A1r A1v
A picture of a hardbound book with the letter B on its left and the letter C on its right. To the right of the letter C is a peacock who is looking at the book.
Licensed and Entred according
to Order.


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

——pulcherrima Virgo Incedit, magnâ Juvenum stipante catervâ. Virg.

Printed for Benjamin Crayle, at the Peacock
and Bible, at the West-end of St. Pauls. 16881688.

A2v A3r

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 A3 I hope A3v 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 A4r 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.―― A4They’veA4vThey’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.


B. Crayle.

To A5r

To Madam Jane 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 A5v

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 Judgment, and the bounds of Wit.

When A6r

When in a Comick sweetness you appear,

Ben Johnson’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. John’s Colledge.


To A6v

To the Ingenious Mrs. Barker, On Her Excellent Poems.

Long since my Thoughts did thus forboding 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 A7r

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.


To A7v

To the Ingenious Authour, Mrs. Jane Barker, On Her Poems.


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.

So A8r


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, ’tis 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.


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 A8v

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. John’s Colledge.


In Elegantem Janæ Barker Poeticen Epigramma.

Fonte Caballino Janam cùm cerno lavatam, An Sappho est, inquam, quæ rediviva canit? Non, ait, at parere ut possim præclara Virorum Facta datum; haud aliis, sed peperisse viros. M. Heliogenes de L’Epi. Philos. ac Med. P.
To a1r

To Mrs. Jane Barker, On Her Ingenious Poems.

We Men wou’d fain monopolize all Wit,

And e’er since Adam nam’d the Beasts,claim’d

Thinking in that, by him, our Patent writ. it,

How grosly we mistook, Orinda knew,

We are convinc’d too by your Verse and You.

’Tis true, at Ten, we’re sent to th’ whipping fry,

To tug at Classic 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 put some poor crude Sooterkin,

And makes ――cob Tonson vex’t he e’er put in.

a But a1v

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 Jack;

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 a2r

To the Incomparable Galæcia, 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 flights 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.

a2 All a2v

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 obscure your growing Wit.

But may your Rhimes be still imploy’d to tell,

What satisfaction 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.


A Table a3r Erra- a4v


  • Part I. Page 19. Line I. 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.
B1r 1

Miscellany Poems.

Part I.

By Mrs. Jane 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 joys 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:

B We’ll B1v 2

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;

No 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 Lambs,

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 B2r 3

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 ’tis Contentment makes the Feast)

’Tis 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 then 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,

B2 Whilst B2v 4

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 Judgments 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 B3r 5

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 affirm; for now the World shall know

That Woods Wood, the Author of another speech. 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 Coffee-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.

B3 But B3v 6

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 Cit’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 B4r 7

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 Justice would the chiefest Beauties call,

Whose line’ments all harmony do shew,

And yet no less express all Beauty too,

A strange reverie of nature seems to be,

That now we Beauty hear, and Musick see;

Yet just proportion in true numbers meet,

Which make a Chorus even heav’nly sweet.

Could I think Antient Painters equall’d thee,

I should conclude Romance true History;

B4 Not B4v 8

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 o 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 B5r 9

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 for 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 B5v 10

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 B6r 11

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’ts 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 B6v 12

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 B7r 13

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,

’Tis 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 B7v 14

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

For mine lyes as it wont, without defence, mine;

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 ’twou’d even to extreams improve,

And Jealousie, 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 B8r 15

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

Or if not thus, I’m sure he will despise, charm.

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. neigh,

Thus the brave Horse, who late i’th’ Coach did

Is forc’d at last to tug a nasty Dray.

To B8v 16

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 wise 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 C1r 17

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: you,

Thoughts of your sighs, would plead sometimes for

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.

C On C1v 18

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,

’Twas Innocence in both, which both rever’d.

Witness C2r 19

Witness this truth the Wilsthorp-Fields, where we

So oft enjoy’d 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, Rays,

Where th’ Sun in vain strove to dart through his

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, Sea,

We can teach Clouds to weep, and Winds to sigh at

Teach Brooks to murmur, Rivers to o’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.

C2 The C2v 20

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 them rude.

Yet Nature’s culture is so well exprest,

That Art her self would wish to be so drest:

For C3r 21

For here the Sun conspires with ev’ry Tree,

To deck the Earth with Landskip-Tapistry. pear,

Then through some space his brightest Beams ap-

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 Diuretick Woodbine grows

The Splenetick Columbine, Scorbutick Rose;

The best of which, some gentle Nymph doth take,

For faithfull 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 wooe;

And Birds around, through their extended throats,

In careless Confort chant their pleasing Notes;

Than which, no sweeter Musick strikes the Ear,

Unless when Lover’s sighs each other hear;

C3 Which C3v 22

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.

’Tis 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,

’Tis not ingnoble an escape to make:

But where no Conquest can be hop’d by fight,

’Tis honourable, sure, to ’scape by flight.

Fly C4r 23

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. Wine,

From Beds of Lust, and Meals o’re-charg’d with

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 if 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 whoso 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.

C4 Sitting C4v 24

Sitting by a Rivulet.


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, Song;

Wildly dancing to thine own murmuring tunefull

Old as Time, as Love and Beauty young.

But C5r 25


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 elsewhere Triumphant.


But gentle 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 C5v 26

To found or build their Faith upon,

Unable to resist the force

Of Prosperity’s swelling violent force,

Or storms of Persecution:

Whose own voracity(were’t in their power)

Wou’d not only Ornaments devour,

But the whole Fabrick of Religion.


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 C6r 27

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 C6v 28

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 Shees, 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 C7r 29

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 C7v 30

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 Joys 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 ’tis 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 C8r 31

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 exceeds excess.

This ’tis, 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, Judith, or Semiramis

Could boast of Conquests half so great as this;

More than they slew, I save in this Disease.

Man- C8v 32

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, knew.

Who teach me that which you your selves ne’er

Thus Gold, which by th’ Sun’s influence do’s grow,

Do’s that i’th’ Market Phœbus 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 D1r 33

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 ’tis Heav’ns kindness too that it is so.

Were not our Souls with Ignornace 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 Æsculapian 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:

D In D1v 34

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 unconfin’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 D2r 35

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, ’twould 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:

D2 No D2v 36

No sure, thy Judgment 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’ powerfull 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 D3r 37

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.

D3 Necessity D3v 38

Necessity of Fate.


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.


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 D4r 39

All which proves vain,

For I can only shake, but not cast off my Chain.


Ah cruel Fate! all this thou did’st fore-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 befit

My childish years, and no less childish wit.


But my smiling Muse well knew that constant 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,

D4 Soaring D4v 40

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—t.

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 D5r 41

For where Perfection do’s in triumph sit,

’Tis rude to praise, but sinfull to omit.

I often read your Lines, and oft admire,

How Eloquence and Fancy do conspire,

With Wit and Judgment 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 Writings 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 D5v 42

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 their Guardian-God, good Paman sent,

Who by his Skill a longer time them lent.

Ah D6r 43

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 D6v 44

In Commendation of the Female Sex.

Out of Scipina.

Ah Beauteous Sex, to you we’re bound to give

Our thanks for all the Blesings 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 Tree:

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.

’Tis Love and Beauty regulate our Souls,

No rules so certain as in Venus Schools:

Your D7r 45

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 Joys augment;

To both extreams set the just bounds Content.

In fine, ’tis you to Life its relish give,

Or ’twere 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, ’twas 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 D7v 46

To my Brother, whilst he was in France.

Dear Brother, So far as you advance

Your knowledge, by your Journey into France;

So far and more I’m sure I backward go,

For I can’t say As in præsenti 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 former happiness augment

My Griefs, and are my present punishment;

As D8r 47

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 seem 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 D8v 48

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:

Many Docters bring in their Aid, but ’tis too late,

Grim Death had gotten a Decree from Fate;

Which retrograded all that great supply,

Whose pow’rfull Arms makes Death and Feavers fly

But E1r 49

But why, great Fate! would’st thou so cruel be,

Of Joy 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;

’Tis 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,

’Twou’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

E By E1v 50

By the Apollo’s (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 Æsculapian (b) Young Physicians. Crew,

Whose 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 E2r 51

On the same. A Pindarique Ode.


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 the 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, Covetousness, or Lust;

It to Ambition makes no room,

Nor can it be by Int’rest 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.

E2 But E2v 52


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 cross’d;

Or as one that wakes out of a dream,

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 Joys but Ashes at the core.

Ah E3r 53


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 less joy for me than for himself express.


Of my Youth he was the Guide,

All its extravagance with curious eye,

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,

E3 In E3v 54

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.


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 profound,

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.

But E4r 55


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 substracting the one Figure form the 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 from 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.


How soon he comes, I need not care,

Who may to me a better fortune share;

E4 For E4v 56

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.


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 E5r 57

To th’ mighty Universe;

And find a Language to reherse

The praise of him who them and us has made.


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 E5v 58

Coming from-------in a Dark Night.


Fa/rewell, O Eyes, which I ne’er saw before,

And ’tis 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.


Oh ’tis 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 E6r 59

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 Joys, and we’ll repay them you.

Rouse up your Soul, and shew your self indu’d

With Mothers Prudence Fathers Fortitiude;

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 E6v 60

(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 E7r 61

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,

Its 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 preposterous show,

Than April Flowers stuck on St. Michael’s Bow.

To consecrate thy first-born Sighs to me,

A superannuated Deity;

Makes that Indolatry and deadly Sin,

Which otherwise had only Venial been.

To E7v 62

To My Young Lover on His Vow.


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.


Sweet Youth, thou know’st not what it is,

To be Love’s Votary;

Where E8r 63

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.


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 E8v 64

To My Young Lover.

A Song.

To praise sweet Youth, do thou forbear,

Where there is no desert;

For, alas, Encomiums here,

Are Jewels 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 F1r 65

To my Unkind Friend, Little Tom King.


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.

’Twere 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,

F Which F1v 66

Which a Modish friendship brings,

My pensive Dove shall sit and coo alone.


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.


Since then the World’s so much to Bus’ness prone,

’Tis time that idle I was gone:

Alas, F2r 67

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.

F2 Hence F2v 68


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 F3r 69

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.

F3 A Second F3v 70

A Second Epistle. To my Honoured Friend Mr. E. S.


Oft has my Muse and I fall’n out,

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.

And F4r 71


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,

’Tis fit, how e’er the Principal be spent,

To pay the Int’rest of Acknowledgment.


And with her I must acknowledge too,

The honour which you did on me bestow,

Though I unworthy were of it:

Not but your Judgment knew well how to chuse

A worthier Subject than my Muse,

To exercise th’ Exu’brance of your Wit;

F4 But F4v 72

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 Pa- F5r 73

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 Cælia, 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.

’Tis F5v 74

’Tis mighty Love’s All-pow’rfull Bow,

Which has Alexis hit;

A pow’rfull Shaft will hit us too,

E’er we’re aware 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,

’Tis 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.

I Boy. So F6r 75

I 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.


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 F6v 76

To Mr C. B. On His Incomparable Singing.

The Honour that the Air receives

From thy Melodious Voice,

Sure makes it grieve it cannot give

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 F7r 77

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 F7v 78

The Complaint.


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 exveeded theirs,

To me thou ne’er did’st wander in thy Prayers.


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.

But F8r 79


But now thou’rt grown prophane Atheistical,

Not chang’d thy Faith, but cast off all:

So Sacrilegious too thou art,

Thou’rt not content 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 F8v 80

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 from 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. G1r 81

A Song.


The Heart you left, 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 disturbs,

Turns all my Thoughts away;

My stoutest Resolutions curbs,

Makes Judgment 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.

G A Song G1v 82

A Song.

Give o’er my Fidelius, my Fidelius give o’er,

Since Menælus your Father dislikes our Amour,

In silence let us our misfortunes deplore.

Not that his fair 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. G2r 83

A Song.


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;

’Tis I must dye for your offence,

And be thought guilty too.


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 Villanies

Occasions this my fall;

Else I had dy’d a Sacrifice,

But now a Criminal.

G2 A Bacha- G2r 84

A Bachanalian Song.

Troy had a Breed of brave stout Men,

Yet Greece made shift to rout her;

’Cause each 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 G3r 85

Nor were the Græcians only fam’d

For Drinking, and for Fighting;

But he that drank, and wan’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 fly quicker.

Let Bacchus be both God of War,

And God of Wit, and then, Boys,

We’ll drink and fight, and drink and write;

And if the Sun set with his light,

We’ll drink him up again, Boys.

G3 An G3v 86

An Ode.

I’ve often thought, but ne’er till now cou’d find

Why Heroes so much strove,

Their Greatness to improve;

’Tis 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 G4r 87

Scepters and Crowns were silly trifling things;

’Twou’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.

G4 Methinks G4v 88

Methinks I almost wish ’twas 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 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 G5r 89

Parting with ———

Although thou now put’st me in a doubt,

By going I know not where:

Yet know my Soul will beat about,

Not rest till she have found 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 flat 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 G5v 90

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 G6r 91

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.

Jane, G6v 92

Jane, Nan, and Frank, their Farewell to Captain C. going to Sea.


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.


And the worst Enemy,

E’er thou may’st meet,

May G7r 93

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 Jane, Nan, and Frank in a Wind.

To G7v 94

To Her Lovers Complaint.

A Song.


If you complain your Flames are hot,

’Tis ’cause they are impure,

For strongest Spirits scorch us not,

Their Flames we can endure.


Love, like Zeal, shou’d be divine,

And ardent as the same;

Like Stars, which in cold Weather shine,

Or like a Lambent Flame.


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 G8r 95

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 G8v 96

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 ’ts 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 Scoffing,

Damming, Censuring and Laughing.

Then prithee, George, prevent this wretched Fate,

And all their damning Censures antedate.

To H1r 95

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,

But ride poor Six-foot out of breath,

And wrack a Metaphor to death;

Who make their Verse imbibe the crimes,

And the lewd Follies too o’th’ times;

Who think all Wit consists in Ranting,

And Vertuous Love in wise Gallanting:

H And H1v 96

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 curs’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 H2r 97

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 Joys 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:

H2 Nay H2v 98

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 Inquietudes 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 fortifie it in distress,

In joy th’ augment its happiness:

Thoughts attend us at all times,

They urge us to do 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 Fare- H3r 99

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) Having learned Latin by reading the Latin Poets. bright influence.

Wise Aristotle and Hippocrates,

Galen, and the most Wise Socrates;

Æsculapius, 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), My Brother. from whom they did expect to see

New Lights to search Nature’s obscurity.

H3 Now H3v 100

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) 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 ’twas 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, lets Death and Darkness in!

And H4r 101

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,

Walæus and Harvey cry’d, Madam, follow us,

They brought me to the first and largest (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) Morbi in infimo ventre, Diarrhœa, $c. Ventriculus,

Then pass’d we through the space call’d Pylorus;

And to the Dining-Room we came at last,

Where the (f) Venæ Lactea. Lactæans take their sweet repast.

From thence we through a Drawing-room did pass,

And came where Madam Jecur busie was;

H4 Sangui- H4v 102

Sanguificating (g) Secundem 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) 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 Journey with the Blood,

Trac’d the Meanders of its Purple flood.

Thus we through many Labyrinths did pass,

In such, I’m sure, Old Dædelus ne’er was;

Sometimes i’th’ Out-works, sometimes i’th’ first Court;

Sometimes i’th’ third these winding streams wou’d sport

Them- H5r 103

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, Judgment, 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,

’Twas 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 Journey, 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 H5v 104

But here we find great Lower by his Art,

Surveying the whole (i) De cordia Structura. Structure of the Heart:

Welcome, said he, sweet Cousin, are you here,

Sister to him (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) De Motu Cordis. of his Heart.


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 Joys, 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.

No H6r 105


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 nauseate,

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.


Should’st thou, my Dear, look down on us below,

To see how busie we

Are in Anatomie,

Thoud’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 H6v 106

Yet so Cœlestial 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 H7r 107

On the Death of my Brother.

A Sonnet.


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.


Seek not to know from whence begun

The sadness of the Nightingale:

Nor why the Heliotrope and Sun,

Their constant Amity do fail.


The Turtles grief look not upon,

Nor reason why the Palm-trees mourn;

When, Widow-like, they’re left alone,

Nor Phœnix why her self doth burn.


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.

Resolved H7v 108

Resolved never to Versifie more.

Fear not, my Friends, you ever more shall see

The folly of a Verse from me;

For howsoe’er my inclinations drive,

Yet in this Town they will not thrive;

At best but blasted, wither’d Rhimes they are,

Such as appear in Smithfield once a year.


No more than Beauty, without Wealth, can move

A Gallants heart to strokes of Love;

Than fair perswasions, without stripes, reduce

The Birds of Bridewell, or of Stews;

Than Gypsies without Money can foreshow,

No more can Verse in London grow.


Verse is th’ tender’st Plant i’th’ Field of Wit,

No Storm must ever blow o’er it;

A very H8r 109

A very Noli-me-tangere it is,

It shrivels with the touch of business;

But, Heliotropian like, it seeks the gleams

Of Quietudes reviving Beams.

How shou’d it then endure this irksome shade,

Which is by noise of Plots and Bus’ness made?

H8v Aa1r


or, the
Second Part

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. 16881688.

Aa1v Aa2r
Miscel- Bb1r [I]

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.


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 fleeting Shadow, hastes away,

Unable to continue in one stay;

It disappears, and can’t survive the day.

Bb The Bb1v 2


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?

’Tis for our Sins thou dost employ this Sting,

Thou justly angry art, our God and King,

But takest no delight in punishing.


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.


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 Judge, thy wretched People spare.

For Bb2r 3

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 J.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.

Bb2 Hark! Bb2v 4

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 Jubilee.

Arise, my Friends, and wipe your Eyes,

Salvation’s drawing nigh;

Let’s live to dye, and dye to rise,

T’enjoy Eternity.


Epi- Bb3r 5

Epitaph on Mrs. E.F. who sickned of the Small Pox, and Deceased 1686-12-31December 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 Judge shall call,

Earth shall give up her share, and Heav’n have all.

Bb3 An Bb3v 6

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, what then besieged the Town, 1680-10-24Octob. 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 willt hese 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 Bb4r 7

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 J.C.

What, will my Mourning yet no period find!

Must sighs & sorrow still distract my Mind?

My Sense grows feeble, 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 find none but him

To gratifie your hungry Jaws withall;

Or, if in haste, none but a Doctor’s fall?

Bb4 Howe’er Bb4v 8

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 rave,

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 Journey take hours,

Into a distant Climate, well may Ours:

Then with what care ought we to spend those

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 strech’t.

But oh! I wander from my Virtuous Friend;

’Tis true indeed he’s dead, but yet no end

Can Bb5r 9

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.

’Tis strange! to think he shou’d himself neglect,

Whose study ’twas 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 Bb5v 10

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 waht here for Faith was meant,

Like the bright Amathyst and Onyx Stone,

This glorious Fabrick is erected on;

The Bb6r [II]

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 jasper,

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 Bb6v 12

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 Joy 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 Bb7r 13

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, Jesus the King of th’ Jews;

Who was like Charles our Sovereign betray’d,

Whom the same shew of Justice did degrade:

But now the Jews from these do differ hence,

Their Errours did from Ignorance commence,

Because they thought not Christ their lawful Prince:

But Bb7v 14

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 begin,

And persevere in their Rebellious Sin,

Till they’ve intrench’d upon their Soveraign’s Right

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 Bb8r 15

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 Judgments 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, and now King;

That so they may to him, and all his Race,

And to themselves, brign a continu’d Peace:

And after crown’d with honour and success,

At last enjoy Eternal happiness.

Upon Bb8v 16

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 fleeting 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 Cc1r 17

Place thy affections upon things above,

Try then to surfeit if 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 waste, and Years increase,

Thou shalt at last expire with Joy 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 Mankind by reason of thy Sin.

Alas poor Man! thy Paradise is lost,

And thou might’st justly from thy Bliss be toss’d

Cc Into Cc1v 18

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.


What Anthem’s this, sweet Angels, that you sing

Unto us Men? do ye glad tydings bring?


We come from Heaven, we declare no Ill,

But Peace on Earth, and unto Men Good-will.


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?


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.


But how shall we of this assured be?

What sign or token may we find or see?


Want ye a sign? then do but us believe:

Here’s one, behold a Virgin does conceive:

A Virgin Cc2r 19

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.


This being then the day of Jesus 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;

Cc2 Where Cc2v 20

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 Cc3r 21

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 Joy.

More on the same Subject

Let this days triumph o’er the World be crown’d,

A day of Jubilee 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

Joyn with the sweeter of the Virginal;

Let all the Voices, both of Base and Trebble,

Joyn 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 perfect joy may be express’d,

At the Solemnity of such a Feast,

Cc3 Let Cc3v 22

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 [Surine,]

Or took the Nature of a Seraphin?

But this had been contrary to thy Will,

Who came the Prophet’s Sayings to fulfill:

Besides Cc4r 23

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 keep 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:

Cc4 The Cc4v 24

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 Jewish Rite shou’d disappear?

The Circumcision of the Heart was then

Esteem’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 Cc5r 25

The former (a) Circumcision. Rite Mortification taught,

(b) Baptism. This a more comprehensive meaning brought;

To wash off Adam’s Sin is the intent,

As Water is a cleaning 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 respect pass by.

’Tis fit we shou’d commemorate such days

With an ecstatick and exalted praise,

And all our Faculties in Transport raise.

Eyes Cc5v 26

Eyes and Tears.


How wisely Nature did decree,

With the same Eyes to weep and see!

That having view’d the Object vain,

We might be ready to complain.


What in the World most fair appears,

Yea ev’n laughter turns to tears;

And all the Jewels which we prize,

Melt in these Pendents of the Eyes?


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.

Yet Cc6r 27


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.


So Magdalen in Tears more wise,

Dissolv’d those Captivating Eyes;

Whose liquid Chains cou’d flowing meet,

To fetter her Redeemers Feet.


The sparkling Glance that shoots desire,

Drench’t in these Waves, do’s lose its fire:

Yea oft the Thunderer pity takes,

And here the hissing Lightning slakes.


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.

Now Cc6v 28


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.


Thus let your Streams o’er-flow your Springs,

Till Eyes and Tears be the same things:

And each the others diff’rence bears,

These weeping Eyes those seeing Tears.

To Cc7r 29

To Mrs. Jane Barker, on her most Delightfull and Excellent Romance of Scipina, now in the Press.

By J.N. Fellow of St. John’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 fit,

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 Cc7v 30

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 Judgment 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 Broad-piece.

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.

’Twould 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.

To Cc8r 31

To see with what new Air the Lover charms!

Till doubly bless’d in fair Clarinthia’s Arms.

Triumphs 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;

The cold Insensible would disappear,

And with each Mourning Fair he’d shed a Tear.

But when He reads the happy Lover’s Joys,

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 Cc8v 32

Thy Lines may pass severest Virtue’s Test,

More than Astræa’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 Joy.

Then if by day they kindle noble Fire,

And with gay thoughts your nightly Dreams inspire,

Bless, Bless the Author of your soft desire.


To Dd1r 33

To Mrs. Jane 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 though 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 Gallant Meaning the Muse. 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, 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.

Dd What Dd1v 34

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 Dd2r 35

To the Incomparable Author, Mrs. Jane Barker, On her Excellent Romance of Scipina.

By a Gentleman of St. John’s College, Cambridge.

Fair Female Conqueror, we all submit

To the joynt force of Beauty, and of Wit:

And thus like vanquish’d Slaves in Triumph led,

Laurels 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;

Dd2 Out- Dd2v 36

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.


On Dd3r 37

On the Posthume and Precious Poems of Sir Matthew Hale, Late Lord Chief Justice 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 Judge, Minion of Thespian Dames,

Apollo’s Darling born with Enthian Flames;

Dd3 Which Dd3v 38

Which in thy numbers wave, and shine so clear,

As sparks refracted in rich Jems 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. 80.

By Mr. J. 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 Dd4r 39

The Sword of Justice 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.

Dd4 To Dd4v 40

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, ’tis 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 before.

The Dd5r 41

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 wil 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 Dd5v 42

On Christmas-day.

O God! who art most Excellent and Wise!

I see the Morning Beams break through the

And with great admiration view the Light Skies;

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:

’Tis beyond th’ art of Rhet’rick to display,

What Christians solemnize this Festal day.

Two sacred Words, are an Epitome

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 Dd6r 43

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 joyfully the heav’nly Host above,

Proclaim to Man, glad tyding of thy Love?

And shall Mankind so much ungrateful be,

Or rather sink into stupidity,

As not with equal Joy 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 Dd6v 44

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 Dd7r 45

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!

’Tis far more brittle than a Venice-Glass;

’Tis as a Shadow, which is quickly fled;

Or as a Word, which in as small time’s said;

’Tis as a Vapour rising from the Earth,

But at the most ’tis 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 Dd7v 46

To reach her Pinacles; which if I do,

’Tis 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 Dd8r 47

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 frozen 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 June 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 first it took its fire.

These Flames I feel, which in my Heart do dwell,

Are not thy Beams, but take their fire from Hell.

O quench Dd8v 48

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 PrinceGeorge, 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 Ee1r 49

If Common Greatness these just Rights can claim,

What Nobler Train must wait on Buckingham!

When so much Wit, Wit’s Great Reformer, dyes,

The very Muses at thy Obsequies,

(The Muses, that melodious cheerfull 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 from 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

Ee (Whilst Ee1v 50

(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 Tempest 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,

The 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 Ee2r 51

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 fainting 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 Jove 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.

Ee2 So Ee2v 52

So the fam’d Phœnix 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 Phœnix 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 Ee3r 53

Upon the Death of Oliver Cromwell, In Answer to Mr. W---’s Verses.

By Mr. Godolphin.

’Tis 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.

Ee3 In Ee3v 54

In Battle Herc’les wore 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 Justice, 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 Ee4r 55

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!

’Tis 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.

Ee4 A Crew Ee4v 56

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 ’tis good

Not to omit the Spring, but let ’em Blood.

Rouse then, Heroick Britains, ’tis 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 Ee5r 57

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, ahve 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,

First beaten home, then beaten back again.

And Ee5v 58

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 Ee6r 59

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 Ee6v 60

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 fat, 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 Syndrophel.

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 Ee7r 61

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 unstrav’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,

’Tis 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, fly;

Whilst at my Death I my Ambition rue,

In this my Cupboard, and my Coffin too;

Farewell to Victuals, Greatness, and to you.

To Ee7v 62

To the Secretary of the Muses.

A New-Years-Gift.


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 Ee8r 63

With false Aspersions whitest truths they touch,

And will aubse, because they can’t debauch.

No, Julian, ’tis 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 Scribblers 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, Julian, now is done,

We know there comes another rowling on,

And still another too when that is gone.

But Ee8v 64

But Wit lyes unmanur’d, the barren store

Is ebbing out—I fear ’twill flow no more.

’Tis well thou dost not live on Wit alone,

For the dull trash the Men of Sence disown,

Thy duller Coxcombs wth 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 ’tis 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 ’twill please.

Dull then as ’tis, this New-years-gift of mine,

If manag’d well, may help to get thee thine.

Epi- Ff1r 65

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 ’twas that which brought him in his Bread,

And ’tis a crime to vilifie the Dead.

His Honour for Religion still was great,

In Covent-Garden Church he’d slumb’ring fit,

To shew his Piety was like his Wit.

Ff But Ff1v 66

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, ’tis 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 Sa- Ff2r 67

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:

Ff2 Through Ff2v 68

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 Charybdis 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 Journey makes

Through Error’s fenny Bogs, and thorny Brakes,

And craggy, steep untrodden Paths he takes;

’Tis 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 Ff3r 69

Than Country-Justice, 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:

Jowler the Wise the plodding Jowler 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.

Ff3 And Ff3v 70

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 ’tis 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 flew.

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 Ff4r 71

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;

’Tis 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;

Ff4 Of Ff4v 72

Of Vertues and of Honesty possest,

Against all ills h’as trebly arm’d his Breast:

Steel, Brass, 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 wore 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 Ff5r 73

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 Ff5v 74

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 ’tis 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, Ff6r 75

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 Jig,

Huge Pantaloons and huffing 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 Friends 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 Ff6v 76

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,

’Tis 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-bread 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 subject worthy his immortal vein;

Where Ff7r 77

Where greater deeds wou’d his great Muse employ,

Than when she sang the tedious Seige 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.

’Tis 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.

Whe- Ff7v 78

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 Ff8r 79

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 Jest, 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,

He scarcely sleeps for laughing all the Night.

Tricks himself up th’ next Morn, and hies with speed

To tell his Miss th’ intriegue of what he did;

Who makes reply, ’Twas 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:

Pro- Ff8v 80

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 Jest commands the gen’ral Vogue,

And all admire and hug the witty Rogue.

And if you once but chance to break a Jest,

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, ’tis the Archest Rogue, the wittiest Thing,

He shall e’er long be Jester 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 Gg1r 81

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 at 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;

’Twoud pass for Wit, because it came from Hell.

But being of Patience totally bereft,

The Room and House in rage and haste I left.

Gg Now Gg1v 82

Now sum up all their Courage, Wit, and then

Tell me if Reason will allow them Men;

Rather a large and handsome fort 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,

’Tis 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 Con- Gg2r 83

A Congratulatory Poem

To His most Sacred Majesty James 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.

Gg2 But Gg2v 84

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 Gg3r 85

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 sar, for a Conquerour.

The World of your Atchievements are afraid,

And th’ Rebels fly 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.

Gg3 A Pa- Gg3v 86

A Panegyrick On His Present Majesty

James 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 Gg4r 87

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,

Justice 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.

Gg4 With Gg4v 88

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 Slaves.

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.

“With- Gg5r 89

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 Pasts, 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 Gg5v 90

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 sight.

Illustrious Acts high raptures do infuse,

And ev’ry Conqueror creates a Muse.

Here in low strains thy milder deeds we sing,

And then, Great Prince we’ll Bays and O live 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 Joseph’s slaves, pay reverence and bow.

A Con- Gg6r 91

A Congratulatory Poem on His Sacred Majesty James the Second’s Succession to the Crown.

No sooner doth the Aged Phœnix 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 Gg6v 92

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 Jehovah’s Trust attest,

Without a base perswading interest

When pleasing flattery puts on her charms,

To take with gentle Arts and soft 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 Gg7r 93

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 Jealousies 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 James 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 Gg7v 94

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 most sweetly

Plac’d on a spreading Elm amongst the rest, sing;

(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:

’Tis 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 Gg8r 95

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 five 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 Gg8v 96

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?

Want- Hh1r 97

Wanting due seasoning, all flesh will taint,

’Tis 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;

’Twill 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.

Hh Far- Hh1v 98

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 you are 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- Hh2r 99

Good-natur’d, handsome, Eloquent and wise,

Well learn’d, and Skill’d in Arts, of equal size,

’Tis 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.

Hh2 Advice Hh2v 100

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 Hh3r 101

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 waft 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 compelled to land,

Pluto himself will let you understand.

Hh3 The Hh3v 102

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 Joy and Freedom, for they’re fled.

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 Hh4r 103

She might go travel where and when she please,

To pass away the tedious time with ease:

But when once subject to the Jugal 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;

Hh4 So Hh4v 104

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 thoud’st resolve not to be seen,

A Frown to me had more than Mid-night been.

The Hh5r 105

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 Hh5v 106

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,

’Twere blasphemy to fetch a Simile hence.

In You each Member shows the whole to be,

Not bare perfection, but a Prodigie.

Nature Hh6r 107

Nature turn’d spend-thrift, now designs no more

T’ amuse poor Mortals with such monst’rous store,

Since you have made her Bankrupt quite, and poor.

Your Eyes (like Heav’ns Illustrious Lamps) dispence

By Beams more bright a secret influence

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 Judgment great,

But not possessed with a self-conceit:

Per- Hh6v 108

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 Hh7r 109

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 Hh7v 110

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 Bower:

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 tread,

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 Hh8r 111

What follows will our pleasures most inhance,

When we shall swim in Ecstasie and Trance,

And speechless Joys; 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 witness 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.

Ano Hh8v 112

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 Journey 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 Jove 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! Ii1r 113

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 lost 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?

’Tis wretched sure to be a Pow’r Divine;

And not the Joys 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.

Ii The Ii1v 114

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 Foes;

To Ii2r 115

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 give 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.

Ii2 A Ii2v 116

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 Jove.

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 Ii3r 117

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.

Ii3 A Speech Ii3v 118

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 ’twou’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 Ii4r 119

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.

Ii4 Not Ii4v 120

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 ’twas 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 Ii5r 121

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 Ii5v 122

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.

’Twas 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, Ii6r 123

Oh, Barb’rous Sex! whose Nature is to rook

And cheat Mankind with a betraying look.

Hence I’ll keep guard within from all your Charms,

And ever more resist all fresh Alarms;

I’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 attracting 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 Ii6v 124

Stretch out my Arm all o’er th’inconstant stain,

And then cleave down her treach’rous limbs in twain:

The greatest plagues Invention e’er cou’d find,

Is not sufficient for th’ inconstant Mind.

I think I have o’er-come my Passion quite,

And cou’d not love, although ’twere 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

Sure ’tis the vigour of unbounded Will.

Too much, I fear, my Fetters are not gone, still,

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:

Begone, Ii7r 125

Begone, 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 Ii7v 126

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 chuse

The Soul-fair-she to be thy blessed Spouse.

Beauty’s corrupt, and like a Flower stands,

To be collected by impurest hands;

’Tis hard, nay ’tis 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 fell:

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 Ii8r 127

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.


’Tis the preheminence that’s 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 Ii8v 128

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 Kk1r 129

A Love-Letter. By W. S. Gent.


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 takes seat:

Kk Whiter Kk1v 130

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 attractive graces,

Than can extracted be from humane Faces!

Oh let me at those balmy Lips take fire,

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 Kk2r 131

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 Heart,

And pierce it more than Cupid’s feigned Dart.

Letters a kind of Magick Vertue have,

And like strong Philtres humane Souls inslave;

Kk2 They Kk2v 132

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 Jove’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 Magpyes 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 Kk3r 133

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?

Kk3 Oh, Kk3v 134

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;

’Tis pleasure so to be betray’d,

And I for ever shall delight,

To be pursu’d by such a charming Sprite.

Love’s Sympathy.


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 fence 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.

Th’are Kk4r 135


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.


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:

Judge hence then our Estate,

Since when we lov’d, there was not put

Two Earthen hearts in one breast, but

Two Souls Co-animate.

Kk4 A Kk4v 136

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 ’tis 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 Kk5r 137

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 Kk5v 138

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 Wonder why Dame Nature thus

Her various gifts dispences,

She ev’ry Creature else but us

With Arms or Armour fences.

The Kk6r 139

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.


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 baffie harms;

But to poor Women she denies

Armour to give, or Arms.


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 ’tis no matter, so she doth

Still beauteous Faces yield;

We’ll conquer Sword and Fire, for both

To Beauty leave the Field.

A Pin- Kk6v 140

A Pindarique Ode.

By Mr. John Whitehall.


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 ’twou’d not doe;

For in the conflict I was almost crucify’d.


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.

Next Kk7r 141


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 did since

I cou’d not with all these contend, but must have dy’d.


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.


But why? but why

Name I this great impossibility?

I scarce cou’d so remove

The Kk7v 142

The great affection which I bear,

Were you as bad, as good you are,

So difficult ’twill 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.

Pres’d with my thoughts, I to confession 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 swift Pinnace toss’d

In Storms; the Rudder gone, and Compa