stead.

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 proudly march'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,vice.oy 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 fietion 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;
The strength and riches of their state,

And ne'er did Heaven so much a voyage bless,
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,

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

Uses just as the Romish 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 Wbum God grant long to reiga!

Year of our Lord six hundred thirty-three.

see ;

Brave Jersey Muse! and he's for this high style And seeks by useless pride,
Call'd 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 + 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.

Shall sweat for food in vain, Stabborn Mount Orgueil !' tis a work to make it

That will n t 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 undefild with clinches yet;

Which, in my pour 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 unuov'd they find, None here (no not so much as the divines)

"Tis but because there was no wind. For th' motus primò primi to strong lines.

Less hard 'tis, not to err onrselves, than know Well, since the soil then does not naturally bear

If our forefathers err'd or no. Verse, who (a devil) should import it here?

When we trust men concerning God, we then For that to me would seem as strange a thing

Trust not God concerning men. As who did first wild beasts int' islands bring; Visions and inspirations some expect t'nless 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 parliament did a noble bounty do,

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

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

And fas', that they may dream of meat; THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE.

Sometimes ill spirits their sickly souls delude, THAT THERE IS NO KNOWLEDGE.

And bastard forms obtrude;

So Endor's wretched sorceress, although
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 Phænix Truth did on it rest,

“* Behold! the Gods arise.” And bu lt his perfurn'd nest :

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

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

Its old original fall; And th' apples were demonstrative :

And, since itself the boundless Godhead join'a 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 shius 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 coarse 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,

see, 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-loles peep i Yet searches probabilities,

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

Must not come into th' Holy Land,

Yet thither it infallibly does guide, • The same of one of the castles in Jersey.

And from afar 'tis all descry'd

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