With that downe trickled many a siluer teare,
Two christall streames fell from her watrie eies ;
Part of her sad misfortunes than she told,

And wept, and with her wept that shepherd old.

With speeches kinde, he gan the virgin deare
Towards his cottage gently home to guide;
His aged wife there made her homely cheare,
Yet welcomde her, and plast her by her side.
The Princesse dond a poore pastoraes geare,
A kerchiefe coarse upon her head she tide;
But yet her gestures and her lookes (1 gesse)
Were such, as ill beseem'd a shepherdesse.
Not those rude garments could obscure, and hide
The heau'nly beautie of her angels face,
Nor was her princely offspring damnifide,
Or ought disparag'de, by those labours bace ;
Her little flocks to pasture would she guide,
And milk her goates, and in their folds them place,
Both cheese and butter could she make, and frame
Her selfe to please the shepherd and his dame.

ENCOMIUM ON WALLER.

FROM ADDISON'S ACCOUNT OF THE GREATEST ENGLISH
POETS.

THE Courtly WALLER next commands thy lays;
Muse, turn thy verse with art to Waller's praise.
While tender airs and lovely dames inspire
Soft melting thoughts, and propagate desire,
So long shall Waller's strains our passion move,
And Sacharissa's beauty kindle love.
Thy verse, harmonious bard, and flattering song
Can make the vanquish'd great, the coward strong.
Thy verse can show even Cromwell's innocence,
And compliment the storm that bore him hence.
Oh, had thy muse not come an age too soon,
But seen great Nassau on the British throne!
How had his triumphs glitter'd in thy page,
And warm'd thee to a more exalted rage!
What scenes of death and horror had we view'd,
And how had Boyne's wide current reek'd in blood!
Or if Maria's charms thou couldst rehearse,
In smoother numbers and a softer verse;
Thy pen had well described her graceful air,
And Gloriana would have seem'd more fair.

PREFACE

TO THE FIRST EDITION IN 1645.

MADAM,

TO MY LADY.

YOUR commands for the gathering of 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 hath not only all I have done, but all I ever meant to do in this kind. Not but that I may defend the attempt 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 still somewhat removed from common use. But that you may not think his case deplorable who had made verses, we are told that Tully (the greatest wit among the 1 Qu. violence?

:

Romans) was once sick of this disease; and yet recovered so well, that of almost as bad a 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 conceal those we have made, which I shall yet do, if my humble request may be of as much force with your ladyship as your commands have been with me. Madam, I only whisper these in your ears; if you publish them they are your own; and therefore, as you apprehend the approach 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) to tear them in pieces, wherein you shall honour me with the fate of Orpheus, for SO his poems, whereof we only tear 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. 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 my brain, not of the heart of your ladyship's most humble servant,

But as

E. W.

PREFACE

TO THE EDITION OF 1664.

WHEN the Author of these verses (written only to please himself, 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 mistaking 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; the severity whereof he thought not unhappily diverted by 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 way at least, have a title to some admiration; 1 Martial, lib. i. ep. 39.