Poetical recreations consisting of original poems, songs, odes, &c. with several new translations : in two parts / part I, occasionally written by Mrs. Jane Barker, part II, by several gentlemen of the universities, and others.

Licensed and Entred according to Order .

POETICAL RECREATIONS : Consisting of ORIGINAL POEMS , SONGS , ODES , &c. With several New TRANSLATIONS .

In Two PARTS . PART I. Occasionally Written by Mrs. IANE BARKER . PART II. By several Gentlemen of the UNIVERSITIES , and Others .

— pulcherrimá Virgo Incedit , magnâ Iuvenum stipante catervâ . Virg.

LONDON , Printed for Benjamin Crayle , at the Peacock and Bible , at the West-end of St. Pauls . 1688.

Sr. Clement Cottrell Kt. Master of the Ceremonyes

THE PUBLISHER TO The Reader .

LEST the Book might appear Naked , and unfashionable , I thought it could not be altogether unnecessary to say something by way of Preface ; Therefore , not to be tedious , and pedantickly stuff it up with Quotations of several Languages , ( as some affect , to shew Learning ) I shall only say this of the ensuing Poetical Recreations , That the kind reception some other things of this nature have found , encouraged me in the attempt of Publishing these ; and I hope they may give as equivalent satisfaction as any that have preceded them : for the ensuing Verses have pass'd the test of several that know how to judge of Poetry , and that was sufficient to prompt me to the adventure .

The First Part of these Miscellanies are the effects of a Ladies Wit , and I hope all the Courtly will ( though out of a Complement ) allow them for valuable : But however , not to say much more of her Verses , I doubt not but they will commend themselves far better than I can pretend to ; for all good things carry with them a certain irresistable Authority , not to be oppos'd .

The Second Part flows from the Pens of those whose Educations gave them the opportunity of improving their natural Endowments at the Universities , and some others who wanted those advantages ; and by reading you may find the difference of Parts improv'd , and Parts as barely natural : And as Learning is but a way to set off Nature , so very often we see Nature naked to appear more beautifull , than when confin'd or daub'd by auker'd and unnecessary Art , which makes it often prove like a good Face spoil'd by ill Paint , and injurious Washes . But not to pretend to give you a particular Harangue of each Authour , and an account of their Writings , who have been so kind to the World as to contribute to this Piece ; I shall only say that that which Horace said of himself , is applicable to them : Libera per vacuum posui Vestigia princeps , Non aliena meo pressi pede . — They 've trod new Paths , to others Feet unknown , And bravely ventur'd to lead others on . If you that read , like , and recommend , so that the Book sells , I am oblig'd , and you pleas'd : And therefore I shall leave you to the tryal . Vale.

B. CRAYLE .

To Madam IANE BARKER , On Her Incomparable POEMS . SOon as some envious Angel's willing hand Snatch'd Great Orinda from our happy Land ; The Great Orinda , whose Seraphick Pen Triumph'd o'er Women , and out-brav'd ev'n Men : Then our Male - Poets modestly thought fit , To claim the honour'd Primacy in Wit ; But , lo , the Heiress of that Ladies Muse , Rivals their Merits , and their Sence out-do's ; With swifter flights of fancy wings her Verse , And nobler Greatness valiant Acts reherse . Her Modish Muse abhors a constant dress , Appears each day in fineries afresh : Sometimes in pompous Grandeur she do's nobly stalk , Then clad in tragick Buskins do's Majestick walk ; She swells in blushing Purple , or looks big in Arms , Proclaims destructive Wars , & triumphs in Alar'ms ; Denounces fall of States , and fate of greatest Kings , Ruin of mighty Monarchs , and of mighty Things . Sometimes her angry Muse , fill'd with Satyrick rage , Lashes the frantick follies of a froward Age ; Then whips , and fiery Serpents ev'ry Verse entwine , And sharpest-pointed Vengeance fills each threatning line . Sometimes her kinder Muse do's softly sing Of native joys , which in the Country spring : Then , Noiseless as Planets , all her Numbers move , Or silent breathings of a sleeping Dove ; Soft as the Murmur of a gentle Air , Or Mid-nights whispers 'twixt an Amorous pair . A genuine sweetness through her Verses flow , And harmless Raptures , such as Shepherds know ; She fills each Plain , each Wood , each shady Grove , With wearied Echoes of repeated Love. Bald and Bombastick equally you shun , In ev'n paces all your Numbers run . Spencer 's aspiring fancy fills your Soul , Whilst lawfull Raptures through your Poems rowl , Which always by your guidance do submit , To th' curb of Iudgment , and the bounds of Wit . When in a Comick sweetness you appear , Ben Iohnson's humour seems revived there . When lofty Passions thunder from your Pen , Methinks I hear Great Shakespear once again . But what do's most your Poetry commend ? You ev'n begin where those great Wits did end . Your infant fancy with that height is crown'd , Which they with pains and cost ( when old ) scarce found . Go on , Dear Madam , and command our praise , Our freshest Laurels , and our greenest Bays . St. Iohn's Colledge . PHILASTER .

To the Ingenious Mrs. BARKER , On Her Excellent POEMS . LOng since my Thoughts did thus for boding tell , The Muses wou'd their Governours expell , And raise a Female Heir unto the Crown , One of their Sex to sit upon the Throne : And now the time is come , we joy to see We 're Subjects to so great a Queen as thee ; Before in all things else we did submit , ( Madam ) in all things else but only Wit : Such was our vain Self-love , and stubborn Pride , But Heav'n was pleas'd to take the weakest side . And now as Captives to our Conquerour , We must surrender all into your Pow'r , Not daring to keep back the smallest part , But own with shame , and praise your great Desert . Nor are you so desirous of the Bays , As to deny Others deserved Praise ; But giving them an Everlasting Name , You merit to your self a nobler Fame ; While your own Glory you so much neglect , And Others with such skill and care protect , More lasting Trophies to your self erect . But ah , how high your Fancy takes its flight , Whilst they admire at you , gone out of sight : So all in Fire Elijah fled unkind , And left Elisha wond'ring here behind : They , like Elisha , for a Blessing call , You hear their Pray'rs , and let the Mantle fall . With this they strange unheard-of things can doe , Had they a fiery Coach , they 'd be Elijah's too . Farther oblige the World ( good Madam ) still By divine Raptures of your warbling Quill . Restore the Muses , and true Poetry , And teach what Charms do in true Measures lye : And when you find a time best to retreat , Spin out into a Web of Fancy , and of Wit . Let me your Muse a Legacy inherit , A double Portion of your sacred Spirit . C. G.

To the Ingenious AUTHOUR , Mrs. IANE BARKER , ON HER POEMS . I. AS in the ancient Chaos , from whose Womb The Universe did come ; All things confus'd , disorder'd were , No signs o' th' luster , which did after grace The whole Creation's face ; Nothing of Beauty did appear , But all was a continu'd boundless space , Till the Almighty's powerfull Command , Whose Action ev'r more quick than thought , The Infant World out of confusion brought ; Whose all-commanding hand , With Beasts & Trees did bounteously adorn the fruitfull Land . II. So where my Thoughts , if Thoughts can be Design'd from Wit , and Poetrie , Nothing but Ignorance appear'd , Dull ignorance , and folly too , With all that Crew , And home-bred Darkness held the regencie , Till your Almighty Pen This Chaos clear'd , And of old arm'd Men , Strange Miracles rose out o' th' Earth : So to your charming Wit I owe These Verses , 't is your Word that makes them so ; Which rais'd from such a barren ground , Strive to resound Your praise , who by such harmless Magick gave them Birth . III. And as the Heav'ns , to which we all things owe , Scarce own those Bounties which they do bestow : So you 're as kind as they , Submit your kinder influence , To be by us determin'd , us obey ; And still from them Give us ev'n for our weakness a reward , Without regard To Merit : Or if any thing we doe , Worth praise , though solely it proceed from you , Yet for our smallest diligence you doubly do repay . St. Iohn's Colledge . EXILIUS .

In Elegantem IANAE BARKER Poeticen Epigramma . FOnte Caballino Ianam cùm cerno lavatam , An Sappho est , inquam , quae rediviva canit ? Non , ait , at parere ut possim praeclara Virorum Facta datum ; haud aliis , sed peperisse viros . M. Heliogenes de L' Epi. Philos. ac Med. P.

To Mrs. IANE BARKER , On Her Ingenious POEMS . WE Men wou'd fain monopolize all Wit , And e'er since Adam nam'd the Beasts , claim'd it , Thinking in that , by him , our Patent writ . How grosly we mistook , Orinda knew , We are convinc'd too by your Verse and Yo● . 'T is true , at Ten , we 're sent to th' whipping fry , To tug at Classick Oars , and trembling lye Under Gill's heavy lash , or Buzby's Eye . At Eighteen , we to King's or Trinity are sent , And nothing less than Laureate will content ; We search all Sects , ( like Systematick Fools ) And sweat o'er Horace for Poetick Rules . Yet after all these Mountain-throes and din , At length drops out some poor crude Sooterkin , And makes — cob Tonson vex't he e'er put in . But here a Lady , with less noise and pain , Lays by her Bobbins , Tape , and Point-Lorrain ; Attends her serene Soul , till forth she brought Fancy well-shap't , and true digested Thought . Shadwell and Settle yield she hath the knack , And swear she will out-doe Revolting Iack ; She cloaths her Sence in such a modest Style , That her chast Lines no Reader can defile . Madam , your happy Vein we all admire , Pure unmix't rays ( just so Ethereal fire Will shine above the Atmosphere of gross desire , ) Brisk Ayrs , chast Sence , and most delighting Lays ; Take off your Top-knots , and put on the Bays . S. C. Esq.

To the Incomparable GALAECIA , On the Publication of Her POEMS . WHen a new Star do's in the Skies appear , And to some Constellation , shining there , New lustre adds , and gilds the rowling Sphere . Then all the Sons of Art , wond'ring to see The bright , and the amazing Noveltie ; By most accurate Observations , try To search , and find its perfect Theory ; To know its colour , form , place , magnitude , And from strange Causes strange Effects conclude : So all Men , pleas'd with thy ingenuous fire , Who beauteous Verse , and happy slights admire ; With joy behold a Wit so pure as thine , In this dark Age of Ignorance to shine , And scatter Rays so dazling and Divine . All think it glorious , and with vast delight , Gaze on a Star so charming , and so bright ; Nor are amaz'd that Wits less gay and clear , At the approach of thine , shou'd disappear . That Poetaster's of a low degree , Shou'd now neglected , and unvalu'd be , And spreading Fame confin'd alone to thee ; Since none so nicely are observ'd , and view'd , As the large Stars of the first Magnitude . And may your piercing Wit shine always bright As th' Ev'ning Star in a clear frosty Night , Unrival'd by the Moon 's faint borrow'd light . May never interposing sorrows meet , To cloud , or to obscure your growing Wit . But may your Rhimes be still imploy'd to tell , What satissaction do's in Knowledge dwell ; And as you have begun , so yet go on , To make coy Nature's secrets better known ; And may we learn in purest Verse , from thee , The Art of Physick , and Anatomie ; While the much-pleas'd Apollo smiles to see Medicine at once improv'd , and Poetrie . FIDELIUS .

A TABLE OF THE POEMS Contained in the FIRST PART OF POETICAL RECREATIONS . AN Invitation to my Friends at Cambridge . Page 1 To Mr. Hill , on his Verses to the Dutchess of York , when she was at Cambridge . p. 4 To my Cousin Mr. E. F. on his Excellent Painting . p. 6 To my Reverend Friend Mr. H — on his Presenting me The Reasonableness of Christianity , and The History of King Charles the First , &c. p. 8 To Mr. G. P. my Adopted Brother , on the nigh approach of his Nuptials . p. 11 A Virgin Life . p. 12 To my Friend Exillus , on his persuading me to Marry Old Damon . p. 14 To Dr. R. S. my Indifferent Lover , who complain'd of my Indifferency . p. 16 On the Death of my Dear Friend and Play-fellow , Mrs. E. D. p. 18 The Prospect of a Landskip , beginning with a Grove , proceeding to a Rivulet , and ending with a Hill. p. 20 To Sir F. W. presenting him Cowley's first Works . p. 28 To Ovid's Heroines in his Epistles . ibid. To my Honourablle Unkle Colonel C — after his Return into the Low-Countries . p. 29 On the Apothecary's Filing my Bills amongst the Doctor 's . p. 31 To my unkind Strephon. p. 34 To my Friend S. L. on his receiving the Name of Little Tom King. p. 37 Necessity of Fate . p. 38 A Letter to my Honoured Friend Mr. E. S. p. 40 On my Mother and my Lady W. who both lay sick at the same time under the Hands of Dr. Paman . p. 42 In Commendation of the Female Sex. p. 44 To my Brother whilst he was in France . p. 46 On the Death of my Brother . p. 47 On the same : A Pindarique Ode . p. 51 Part of the 19th Psalm . p. 56 Coming from — in a Dark Night . p. 58 To my Dear Cousin Mrs. M. T. after the Death of her Husband and Son. p. 59 To my Young Lover . p. 61 To my Young Lover on his Vow . p. 62 To my Young Lover : A Song . p. 64 To my unkind Friend Little Tom King. p. 65 A 2d Epistle to my Honoured Friend Mr. E. S. p. 70 A Pastoral Dialogue betwixt Two Shepherd-Boys . p. 7● To Mr. C. B. on his Incomparable Singing . p. 76 The Complaint . p. 78 A Song . p. 79 The Unruly Heart : Song . p. 81 Song . p. 82 Song . p. 83 A Bacchanalian Song . p. 84 An Ode . p. 86 Absence for a Time. p. 87 Parting with — p. 89 The Anchorite . p. 91 Iane , Nan , and Frank , their Farewell to Captain C. going to Sea . p. 92 To her Lover's Complaint : A Song . p. 94 To my Adopted Brother Mr. G. P. on my frequent Writing to him . p. 95 To my Friends against Poetry . p. 96 To the Importunate Address of Poetry . p. 97 A Farewell to Poetry , with a long Digression on Anatomy . p. 99 On the Death of my Brother , a Sonnet . p. 107 Resolved never to Versifie more . p. 108

ERRATA .

PArt . I. Page 19. Line 1. for the , read ye .

Part II. Page 47. line 4. for Celestial , read the Celestial .

Page 48. line 4. for crack , read choak .

Page 61. line 6. for your , read you .

Page 89. line 7. for Things , read Thinns .

Page 192. line 6. for but obtain , read obtain .

Page 211. line 8. for streams , read stream .

Page 268. line ult. for reserv'd , read refin'd .

Page 278. line 19. for Fight , read Sight .

Miscellany POEMS . PART I. By Mrs. IANE BARKER .

An Invitation to my Friends at Cambridge . IF , Friends , you would but now this place accost , E're the young Spring that Epithet has lost , And of my rural joy participate ; You 'd learn to talk at this distracted rate . Hail , Solitude , where Innocence do's shroud Her unvail'd Beauties from the cens'ring Croud ; Let me but have her Company , and I Shall never envy this World●s Gallantry : We 'll find out such inventions to delude And mock all those that mock our solitude , That they for shame shall fly for their defence To gentle Solitude and Innocence : Then they will find how much they 've been deceiv'd , When they the flatt'ries of this World believ'd . Though to few Objects here we are confin'd , Yet we have full inlargement of the Mind . From varying Modes , which do our Lives inslave , Lo here a full Immunity we have . For here 's no pride but in the Sun 's bright Beams , Nor murmuring , but in the Crystal streams . No avarice is here , but in the Bees , Nor is Ambition found but in the Trees . No Wantonness but in the frisking Lamb● , Nor Luxury but when they suck their Dams . Nor are there here Contrivances of States , Only the Birds contrive to please their Mates ; Each minute they alternately improve A thousand harmless ways their artless love . No Cruel Nymphs are here to tyrannize , Nor faithless Youths their scorn to exercise ; Unless Narcissus be that sullen he That can despise his am'rous talking she . No Emulation here do's interpose , Unless betwixt the Tulip and the Rose ; But all things do conspire to make us bless'd , ( Yet chiefly 't is Contentment makes the Feast ) 'T is such a pleasing solitude as yet Romance ne're found , where happy Lovers met : Yea such a kind of solitude it is , Not much unlike to that of Paradise , Where all things do their choicest good dispence , And I too here am plac'd in innocence . I shou'd conclude that such it really were , But that the Tree of Knowledge won't grow here● Though in its culture I have spent some time , Yet it disdains to grow in our cold Clime , Where it can neither Fruit nor Leaves produce Good for its owner , or the publick use . How can we hope our Minds then to adorn With any thing with which they were not born ; Since we 're deny'd to make this small advance , To know their nakedness and ignorance ? For in our Maker's Laws we 've made a breach , And gather'd all that was within our reach , Which since we ne're could touch ; Altho' our Eyes Do serve our longing-Souls to tantalize , Whilst kinder fate for you do's constitute Luxurious Banquets of this dainty Fruit. Whose Tree most fresh and flourishing do's grow , E'er since it was transplanted amongst you ; And you in Wit grow as its branches high , Deep as its Root too in Philosophy ; Large as its spreading Arms your Reasons grow , Close as its Umbrage do's your Iudgments show ; Fresh as its Leaves your sprouting fancies are , Your Vertues as its Fruits are bright and fair .

To Mr. HILL , on his Verses to the Dutchess of YORK , when she was at Cambridge . WHat fitter Subject could be for thy Wit ? What Wit for Subject could there be more fit Than thine for this , by which thou 'st nobly shew'd Thy Soul with Loyal Sentiments endew'd ? Not only so , but prov'd thy self to be Mirrour of what her Highness came to see : Who having seen the Schools of Art , the best She found concenter'd in thy matchless Breast ; And doubtless when she saw the eager joys Of Ears no less ambitious than their Eyes , She did conclude their coming was not there To see her only , but thy Wit to hear : Thine whose ascent shall learned Cambridge grace , And shew it 's no such foggy level place As most a●firm ; for now the World shall know That * * Wood● Auth●● anoth●● Spee●● Woods and Hills of wit in Cambridge grow , Whose lofty tops such pleasing Umbrage make , As may induce the Gallants to forsake Their dear-lov'd Town , to gather in this place Some witticisms of a better race , Than what proceed from swearing Criticks , who Kick Tavern Boys , and Orange-Wenches wooe , Are Machavillians in a Co●fee-house , And think it wit a poor Street-Whore to chouse ; And for their Father Hobbs will talk so high , Rather than him they will their God deny : And lest their wit should want a surer proof , They boast of crimes they ne're were guilty of . Thus hellish cunning drest in Masquerade Of Wit 's disguise , so many have betray'd , And made them Bondslaves , who at first did fly Thither Wit 's famine only to supply . But now I hope they 'll find the task too great , And think at last of making a retreat : Since here 's a Pisgah-Hill whereon to stand To take a prospect of Wit 's holy Land , Flowing with Milk of Christian innocence , And Honey of Cic'ronian Eloquence .

To my Cousin Mr. E. F. on his Excellent PAINTING . SHould I in tuneless lines strive to express That harmony which all your lines confess , Ambition would my judgment so out-run , Ev'n as an Archer that would hit the Sun. My Muse , alas ! is of that humble size , She scarce can to a Counter-tenour rise ; Much less must she to treble notes aspire , To match the Beauties of your pencil●s Quire : Yet quite forbear to sing , she can●t , since you Such ample objects for her praises shew . No Poet here can have his tongue confin'd , Unless he 's , like his Master Homer , blind , But must in spight of all his conscious fears , Say something where such Excellence appears . Where each line is in such due order plac'd , Nature stands by afraid to be disgrac'd . Lo in the Eye such graces do appear , As if all Beauties were united there . Yet diff●rent Passions seem therein to move , Grave ev'n as Wisdom , brisk and sweet as Love : The lips , which always are committing rapes , ( To which the Youths fly more than Birds to th' Grapes ) With colour that transcends the Indian-lake , And harmless smiles they do their Conquests make . I should be tedious should I mention all Which Iustice would the chiefest Beauties call , Whose line'ments all harmony do shew , And yet no less express all Beauty too , A strange reverse of nature seems to be , That now we Beauty hear , and Musick see ; Yet just proportion in true numbers meer , Which make a Chorus even heav'nly sweet . Could I think Antient Painters equall●d thee , I should conclude Romance true History ; Not think it strange that Pictures could excite Those Gallant Hero's then to love and fight ; Nor say that Painters did on them impose , Since they made Gods and Mortals like to those ; As Poets did create the Deities , So Painters gave them their ubiquities : For had not Painters them to th' Vulgar shown , They only to the Learned had been known : Nor are we less than they oblig'd to you , Who give us Beauty , and immortalize it too .

To my Reverend Friend Mr. H — . on his Presenting me The Reasonableness of Christianity , and The History of King CHARLES the First , &c. GOod Sir , if I could my Resentments shew In words , how much I am oblig'd to you , I wou'd invoke some Muse to teach me how T' express my gratitude in number now ; But , Sir , the kindness which to me you shew'd , Transcends the bounds of finite gratitude : What number then , alas , can there be fit To cypher kindness which is infinite ? And such is that which teaches us to know God and our selves , and what we ought to do : For whilst I in your Parish spent my Youth , I gain'd the knowledge of all saving Truth ; And when my Exit was by fate design'd , To shew , you 'd not impos'd upon my Mind ( In its Minority , what Reason might In its mature and full-grown vigour slight ) You kindly gave me in Epitome , The Reasonableness of Christianitie . Which shews there 's no necessity to make Us discard Reason when our Faith we take . For God , who knew how apt we were to slide From Faith , if we 'd no reason sor our Guide , Made all his Precepts , which on Faith were fix'd , To be with reason , and our int'rest mix'd ; For howsoe'er by some they 're understood , I 'm sure it is our int'rest to be good : And lest Example should be wanting to Excite us to what Precepts bid us do , He always gave us some , whose Virtues did Exalt good deeds , and wicked ones forbid ; Whose Christian strength was able to subdue The busie World , Flesh , and the Devil too . 'Mongst whom there 's none more Eminently good Than he who seal'd the Truth with 's Royal Blood ; Who prov'd himself by 's Royal Sufferings The best of Men , as well as best of Kings : As David was Christ's Sire , and Servant , so Charles was his Brother , Son and Servant too . Much might be said to call our Wonder forth , And fall much short of his transcendent Worth ; For he so far all praises do's surpass , That who speaks most , speaks short of what he was . For nothing can his matchless worth express , Nor characterize his mighty Soul , unless Wisdom her self assume religious dress . Thanks then , Good Sir , to you , for giving me This compleat Mirrour of Christianitie .

To Mr. G. P. my Adopted Brother ; on the nigh approach of his Nuptials . Dear Brother , THy Marry'ng humour I dare scarce upbraid ; Lest thou retort upon me Musty Maid ; Yet prithee don 't its joys too much esteem , It will not prove what distance makes it seem : Bells are good musick , if they 're not too nigh , But sure 't is base living in a Belfery . To see Lambs skip o're Hills is pretty sport , But who wou'd justle with them in their Court ? Then let not Marriage thee in danger draw , Unless thou' rt bit with Love's Tarantula ; A Frenzy which no Physick can reclaim , But Crosses , crying Children , scolding Dame : Yet who would such a dang'rous Med'cine try , Where a disease attends the remedy ; Whilst Love's Diaryan it assays to cure , It introduces Anger 's Calenture . Ah , pity thy good humour should be spoil'd , The glory of thy wit and friendship soil'd : From Married Man wit's Current never flows , But grave and dull , as standing Pond , he grows ; Whilst th' other like a gentle stream do's play , With this World's pebbles , which obstruct his way . What should I talk , this and much more you know Of all the troubles you must undergo . Yet if we 'll eat Tythe-pig , we must endure The punishment to serve the Parson's cure .

A VIRGIN LIFE . SInce , O ye Pow'rs , ye have bestow'd on me So great a kindness for Virginity , Suffer me not to fall into the Pow'rs Of Mens almost Omnipotent Amours ; But in this happy Life let me remain , Fearless of Twenty five and all its train , Of slights or scorns , or being call'd Old Maid , Those Goblings which so many have betray'd : Like harmless Kids , that are pursu'd by men , For safety run into a Lyon's Den. Ah lovely State how strange it is to see , What mad conceptions some have made of thee , As though thy Being was all wretchedness , Or foul deformity i' th' ugliest dress ; Whereas thy Beauty's pure , Celestial , Thy thoughts Divine , thy words Angelical : And such ought all thy Votaries to be , Or else they 're so , but for necessity . A Virgin bears the impress of all good , In that dread Name all Vertue 's understood : So equal all her looks , her mien , her dress , That nought but modesty seems in excess . And when she any treats or visits make , 'T is not for tattle , but for Friendship 's sake ; Her Neighb'ring Poor she do's adopt her Heirs , And less she cares for her own good than theirs ; And by Obedience testifies she can Be 's good a Subject as the stoutest Man . She to her Church such filial duty pays , That one would think she 'd liv'd i' th' pristine days . Her Closet , where she do's much time bestow , Is both her Library and Chappel too , Where she enjoys society alone , I' th' Great Three-One — She drives her whole Lives business to these Ends , To serve her God , enjoy her Books and Friends .

To my Friend EXILLUS , on his persuading me to Marry Old Damon . WHen Friends advice with Lovers forces joyn , They 'll conquer Hearts more fortify'd than mine● For mine lyes as it wont , without defence , No Guard nor Art but its own innocence ; Under which Fort , it could fierce storms endure , But from thy Wit I find no Fort secure . Ah , why would'st thou assist my Enemy , Who was himself almost too strong for me ? Thou with Idolatry mak'st me adore , And homage do to the proud Conquerour . Now round his Neck my willing Arms I 'd twine , And swear upon his Lips , My Dear , I 'm thine , But that his kindness then would grow , I fear , Too weighty for my weak desert to bear . I fear 't wou'd even to extreams improve , And Iealousie , they say , 's th' extream of Love ; That after all my kindness to him shown , My little Neddy , he 'll not think 't his own : Ev'n thou my Dear Exillus he 'll suspect , If I but look on thee , I him neglect : Not only He-friends innocent as thou , But he 'll mistrust She-friends and Heav'n too . Thus best things may be turn'd to greatest harm , As saying th' Lord's Prayer backward proves a charm . Or if not thus , I 'm sure he will despite , Or under-rate the easie-gotten prize . These and a thousand fears my Soul possess , But most of all my own unworthiness ; Like dying Saints , I wish for coming joys , But humble fears that forward wish destroys . What shall I do then ? hazard the event ? You say , Old Damon's , all that 's excellent . If I miss him , the next some Squire may prove , Whose Dogs and Horses shall have all his love ; Or some debauch'd pretender to lewd wit , Or covetous , conceited , unbred Citt. Thus the brave Horse , who late i' th' Coach did neigh , Is forc'd at last to tug a nasty Dray .

To Dr. R. S. my indifferent Lover , who complain'd of my Indifferency . YOu 'd little reason to complain of me , Or my unkindness or indiff'rency , Since I by many a circumstance can prove , That int'rest was the motive of your love ; But Heav'n it self doth ever hate th' address , Whose crafty Motive 's only interess ; No more can honest Maids endure to be , The objects of your wife indiff'rency . Such wary Courtship only should be shown To cunning jilting Baggages o' th' Town : For faithfull Love●s the rhetorick that persuades , And charms the hearts of silly Countrey Maids . But when we find your Courtship 's but pretence , Love were not Love in us , but impudence . At best I 'm sure it needs must prove to us ( What e're you think on 't ) most injurious . For had I of that gentle nature been , As to have lov'd your Person , Wit , or Mien , How many sighs and tears it would have cost , And fruitless expectations by the Post , Saying he is unkind ; oh , no , his Letter 's lost ; Hoping him sick , or lame , or gone to Sea , Hope any thing but his inconstancy . Thus what in other Friends cause greatest fear , To desp'rate Maids , their only comforts are . This I through all your Blandishments did see , Thanks to ill nature that instructed me : Thoughts of your sighs , would plead sometimes for you , But second thoughts again would let me know , In gayest Serpents strongest Poysons are , And sweetest Rose-trees sharpest prickles bear : And so it proves , for now it do's appear , Your Flames and Sighs only for Money were . As Beggers for their gain turn Blind and Lame ; On the same score a Lover you became : Yet there 's a kindness in this false Amour , It teaches me ne'er to be Mistress more . Thus Blazing Comets are of good portent , If they excite the People to repent .

On the DEATH of my Dear Friend and Play-fellow , Mrs E. D. having Dream'd the night before I heard thereof , that I had lost a Pearl . I Dream'd I lost a Pearl , and so it prov'd ; I lost a Friend much above Pearls belov'd : A Pearl perhaps adorns some outward part , But Friendship decks each corner of the heart : Friendship 's a Gem , whose Lustre do's out-shine All that 's below the heav'nly Crystaline : Friendship is that mysterious thing alone , Which can unite , and make two Hearts but one ; It purifies our Love , and makes it flow I' th' clearest stream that 's found in Love below ; It sublimates the Soul , and makes it move Towards Perfection and Celestial Love. We had no by-designs , nor hop'd to get Each by the other place amongst the great ; Nor Riches hop'd , nor Poverty we fear'd , 'T was Innocence in both , which both rever'd : Witness this truth the Wilsthorp-Fields , where we So oft enjoyd a harmless Luxurie ; Where we indulg'd our easie Appetites , With Pocket-Apples , Plumbs , and such delights . Then we contriv'd to spend the rest o' th' day , In making Chaplets , or at Check-stone play ; When weary , we our selves supinely laid On Beds of Vi'lets under some cool shade , Where th' Sun in vain strove to dart through his Raȳs● Whilst Birds around us chanted forth their Lays ; Ev'n those we had bereaved of their young , Would greet us with a Querimonious Song . Stay here , my Muse , and of these let us learn , The loss of our deceased Friend to Mourn : Learn did I say ? alas , that cannot be , We can teach Clouds to weep , and Winds to sigh at Sea , Teach Brooks to murmur , Rivers too re-flow , We can add Solitude to Shades of Yeaugh . Were Turtles to be witness of our moan , They'd in compassion quite forget their own : Nor shall hereafter Heraclitus be , Fam'd for his Tears , but to my Muse and Me ; Fate shall give all that Fame can comprehend , Ah poor repair for th' loss of such a Friend .

The Prospect of a LANDSKIP , Beginning with a GROVE . WEll might the Antients deem a Grove to be The Sacred Mansion of some Deity ; For it our Souls insensibly do's move , At once to humble Piety and Love , The choicest Blessings Heav'n to us has giv'n , And the best Off'ring we can make to Heav'n ; These only poor Mortality make bless'd , And to Inquietude exhibit rest ; By these our rationality is shown , The cognisance by which from Brutes we 'r known . For who themselves of Piety devest , Are surely but a Moral kind of Beasts ; But those whom gentle Laws of Love can't bind , Are Salvages of the most sordid kind . But none like these do in our Shades obtrude , Though scornfully some needs will call th●m rude Yet Nature's culture is so well exprest , That Art her self would wish to be so drest : For here the Sun conspires with ev'ry Tree , To deck the Earth with Landskip-Tapistry . Then through some space his brightest , Beams appear● Which do's erect a Golden Pillar there . Here a close Canopy of Bows is made , There a soft grassie Cloth of State is spread , With Gems and gayest Flow'rs embroider'd o●re , Fresh as those Beauties honest Swains adore . Here Plants for health , and for delight are met , The Cephalick Cowslip , Cordial Violet . Under the Diu●e●ick Woodbine grows The Splenetick Columbine , Scorbutick Rose ; The best of which , some gentle Nymph doth tak● , For saithfull Corydon a Crown to make ; Whilst on her Lap the happy Youth's head lyes , Gazing upon the Aspects of her Eyes , The most unerring , best Astronomy , Whereby to Calculate his destiny ; Whilst o're their heads a pair of Turtles Coo , Which with less zeal and constancy do woo●● ; And Birds around , through their extended throats , In careless Consort chant their pleasing Notes ; Than which , no sweeter Musick strikes the Ear , Unless when Lover's sighs each other hear ; Which are more soft than Austral Breeses bring , Although they say they 're harbingers of th' Spring . Ah silly Town ! wil 't thou near learn to know , What happiness in Solitude do's grow ? But as a hardn'd Sinner for 's defence , Pleads the insipidness of innocence ; Or some whom Vertue due respect would grant , But that they feign they 're of her ignorant : Yet Blindness is not laudable to plead , When we 're by wilfull Ignorance mis-led . Should some , who think 't a happiness to get Crouds of acquaintance , to admire their Wit ; Resolve their Sins and Follies to discard , Their Cronies quickly would them disregard . 'T is hard we must ( the World 's so wicked grown ) Be complaisant in Sin , or live alone : For those who now with Vertue are endu'd , Do live alone , though in a multitude . Retire then all , whom Fortune don't oblige , To suffer the distresses of a Siege . Where strong temptation Vertue do's attacque , 'T is not ignoble an escape to make : But where no Conquest can be hop'd by ●ight , 'T is honourable , sure , to 'scape by flight . Fly to some calm retreat , where you may spend Your life in quietude with some kind Friend ; In some small Village , and adjacent Grove , At once your Friendship and your Wit improve ; Free from those vile , opprobrious , foolish Names , Of Whig or Tory , and from sordid aims Of Wealth , and all its train of Luxuries ; From Wit sophisticate , with fooleries . From Beds of Lust , and Meals o're-charg'd with Wine , Here temp'rately thou may'st on one Dish dine : In wholsome Exercise thou may'st delight Thy self , and make thy rest more sweet at night . And i● thy mind to Contemplation leads , Who God and Nature's Books has , surely needs No other Object to imploy his thought , Since in each leaf such Mysteries are wrought ; That who so studies most , shall never know Why the straight Elm's so tall , the Moss so low . Oh now , I could inlarge upon this Theam , But that I 'm unawares come to the stream , Which at the bottom of this Grove do's glide ; And here I 'll rest me by its flow'ry side .

Sitting by a Rivulet . I. AH lovely stream , how fitly may'st thou be , By thy immutability , Thy gentle motion and perennity , To us the Emblem of Eternity : And to us thou do'st no less A kind of Omnipresence too express . For always at the Ocean thou Art always here , and at thy Fountain too ; Always thou go'st thy proper Course , Spontaneously , and yet by force , Each Wave forcing his Precursor on ; Yet each one runs with equal haste , As though each fear'd to be the last . With mutual strife , void of contention , In Troops they march , till thousands , thousands past . Yet gentle stream , thou' rt still the same , Always going , never gone ; Yet do'st all Constancy disclaim , Wildly dancing to thine own murmuring tunefull Song ; Old as Time , as Love and Beauty young . II. But chiefly thou to Unity lay'st claim , For though in thee , Innumerable drops there be , Yet still thou art but one , Th' Original of which from Heav'n came : The purest Transcript thereof we I' th' Church may wish , but never hope to see , Whilst each Pretender thinks himself alone The Holy Catholick Church Militant ; Nay , well it is if such will grant , That there is one else where Triumphant . III. But gent●e stream , if they , As thou do'st Nature , would their God obey ; And as they run their course of life , would try Their Consciences to purify : From self-love , pride , and avaricy , Stubbornness equal to Idolatry ; They'd find opinion of themselves , To be but dang'rous sandy Shelves , To found or build their Faith upon , Unable to resist the force Of Prosperity's swelling violent sorce , Or storms of Persecution : Whose own voracity ( were 't in their power ) Wou'd not only Ornaments devour , But the whole Fabrick of Religion . IV. But gentle stream , thou' rt nothing so , A Child in thee may safely go To rifle thy rich Cabinet ; And his Knees be scarcely wet , Whilst thou wantonly do'st glide , By thy Enamell'd Banks most beauteous side ; Nor is sweet stream thy peacefull tyde , Disturbed by pale Cynthia's influence ; Like us thou do'st not swell with pride Of Chastity or Innocence . But thou remain'st still unconcern'd , Whether her Brows be smooth or horn'd ; Whether her Lights extinguish'd or renew'd , In her thou mindest no Vicissitude . Happy if we , in our more noble State , Could so slight all Vicissitudes of Fate .

A HILL . OH that I cou'd Verses write , That might express thy praise , Or with my Pen ascend thy height ; I thence might hope to raise My Verse upon Fame's soaring wing , That it might so advance , As with Apollo's Lyre to Sing , And with the Spheres to Dance . This was never Finished .

To Sir F. W. presenting him Cowley's first Works . WHen vacant hours admit you to peruse , The mighty Cowley's early Muse ; Behold it as a bud of wit , whose growth O're-tops all that our Isle brought forth : And may it still above all others grow , Till equall'd , or out-done by you●

To Ovid's HEROINES in his Epistles . BRight Shee s , what Glories had your Names acquir'd , Had you consum'd those whom your Beauties fir'd , Had laugh'd to see them burn , and so retir'd : Then they cou'd ne'er have glory'd in their shames , Either to Roman , or to English Dames , Had you but warm'd , not melted in their flames . You 'd not been wrack'd then on despair's rough coast , Nor yet by storms of Perjuries been toss'd , Had you but fix'd your flowing Love with Frost . Had you put on the Armour of your scorn , ( That Gem which do's our Beauties most adorn ) What hardy Hero durst have been forsworn . But since they found such lenity in you , Their crime so Epidemical do's grow , That all have , or do , or would be doing so .

To my Honourable Unkle Colonel C — after his Return into the Low-Countries . DEar Sir , the joys which range through all your Troops , Express'd by Caps thrown up , and English Whoops , Were the old marks of Conquest , which they knew They should obtain , when they obtained you ; As being the Soul , which animation gave To all their Valours , and to all their brave Atchievements , by which your honour'd Name Shall be Eternaliz'd in th' Book of Fame : Though we partakers of your Glories are , And of your Ioys by sympathy do share ; Yet Absence makes the pleasure but in part , And for your safety , Fear our joys do's thwart : Fear , which by you 's the worst of Sins esteem'd , At best is a Mechanick Passion deem'd ; Yet when your danger she presents to us , She 's then both good and meritorious . Think then how we 're excited by this Fear , To mourn your Absence , though your Worth revere : Besides , methinks 't is pity that you shou'd , For sordid Boors , exhaust your Noble Blood. Think then , dear Sir , of making your return , And let your Presence Britain's Isle adorn .

On the Apothecary's Filing my Bills amongst the Doctors . I Hope I shan't be blam'd if I am proud , That I 'm admitted 'mongst this Learned Croud ; To be proud of a Fortune so sublime , Methinks is rather Duty , than a Crime : Were not my thoughts exalted in this state , I should not make thereof due estimate : And sure one cause of Adam's fall was this , He knew not the just worth of Paradise ; But with this honour I 'm so satisfy'd , The Antients were not more when Deify'd : For this transcends all common happiness , And is a Glory that exc●eds excess . This 't is , makes me a fam'd Physician grow , As Saul 'mongst Prophets turn'd a Prophet too . The sturdy Gout , which all Male power withstands , Is overcome by my soft Female hands : Not Deb'ra , Iudith , or Semiramis Could boast of Conquests half so great as this ; More than they slew , I save in this Disease . Mankind our Sex for Cures do celebrate , Of Pains , which fancy only doth create : Now more we shall be magnified sure , Who for this real torment find a Cure. Some Women-haters may be so uncivil , To say the Devil 's cast out by the Devil ; But so the good are pleas'd , no matter for the evil● Such ease to States-men this our Skill imparts , I hope they 'll force all Women to learn Arts. Then Blessings on ye all ye learned Crew , Who teach me that which you your selves ne'er knew● Thus Gold , which by th' Sun's influence do's grow , Do's that i' th' Market Phoebus cannot doe . Bless'd be the time , and bless'd my pains and fate , Which introduc'd me to a place so great . False Strephon too I now could almost bless , Whose crimes conduc'd to this my happiness . Had he been true , I 'd liv'd in sottish ease ; Ne'er study'd ought , but how to love and please : No other flame my Virgin Breast had fir'd , But Love and Life together had expir'd . But when , false wretch , he his forc'd kindness paid , With less Devotion than e'er Sexton pray'd . Fool that I was to sigh , weep , almost dye , Little fore-thinking of this present joy● Thus happy Brides shed tears they know not why . Vainly we blame this Cause , or laugh at that , Whilst the Effect with its how , where and what , Is an Embryo i' th' Womb of Time or Fate . Of future things we very little know , And 't is Heav'ns kindness too that it is so . Were not our Souls with Ignorance so buoy'd , They 'd sink with fear , or over-set with pride . So much for Ignorance there may be said , That large Encomiums might thereof be made . But I 've digress'd too far , so must return , And make the Medick Art my whole concern ; Since by its Aid I 've gain'd this mighty place Amongst th' immortal AEsculapian Race ; That if my Muse will needs officious be , She too to this must be a Votary . In all our Songs its Attributes reherse , Write Recipes ( as Ovid Law ) in Verse ; To measure we 'll reduce Febrifick heat , And make the Pulses in true measure beat : Asthma and Phthisick shall chant lays most sweet , The Gout and Rickets too shall run on feet : In fine , my Muse , such Wonders we will doe , That to our Art Mankind their ease shall owe ; Then praise and please our selves in doing so : For since the Learn'd exalt and own our Fame , It is no Arrogance to do the same , But due respects and complaisance to them .

To my Unkind STREPHON . WHen last I saw thee , thou did'st seem so kind , Thy Friendship & thy Mirth so unconsin'd ; Thy Mind serene , Angelical thy Face , Wit and good humour ev'ry part did grace ; That nought unkind appear'd to my dull sence , To cloud the Glories of Love's Excellence . Thus e're the Sun his leave of us he takes , Behind the Trees a glorious Landskip makes ; So in thy Mien those Glories did appear , To shew it seems Friendship was setting there : But now't's obscured , whether it descends Into the Ocean of more worthy Friends ; Or that it do's to State or bus'ness move , Those Regions of th' Antipodes of Love , I know not , only it withdraws its light , Exposing of our Microcosm to night : A night all clad in Sorrows , thickest Air , Yet no less cold than those that are most clear : But as when heat by cold contracted is , Grows stronger by its Antiperistasis ; So shall my Passion in this frigid state Grow strong in fervent love , or torrid hate ; But should I frown , or scorn , or hate , 't would be But laughter and divertisement to thee : Then be thou still unkind , I am resolv'd I' th' like unkindness ne'er to be involv'd ; But those whom Frowns and Anger cannot move , It is but just to persecute with Love , Like good Old Romans , although banish'd I Shall still retain my first integrity . But what should make thee thus to banish me , Who always did do , and will honour thee ; Unless thou' rt like those jealous Romans grown , And falsly fear I should erect a Throne Within thy Breast , and absolutely prove My self the mighty Monarch of thy Love : No sure , thy Iudgment never could be wrought , To think that I should harbour such a thought ; Thou could'st not think I aim'd at such a state , Who in thy Breast had no confederate ; Nor Worth wherewith the * * The noble and sordid Passions . Nobles to engage , Nor Wealth to stifle the Plebeian Rage : Nor had I Troops of Beauties at Command , For Grief long since those Forces did disband : Besides , thou know'st I always did despise , In Love , those Arbitrary tyrannies : Nor do I less abhor the Vulgar croud Of sordid Passions , which can bawl so loud For Liberty , that they thereby may grace Pride , Lust , or Av'rice , with a Tribune's place ; But might I chuse , Love's Regiment should be , By Friendship 's noble Aristocracy . But now , alas , Love's Powers are all deprest , By th' pow'rfull Anarchy of Interest : But although Hell and Earth therein combin'd , I little thought what now too well I find , That ever Strephon could have been unkind .

To my Friend Mr. S. L. ON HIS Receiving the Name of Little Tom King. FEar not , dear Friend , the less'ning of thy Fame , Because here 's Little fix'd upon thy Name ; Thy matchless Worth , alas , is too well known , To suffer damage by detraction . Nor can the Splendour of thy glorious Rays Gain Augmentation by our worthless praise ; But as the faithfull Diamonds luster 's shown , Whether set on Foils , or in the Fire thrown ; So art thou Little King , whose Worth cross Fate , By no Vicissitude can vitiate : So sweet thy Humour , so genteel thy Mien ; So wise thy Actions , all thy Thoughts serene ; That Envies self , who do's all praise regret , Must own in thee Virtue and Wisdom's met ; For were 't thou really such as is thy Name , I 'm sure thy Wisdom wou'd adorn the same ; And to the silly World it shou'd be shown , That Virtue cou'd add Splendour to a Throne .

Necessity of Fate . I. IN vain , in vain it is , I find , To strive against our Fate , We may as well command the Wind , Or th' Seas rude Waves to gentle manners bind , Or to Eternity prescribe a date , As frustrate ought that Fortune has design'd . For when we think we 're Politicians grown , And live by methods of our own ; We then obsequiously obey Her Dictates , and a blindfull Homage pay . II. For were 't not so , surely I cou'd not be Still slave to Rhime , and lazy Poetry ; I who so oft have strove , My freedom to regain ; And sometimes too , for my assistance took Business , and sometimes too a Book ; Company , and sometimes Love : All which proves vain , For I can only ●hake , but not cast off my Chain . III. Ah cruel Fate ! all this thou did'st sore-show , Ev'n when I was a Child ; When in my Picture 's hand My Mother did command , There shou'd be drawn a Lawrel-bough : Lo then my Muse sat by and smil'd , To hear how some the Sentence did oppose , Saying an Apple , Bird , or Rose Were objects which did more be●it My childish years , and no less childish wit . IV. But my smiling Muse well knew that cons●ant Fate , Her promise wou'd compleat ; For Fate at my initiation , In the Muses Congregation , As my Responsor promis'd then for me , I shou'd forsake those three , Soaring honours , and vain sweets of pleasure , And vainer fruits of worldly treasure ; All for the Muses Melancholy Tree , E're I knew ought of its great Mystery . Ah gentle Fate , since thou wilt have it so , Let thy kind hand exalt it to my brow .

To my Honoured Friend , Mr. E. S — . OH had I any Charms of equal Powers , To lay those spirits which are rais'd by yours ; I would employ them all , rather than now Suffer my babbling Rhimes to trouble you : But ah ! alas my Spells are all too weak , To keep a silence which you urge to break ; Though I remember justly where and when I promis'd ne'er to trouble you agen ; And when I spoke , I meant my words for true , But those Resolves were cancell'd at review Of your obliging Lines , which made me know Silence to be the greater fault o' th' too : For where Perfection do's in triumph sit , 'T is rude to praise , but sinfull to omit . I often read your Lines , and oft admire , How Eloquence and Fancy do conspire , With Wit and Iudgment to make up a Quire , And grace the Musick of Apollo's Lire . But that which makes the Musick truly sweet , Virtue and Innocence in Chorus meet : So smooth , so gentle all your Writings are , If I with other Authors them compare , Methinks their Modish Wit to me do's shew , But as an Engyscope to view yours through : Nor do your Writ●ngs only smoothly glide , Whilst your whole life 's like some impetuous tide ; But both together keep a gentle pace , And each other do each other grace . There 's very few like you that do possess The Stoicks strictness , Poets gentleness . I much admire your Worth , but more my Fate , That worthless I thereof participate ; Ev'n so the Sun disdains not to dispence On meanest Insects his bright influence ; But gives them animation by his Rays , Which they requite , like me , with worthless praise ; Which now I 'm sure 's grown troublesome to you , But you must bear that fate which others do : For those that needs will taste of Parents joys , Must too indure the plague of Cradle-noise .

On my Mother and my Lady W — . who both lay sick at the same time under the Hands of Dr. Paman . LIke two sweet Youths strip●d naked on the Strand , Ready to plunge , in consternation stand , Viewing the dimples of that smiling Face , Whose frigid Body they design t' imbrace , Till by their Guardian Angel's care , some friend Snatches them from the danger they intend : So did these Pious Souls themselves prepare , By putting off the Robes of worldly care . Thus fitted ( as they were ) in each degree , To lanch into a bless'd Eternity ; They both had shot the Gulph — Had not thei● Guardian-God , good Paman sent , Who by his Skill a longer time them lent . Ah happy Paman , mightily approv'd , Both by thy Patients , and the Poor belov'd . Hence let no Slander light upon the Fame Of thy great Art , much less upon thy Name : Nor to bad Druggs let Fate thy Worth expose , For best Receipts are baffl'd oft by those : Nor let no Quack intrude where thou do'st come , To crop thy Fame , or haste thy Patients doom ; Base Quackery to Sickness the kind Nurse , The Patients ruine , and Physicians curse : Let no infectious Sickness seize thy Blood , But that thou may'st live long to do much good . May all the Blessings light on thee that can Attend a Doctor , or a Christian Man . Since by thy care thou hast restor'd to us , Two in whom Virtue 's most conspicuous : Better , I 'm sure , no Age can ever shew , Whose Lives are Precepts , and Examples too .

In Commendation of the Female Sex. Out of SCIPINA . AH Beauteous Sex , to you we 're bound to give Our thanks for all the Blessings we receive ; Ev'n that we 're Men , the chief of all our boast Were without you , but a vast blessing lost . In vain would Man his mighty Patent show , That Reason makes him Lord of all below ; If Woman did not moderate his rule , He 'd be a Tyrant , or a softly fool . For e'er Love's documents inform his Breast , He 's but a thoughtless kind of Houshold Beast . Houses , alas , there no such thing wou'd be , He 'd live beneath the umbrage of a Tre● : Or else usurp some free-born Native's Cave ; And so inhabit , whilst alive , a Grave : Or o'er the World this Lordly Brute wou'd rove , Were he not taught and civiliz'd by Love. 'T is Love and Beauty regulate our Souls , No rules so certain as in Venus Schools : Your Beauty teacheth whatsoe'er is good , Else good from bad had scarce been understood . What 's eligible by your smiles we know , And by your frowns refuse what is not so . Thus the rough draught of Man you have refin'd , And polish'd all the Passions of his mind . His Cares you lessen , and his Ioys augment ; To both extreams set the just bounds Content . In fine , 't is you to Life its relish give , Or 't were insipid , not worth while to live : Nay more , we 're taught Religion too by you : For who can think that such Perfections grew By chance ? no , 't was the divine Pow'rs which thus Chose to exhibit their bright selves to us : And for an Antepast of future bliss , Sent you their Images from Paradise .

To my BROTHER , whilst he was in France . DEar Brother , So far as you advance Your knowledge , by your Iourney into France● So far and more I 'm sure I backward go , For I can't say As in praesenti now ; Nor ever shall ( I am so much concern'd For your dear safety ) whilst you are return'd . Nothing at present wonted pleasure yields , The Birds nor Bushes , or the gaudy Fields ; Nor Osier holts , nor Flow'ry banks of Glen ; Nor the soft Meadow-grass seem Plush , as when We us'd to walk together kindly here , And think each blade of Corn a Gem did bear . Instead of this , and thy Philosophy , Nought but my own false Latin now I see ; False Verse , or Lovers falsest of the three : Ev'n thoughts of formor happiness augment My Griefs , and are my present punishment ; As those who from a state of Grandeur fall , Find adverse Fate hard to dispence withall . Had Devils never Heaven seen , Their Hell a smaller Curse had been .

On the DEATH of my Brother . COme Sorrow , come , embrace my yielding heart , For thou' rt alone , no Passion else a-part ; Since of my Dear by Death I am bereft , Thou art the faithfull'st Lover I have left ; And so much int'rest thou hast got in me , All thoughts of him prove only Pimps to thee : If any joy s●em to accost my Soul , One thought of him do's presently controle Those fawning Rivals ; all which steal away , Like wand'ring Ghosts at the approach of day . But hold , fond Grief , thou must forbear a while , Thy too too kind Caresses , which beguile Me of my Reason , — retire whilst I Repeat the Life , the Death , the Elogy , Of him my Soul ador'd with so much pride , As makes me slight all worldly things beside ; Of him who did by his fraternal Love , More noble Passions in my Bosome move , Than e'er cou'd be infus'd by Cupid's Darts , Or any feign'd , adulterate , sordid Arts ; Of him whose blooming Youth pleas'd each Man's Eye , And tempted Women to Idolatry ; Of him whose growing Art made Death afraid , He shou'd be vanquish'd , and his Throne betray'd● 'Cause with success , and yet no less applause , He rescu'd many from the Tyrant's jaws : At last the Tyrant raging full with spight , Assaults his Enemy with all his might ; And for his Second brings a Feavour too ; In this Attacque what could our Champion doe ? He bravely fights , but forc'd at last to yield , Nature , his Second , having lost the Field : * * Doctors . Many bring in their Aid , but 't is too late , Grim Death had gotten a Decree from Fate ; Which retrograded all that g●eat supply , Whose pow'rfull Arms makes Death and Feavers fly● But why , great Fate ! would'st thou so cruel be , Of Ioy at once to rob the World and Me ! What joys so e'er we to our selves propose , Fate still will frustrate , or at least oppose ; 'T is her Ambition sure to let us know , She has the Regiment of all below . If it be so , command some mournfull Muse T' inspire my Soul , and then my Heart infuse With Essence of some Dirges , that I may His Matchless worth to all the World display . Nor Fate , nor Muse will help us now , I find , All flee the Wretched , ev'n as Ships the Wind. My Dear , had'st thou to me bequeath'd thy Wit , Thy Character had long ago been writ I' th' most sublime and lasting Verse , That e'er Adorn'd the greatest Hero's Herse . But were thy great Encomium writ by me , 'T wou'd be the ready way to lessen thee : Therefore I must desist from that design , And the attempt to better hands resign ; Only repeat what mournfully was said , As in thy cold and narrow Bed was 't laid By the Apollo's (a) (a) Old Doctors . of thy noble Art , ( Who seem'd to grudge me in their grief a part ) Alas , he 's gone who shou'd have liv'd to be An honour to our Great Society . " Alas , he 's gone who shou'd supply the place " Of some of us , when time has left no space " Betwixt us and the Grave ; but now we see " How they 're deceiv'd , who hold no vacancy : " And all the Gallant AEsculapian (b) (b) Young Physi●ians . Crow , " Whos 's great Example from Spectators drew " Such floods of tears , that some mistook their aim , " And thought a real show'r from Heav'n came . But I , as if the Fountain of this Source , With Handkerchiefs strove to retard the course ; But all in vain , my real loss was great , As many thought , whose Words I here repeat : " I cannot blame you for lamenting so , " Since better friend no friend did e'er forego ; " A publick Sorrow for this loss is due , " The Nation surely , Madam , mourns with you .

On the same . A Pindarique ODE . I. WHat have I now to hope or fear , Since Death has taken all that 's dear In him , who was my joy , my love , Who rais'd my Passion far above What e're ●he blind God's shafts cou'd doe , Or Nymph or Swain e'er knew : For Friendship do's our Souls more gently move , To a Love more lasting , noble , and more true , Than dwells in all the Amorous Crew ; For Friendship 's pure , holy , just , Without canker , soil , or rust Of Pride , Cov●tousness , or Lust ; It to Ambition makes no room , Nor can it be by Int're●t overcome , But always keeps its proper state , I' th' midst of most injurious Fate ; Ev'n Death it self to 'ts Bonds can give no date . II. But O Tyrant ! thou Canst at one blow Destroy Fruition's happiness , Wherein we Lovers place our bliss ; For without it , Love 's but an ample theam Of Imaginary joys , Those gay-deluding toys , By which our most fix'd thoughts are cros●'d ; Or as one that wakes out of a dr●am , Finds all the pleasing Objects lost : Or as Sodom's beauteous fruit , Whose out-side makes a fair pretence , To gratifie another sence ; But touch it , and you 'll find how destitute It 's of all good , Much more unfit for food : So may our pleasures make a specious shew To th' vulgar view ; But his absence whom I now deplore , Makes all my Ioys but Ashes at the core . III. Ah Death , thou wast severe , Thus from me to tear , The Hopes of all my future Happiness , The Co-partner of my present Bliss , The Alleviator of my Care , The partaker of what ever Fate did share , To me in my Life's progress ; If bad , he wou'd bear half at least , Till the Storm was over-blown or ceas'd ; If good , he wou'd augment it to excess , And no les● joy for me than for himself express . IV. Of my Youth he was the Guide , All its extravagance with curious ey● , He wou'd see and rectify : And in me he infus'd such humble pride , As taught me this World's pleasures to deride : He made me know I was above All that I saw or cou'd enjoy , In this giddy toy , Of the whole World's happiness : And yet again this Paradox wou'd prove , That to my self shou'd seem less , Than ought I saw i' th' mighty Universe . V. Nor was his kindness only fix'd on me , For freely he Did on all friends his Love and Wit dispence , As th' Heavens do their influence ; And likewise did no diminution know , When his Wit he did bestow , Amongst his wond'ring Auditors , Who cou'd not chuse where Wit was so pro●ound , And Vertue did so much abound , But to become his faithfull Plauditors : All which he did receive , With less concern than they could give ; Which proves that Pride his Heart did never touch : For this he always understood , That best Ambition still was such , As less desir'd to be wise than good . VI. But thus his Vertues to enumerate , Serves but my Sorrows to accumulate , As cyphers in Accompt , Till the Sum ad infinitum mount ; A Sum which none but Death can calculate ; Which he most dext'rously can doe , By subtracting the one Figure ●rom ●he row ; For one's but one , if taken from the train Of Pleasures , Riches , Honours , Wit : Nor can a King his Power maintain ; If all these cyphers should recede●rom ●rom it . What matter then what our attendance be , Whether happiness or miserie : For when the mighty Leveller do's come , It seems we must be all but one , One in equality . VII . How soon he comes , I need not care , Who may to me a better fortune share ; For of all happiness I here despair , Since he is gone who Animation gave To all that 's pleasant to my thoughts , or brave : Ev'n my Studies he inspir'd , With lively vigour , which with him retir'd , And nought but their Bodies ( Books ) remain : For Sorrow do's their Souls inchain So fast , that they can ne'er return again .

Part of the XIX . PSALM . I. THE Heav'ns declare the Glory of God , And th' Firmament doth shew To all Mankind dispers'd abroad , What Works his mighty hands can doe : The silent Nights and speechless Days , To each other chant their lays , Which make a tunefull Serenade , To th' mighty Universe ; And find a Language to reherse The praise of him who them and us has made . II. And in them he hath fix'd a place For the Glorious Sun , Which comes forth with Bridegroom's strength and grace , The Earth his happy Bride t' imbrace . And as a Gyant do's rejoyce to run His course , where he is sure to be Crown'd with glorious Victory : For nothing in this World's circumference , Can be hid from his bright influence .

Coming from — in a Dark Night . I. FArewell , O Eyes , which I ne'er saw before , And 't is my int'rest ne'er to see ye more ; Though th' deprivation of your light , I 'm sure , will make it doubly Night ; Yet rather I 'll lose my way i' th' dark than stay ; For here I 'm sure my Soul will lose her way . II. Oh 't is not dark enough , I wish it were , Some Rays are still on my Eyes Atmosphere ; Which give sufficient light , I find , Still to continue me stark blind ; For to Eyes that 's dazl'd with too radiant light , Darkness proves best restorative o' th' light .

To my Dear Cousin Mrs. M. T. after the Death of her Husband and Son. DEar Coz. I hope by this time you have dry'd , At least set bounds to th' almost boundless tide Of flowing Tears : I 'm sure my wish is so , Which Love and Int'rest does oblige me to ; For you can bear no Sufferings alone , All yours are mine by participation ; And doubtless all your Friends , in some degree , Must bear a share , if they can love like me : Then if not for your own sake , yet for ours , And in submission to th' Eternal Powers , Not only dry your Eyes , but chear your Brow , And lend us Ioys , and we 'll repay them you . Rouse up your Soul , and shew your self indu'd With Mothers Prudence , Fathers Fortitude ; In other Vertues you have equall'd them , In these strive to out-doe your worthy Stem ; For here Ambition can't excessive be , Neither esteemed pride or vanity : ( For when we to the top of Vertue climb , We 're sure in no mistake , much less a crime . ) But by this brave attempt you shall subdue Cross Fate , which otherwise wou'd conquer you . But after all that can be said on this , I am not ignorant how hard it is To conquer Passions , and our selves subdue ; Though advis'd by Friends , and assisted too By the prevailing Powers of Grace from Heav'n , Still Counsel's harder to be took than giv'n : Not that I thought your Griefs profuse , but knew Much to a Son , more to a Husband 's due : Only remember that our Lord has taught , Thy will be done ; therefore we must in thought , As well as words , submit to his intents , Who can bring good out of the worst Events ; Whose Mercy oft protracts the bad Man's doom , And takes the good Man from the ill to come .

TO MY Young Lover . INcautious Youth , why do'st thou so mis-place Thy fine Encomiums on an o'er-blown Face ; Which after all the Varnish of thy Quill , It s Pristine wrinkles shew apparent still : Nor is it in the power of Youth to move An Age-chill'd heart to any strokes of Love. Then chuse some budding Beauty , which in time May crown thy Wishes in thy blooming prime : For nought can make a more preposterou● show , Than April Flowers stuck on St. Michael's Bow. To consecrate thy first-born Sighs to me , A superannuated Deity ; Makes that Idolatry and deadly Sin , Which otherwise had only Venial been .

TO MY Young Lover ON HIS VOW . I. ALas , why mad'st thou such a Vow , Which thou wilt never pay , And promise that from very now , Till everlasting day ? Thou mean'st to love , sigh , bleed , and dye , And languish out thy breath , In praise of my Divinity , To th' minute of thy Death . II. Sweet Youth , thou know'st not what it is To be Love's Votary ; Where thou must for the smallest bliss , Kneel , beg , and sigh , and cry . Probationer thou should'st be first , That thereby thou may'st try , Whether thou can'st endure the worst Of Love's austerity . III. For Worlds of Beauties always stand To tempt thy willing Eye , And Troops of Lusts are at thy hand , To vanquish thee , or dye . And now this Vow exposes thee To th' third ( of all the worst ) The Devil of inconstancy , That Tempter most accurs'd .

TO MY Young Lover . A SONG . TO praise sweet Youth , do thou forbear , Where there is no desert ; For , alas , Encomiums here , Are Iewels thrown i' th' dirt . For I no more deserve Applause , Now Youth and Beauty 's fled ; Than a Tulip , or a Rose , When its fair Leaves are shed . Howe'er I wish thy Praises may , Like Prayers to Heaven born ; When holy Souls for Sinners pray , Their Prayers on them return .

To my Unkind Friend , Little Tom King. I. WEll , by experience now I see , This World 's made up of flattery , Complements and formality ; Since nought but int'rest now can bind Ev'n old acquaintance to be kind . 'T were madness then to hope to find True Friendship in the Modern Crew Of late-contracted Friends . Hence then acquaintance all adieu , I can't oblige my Friendship to pursue Such dull insipid ends , As nought but to a Ceremony tends . Since Friendship from old Friends is flown , Rather than endure the pratlings , The flatteries and the censurings , Which a Modish Friendship brings , My pensive Dove shall sit and coo alone . II. But perhaps it will be said , Unlucky Business has this mischief made : Business , that plausible excuse Of all unkindness to a Friend , That Bankrupt , that ne'er pays Principle nor Use , Of all the Time that e'er we to him lend . Yet Bus'ness now 's a Merchant of such Fame , That he has got the whole Monopoly Of Time , Love , Friends , and Liberty ; Of which , if there be scarcity , Bus'ness is to blame ; For nought can vended be , but in his Name . III. Since then the World 's so much to Bus'ness pro●e , 'T is time that idle I was gone : Alas , why do I stay , When that canker bus'ness ( which I hate ) With Int'rest is confederate , Eats our pleasant shady Friends away ? We 're left obnoxious to the storms of Fate ; Nay ev'n then the hottest Gleams Of Prosperities brightest Beams , Help but to make us dwindle and decay . And though we strive our selves to shade Under the closest Rules of Constancy ; Yet when the Powers of Fate invade , That too , alas , will shake and fade , And make us see , That though our best Ambition strives To keep a reg'lar harmony : Yet Fate will ring her Changes on our Lives , Till discordant Death arrives ; Who informs us by his latest Knell , Whether we have made up this World's Consort well . IV. Hence I 'll not murmur then , Though some grow Proud , and others really Great Or heap up Riches by deceit , Since they must pay it all again To Death , who rapaciously devours All , for which we drudge in vain , And sell our ease for fruitless pain : All which we like mistaken fools call ours , Whilst in some lazie Solitude may I Enjoy my self alone , Free from this World's buzzing frantick feuds , And sweets and stings of Fate 's Vicissitudes , Have nothing else to do but dye . I care not who esteems me as a Drone , For out o' th' World so secretly I 'll steal , That babbling Fame shall not the theft reveal ; And when I to my long repose am gone , My dearest Brother , who is gone before , Half way will meet me in the Air , or more ; Where we 'll be happy in Excess , In Mansions of Eternal blessedness . Yet if there can be Any allay of this felicity ; It will be this , when he shall find , That I no other news can bring , From his Old Friend , my Little King , But that he was unkind .

A Second EPISTLE . To my Honoured Friend Mr. E. S. I. OFt has my Muse and I fall'n ou● , And I as oft have banish'd her my Breast ; But such , alas , still was her interest , And still to bring her purposes about : So great her cunning in insinuation , That she soon gain'd her wish'd-for restoration : But when I found this wou'd not do , A Violent Death I put her to . But see , my Friend , how your All-pow'rfull Pen ( O Miracle ! ) has rais'd her from the Dead again . II. And now , alas , what can she doe , Or speak or shew , How very much she is oblig'd to you ? For where the Boon's so great , it were a rude Presumption to pretend to Gratitude ; And a mad project to contrive to give To you , from whom she do's her All receive : Yet if she Traffick on your Stock , and thrive , 'T is fit , how e'er the Principal be spent , To pay the Int'rest of Acknowledgment . III. And with her I must acknowledge too , The honour which you did on me b●stow , Though I unworthy were of it : Not but your Iudgment knew well how to chuse A worthier Subject than my Muse , To exercise th' Exu'brance of your Wit ; But that your Goodness over all presides , And nobly in Triumph rides ; Whilst other Vertues march in Troops behind , Friendship do's the Chariot guide , Which may perhaps run too much of one side : Friendship , as well as Love , sometimes is blind ; And that she may be always so , My Prayers shall ever tend , 'Cause I no other Title have to show , Or tenure to the love of any Friend .

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE Betwixt Two Shepherd Boys . 1 Boy . I Wonder what Alexis ails , To sigh and talk of Darts , Of Charms which o'er his Soul prevails , Of Flames and bleeding Hearts : I saw him yesterday alone , Walk crossing of his Arms ; And Cuckow like was in a tone , Ah Caelia , ah thy charms ! 2 Boy . Why sure thou' rt not so ignorant , As thou would'st seem to be ; Alas the cause of his complaint , Is all our destiny . 'T is mighty Love's All-pow'rfull Bow , Which has Alexis hit ; A pow'rfull Shaft will hit us too , E'er we 're awar● of it . 1 Boy . Love , why , alas , I little thought There had been such a thing ; Only for Rhime it had been brought , When Shepherds use to Sing . I 'm sure , what e're they talk of Love , 'T is but conceit at most ; As Fear i' th' dark our fancies move , To think we see a Ghost . 2 Boy . I know not , but the other day , A wanton Girl there were , Who took my Stock-Dove's Eggs away , And Black-birds Nest did tear . Had it been thee , my dearest Boy , Revenge I shou'd have took ; But she my Anger did destroy , With th' sweetness of her Look . 1 Boy . So t'other day a wanton Slut , As I slept on the Ground , A Frog into my Bosom put , My Hands and Feet she bound : She hung my Hook upon a Tree , Then laughing , bad me wake ; And though she thus abused me , Revenge I cannot take . Chorus . Let 's wish these Overtures of State , Don't fatal Omens prove ; For those who lose the Power to hate , Are soon made slaves to Love.

To Mr. C. B. On his Incomparable SINGING . THE Honour that the Air receives From thy Melodious Voice , Sure makes it grieve it● cannot giv● More Echoes to the noise . Whilst Atoms joyfully advance , In happy Consort they Do in a nimble careless Dance , Thy charming Notes obey . Birds have been said to fall down dead At th' shouting of a throng ; Had'st thou been there , it had been said , Thou 'dst rais'd 'em with a Song . If th' Mind upon the Body works By secret Sympathies ; Who knows what in thy Musick lurks , To cure all Maladies . If Fate this Physick shou'd prefer , Thy Practice is decreed ; All London and Montpelier - Physicians shall exceed . Hence forward then let Poets Sing No more of Orpheus ; Since we have one , whose Voice may bring Health to attend on us .

THE COMPLAINT . I. HOw oft , ah wretch , hast thou profusely swore Me , as the Gods thou did'st adore ; And that my Words shou'd be to thee , As of Divine Authority : In this my Power exceeded theirs , To me thou ne'er did'st wander in thy Prayers . II. And oft thou prayest , bathed in thy Tears , Drop'd from the clouds of loving fears ; And on my Hand thy Faith confess , And after that beg for redress ; Whilst on the Altar of my lip , For Sacrifice , let no occasion slip . III. But now thou' rt grown prophane Atheistical , Not chang'd thy Faith , but cast off all : So Sacrilegious too thou art , Thou' rt not c●ntent to rob in part , To bear my Rites ( thy Vows ) away ; But by thy cruelty thou do'st assay To bring the beauteous Fabrick to decay .

A SONG in SCIPINA . IN vain do's Nature her free gifts bestow , To make us wise or fair ; If Fortune don't her Favours show , Scorn'd or neglected we may go , Not worth a Look , much less a Lover's care . Or if we shou'd some pitying Eyes command , Or those of admiration ; So unendow'd fair Structures stand , Admir'd ; but not one helping hand Will rescue them ●rom Time's dilapidation . Then surely vain it is for me to strive With native Charms or Art ; For Beauty may as well survive Her Climacterick Twenty-five , As without Wealth to get or keep a Heart .

A SONG . I. THE Heart you lest , when you took mine , Proves such a busie Guest ; Unless I do all Pow'r resign , It will not let me rest . It my whole Family dis●urbs , Turns all my Thoughts away ; My stoutest Resolutions curbs , Makes Iudgment too obey . If Reason interpose her Pow'r , Alas , so weak she is ; She 's check'd with one small soft Amour , And conquer'd with a Kiss .

A SONG . GIve o'er my Fidelius , my Fidelius give o'er , Since Menaelus your Father dislikes our Amour , In silence let us our misfortunes deplore . Not that his ●air Flocks or green Pastures so wide , He will betwixt Sylvia and Damon divide , But that duty forbids thee to make me thy Bride . And if for our duty we suffer well here , Heav'n shall for such Lovers choice Blessings prepare , Honey-moon shall eternally wait on us there .

A SONG . I. AS Am'rous Corydon was laid I' th' shady Myrtle Grove ; Thus did his Words his Sighs upbraid , For telling of his Love. Ah Trayterous Rebels , without sence , Of what her Scorn can doe ; 'T is I must dye for your offence , And be thought guilty too . II. Nor can I blame ill Fate , for this My wretched hopeless state ; Nor yet Philena's Cruelties , Who kills me with her hate . But your audacious Villani●s Occasions this my fall ; Else I had dy'd a Sacrifice , But now a Criminal .

A Bachanalian SONG . TRoy had a Breed of brave stout Men , Yet Greece made shift to rout her ; 'Cause ●ach Man drank as much as Ten , And thence grew Ten times stouter . Though Hector was a Trojan true , As ever Piss'd ' gen Wall , Sir ; Achilles bang'd him black and blue , For he drank more than all , Sir. Let Bacchus be our God of War , We shall fear nothing then , Boys ; We 'll drink all dead , and lay 'em to bed ; And if they wake not conquered , We 'll drink 'em dead again , Boys . Nor were the Graecians only sam'd For Drinking , and for Fighting ; Bnt he that drank , and wa'n't asham'd , Was ne'er asham'd on 's Writing . He that will be a Souldier then , Or Witt , must drink good Liquor ; It makes base Cowards fight like Men , And roving Thoughts sly quicker . Let Bacchus be both God o● War , And God of Wit , and then , Boys , We 'll drink and ●ight , and drink and write ; And if the Sun set with his light , We 'll drink him up again , Boys .

An ODE . I 'Ve often thought , but ne'er till now cou'd find Why Heroes so much strove , Their Greatness to improve ; 'T is only this , that Women might be kind , And answer Love with Love. Fortune no Goddess is , but for their sake ; Alas ! she can't be prest , Nor kiss'd , nor do the rest : Riches and she , of which Men so much make , Are only Pimps at best . One this way stalks , another that to 's game ; One's brave , this Hector's high , This pretends Piety : But I 'm deceiv'd if Woman ben't their aim , Still Woman 's in their Eye . Scepters and Crowns were silly trifling things ; 'T wou'd be but poor repast , To please the sight and tast , But that they make Men absolutely Kings , And Kings chuse Queens at last .

Absence for a Time. I Dread this tedious Time more than A Fop to miss a Fashion , Or the Pope's Head Tavern can Dread the long Vacation . This time 's as troublesome to me , As th' Town when Mony 's spent ; Grave Lectures to a Debauchee , Or Whigs to th' Government . Methinks I almost wish 't was torn Out of the Rolls of Fate ; Or that some Pow'r , till his return , Wou'd me annihilate . But I , alas , must be content , Upon necessity ; Since him , untill this time be spent , I cannot hope to see . No more than we can hope to have The Life of perfect bliss , Till by Afflictions , and the Grave , We 're separate from this .

Parting with — ALthough thou now put'st me in doubt , By going I know not where ; Yet know my Soul will beat about , Not rest till she have sound thee out , And tend upon thee there . Look to your actions then , for she So strict a watch will keep ; That if you give one thought from me , She 'll swear it is ●lat Felony , Though 't be when you 're asleep . But if a sigh , or glance , or smile Shou'd to my Rival 'scape , She 'd cry out Robbery and spoil ; But if a kiss thy Lips shou'd soil , Then Murther and a Rape . All this a Metaphor may seem , Or mad Philosophy To the unthinking World , who deem That but a fancy or a dream , Which Souls do really hear and see .

THE Anchorite IN SCIPINA . AH , happy are we Anchorites that know Not Womens Ebbs , nor when their Love will flow . We know no Storms that rage in Womens Breasts , But here in quiet build our Halcyon Nests ; Where no deceitfull Calm our Faith beguiles , No cruel frowns , nor yet more cruel smiles ; No rising Wave of Fate our hopes advance , Nor fear we fathomless despair of Chance ; But our strong Minds , like Rocks , their firmness prove , Defying both the Storms of Fate and Love.

Iane , Nan , and Frank , their Farewell to Captain C. going to Sea . I. SInce thou wilt needs go To Sea , God knows whether , We wish thee good Company , Good Wine and good Weather ; The best of Sea-Cates we wish for thy Diet , And , if it were possible , good Sea-men and quiet ; And on every Strand , Where e'er thou shalt land , We wish there may be Girls buxom and free , To bid thee a thousand kind welcoms from Sea . II. And the worst Enemy , E'er thou may'st meet , May be a small stragler I' th' seam of thy Sheet : To which let no Sickness thee ever confine , But what comes by drinking our Healths in choice Wine ; And on every Strand , Where e're thou shalt land , We wish thou may'st find True Topers o' th' kind , That can turn off Iane , Nan , and Frank in a Wind.

To her Lovers Complaint . A SONG . I. IF you complain your Flames are hot , 'T is 'cause they are impure , For strongest Spirits scorch us not , Their Flames we can endure . II. Love , like Zeal , shou'd be divine , And ardent as the same ; Like Stars , which in cold Weather shine , Or like a Lambent Flame . III. It shou'd be like the Morning Rays , Which quickens , but not burns ; Or th' innocence of Childrens plays , Or Lamps in Antient Urns.

To my Adopted BROTHER , Mr. G. P. On my frequent Writing to Him. DEar Brother , You will think that now , Epistles grow on every Bow , O' th' multitude of Shin-gay Trees , And so drop off like Soland Geese . In this the Analogie holds forth , They are produc'd of airy froth ; But how they 'll answer in the rest , Without conjuring , may be guess'd : For when you find they want the heat Of Wit and Sence to make them meat ; And that the inside's only down , Soft as the scope they grew upon : You 'll curse the Winds officious wings , Because to you no good it brings ; And swear the Proverb 's now revers'd , Which so oft has been rehers'd : For now it must be understood , It 's happy Wind blows any good ; But thank your self for so being serv'd , And praise no more where 't is not deserv'd : For praise , the Gad-fly of the mind , To pure desert shou'd be confin'd , Lest it set it Cock-a-hoop , And make it run with Tail turn'd up , Through the Woods , and o'er the Downs , Through Cities , Villages , and Towns ; And plague both genteel Fops and Rabble , With its Nonsence , Rhime and Babble , Till by its follies they are urged , To send it home severely scourged , With the keenest Whips of Scosfing , Damming , Censuring and Laughing . Then prithee , George , prevent this wretched Fate , And all their damning Censures antedate .

To my Friends against POETRY . DEar Friends , if you 'll be rul'd by me , Beware o' th' Charms of Poetry ; And meddle with no fawning Muse , They 'll but your harmless Loves abuse . Though to Orinda they were ty'd , That nought their Friendship cou'd divide ; And Cowley's Mistriss had a Flame As pure and lasting as his Fame : Yet now they 're all grown Prostitutes , And wantonly admit the Suits Of any Fop , that will pretend To be their Servant or their Friend . Though they to Wit no Homage pay , Nor yet the Laws of Verse obey , ●ut ride poor Six-foot out of breath , ●nd wrack a Metaphor to death ; ●ho make their Verse imbibe the crimes , ●nd the lewd Follies too o' th' times ; ●ho think all Wit consists in Ranting , ●nd Vertuous Love in wise Gallanting : And Thousand sorts of Fools , like these , Make Love and Vertue what they please : And yet as silly as they show , Are Favourites o' th' Muses now . Who then would honour such a Shee , Where Fools their happier Rivals be● We , surely , may conclude there 's none , Unless they 're drunk with Helicon , Which is a Liquor that can make A Dunce set up for Rhiming Quack : A Liquor of so strange a temper , As can our Faculties all hamper ; That whoso drinks thereof is ours'd Unto a constant Rhiming thirst ; I know not by what spell of Witch , It strikes the Mind into an itch ; Which being scrub'd by praise , thereby Becomes a spreading Leprosie ; As hard to cure as Dice or Whore , And makes the Patient too as poor ; For Poverty 's the certain Fate Which attends a Poet's state .

TO THE Importunate ADDRESS OF POETRY . KInd Friend , I prithee cease t' infest This barren Region of my Breast , Which never can a Harvest yield , Since Sorrow has o'er-grown the Field . If Int'rest won't oblige thee to 't , At least let Honour make thee do 't ; 'Cause I ungratefully have chose Such Friends , as will thy Charms oppose● But nought I see will drive thee hence , Grief , Bus'ness , nor Impertinence : Still , still thou wilt thy Ioys obtrude Upon a Mind so wholly rude , As can't afford to entertain Thee with the welcom of one strain : Few Friends , like thee , will be so kind , To come where Int'rest do's not bind : Nay some , because they want excuse To be unkind , will feign abuse . But thou , kind Friend , art none of those , Thy Charms thou always do'st oppose 'Gainst all Inqui●tudes o' th' Mind : If I 'm displeas'd , still thou art kind ; And by thy Spells do'st drive away Dull Spirits , which with me wou'd stay ; And fill'st their empty places too With Thoughts of what we ought to doe . Thoughts to the Soul , if they be good , Are both its physick and its food : They forti●ie it in distress , In joy th' augment its happiness : Thoughts do attend us at all times , They urge us to good deeds , and crimes : They do assist us in all states , To th' Wretched they 're Associates . And what 's more strange than all before , They 're Servants to the innocent and poor ; But to the Rich and Wicked , Lords or something more .

A Farewell to POETRY , WITH A Long Digression on ANATOMY . FArewell , my gentle Friend , kind Poetry , For we no longer must Acquaintance be ; Though sweet and charming to me as thou art , Yet I must dispossess thee of my Heart . On new Acquaintance now I must dispence What I receiv'd from thy (a) (a) Having learned Latin by reading the Latin Poets . bright influence . Wise Aristotle and Hippocrates , Galen , and the most Wise Socrates ; AEsculapius , whom first I should have nam'd , And all Apollo's younger brood so fam'd , Are they with whom I must Acquaintance make , Who will , no doubt , receive me for the sake Of Him (b) (b) My Brother . , from whom they did expect to see New Lights to search Nature's obscurity . Now , Bartholine , the first of all this Crew , Does to me Nature's Architecture shew ; He tells me how th' Foundation first is laid Of Earth ; how Pillars of strong Bones are made ; How th' Walls consist of carneous parts within , The out-side pinguid , over-laid with Skin ; The Fretwork , Muscles , Arteries , and Veins , With their Implexures , and how from the Brains The Nerves descend ; and how they do dispence To ev'ry Member , Motive Pow'r and Sence ; He shews what Windows in this Structure's fix'd , How tribly Glaz'd , (c) (c) The Three Humours of the Eye , and its several Tunicks . and Curtains drawn betwixt Them and Earths objects ; all which proves in vain To keep out Lust , and Innocence retain : For 't was the Eye that first discern'd the food , As pleasing to it self , then thought it good To eat , as b'ing inform'd it wou'd refine The half-wise Soul , and make it all Divine . But ah , how dearly Wisdom's bought with Sin , Which shuts out Grace , le ts Death and Darkness in ! And because we precipitated first , To Pains and Ignorance are most accurs'd ; Ev'n by our Counter-parts , who that they may Exalt themselves , insultingly will say , Women know little , and they practise less ; But Pride and Sloth they glory to profess . But as we were expatiating thus , Walaeus and Harvey cry'd , Madam , follow us , They brought me to the first and largest (d) (d) Ad infimum ventrem . Court● , Of all this Building , where as to a Port , All necessaries are brought from far , For sustentation both in Peace and War : For War this Common-wealth do's oft infest , Which pillages this part , and storms the rest . We view'd the Kitchin call'd (e) (e) Morbi in infimo ventre , Di●rrhaea , &c. Ventriculus , Then pass'd we through the space call'd Pylorus ; And to the Dining-Room we came at last , Where the (f) (f) Venae Lactea . Lactaeans take their sweet repast . From thence we through a Drawing-room did pass , And came where Madam Iecur busie was ; Sanguificating (g) (g) Secundum Opinionem Galinist . contra receptaculum commune . the whole Mass of Chyle , And severing the Cruoral parts from bile : And when she 's made it tolerably good , She pours it forth to mix with other Blood. This and much more we saw , from thence we went Into the next Court , (h) (h) Per Diaphragma . by a small ascent : Bless me , said I , what Rarities are here ! A Fountain like a Furnace did appear , Still boyling o'er , and running out so fast , That one shou'd think its Efflux cou'd not last ; Yet it sustain'd no loss as I cou'd see , Which made me think it a strange Prodigie . Come on , says Harvey , don't stand gazing here , But follow me , and I thy doubts will clear . Then we began our Iourney with the Blood , Trac'd the Meanders of its Purple flood . Thus we through many Labyrinths did pass , In such , I 'm sure , Old Daedalus ne'er was ; Sometimes i' th' Out-works , sometimes i' th' first Court ; Sometimes i' th' third these winding streams wou'd sport Themselves ; but here methought I needs must stay , And listen next to what the Artists say : Here 's Cavities , says one ; and here , says he , Is th' Seat of Fancy , Iudgment , Memory : Here , says another , is the fertile Womb , From whence the Spirits Animal do come , Which are mysteriously ingender'd here , Of Spirits from Arterious Blood and Air : Here , said a third , Life made her first approach , Moving the Wheels of her Triumphant Coach : Hold there , said Harvey , that must be deny'd , 'T was in the deaf Ear on the dexter side . Then there arose a trivial small dispute , Which he by Fact and Reason did confute : Which being ended , we began again Our former Iourney , and forsook the Brain . And after some small Traverses about , We came to th' place where we at first set out : Then I perceiv'd how all this Magick stood By th' Circles of the circulating Blood , As Fountains have their Waters from the Sea , To which again they do themselves conveigh . But here we find great Lower by his Art , Surveying the whole (i) (i) De cordis Structura . Structure of the Heart : Welcome , said he , sweet Cousin , are you here , Sister to him (k) (k) My deceased Brother . whose Worth we all revere ? But ah , alas , so cruel was his Fate , As makes us since almost our Practice hate ; Since we cou'd find out nought in all our Art , That cou'd prolong the motion (l) (l) De Motu Cordis . of his Heart . I. BUT now , my Dear , thou know'st more than Art can , Thou know'st the substance of the Soul of Man ; Nay and its Maker too , whose Pow'rfull breath Gave Immortality to sordid Earth . What Ioys , my Dear , do Thee surround , As no where else are to be found , Love , Musick , Physick , Poetry ; And in each Art each Artist do's abound , And all 's converted to Divinity . II. No drooping Autumn there , No chilling Winter do's appear ; No scorching Heat , nor budding Spring , Nor Sun do's Seasons there divide , Yet all things do transcend their native pride ; Which fills , but do's not naus●ate , No change or want of any thing , Which time to periods or perfection brings ; But yet diversity of state , And of Souls happiness there is no date . III. Should'st thou , my Dear , look down on us below , To see how busie we● Are in Ana●omie , Thou d'st laugh to see our Ignorance ; Who some things miss , & some things hit by chance , For we , at best , do but in twilight go , Whilst thou see'st all by th' most Transcendent light , Compar'd to which the Sun 's bright Rays are night : Yet so Coelestial are thine Eyes , That Light can neither dazzle nor surprize ; For all things there So perfect are , And freely they their qualities dispence , Without the mixture of Terrestrial dross , Without hazard , harm or loss ; O joys Eternal satiating Sence , And yet the Sence the smallest part in gross .

On the DEATH of my Brother . A SONNET . I. ASk me not why the Rose doth fade , Lillies look pale , and Flowers dye ; Question not why the Myrtle shade Her wonted shadows doth deny . II. Seek not to know from whence begun The sadness of the Nightingale : Nor why the Heliotrope and Sun , Their constant Amity do fail . III. The Tur●les grief look not upon , Nor reason why the Palm-trees mourn ; When , Widow-like , they 're left alone , Nor Phoenix why her self doth burn . IV. For since He 's dead , which Life did give To all these things , which here I name ; They fade , change , wither , cease to live , Pine and consume into a Flame .

MISCELLANEA : OR , THE Second Part OF POETICAL RECREATIONS .

Compos'd by several Authors .

— Non , ubi plura nitent in carmine , paucis Offendi maculis , quas aut incuria fudit Aut humana parum cavit Natura . — Hor.

LONDON , Printed for Benjamin Crayle , at the Peacock and Bible , at the West-end of St. Pauls . 1688.

A TABLE OF THE POEMS Contained in the Second Part OF POETICAL RECREATIONS . A Paraphrase on an Hymn , Sung when the Corps is at the Grave . By T. S. Fellow of Maudlin● Colledge , Oxon. Page 1 Advice to his Friends , lamenting the Death of I. F. By the same Hand . p. 3 ●pitaph on Mrs. E. F. who sickned of the Small Pox , and deceased Decemb. 31. 1686. being the Day before her intended Nuptials . p. 5 An Epitaph to the Memory of Sir Palme Fairborn , Governour of Tangier , &c. p. 6 An Elegy on the Death of N. D. Doctor of Physick . p. 7 Upon Heaven . p. 1● On the Martyrdom of King Charles the First . p. 1● Upon one's Birth-day . p. 1● Upon Christ's Nativity . p. 1● On the same . p. 1● More on the same Subject . p. 21. On New-years-day . p. 23 Eyes and Tears . p. 2● To Mrs. Iane Barker on her Romance of Scipin● By I. N. Fellow of St. Iohn's Colledge , Cambridge p. 2● To Mrs. Iane Barker on her Resolution of Versifyin● no more . By the same Author . p. 3● To Mrs. Iane Barker on her Incomparable Romanc● of Scipina . By a Gent. of St. Iohn's Col. Camb. p. 3● On the Posthume and Precious Poems of Sir Mathew Hale . By a Gentleman of Lincolns-Inn . p. 3● To Mr. Tho. Wright , on his Compendious Histories entituled , God's Revenge against Murther an● Adultery , with The Triumphs of Friendshi● and Chastity . By I. Whitehall . p. 3● On the same : By another Hand . p. 4● On Christmas-day . p. 4● On Death . p. 4● On the Divine Spirit . p. 4● To the Memory of the Illustrious Prince George , Du●● of Buckingham . p. 4● Upon the Death of Oliver Cromwell , in Answer 〈◊〉 Mr. W—'s Verses : By Mr. Godolphin . p. 5● On the last Dutch War : By Mr. B. Willie , som●ti●● Mr. of the Free-School of Newark upon Trent . p. 55 The last Sayings of a Mouse , lately starved in a Cupboard . p. 59 To the Secretary of the Muses : A New-years-gift p. 62. An Epitaph on the Secretary to the Muses . p. 65 A Satyr , in Answer to the Satyr against Man : By T. L. of Wadham-Colledge , Oxon. p. 67 A Congratulatory Poem to his most Sacred Majesty , Iames the second , &c. on his late Victories o'er the Rebels in the West . p. 83 On the same . p. 85 A Panegyrick on his Present Majesty Iames the Second , &c. p. 86 A Congratulatory Poem to his Majesty Iames the Second , on his Succession to the Crown . p. 91 On the Presentation of a Bird to his Mistriss . p. 94. Advice to silly Maids : By an Unknown Author . p. 95 Farther Advice to Young Ladies . p. 98 Advice to a Town-Miss : By Mr. Worsdell . p. 100 The Pre●erence of a Single Life before Marriage : Written at the Request of a Lady . p. 102 Upon Clarinda's putting on her Vizard-Mask . p. 103 The Middle Sister , ascribed to Clarinda . p. 105 An Elougy on Mrs. M. ● . By a Gent. of the Inner-Temple p. 106 A Love-Poem : By an Oxford Gentleman p. 109 Another Love-Poem : By the same Author p. 112 The Lov●r's Will p. 114 A Love Letter : By W. S. M. D. p. 116 A Speech to his Mistriss in a Garden p. 118 An Address to a Gentlewoman walking in a Garden : By an Oxford Gentleman p. 119 Upon a Gentlewomans Refusal of a Letter from one she was engaged to : By Sir C. S. p. 122 In Praise of a Deformed , but Virtuous Lady : or a Satyr on Beauty p. 125 A Love-Letter : By W. S. Gent. p. 129 In Praise of Letters p. 131 The Idea : By Charles Cotton , Esq p. 133 Love's Sympathy p. 134 A Pindarique Ode on Mr. Cowley p. 136 An Ode : By Mr. R. D. of Cambridge p. 137 An Ode of Anacreon Paraphras'd : Beauties Force p. 138 A Pindarique Ode : By Mr. I. Whitehall p. 140 From Ovid's Amorum , lib. 2. El. 4. and Lucretius lib. 4. That he loves Women of all sorts and sizes p. 142 The Parallel p. 145 Song p. 147 The Young Lover , a Song : By Mr. Wright p. 149 The Prodigal's Resolution , Song p. 150 The Doubtfull Lover Resolv'd , A Song p. 151 Song : The Cavalier's Catch p. 153 On sight of a Ladies Face in the Water : Song p. 154 A Song p. 155 On the Serpentine Combustion by Squibs on my Lord Mayor's Day : An Heroick Poem p. 156 To his much ●steemed Friend Mr. I. N. on his Reading the ●irst Line of Pindar , 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 , &c. by Mr. Whitehall p. 159 A Dialogue between Iack and Dick , concerning the Prohibition of French Wines p. 161 The 12 following Copies done by the Publisher . To Clarinda on her Incomparable Painting and Wax-work p. 172 A Young Man to an Old Woman , courting him p. 174 To Clarinda , a Song p. 177 On his Secret Passion for Cosmelia p. 179 To Clarinda on his Deserting her , and loving Cosmelia p. 185 To Cosmelia on her Departure into the Country p. 187 On a Rose s●icking on a Ladies Breast p. 188 On the most Charming Galecia's Picture p. 190 The Young Lover's Ad●ocate : being an Answer to a Copy of Verses : Written by Galaecia to her Young Lover on his Vow p. 192 To my Ingenious Friend Mrs. Iane Barker on my Publishing her Romance of Scipina . p. 194 A Batchellor's Life , in pursuit of Mrs. Barkers Verses in Praise of a Single Life p. 196 The Exchange of Hearts . A Song p. 199. Upon a Flock of Gold-finches p. 200 An Answer of the Poet to one , complaining of their Negligence , in not Writing the Duke of Buckingham's Elegy p. 204 These 13 following Copies done by Mr. Hovenden Walker , sometime of Trinity-Colledge in Dublin . Psalm 139. Paraphras'd from Verse 7. to Verse 13. p. 207 A Pastoral , in imitation of Virgil's 2d Eclogue p. 210 The fourth Elegy of Cornelius Gallus of the Miseries of Old Age. Made English p. 219 To my Mistriss : Translated out of Tibullus p. 226 The Agreement p. 228 Song p. 231 The Innocent Discov'ry p. 234 The Petition . A Song p. 234 Fate . A Song p. 235 My Religion p. 237 The Kiss p. 239 The Wrack . A Song p. 241 To Mr. P. Berault upon his French Grammar p. 242 Song p. 245 The same Song Inverted , by Mr. Walker p. 246 The Five following Copies done by Mr. C. G. of AEton-Colledge . A Paraphrase on part of the 23d Idyll . of Theocritus p. 247 Chorus 1. Of Seneca's Agamemnon p. 255 The Penitent p. 259 To Duserastes p. 262 The Vow p. 263 The Six following POEMS by Mr. T. B. of Cambridge An Elegy on King Charles the Second p. 265 A Dithyrambique , made just before the King and Queen went to their Coronation p. 269 To their Graces , the Duke and Dutchess of Albemarle , upon their Voyage for Iamaica p. 280 Ovid. Amor. lib. 2. Eleg. 15. A Ring presented to his Mistriss p. 283 To Afer . Martial . Epig. 31. lib. 4. Made English p. 285 An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion p. 286

MISCELLANY POEMS . PART II. Written by several Authors .

A Paraphrase on an HYMN Sung when the Corps is at the Grave . By T. S. Fellow of Maudlin-Colledge , Oxon. I. HOW full of Troubles is the Life of Man ! Vain like a bubble , shorter than a span ; He springs and blossoms as an early Flower , Whose silken Leaves the Frosts and Snow devour : He , like the ●leeting Shadow , hastes away , Unable to continue in one stay ; It disappears , and can't survive the day . II. The Noon-tide of our Life is plac'd in Death , We 're not secure of one light puff of Breath ; To whom , O God , can we for succour fly , But unto thee , by whom we live and dye ? 'T is for our Sins thou dost employ this Sting , Thou justly angry art , our God and King , But takest no delight in punishing . III. O Holy , Mighty Lord and Saviour , Declare thy signal Mercies , and thy Pow'r ; Condemn us not unto the pains of Hell , Where Horror reigns , and endless Torments dwell ; From whence no ransom ever can be made , Since we our bless'd Redeemer have betray'd , And both his Will and Laws have disobey'd . IV. Thou know'st the secret Closet of our Hearts , Thy divine Presence fills our secret parts ; Therefore be mercifull unto our Pray'r , Most worthy Iudge , thy wretched People spare . Forsake us not when on our Death-beds thrown , Lest through despair we deeply sigh and groan , And Hell grow proud of the Dominion .

Advice to his Friends , lamenting the Death of I. F. By the same Hand . RIse and rejoyce all ye that Mourn , Dry ev'ry Eye that weeps ; The Body in this hollow Urn , Is not quite dead , but sleeps . See how the Leaves in Autumns falling Dew Forsake the weeping Tree ; And how the jocund Spring renews With Buds their infancie . What though the Root lye under-ground , The Boughs to Heav'n aspire ; Thus Bodies in the Grave are found , The Souls are mounted higher . Hark! hark ! I hear the Trumpet 's Voice Cry , Come ye Blessed , come ; Methinks I hear our Friend rejoyce , That he is Summon'd home . Now Dronish Death hath lost her Sting , The Grave her Victorie ; For Christ in Triumph rides as King Of this great Iubilee . Arise , my Friends , and wipe your Eyes , Salvation's drawing nigh ; Let 's live to dye , and dye to rise , T' enjoy Eternity . T. S.

EPITAPH on Mrs. E. F. who sickned of the Small Pox , and Deceased December the 31st . 1686. being the Day before her intended Nuptials . THis fair young Virgin , for a Nuptial Bed More fit , is lodg'd ( sad Fate ! ) among the Dead ; Storm'd by rough Winds , so falls in all her pride The full-blown Rose design'd t' adorn a Bride . Truth is , this lovely Virgin from her Birth , Became a constant strife 'twixt Heav'n and Earth . Earth claim'd her , pleaded for her ; either cry'd The Nymph is mine , at length they did divide ; Heav'n took her Soul , the Earth her Corps did seize , Yet not in Fee , she only holds by Lease , With this proviso ; When the Iudge shall call , Earth shall give up her share , and Heav'n have all

An EPITAPH to the Memory ( and fix't on the Tomb ) of Sir PALME FAIRBORN , Governour of Tangier , who , in Execution of his Command , was Mortally Wounded by a Shot from the Moors , that then besieged the Town , Octob. 24. 1680. YE Sacred Reliques , which this Marble keep , Here , undisturb'd by Wars , in quiet sleep : Discharge the Trust , which when it was below , Fairborn's undaunted Soul did undergo , And be the Towns Palladium from the Foe . Alive and dead he will these Walls defend , Great Actions , Great Examples must attend . The Candian Siege his early Valour knew , Where Turkish Blood did his young hands embrew From thence returning with deserv'd applause , Against the Moors , his well-flesh'd Sword he draws ; The same the Courage , and the same the Cause . His Youth and Age , his Life and Death combine , As in some great and regular design , All of a piece throughout , and all Divine . Still nearer Heav'n his Vertues shone more bright , Like rising Flames expanding in the height , The Martyrs Glory crown'd the Souldiers Fight . More bravely Brittish Gen'ral never fell , Nor Gen'rals Death was e'er reveng'd so well ; Which his pleas'd Eyes beheld before their close , Follow'd by Thousand Victims of his Foes .

An ELEGY on the Death of N. D. Doctor of Physick . By I. C. WHat , will my Mourning yet no period find ! Must sighs & sorrow still distract my Mind ? My Sense grows ●eeble , and my Reason's gone , Passion and Discontent usurp the Throne . With blubber'd Eyes my veiled sight grows dim ; Ah , cruel Death , cou'd you ●ind none but him To gratifie your hungry Iaws withall ; Or , if in haste , none but a Doctor 's fall ? Howe'er , you might forbore your stroke a while ; But possibly you thought , he might beguile Your craving Appetite of many more , Which you expected to strike long before . But sure my Mind 's disturb'd , my Passions rav● , To censure Death , and quarrel with the Grave● Alas , he 's bound , the blow he cannot give , Till his Commission shews we must not live . Yet hence we learn , and may this inf'rence make , That if Physicians Souls their Iourney take Into a distant Climate , well may Ours : Then with what care ought we to spend those hours , Or rather few remaining Sands , which are In so much Bounty tender'd to our care ? The purest Druggs , compos'd with greatest Skill , Can't preserve Life , when Death has pow'r to kill : Peasant and Prince are both to him alike , And with an equal blow doth either strike . All must surrender when his Arm is stretch't , With such a weighty force his blow is fetch 't . But oh ! I wander from my Virtuous Friend ; 'T is true indeed he 's dead , but yet no end Can e'er obscure or hide his Honour'd Name , For o'er the World the Golden Wings of Fame Shall spread his praise , and to his Friends proclaim , That whilst alive , His Soul was always drest With Robes of Innocence ; the peacefull Guest Of a good Conscience , ever fill'd his Breast . His smiling Countenance abroad wou'd send His hearty Wishes to his real Friend ; His Words were few , but of important weight , Mix'd with no stains of flatt'ry , or deceit . Too much in 's way his Library has stood , Himself he minded not for others good . 'T is strange ! to think he shou'd himself neglect , Whose study 't was to cure what e'er defect Nature might fall into ; yet this he did : In short , his Worth , though smother'd , can't be hid . To sound his Praise may th' utmost Skill ingage , Since that he dy'd the Wonder of his Age. Well may his friends then , and acquaintance weep , When such a brave Physician 's fall'n asleep .

UPON HEAVEN . OH thou Theanthropos ! who did'st contain In one joint Body here both God and Man ; And thou who'rt Alpha and Omega still , To blazon forth thy Courts , assist my Quill ; Inlarge my Fancy , and transport my Mind , Above the common pitch of Humane kind . Oh represent and spread before my Muse One glimpse of Heav'ns great light , which when she views , May make her soar in Raptures , and make known The glorious Seat of Heav'ns triumphant Throne But first , before my Tongue begins to speak Such unknown joys , which no Man yet cou'd make A true description of ( though Poets have Feign'd an Elyziums bliss beyond the Grave ) I crave thy pardon for my bold attempt , In showing Sense what here for Faith was meant , Like the bright Amathyst and Onyx Stone , This glorious Fabrick is erected on ; The entrance Gates of this great Court excell The most Magnificent and Orient Pearl ; Brighter than burnish't Gold her Walls appear ; Of spangled Stars her Floor and Pavements are ; Her high-built Pillars from the dazling ground , Look as beset all o'er with Diamond ; Like purest Sardonyx her Roof do's show , Whilst as green Emeralds are spread below The blushing Ruby , and the glitt'ring Saphir , Mix't with bright Chrysolites , and Stones of Iasper , Make but a poor Resemblance of this light , Whose gilt and radiant Beams appear too bright ; For ought of humane Race to view or see , Unless transform'd to Immortalitie . Thousands of Angels guard the outward Gate From th' utmost spleen and rage of Devil's hate ; Who keep this Palace from or Siege or Storm , For all those Martyrs , who have bravely born With an undaunted patience th' utmost Ill , That Men or Devils could bethink or will ; But when once past from th' outward Gates , you 'll spy Millions of Angels bless'd Eternally ; Also Illustrious Cherubs , Seraphins , Clapping their gilded and rejoycing Wings ; Numbers unnumbred of the Saints in light , Singing their Hymns to God both day and night ; There nought but simple Love and Rest abide , All worldly Grief and Cares are laid aside ; Freed from all cross Events , and slavish Fear , In Ioy and Peace they live for ever there .

ON THE MARTYRDOM OF King CHARLES the First . THE crimson Theam on which I now do treat , Is not unregistred , or out of date ; No , it 's wrote deep in ev'ry Loyal Breast , And with loud Accents will be still exprest ; Though Time shou'd take more wings , and faster hast His sudden flight from hence ; yet soon as past Such Tragick cruelty , this mournfull Theam In bloody Characters wou'd still remain . I wish my Pen had ne'er had cause to write This one day's Prodigie , more black than Night ; The very Fiends themselves are now out-done , For Men the shape of Devils have put on . What but the spawn of Hell cou'd thus design ! Or hatch such treachery to undermine The best of Kings on Earth , nay pull him down From his own Regal and Establish'd Throne ? What , was there none but Charles the First , the Great And most indulgent worthiest Potentate , To vent their rage upon ? Oh barb'rous Crew ! A King beheaded ! by 's own Subjects too ! Ecclesiastical and Civil Writ Unto the World did ne'er as yet transmit So Tragical a Scene , or mournfull News , Save one alone , Iesus the King of th' Iews ; Who was like Charles our Sovereign betray'd , Whom the same shew of Iustice did degrade : But now the Iews from these do differ hence , Their Errours did from Ignorance commence , Because they thought not Christ their lawful Prince : But these curs'd Regicides did fully know Charles was their King , and had proclaim'd him so● The Antient Fathers always own'd their Prince God's Representative in Truth 's defence . And since that Kings to God Vicegerents are , Their Subjects ought true Loyalty to bear , Who are protected by their Princely care . But as if Nature had these Miscreants left , And of Humanity they were bereft ; ' Stead of Allegiance , they preach up Intrusion ; Sound a Battalia , and make all confusion ; And then delude and cheat the Common-weal With a pretence , that all was done through Zeal● Whilst an unnat'ral War they do b●gin , And persevere in their Rebellious Sin , Till they 've intrench'd upon their Soveraign's Rig●● By Usurpation , and by lawless Might . Then next they seize his Person with pretence , That they 're his chiefest Bulwark of defence ; At last his Head and Crown lop off at once , Without a Reason , or a just Response . At which black deed , shou'd th' Elements dissolve● And th' Universal World it self involve In present ruin , shou'd th' infernal Lake Flash out in Flames ; Or shou'd the Waters break Through their strong Banks , and so a Deluge make , Shou'd Sun and Moon at once Eclipsed be , And to compleat a full Calamity Stars fall from Heav'n , and dash in pieces those Who did their Sov'raign and his Laws oppose : This we might judge is to their Merit due , Who such perfidious treachery pursue . Forgive my passion , if I do transgress Beyond the limits of true Holiness . I wish that all effectually repent This bloody Sin , whereby they may prevent Those heavy Iudgments which predict th' Event . And may those Persons , who were Actors in This cursed Cause against the Father , bring Their true Obedience to his Son , now King ; That so they may to him , and all his Race , And to themselves , bring a continu'd Peace : And after crown'd with honour and success , At last enjoy Eternal happiness .

UPON ONE'S Birth-Day . LOok upwards , O my Soul ! and thou may'st see Once more thy Birth-days Anniversary . Another year of Time is passed by , And now methinks hath slid so silently , As if unmeasur'd yet ; and thus will seem Most of thy Days , when spent , in thy esteem . Man's Life is fitly liken'd unto Fire , Which unsupply'd with fuel , do's expire . And thus no sooner 's run our ●leeting Sand , But the Glass breaks by Death's destroying hand . Since then , my Soul , that Time so fast doth slide , How much art thou obliged to provide That which may beautifie thy nobler part , And also cleanse and purifie thy Heart From all pollution , which within doth reign , And in that Empire such Dominion gain ? Make firm Resolves , by new Engagements tye Thy Passions up , restrain their liberty . Place thy affections upon things above , Try then to surfeit i● thou canst on Love ; In time secure that which alone can last , When youth and beauty , strength and life are past . Then as thy Sands do was●e , and Years increase , Thou shalt at last expire with Ioy and Peace .

UPON CHRIST's NATIVITY . BEhold an Universal Darkness has o'er-spread This lower World , and Man in Sin lyes dead . Now black Despair his heavy burthen's made , And being fall'n , God's Wrath can ne'er be paid : For since his Native Innocence is flown , All the first promises of Bliss are gone . Think then , O Adam ! on the state thou' rt in , And all Ma●kind by reason of thy Sin. Alas poor Man ! thy Paradise is lost , And thou might'st justly from thy Bliss be toss'd Into th' infernal Lake ; where with great pain , B'ing exercis'd , thou might'st lament in vain . But stay a while , What Musick 's this I hear ! Which sounds so sweetly from the heav'nly Sphere ! Look here , O Man ! are thine Eyes upwards bent ? Here 's Angels , surely , on a Message sent . Man . What Anthem's this , sweet Angels , that you sing Unto us Men ? do ye glad tydings bring ? Ang. We come from Heaven , we declare no Ill , But Peace on Earth , and unto Men Good-will . M. How so , we pray ? can God be friends agen ? Will he be reconcil'd to sinfull Men ? Is God so kind , so mercifull a God , So soon to cast away his angry Rod ? A. You need not doubt , wou'd you but with the Eye Of stedfast Faith , pierce through the Starry Sky , You might behold there God himself contriving , Not for your Death , but your Eternal Living . M. But how shall we of this assured be ? What sign or token may we find or see ? A. Want ye a sign ? then do but us believe : Here 's one , behold a Virgin does conceive : A Virgin true and chast do's now bring forth A Son unto you of Transcendent Worth : This is the true Messias , whom of old The Patriarchs and Prophets so fore-told ; This is the Seed to Adam , promised By God , to break the subtle Serpent's Head : M. This being then the day of Iesus Birth , Let us affect our Hearts with godly Mirth ; Let us , I say , both triumph , joy , and sing , Glory be to our Christ , our Priest , our King.

On the same . EArly i' th' Morn I wak'd , and first my Ear The Bell-man did salute with th' time of Year . And next the joyfull Cock , who 'd left his Nest , Ceases not crowing Christus natus est . The lesser Birds in sweeter Notes do sing , And louder Sounds Echo from Bells that ring . Amidst this joy , I upward cast my Eyes , And saw more brighter Rays adorn the Skies ; Where e'er I look'd , a happy change I view'd , Nature her self did seem as if renew'd : But when surpriz'd with such a beauteous Scene , I then resolv'd to think what this might mean ; And presently my Thoughts inlarged were , And Christ his Incarnation did appear , In the most great and highest Acts of Love , Such as will Reason to amazement move : For who can think on Man , lost and undone , To be redeem'd from Death by God's own Son , And not be stricken with the quickest sence Of so much Love , and charming Excellence ? Rouse then thy Minds best faculties , and soar Up to a pitch , thou never reach't before : Strive to come near , at least to imitate The holy Angels , in their happy state ; Who always in a constant circle move , Of giving praises unto God above ; And when to them the happy tydings came , They gladly were the Heralds to proclaim The joyfull news to us ; then shall not Man Sing the same Anthem they on Earth began ? Give praises therefore unto God most high , And joyn thy Soul to the bless'd Hierarchy . When thus Seraphick-Love thy thoughts employ , Thou shalt anticipate that Heav'nly Ioy .

More on the same Subject . LEt this days triumph o'er the World be crown'd , A day of Iubilee for ever own'd , With Harp and Violin our Mirth we 'll show , Unto this day all gratitude we owe. Let Lute and Timbrel , and Majestick touch Of the sweet Vial too proclaim as much . Let Talbrot also , and the loud-spoke Cymbal Ioyn with the sweeter of the Virginal ; Let all the Voices , both of Base and Trebble , Ioyn in this harmony ; let polish't Marble , To future Ages , keep his honour'd Name , That they with equal pleasure speak the same : And that a p●rfect joy may be express'd , At the Solemnity of such a Feast , Let the whole Earth put on her Robes of Green , And be in Triumph when this day is seen ; And also let the pretty winged Quire , From their warm Nests with joyfulness retire ; And fill the Air with sweet melodious Notes , Which they sing forth from out their warbling Throats : Let the Floods clap their hands , and therein show , That they rejoyce with all the World below ; Let Angels too above bedeck the Sky , And in soft strains divulge their Harmony ; Let the Illustrious Cherubins descend With their delicious Carrols to attend Man's happy change , which Christ alone did bring , Who is become our Prophet , Priest , and King. O bless'd Redeemer ! why would'st thou come down , Rather so lowly , than with great Renown ? As soon as born , why did'st thou not give order To be proclaim'd the World's great Emperour ? Or cam'st not vailed in an Angel's Shrine , Or took the Nature of a Seraphin ? But this had been contrary to thy Will , Who came the Prophet's Sayings to fulfill : Besides , thy Message had a nobler End , Namely , the World of Sin to reprehend ; And to refine and purge our thoughts from Earth , Conveying to us Grace by second Birth ; To influence our Minds from Heav'n above , And to possess us here with Peace and Love.

ON NEW-YEARS-DAY . OH Time , with Wings thou well may'st painted be , For that shows swiftness and celerity ; And thy keen Scythe as truly doth bespeak , What mighty devastations thou do'st make . That which thy hand incircles is a Glass , Whose Sands with fleeting constancy do pass An Emblem , which adapted is to show , What short duration all things have below ; The Revolution of another Year , Do's plain and obvious to each Eye appear : The New-Year is in Infancy begun , And to its latter period soon will run ; For when the last Years Scene of things are gone , The Revolutions of the New post on . View the Creation made with curious Art , And you 'll see motion run through ev'ry part ; For whensoe'er that ceases , presently The Object do's begin to wast and dye . But now this Festival of New-years-day , A more exalted Subject doth display ; For it exhibiteth upon Record The Circumcision of our blessed Lord ; Which Institution was by God decreed For a distinction unto Abr'am's Seed : But when our Saviour came , what need was there But that this Iewish Rite shou'd disappear ? The Circumcision of the Heart was then E●teem'd more proper for the Sons of Men ; Instead of Circumcision and the Passover , Our Saviour therefore did enjoyn two other More Sacred Sacraments , which Christians now Do celebrate with a most solemn Vow . The former (a) (a) Circumcision . Rite Mortification taught , (b) (b) Baptism . This a more comprehensive meaning brought ; To wash off Adam's Sin is the intent , As Water is a cleansing Element . And all the Laws our Saviour did enjoyn , Than those he has remov'd , are more sublime ; Since nothing came from him but what 's Divine . Each Festival that keeps his Memory , Shou'd not without our due respe●t pass by . 'T is fit we shou'd commemorate such days With an ecstatick and exalted praise , And all our Faculties in Transport raise .

EYES and TEARS . I. HOW wisely Nature did decree , With the same Eyes to weep and se● ! That having view'd the Object vain , We might be ready to complain . II. What in the World most fair appears , Yea ev'n laughter turns to tears ; And all the Iewels which we prize , Melt in these Pendents of the Eyes ? III. Lo , the All-seeing Sun each day Distills the World with Chymick Ray ; But finds the Essence only show'rs , Which straight in pity back he pow'rs . IV. Yet happy they whom Grief doth bless , That weep the more , and see the less : And to preserve their Sight more true , Bathe still their Eyes in their own Dew . V. So Magdalen in Tears more wise , Dissolv'd those Captivating Eyes ; Whose liquid Chains cou'd flowing meet , To fetter her Redeemers Feet . VI. The sparkling Glance that shoots desire , Drench't in these Waves , do's lose its ●ire : Yea oft the Thunderer pity takes , And here the hissing Lightning slakes . VII . Ope then mine Eyes your double sluice , And practise so your noblest use ; For others too can see , or sleep , But only humane Eyes can weep . VIII . Now like two Clouds dissolving drop , And at each Tear in distance stop : Now like two Fountains trickle down ; Now like two Floods return and drown . IX . Thus let your Streams o'er-●low your Springs , Till Eyes and Tears be the same things : And each the others diff'rence bears , These weeping Eyes those seeing Tears .

To Mrs. IANE BARKER , on her most Delightfull and Excellent Romance of SCIPINA , now in the Press . By I. N. Fellow of St. Iohn's Colledge in Cambridge . HAil ! Fair Commandress of a gentle Pen , At once the Dread , and dear Delight of Men ; Who 'll read with Transports those soft joys you 've writ , Then fear their Laurels do but loosely ●it , Since You invade the Primacy of Wit . Accept , kind Guardian , of our sleeping Fame , Those modest Praises , which your Merits claim . 'T 'as been our Country's Scandal , now of late , For want of Fancy , poorly to Translate : Each pregnant Term , some honest , labouring brain With toilsome drudgery , and mighty pain , Has told some new Amour from France or Spain . Running us still so shamefully o' th' score , That we have scarcely credit left for more . But Thou , in whom all Graces are combin'd , And native Wit with equal Iudgment joyn'd , Hast taught us how to quell our Bankrupt Fear , By bravely quitting all the long Arrear . Thy single Payment , they 'll with thanks allow A just return for all those Debts we owe. What though their Tale more numerous appear ? Our Coyn's more noble , and our Stamp more fair . So have I seen a Score o' th' Dunning Race , Discharg'd their Paltry Ticks with one Broadpi●● Nor hast Thou more engag'd thy Native Home● Than the bare Memory of ancient Rome : So far thy generous Obligations spread , As both to bind the Living and the Dead . 'T would please thy Hero's awfull Shade , to see His Part thus Acted o'er again by Thee ; Where ev'n his bare Idea has that pow'r , Which Real Scipio only had before : Such tenderness his very Image moves , That ev'ry gentle Maid that reads it , Loves . ●o see with what new Air the Lover charms ! ●ill doubly bless'd in fair Clarinthia's Arms. ●riumphs of War were less than those of Peace ; Nor was He e'er so Great in any Arms , as these . What crowds of Weeping Loves wilt Thou create , When in thy Lines they find their Pictur'd Fate ? Thou 'st fram'd each Passion with so soft an Art , As needs must melt the hardest Stoick's heart . Did Zeno live to see thy moving sence , He 'd sure in Love an Epicure commence ; ●he cold Insensible would disappear , And with each Mourning Fair he 'd shed a Tear. But when He reads the happy Lover's Ioys , He 'd tell the rapturous pleasures with his Eyes : On 's wrinkl'd brows a smiling Calm would shine , He 'd think each Period of thy Book Divine , And with impatience kiss each tender line . Yet all this while , such are thy harmless Flames , As neither Age it self , nor Envy blames : The Precise-Grave-Ones cannot disapprove Thy Gallant Hero's honourable Love. Thy Lines may pass severest Virtue 's Test , More than Astraea's soft , more than Orinda's chast . Young Country Squires may read without offence , Nor Lady Mothers fear their debauch't Innocence . Only beware , Incautious Youths beware , Lest when you see such lovely Pictures there ; You , as of old the Fair Enamour'd Boy , Languish for those feign'd Beauties you descry , And pine away for Visionary Ioy . Then if by day they kindle noble Fire , And with gay thoughts your nightly Dreams inspire , Bless , Bless the Author of your soft desire . PHILASTER .

To Mrs. IANE BARKER , on her Resolution of Versifying no more . By the same Author . MAdam , I can't but wonder why of late , What you so lov'd , you now so much shou'd hate . Your Muse , with whom you thought your self once blest , That now shou'd banish'd be from your fair Breast : 'T may convince some ( but that it ne'er shall me ) That in your Sex there is inconstancy ; Whom formerly with name of (a) (a) Meaning the Muse. Gallant grac'd , By you so suddenly shou'd be displac'd . Is this the recompence which you intend Now to bestow on your so early Friend ? Who when a Child , put in your hand a Bough (b) (b) The lady being painted with a Bough of Bays in her Hand . , Hoping , in time , it might adorn your Brow. Methinks you do 't , as if you did design Fate 's all resistless pow'r to countermine . What else shou'd be the cause , I cannot see , That makes you so averse to Poetry ; Unless 't be this , 'Cause each poor rhiming Fool , To get a place i' th' Ballad-maker's School , Spews forth his Dogrel-rhimes , which only are Like rubbish sent i' th' Streets , and every Fair. Is this an Argument , 'cause Beggars Eat , Therefore you 'll fast , and go without your Meat ? So Vertue may as well aside be laid , Because a Cloak for Vice too oft it 's made . Shall a true Diamond of less value be , Because abroad some Counterfeits we see ? But when compar'd , how eas'ly may we know Which are for sale , and which are for a show . Then give not o'er , for in this Town they 'll say , A new Gallant has stol'n your Heart away : Besides , the Muses cannot chuse but pine ; In losing You , they 'll lose their Number Nine .

To the Incomparable AUTHOR , Mrs. IANE BARKER , On her Excellent ROMANCE of SCIPINA . By a Gentleman of St. Iohn's College , Cambridge . FAir Female Conquerour , we all submit To the joynt force of Beauty , and of Wit : And thus like vanquish'd Slaves in Triumph led , Lawrels and Crowns before the Victor spread . What stupid Enemy to Wit and Sence , Dares to dispute your Sexes Excellence ? That Sex which doth in you Triumphant come , To praise with Wit of Greece the Arms of Rome ; Secur'd by solid Sence , you soar sublime Above the little flutt'ring flights of Rhime . Antient Philosophy , embrac'd by few , Smiles and looks young to be caress'd by you ; Out-rivals Love , and drives him from your Breast , And is alone of your whole self possest : No Word of yours the nicest can reprove , To show a more than modest sense of Love : But something still like inspiration shines , Through the bright Virgin Candor of your lines . How well are all your Hero's toyls and fights , His long laborious Days , and restless Nights , Re-paid with Glory by your charming Pen ? How gladly wou'd he act them o'er again ? The Great Cornelian Race with wonder view , The Asian Conquerour , thus adorn'd by you ; And th' younger Scipio willingly wou'd quit His Titles for your more Triumphant Wit . On then , brave Maid , secure of Fame advance , 'Gainst the Scaroons and Scudderies of France . Shew them your claim , let nought your Merit awe , Your Title 's good spight of the Salique-Law ; Safe in the Triumphs of your Wit remain ; Our English Laws admit a Woman's Reign . EXILIUS .

ON THE POSTHUME and Precious POEMS OF Sir MATTHEW HALE , Late Lord Chief Iustice of His Majesty's Court of King's-Bench . By a Gentleman of Lincolns-Inn . THE Rose and other fragrant Flow'rs smell best When they are pluck'd and worn in Hand or Breast ; So this fair Flow'r of Vertue , this rare Bud Of Wit , smells now as fresh as when he stood , And by his Poetry doth let us know , He on the Banks of Helicon did grow : The Beauties of his Soul apparent shine , Both in his Works and Poetry Divine ; In him all Vertues met , th' Exemplary Of Wisdom , Learning , and true Piety . Farewell Fam'd Iudge , Minion of Thespian Dame● , Apollo's Darling born with Enthian Flames ; Which in thy numbers wave , and shine so clear , As sparks refracted in rich Iems appear ; Such Flames as may inspire , and Atoms cast , To make new Poets not like him in hast .

To the Admir'd AUTHOR , Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT , ON HIS Incomparable HISTORIES , ENTITULED , God's Revenge against Murther and Adultery , with the Triumphs of Friendship and Chastity . Newly published in a small Vol. 8o By Mr. I. Whitehall . SInce the too bold aspiring Angel fell ( By his Ambition and his Pride ) to Hell ; And since Rebellious Man lost Paradise , The World is fill'd with various sorts of Vice ; Murther and Lust , twin Tyrants , long have reign'd , And a vast Empire through the World maintain'd . The Sword of Iustice could not stop their rage , They 've boldly tyranniz'd in ev'ry Age ; Nor cou'd Divines their furious heat asswage . Yet doubtless , Friend , th' Examples you have giv'n , May give them prospect of revenging Heav'n . Your Pen with Eloquence divine inspir'd , Will cool the Souls with Lust and Murther fir'd . Tame all the Passions , regulate the Will , And stop that Rage which guiltless blood wou'd spill . Such charming Oratory it doth give , As teacheth us by others Death to live ; And from a Life of Chastity and Love , A great Advantage to our selves improve . To tell thy Fame , I want great Spencer's Skill , The gentle charming pow'r of Cowley's Quill : All Men of Sence will praise thy matchless Prose , For sharpest Briar bears the sweetest Rose .

To his Ingenious FRIEND , Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT , ON HIS Compendious HISTORIES OF Murther , Adultery , Friendship and Chastity . Some of the former being Epitomiz'd from Mr. Reynold's Murthers . By another Hand . MAny , 't is true , knew of this Golden Mine , But all their Skill cou'd not the Ore Refine : Th' inimitable REYNOLD's very Name , Startled at first our greatest Men of Fame ; Each one by fear , from that great task was hurl'd , And tho'lanch'd out their Sails , were quickly furl'd . Wanting thy courage , they cou'd never soar To this high pitch , which none e'er reach'd be●or● . The Vulgar paths thou shun'st , soaring sublime , Till with quaint Eloquence thou fraught'st each line . None yet so sweetly charm'd with Sence the times , So gently , and so well rebuk'd such crimes , As you , my Friend , have done ; for you present Vice so deform'd , the Wicked will repent ; And by Examples of the chast and kind , Fix bright Embellishments upon the Mind , Such as may make us to improve , and be Like patterns of Heroick Piety . Thy Wit and Skill may former Artists blame , And Reynold's Murthers now we must not name . As sable Darkness , which attends the Night , To the Days Sun-beams is its opposite : So Vice from Vertue , Wrong from Right 's the same ; Then how canst thou write wrong , when WRIGHT's thy Name ?

ON Christmas-day . O God! who art most Excellent and Wise ! I see the Morning Beams break through the Skies ; And with great admiration view the Light Which dissipates Nights darkness from my sight . But with a greater wonder I look on Those bright Illuminations , which thy Son Hath brought to light by 's Incarnation . Look and admire I may , but can't express Such heights and depths of Love , in Prose or Verse : 'T is beyond th' art of Rhet'rick to display , What Chris●ians solemnize this F●stal day . Two sacred Words , are an Epi●ome Of what 's effected in this Mystery , Redemption and Salvation ; heav'nly Letters ! Which freed fall'n Man from th' Bondage of his Fetters : Lust and Ambition , Avarice and Fraud , Was then his Master , and his Passions Lord : Till Christ , his great Redeemer , broke the Chain , And placed him in Paradise again . O Love most infinite ! O Love divine ! This Mystery of Love was truly thine ; For neither Men nor Angels could atone Th' Almighty's Wrath , but God and Man in one : Wherefore Divinity submits to be Lodg'd in a Vessel of Humanity . How ioyfully ●he heav'nly Host above , Proclaim to Man , glad tydings of thy Love ? And shall Mankind so much ungrateful be , Or rather sink into stupidity , As not with equal Ioy this Message hear , And all due Rev'rence to their Saviour bear ? And finally , Let 's end these Festal days , With sweet Doxologies , and Songs of Praise .

UPON DEATH . NAked I came from out my Mother's Womb , And naked must return unto my Tomb ; Disrob'd of all Injoyments here below , Or what my Fancy had esteemed so ; Laid down in silence , and by all forgot ; Left in an Earthly Sepulchre to rot , And turn to noisome and corrupted Clay , My Manly Shape and Figure worn away : Thus when our little breath , and life 's once gone , We make a Feast for Worms to feed upon . And though we shou'd the most Endearments have , Of Wife and Children too , yet we must leave Them , and their Fortunes , unto Providence , When pale-fac'd Death shall summon us from hence Why do we stand amaz'd , and seem to fear , When e'er the news of a Friend's Death we hear ? And not much rather to applaud the Tongue , That brought intelligence , he liv'd so long ; For Life's so mutable , each little blast May the whole Fabrick unto ruin hast : Life is a Bubble , which now you see here , And in a moments time do's disappear ; Full as inconstant as the Wind ; alas ! 'T is far more brittle than a Venice-Glass ; 'T is as a Shadow , which is quickly fled ; Or as a Word , which in as small time 's said ; 'T is as a Vapour rising from the Earth , But at the most 't is but a little Breath . And is this truly so ? and shall my Eyes , Together with my Souls bright Faculties , Be cheated with the Worlds gay Vanities ? Certainly no! Adieu ye cheating Pleasures , Which only bear the empty name of Treasures ; No Sophistry , or stratagem , can hide Your gilded Vanity , your Lust and Pride : And as for Honour , that I 'll most avoid , My lonesome Cottage shall not be annoy'd By th' noisome Breath of a confused Rabble ; Void of calm Reason , full of nonsence , babble . Besides , my Eyes are both too weak and dimm To guide my Feet , whilst I so high must climb , To reach her Pinacles ; which if I do , 'T is but to make me fall from thence more low . And as for worldly Wealth , my bounds I set , According to what Prudence do's direct . Our honest Industry is not deny'd , When all disponding Thoughts are laid aside : So much I can most lawfully desire , As may with decency my Life attire ; And bear me up , lest I too much shou'd Mourn , Before I fill my dark and silent Urn. Such serious Thoughts as these delight me best ; Death , when fore-seen in time , do's quite devest A Man of dubious Thoughts , and frightful Fears , And with a Plaudit closeth up his Years .

ON THE Divine Spirit . AS when the lab'ring Sun hath wrought his track Up to the top of lofty Cancer's back , The Icie Ocean cracks the Frozen Pole , Thaws with the heat of Celestial Coal ; So when thy absent Beams begin t' impart Again a Solstice on my ●rozen Heart , My Winter 's o'er , my drooping Spirits sing , And every part revives into a Spring : But if thy quickning Beams a while decline , And with their Light bless not this Orb of mine , A chilly Frost surprizeth every Member , And in the midst of Iune I feel December . O how this Earthly temper doth debase The noble Soul , in this her humble place ! Whose wingy Nature ever doth aspire To reach that place , whence ●irst it took its ●ire . These Flames I feel , which in my Heart do dwell , Are not thy Beams , but take their fire from Hell. O quench them all , and let thy Light Divine Be as the Sun to this poor Orb of mine ; And to thy Sacred Spirit convert those Fires , Whose Earthly fumes crack my devout Aspires !

To the Memory of the Illustrious Prince GEORGE , Duke of Buckingham . WHen the dread Summons of Commanding Fate Sounds the Last Call at some proud Palace-Gate , When both the Rich , the Fair , the Great , and High. Fortunes most darling Favourites must die ; Strait at th' Alarm the busie Heraulds wait To fill the Solemn Pomp , and Mourn in State : Scutcheons and Sables then make up the Show , Whilst on the Herse the mourning Streamers flow , With all the rich Magnificence of Woe . If Common Greatness these just Rights can claim , What Nobler Train must wait on Buckingham ! When so much Wit 's Great Re●ormer , dyes , The very Muses at thy Obsequies , ( The Muses , that melodious cheersull Quire , Whom Misery could ne'er untune , nor tire , But chirp in Rags , and ev'n in Dungeons sing , ) Now with their broken Notes , and flagging Wing , To thy sad Dirge their murm'ring Plaints shall bring . Wit , and Wit 's god , for Buckingham shall mourn , And His lov'd Laurel into Cypress turn . Nor shall the Nine sad Sisters only keep This mourning Day : even Time himself shall weep , And in new Brine his hoary furrows steep . Time , that so much must thy great Debtor be , As to have borrow'd ev'n new Life●rom ●rom Thee ; Whilst thy gay Wit has made his sullen Glass And tedious Hours with new-born Raptures pass . What tho'black Envy with her ranc'rous Tongue , And angry Poets in embitter'd Song ( Whilst to new tracks thy boundless Soul aspires ) Charge thee with roving Change , and wandring Fires● Envy more base did never Virtue wrong ; Thy Wit , a Torrent for the Banks too strong , In twenty smaller Rills o'er-flow'd the Dam , Though the main Channel still was Buckingham . Let Care the busie Statesman over-whelm , Tugging at th' Oar , or drudging at the Helm . With lab'ring Pain so half-soul'd Pilots plod , Great Buckingham a sprightlier Measure trod : When o'er the mounting Waves the Vessel rod , Unshock'd by Toyls , by Tempests undismay'd , Steer'd the Great Bark , and as that danc'd , He play'd . Nor bounds thy Praise to Albion's narrow Coast , Thy Gallantry shall Foreign Nations boast , They Gallick Shore , with all the Trumps of Fame , To endless Ages shall resound thy Name . When Buckingham , Great CHARLES Embassador , With such a Port the Royal Image bore , So near the Life th' Imperial Copy drew , As ev'n the Mighty Louis could not View With Wonder only , but with Envy too . His very Fleur-de-Lize's ●ainting Light Half droopt to see the English Rose so bright . Let Groveling Minds of Nature's basest mould Hug and Adore their dearest Idol , Gold : Thy Nobler Soul did the weak Charms defie , Disdain the Earthly Dross to mount more High. Whilst Humbler Merit on Court-Smiles depends For the Gilt Show'r in which their Iove descends ; Thou mount'st to Honour for a Braver End ; What others borrow , Thou cam'st there to lend : Did'st sacred Vertues naked Self adore , And left'st her Portion for her sordid Woer ; The poorer Miser how dost thou out-shine , He the Worlds Slave , but thou hast made it thine : Great Buckingham's Exalted Character , That in the Prince liv'd the Philosopher . Thus all the Wealth thy Generous Hand has spent , Shall raise thy Everlasting Monument . So the fam'd Phoenix builds her dying Nest Of all the richest Spices of the East : Then the heap'd Mass prepar'd for a kind Ray Some warmer Beam of the Great God of Day , Do's in one hallow'd Conflagration burn , A precious Incense to her Funeral Urn. So Thy bright Blaze felt the same Funeral Doom , A wealthier Pile than old Mausolus Tomb. Only too Great , too Proud to imitate The poorer Phoenix more Ignoble Fate , Thy Matchless Worth all Successors defies , And scorn'd an Heir shou'd from thy Ashes rise : Begins and finishes that Glorious Spheer , Too Mighty for a Second Charioteer .

UPON THE DEATH OF OLIVER CROMWELL , In Answer to Mr. W —'s Verses . By Mr. Godolphin . 'T IS well he 's gone , ( O had he never been ! ) Hurry'd in Storms loud as his crying Sin : The Pines and Oaks fell prostrate to his Urn , That with his Soul his Body too might burn . Winds pluck up Roots , and fixed Cedars move , Roaring for Vengeance to the Heavens above : For Guilt from him like Romulus did grow , And such a Wind did at his Ruin blow . Praying themselves the lofty Trees shou'd fell Without the Ax , so Orpheus went to Hell : At whose descent the sturdiest Oaks were cleft , And the whole Wood its wonted Station left . In Battle Herc'les wore the Lyon's Skin , But our Fierce Nero wore the Beast within ; Whose Heart was Brutish , more than Face or Eyes , And in the shape of Man was in disguise . Where ever Men , where ever pillage lyes , Like rav'nous Vultures , or wing'd Navy flyes . Under the Tropicks he is understood , And brings home Rapine through a Purple Flood . New Circulations found , our Blood is hurl'd , As round the lesser , so the greater World . In Civil Wars he did us first engage , And made Three Kingdoms subject to his rage . One fatal stroke slew Iustice , and the cause Of Truth , Religion , and our Sacred Laws . So fell Achilles by the Trojan Band , Though he still fought with Heav'n it self in hand . Nor cou'd Domestick Spoil confine his Mind , Nor limits to his fury , but Mankind . The Brittish Youth in Foreign Coasts are sent , Towns to destroy , but more to Banishment . Who since they cannot in this Isle abide , Are confin'd Pris'ners to the World beside . No wonder then if we no tears allow To him who gave us Wars and Ruin too : Tyrants that lov'd him , griev'd , concern'd to see There must be punishment to crueltie . Nature her self rejoyced at his Death , And on the Halter sung with such a Breath , As made the Sea dance higher than before , While her glad Waves came dancing to the shore .

ON THE LAST DUTCH WAR. By Mr. Benjamin Willy , sometime Master of the Free-School of Newark upon Trent . RObb'd of our Rights ! and by such Water-Rats ! We 'll doff their Heads , if they won't doff their Hats . Affront from Hogen Mogen to endure ! 'T is time to box these Butter-Boxes sure . If they the Flag 's undoubted Right deny us , And won't strike to us , they must be struck by Us. A Crew of Boors , and Sooterkins , that know Themselves they to our Blood and Valour owe. Did we for this knock off their Spanish Fetters , To make 'em able to abuse their Betters ? If at this rate they rave , I think 't is good Not to omit the Spring , but let 'em Blood. Rouse then , Heroick Britains , 't is not Words , But Wounds must work with Leather-Apron-Lords . They 're deaf , and must be talk'd withall , alas , With Words of Iron , spoke by Mouths of Brass , I hope we shall to purpose the next bout Cure 'em , as we did Opdam of the Gout . And when i' th' bottom of the Sea they come , They 'll have enough of Mare Liberum . Our brandish't Steel ( tho' now they seem so tall ) Shall make 'em lower than Low-Countries fall : But they 'll e'er long come to themselves you 'll see , When we in earnest are at Snick-a-snee . When once the Boars perceive our Swords are drawn , And we converting are those Boars to Brawn . Methinks the Ruin of their Belgick Banners Last Fight , almost as ragged as their Manners , Might have perswaded 'em to better things , Than to be sawcy with the best of Kings . Is it of Wealth so proud they are become ? Charles has a Wain , I hope , to fetch it home ; And with it pay himself his just Arrears Of Fishing Tribute for this Hundred years ; That we may say , as all the Store comes in , The Dutch , alas , have but our Factors bin : They fathom Sea and Land , we , when we please , Have both the Indies brought to our own Seas ; For Rich and Proud they bring in Ships by Shoals ; And then we humble them to save their Souls . Pox of their Pictures ! if we had 'em here , We 'd find 'em Frames at Tyburn , or elsewhere . The next they draw be it their Admirals , Transpeciated into Finns and Scales ; Or which wou'd do as well , draw , if they please , Opdam with th' Seven sinking Provinces ; Or draw their Captains from the conqu'ring Main , F●rst beaten home , then beaten back again . And after this so just , though fatal strife , Draw their dead Boars again unto the Life . Lastly , Remember to prevent all Laughter ; Drawing goes first , but Hanging follows after . If then Lampooning thus be their undoing , Who pities them that purchase their own Ruin ; Or will hereafter trust their treacheries , Untill they leave their Heads for Hostages . For as the Proverb thus of Women's said , Believe 'em nothing , though you think 'em dead . The Dutch are stubborn , and will yield no Fruit Till , like the Wallnut-Tree , ye beat 'em to 't .

THE LAST SAYINGS OF A MOUSE , Lately Starved in a Cupboard . As they were taken in Short-hand by a Zealous Rat-catcher , who listned at the Key-hole of the Cupboard Door . WRetch that I am ! and is it come to this ? O short continuance of Earthly bliss . Did I for this forsake my Country Ease , My Liberty , my Bacon , Beans , and Pease ? Call ye me this the breeding of the Town , Which my young Master bragg'd when he came down ? Fool that I was ! I heard my Father say ( A Rev'rend Mouse he was , and his Beard gray ) " Young Hunt-crum , mark me well , you needs must rome , " And leave me and your Mother here at home : " Great is your Spirit , at high food you aim , " But have a care — believe not lying Fame ; " Vast Bodies oft are mov'd by slender Springs , " Great Men and Tables are two diff'rent things : " Assure thy self , all is not Gold that shines ; " He that looks always fa● , not always dines : " For oft I 've seen one strut in laced Cloak , " And at th' same instant heard his Belly croak . By sad experience now I find too well , Old Hunt-crum was an arrant Sydrophel . And must I dye ? and is there no relief ? No Cheese , though I give over thoughts of Beef . Where is grave Madge , and brisk Grimalkin now , Before whose Feet our Race was wont to bow ? No Owl , no Cat , to end my wofull days ? No Gresham Engine my lean Corps to squeese ? I 'd rather fall to Foes a noble prey , Than squeek my Soul out under Lock and Key● What 's this ? a pissing Candles latter end , My dear beloved Country-Save-all Friend ? Thou dreadfull Emblem of Mortality , Which nothing savour'st of solidity : Detested Droll'ry of my cruel Fate ! This shadow of a Comfort comes too late . Now you my Brethren Mice , if any be As yet unstarv'd in all our Family , From your obscure Retreats rise and appear , To your , or to your Ghosts I now draw near . Unto my pristine dust I hast apace , Observe my hollow Eyes , and meager Face ; And learn from me the sad reverse of Fate , 'T is better to be innocent than great . Good Consciences and Bellies full , say I , Exceed the pomp that only fills the Eye . Farewell you see ( my friends ) that knew me once Pamper'd and smooth , reduc'd to Skin and Bones . Poor as a Church-Mouse ! O I faint ! I dye ! Fly , fly from Cat in shape of Famine , f●y ; Whilst at ●y Death I my Ambition rue , In this my Cupboard , and my Coffin too ; Farewell to Victuals , Greatness , and to you .

TO THE SECRETARY OF THE MUSES . A NEW-YEARS-GIFT . IULIAN , WIth care peruse the lines I send , Which when you 've done , you 'll find I am your friend ; I write not for Applause , or if I doe , Who 'd value the Applause that comes from you , Or from your Patrons , who of late we see , However they 're distinguish'd in degree , Forget themselves , and grow as dull as thee ? As often drunk , as awkward in their dress , Fight with thy courage , Court with thy success . And when their fond Impertinences fail , They strait turn Satyrists , and learn to rail ; With false Aspersions whitest truths they touch , And will abuse , because they can't debauch . No , Iulian , 't is not my design to glean Applauses either from thy self , or them ; But meerly to assume a friendly care , And give thee Counsel for th' ensuing Year . For if all pow'rfull dullness keep its station , Dullness chief Manufacture of the Nation , Thou certainly must starve the next Vacation . To prevent which , observe the rules I give , We never are too old to learn to live . First then , to all thy railing Scriblers go , Who do their wit and worth in Libels show ; Bid 'em correct their Manners , and their Style , For both of 'em begin to grow so vile , They are beneath a Carr-man's scornfull smile : Tell 'em their false Coyn will no longer pass ; Nay , tell 'em that thou know'st it to be Brass : But above all , beg 'em to mend their strain , And yet I fear thy pray'rs will be in vain ; For though the Old year , Iulian , now is done , We know there comes another rowling on , And still another too when that is gone . But Wit lyes unmanur'd , the barren stor● Is ebbing out — I fear 't will flow no more . 'T is well thou dost not live on Wit alone , For the dull trash the Men of Sence disown , Thy duller Coxcombs with Applauses crown . Since folly then , and nonsence find success , Let this dull trifle pass amongst the rest : But swear withall the Author is a Wit ; Nay , when thou' rt in th' Enthusiastick fit , Swear 't is the highest thing that e'er was writ . Thus with thy noise prepare 'em by degrees , Thou' rt us'd to dullness , and thou know'st 't will please , Dull then as 't is , this New-years-gift of mine , If manag'd well , may help to get thee thine .

EPITAPH ON THE SECRETARY to the MUSES . UNder this weeping Monumental Stone There lies a Scribe , who , while he liv'd , was known To ev'ry Bawd , Whore , Pimp , Fop , Fool in Town , For scandal he was born , and we shall find , That now he 's dead , there 's little left behind : Vast was his Courage , witness all the store Of noble Scars , that to his Grave he bore ; All got in War , for he abhorr'd a Whore. Of spreading Libels nothing shall be said , Because 't was that which brought him in his Bread , And 't is a crime to vilifie the Dead . His Honour for Religion still was great , In Covent-Garden Church he 'd slumb'ring sit , To shew his Piety was like his Wit . But above all , Drink was his chief delight ; He drank all day , yet left not off at night : Drink was his Mistress ; Drinking was his Health ; For without Drinking he was ne'er himself . Ah , cruel Gods ! what Mercy can ye boast If the poor Secretary's frighted Ghost Shou'd chance to touch upon the Stygian Coast ? But ah his loss , 't is now too late to Mourn ; He 's gone , and Fate admits of no return . But whither is he gone ? to 's Grave , no doubt ; Where , if there 's any Drink , he 'll find it out .

A SATYR , In Answer to the SATYR against MAN . By T. L. of Wadham Colledge , Oxon. WEre I a Sp'rit , to chuse for my own share , What case of Flesh and Blood I 'd please to wear , I 'd be the same that to my joy I am , One of those brave and glorious Creatures , Man ; Who is from Reason justly nam'd the bright And perfect Image of the Infinite : Reason's Mankind's Prerogative , no less Their Nature's honour , than their happiness : With which alone , the meanest Creature blest , Were truly styl'd the Lord of all the rest ; Whence Man makes good his Title to the Throne , And th' whole Creation his Dominion own . Whence he o'er others , and himself presides , As safe from Errour as Ten thousand Guides : Through Doubt's distracting Lab'rinths it directs , And all the subtil Windings there detects . As safely steers through Life's wide Ocean , As Skilful Pilates through the boundless Main ; It shews here Scylla , there Charybdi● lyes , And between both securely leads the Wise ; Who Quick-sands , Rocks & Gulfs supinely braves , A desp'rate Fool may perish in the Waves ; Who mad and heedless wou'd his Guide refuse● Can't blame that reason which he cannot use . He that will close , or leave his Eyes behind , Shou'd not accuse his Eyes , because they 're blind . If knowingly , vain Man , his Iourney makes Through Error 's fenny Bogs , and thorny Brakes , And craggy , steep , untrodden Paths he takes ; 'T is down-right Nonsence then to look upon His Errors ( Nature's Imperfection , ) And all Mankind endite with a wrong Bill , Which reaches not his Nature , but his Will . Besides , it 's better reason to infer , That is most perfect , which can mostly Err ; The Hound that 's fam'd for far more politick Nose , Than Men in Parliament or Coffee-house ; Than Country-Iustice , or Old Caesar's Horses , A Consul 's made for 's Skill in State-affairs ; Who closest Plots can scent and spoil alone , With as much ease as he devours a Bone : Iowler the Wise the plodding Iowler is , Oft at a fault , and oft his Hare doth miss ; While through unerring-paths a Stone descends , And still arrives at that tow'rds which it tends . If therefore those are wisest which attain By surest means the Ends at which they aim : The latter , doubtless , will be wiser found , Though this is but a Stone , th' other a Hound . So much for Reason , th' next Attempt's for Man , For him I must defend , and him I can . Well then : Man is compos'd of Cruelty and Fear , From these his great , and his best Actions are ; The charge runs high , and deeply Man's arraign'd , His Blood is poyson'd , and his Nature stain'd . But I shall make it straight with ease appear , That the brisk accusation's too severe ; For undertaking to disparage him , They leave their Text , and make the Beast their Theme . And first the Fears that trouble him within , Proceed not from his Nature , but his Sin ; Which , like pale Ghosts , while they the Murth'rer haunt , Do cramp his Soul , and all his Courage daunt . Frame gastly Fantomes in his guilty Mind , Frightfull above , below , before , behind : If in the House , alas the House will fall ; If in the Street , each is a tot'ring Wall ; If in the Fields , what if the Poles shou'd crack , And the vast Orbs come tumbling on his back ? A Bird , a Wasp , a Beetle , and a Fly , With no small dread approach his trembling Eye ; For lately 't is evinc'd , all Creatures are No less than Man , in the wild state of War ; Which long ago the wary Emp'rour knew , Who hostile flies , with Princely Valour slew . Is he alone ? he startles when he sees His moving shadow , and his shadow flees . For who can evidence but that may be No meer privation , but an Enemy ? So when alone a tim'rous Wretch is scar'd , And when he 's not , he 's fearfull of his Guard. What shall he do ? or whither shall he fly ? Who durst not live , and yet he durst not dye : Say you who e'er have felt those painfull stabs ; Say wretched Nero , or more wretched Hobbs . Guilt is of all , and always is afraid , From fear to fear successively betray'd ; 'T is guilt alone breeds cow'rdise and distrust , For all Men wou'd be Valiant if they durst ; Those only can't , who swear , and whore , and cheat , And sell their Honour at the cheapest rate : Whom brawling Surfeits , Drunkenness and Claps ; Hurry on head-long to the Grave perhaps : Such some call Devils , but we think the least , And therefore kindly head them with the best . Chuse they themselves whose Case they 'll please to wear , The Case of Dog , the Monkey , or the Bear. So far , I doubt not , but you 'll find it clear , He 's no true Man , who 's thus compos'd of Fear : He o'er whose Actions Reason doth preside , Who makes the radiant Light his constant Guide ; Vain fear can never o'er his Mind prevail , Integrity to him 's a Coat of Mail ; Of Vertues and of Honesty possest , Against all ills h'as trebly arm'd his Breast : Steel , Bra●s , and Oak , are but a weak defence , Compar'd to firm-resolved Innocence . This makes the Champion , 'midst the Bloody Field , Bolder than he who ●ore the sev'n-fold Shield , To brave the World , and all the dangers there , Though Heav'n , Air , Sea & Land all constant were . As unconcern'd as were the Forrest Oak , He feels the Lightning , and the Thunder-stroak : He meets the Lyon , and the Ragged Bear , With a great mind that never stoop'd to fear . If the Winds blow , they spend their Breath in vain , Tho' they enrage and swell their boist'rous Main . Till Waves arise , and foaming Billows rowl , For calm in spight of Tempest is his Soul ; And Syren-like he sings amongst the Storms : The brave can dye , but can receive no harms . But Men are cruel : no , they 're never so While they continue Men , not Monsters grow : But when degen'rate , they their pow'r employ , Not to preserve their kind , but to destroy . When once unnat'ral , they themselves engage In Blood and Rapine , Cruelty and Rage . Then Beasts on Beasts with greater Mercy prey , The rav'nous Tygers are less fierce than they . The greatest Good abus'd , turns greatest Evil , And so fall'n Lucifer became a Devil . But who 'd not therefore Blessed Michael be , 'Cause Devils are Angels too as well as he ? Or else to instance in their proper sphere , Pale and corrupted Wine turns Vinegar , Will they beyond it therefore praise small Beer ? While they debauch't , are to each other Fiends , True Men are good unto themselves and Friends . Whose kindness , affability and Love , Make these aboad below , like those above : Good without self , and without fawning kind , And own no Greatness but a Vertuous Mind : Grave , Learned , Noble , Valorous and Wise ; High without pride , and meek without disguise . Having at large compleated our defence , We will in short describe the Men of Sence . And first their Prowess , next their Learning shew ; Lastly their Wit , and then we 'll let them go : " For that which fools the World , Religion , " Your pains are sav'd , because the Wise have none● Here Hell's great Agent Hobbs i' th' front appears● Trembling beneath a load of guilt and fears : The Devil's Apostle sent to preach up Sin , And so convert the debauch'd World to him ; Whom Pride drew in as Cheats , their Bubbles catch , And made him venture to be made a Wretch . Hobbs , Natures pest , unhappy England's shame , Who damns his Soul to get himself a Name . The Resolute Villain from a proud desire , Of being Immortal , leaps into the fire : Nor can the Caitiff miss his desp'rate aim , Whose luscious Doctrine Proselytes will gain , ( Though 't is sufficiently absurd , and vain ) Whilst proud , ill-natur'd , lustfull Men remain . And that 's as long as Heav'n and Earth endure ; This th' Halter once , but nothing now can cure . Next him his learn'd and wise Disciples view , Persons of signal parts , and honour too , As the ensuing Catalogue will shew . Huffs , Fops , Gamesters , Highway-Men , and Players , Bawds , Pimps , Misses , Gallants , Grooms , Lacquies , and Pages ; Such as the Poet justly thought a crime , To place in Verse , or grace them with a Rhime . But now methinks I see towards me Iig , Huge Pantaloons and hu●fing Periwig ; With Hat and gaudy Feather o'er it spread , And underneath looks something like a Head. Bless me ! what is this Antick shape ? I can Believe it any thing besides a Man : But such it is , for I no sooner ask , But he bears up , and takes me thus to task . The Devil — straight down drop I , And my weak under-hearted Friend that 's by : A Fiend broke loose , cry'd he , I fear him worse , He shou'd a Hobbist be by th' size of 's Curse . Plague — for a peevish snarling Curr ; Mercy , I cry your Mercy , dreadfull Sir ; For a Broad-side these Weapons fitter are , Three wou'd at least sink a Dutch Man of War . These are the Sparks , who friends with stabs do greet , And bravely Murther the next Man they meet ; With boldness break a sturdy Drawer's pate , If the Wine 's bad , or Reck'ning is too great . Kill a poor Bell-man , and with his own Bell , 'T is a rare jest to ring the Rascal's Knell : Cry , Dam you to a Dog that takes the Wall , And for th' affront the ill-bred Cur must fall : Swear at a Coach-man , and his Horses kill , To send th' uncivil Sons of Whores to Hell. Upon a rude and justling Sign-post draw , Though the fam'd Champion George look't down and saw . Assault Glass-windows , which like Crystal Rock , Had firmly stood the sharp impetuous shock Of Twenty Winters , and despis'd their pow'r , Yet can't withstand their matchless Rage one hour . From all th' Atchievements of Romantick Knights , Their bold Encounters and heroick Fights ; One only Parallel to this is brought , When furious Don the Gyant Windmill fought . Oh that this Age some Homer wou'd afford ! Who might these deeds in deathless Verse record . Here wou'd his large Poetick Soul obtain A subje●t worthy his immortal vein ; Where greater deeds wou'd his great Muse employ , Than when she sang the tedious Siege of Troy. Then stout Achilles , Ajax , Diomede , The future Ages with contempt wou'd read ; Despise their Name , and undeserv'd Renown , Who Ten years spent to win a paultry Crown ; For War-like boldness , and Advent'rous deeds , The Camp of Venus that of Mars exceeds . 'T is an Exploit , no doubt , that 's nobler far T' attempt the Dangers of a Female War ; Where in vast numbers , resolute and bold , Viragoes fight for Honour , and for Gold ; And with unweary'd Violence oppose The fiercest Squadrons of assaulting Foes ; With just such weapons , and such courage too , Did war-like Amazons their Men subdue , Such venom'd Arrows from their Quiver flew . Next we 'll describe , from a few gen'ral hints , Their usual Learning , and Accomplishments . In the starch't Notions of the Hat and Knee , T' excell them , they defie the bravest He. How long they cringe , when within doors they greet , And when y' accoast one in the open Street . Whether a Lady led must have the Wall ; And if there 's none , which Hand to lead withall . Which of the two the House first enters in , And then which first shou'd the vain prate begin . When three full hours , without one word of sense , They 'll talk you on genteel impertinence ; And all shall be surprizing Complement , And each shall have at least five Madams in 't ; Besides the Courtish A-la-modish He , Intriegue Divine , and pleasant Repartee . Ladies of Pleasure , they from Honour know , By the Hood-knot , and the loose Gestico : They 'll tell exactly , if her temper Red Be bounteous Nature's gift , or borrowed . Descry a Beauty through her Mask and Shroud , Call her a Sun that 's got behind a Cloud . The vigour of those fopperies I lose For want of breeding , but you must excuse For this a Clownish , rude and Cloyster'd Muse. Nor must we all their Acts of Lust forget , In Excellence surpassing any yet : For Lust's more beastly , and more num'rous too , Than Nero's Pimp , Petronius , ever knew : More than Albertus , or the Stagyrite , Though both profoundly on the Subject write . Now for their Wit . They have one waggery the top o' th' rest , Which we 'll put first , because it is the best ; To cheat a Link-Boy of three-half pence pay , By slily stealing through some blind back-way . But what compleats the Iest , the Boy goes on , Untill the place appointed he 's upon , Never suspects the cunning Hero's gone . Having thus chous'd the Boy , and 'scap'd by flight , speed He scarcely sleeps for laughing all the Night . Tricks himself up th' next Morn , and hies with To tell his Miss th' intriegue of what he did ; Who makes reply , 'T was neatly done indeed . Then he all Company do's tire and worry For a whole week with that ridic'lous Story : Last night I hapned at the Tavern late , To be where five of these great Wits were sate , And was so nigh as to o'er-hear their prate : I dare to swear , that three amongst the five , Were Woodcock , Ninney , and Sir Loslitive . Had Shadwell heard them , he had stol'n from thence● A Second part of his Impertinence : Prologues and Epilogues they did reherse , With scraps and ends of stiff untoward Verse ; And strong Almansor Rants cull'd from the Plays Of Goff and Settle , and great Poet-Bays . An hour or two being spent in this discourse , And all their store quite drein'd , they fall to worse ; T' applaud th' invention of a swinging Oath , And better-humour'd Curse that fills the Mouth . A Bawdy Iest commands the gen'ral Vogue , And all admire and hug the witty Rogue . And if you once but chance to break a Iest , On the dull phlegmatick and formal Priest : Or rather vent a Droll on Sacred Writ , For th' more ingenious still , the better Wit . If he can wrest a scrap to 's present Theme , And pretty often daringly blaspheme ; Oh , 't is the Archest Rogue , the wittiest Thing , He shall e'er long be Iester to the King : He parallels the Thrice-renown'd Archee , And he shail write a Book as well as He : Nay more , Sir , he 's an excellent Poet too , He 'll all the City Ballad-men out-doe ; Their formal high-bound Muse waits to expect , When pensive Mony-wanters will contract With Clov'n-foot Satan , or some wanton Maid , In shape of Sweet-heart is by him betray'd . Each common trivial humour of the City , Fills him with Rapture , and creates a Ditty . The bawlers of Small-coals , Brooms , Pins & Spoons , Afford him matter to endite Lampoons . If Sir Knight take a Purge a Tunbridge Waters , He 'll shew in rhime how oft , how far he Squatters . In forty couples of Heroick Verse , Express the features , and the springs of 's A — . Had Hopkins burlesqu'd David with design , These Wits had styl'd his silly rhimes divine : But since he did it with an honest Heart , Tom Hopkins Muses are not worth a F — . Certainly if the Dev'l struck up and sung , After a pawse so many Ages long ; And play'd the Poet after once again , Though in that old abominable strain , He once deliver'd his dark Oracle ; 'T woud pass for Wit , because it came from Hell. But being of Patience totally bere●t , The Room and house in rage and haste I left . Now sum up all their Courage , Wit , and then Tell me if Reason will allow them Men ; Rather a large and handsome sort of Apes , Whom Nature hath deny'd our Sulphur , giv'n our Shapes . Such in hot Africk Travellers relate , Mankind in folly only imitate . But if a thing s' unlikely shou'd be true , That they both wear our Shape and Nature too ; I 'd live contented under any state , Rather than prove so vain , absurd , degenerate : An Owl , a Kite , a Serpent , or a Rat , If a more hated thing , let me be that . Let them laugh on , and site the thinking Fools In Rev'rend Bedlam's Colledges and Schools . When Men distracted do deride the Wise , 'T is their concern to pity and despise ; Let me to Chains and Nakedness condemn'd , My wretched life in frantick Bedlam spend ; There sigh , pick straws , or count my fingers o'er , Weep , laugh , swagger , huff , quarrel , sing and roar ; Or with Noll's heav'nly Porter preach and pray , Rather than live but half so mad as they .

A Congratulatory POEM To His most Sacred Majesty IAMES the Second , &c. On His late Victories o'er the Rebels in the West . SInce Heav'n your Righteous Cause has own'd , And with success your pow'rful Army Crown'd ; Silence were now an injury as rude , As were the Rebel 's base ingratitude . While th' Glories of your Arms & Triumphs shine , Not to Congratulate , were to repine , Your Enemies themselves wou'd strangely raise By dis-ingenious and inglorious Ways ; By means no Vulgar Spirit wou'd endure , But such as either Courage want , or Power . But while your Clemency proclaims aloud , Compassion to the miserable Croud . Your Royal Breast with Love and Anger burns , And your Resentment into Pity turns . But they your Princely Pardon did refuse , And were resolv'd all Outrages to use . Stern Murtherers , that rise before the light To kill the Innocent , and rob at Night : Unclean Adulterers , whose longing Eyes Wait for the Twilight ; Enter in disguise , And say , Who sees us ? Thieves , who daily mark Those Houses which they plunder in the dark . Yet whilst your Loyal Subjects Blood they seek , With th' Gibbet or the Ax at last they meet .

On the same . COu'd I but use my Pen , as you your Sword , I 'd write in Blood , and kill at ev'ry Word : The Rebels then my Muse's pow'r shou'd feel , And find my Verse as fatal as your Steel . But sure , Great Prince , none can presume to write With such success as you know how to Fight ; Who carry in your Looks th' Events of War , Design'd , like Caesar , for a Conquerour . The World of your Atchievements are afraid , And th' Rebels sly before you quite dismay'd . And now , Great Prince , may you Victorious be , Your Fame and Arms o'er-spreading Land and Sea . May you our haughty Neighbours over-come , And bring rich Spoils and peaceful Laurels home ; Whilst they their Ruine , or your Pardon meet , Sink by your Side , or fall before your Feet .

A PANEGYRICK On His Present Majesty IAMES the SECOND : Occasionally Written since His late Victories obtained over the Scotch and Western Rebels . WHilst with a strong , yet with a gentle hand , You bridle Faction , & our Hearts command ; Protect us from our selves , and from the Foe ; Make us Unite , and make us Conquer too . Let partial Spirits still aloud complain , Think themselves injur'd , 'cause they cannot reign ; And own no liberty , but whilst they may , Without controul , upon their Fellows prey . Above the Waves , as Neptune shew'd his Face , To chide the Winds , and save the Trojan Race : So has your Majesty ( rais'd above the rest ) Storms of Ambition tossing us represt : Your drooping Country torn with Civil hate , Preserv'd by you remains a Glorious State. The Sea 's our own , and now all Nations greet With bending Sails , each Vessel of our Fleet. Your Power extends as far as Winds can blow , Or swelling Sails upon the Globe can go . Heav'n , that has plac'd this Island to give Law To ballance Europe , and her States to awe : In this Conjunction do's o'er Brittain smile , The greatest Monarch , and the greatest Isle . Whether the portion of this World were rent By the rude Ocean from the Continent : Or thus Created , it was sure design'd To be the sacred refuge of Mankind . Hither th' Oppressed shall henceforth resort , Iustice to crave , and Succour from your Court. And then , Great Prince , you not for ours alone , But for the World's Defender shall be known . Fame , swifter than your Winged Navy , flyes Through ev'ry Land that near the Ocean lyes ; Sounding your Name , and telling dreadfull News To all that Piracy and Rapine use . With such a King the meanest Nation blest , Might hope to lift her head above the rest . What may be thought impossible to doe , For us embraced by the Sea and You ; Lords of the Worlds vast Ocean , happy We , Whole Forrests send to reign upon the Sea : And ev'ry Coast may trouble or relieve , But none can visit us without our leave . Angels and we have this Prerogative , That none can at our happy Seat arrive : Whilst We descend at pleasure to invade , The Bad with Vengeance , and the Good with Aid . Our Little World , the Image of the Great , Like that about the Boundless Ocean set : Of her own Growth , has all that Nature craves ; And all that 's rare , as Tribute from her Slav●s . As Egypt do's not on her Clouds rely , But to her Nile owes more than to the Sky . So what our Earth , and what our Heav'n denies , Our ever constant friend the Sea supplies . " The tast of hot Arabia Spice we know , " Free from the scorching Sun that makes it grow . " Without the Worm in Persian Silk we shine , " And without Planting drink of ev'ry Vine . " To dig for Wealth , we weary not our limbs ; " Gold , though the heaviest Metal , hither swims : " Ours is the heaviest where the Indians mow ; " We plough the deep , and reap what others sow . Things of the noblest kind our own Sail breeds ; Stout are our Men , and war-like are our Steeds . Here the Third Edward , and the Black Prince too , France conquering , did flourish , & now you , Whose conqu'ring Arms whole Nations might subdue ; Whilst by your Valour , and your Courteous Mind , Nations , divided by the Seas , are joyn'd . Holland , to gain your Friendship , is content To be your safe-guard on the Continent : She from her Fellow Provinces will go , Rather than hazard to have You her Foe . In our late Fight , when Cannons did diffuse Preventing Posts , the terrour and the news ; Our Neighb'ring Princes trembled at the roar , But our Conjunction makes them tremble more . Your Army 's Loyal Swords made War to cease , And now you heal us with the Acts of Peace . Less pleasure take , brave Minds , in Battles won , Than in restoring such as are undone . Tygers have courage , and the Ragged Bear ; But Man alone can , whom he conquers , spare . To pardon willing , and to punish loth ; You strike with one hand , but you heal with both . As the vex't World , to find repose at last , It self into Augustus Arms did cast : So England now doth , with like toil oppress'd , Her weary Head into your Bosom rest . Then let the Muses with such Notes as these , Instruct us what belongs unto our Peace . Your Battles they hereafter shall indite , And draw the Image of our Mars in fight . Illustrious Acts high raptures do infuse , And ev'ry Conquerour creates a Muse. Here in low strains thy milder deeds we sing , And then , Great Prince , we 'll Bays and Olive bring , To Crown your Head , while you Triumphant ride O'er vanquish'd Nations , and the Sea bestride ; While all the Neighbouring Princes unto you , Like Ioseph's slaves , pay reverence and bow .

A Congratulatory POEM ON HIS SACRED MAIESTY IAMES the SECOND's Succession to the Crown . NO sooner doth the Aged Phoenix dye , But kind indulging Nature gives supply . Sick of her Solitude , she first retires , And on her Spicy Death-bed then expires . Thus God's Vicegerent unconcern'd , declines The Crown , and all his Dignities resigns : Like dying Parents , who do first commend Their Issue to th' tuition of a Friend ; And then , as if their chiefest care was past , Pleas'd with the Settlement , they breathe their last : So he perceiving th' nigh approach of Death , That with a Period must close his Breath . His Soul he first to God doth recommend , Then parts from 's dearest Brother , and best Friend● Contentedly resigns his dying claim , To him Successor of his Crown and Fame : One whose wise Conduct knows how to dispence , Proper rewards to Guilt and Innocence : A Prince , within the Circle of whose Mind All the Heroick Vertues are confin'd ; That diff'rently dispers'd , have made Men great , A Prince so just , so oft preserv'd by Fate . On then , Great Potentate , and like the Sun , Set with the splendid Glory you 've begun . Disperse such hov'ring Clouds as wou'd benight , And interpose themselves 'twixt us and light . You boldly dare Iehovah's Trust attest , Without a base perswading interest . When pleasing ●lattery puts on her charms , To take with gentle Arts and so●t Alarms ; Fix't with a Gallant resolution , you Uncase the Hypocrite , who bids adieu To this confus'd and ill-digested State , Where Plots new Plots to Counter-plot create : Trusting to Reason's Conduct as your guide , You leave the threatning Gulphs on either side● And then erect such marks as may appear , To caution others from a Shipwrack there . And since your Reign the Rebels plainly see The mean effects of their black Treachery , The Puritans may now expect in vain , To Gull with Pious Frauds the Land again : You , like a Great Columbus , will find out The hidden World of deep intriegues and doubt● England no more of Iealousies shall know● But Halcyon Peace shall build , and Plenty flow . And the Proud Thames , swell'd high , no more complains , But smilingly looks on the peaceful Plains . No Angry Tempest then shall curl her Brow. Glad to behold revived Commerce grow ; Whilst We to IAMES the Second make Address● Striving who most shall Loyalty express . No Faction shall us from our selves divide , More than the Sea from all the World beside , But link'd together in one Chain of Love , And with one Spring Unanimous we 'll move ; That to our Foes regret it may be said , We are again one Body , and one Head : Which God preserve , and grant that long you may , In Righteousness and Peace the Scepter sway .

ON THE PRESENTATION OF A BIRD to his MISTRISS . WAlking abroad to tast the welcom Spring , And hear the Birds their lays mos● sweetly sing ; Plac'd on a spreading Elm amongst the rest , ( Whose rare harmonious warbling pleas'd me best ) Was one I tempted to my lure , and caught , Which now ( fair Saint ) I send you to be taught : 'T is young , and apt to learn ; and sure no Voice Was e'er so full of Art , so clear and choice As yours , t' instruct it , that in time 't may rise To be the sweet-tongu'd Bird of Paradise .

ADVICE TO SILLY MAIDS● By an Unknown Authour . WIthin a Virgins Bosom of Fifteen , The God of Love doth place his Magazeen : Hoards up his treasure , all his pow'rfull Charms ; Her Breasts his Quiver , and his Bow her Arms. Beauty sits then triumphant on her brow , She doth command the World , all Mortals bow , And worship at the Altars of her Eyes ; She seems a Goddess , and Men Idolize . At these years Nature hath perform'd her part , And leaves the rest to be improv'd by Art ; Which with such skill is manag'd ●ive years more , Each day fresh Glories add to th' former store . The motion of the Body , rich attire , Obliging look , kind language ; all conspire To catch poor Man , and set his Heart on fire . During this harvest , they may pick and choose ; But have a care , fair Virgins , lest you lose Th' advantage which this happy season yields : Cold Winter-frosts will nip your blooming Fields , Wither your Roses , make your Lillies dye , And quench the scorching Flambeau of your Eye . For when the clock of Age has Thirty told , And never Man yet touch'd your Copy-hold , A sudden alteration then you 'll find , Both in your state of Body , and of Mind : You then shall pine , for what you now do slight ; Fret inwardly all day , and cry all night ; Devour the Sheets with folded Arms , complain , And wish you had him there , but wish in vain . Then in your Thoughts insipid pleasures steal , And on lean Fancy make a hungry meal . Your Bodies too will with your Minds decay ; As those grow crais'd , so these will wast away . All nauseous food your Appetites will please , And nourish indigested Crudities . When once your Mind 's disturb'd , Nature begins To furl her Trophies up in wrinkled Skins . Who can expect the Body e'er shou'd thrive , And lack its natural preservative ? Wanting due seasoning , all flesh will taint ; 'T is Man preserves Complexion more than Paint ; So high a Cordial he doth prepare , In Natures Limbeck , if apply'd with care , It will perform the very work of Fate ; Not only Life preserve , but Life create . Be wise in time , lest you too late repent , And by some prudent choice those ills prevent : Get a brisk Consort to supply your want , But let him be a Husband , no Gallant . There lies much virtue in a Levite's Spell ; But more in th' active part , performing well ; There 's the intrinsick worth , the charming bliss , That do's conveigh your Souls to Paradise ; 'T will make you dye with a delightfull pain , And with like ecstasie revive again . Part with that Virgin Toy , while in the prime , The Fruit will rot o' th' Tree , not took in time . But if you will continue proud and coy , And slight those Men who court you to enjoy ; Here you in wretched Ignorance shall dwell , And may deservedly lead Apes in Hell.

Farther ADVICE TO Young Ladies . By another Hand . BE prudent , Ladies ; Marry while you may , Lest , when too late , you do repent and say , You wish you had , whilst Sun had shone , made Hay . If in th' principium of your youthfull days , Your Beauties 's like to Sol's bright shining Rays , Then are you Critical , and hard to please . When as you do begin to chuse your Mate , You chuse him first for Name and great Estate , And qualify'd , as I shall here relate . Good-natur'd , handsome , Eloquent and wise , Well learn'd , and Skill'd in Arts , of equal size , 'T is Lady's Niceties to be precise . But when to Twenty-one arriv'd you be , You do begin to chuse reservedly , Then the young Squire who keeps his Coach is he . But when as your Meridian is past , As posting Time doth swiftly passing hast , So will your Crystal Beauties fade as fast . Vesper succeeds Aurora in small space , And Time will soon draw wrinkles in that Face , Which was of late ador'd in ev'ry place .

ADVICE TO A Town-Miss . By Mr. Worsdell . DEar Mrs. Anne , I 'm certain you 'll find true The late Advice , in writing sent to you ; And I assure you now with Pen in hand , In Verse or Prose I 'm still at your command . If by Poetick Art I could assay To Stigmatize the blackness of your way , I 'd fright you from that brutish , lustfull Sin , Which you so much delight to wallow in . Soar with your thoughts , and penetrate the Sky , And view the Wing'd Celestial Hierarchy . Think to what Heav'nly joys you 'r free-born Heir , If you 'll but follow vertuous Actions here , And that your Ransom cost your Saviour dear . Strive still for Vertue 's Paths with strong desire , For flames of Lust will end in flames of Fire . If once to Drunkenness inclin'd you be , You 've sprung a Leak to all debaucherie ; And drinking Healths , the Body heats with Liquor , Which makes it prostitute to Lust the quicker . Shun then those paths , don't foster in your Breast Such wicked Sins , they 'll but disturb your Rest. Torture your Mind till Atropos divide The fatal twist , and send you to reside In horrors darksome shades , without a guide ; Where you will find for your lascivious tricks , Charon must wa●t you o'er the River Styx : Too sure you 'll find he 'll not his way mistake , But row you safe unto Averna's Lake ; And where you 'll surely be compell'd to land , Pluto himself will let you understand .

The Preference of a Single Life before Marriage . Written at the Request of a Lady . By the same . SHE that intends ever in rest to be , Both for the present and the future , free From cares and troubles , intermix't with strife , Must flee the hazard of a Nuptial Life : For having once had touch of Cupid's Dart , Once overcome by th' crafty Courtier 's Art ; And brought at last unto the Nuptial Bed● Adieu to Ioy and Freedom , for they 're ●led . She 's then involv'd in troubles without end , Which always do's a Married Life attend : When as before she might have liv'd at ease , In Prayers , and Hymns and Psalms have pass'd her days ; Been chief Commandress of her Will and Mind , And acted any thing her Will design'd ; She might go travel where and when she please , To pass away the tedious time with ease : But when once subject to the Iugal Band , Her Wills confin'd , she 's under a Command ; And to reside at home must be her lot , Till Atropos unloose the Nuptial Knot .

UPON CLARINDA'S Putting on Her Vizard Mask . SO have I seen the Sun in his full pride , O'er cast with sullen Clouds , and then deny'd To shew its lustre in some gloomy night , When brightest Stars extinguish'd were of light : So Angels Pictures have I seen vail'd o'er , That more devoutly Men shou'd them adore ; So with a Mask saw I Clarinda hide Her Face , more bright than was the Lemnian Bride . So I an off'ring to her ruby Lips Wou'd make , but cannot pay 't for the Eclipse , That keeps off my be-nighted Eye ; I mean The Curtain that divides it from the Scene . Say , my Clarinda , for what Discontent , Keep thy all Rosie Cheeks so strict a Lent ? Or is thy Face , which thou do'st thus disguise , In Mourning for the Murthers of thine Eyes ? If so , and thou d'st resolve not to be seen , A Frown to me had more than Mid-night been .

THE MIDDLE SISTER , Ascribed to CLARINDA . DAme Nature seems to make your Sisters stand , As Handmaids that attend on either hand ; To right or left I turn not , Poets say , The middle is the best and safest way . Fortune and Nature are your Friends ( my Fair ) For they have plac'd you here in Vertue 's Chair : Doubtless in you the Middle Grace I see , On this side Faith , on that sweet Charity . Your Sisters stand like Banks on either side , Whilst you the Crystal stream betwixt them glide ; Or , if you will , they walk on either side Like Bride-Maids , you in middle like a Bride . What shall I farther add ? The Trav'ller sees A pleasant Walk between two rows of Trees : The smooth and silent Flood in th' middle flows , But the Shoars murmur from the Banks rough Brows .

AN ELOGY ON Mrs. M. H. By a Student of the Inner-Temple . SOme do compare their Mistress in dull Rhimes , To Pearl and Diamonds brought from Indian Mines ; Their Lips to Corral , & their Neck to Snow , Robbing both Indies to adorn them so . But these , alas , are Metaphors too bare To make perfection half it self appear ; And to prophane you so , wou'd be a Sin , Worse to be pardon'd , than commenced in : A Crime , that brings my Muse into suspence , 'T were blasphemy to fetch a Simile hence . In You each Member shows the whole to be , Not bare perfection , but a Prodigie . Nature turn'd spend-thrift , now designs no mo●e T' amuse poor Mortals with such monst'rous s●ore , Since you have made her Bankrupt quite , and poor . Your Eyes ( like Heav'ns Illustrious Lamps ) dispen●e By Beams more bright a secret in●luence On all Admirers ; and , like Heav'n , do give A Pow'r whereby poor Mortals be and live : Nor is this all , the Charms that constellate In your fair Eyes , they do not terminate . An equal share of those Celestial Rays , Crowns ev'ry Member with an equal praise ; They 're not confin'd to Lip , or Chin , or Hand , But universal are , as Sea and Land . Who views your Body with a curious Eye , May through that milky hew a Soul descry : A Soul ! that breaths nought but Seraphick Love , The sweet Monopoly of that above : Modest as Virgins are , yet not unkind ; Fair , but not proud ; your Goodness unconfin'd To Time or Person , and your Iudgment great , But not possessed with a self-conceit : Perfection so divine , so pure and bright , Nor Pen nor Tongue can e'er express it right . The loftiest Epithite my Muse e'er knew , Admits a Greater , when apply'd to You ; Who can resist such Charms , at whose Access Sol sneaks away to the Antipodes : Or in the Umbrage of some Cloud do's hide His Face , as if he fear'd to be out-vy'd . A Fabrick so Polite , and so compleat , Heav'n may behold with Envy and regret ; To see in one poor Mortal thus Ingrost , All the perfections that she e'er cou'd boast . And were you but immortal too ( like it ) Angels wou'd pay that duty we omit ; As if you were a Deity confin'd To humane Flesh , not wretched , but refin'd .

A Love-Poem . By an Oxford Gentleman . TO what kind GOD am I in debt for this Obliging Minute that bestows such bliss , As now to represent unto my sight , That which to Me alone can cause delight ! How long in mournful Silence has my Sighs Bemoan'd thy Absence ? witness , O ye Skies . But now I have obtain'd my wish'd success , And have in view my chiefest happiness ; I must with hast my prison'd thoughts reveal , Which has been long a torment to conceal . Phyllis , ah lovely Phyllis , thou art she Who showest Heav'n in Epitome . Angels with pleasure view thy Matchless Grace , And both admire and love thy beauteous Face . Cou'd Heav'n some greater Master-piece devise , Set out with all the Glories of the Skies ; That Beauty yet in vain he shou'd decree , Nothing like you can be belov'd by Me. What Ornament and Symmetry I view , Where each part seems as Beautiful as New. I long t' enjoy those Hands , those Lips , those Eyes● Which I , who love you most , know how to prize . But when my Arms imbrace thy Virgin-Love , Angels shall sing our Bridal Hymn above . Nature then pleas'd , shall give her glad consent , And gild with brighter Beams the Firmament . Roses unbud , and ev'ry fragrant Flower Shall strip their Stalks to strow the Nuptial Bowe● : The firr'd and feather'd kind the triumph shall pursue , And Fishes leap above the Water to see you ; And wheresoe'er thy happy foot-steps●read ●read , Nature in triumph after thee is led . My Eyes shall then look languishing on thine , And wreathing Arms our soft Embraces joyn ; And in a pleasing trembling seiz'd all o'er , Shall feel delights unknown to us before . What follows will our pleasures most inhance , When we shall swim in Ecstasie and Trance , ●nd speechless Ioys ; in which sweet transport toss'd , We both shall in a pleasant Death be lost . I know not where to end this happy Theam ; But is it real ? or some airy Dream ? A sudden fear do's all my thoughts surprize , I dare not trust the witn●ss of my Eyes . How fixt I stand , and indispos'd to move These pleasant Charms , unwilling to disprove : Like him , who Heav'n in a soft Dream enjoys , To stir and wake , his Paradise destroys .

ANOTHER Love-Poem . By the same Authour . PRide of the World in Beauty , Pow'r , and Love ; Best of thy Sex ! Equal to Gods above : Unparalell'd Vertue ; they that search about The World , to find thy Vertues equal out , Must take a Iourney longer than the Sun ; And Pilgrims dye e'er half their race is run . Your charming Beauty can't but please the sight , With all that is in Nature exquisite . About those Lips Ambrosial odours flow , Nectar , and all the Sweets of Hybla grow . Those sparkling Eyes resistless Magick bear ; I see young wanton Cupids dancing there . What melting Charms there waves about thy Breast ! On whose transporting Billows Iove might rest● And with immortal Sweets be ever blest . Shall I but name the other charming Bliss , That wou'd conveigh our Souls to Paradise ? Gods ! how she charms ! none sure was e'er like thee , Whose very sight do's cause an Ecstasie : Thou art so soft , so sweet , and silent all , As Births of Roses , or as Blossoms fall . Hide then those Eyes ; take this soft Magick hence , My Happiness so much transports my Sence ; That such another look , will make me grow Too firmly fix't , ever to let you go . Soul , summon all thy force thy joy to bear , Whilst on this Hand eternal Love I swear . Sweetest of Creatures ! if there Angels be ! What Angel is not wishing to be Thee ? Can any happiness compare with mine ? 'T is wretched sure to be a Pow'r Divine ; And not the Ioys of happy Lovers know : Wou'dst thou , my Dearest , be an Angel now ? O how the Moments sweetly glide away ! Nothing of Night appears , but all is Day . Inflam'd with Love , these Minutes I 'll improve , And sum an Ages Bliss in one Hours Love. But shou'd I long such vehement raptures feel , I fear the transports of delight wou'd kill .

THE Lover's Will . LET me not sigh my last , before I breathe ( Great Love ) some Legacies ; I here bequeathe Mine Eyes to Argus , if mine Eyes can see ; If they be blind , then Love I give them thee ; My Tongue to Fame , t' Embassadors mine Ears , And unto Women , or the Sea , my Tears . My Constancy I to the Planets give , My Truth to them who at the Court do live ; My Silence t' any who abroad have been , My Money to a Capuchin ; My Modesty I give to Souldiers bare , And all my Patience let the Gamesters share . I give my Reputation unto those Which were my Friends ; my Industry to Fo●s ; To School-men I bequeath my Doubtfulness , My Sickness to Physicians or Excess ; To Nature all that I in Rhime have writ , And to my Company I leave my Wit . To him for whom the Passing-bell next tolls , I g●ve my Physick-Books ; my Written Rolls Of Moral Counsels I to Bedlam give , My Brazen Medals unto them which live In want of Bread ; To them which pass among All Foreigners , I leave my English Tongue . Thou Love taught'st me , by making me adore That charming Maid , whose Twenty Servants more , To give to those who had too much before ; Or else by loving where no Love receiv'd cou'd be , To give to such as have an incapacitie .

A LOVE-LETTER . By W. S. M. D. Sweet Lady , YOur conqu'ring Eyes have by their Magick Art , Convey'd such Flames into my Captiv'd Heart , I cannot rest ; Ah therefore , do not prove Cruel to him whom your Eyes taught to Love ; Nor blame this rude attempt , since what I do , My ardent Passion do's compell me to ; I wou'd be silent , fearing to offend , But then my Torments ne'er wou'd have an end . Yet though in this I may appear too bold , My Love is pure , and therefore may be told : Besides , you are so fair , your Vertues such , That shou'd I strive , I cannot say too much . So well accomplish'd you 're in th' Art of Love , You 've Charms enough t' inflame another Iove . Let not your coyness therefore blind the light Of your fair Eyes , which now do shine so bright ; For she that gives occasion to despair , By all that 's good is neither kind nor fair ; Though outward Beauty soon may charm the Mind , And make the most obdurate Heart prove kind : Yet nothing charms an Am'rous Heart so strong , As the sweet Notes of a fair Female Tongue , That charms the Soul , and all the Senses move , And adds new Sweets to the delights of Love. Love is the noblest Passion of the Mind , And she that unto it can prove unkind , Is either simple , destitute of Wit , Or else her Pride will not acknowledge it . But that 's too black to dwell in your fair Breast , Nothing but things divine can there have rest . If therefore wilfull Pride don't taint your Mind , But as your Face is fair , your Heart is kind . My Pen shall then maintain your worth and praise , And from all others I 'll possess the Bays : But if by frowns against me you take Arms , Your Beauty has no Snares , your Eyes no Charms . And though a Stranger yet to you I am , If you prove kind , I 'll not conceal my Name ; Till then I rest to see these lines success , On which depends my future happiness .

A Speech to his Mistress in a Garden . THE Glory which we see invest these Flow'rs Is lent , & they must live but some few hours ; So Time , what we forbear to use● devours . From fading Leaves , you see how Time resumes Their fragrant scent , and sweet perfumes . Look but within the most retired places , Where utmost Skill is us'd to keep good Faces . Yet in some distant time they will be seen The spoil of Age : witness th' Egyptian Queen ; Or the fair charming Hellen , who by Time Had nothing left — But what at last express'd were by her Shrine . Or thus ; Shou'd some Malignant Planet bring Upon the Autumn , or the blooming Spring A barren drought , or rain a ceaseless show'r , Yet 't wou'd not Winters coming stop one hour . But cou'd you be preserv'd by Loves neglect From coming Years decay , then more respect Were justly due to so divine a Fashion , Nor wou'd I give indulgence to my passion .

AN ADDRESS TO A Gentlewoman Walking in a Garden . By an Oxford Gentleman . MAdam , I hope , though I a Stranger am , Your candid Goodness will not let you blame This bold intrusion , that do's now bereave You of these privacies without your leave ; And as you 're fair , I hope you 're no less kind , Craving your pardon then , I 'll speak my mind : But oh ! I fear my troubled Heart bodes ill , One word from you my life do's save or kill ; First for your pity then I must beseech , Lodg'd at your feet , you would behold this wretch . O that the Gods above wou'd bring to pass , You might my suit , without my speaking guess ; But that won't be , relating then , fair Saint , My firm-fix't Love in murmuring complaint . Not long since , walking through the shady Grove , To see those tender budding Plants improve ; And coming downwards from the Rivers head , To hear the noise the purling Waters made , And see her various and delightfull pride , Streaming in Circles as the Waters glide . Then 't was I heard a shrill melodions sound , Pleasanter far than what I there had found . One while I thought it was some Angel's tune , Whose pleasing Echo still wou'd re-assume Its first high quav'ring strein , and then fall low'r ; In short , too charming for the strongest pow'r . My curiosity then brought me to A lonesome Grotto , where as prying through Its verdant spreading branches , I did see That beauteous Form which thus has wounded me● And ever since my Passion is the same , Resist not then so true and pure a Flame ; But with kind pity send me some relief , Since my Heart 's stole by you , the pretty Thief , From whose bright Eyes such conqu'ring Charms do dart , As might enslave and captivate each Heart : The greatest Praise is to your Beauty due , All must their Homage pay when seen by you . The Fruit-tree nodding with each blast that blows , Through the great pressure of her loaden Boughs , Seems to design none but your hand to crop Her pendent Clusters , from her Branches top . The purple Vi'let , and the blushing Rose , With sweet Carnations , wait till you dispose Their fragrant scent to your sagacious Nose . If you 're displeas'd the fairest downwards drop Its fading pensive head , and wither'd top : But if you 're angry , possibly the Sun Might stop his course , and not his journey run ; At which th' amazed and affrighted World Might to its first rude Chaos soon be hurl'd . And since my Fate 's wrapt up in what you doom , Do not my Passion with your scorn o'er-come ; But with the Sweets of Love , and then we 'll be Lock't in Embraces to Eternity .

UPON A Gentlewomans Refusal of a LETTER from one she was ingaged to . By Sir C. S. NOT hear my Message , but the Bearer shun ! What hellish Fiend inrag'd cou'd more have done ? Surely the Gods design to make my Fate Of all most wretched , and unfortunate . 'T was but a Letter , and the Words were few , Fill'd with kind wishes , but my Fate 's too true . I 'm lost for ever , banish'd from her sight , Although by Oaths and Vows she 's mine by right . Ye Gods ! look down , and hear my Sorrows moan , Like the faint Echoes of a dying groan . But how is 't possible so fair a Face Shou'd have a Soul so treacherous and base , To promise constancy , and then to prove False and unkind to him she vow'd to love ? Oh , Barb'rous Sex ! whose Nature is to rook ●nd cheat Mankind with a betraying look . Hence I 'll keep guard within from all your Charms , And ever more resist all fresh Alarms ; ●'ll trace your windings through the darkest Cell , And find your Stratagems , though lodg'd in Hell. Your gilded Paintings , and each treacherous Wile , By which so eas'ly you Mankind beguile ; Winds are more constant than a Womans Mind , Who holds to none but to the present kind : For when by absence th' Object is remov'd , The time is gone and spent wherein she lov'd . And is it not the very same with me , To slight my Love , when I must absent be ? Perhaps sh' has seen a more atracting Face , And a new Paramour has taken place . And shall my injur'd Soul stand Mute , and live , Whilst that another reaps what she can give ? Glutted with pleasures , and again renew Their past delights , although my claim and due● Oh , no , my Soul 's inrag'd , revenge calls on , I 'll tear her piece-meal e'er my fury 's gone ; Stretch out my Arm all o'er th' inconstant stain , And then cleave down her treach'rous limbs in twai●● The greatest plagues Invention e'er cou'd ●ind , Is not sufficient for th' inconstant Mind . I think I have o'er-come my Passion quite , And cou'd not love , although 't were in despight . As for the Man who must enjoy my room , He 'll soon be partner in my wretched doom ; He by her Faith , alas , no more will find , Than when she swore to me to prove most kind . Therefore I 'll leave her , and esteem her less ; And in my self both joy and acquiesce . But oh , my Heart , there 's something moves there still , Sure 't is the vigour of unbounded Will . Too much , I fear , my Fetters are not gone , Or I at least again must put them on . Methinks I feel my Heart is not got free , Nor all my Passions set at liberty , From the bright glances of her am'rous Eye . Down Rebel-love , and hide thy boyish Head , I 'm too much Man to hear thy follies plead : Go seek some other Breast of lower note ; Go make some Old decrepit Cuckold dote : ●egone , I say , or strait thy Quiver , Bow , And thou thy self fall to destruction too . But oh , I 'm gone , my Foes have all got ground , My Brains grow giddy , and my Head turns round . My Heart 's intangled with the Nets of Love ; My Passions rave , and now ye Gods above Help on my doom , and heave me to your Skies ; Look , look , Mervinda's just before my Eyes : Help me to catch her e'er her Shadow fly , And I fall downward from this rowling Sky .

In Praise of a Deformed , but Virtuous , LADY ; OR , A SATYR on BEAUTY . FIne Shape , good Features , and a handsom Face , Such do the glory of the Mind deface ; But Vertue is the best and only grace . Venus Man's Mind inflames with lustfull fires , Consumes his Reason , burns his best desires . Wer 't thou , my Soul , but from my Body free ; Had Flesh and Blood no influence on thee ; Then woud'st thou love a Woman , & woud'st chu●●● The Soul-fair-she to be thy blessed Spouse . Beauty's corrupt , and like a Flower stands , To be collected by impurest hands ; 'T is hard , nay 't is scarce possible to find Vertue and Venus both together joyn●d ; For the fair She , who knows the force and strength Of Beauty's charms , grows proud , and then at length Lust and Ambition will possess her Breast , Which always will disturb Man's peacefull rest . Beware my Soul , lest she ensnare thy sence ; Against her Wiles , let Vertue be thy fence . Some please their fancies with a Picture well , And for meer toys , do real pleasures sell : No bliss , fond Cupid thinks like what is in The smoothing of his Ladies tender Skin . Her snowy Breasts , kind Looks , and sparkling Eye , Strait Limbs , with blushing Cheeks and Forehead high , In these his best and chiefest pleasures lye : What other parts she can for pleasure show , You can produce as well as she , I know . When Age with furrows shall have plow'd her Face , And all her Body o'er thick wrinkles place ; Her Breasts turn black , her sparkling Eyes sink in , Fearfull to see the bristles on her Chin , Her painted Face grown swarthy , wan , and thin ; Her Hands all shrivel'd o'er , her Nails of length Enough to dig her Grave , had she but strength . Such is the Mistress , that blind Poets praise ; Such foolish Theams , their grov'ling fancies raise . My Mistress is more lovely , and more fair ; Graces divine in her , more brighter are : She is the source of Bliss , whilst Vertue reigns In her , all things impure her Soul disdains . Those fools ne'er knew pure Love's most sacred Arts , That e'er were conquer'd by blind Cupid's Darts , Or stand as slaves to their own carnal hearts . Madam , 'T IS the preheminence that'● seen in you , Which do's with sacred Love my heart subdue ; For all must own who 've read in Nature's Books , Modesty and Good-nature's in your Looks : Your Conversation's mild , these sacred Charms , Protection are 'gainst Lusts impurer harms . These and your other Vertues do excell , And matchless seem to want a parallel . In your most sacred Presence none can think Of Lust , or once its horrid Venom drink ; You are an object that will soon dispell Lusts most delightfull poisons sent from Hell ; Your Self's the substance of the Saints above , You move my Soul with chast and holy Love ; For you alone large Off'rings I design , And with continual prayers I wish you mine . Oh that Omnipotence wou'd Bounty shew , And make me happy in contracting you .

A LOVE-LETTER● By W. S. Gent. Madam , ‛ TWou'd prove a needless thing , shou'd I Strive to set forth what 's obvious to each Eye ; To speak your Worth and Beauty , wou'd but be To show the Sun at noon , which all Men see . Beauty it self , Youth smiles , and ev'ry grace , Do all pay tribute to your Heav'nly Face . One smile from you might make the Dead to live , Yielding more Wealth than lavish Worlds can give● Your sparkling Eyes out-dart the pale-fac'd Moon ; You are far brighter than the Eye of Noon . Phoebus his Golden Fleece looks not so fair , As the fine silver threads of your soft Hair. Aurora mantled in her spreading Beams , To rouse up Mortals from their slumb'ring Dreams ; When summoning the Morning , can't compleat That modest blush which in your Cheeks take● seat● Whiter than untrod Snow on Mountains seen , And which I must confess beyond esteem , Are those white Iv'ry Teeth , whose even row , The harmony of Love in Union show . In various wantonness , each branching Vein Do's your white Breasts with blue Meanders stain ; From which clear Fountains flow with greatest measure , The most delightfull Magazine of treasure . The Muses and the Syrens cease their Song , At the soft Musick of your charming Tongue : Angel or Saint , I know not which by feature , Sure both are joyn'd to make so sweet a Creature , The lovely chance-work , Master-piece of Nature . As if the Gods mistaking Mould , that time Had cast your Species more than half divine ; Who can his Passion from such Beauty tame , You 've Charms enough to set the World on flame : Mix't with more tempting and atractive graces , Than can extracted be from humane Faces ! Oh let me at those balmy Lips take ●ire , And with pursuit of Kisses ev'n tire ; Which do display such a Vermilion red , And when with pleasure fill'd , then hold thy head Fast to my kindled and inflamed Heart , Pierc'd by your Eyes bright glancing beams , which dart Through my Souls secret and most inward part ; Which done , let mine in your fair Bosom lye , Till in excess of joy and ecstasie , I there shall languish out my Soul and dye ; And afterwards with like transport of Mind● Revive again , and all my Senses find .

In Praise of LETTERS . LEtters are wing'd Postillions , and do move From East to West on Embassies of Love. The bashfull Lover , when his stamm'ring Lips Falter with fear from unadvised slips , May boldly Court his Mistress with the Quill , And his hot Passions to her Breast instill . The Pen can furrow a fond Females He●rt , And pierce it more than Cupid's feigned Dart. Letters a kind of Magick Vertue have , And like strong Philtres humane Souls inslave ; They can the Poles , and Emperour inform , What Towns in Hungary are won by storm From the great Turk : Mounsieur of them may know How Foreign States on French Intriegues do blow . The lucky Goose sav'd Iove's beleagu'rd Hill , Once by her Noise , but oftner by her Quill . It twice prevented Rome was not o'er-run , By the tough Vandal , and the rough-hewn Hun. Letters can Plots , though moulded under-ground , Disclose , and their fell complices confound . Witness that fiery Pile , which wou'd have blown Up to the Clouds , Prince , People , Peers , and Town , Tribunals , Church , and Chappel , and had dry'd The Thames , though swelling in her highest pride ; And parboyl'd the poor Fish , which from her Sands Had been toss'd up to the adjoyning Lands . Lawyers as Vultures , had soar'd up and down , Prelates like Mag●yes in the Air had flown , Had not the Eagle's Letter brought to light That Subterranean horrid work of Night . Letters may more than History inclose , The choicest learning both in Verse and Prose : Witness Mich. Drayton , whose sweet-charming Pen Produc'd those Letters so admir'd by Men. Words vanish soon , and vapour into Air , While Letters on record stand fresh and fair ; And like to Gordian Knots do Nature tye , Else all Commerce and Love 'twixt Men wou'd dye .

The IDEA . By Charles Cotton , Esq. ART thou then absent , O thou dear And only Subject of my Flame ? Are these fair Objects that appear But shadows of that noble frame , For which I do all other form disclaim ? Am I deluded ? do I only rave ? Was it a Phantasme only that I saw ? Have Dreams such power to deceive ? Oh , lovely Shade , thou did'st too soon withdraw , Like fleecy Snow , that as it falls , doth thaw . Glorious Illusion ! Lovely shade ! Once more deceive me with thy light ; 'T is pleasure so to be betray'd , And I for ever shall delight , To be pursu'd by such a charming Sprite .

LOVE's SYMPATHY . I. SOul of my Soul ! it cannot be That you shou'd weep , and I from tears be free . All the vast room between both Poles , Can never dull the sence of Souls , Knit in so fast a knot : Oh can you grieve , and think that I Can feel no smart , because not nigh , Or that I know it not . II. Th' are heretick thoughts , Two Lutes when strung , And on a Table tun'd alike for Song ; Strike one , and that which none did touch , Shall sympathizing sound as much , As that which touch'd you see : Think then this World ( which Heav'n inrolls ) Is but a Table round , and Souls More apprehensive be . III. Know they that in their grossest parts , Mix by their hallow'd Loves intwined Hearts ; This priviledge boast , that no remove Can e'er infringe their sense of Love : Iudge hence then our Estate , Since when we lov'd , there was not put Two Earthen hearts in one breast , but Two Souls Co-animate .

A PINDARIQUE ODE ON Mr. COWLEY . TO tune thy praise , what Muse shall I invoke , what Quire ? None but thy Davideis , or thy David's Lyre : True Poet , and true Man , Say more than this who can ; No , not an Angel's mighty Eloquence . These two , These only doe , Of all perfections make a Quintessence . Then , my dear Cowley , dye , For why shou'd foolish I , Or foolish Sympathy , Wish thee to live ? since 't is no more to live , no more to dye , Than to be here on Earth , and to be there about the Sky , Both to you shared equally .

An ODE . By Mr. R. D. of Cambridge . O Ye blest Pow'rs , propitious be Unto my growing Love ! None can create my Misery , If Cloe but constant prove . Tell her if that she pity me , From her you 'll ne'er remove . Each Brize of Air , my groans shall bear , Unto her gentle Breast ; Silently whisp'ring in her Ear , I never can be blest ; If she refuse to be my Dear , I never can have rest . Ye Groves , that hear each day my grief , Bear witness of my pain ; Tell her I dye , if no relief I from her Pow'r can gain ; Tell her , ah , tell that pretty Thief , I dye through her disdain . Likely she may with piteous Eyes , When dead , my Hearse survey ; And when my Soul 'mongst Deities Doth melt in Sweets away , Then may she curse those Victories That did my Heart betray .

AN ODE of ANACREON Paraphras'd . Beauties Force . I. I Wonder why Dame Nature thus Her various gifts dispences , She ev'ry Creature else but us With Arms or Armour fences . The Bull with bended horns she arms , With hoofs she guards the Horse ; The Hare can nimbly run from harms , All know the Lyon's force . II. The Bird can danger fly on 's Wing , She Fish with Fins adorns ; The Cuckold too , that harmless thing , His patience guards , and 's horns : And Men she Valiant makes , and wise , To shun or baffle harms ; But to poor Women she denies Armour to give , or Arms. III. Instead of all , she this do's do ; Our Beauty she bestows , Which serves for Arms , and Armour too , 'Gainst all our pow'rfull Foes : And 't is no matter , so she doth Still beauteous Faces yield ; We 'll conquer Sword and Fire , for both To Beauty leave the Field .

A PINDARIQUE ODE . By Mr. Iohn Whitehall . I. MAdam , at first I thought , My Passions might to my Commands be brought , When , Love me not , you cry'd , And said in vain I did pursue The hopes of ever winning you ; So I to slight it try'd , But 't wou'd not doe ; For in the conflict I was almost crucify'd . II. At first did rise Beauty , which fought me with your pow'rfull Eyes ; And when I had in vain Driv'n th' Usurper from my heart , She drew her Bow , and shot a Dart , Which vanquish'd me again : What strength of Man , what Art Cou'd with this Amazon a Combat long maintain . III. Next after her , Vertue well arm'd for Battle did appear , Attending on her side , Charity , Mercy , Eloquence , Wit and a Virgin Innocence , In war-like state did ride ; And I find since I cou'd not with all these contend , but must have dy'd . IV. But if still you Do cry , forbear this Conquest to pursue ; You must debauch your Mind , Turn all your Vertues into Vice , And make an Hell of Paradise , Be false , deform'd , unkind : By this device , And by no other , I from Love may be declin'd . V. But why ? but why Name I this great impossibility ? I scarce cou'd so remove The great affection which I bear , Were you as bad , as good you are , So difficult 't will prove To you , I swear ; Eternal is your Goodness , and Eternal is my Love.

From Ovid's Amorum , lib. 2. El. 4. and Lucretius , lib. 4. That he loves Women of all sorts and sizes . PRess'd with my thoughts , I to consession fall , With anxious fears , till I lay open all ; I sin and I repent , clear of the score , Then afterward relapse in Sin the more . My self I guide , like some swist Pinnace toss'd In Storms ; the Rudder gone , and Compass lost ; No certain shape or features stint my mind , I still ●or Love a thousand Reasons find ; Melodiously one sings , then straight I long To quaver on her Lips , ev'n in her Song . If she be vers'd in Arts , and deeply read , I 'm taken with her learned Maiden-head : Or if untaught , and ignorant she be , She takes me then with her simplicitie . I like whom rigid Education fools , Who wou'd not try to put her past her rules ; Though look demure , her Inclinations-swerve , And , once let loose , she jigs without reserve . Sanguine her looks , her colour high and good , For all the rest I trust her flesh and blood . Here living Snow my passion strangely warms , And streight I wish her melting in my Arms ; White , Red , or Guinny black , or Gypsey brown , My dearly-well-beloved ev'ry one . If she is tall , my courage mounts as high , To stamp some new heroick Progeny : If little , oh how quick the Spirit moves ! If large , who wou'd not rowl in what he loves ? The lean provokes me with her naughty rubs ; But if she 's plump , 't is then my pretty Fubs ; And doubtless one might truck convenient sport , With either fat , or lean , or long , or short , With yellow Curls Aurora pleas'd her Fop , And Leda ( Iove well saw ) was black-a-top . The black or yellow are alike to me , My Love will suit with ev'ry History . If Caelia sing , she , like a Syrene , draws ; If she sing not , we kiss without a pause : I love to rifle amongst Gems and Dress ; Yet lumber they to God-like nakedness . Buzzards and Owls on special quarry fall , Mine is a gen'rous Love , and flies at all . I like the Rich , 'cause she is pamper'd high , And merry Beggar love for Charity ; Widow or Wife , I 'm for a Pad that 's made ; If Virgin troth , who wou'd not love a Maid ? If she be young , I take her in the nick ; If she has Age , she helps it with a trick . If nothing charms me in her Wit or Face , She has her Fiddle in some other place . Come ev'ry sort and size , the great or small , My Love will find a Tally for 'em all .

The foregoing Elegy having been Publish'd imperfect , is here Printed from the best Copy .

THE PARALLEL . AS when proud Lucifer aim'd at the Throne , To have Usurp't it , and made Heav'n his own● ( Blasphemous , damn'd design ) but soon he fell , Guarded with dreadfull lightning down to Hell ; Or as when Nimrod lofty Babel built , ( A Structure as Eternal as his guilt ; ) Let us , said he , raise the proud Tow'r so high , As may amaze the Gods , and kiss their Sky ; He spoke — but the success was diff'rent found ; Heav'ns angry Thunder crush't him to the ground ; So Lucifer , and so proud Babel fell , And 't is a cursed fall from Heav'n to Hell. So falls our Courtier now to Pride a prey , And falls too with as much reproach as They● And justly — That with his nauseous Courtship durst defile The sweetest , choicest Beauty of our Isle : That he was proud , we knew ; but now we see , Like Ianus , looking on Eternity , Both what he was , and what he meant to be . Stern was his Look , and sturdy was his Gate ; He walk't , and talk't , and wou'd have kiss'd in state . Disdain and Scorn sate perching on his Brow ; But , Presto ! where is all that Grandeur now ? Why vanish't , fled , dissolv'd to empty Air , Fine Ornaments indeed to cheat the Fair : And which is yet the strangest thing of all , He has not got one Friend to mourn his fall : But 't is but just that he who has maintain'd Such ill designs , shou'd be by all disdain'd . Had not the lazy Drone been quite as blind , Equally dim both in his Eyes and Mind , He might have plainly seen — For the Example 's visible to all , How strangely low ingratefull Pride may fall . Presumptuous Wretch ! but that 's too kind a Name For one so careless of a Virgins Fame : For as the Serpent did by fraud deceive Th' unwary Soul of the first Virgin Eve ; So he as impudently strove t' inspire The lovely Maid with his delusive fire : But Heav'n be prais'd , now with the same success ; For though his pride 's as great , his cunning's less .

SONG . I. MUsing on Cares of humane Fate , In a sad Cypress Grove ; A strange dispute I heard of late , 'Twixt Vertue , Fame , and Love. A Pensive Shepherd ask'd advice , And their Opinions crav'd , How he might hope to be so wise , To get a place beyond the Skies , And how he might be sav'd . II. Nice Vertue preach'd Religions Laws , Paths to Eternal Rest ; To fight his Kings and Countries Cause , Fame Counsell'd him was best . But Love oppos'd their noisy Tongues , And thus their Votes out-brav'd ; Get , get a Mistress , fair and young , Love fiercely , constantly and long , And then thou shalt be sav'd . III. Swift as a thought the Am'rous Swain To Sylvia's Cottage flies , In soft Expressions told her plain The way to Heav'nly Ioys . She who with Piety was stor'd , Delays no longer crav'd ; Charm'd by the God whom they ador'd . She smil'd and took him at his Word ; And thus they both were sav'd .

SONG . The YOUNG LOVER . By Mr. Wright . I. TUsh , never tell me I 'm too Young For loving , or too green ; She stays at least sev'n years too long , That 's wedded at fourteen . Lambs bring forth Lambs , and Doves bring Doves , As soon as they 're begotten : Then why shou'd Ladies linger Loves , As if not ripe till rotten . II. Gray hairs are fitter for the Grave , Than for the Bridal Bed ; What pleasure can a Lover have , In a wither'd Maiden-head ? Nature's exalted in our time , And what our Grandams then At four and twenty scarce cou'd climb , We can arrive at Ten.

SONG . The Prodigal's Resolution . I. I Am a lusty lively Lad , Arriv'd at One-and-Twenty ; My Father left me all he had , Both Gold and Silver plenty . Now He 's in Grave , I will be brave , The Ladies shall adore me ; I 'll Court and Kiss , what hurt 's in this ? My Dad did so before me . II. My Father , to get my Estate , Though selfish , yet was slavish ; I 'll spend it at another rate , And be as leudly lavish . From Mad-men , Fools , and Knaves he did , Litigiously receive it ; If so he did , Iustice forbid , But I to such shou'd leave it . III. Then I 'll to Court , where Venus sport , Doth Revel it in plenty ; And deal with all , both great and small , From twelve to five and twenty . In Play-houses I 'll spend my Days , For there are store of Misses ; Ladies , make room , behold I come , To purchase many Kisses .

SONG . The Doubtfull Lover Resolv'd . FAin wou'd I Love , but that I fear , I quickly shou'd the Willow wear : Fain wou'd I Marry , but Men say , When Love is try'd , he will away . Then tell me , Love , what I shall doe , To cure these Fears when e'er I Wooe . The Fair one , she 's a mark to all ; The Brown one each doth lovely call ; The Black a Pearl in fair Mens Eyes , The rest will stoop to any prize . Then tell me , Love , what I shall doe , To cure these Fears when e'er I Woe . Reply . Go , Lover , know , it is not I That wound with fear or jealousie ; Nor do Men feel those smarts , Untill they have confin'd their Hearts . Then if you 'll cure your Fears , you shall Love neither Fair , Black , Brown , but all .

SONG . The CAVALIER's CATCH . I. DID you see this Cup of Liquor , How invitingly it looks ; 'T will make a Lawyer prattle quicker , And a Scholar burn his Books : 'T will make a Cripple for to Caper , And a Dumb Man clearly Sing ; 'T will make a Coward draw his Rapier , Here 's a Health to Iames our King. II. If that here be any Round-head , That refuse this Health to pledge● I wish he then may be confounded , Underneath some rotten Hedge , May the French Disease o'er-take him , And upon h●s Face appear , And his Wife a Cuckold make him , By some Iovial Cavalier .

SONG . On Sight of a LADY's Face in the Water . STand still , ye Floods , do not deface That Image which you bear : So Votaries from ev'ry place , To you shall Altars rear . No Winds , but Lovers sighs blow here , To trouble these glad streams ; On which no Star from any Sphere , Did ever dart such Beams . To Crystal then in hast congeal , Lest you shou'd lose your bliss ; And to my cruel Fair reveal , How cold , how hard she is . But if the envious Nymphs shall fear , Their Beauties will be scorn'd ; And hire the ruder Winds to tear , That Face which you adorn'd . Then rage and foam amain , that we Their Malice may despise ; And from your froths we soon shall see A second Venus rise .

SONG . I. IF mighty Wealth , that gives the Rules To Vitious Men , and cheated Fools , Cou'd but preserve me in the prime Of blooming Youth , and purchase Time ; Then I wou'd covet Riches too , And scrape and cheat as others doe . II. But since that Life must slide away , And Wealth can't purchase one poor day ; Why shou'd my cares encrease my pain , And wast my time with sighs in vain ; Since Riches cannot Life supply , It is a useless Poverty . III. Swift time , that can't be bought to stay , I 'll try to guide the gentlest way . With chearfull Friends brisk Wine shall pass , And drown a care in ev'ry Glass . Sometimes diverted with Loves Charms , I 'll pleasure take in Celia's Arms.

On the Serpentine Combustion by Squibs on my Lord Mayor's Day . An HEROICK POEM . Written Octob. 29. 1686. OF Hoods demolish'd , Towers laid full low , Of crackling Crape , and Manto's brought to woe ; Of Scarf consum'd , and Periwig on fire , Flaming Cravat , and ruinated Squire ; Of lighted Petticoat , and Neck-cloth blazing , Whisk turn'd to Ashes , and fond Fops a gazing ; Cuffs chark'd to Coal , and Point turn'd all to Cinder , And Gause soon Me●amorphos'd into Tinder : Of shining Gorget , sparkling Iump of Fustian , And Apron deeply lac'd in dire Combustion ; Scorch'd Quoif aloft , and sindged Smock alow , I thought to sing in ample wise , I trow , Unto the tune of , Fortune is my Foe . But found the task too great for my weak Quill , For who is he that artfully can tell ? How skipp'd the Squire , how the frighted Maid ; And , like to Rocket , danc'd the Serenade . To shun the track of Serpent , looking out For neat-made Manto , and well-fashion'd Suit. As if when he had cast his Paper-skin , With those he did intend to cloath again : Or that to humane covering in spite , He 'd have each Mortal to turn Adamite ; And fire all , although but thinly clad , Esteeming Cloaths as Goods prohibited . Fierce in a quick pursuit , he scouts around , Where Linnen , or where Woollen's to be found ; And in his greedy rage , and hungry wroth , Devours Garments faster than the Moth. Within his blazing Circuit , as he wheels , Still making faster at the Head than Heels . Mounting aloft on ground , he makes small stay , But into arched Windows leads his way ; Where Myriads following , make each Balcone , Involv'd in Flames , look like the torrid Zone . Swiftly they move about , with dismal quest , Not to be charm'd by an Egyptian Priest ; But still must cruise about where good Attire is , Spight both of Isis and her Friend Osiris ; Scorning each Talisman , or Magick Spell , Dreadfull as Dragons , and as Python fell ; Scarce e'er to be destroy'd , for Sages write , These Monsters still will annually affright ; And Hoods and Perukes , with hot jaws will swallow , Untill the City Praetor turn Apollo .

Lest there shou'd some misconstruction be made of this last Verse , let the Reader know that it alludes to that Fiction of Apollo's killing the Serpent Python ; And so Allegorically intimates , that those fiery Serpents which usually fly about on my Lord Mayor's day , will annually continue so to do , unless destroy'd by him .

TO MY Much-esteemed Friend Mr. I. N. ON HIS Reading the first line of PINDAR 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 , &c. HOld , there 's enough , nay 't is o'er mickle , 'T is worse than Cant in Conventicle . Is this the much-fam'd Friend to th' Muses , Who thus their Helicon abuses ? Whose praise on Water thus is wasted , Claret the Puppy never tasted : What the Devil was his humour , To raise so scandalous a rumour ? 'T is well 't is Greek , that few may know it , Or 't were enough t' infect a Poet : It is High Treason ( I 'll aver it ) Against the Majesty of Claret . Sternhold and Hopkins heard it said so , ( Not that I believe they read so ) Therefore they gorg'd their Muse with Water , And spew'd up eke , and also after . To bouze Old Wine , mad Pindar wonted , Till by a Vintner being affronted , The peevish Cur ( what could be ruder ? ) Forc'd on us 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 . He Water 's damn'd Encomium made , Maliciously to spoil his Trade . But that shan't pass on me , by th' Mass● If I drink Water , I 'm an Ass. To two great Kings I will be Loyal , My Monarch Iames , and Claret-Royal : Nor shall I love that Greek of thine , Scarce any Greek , except Greek Wine . Who 'd be of Old mad Timon's mind , ( Because he did ) to hate Mankind ? No , Soveraign Claret , I 'll adore thee , Submissively fall down before thee ; And will by Whores be burnt to Tinder , If I adore that Rebel Pindar . Yours , I. Whitehall .

A DIALOGUE Between IACK and DICK , Concerning the PROHIBITION OF French Wines . DICK . AH Iack , had'st thou bin t'other day , To see the Teeming Vine display The swelling Glories of her Womb , And hopefull Progeny to come , ( Which Mirth and Iollity create , And sweeten up the Frowns of Fate ) Thou would'st with me have sigh'd and said , Why has Obliging Nature made Such Iuice to be Prohibited ? A Iuice , which duly understood , With kindly heats ferments the Blood ; Not makes it posting to miscarry , As do's the Hot-spur , styl'd Canary ; Nearly related ●tis unto 't , And colour'd o'er with the same Coat . Half Blood already , in one round It is assimulated found . With gentle Tides , Poetick Vein It swells into a comely strain . And binding all its Numbers tight , Breeds nothing dissolute , nor light . Whereas Canary , with Combustion , Makes still the Writer speak in Fustian . When e'ry stroak by this devis'd , Is in Red●letters signaliz'd . IACK . Dear Dick , it is not thou alone , That thus in wofull plaint makes moan ; The main of the whole Kingdom joyns , And weeps the loss of Claret Wines . As t'other day I musing went With unknown Griefs my Breast was pent : The cause I knew not , but did fear Some dreadfull danger to be near . Turning my Eyes aside , I found A num'rous Croud , in wofull sound , Banning a Wight , with Accent ●ierce , About to Stave a well-teem'd Tierce . Oh , 't was a dismal sight to view ! With Sleeves tuck 't up , and Apron blue , The cruel and remorsless wretch , His blow was ready ●or to fetch . When streight a Philoclareteer Made up , and in this wise drew near : " Hold , hold , I say , that horrid Hand , " Enough our Mournfull Streets are ●lain'd " With Scarlet dye , of dire contusion , " By braining Pipe in Execution . " What is the crime has bin committed " By this poor Liquor , how endited ? To which he grimly gives Response , ( As if he 'd stave my Monsieur 's Sconse . ) Sir , mind your business , you are ruder Than e'er I yet found bold Intruder ; In short , Sir , 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 . 'T was all the answer he could get , Which put my Youngster in a pet , And forc'd him to this language keen , " Oh thou more fierce than e'er has been : " The wildest Tigers Bacchus drew , " Or hottest Rage yet ever knew , " Of harmless Claret thus to spill " The Blood , and Urban gutters fill ; " As 't were no more to be lookt after , " Than Urine stale , or Kennel Water . " How many of the thirsty train , " Open their Mouths , as Earth for Rain ; " For one poor drop of the rich Iuice , " This swelling Vessel do's produce . " The better half of all the crude " And undigested multitude ; " Now demi-Rogues , and near Disloyal , " Two spoonfulls makes them all turn Royal. " When did you know the Lad did love " True Claret , and rebellious prove ? " Besides , it Rubies do's create , " Of richer dye , and greater state , " Than e'er was planted as a Trophy " On Mogull's Crown , or Persian Sophy . " Rascal , look to 't , you 'll rue it one day , " For spoiling of this brisk Burgundy . Oh , had you seen the People stand , Each one with Handkerchief in hand , With watry Eyes , surveying o'er The coming Floods of Purple gore . You , you your self had shed one Tear , Among the Thousands let fall there ! To see a hopefull Vessel come , With Gales of Sighs 't was usher'd from The peacefull Harbour where it lay , In shamefull wise , to view the day . From Mansions of dark Sable Night , And shady Grots , stor'd with delight , Of luscious tast , and racy smell , And rosie blush of Carbuncle ; With Hoops disjoynted , Tackle broke , Would force a Groan from Heart of Oak . Half ruptur'd , bruis'd , in dismal shew , He thrust up ev'ry avenue ; Till to the open Street he comes , Bestrid by many ill-bred Bums , Over his bulky Body striding , You never saw so ill a riding ; For the fierce Wight no more regret had , Than Greek or Tartar ready booted , To seize with their light Horse , the prey Of Youth , or Damsel gone astray . The Vagabond , and Truant Tub , Which held so many Quarts of Bub , Forc'd by Ill luck , and Wind , to fall ( By missing Port ) on Canniball , And savage Shoars , he basely binding , And all his Teeth together grinding . With Words insulting thus accosts : France , boast no more , that by thy Vine Thou canst an English Soul confine , To soop up nought but what is gotten , From sowre Burgundian Grape grown rotten . Old British Drinks ( which Bard of Yore Tasted , and liv'd till near Five score ) We 'ave got the Art now for to heighten , And our endarkned Souls enlighten , Above what pitch you e'er can mannage , By all your bo●sting French Appannage . The Apple o'er the Grape shall reign , And Hereford's above Campaign . The Vine no more shall rule the Field , But to Pomona , Bacchus yield . This said , he gives the fatal blow ; And now the Streets o'er-whelm'd do flow , With ruddy Iuice of Crimson gore , Which in loud Cataracts do pour Through ev'ry Channel ; and the Tide Mounts up alo●t on ev'ry side . 'T is hard to guess which flow'd more high , That in the Streets , or in the Eye . Each Tunicle●ull ●ull deep was sunk , You 'd thought all to be Maudlin drunk . Yet , amongst all this noise and weeping , Some ( though their Sorrows were full deep in ) Made shift to muster Bowl or twain , For to attend the Fun'ral train ; Which they had got from gorg'd Canal , Lest some to fainting Fits should fall . For why should Gutter swallow all up , When many a dry Soul wish'd a gullup ? Dams being made , the Good wife brings out Her Churn and Kettle ; Damsel springs out With Pipkin , Chamber-pot and Ladle . And Sucking-Bottle ( fetch'd from Cradle . ) Treys brought by Butcher , Trough by Mason , And forth the Barber brings his Bason . The Tinker ( wisely as I judge it ) Makes Leathern-Bottle of his Budget . O' th' broken Ribs , full many a piece They got , and suck'd like Liquorish ; And to their Children Splinters good , Of the ruby-tinctur'd Wood , Instead of Coral , they bestow , To rub their Gums , aloft and low ; Whilst others o'er the Dams lye lolling , ( As ready the Red Sea to fall in ) With frequent Laps , their Thirst allaying , Pronouncing many a ruefull saying , Concerning loss of Champaign , Burdeaux , And what a grinning ugly Cur 't was , That dash'd out brain of Hogshead awfull , E'er Thirsty Mortal had his Maw full : Giving out many words ( half raving ) 'Gainst Hammers , Knocks , and Blows , and Staving . Continuing such a dismal pother , They'd like at last t o'ave stav'd each other . All going handy-dandy to 't , Till Constable do's drive the Rout To their own home , from Claret Bank , There to weep out the Wine they 'ave drank . DICK . Troth , Iack , thy News in manner wofull , My Heart has seiz'd , and fill'd up so full , It through mine Eyes must take some vent , Or I shall miserably faint . There never was more dismal Tale Repeated o'er Spic'd Cup of Ale , By deep Cabal , and nodding Quire , Of Matrons old , near Winter's fire . Weep , Mortals , weep , untill your Eyes Be red as th' Wine they sacrifice . How will you now your Passions vent , To her you long your Heart have lent ? Phillis without regard may go , And lovely Amarillis too , May often see her charming Name , Without Attendant Anagram . Gone is the Wine that did inspire The Poet with his Amorous fire ; That did assist him to invoke , And gave his Pen the happy stroak . Fools may go on , and Scribling write , Yet fear no Satyr that shall bite ; Its sting is dull'd by ev'ry blow The wronged Vessels undergo : For all the Salt , and all the Flame , Whence Wounds , and Plagues , and Vengeance came , Is melted , quench'd , sunk , lost , and drown'd , And never , never to be found , Without the leave of pulling down , The Dams of Prohibition ; And drawing up the Sluces all , That ruby Floods again may fall , And freely fill the Mass●e Bowl : Then thou and I , and ev'ry Soul That has a Muse or Mistress there , Shall in one hand a Goblet bear , And with the other charm the Ear. Shall briskly each his brimmer drink , And live and love , and laugh and think Of something fit to entertain The peacefull hours once again . Till then adieu ; with Lips a-dry , For once we 'll part ; and so Good-buy . For who with baser Iuice would ●ully His servile Lips , is much a Cully . And though full thirsty , fit no more To have his Body varnish'd o'er ; Or ever to be ting'd again , With its Rosie-colour'd grain . Once more farewell , till kindly Seas Rowl Claret Casks upon our Keys . Then ( Haec ) we 'll say , and laugh and kiss ye , Iuvabit olim meminisse .

These Ten following POEMS done by a Conceal'd Author for his private Recreation .

To CLARINDA on her Incomparable Painting and Wax-work . Written Septemb. 1686. SOar now , my Muse , to an unusual flight , Whilst fair Clarinda's Skill my Pen excite , The Wonders of her Pencil to endite . A modest Poet can't be silent here , Where so much Art and Excellence appear . Your active Pencil scorns a constant dress , It 's seen each day in Novelties afresh ; Sometimes you curious Landskips represent , And arch 'em o'er with gilded Firmament : Then in IAPAN some Rural Cottage Paint , You can with equal Skill draw Fiend and Saint . A genuine sweetness through your Pencil flows , And charming Pictures to the Life it shows . Next Wax-work , Cupid's by your Art made fair , And sparkling Stars seem hov'ring in the Air , Supported only by a single Hair. But your enflaming Eyes shew Stars more bright ; Stars , which may serve those lesser ones to light ; And pretty Cupids dancing there , do dart More piercing Beams , than those you 've made by Art. A Female Pencil now such Art hath shown , As neither Sex before could ever own : For none could yet your matchless Paintings view , But the same Passions mov'd 'em , which you drew ; And from your Self you copy ev'ry Grace , For you have all that can adorn each Face : So like your Pieces to live Objects are , That if together we should them compare , Nature her self amaz'd wou'd doubting stand , To know her own from the Skill'd Painter's hand ; For she the like with less success attempts , When her own Work in Twins she represents . Well then may Birds , for real Grapes , mistake Those pendent Clusters which thy Pencil make . Perhaps thy living (a) (a) Trees of the Ladies own setting in her Garden . Plants too they 'll neglect , And fly to these thy Pencil doth project ; For though disrob'd is (b) (b) Being at the Fall of th' Leaf . Nature of her Pride , Fresh as the Spring thy Painting doth abide : Thus your Victorious Painting , and your Eyes , Make Birds , Beasts , Fishes , also Men your prize .

A Young Man to an Old Woman , Courting him . In Imitation of a Modern Author . PEace , doating Wretch , for ever cease thy suit , Tempt me no more henceforth with musty fruit ; For rotten Medlers please not , whilst there be Orchards and Gardens in Virginity . Thy crabbed Stock is too much out of date , For young and tender Plants t' inoculate . Can Wedlock e'er endure so great a Curse , As putting Husbands out to th' Wife to Nurse ? How pleasantly Poor Robin then wou'd crack , T' insert our Names within his Almanack ; And think that time had wheel'd about this Year , So soon December meeting Ianiveer . So the AEgyptian Serpent figures Time ; And being strip't , returns unto its prime . If my affection thou design'st to win , Then cast of● first thy Hieroglyphick Skin . My tender years will not endure ( alack ) The fulsome breathings which attend thy smack , Proceeding ●●om some former loathsome Clap. Could you a Virgins Beauty but regain , And change your state from Age to Youth again : Your o'er-blown Face more charming might appear , And with delight we might embrace each Year . Perhaps no strife or discord then might be , Betwixt my pretty Skeleton and Me : But Metamorphoses are seldom known In this our Age , since Miracles are gone . Cease then your Suit , and for the future try , To heal your Tenant's Leg , or his sore Eye . So may you purchase credit , fame and thank , Beyond the foppish Name of Mountebank ; Or chew thy Cud on some forlorn delight , Which thou revivest in thy Eighty-eight ; Or be but Bed-rid once , and surely then Thou 'lt dream once more thy youthfull Sins again . But if that still you needs will be my Spouse , First hearken , and attend upon my Vows . " When th' Needle his dear North shall quite forsake , " And Stones a journey to the Sky shall make . " When AEtna's fires shall mildly undergo , " The wond'rous penance of the Alps in Snow . " When Sol shall by a single blast of 's Horn , " From Crab be posted unto Capricorn . " When th' Heav'ns confus'dly shuffle all in one , " And joyn the Torrid with the Frozen Zone . " Be sure , when all these Contradictions meet , " Then ( Sibyl ) thou and I will kindly greet . For all these Similies are understood , 'Twixt youthfull Heat , and thy dull frigid Blood. So , Madam , Time continue ever Bald , For I will not thy Perriwig be call'd : Nor be a Crutch to prop thy tot'ring frame , Lest th' Fabrick fall'n , from th' Ruins spring my shame .

TO CLARINDA . A SONG . I. TEmpt me not with your Face that 's fair , Nor Lips and Cheeks , though red ; I neither prize them , nor your Hair , Which in its Curls is laid . Nor value I your Pencils fame , For Nature it exceeds ; And Lillies do your Beauties stain , Roses your Lips and Cheeks . II. Nor prize I your Seraphick Voice , That like an Angel sings ; Though if I were to take my choice , I would have all these things . But if that you wou'd have me love , You must be true as Steel ; Or else in vain my Heart you move , Your Charms I cannot feel . III. But since , fair Nymph , you 're fickle grown , I 'll change too with the Wind ; Sometimes in Storms of Love I 'll frown , Sometimes be calm and kind . My Proteus Love shall frown and play , As subtle Foxes doe ; Till they have seiz'd th' unwary Prey , But then shall kill like you . IV. A Courtier 's Tongue for Flattery , A Poet's Brain for Wit ; A Womans Breast for Treachery , For my designs I 'll get . Then through the silly Female flock , I cunningly will rove ; Thus , thus for once I 'll try my luck , To get their Hate or Love.

ON HIS SECRET PASSION FOR COSMELIA . BY no Discov'ry have I e'er reveal'd My secret Love , so closely yet conceal'd ; But rather , oft with Hypocritick Art , In a dissembled look bely'd my Heart . Yet cou'd Discov'ry gratifie my Wish , Concealment shou'd not long defer the bliss . For straight my Passion then I wou'd reveal , And whisper in her Ear the Am'rous Tale. But no Relation can my wants relieve , Or Limits to my boundless Wishes give . Shou'd my Belov'd , whose Art hath giv'n new breath To dying Heroes , at the point of Death : She who no Cure scarce ever undertook , But the disease her Patient soon forsook : She who each Simple's Sov'reign Vertue knows , And to their proper use can them dispose : Shou'd She her utmost Skill in Physick try , All , All wou'd fail to ease my misery : All her Prescriptions , without Love , are vain ; Love only suits the Nature of my pain . Thrice hath the Sun his Annual progress made , Since first my Heart was by my Eyes betray'd ; With various Scenes of suitable delight , Cosmelia's Beauty entertain'd my sight . Th' Idea of which doth still salute my Eye , Nor can her Absence this delight deny . Whilst Wit and Learning also charm'd each sence , Her Poetry had no less influence ; For flights of fancy in her lines abound , As Wine in Conduits , when a King is Crown'd . Thus Art , Wit , Beauty , Learning , all conspire T' insnare my Heart , and set my Soul on fire : Her Words , her Looks my waking thoughts employ ; And when I sleep , I see her with more joy . But ah ! too soon the silent Shades of Night , Do leave their Empire to the rising Light. When , lo , I find my Pleasures but a Dream , Thus chiefest Ioys glide with the swiftest stream . A sleep or wake , still Love creeps through my Veins , And in my Mind the fierce infection reigns . Sometimes with Books I wou'd divert my Mind , But that increases but the pain , I find : Sometimes I court enjoyment ●rom my Muse , Till by distraction I my fancy lose . So wretched Men , that sundry Med'cines try , As oft increase , as cure the Malady . In vain I strive these fantoms to remove , Or shun those Aerial Images of Love : Her bright Idea makes Affections yield , Like Ears of Corn , when Wind salutes the Field . Each rising Sun views her more bright and fair , Her Vertues more conspicuous appear . Gentle 's her Nature , Modest is her Meen ; Her Conversation's Mild , Her Looks Screen . No Tyrant Passion rages in her Breast , But the meek Dove builds there her Hal●yon Nest. More Native Wealth doth that fair Breast contain , Than all the Treasures of the boundless Main . Not so delightfull was the Sacred Tree , Nor God-like knowledge cou'd more tempting be . For the fair Tree cou'd not such Fruit impart , As this fair Virgin , wou'd she yield her Heart . Happy , false Strephon then , whose pow'rfull Charms Alone might win this Lady to his Arms : His gracefull Meen , resistless Charms impart , And glide ( unfelt ) into her tender Heart ; Whilst on his Lips such smooth discourse is hung , His Person 's less attractive than his Tongue . No Storms in Love need Strephon then maintain , Without a Siege he may the Conquest gain : For where the Fort by Love's betray'd within , It needs must yield to let the Hero in . But for th' Squire , and the young hopefull Cit , With the Gay Spark , that wou'd be thought a Wit ; Their hopes are blasted , and each strives in vain , By Nuptial Tyes the lovely prize to gain . The Squire she slights , lest he unkind shou'd prove , And to his Horse or Dogs prefer her Love. Covetous and unbred she styles the Citt , Debauch'd the vain pretender to lewd Wit . Thus bravely she doth these kind Heroes slight , Thinking they all intrude on Strephon's right ; Whilst unconcern'd Triumphant Strephon stood , Like some dull Image carv'd of Stone or Wood ; Insensible of all Love 's pow'rfull Charms , Nor mov'd by Wit 's or Beauty's loud Alarms . But oh , my Soul ! unlike Effects I find , Her Virgin charms produceth in thy mind . As nought that 's dead and barren can excite Vital affections , or the sence delight ; So nought inanimate cou'd e'er improve My Gen'rous thoughts to any fruits of Love : Or as Clarinda's painted Shadows fed Only my fancy with their White and Red. So bright Cosmelia's Pen it do's impart , Vigour and Motion to my Love-sick Heart : Her sacred Presence all my Parts do render Vocal , except my Tongue , that stupid Member . Her Wit my Soul inspires with thoughts too great , For words to comprehend , shou'd silence break . If in kind glances , by a swift surprize , I do behold the Aspect of her Eyes ; Alternate Paroxysms of Cold and Heat , My Vital Spirits strangely do defeat . Thus various Passions in my Breast do rove , Yet all do meet and terminate in Love. Oh wou'd kind Heav'n but be so much my friend , To make my Fate upon my choice depend : All my Ambition here I wou'd confine , And only this fair Virgin shou'd be mine ; Lock'd in her Arms in Love and Peace I 'd lye , And whilst I breathe , my Flames shou'd never dye : For shou'd that Beauty which she do's possess , Fade into Autumn , I cou'd love no less .

TO CLARINDA , ON HIS Deserting her , and loving Cosmelia . 'T IS true , Clarinda , once I did resign To your frail Beauty this kind Heart of mine● Yet the Resignment but in thought was sign'd , For words ne'er seal'd the impress of my Mind . Too well my Heart was sensible you gain'd , By treach'rous Wiles , the Conquest you obtain'd : And that by Art y' assum'd deluding Looks ; Looks unrecorded in kind Nature's Books : Therefore I 've justly banish'd you my Breast , No more your Beauty shall invade my rest , I 've entertain'd a more deserving Guest : Not One whose Heart 's inconstant as the Wind , But One , whose Love to One can be confin'd : One , whose true Love with Friendship ever flows , And whom kind Fate has for my Lover chose ; To her m' inamour'd Heart doth panting move , By fervent Efforts of Ecstatick Love : With modest Blushes I inform her Eyes , Her vertuous Love has made my Heart her prize . And whilst my Blushes doe confess I burn , By Sighs and Looks she makes as kind return . Know then , kind Nymph , my Love to you 's expir'd , And fled to her , who thus my Breast has fir'd . Without her (a) (a) The Lady having Skill in Physick . Art , your Beauty will decay , A fit of Sickness makes it fade away : Whilst in her sight no bold Disease durst stand , But , trembling , vanishes at her command . What though your Pencil Nature oft supplies , With Charms as piercing as your Azure Eyes : Yet know , 't is noble Verse sets off your Paint ; Her Poetry alone can dub a Saint .

TO COSMELIA , ON HER Departure into the COUNTREY . FArewell , fair Mistress of my chief d●sires , Whose charming Beauties kindleth pleasing fires ; Whilst I ( sad Fate ! ) must here forlorn remain , Since you , fair Conqu'ress , do my Heart retain . To you , the Center of my Love , it flies , And ne'er can rest till it enjoys or dyes . Farewell dear Eyes , it will be tedious Night With me , as long as I do want your light . Farewell those ruby Lips which seem to me , Of Nature's Glory an Epitome . The Nectar and Ambrosia I shall want , That hang on them , and fast an irksome Lent. Farewell best Tongue , now Thee I shall not hear , I wou'd not care if all things silent were . Farewell all fair , Beauty I shall not view , Untill again I do behold 't in You. Farewell Physician of my love-sick Soul , Your sight alone can make your Patient whole .

On a ROSE sticking on a Ladies Breast . SWeet fading Flower , that with the Sun's uprise Unfold'st thy Bud , and in the Ev'ning dyes . Swell now with beauteous pride , and let thy bright And blushing Leaves joy and refresh our sight . Incorporate thy sweet and fragrant smell , With those refreshing Odours there do dwell . Blest , ah for ever blest be that fair Hand , That did transplant thee to that Sacred Land . Oh happy Rose , that in that Garden rests , That Paradise betwixt that Ladies Breasts : There 's an Eternal Spring , where thou shalt lye , Betwixt two Lilly Mounts , and never dye : There thou shalt spring among the fertile Vallies , By buds , like thee , that grow in midst of Allies ; There none dare pluck thee from that sacred place , Nor yet attempt thy Beauty to deface . If any , but approach , strait doth arise A most surprizing light , which blasts his Eyes ; There , 'stead of Ruin , shall living Fountains flow , For Wind her fragrant Breath for ever blow : Nor now , as wont , shall one bright Sun thee cheer , But two conjoyn'd , which from her Eyes appear . Oh then , what Monarch wou'd not think 't a Grace , To leave his Regal Throne to have thy place . My self to gain thy blessed seat , do Vow , Wou'd be transform'd into a Rose , as thou .

ON THE Most Charming GALECIA's PICTURE . (a) (a) The Lady being Painted wi●h a Bough o● Bays in her Hand . HAppy the Hand , which to our longing sight , Presents that Beauty , which the dazling light Of your bright Charms , do's hide from weaker Eyes , And all access ( save by this Art ) denies . 'T is only here our Sight hath strength to view Those Beauties , which do terminate in you . By this your great Perfections we conceive , The Gracious Image seeming to give leave ; Which daily by your Votaries is seen , And by the Muses has saluted been . Who , whilst an Infant , placed in your Hand The Bays so many strove for in this Land . Wisely fore-seeing your Poetick Pen , Might claim the primacy of th' wittiest Men. 〈◊〉 you th' extreams of Pow'r and Beauty move , ●ho are the Quintessence and Soul of Love. ●s the bright Sun ( whose distant Beams delight ) ●f equal Glory to your Beauties light ; ●s wisely pl●c'd in so sublime a seat , ●'extend his light , and moderate his heat . ●o happy 't is you move in such a Sphere , Which do's not over-come our sence , but chear : And in our Breasts do's qualifie that fire , Which kindled by those Eyes , h●d flamed higher , Than when the scorched World like hazard run , By the approach of the ill-guided Sun. Such Eyes as yours on Iove himself have thrown , As bright and fierce a lightning as his own .

THE YOUNG LOVER's ADVOCATE : BEING An Answer to a Copy of Verses . Written by Galaecia to her Young Lover on his Vow . TOo rigid , too censorious and severe , Your unjust scruples plainly do appear . Why shou'd you question that most sacred Vow , Which in sincerity I made but now ? Did I not Vow by all the Pow'rs above , None but Galaecia shou'd but obtain my Love ? I did , and made a Cov'nant with my Eyes , No other Beauties shou'd my Heart surprize . And may those Pow'rs their vengeance from above , Show'r on my head , when e'er I perjur'd prove : A thousand Deaths I 'd rather chuse to dye , Than once my Faith to break or falsifie . Not all your Sexes charms shall tempt me more , No other Object shall my Soul adore . Thy Sex , alas ! is but a Lottery , Where thousand Blanks for one true Prize we see . And since kind Fate has giv'n me such a Lott , Think you I 'll hazard what 's so hardly got ? No , rather think me constant as the Sun , Who never s●ts , till he his race hath run : Firm as the Centre , as the Poles unmov'd , Faithfull as honest Swains to their Belov'd . But you alledge for Love I am too green , Though two years turn'd , and upwards of Eighteen . Alas , too long I think I 've been debarr'd , And five years since Love's pleasures shou'd have shar'd : Lovers as young as me I can produce , As Precedents to warrant my Excuse . The Famous Sappho summ'd up all her joy In the Embrace of a Sicilian Boy . The Queen of Greece lov'd Theseus but a Lad , And Cytharea her Adonis had : Nay Love himself , that God , is but a Child ; Shall I for want of Years then be Exil'd ? Yea , I have heard fair Virgins say , in truth , Of all that love , give me the smooth-chinn'd Youth : My tender years my innocence may prove , And non-acquaintance with the Wiles of Love.

To my Ingenious Friend , Mrs. IANE BARKER , ON MY Publishing her Romance of SCIPINA . COu'd I the Censure of each Critick dread , Before your Book my Lines shou'd not be read ; For 't will be thought , shou'd I attempt your Praise , Trophies of Int'rest to my self I 'd raise . Since the same Pen that wou'd applaud my Friend , At once my Copy , and her Lines , commend : Nor cou'd my Silence 'scape from Censure free , Then other Hands , they 'd say , I brib'd for the● . Yet cou'd Applause your learned Piece set forth , To make your Fame as endless as your Worth ; I wou'd invoke some gentle Muse t' inspire My active Pen with a Poetick fire ; That it might blazon forth your Matchless Wit , And your due Merits to the World transmit . But since this Subject doth require the Skill , Or of a Maro , or a Waller's Quill , I must desist , and quit the brave design , And the great task to better hands resign . Only as th' empty Coach is wont t' attend , To Mourn the Obsequies of some dear Friend : So shall my Worthless lines ev'n now appear , For want of better , to bring up the Rear Of those that welcome th' Issue of your Wit , Which in so soft and smooth a Style you 've writ . You fair Scipina's Name do here advance Unto the Title of a sam'd Romance : Then in smooth Lines you celebrate her Praise , And crown her Temples with immortal Bays . Her Heroes Fights you bravely have exprest , Till blest with Peace , he in her Arms finds rest . How wou'd it please the gallant Scipio's Ghost , ( The bravest Gen'ral th' Elyzian Fields can boast , ) To see his Battles acted o'er again , By thy victorious and triumphant Pen. Thy Virgin Muse soars upwards still on high , Out-strips the Dedalean Scuddery , With swifter flights of Fancy wings each line , And harshest Thoughts to gentle Love refine . Each Stoick's Heart , and softer Females Breast , With the same Passion that you write's possest . Let carping Criticks then complain of Fate , And envy what they cannot imitate . Since 't is beyond their Art or Pow'r to blast Your Virgin Lawrels , which do spread so fast .

A Batchelor's Life , in pursuit of Mrs. BARKER's Verses in Praise of a Single Life . By the Author of the Ten preceding Copies . SInce , O ye Pow'rs , it is by your decree , For Women I 've so great indiff'rencie : Suffer me not by Love to be mis-led ; Let nought induce me to the Nuptial Bed. Let no frail Beauties to my Eyes resort , Lest those false Centinels betray the Fort. But if blind Cupid with a poys'nous Dart , Shou'd chance to penetrate my Marble Heart ; Then let an Icy chillness freeze my blood , And stop the active motion of its slood : So may I in this happy state abide , And laugh at those a Single Life deride : Whilst they ( b'ing caught in wretched Wedlock's Noose Do both their fr●e●om and their pleasures loose ; For cursed Avarice and Iealousie , Attends on him th' unlucky Knot doth tye ; His Soul to Mirth can never be inclin'd , For Cares and Fears ever distract his Mind . Wou'd he be merry , straight his Consorts Noise , E'er he can think th' Abortive thought , destroys . And if his Spouse proves Barren , then he prays To Heav'n for Children , or to end her days : But if o'er-stock'd , the Husband then repines At the too fruitfull Issue of his Loins . Then are his thoughts employ'd to get and spare , And make provision for a wanton Heir . How happy is he then , who 's free to chuse ; And when he will , accept , when not , refuse . No Cares in Love can discompose his Breast , Nor Anxious Fears e'er rob him of his Rest : But unconcern'd he is in things to come ; If London please not , Paris is his home . Yet a Fond Wife , or Wanton pratling Boy , Perhaps might all his gen'rous thoughts destroy .

The Exchange of HEARTS . A SONG . By the same . Being an Answer to a SONG in the 81st Page of the First Part. I. HAppy the Man , thrice happy he , Who had the high Desert ; To lose to you his Libertie , And change a Lover's Heart . II. If his do's your Repose invade , And rob you of your Rest ; Believe as much Disorder's made By yours within his Breast . III. Reason with him has no more pow'r Than you , to stop the Course Of an inrag'd and fierce Amour , Drove by its own wild force .

Upon a FLOCK of GOLD-FINCHES Seen in the MORNING . SCarce had the prancing Coursers of the World , With their fresh steeming breath the Morning curl'd ; When a gilt flock of Winged Stars did play , And with strange light increase the new-born day : Sure they were sent from some Celestial Nest , To teach Aurora how she should go drest . Gay Nature's lively Pencil never drew Its own Perfection in a brighter hew . Now in light hoverings they their Bodies poise , And hang in AEquilibriums without noise . The Amorous Wind in gentle Whispers sings , And coyly kisses their Enamell'd Wings . In curling Waves it pleats their silken Plumes , And from their spicy Breasts doth suck Perfumes ; Then softly swells , and heaves its rising Weight , The mounting Birds enjoy a noble height : There in a spangled Crescent they appear , And with a flying Rain-bow gild the Air. And now Sol's Rays dart from their Eastern seat , And with a golden Blush these Rivals meet ; And then recoil , more sumptuous to behold , Ten thousand Colours mixing with their Gold. Thus they which make the watry Fleeces proud , Themselves draw Lustre from a living Cloud . Oft through the Air their active Course they change , And in quick windings their brisk Squadrons range . The Impressive Atmosphere , where they had flown , With a long train of painted Lightning shone . Downward at length they fell , sure wanton Iove In such a splendid Storm enjoy'd his Love. When doubtfull Swains behold with wond'ring sight , Keen Exhalations with their pointed Light , Shoot through the yielding darkness of the Night . They think it was some guilty Star that fell , And trembling pray , that all in Heaven be well . Oh , had they seen with what a radiant pride , These feather'd Meteors from above did glide ; They would have pity'd the deserted Sky , Thinking they did a Constellation spy : Which , that it might indulge blest Mortals Ears , Had brought with it the Musick of the Spheres . With such soft Ayrs did all the Birds descend , And their bright Course to the next Bush they bend . With purling Noise their flutt'ring Wings they clapt , As if they had for Entertainment rapt . The Thorns themselves shrunk in to make them room , And sheath'd their prickles in their barky Womb. New buds from their Potential beds did leap , And peep 't to see who 't was disturb'd their sleep● Spying such Guests , their fragrant Laps they spread ; Such Tap'stry none but fragrant Feet must tread . Each awfull twig gave an obsequious nod ; And bowing , stoop't unto its welcome load . And now the glitt'ring Bush on high displays Its streaming Branches , deck't with chirping Rays . It s Golden back 's clad with a breathing Fleece , Richer than that bold Iason brought ●rom Greece . The wav'ring boughs under their weight did leap , And with their blithfull chantings time did keep . The Neighb'ring Brook stop't its attentive stream , And the hush't Winds hung lull'd into a dream . Ne'er did the Perriwig'd Hesperian Grove , On its bright Head so rich an Autumn move . Hail , happy Shrub , wrap't in a Golden shade , Whom Nature hath her living Wardrobe made ; Hail , Queen of Plants , crown'd with a Diadem , Where every Iewel is a Vocal Gem : A warm soft Gem , whose splendor do's excell Th' obdurate off-spring of the Indian shell . May still such Phoenixes shine on thy Crest , But never burn their odoriferous Nest ; But may each Morn thy glorious twigs recruit , With a new brood of such Melodious fruit .

THE POET's Answer to One , Complaining of their NEGLIGENCE , In not Writing the DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM's ELEGY . NOR needs he slender Verse , his Mighty Fame , Rais'd above us , do's all our Praise disclaim ; Poets have liv'd by him , he cannot live by them . So great his Bounty , we as well might show The secret Head , whence fertile Nile do's flow . Like Nilus he , for with a willing Hand He gave to all , his stream o'er-flow'd the Land . But still the Muse was his peculiar Care ; Now could I ought in Verse ! A subject's here Might — But the Mind 's ill serv'd by Faculties , And something still we know , we can't express . The Trojan Shield , which Maro once did frame , With an intent to raise Augustus Name , Should not do more , if ( as my Theme's as great ) I could assume his Majesty and State. But nothing ●an rehearse his wond'rous Praise , Unless kind Heaven from his dust should raise Another matchless mighty Buckingham , Who , like himself , could gloss the glorious Theme . Two great effects we had from 's noble Mind , The State and Theatre at once refin'd . When e'er he pleas'd to lash the nauseous Times , And with just Rules corre●t the Poet's Crimes : Nonsence , and Bays , and Bombast took their flight , Like frighted Phantoms from the hated Light. As by the order of this World we guess , A God , not Chance , first mov'd the mighty Mass : So whilst we saw , when we made War , Success , Advantage , when we pleas'd to grant a Peace : We , by the Beauty , knew , Villers was there , And God-like Charles was eas'd of half his care : So in the Realms above 't is Iove's to will , Whilst lesser Powers his Commands fulfill . Nor was his Body inferiour to his Mind ; For when he was created , Fate design'd That he should be the wonder of Mankind . Goodness and Grace did always with him move ; From Men he Honour claim'd , from Women Love Some slighted Swain , whom Celia's scorn opprest , May raise a Flame in some less guarded Breast : But there the Curse do's not intirely fall , He form'd the Race of Women to enthrall , Reveng'd upon their Sex the quarrels of us all . Ten thousand ways soft thoughts he cou'd inspire , And kindled in all hearts a gen'rous fire , His Bounty wealth , his Beauty gave desire . His Iudgment gave us Laws , a Play his Wit ; By him we liv'd , we lov'd , we rul'd , we writ .

These Thirteen following COPIES done by Mr. HOVENDEN WALKER , sometime of Trinity-Colledge in Dublin .

PSALM the CXXXIX . Paraphras'd from Verse the 7. to Verse the 13. WHere shall I ●ind a close conceal'd Abode ? Or how avoid an God! Whither , O whither , can a Sinner flee , Almighty Lord , from thy Ubiquitie ! How from thy Omnipresence can he hide , Since ev'ry-where thy Spirit do's reside ? Would I ascend to Heaven , ev'n there Do's thy Refulgent Glory most appear ; Thy Light do's there ●ill the unbounded space , And there dost thou thy bright Pavilion place ; At thy right hand , thy dear , thy darling Son Sits , and thy Spirit hovers o'er the Throne ; While Hallelujahs to their God , and King , Myriads of Blessed Saints and Angels sing . Would I , to shun thee , dive to deepest Hell , Ev'n there thy Horrours , and thy Iudgments dwell ; Thy Terrours there the wretched Damn'd invade , No Bed of Rest or Refuge there is made ; For ever there thy Triumphs do remain , ( Which , Satan to forget , still strives in vain ) E'er since for Man thou didst Redemption gain , And by thy Death both Death and Hell were slain . Cou'd I with wings fly to the utmost Sea , Swift as the Light , which brings approaching day ; Swift as the Dawn , which do's it self disperse , In half a Day , through half the Universe . Ev'n this a vain and fond Design would prove , Nor from thy just Protection could I move ; For the wide World's most large circumference , Is circumscrib'd by thy vast Providence . Thy Goodness me from dang'rous Ills would save , And lead me safely o'er each angry Wave . Thy right hand would conduct me through all harms , Thou wouldst protect me in thy mighty Arms. Under thy Wings I should in quiet sleep , Though toss'd and threaten'd by the dreadfull Deep . Would I propose to hide me from thy sight , In an Egyptian Darkness , and thick Night ? A glorious Splendour , and a Light divine , From out of that thou wouldst command to shine ; Thou wouldst that blackest Cov'ring make as bright As the gay Beams of the Sun 's dazling Light ; From thee the Night can no concealment be , For Night and Day are still the same to thee : Therefore in vain fond Men attempt to run From thee , and thy Eternal Presence shun . Thou unconfin'd thy self , do'st all confine ; For all is full of thee , and all is thine .

A PASTORAL , In Imitation of VIRGIL's Second ECLOGUE . A Lowly Swain lov'd a proud Nymph in vain , Who did the Country and the Fields disdain , Because the fairest of the City Train . The haughty She despis'd his humble Flame , And , soaring , flew at a more noble Game . Unheard , unseen , he daily came to mourn Near lonesome streams , and shades , her cruel scorn : And , while alone , he moan'd his luckless Love , His griefs ev'n senceless Trees and Rocks did move . The neighb'ring Hills with horrour seem'd to shake , While to himself ●hese raving words he spake : Shall I , as others , to my Flocks complain , That I a cruel Beauty love in vain ? Shall I , with fruitless cries , disturb my Lambs , Or , with my quer'lous groans , a●●right their Dams ? Their Dams , that strangers are to Lover's cares , And can enjoy their Loves without their Fears ! No , let me here in secret pine away , And in sad objects read my Doom each day . Lo , through these Clifts a trav'lling Current glides , And little Rocks the purling streams divides . Ah! how well this resembles my sad Fate ! My fruitless tears , and her unsoft'ning hate : For as these Rocks hard and unmov'd remain , And the clear stream but washes 'em in vain ; So fall my Tears as unsuccessfully , Nor her hard stony Heart can mollifie : For still they run , unheeded as this Brook , Nor will she stop 'em by one pleasing look . Oh , cruel Nymph ! why do'st thou thus delight To torture me ? why thus my suff'rings ●light ? My mournfull Songs neglected are by thee , Thou art regardless of my Verse , and me . Thou canst behold , with an unpittying Eye , My sorrows , and art pleas'd to see me dye . Lo , now each Creature either rests , or feeds , And spotted Lyzards dance in shady weeds ; All are imploy'd , and bonny Mall takes care , Dinners for weary Reapers to prepare : But I , by sa● complaints , at noon am found , Making , with Grashoppers , the Shrubs resound . And while I trace thy wand'ring s●eps all day , Oppress'd wi●h heat of Love , my spirits decay , And by the Sun scorch't up I faint away . Had I not better far , contented , born Brown Amaryllis little peevish scorn , Whose lofty Soul , high Parents , and Descent , Against my Love had been no Argument ? Or I had better far have lov'd black Bess , What though her Wealth and Beauty had been less ; What though her Skin was of a tawny hew , And though as fair as whitest Lillies you . With her so long in vain I had not strove , But she would have rewarded Love with Love. Oh , beauteous Nymph , do not so much delight , Nor pride thy self that thou art fair and white ; For whitest Blossoms most neglected fall , While the ripe Blackberry is pluck't by all : But I am so despis'd , so scorn'd by thee , Thou dost not ev'n so much as ask of me , What stock I do of larger Cattel keep , How stor'd with Milk , or how inrich't with Sheep . My thousand Lambs wander on yonder Hills , 'T is my large Flock th' adjacent Valley fills ; Summer nor Winter my Kine ne'er are dry , But with new Milk my little House supply . If or my Verse or Musick could but prove , Of force enough to make my fair one love ; I would oblige her with such Songs , such lays , As those with which Amphion in pristine days , Himself of old the Theban Walls did raise . Nor am I so deform'd to be despis'd , For I but lately with the Sea advis'd . When the still Winds did undisturbed sleep , Nor with their Rage wrinkled the smooth-fac'd Deep . And if that Image did not flatter me , I need not fear , though to be judg'd by thee , That I less handsome to your sight should prove , Then happy Citizens whom you so lov● . Oh that it necessary were for thee , To live in humble Cottages with me ; To hunt swift Deer , and with a verdant twig , To drive my Ewes , which with their young are big . And while my pretty Lambs in Pastures feed , To imitate our Pan upon a Reed : Nor let it grieve you that you wear away Your tender Lips upon my Pipes to play . This , if he were but half so blest to know , What would not the oblig'd Amyntas do ? I have that Pipe which was bestow'd on me , By Swain Dametas ; when he dy'd , said he , Accept this Pipe as the best Legacie . Dametas said it , but Amyntas griev'd , That I so great a present had receiv'd . But in an unsafe Vale I found besides Two tender Kids with pretty speckled Hides ; They twice a day dreign a full Udder'd Sheep , And these for you with so much care I keep . Mall would long since have beg'd 'em both ●rom me , And she shall have 'em , since contemn'd by thee . Come here , bright Maid , come hither charming fair , See what for thy reception Nymphs prepare ; See how they do adorn the shady Bow'rs ; See how they gather all the sweetest Flow'rs . To make thee pleasant Garlands , see how they Prepare to crown thee , the bright Queen of May. Lo I my self have search't the Orchard round , To see where the best Apples may be found : Chesnuts and yellow Plums I 've gather'd , such As once my Amaryllis lov'd so much . But here 's an Apple that can all out-doe , Which I particularly pluck't for you . Some twigs of Lawrel from yon Tree I 'll take , And Myrtle mix , the better scents to make ; Which artsully into a Garland wove , With Flowers sweet shall crown my sweeter Love. But all thy clownish Gifts unheeded are , Nor do's the Nymph for such a Bumpkin care . What Gifts of thine canst thou believe will take , Since City-Youths can so much richer make ? Thy humble Presents fading are , and poor , Not lasting as their bright and shining Ore. Alas , what shall I do ? where find out Rest ? Where ease the Burthens of my lab'ring Breast ? I leave expos'd ( distracted in my mind ) My choicest Gardens to the Southern Wind. My clearest Fountains I preserve no more , From the unruly , and the nasty Boar. My tender Flocks by me neglected are , And are no more as once my only care . While I to Passion am , unguarded they To the devouring Wolf become a prey . Each day the Sun rises upon my Love ; And still as that ascends , this do's improve . But when to Thetis Lap he goes to rest , I feel no quiet in my Tortur'd Breast . Unhappy Nymph , whom wouldst thou coyl● shun ? Ah , whither from a wretched Lover run ? The greatest Heroes did of old , nay Gods Have chose to dwell in Sylvan Shades and Woods . Dardanian Paris lov'd the Verdant Plains , And liv'd most happy , while amongst the Swains . Pallas her self did Fields and Forrests love , And was delighted with the pleasant Grove ; And there , for her abode , built shady Bow'rs , And stately Palaces , and lofty Tow'rs . And therefore I so much prefer above The smoaky City , the delightfull Grove ; And in these Shades how happy could I be , Disdainfull Nymph , wer 't not for Love of thee : 'T is that , 't is that which thus my Rest destroys , 'T is that that ruins all my rural Ioys ; To thee I am so prone , so bent to thee , I cannot tast the least felicitie . Not ●lying Wolves by the fierce Lyoness , Are hotlier pursu'd ; nor are Kids less Follow'd by chasing Wolves , nor can Kids be More fond of Cytisus than I of thee . All follow that in which they most delight , But you alone can my Desires invite . Ah , foolish Swain , what ●renzy haunts thy mind ? Canst thou no ease , no moderation ●ind ? Will not thy Love one minutes rest allow ? Behold the lab'ring Ox has left the Plow● And now the Sun hasts to his Ev'ning bed , By low degrees still doubling ev'ry shade . All Creatures now , with the expiring Light , Cease from their Toil , to sleep away the Night . Do's Love alone a cruel Master prove ? Is there no end of the hard Tasks of Love ? See how yon Vine untrim'd neglected lyes ; What wilt thou ne'er repent ? wilt ne'er be wise ? Apply thy self to some more usefull thing , Which may a much more certain profit bring . Shake off for shame at last this fruitless Love , And wasting Time to better ends improve : Or if you needs must love , hereafter chuse Some gentler Nymph , who 'll not your Love refuse .

The Fourth ELEGY OF CORNELIUS GALLUS , OF THE Miseries of Old Age. Made English.

The Poet gives an account of his loving a Young Maid very privately in his Youth , but at last how in his sleep he discover'd what so carefully he hid waking ; and concludes the Elegy with the consideration of the inconveniences he lyes under by being Old.

YET let me one more Youthfull Tale reherse , And please my self with my own empty Verse ; For idle Stories very well agree With antick Dotage , and stupiditie . And as in changing years , Mankind is found With various Chances always turning round : Ev'n so those times which most inverted be , Seem most obliging to the Memorie . A Virgin once there was , whom Heav'n design'd , Both by the Graces of her Face and Mind , To be adapted , so , that she became By Nature Candid , as she was by Name . Her pure white Hair around her shoulders spread , Fell decently in Ringlets●rom ●rom her Head : But ev'ry Part of her was bright , and fair , And full as charming as her Flaxen Hair. The tune●ull Lyre s●e touch't with such a grace , That it confirm'd the Conquests of her Face ; While from the trembling strings soft Tunes did flow , With Love and Ioy my Heart did tremble too . But when she joyn'd thereto some witty Song , How many Cupids sate upon her Tongue ! Each moving word , each accent sent a Dart , And ev'ry Note did wound my melting Heart . But then she Danc'd with such a charming Air , As made each Part appear more killing fair . No stratagems of Love by her e'er mist , Nor had I pow'r my Ruin to resist : But did with secret Pleasure entertain The silent and the smooth delightfull pain . Thus one bright Maid , but yet assisted well With such Auxiliaries , as nought could quell , In various ways storm'd my defenceless Mind ; Nor did one Charm the least resistance find . And when by down-right ●orce she was possest , She ne'er forsook my entertaining Breast . Once seen , her beauteous form still stay'd with me , And day and night dwelt in my Memorie . How o●t has my Imagination brought Her absent Image present to my Thought . Fix't , and intent , how oft ( though far remov'd ) Have I suppos'd I talk'd with her I lov'd . How oft with Pleasure would my Fancy bring Those Songs to mind which she was wont to sing ; And how I strove my Voice , like hers , to frame , And bin delighted as it were the same . Thus I my self , against my self took part , And , like a cheat , play'd booty with my Heart . How oft , alas , have my own Friends believ'd , That I of Sense and Reason was depriv'd , Nor can I think that they were much deceiv'd . For neither was I perfectly compos'd , Nor altogether with my Frenzy doz'd . But 't is a mighty trying hardship sure , A stifled secret Passion to endure ; The furious Rage no mortal Breast can bear , But in the Countenance it will appear , Though never so reserv'd , though never so severe . By the alternate change of White and Red , A true Discovery is quickly made . Th' affected Face do's the hid thoughts declare , Blushing bespeaks a shame , and Paleness fear : But ev'n my Dreams betray'd my Privacie , My Treach'rous Dreams did faithless prove to me : They did my sad Anxieties reveal , Nor cou'd ev'n Death like sleep , my Cares conceal : For when my Senses all inclin'd to Rest , And by oblivious slumbers were possest , Ev'n then my conscious Tongue my Guilt con●est . As on the Grass , sleeping I once was lay'd , Close by the Father of my lovely Maid ; And while He thoughtless slumber'd by my side , Thus , in my Dreams disturb'd , aloud I cry'd , Hast , hast , my Candida , make no delay , Our secret Love is ruin'd if you stay : For see , already peeps the prying Sun , If w' are discovered we are both undone ; The envious Light will our stol'n Loves betray , Hast , hast , my Candida , make hast away . Awak'd at this , and in a strange surprize , He started up , and scarce believ'd his Eyes : And for his Daughter , search't the place around , But only I was sleeping on the ground ; Gasping and panting there he saw me lye , Transported from my self with Ecstasie . With what vain Dreams , said he , art thou possest ? Or has a real Love usurp'd thy Breast ? And so thy sleep discovers a true jest . Some waking Objects , I indeed conclude , Upon thy gentler slumbers may intrude , And fleeting Forms thy Wishes do delude . Astonish't ! he my broken Murmurs watch't , And each imperfect dropping Sentence catch't : Gently his right hand on my Heart he lay'd , And , in soft Whispers , more inquiries made : For so apply'd , the sly Inquirers Hand From sleeping Breasts can any thing command ; And the loos'd Tongue do's by that Charm impart The very choicest secrets of the Heart . Thus I , who did so long my self behave So well , and seem'd to all so good , so grave ; And had a sober Reputation kept , My self , at last , discover'd , as I slept . And now has my whole wretched Life been free From imipous actions , and impuritie . Nor can I say I did these Crimes prevent , So much by Vertue , as by Accident . But now I 'm Old , and want the strength to sin , It pleases me my Youth hath guiltless been . Yet what just Praise deserv'dly due can be To Aged Men , that they from Vice are free , Since 't is not choice , but meer necessitie ? Strength only sleeps , but Inclinations wake , And not they Vice , but Vice do's them forsake : Pleasure deserts their unperforming Years , And leaves them fill'd with painfull toils , and cares : They are but glad they do no evil fact , Only because they want the Pow'r to act . 'T is worth our while , if we consider too , What penalties in Age we undergo ; How that , with it , a slow repentance brings● For all our youthfull faults , and riotings ; How many sighs , and groans it pays , and tears , For dear-bought Luxury of younger years . But though Mankind will sometimes strive in vain , Youth's boyling Heats to curb , and to restrain ; Yet oft-times knowingly , and with much skill , We cunningly persist in doing Ill. W' are oft industrious , studious , wise , and nice , In the performance of some witty Vice : But Vice sometimes bears us by force away , Yet oft its call more eas'ly we obey . Oft , though we cannot compass what we will , We are Well-wishers to some pleasing Ill.

To my MISTRISS . Translated out of Tibullus . Nulla tuum nobis subducet foemina lectum , Hoc primum , &c. MY Love to thee no Beauty shall betray , For it is firmly ●ix't , and cannot stray . None , none seems fair methinks in all the Town , But thee ; thou pleasest , and delight'st alone . I wish indeed that none thy Charms could see , And they were undiscern'd by all , but me ; So might I love with some securitie . I wish not to be envy'd , nor desire That any should my blessed state admire . The Wise-man loves a secret Happiness ; For to be publick , makes it but the less . " With thee for ever I in Woods would rest , " Where never humane Foot the ground has prest . Thou who forbid'st Disquiets to intrude , " Who from Nights-shades the Darkness canst exclude , " And from a Desert banish Solitude . Shou'd Heav'n it self conspire to change my Love , And send me down a Mistriss from above , Adorn'd with all the Beauties of the Skies , In vain she would attempt to charm my Eyes , Ev'n Venus self I would for thee despise . This I most solemnly by Iuno swear , Whom you to all the other Gods prefer . Hold , Mad-man , hold ! what do I do ? what say ? But I have sworn , confest , and must obey . Fool that I was , my Fear has led me on To this grand senceless indiscretion . Now thou hast conquer'd , and may'st tyrannize , With all the Pow'rs of thy resistless Eyes ; While I but dote the more : Yes , brainless Sot , This by thy foolish babling tongue th' ast got . But I submit , command me what you will , I am your most obedient Servant still . Thy hardest Mandates I will ne'er refuse , But the delightfull well-known Bondage chuse . Only to Venus Altars I 'll repair , And there my Love , and there my Faith declare ; She punishes the false , the just do's spare .

The Agreement . I. CLose by a Silver Rivulet , Grac'd with rich Willows , mournfull Daphne sate , Leaning her melancholy Head On the sad Banks o● an Enamell'd Mead , O'er-charg'd with Griefs her Heart , Her Eyes o'er-charg'd with Tears , For an intolerable smart , For daily pains , and nightly fears , For most uncertain hopes , and sure despairs , 'Gainst Tyrant Love a long complaint she made , Whilst each sad Object did her sorrows aid . II. Then Three-heart rending sighs she drew , Deeper than ever Poet's Fiction knew ; And cruel , cruel Thyrsis said , Why thus unkind to an enamour'd Maid ? A Maid whose Breast abounds With kindness , that can move By dire , and miserable sounds , Compliance from the very Grove , Whilst my Heart labours to conceal its Love : But oh in curst Despair first let me dye , E'er he , by loving me , ●inds misery . III. Then three more dismal Groans she took , Whose cruel noise , like a great Earthquake , shook The neighbouring Plebean Wood , Which to commiserate her sorrows stood , I 'll tortur'd be no more , No more I 'll grieve in vain ; Inrag'd with furious Heat , she swore , These silent streams shall ease my pain , And I 'll no more 'gainst him , and Love complain : Witness these lonely Fields , how I have lov'd , And for his sake this fatal Med'cine prov'd . IV. Iust with thick trouble in her face , Descending from the miserable place , Thyrsis , to save the Nymph appears , His Eyes half drown'd with over-flowing Tears . Thyrsis ( alas ) had heard The Maid repeat her Woe : Thyrsis the consequence too fear'd ; Ah , why do'st thou my Passion know ? ( Sad Daphne said ) loose me , and let me go , Where at some rest , for ever I may be , And not despis'd by a Triumphing He. V. Ah , Cruel Nymph ( griev'd Thyrsis cries With dolefull Face , and lamentable Eyes ) Cou'd you , O cou'd you thus undo A Swain , who secretly has burnt for you ? With joy she stops him here , Brighter her Eyes became , And her all-clouded Face grew clear , Then ( blushing said ) I am to blame , Since you for Daphne had a private flame : Pleas'd with this blest discovery , both agree Their Mutual Love no more conceal'd shou'd be .

SONG . I. DAmon to Sylvia , when alone , Did thus express his Love ; Fair Nymph , I must a Passion own , Which , else would fatal prove . Can you a faithfull Shepherd see , Who languishes in pain , And yet so cruel-hearted be , To let him sue in vain ? II. Then with his Eyes all full of fire , And winning phrases , he Intreated her to ease Desire , And grant some Remedy . Allur'd with Am'rous looks , the Maid , Fearing he might prevail , Begg'd that he wou'd no more perswade A Virgin that was frail . III. Fear not , dear Nymph , replyes the Swain , There 's none can know our bliss ; None can relate our Loves again , While this place silent is . Then Damon , with a lov'd surprize , Leap't close into her Arms , With Ravishing delights he dyes , And melts with thousand charms .

The Innocent Discov'ry . The Air was calm , the Sky serene and clear , Kindly the Lamps of Heaven did appear . Faintly their Light some weak Reflexes made On the clos'd Casements , which to Eyes betray'd , Nought , but a dying Tapers glim'ring light , Befitting well that season of the night . Sleep having welcom'd ev'ry weary'd limb● And gentle silence waiting upon him . Under Olinda's blest Apartment , I ( To ease my never-ceasing Malady ) Took up my well-strung Lute , some Ayrs to play ; Ayrs soft as sleep , and pleasing as the day . On silence I no sooner made a Breach , Than the joy'd Sound her sacred Ears did reach ; Willing to know who had disturb'd her Rest , Came to the Window like Aurora drest , In splendour ; only let this diff'rence be , That fair Olinda brighter was than she . Lest I should see her ( Ah , dear Innocence ) Puts out the Candle , but th' Impertinence Of the vain plot did make me wonder more , For I beheld her plainer than before : She only had remov'd the Moon away , That hinder'd me of a more perfect day : Th' Eclipse , when gone , discover'd to my sight A better prospect of the Sun 's strong light .

THE PETITION . A SONG . I. OH use me gently , since I am your slave , To Tyranize o'er Wretches is not brave ; In tort'ring me , what Glory can be found , Who am defenceless , and securely bound ? II. Tempt not your Conquests , & your Strength too far , But use your Captive with a wiser care ; Such influence will your kindness have on me , That I shall never wish for libertie . III. The wary Shipwright can't by force reduce The sturdy Oak to his more pliant use ; But gently warms it by an easie fire , And then it yields to what he will desire . IV. For Love is more commanding far than Hate , And Cruelty Rebellion will create . That King sits always safest on his Throne , Who rules his Subjects by his Love alone .

FATE . A SONG . I. THou know'st ( my Fair ) how much I love , And that my flames do still improve ; That they still burn , and still appear , As bright as thy dear Eyes are clear : Still they are pure as the first Cause , Nor swerve they from the very Laws ; That Womens practices impose , Which ●irst their Humors , since their Pride has chose . II. No fault in all my Love is found , And yet you will not heal my Wound ; In vain I tell you how I burn , You will vouchsafe me no return . In vain your pity I implore , You smile to see my bleeding sore ; No , though a Kiss wou'd do the Cure , Unkind Graciana lets me still endure . III. For this what reason can there be , Why so averse to Love and Me : Alas , too late , I know too late The strong necessity of Fate . No Woman yet was ever made To Love aright , but be betray'd : The Men , who dote on them , they shun , And to the Arms of the indiff'rent run .

MY RELIGION . I. ME in the Church , 't is true , you often see , But there I come not with intent To hear a thick-scull'd Parson vent His phlegmatick Divinitie : No , my Graciana , 't is to look on thee ; On thee I gaze , and in thy Eyes find sence , Beyond the Gown-man's holy Eloquence ; For what has his dull tale of Doom , And horrid things to come , To doe with Love , and Thee , which I alone For my Established Religion own ? II. The Croud , nay the more Learn'd , and Wise , for this Perhaps will me an Atheist call , And say that I believe no God at all : But oh they judge , they judge amiss , And wond'rously themselves deceive ; For I a mighty Deity believe , To whom ten thousand Sighs , as many Tears , With painfull Groans , and with incessant Pray'rs , As a due Sacrifice each day I give , Which , sometimes , she disdains not to receive ; And one kind thing from her weighs more with me , Than all their Bodies of Divinitie . III. With much more sence , indeed they may , Accuse me of Idolatrie ; That I to you that Worship pay , Which only Heav'n shou'd have from me : But let the wisest of them all , The most precise , and Pharisaical , Tell me , if my Graciana wou'd be kind ; What holy indignation cou'd they find ; What pious zeal , what sanctity of mind , To guard them from a sin so charming sweet , But wou'd fall down , and worship at thy feet ; Striving , like me , in lasting Verse , to raise Eternal Trophies to thy praise . IV. For , if to me she once her Love wou'd give , Graciana's Name shou'd then for ever live , And in each proud , and swelling line , Graciana's Name shou'd like rich Iewels shine : Nor wou'd it less avail , to make My Verse immortal , as her Fame : For consecrated with her Name , All Men wou'd read them for Graciana's sake .

The KISS . I. OH , take not this sweet Kiss so soon away , But on these Lips let me for ever stay , This Food , Love's Appetite , can ne'er destroy , 'T is too AEtherial to cloy : The Manna , from Indulgent Heav'n , Which to the murm'ring Iews was giv'n , Did not so many Delicates afford , As in one Kiss of thine are stor'd : But it resembles something more Divine , Like that above , on which bright Angels Dine ; Where , an Eternal Meal by them 's enjoy'd , And yet , with glutted fullness , never cloy'd . II. Me therefore do not you deprive Of my Lifes chief preservative ; Though I confess that it affords to me More than a bare subsistencie : For thy dear Kiss , a kind of tast do's give , How all the blest above do live ; And I methinks , when e'er I joyn My happy Lips to sacred thine ; Am with the joy transported so , That perfectly I do not know , Whether my ravish'd Soul be fled , or no : But this I certainly can say , I feel Pleasures that are unspeakable . Tell me , Graciana , prit●ee doe , For only you the truth can know . If on thy Lips dwell such prevailing Charms , And in thy Kisses such delights abound ; What Ecstasies , what Raptures will be ●ound , Within the Magick Circle of thy Arms.

The WRACK . Set by Mr. G. Hart. I. IN vain I strive , with Buis'ness , to remove The pleasing Tormen●s of incroaching Love ; Drest in such beauteous Forms , still He appears , With sweet Delusions , charming all my Fears ; So strongly he allures , and do's invite To follow distant Pleasures , scarce in sight ; That his dear Witchcraft I want strength to shun , But yield , with vast delight , to be undone . II. Such strange Inchantments the sly Boy do's use , His Chains , before my Liberty , I chuse . And though my Ruin , I before me spy , I 'd perish , rather than turn back to fly : So wretched Sailers , in an open Sea , By Treach'rous Syrens , led an unknown way , See the ensuing Storms , their Songs create , Yet want the Pow'r t' avoid their certain Fate .

TO Mr P. Berault UPON HIS FRENCH GRAMMAR . WHat equal Thanks ? what Gratitude is due , Industrious Friend from all this Isle to you ? For all your Labour , all your Toil , and Care , In bringing us , from France , their Language here : Their Language , which is sure their richest store , And each Wise man do's prize , and value more , Than all the Goods that came from thence before . Their Language , which do's more the Wit re●ine , Than all their Modes , than all their sparkling Wine And this thou do'st in such a Method teach , As ev'n the least Capacity may reach . By such plain rules , and axiom● thou dost show The Pronunciation , none could better know , Did they to France for their Instruction go . To us , thou mak'st , by this , their Learning known , And in th' Original 't is all our own : Translators oft unfaithfull , and unjust , At second-hand we need no longer trust ; But in their prim'tive Beauty we may see The famous Boileau , and Sieur Scudery ; Now those two mighty Wits we may caress In their own Elegant , and Native Dress , And learn from them , bright Ladies how to praise , In softest Language , and in smoothest Phrase : For French alone so easie is , and free ; So sweetly gentle , that it seems to be At ●irst design'd for , and contriv'd by Love , As th' only Charm , a scornfull Nymph to move . Now sur● our rambling Youth will stay at home , Nor wantonly so oft to Paris roam , Under pretext to learn the Language there , Since you instruct them so much better here . They need no more tempt the unfaithfull Seas , For what your Grammar teaches ( if they please ) With much less charge at home , & much more ease . This , therefore , from thy care we hope to gain , That thy Endeavours may those Sparks detain , Whose roving Minds lead them to France from hence , Meerly ( forsooth , under the slight pretence Of Courtly Breeding , Carriage , Wit , and Sence , ) To learn the Affectation of the Proud , The noise , and nonsence of the Vain , and Loud ; Foisting upon some easie Coxcombs here , Those cast of Vices which they pickt up there .

SONG . I. EVadne , I must tell you so , You are too cruel grown ; No smiles nor pity you bestow , But Death in ev'ry frown . My Love , though chast and cons●ant too , Yet no relief can ●ind ; Curst be the slave that 's false to you , Though you are still unkind . II. Were you as mercifull as fair , My wishes wou'd obtain ; But love I must , though I despair , And perish in the pain . If in an Age I can prevail , I happy then shall be ; And cou'd I live , I wou'd not fail To wait Eternally .

The same SONG Inverted . By Mr. Walker . EVadne , I must let you know , Your Cruelty is vain ; For if you will no smiles bestow , I scorn your proud disdain . And since my Love , though pure and true , No just relief can find ; Curst be that Fool shall dote on you , When you are still unkind . II. Were you as gentle as you 're fair , I 'd strive your Love to gain ; But I can n●ver court Despair , Nor cherish ne●dless pain . If in a Week I cou'd prevail , Then I might happy be ; But Love and Patience , both will fail , To wait Eternally .

The Five following Copies done by Mr. C. G. of AEton-Colledge .

A Paraphrase on the 23d Idyll . of Theocritus , from the beginning , to 〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉〈◊〉 , &c. I. AN Amorous little Swain Was set to keep His Father's goodly Flock of Sheep , ( Fed in a Common that belong'd to Pan , About the middle of th' Arcadian Plain . ) By chance a noble Youth came by , Whom when his sparkling Eyes did spy His watchfull Eyes , That there stood Centinel , And did perform their office well ; Stoutly prepar'd for every quick surprize . Marking the Beauty of his Angel's Face , Mix't with sweet carriage , and a heavenly grace , Well satisfy'd , they let him pass ; Who having got admittance , did impart The fatal secret to his wounded heart . Charm'd with the Youth he was that Fate had thither brought , Whose Beauty did surpass desire or thought : In making whom , Nature for once did thus presume , To go beyond her Last , to place On a Man's shoulders a fair Womans face ; Or rather to adorn , With more than heav'nly beauty a Terrestial Form. II. But ah ! his Mind , Not like his Angel Face , proud , scornfull , & unkind , Despising those whom Passion , Whom unresisted Passion mov'd To highest admiration ; Those who disdain'd him most , he greatly lov'd : He knew not , nor did he desire to know What Cupid meant , his Arrows , or his Bow , How oft , how usually he throws A Golden Dart , To wound the Heart Of those Who most unconquerable seem , Iear at his Godship , and his Power contemn . Cruel in deed and word , Who never the least comfort would discover , Or one cool drop of ease afford To a despairing , burning , dying Lover . Choler and anger in his Entrails boils , No pleasant smiles , No rosie Lips , nor blushing Cheeks , Nor languish't Eyes that might betray An inward fondness , and might seem to say , I will thy mutual love repay . No comfortable words he speaks ; Nor suffers me to ravish one kind kiss , That entrance to a future , and more perfect bliss : But as a Chased Boar With Vengeance looks upon his Hunter's Spear ; Sets up his Bristles on his back , And roaring makes The Forrest all around , and every Creature quake ; So he beholds the Swain With desp'rate fury and disdain , Adding more fuel to his never-dying flame . III. Disdain did make his Countenance turn pale , And all his other Charms begin to fail ; Anger did banish every Grace From the dominions of his lovely Face , Whilst cruel Eyes , and harder Heart took place . Yet still the Shepherd finds no Arms Fit to resist these languishing , these fainting Charms , His Angel sweetness he must still adore , Troubled that he could manifest his Love no more . Alas ! how vain and useless all things prove , When enter'd in Damn'd Cupid's School , We learn his Precepts , and his Rules , When shackled in the chains of Love , Turn ●ashionable fools ; We scarce can call our selves our own , And our affections pay obeisance to anothers Crown . IV. No longer able to contain , Though all was needless , all in vain ; Tears , like a mighty Flood , Did over-flow their Banks , and drown'd Th' adjacent Barren , fruitless , famish'd Ground . Trembling with fear , At last he ventur'd to draw near , Where all in Glory stood , The object of his Love , the cause of his Despair . First he presumes to kiss The sacred ground whereon he trod , In hopes of ●uture happiness , But all wou'd do no good . Then strove to speak , But ah ! Disdain and Fear his forwardness did check , And made his half-out lisping words draw back . Forcing himself at last , stutters such words as these : V. O cruel , inexorable , stony Saint , Blind to my Tears , and Dea● to my Complaint ; Sure of some Lyoness , or Tyger born , Unworthy of my Love , as I unworthy of your scorn . A gratefull Gift to you I bring , The welcomest the only thing That now at present do's remain , To ease me of my pain ; To ease me of my Love , and you of your Disdain . And lo , How willingly I go ; How willingly I go , where you By your unkindness , destin me unto ; I go where every Love-sick Mind Is us'd , an universal Remedy to find ; The place is call'd Oblivion's Land , A Lake call'd Lethe in th' midst do's stand : Which were it possible that I could dry , In flames unquenchable I still should fry ; Nor cou'd I yet forget thy Name , So oft have I repeated o'er the same , But find , alas ! no liquor that can quench my flame . V. Adieu ! lov'd Youth , eternally adieu ! But scornfull fair first know what doom , Undoubtedly shall on your Beauty come , And from my dying mouth believe it true . The pleasant Day , alas ! is quickly gon , Flowers in th' Morning fresh cut down by Noon ; The blushing Rose do's fade , and wither soon , White Snow do's melt before the scorching Sun ; So youthfull Beauty's full of charms , but all are quickly gon , The time will come when you your self will prove How great a Deity is Love. Charm'd by some beauteous she , You 'll offer up your sacrifice of Tears , And weary her with your continual Prayers ; By Night you 'll sigh , and pine , by Day you 'll woo , But all 's in vain that you can doe , No greater pity will you find , than I from you . Then will your Conscience bring Me into mind , Not to delight , but serve you in your kind ; My restless Ghost shall come , Not to cry Ah! but Io ! at your doom . VI. However grant me this , ev'n this at least ; I 'll ask no more , but grant me this request : That when thou passest by , Thou woul'st not let me unregarded lye , Seeing the fatal Dagger in my Breast . But come , and grieve , and weep a while , I ask not ( what I once so much desir'd ) one smile ; But pull the Dagger from the Wound , And close , and close embrace me round ; Thy Mantle o'er my liveless Body spread , Give me one kiss , one kiss , when I am dead : I ask no more , O grant me this , That thou may'st joyn Thy Lips to mine , And seal them with a meeting , parting kiss . When forc'd by thy unkindness I am fled , Thou need'st not fear that I can then revive , Though such a kiss cou'd almost raise to life . Hew me a stately Tomb to be my Bed , Where Love and I may lay our head . Then leave me , after thou hast three times said , My Friend , my dearest Friend on Earth is dead ; O cruel Death , that canst us two divide ; My friend , my friend , would God that I ●or thee had dy'd . Write this Inscription ( since they are in fashion ) To show how base your scorn , how excellent my passion . Here lyes a Lover , kill'd by Deep Despair ; Stay , Reader , stay , And only be so kind to say , Alas , He lov'd ; Alas , He lov'd a Cruel Fair.

CHORUS I. Of Seneca's Agamemnon . FOrtune , thou setter up of Kings , Upon whose smiles or frowns Depends the standing , or the fall of Crowns . What various Chances Fortune brings ? Mounting on deceitfull Wings , She lifteth Kings on high , On Wings of Dignity . Then leaves them all alone , Tells them she must be gone ; So let them stand , or ●all , or rise , With Wings spread out , away she flies . Fortune , how canst thou cheat us so With naughty Goods , yet make a show Of honest Ware ; thou do'st desire Thy Goods shou'd rich , and gay appear , Though they be truly little worth , and truly very dear . II. 'T is not the Scepter , or the bearing sway , Can cares and troubles drive away : One trouble on anothers neck do's come ; The first retreats , another takes his room . The raging Sea contends For passage through the Sands ; The skipping Waves do beat and roar , Falling from a lofty shoar ; So Fortune head-long throws , Chances of Kings , and those That are exalted unto dignitie . Kings wou'd be feared , yet we see , They fear , lest they that fear them shou'd use treacherie . III. 'T is not the Night can give them rest , Whose Hearts with slavish fear are prest ; Nor can sweet sleep expell the care Of them , whose Minds unquiet are . What Pallace is not quickly brought , By Prince's Wickedness , to nought ? What Tower do's not impious Arms Weary , with continual harms ? All Law and Modesty is fled the Court , No ties of sacred Wedlock there resort . IV. But desperate Bellona stands With quavering Spear , and bloody hands : There stands Erinnys too , beside , The Punisher of Courtly Pride ; Who always waiteth at the door Of such as swell in Wealth and Pow'r , To lay them level every hour : And yet suppose there shou'd be peace , And th' ills pre-mention'd all shou'd cease . V. Still things that are so high , and great , Are over-turn'd by their own weight . If Sails be blown by prosp'rous Wind , We fear those Gales shou'd prove unkind : And Auster smites the Tower that shrouds His lofty top among the Clouds . The little Shrubs , in shades that spread , Do see the tall and ancient Oak , Which blasting Boreas oft has shook , Lie fall'n on th' Ground , wither'd and dead . Flashes of Lightning smite the Mountains high , Great Bodies open to diseases lie . Among the Herd's , Kine that are fat , and best , Are chose for slaughter out from all the rest ; What ever tott'ring Fortune do's exalt , Has only Crutches lent to learn to halt . Low , mean , and mod'rate things bear longest date , That Man is ●ruly , and is only Great , Who lives contented with a mean Estate . Thrice happy is the Man , whose Means do lye Above , or else below curst Fortune's eye ; Too low for Envy , for Contempt too high . C. G.

THE PENITENT . I. BY Heav'n ! 't is scarce ten days ago , Since to my self I made a Vow , That I wou'd never have to do With Duserastes more ; Till Wine , and Love , and Ease complying , Bore down before 'em all denying , For having his Perfections , told me , Made me break the Oath I swore ; Threw me head-long to his Arms , Where tasting of his usual charms , No Resolution can with-hold me . Now , who but Duserastes in my eye ; 'T is by his smiles I live , and by his frowns I dye . II. Your Sunny Face , through Cloudy Frowns , in vain Wou'd make my Gazing Eyes abstain , For I as soon can cease to be , As cease to Love , and gaze on thee ; Here cou'd I take up mine Eternitie . As well one may Touch flaming Coals , or with a Serpent play , And yet receive no harm ; As look on you unmoved by your Charms . For my part , I am forc'd to lay down Arms ; Although I 'm fain To be content with nothing but disdain . And since those things are cheap , we easily obtain , I am content a while to live upon despair , Iust as Chamelions do on Air. III. I play and dally on Hells brink , Till I perceive my self begin to sink , Or scorch my self too near so great a fire , And so am forced to retire . Anon forgetfull of my former burn , I must again , I must again return : So do's the little Gnat , by Night , Fly round , and round , the Candles light , Untill its busie daring Wing Too near such heat begins to singe ; Yet still unmindfull of the smart , She must , she will repeat her former sport . IV. Hence , hence , Heroick Muse , adieu , For I must take my leave of you ; Love , that usurps the Rule of my Poetick Vein , Forbids Calliope's Heroick strain ; Charges me nothing to endite , Concerning this or t'other fight , Nor of the Scythian , or the Parthian War to write , Unless to beautifie my Poetry , Those stories to my Love I fitly wou'd apply . And now methinks I feign My self an honest faithfull Scythian , And he a perfidious flying Parthian , Whose turned Dart Strikes his Pursuer swiftly to the Heart : So the more eager Phoebus follow'd on , The swifter Daphne did his Presence shun ; So much the more encreas'd his Passion higher , As the chast little Virgin , she grew shier . I ask not mutual Love in equal weight , But only give me leave to love thee free from hate .

To DUSERASTES . O Cruel , Proud , and Fair , Cause of my Love , and cause of my Despair . When first a little sprouting Beard , Those lovely Lips , and Cheeks shall guard , Not soft as Down , but rugged , long , and hard . When lovely Locks , that on your shoulders play , Shall turn to the cold hoary Grey , Or , wasting Time shall eat 'em quite away ; As when too much of working spoils The very heart of fruitfull Soils , And makes 'em , without moisture , hard and dry , All Plants and Herbs do wither , fall , and dye . And when that lovely Red and White , That in your charming Cheeks do meet , That make the Lilly , and the Rose , Their sweetness , and their colour lose , Shall turn to Wrinkles , wan , and pale , And all your other Charms shall fail . Then as you go to gaze Upon you former Angel's face , In your too much frequented Looking-glass ; Then your own Presence will you strive to shun , And thus complain in a forsaken Lover's tone . Why was I ever Young ? Why was not Beauty long ? Why had I ever Charms , or why are they so quickly gone ?

The VOW . To the same . I. WHy do you vex me with continual fears , And force out needless Tears ? Why do you tell me I shall surely dye , Since Courteous Heav'n , and I , Both in one resolution do comply ? That whensoever you are fled , unkind ; I will not stay , I cannot stay behind . If envious Fate must strike the Heart , My better part , Why shou'd this liveless lump of Clay Delay To mount the Skies to follow thee away ? Propitious Fate has spun Both threds of Life in one ; I 've made a Vow , yea I have sworn , Nor will I fail ( by Heav'n ) to perform ; We 'll travel both together to our long , long home . II. In spite of Hell , to Heav'n we will glide , And all the heavy World below deride , Attended by Iove's Messengers on either side : Not Charon's shabby Barge , Shall have so great , so glorious a charge : Apollo's Chariot shall us both transport , With Mercury our Guide , Above Moon , Stars , and Sun , we 'll glide , Till we arrive to Iove's Eternal Court , There in Immortal State Shall I on yours , and you on Iove's left hand be set . Nay , further still our Glories shall extend , You shall be worshipp'd as the God of Beauty , To you shall Mortals pay all sacred Duty , My Name shall signifie a Faithfull Friend ; Here shall our love no quarrels know , our joys no end .

The Six following COPIES done by Mr. T. B. of Cambridge .

An ELEGY on King CHARLES the Second , who dyed of an Apoplexy . NO more , he 's gone , with Angel's Wings he fled , What Mortal Art cou'd keep him from the Dead ? The Miracles of Art were shewn in vain , Such as cou'd give a meaner Life again ; But Miracles were common in his Reign . A Diet in distress no comfort brings , Thus are we sure to lose the best of Kings . Great Charles , or lov'd or fear'd too much by Death ! Our Bribes cou'd get us but a parting breath . Unusual Fate destroy'd our chief design , And ev'ry Sister cut the Royal Twine ; Direfull Solemnities they us'd below , And thrice they gave the irrevocable Blow . Thrice on the Monarch ( for each Nation ) seize , And to his Empire suited the Disease . So did Geryon take his long farewell , And saw two Heads expire before he fell ; So put Alcydes Vict'ry to a stand , And piece-meal fell by an All-conqu'ring hand . Say , envious Stars , did he deserve your spight ; Say , all ye grand Caballers of the Night , Did you remember with regret the Day , When his new Star drove all your Beams away , When the glad Sky did wond'rous smiles dispence , Fear'd you to lose your ancient Influence ? The same good Omen gave our Charles his Birth , As usher'd in Salvation to the Earth . Under one Planet grisly Death was slain , But the same bad him live , and slay again . O ye , just Pow'rs ! That Death ( by Faith o'er-come ) Shou'd lead the Faith's Defender to his Tomb. Britains lament , inspir'd by sorrow , sing , Embalm with Tears and Verse your Gracious King ; Where-ever Death can come , let it be said , In mournfull Elegies , our Gracious King is Dead . A Soul so large , so generous a Mind , As Heav'n all knowing , and as Heav'n all kind . Let the sad News be born through ev'ry Sea , And the Winds groan whilst they the News convey . Our Peacefull Ships will need no Cannon roar , And with the Tidings terrifie the Shoar . What Grief in Neighb'ring States shall not be known , Now the soft link of Amity is gone ? Love has the Nat'ral World to Peace confin'd , But the Political by Charles was joyn'd . What Grief shall not the Foreign Reg●ons shew ? For they have lost their Ioy , and ●onder too . Libyans shall slash their Bre●●●s , and so ●eclare Their outward Grief to Ch●rl●● 〈…〉 there . One , o'er her Gold , corroding Drops shall shed , The other Ind. weep Gems for Iames's head ; No Quarter but shall Sighs and Blessings send , And to a thousand Gods our King shall recommend . Pardon , Great Ghost , your sinfull People spare , And be our Genius with your Princely care . Smiling , the Story of your Troubles tell , And pity the mean Souls who cou'd Rebell . With joy recount the Changes you have known , And all the shapes attend the British Crown . How faithless , as incircling Waves , were We ; How you became the Proteus of our Sea : How on the Wing you 'd now deceive the Foe , Then vanish't into Air unseen you 'd go : How like a stately Oak you 'd sometimes Reign , And with long Scepters awe the shrubby Plain . Such were the forms , Alive , you us'd to have , Immutable and stiff now in the Grave ; Variously prest , and molded up and down , You were reserv'd for an Eternal Crown .

A DITHYRAMBIQUE , Made just before the KING and QUEEN Went to Their CORONATION . I. KEep now , my Muse , the great Pindarique road , And fly as if to meet a God , For Iames and Mary are the same ; Ascend my Muse , mount in your Flame , For oh my Soul 's in hast to be abroad ; Our Souls of old were stol'n from on high , And since , as if they fear'd Discov'ry , Sneak here below with dull Mortality , Let mine be open , and confess her Mother-Sky ; Visit the Plains above , and sing Some worthy Transports of a God-like King : What Muse cannot our Iames inspire ; What cannot Royal Mary doe , They give us Theams and Genius too , Fewel at once , and Fire . Leander stretcht along , & buffeted the sawcy Waves , That , when he thought of Life , and Ioy , Dared the kind Thoughts annoy , And threaten him with Graves : The Taper did not only shew his Pathless Way , But made him bold , and strong , Leander stretcht along ; Not only on his Eye it play'd , But follow'd Love through all the Pores he there had made , It glitter'd in his Mind as well as in the Sea . II. Heroes , by Nature , still dispence Vigour and Sence , To the most Thoughtless subject-Clay , Upon the Machins still they shine : The Machins feel a warmeth Divine , And briskly move , and sweetly play . Their Royal sparkling Virtues are The only Stars that have an Influence , And du ' ile as the Gold they wear . This happy England knows ; England is happy in her Sons at last , The Days of Prodigality are past ; For Arms and Arts her Sons grow fit , They gather Courage , and they gather Wit ; In vain their Temper , and their Clime oppose , And once-insulting Neighbours fear , Those Lyons●url ●url their Mains no more , No longer tear the ground , and roar , They see our Iames his England's shape restore , And break the Charms that made her Beast before ; Those Lyons tremble , and reveer , For England once again a Royal Matron do's appear . III. How much indebted must the Coronation be , Heroick Iames , to very Thee , Thy Person wou'd , unrob'd , add to th' Solemnity , Luster to Thee thy Diadem will owe , And Flaming Iewels round thy Head , Like a good Omen spread , Thou do'st on all a noble Stamp bestow , Thy subtile Beams thorough thy People go , And make each Vulgar look to show , Indulgent Planets to their Friends , and Comets to the Foe : Thou , with Illustrious Graces , round Thee hurl'd From Thy own self , do'st Animate the British World ; Poetick Plato , when he made his Deitie , But fancy'd what in Iames wee see , The In●inite was plac'd alone , Amidst his wond'rous Creation ; The Indivisible the Center did possess , And with Extended Spirit , bless The living Circles that his Breath had form'd about his Throne , His Spirit penetrated every-where , And left no point void of the searching Care , Large streams of Inspiration flow'd , And taught the Beings , that they gave , to praise their God. IV. Io , my Muse , the Triumphs just begin , Over our Nations vanquish't sin , Our Animosities and Feuds are done , All those unhealthy Clouds are gone ; Fix't is our Delos now , nor can th' imbracing Sea Flatter her to her old Inconstancie . Awake , my Muse , The comfortable news Reherse , * * Most of this Fourth Stanza is an Allusion to an Old Poetical Fa●le , and parallels the King and Queen , in some respects , to the Heathen Deities , Apollo and Diana . And tell it to the President of Verse , If such a President of Verse there be , And any way a-kin to Memorie ; How will it work on his Harmonious Mind ? How soft will be his strain , When he shall find His own strange Story acted o'er again ? He 'll smile when e'er You wond'ring tell , Our Delos did become unmoveable ; He 'll strike his Lyre , when You shall praise Our crowned Phoebus , and describe his Rays . Diana too you must recite , The Three-nam'd Goddess naturally bright , Whose Native Glories then were seen , When a vast Tract of Earth was plac'd between , When she deserv'd alone to be a Queen , Tho' , like his Sister , say she now but borrows Light. V. Lo , where Apollo smiling stands , And strikes his Lyre with his Melodious hands , Possest with mighty Pleasure ; Lo Where he has left his Quiver and his Bow ; There are his Arrows lay'd aside , And by the milder Lyre supply'd ; The chearfull sound , the chearfull sound methinks I hear ; And lo , how every Year Dances in decent order here , By the smooth Motion all their Poyson 's spent , And th' Hieroglyphick Snake grows innocent ; At th' chearfull Sound ill-boding Spirits fly , Charm'd from their best-beloved Cruelty , And vanish , like sad Ghosts , that shun the Morning's Eye . Ill-boding Spirits on happy Minutes wait , And boldly vex the Fortunate , And Politickly seize a glad unwary State ; A Coronation pomp gone by , Behind the greedy Vultures fly , The rear's brought up with Iudgments , Plagues , Mortality , And all the poor Spectators dye ; Instead of Medals to be thrown about , Malicious Powers Scatter their Ulcers , and their Sores , And show'r their Tokens on th' Infected Rout , This former times have known , avert it Heaven from ours . VI. Close up , my Muse , the dismal Scene , Leave the Destroying Angels , or Destroying Men ; Our Monarch shall your Musick make , Of honourable Actions speak , Sing of our Present Ioys , and Miseries forsake ; Speak of the Prince that aw'd the Main , And in the Ocean wide began his Reign , Whose Prowess heavy Flemmings understood ; Whose Valour every-where Escap'd the Rocks and Shallows of Despair , Who Noah's lawfull Heir Succeeded in the boundless Empire of the Flood . Shew the undaunted Champion on the shore , Dying his future Robes in Hostile Gore ; Shew him in Peace how easie , and how free , And yet beyond the Reach of Mutinie , Eternal Conquerour ! in Peace he gets a Victorie . He stops not there where other Warriours doe , He do's not always force pursue , He can both Soul and Body too , Mankind in all Capacities subdue : He do's not only use the killing Art , With harmless Skill sometimes he wounds the Heart , And there plants Loyal Veins to quell the trayt'rous part ; The Vital Flame he do's not always damp , But pours a precious Oyl into the gloomy Lamp ; His former Vict'ries are in this o'er-come , And he 's the greatest Conquerour at home . VII . Illustrious Prince , humble and brave , Head of his Country , and his Countries slave ; A Souldier's hardships oft h' endur'd , And in bold Deeds the Prince obscur'd ; As Iove to the Egyptian Beasts was known , Oft he retir'd to our Condition , And thence took Rise to leap into a Throne . He ran through every Task that Subjects bear , Accomplish't , by degrees , for Royal Care ; With Toil he climb'd the Pinnacle of State , His Fortune oft was us'd before 't was great , * * The Motto of the King's Medal . And Lawrels did his Head for the Imperial Crown prepare . Theseus and Bacchus thus Ambrosia gain , And with the Healing Nectar calm their former Pain : Thus Hercules upon twelve Trophies rose , He labour'd for , and merited a long Repose . Thus sacred Charles ascends , And visits his Celestial Friends ; Safely he cuts the thund'ring Skies , Adorn'd with new imperious Ioys ; Young Angels kiss each tender Limb , And fondly call him Cherubim , His Saviour and his Sire embrace him as he flies . VIII . Iames , thou hast won 'em , & our Lives are thine , Thousands of ours vouchsafe receive , For that Great One thou woud'st so often give ; That Life which weather'd Storms , & a more damn'd Design , Which can the Devils various shapes decline , In Patience Second Brother of the Stuart's Line . Patience , the stay of angry Fate , That pleases Heav'n when it 's inclin'd to Hate : Patience , that Patience purchases above , By sacred Sympathy , The Bar at which the Heav'ns and We Meet and Agree , Patience the Alchymie , That turns to Gold the Leaden Darts of Love ; By Touch-stone Patience , the creating Counsels know If they have fram'd a Master-piece , or no. In Patience Thetis dip't her Boy , And sent him to defy the Force of Troy ; Patience the Shield which Cyclops beat , Compos'd of Cold and Heat , Struck by the Sword of Envy , or of Spite , The more it sparkles , and confounds the fight . The Icy Sword snaps on the Shield , Spite falls unarm'd , and Envy quits the Field . Thus far th' inconstant style betrays my mind , Wav'ring , as needless , till the Pole they find . But here 't is fix't , since to the Queen 't is brought , The Queen is the Perfection of our Thought : Her Beauty , which can fire the So●id Iames , With ease must put our ●inder Breasts in flames . Such Beauty Heav'ns in Modena misplace , We lay the justest claim to such a Face . Such radiant Eyes our Nation 's loss repay , For the rich Pearls that Caesar bore away ; As in some Vital , where the Scarlet Blood Glides smoothly on , and keeps an equal ●lood ; The brisker Soul rides high , and knows no bound , Expands it self , and slashes round : S● must our Queen , when she shall pass along , So be distinguish't ●rom the Crimson Throng . Hail , Gracious Queen of Beauty , and of Wit , In whom the two best Characters are writ , From the blest Hills ; Oh , Aiding Goddess ! You Both warm our Climate , and our Fancies too . What Off'rings for such Presents cou'd we bring , If we had not been happy in a King.

To Their GRACES , THE DUKE and DUTCHESS OF ALBEMARLE , Upon Their Voyage for IAMAICA . Great Sir , YOur Presence still we wou'd implore , Did not the Indies court You to their shore ; Thence rising Glory drives our Grief away , And only Envy can desire your stay . Tremble we might , and dread Ano●her's Doom , But Your strange Blessings promise more to come . We that beheld how Riches slow'd to Thee , Need not suspect a Tributary Sea ; Nor can we fear that Danger 's there design'd , Where Providence has made the Rocks so kind : Prodigious Fortune must on him attend , To whom the Waves such pleasing Monsters send ; Your Father's Spirit , sure on th' Water mov'd , Wont to restore the Gallant Men he lov'd . Go then , lov'd Prince , Success your Actions crown , Guarded with vertuous Honours there unknown : How shall your Star shine on the new-found Coast , And please the Pride of the third Edward's Ghost , So far out-doing his Prophetick Boast . The George by him pent up in Lands he knew , Will make the utmost Conquest under You. How shall the slaves to Labour born , and Toil , When Your kind Person shall refresh the Isle , Wonder with joy to see each other smile ? The Spirits which , to them , You shall dispence , So much their once-vex't Souls will influence , That they shall banish all sad sorrows thence . What ease shall Natives , what delight possess , Who from blest You derive their Happiness ? New Kings at home have Acts of Grace bestow'd , And Albemarle gives Iubilees abroad . Madam , 'T was no desert in us , we own , So long detain'd You to our selves alone ; No Worth of ours , but Charity in You , Gave more to Us than was by Nature due . Your Grace for Universal Comfort made , As the Day-Beams are round the Globe display'd , Shou'd equally distribute Light and Shade . And Beauties still of Alexander's mind , In one poor World too narrowly con●in'd : But these two Conqu'rours do this Diff'rence keep , Fate will not let the charming Victress weep . When Thund'ring Spaniards Mexico did seize , Indians surprized , thought 'em Deities . By suff'ring since , taught what the Furious are , Now wisely will adore the soft and fair ; Even from their Sun to gentler warmth they 'll ●ly , And at Your Rays their smother'd Souls supply ; They 'll thank the Heav'ns that made their Herbs for smoke , And sacrifice Plantations , You t' invoke . Their teeming Soil vast Treasures needs must give , For You can ripen where the Planets leave : Your chearfull Eyes all sorrow shall destroy , And fill their Hearts with Plenty , and with joy . What cannot Greatness , Wit , and Beauty doe , Such constant Bliss is to Your Presence due , As if their Spring but Prophesy'd of You ?

Ovid. Amor. lib. 2. Eleg. 15. A Ring Presented to his Mistress . GO , sparkling Ring , my Fair one 's finger bind , Shine there , and tell what Flames you le●t behind . Leap on the tender Ioint with eager Zeal , And may she smile , and entertain thee well . Close may her Finger be to Thee embrac'd , As Fate has made my Arms to clasp her Was● . Thou little Ring , how happy must thou be , Handl'd by Her , and Envy'd ev'n by Me. Rais'd to my Heav'n , a Comet thou wilt prove , And vex the quiet Government of Love. Now for a Spell , that I my Gift might grow , To rifle all the Charms my Fair can show . Then as her naked Skin she ever prest , Or hid her hand within her heaving Breast ; With joy grown big I 'd quit my former hold , And send to better Mines th' enliv'ned Gold. Then when she seals her Letters with my Gem , ( Let not my Ruine be contriv'd in them ) Lest the soft Wax refuse to let me go , What balmy Kisses will her Lips bestow ? Then , if hence Betty with this Ring she cries , And throw it where my other Plunder lyes . Shrunk with the fright , I 'll lengthen a Delay , I 'll gently squeeze her , and my Love betray . Disgrace from me , my sweetest , never fear , I am a pretty Woman's Ring , my Dear . Let You and I go to the Bath's alone , And let the fruitfull Waters change my Stone . O , Madam , then , Madam , the Blessing then , Passion shall teach your Ring the Crimes of Men. But these are Dreams , my little Gift , adieu , Say I adore Her , and have offer'd You.

TO AFER . MARTIAL . Epig. 31. lib 4. THis for an hundred Pound 's engag'd to me , That Merchant owes me two , that Banker three . The Chamberlain runs deeper in my score , And the Exchequer keeps a thousand more . The new Plantations raise my Treasure much ; Beside a Trade with Spaniards , and the Dutch . The same dull Tale Afer so oft you tell , I scarce remember my own Name so well . Afer , I faint , my Patience quite is lost , I cannot hear your Gains , but to your Cost . Without reward , such Torture who will bear , Poundage is due for every Summ , I hear .

An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion . 'T IS true , my Friend , my Style is mean and low ; But if you like it , 't is no longer so . What to the unkind World do's Humble seem , Lovers and Friends may raise by their Esteem ; E'er since the Image of Immortal Love , Made Dust and Ashes fit for Ioys above . Yet though I had as clear and smooth a Vain , And Sung as well as any Iovial Swain . Though I cou'd force the Dulness of our Clime , And aid the Lab'ring Fancy with my Rhime ; Heighten my thoughts , expel the Clouds from thence , Or strike from them Flashes of Wit and Sence . War wou'd disorder my soft Spirits quite , And , like a Plague infect , and make them fight . Rebellious War all Melody destroys , From Plow-men's Whistle , to the Laureat's Voice . Swords fright the Muses●rom ●rom their peacefull seat , And Poets are the first they captivate . Minerva's easie , while her Garment flows , Dress her in Armour , and how stiff she goes ? The Harps that drew wild Mortals from the Wood , And taught the Harmony of Common good , By just proportion of their tunefull strings , Rank't People , Gentry , Nobles , and their Kings . Hence is it when State-Unisons expire , They barbarously slay their Parent Lyre . FINIS .

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FINIS .

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