Come, Sing my Muse, that Lamp that once
did prove,

The constant Witness of a secret Love;

That Lamp, that o’re the Sea the Lover drew,

To dark embraces which the Sun ne’re knew.

Sing Sestos and Abidus; Sing the whole,

How Hero her enjoyments nightly stole:

For till an envious blast did it betray

To Love’s soft joys, it nightly shew’d the way.

Sing on my Muse, how Fate did give that light

And young Leander one eternal night.

Two Towns there stood which Helle did divide,

The one was Europe’s, t’other Asia’s Pride.

This the great Sestos, that Abydos nam’d;

Cupid to both one Golden Arrow aim’d;

Here a brave Youth, there a young Maid he shot,

This lovely Hero, young Leander that.

Leander liv’d upon Abydo’s Shore,

Ne’re Sestos stood the Virgin Hero’s Tow’r;

Both shew’d a Star to their respective Town,

Both by each others Beauties to be known.

Reader, If’t be thy fortune or thy fate

To view these Castles, find where Hero sate.

On Venus Bow’r, a Lamp fixt in her hand,

Guiding Leander to his wish’d-for Strand:

Seek me Abydos out, where to this day

Rites to Leander all the Natives pay;

Hero descended from a noble Race,

Unskill’d in Love, knew not what Cupid was:

Far from her Fathers House, on Helle’s Shore,

Liv’d in a great, but solitary Tow’r;

Was Venus Priestess; such her Grace and meen,

You’d rather take her for that Beauties Queen:

Yet to obscure what all that saw admir’d,

She prudently from company retir’d;

Danc’d at no Balls, to shun the envious fair,

For all the Sex in Beauty envious are.

Her Bus’ness was, her Goddess to attone,

And sometimes to the Mother joyn’d the Son;

Now was the yearly Feast of Venus come,

When it was thought a sin to stay at home;

This Sestos did to Venus Dedicate,

In memory of Adonis mournful fate.

They swarm’d from every Quarter many Miles;

From Thessally and all the neighb’ring Isles:

Some Youths from Cyprus come, but not a Maid

On Libanus, or in Cythera staid;

Hither the Phrygian Lads did all resort,

Abydos left not one to guard the Sport.

Hero i’th’ Temple walks, and so displays

Among th’ admiring Crowd her charming Rays;

So Cynthia exalts her Beauty’s Pride,

When all the lesser Lights are round her side;

The Lillies of her cheeks with Roses joyn,

To give her Face a lustre all Divine;

View but those Limbs that bless the common Air,

You’ll find a Bed of Violets blushing there;

Her feet beneath her Alb, plays in and out,

And spread a thousand Roses round about.

That Poet never had good word of mine,

Who did the Graces but to three confine;

Let Hero smile, the doting Bard shall swear

Ten thousand Graces in her Eyes appear;

A lovely Priestess for the Queen of Love,

Her Sov’rein Charms did so Majestick prove,

That She without a Rival all did pass,

And Venus Maid another Venus was.

Now ev’ry Youth a welcome heat did fire,

Not one but her enjoyment did desire;

Still as she walk’d before the gazing Crowd,

All Eyes, and hearts, and wishes, her pursu’d;

Till a gay Youth, to give his Passion ease,

Broke silence in these words, or such as these.

“I’ve travell’d Greece, have been at Sparta fair,

Where the fam’d celebrated Beauties are;

Yet never have I seen a Face like thine,

The Graces sure attend at Venus Shrine.”

“Had I but Hero mine, at my abode,

I should be lessen’d to be made a God;

But if thy Priestess Venus be deny’d,

Grant me, oh grant me! such another Bride.”

Thus spoke the Youth, and others much the
same,

Whose hearts were fir’d, tho they conceal’d the
flame.

The young Leander, he his Passion own’d,

He scorn’d to hide an honourable wound.

Love lit’ his Torch, brave Youth, at Hero’s Eyes,

And did thy Soul with gen’rous fire surprize;

Swift are the darts that charming Beauties cast,

The feather’d Arrows fly not half so fast;

The Eye, ye wretched Lovers, is the way

By which the wound they to the heart convey.

A while Leander diff’rent Passions move,

A silent, then a bashful trembling Love;

But Cupid’s fresh assaults soon rous’d his Sense,

And gave him a convenient Impudence:

Now at less distance he confronts the Dame,

And flings a glance to tell his silent flame;

Hoping this secret way the Maid to win,

And lead her by that wanton path to sin.

Hero well pleas’d Leander was her Slave,

Now Veils that Beauty which the Victory gave:

But first (for she too felt Love’s pow’rful God)

She kindly sent him an assigning Nod;

And then afresh does all her Beams display,

Leander knew what those dumb signs did say:

And now a pleasing Joy through ev’ry vein

Told him she knew, and wou’d relieve his pain;

And while he long’d for a fit time and place,

The wearied Sun had run his daily race:

Hesperus shews a dusky kind of Light,

And welcome Clouds combine to hasten night.

Then with more boldness did the Youth draw
nigh,

And prest her fingers with a willing sigh;

While she with Scorn drew her fair hand away,

Her Eyes alass, much kinder things betray,

Embolden’d then he took her by the Gown,

And forc’d her to the Vestry all alone;

She seem’d unwilling, and half chiding said,

“Unhand me cruel Man; Heavens! are you mad?

Is this the manner of your rude address?

D’ye know my Function? dare you treat me thus?

Ah leave me while y’are safe, if you are wise,

My Father’s Rage, your Folly will Chastise:

—But wou’d you Sir—indeed—debauch a Nun—

A harmless Maid is not so easily won.”

Thus Hero chides, if Virgins know to chide,

But this cou’d not her softer passion hide;

When Women use th’ Artillery of the Tongue,

No doubt they will surrender e’re be long:

Know then when such faint threats you Lovers
hear,

They yield apace, the assignation’s near.

Leander now secure the Fort to win

First steals a kiss, and then does thus begin:

“My sacred fair, next to the Queen of Love,

Thou to thy Lover shalt a Venus prove;

Next to the Daughter of Jove’s teeming brain

Thou a new Pallas o’re my soul shalt reign;

Thou hast no equal in the World beside,

None but those pow’rs that are to Jove allied;

Happy that Man if he were yet no more,

To whom thou ow’st that being I adore;

Thrice happy is the Womb from whence you
came,

But heal my wounds, and quench my burning
flame.

As Venus Nymph the Rites of Venus mind,

I will instruct those Rites, if you’l be kind:

A Virgin knows not Venus to attone,

Venus will ne’re indure thy Virgine Zone;

Her Institutes ’tis fit that you should read,

Kisses, and all the sweets o’th’ Nuptial Bed;

If to your Goddess you’d obliging prove,

You must submit to the soft Laws of Love.

Come make me thine; Cupid has made me so,

Such is the pow’r of his Victorious Bow,

Who made Alcides quit his Lions skin,

With Omphale and her Maids to set and spin.

You’ve heard of Atalanta I suppose,,,

Who to Diana made acursed Vows;

She scorn’d the great Milanion’s offer’d bed,

But angry Venus bow’d her haughty Pride,

And made her yield to the avenging Boy;

Oh fear the Goddess rage and be not Coy.”

This Tale the list’ning Nymph more easie made,

And to Love’s wandring paths did soon perswade;

She blush’d, and bent her bashful Eyes to Earth,

Her new-born flames deni’d her words a Birth;

And to conceal the fire her Eyes might shew,

She clos’d her Veil, and took a turn or two.

But silence gave consent, ask but your Miss

When she will tast the sweets of Cupid’s bliss?

When she’l assign to give your Passion ease?

If she say nothing, that’s e’ne when you please.

Hero both felt and fan’d Loves eager fire,

Tasting the pleasing pain of new desire:

Leander as the Nymph bow’d down her head,

On her fair Neck his greedy Eyes he fed;

Fresh blushes still a sweet Confusion make,

At last she sigh’d, and trembling, thus she spake:

“Such pow’rful Charms, as these, the Rocks wou’d
move,

Who taught you all these cunning Arts of Love?

Alass”—and then she blush’d— “who brought you
here?

And yet your tale of Love—is lost—I fear—

You are unknown, a Stranger in the Land,

Strangers have Vows and Oaths at their command;

You cannot lead me to a lawful Bed,

My Parents w’ont consent that we shou’d wed;

If you shou’d Sojourn here and steal the Joys,

All over Sestos that would make a noise;

In things of ill report Mens tongues are bold,

What’s done in corners, is in Markets told.

Yet tell your Name, what Countryman you are,

You know my Town, my Name is Hero Sir.

Th’ unkindness of my Parents built this Tow’r,

This Hermitage upon the Sestian Shore,”

“Where every night by Winds and Waves is plaid

A Melancholy dismal Serinade.”

This said she blush’d, and down her Eyes she
hung,

Checking the Licence she had giv’n her Tongue.

Now did Leander all his cunning prove,

Wisely to manage his Intrigue of Love.

When Cupid finds his homage strictly paid,

He kindly heals the wounds his Arrows made;

Where his Supremacy is duely own’d,

There he’s a Friend and not a Tyrant found:

Leander thus distrest finds Cupid’s aid,

And thus with nobler Courage Courts the Maid.

“Alas, can Seas confine my vast desire?

To you, my fair, I’ll make through Seas of fire.

When I to Hero’s Bed wou’d force my way,

The Waves in Storms of Thunder shall obey;

I’ll swim the Hellespont and stem its Tide,

In spite of all its rage and swelling Pride.

At distance, (small for Lovers) against yours,

There stands the Town Abydos, which is ours;

From thence I’ll swim, when day shall end in
night,

Only upon your Turret hang a Light:

That shall Love’s Vessel guide; no more in vain

Will I direct my Course by Charles his Wain:

What good can dull Bootes me afford?

Or fierce Orion with his flaming Sword?

That Light shall be my Star my joys to find,

But as thou lov’st me, guard me from the wind;

My Life no longer than that light will last,

And both will end with one malicious blast.

Till then, since, fairest, you my name would have,

I’m your Leander proud to be your Slave.”

Thus both consent to a clandestine Match,

She to hang up her Lamp by night to watch;

He to swim o’re the Sea; th’ agreement this,

That their stoln pleasures might augment their
bliss:

When thus they’d spent the Night as Lovers do,

They took their Leaves, and sighing, cri’d adieu;

She to her Tow’r, he to a strict survey,

How in the darkest night to find the way.

Now had he put from Shore, and prosperous
Gales

More than he wisht, to Abydos fill’d his Sails:

Both strove with day, and long’d for kinder night,

For night! to give, and hide their stoln delight:

Night came at last, and brought her fresh supplys

Of sleep to all, but Lovers watchful Eyes.

Leander he to the Sea-side repair’d,

To see if his bright Nuptial Star appear’d;

That pledge of Faith that the fond Lover led,

To taste the sweets of Hero’s Virgin Bed.

No sooner had kind Clouds o’respread the skies,

But to her Turret the swift Hero flies;

Hangs out her Lamp, and as she that does fire,

Love fires Leander with more hot desire;

At first when he the raging Sea did hear,

He felt a little kind of seeming fear;

But soon he to th’ inviting Lamp did look,

And then his Manly Courage thus be spoke:

“Loves furious rage is great, no less your Seas,

Such violent Storms no Victim can appease;

The Sea but water is, but Love’s a flame,

That all the Floods of Helle ne’re can tame;

To Love compar’d the Sea’s a feeble thing,

Know’st not what Deity from thence did spring?

Venus, the pow’rful Venus tim’rous fool?

What rules us Lovers does the Sea too rule.”

This said, the Am’rous Youth, with both Arms
swept

Guided by Love, into the Waves he leapt;

A steady Course by his new Star he sought,

Himself the Pilate, Passenger, and Boat.

By the Lamps side poor Hero trembling stood,

And guarded it by all the art she cou’d;

Sometimes she cover’d it, and pray’d the wind

To that and to Leander to be kind:

Over his quiv’ring Limbs she flung her Gown,

And dry’d his Locks that still ran trickling down;

Then to her own apartment led the way,

Whose choice perfumes did the Waves salts allay;

And as he lay still panting on her Bed,

She thus imbrac’d him, and thus softly said.

“Come, my dear Bridegroom, thou thy love hast
tri’d,

As never any Bridegroom did beside;

That all the Waves o’th’ Hellespont can tell,

And that this scent of thine, this brackish smell;

Come let me clasp thee in my longing Arms,

There I’ll secure thee from all threatning harms.”

Ravish’d with pleasure he unti’d her Zone,

And so the Rites of Venus were begun;

Nuptials there were, but yet no Nuptials Dance,

No Musick or Love-Song their Joys inhance;

Not one of Phœbus Prophets tun’d his Lyre,

Not one o’th’ Graces, or the Muses Choyr:

Black night alone was conscious of their Bliss,

The day ne’re saw the Bride and Bridegroom kiss;

Before Aurora well cou’d dress the Morn,

Leander still had made his quick return,

Nothing discover’d yet, Hero they say

A Wife by night, a Virgin was by day.

To speed the Sun both do their Vows ingage,

Each minute that divides ’em is an Age:

Thus the stoln pleasures of the Bed they tast

Happy; if this their happiness wou’d last.

Too short a thred the Destinies had spun,

Too soon alas, their little Race was run;

When Frost had wither’d all the Verdant plains,

And Winter sent abroad both Storms and Rains;

When the rude Winds no longer were confin’d,

But ravag’d up and down as they’d a mind;

When Seas obey’d their Tyrannous Commands,

Ships burst asunder on the yielding Sands;

When Seamen trembled tho on Shore they stood,

Then young Leander, you your Courage shew’d;

Not raging Seas, nor terrors of the Night

Cou’d stop your Course, when once you saw that
light;

That fickle treacherous Light, that made thee
brave

Thy threatning Fate, and scorn each gaping
Wave.

Believe me Hero, now thy Love’s thy Crime,

You shou’d have lain alone this Stormy time;

Dark was the night, the raging Winds did roar,

Who with joyn’d Forces now attack the Shore;

When young Leander to enjoy his Bride

With matchless Courage did a Wave bestride;

A Wave, that with a wild Auxiliary aid

Durst storm the Skies, and make th’ Hav’ns afraid;

A Civil War did all the Winds ingage,

Great was the fury of intestin Rage;

Eurus with all the Forces of the East,

Charg’d Zephyrus the General of the West;

The North and South joyn’d Battel on the place,

And Notus Hector’d Boreas to his face;

Their hideous noise like that of Thunder spread.

Oh whither should Leander flie for aid!

Sometimes he did for help on Venus call,

Sometimes upon his knees to Neptune fall;

Nor did he leave the blustring Boreas out,

Tho he his Atthis now had quite forgot:

But Fate prevail’d, not one would lend an Ear,

Not one of all the Gods would hear his Prayer;

Now did he yield himself to every Wave,

His Legs and Arms were tir’d, and cou’d not save;

He gasp’d his last, and Floods ran down his
Throat,

And now, just now, the fatal Lamp went out;

Curst be that blast that was so rudely thrown,

That Lamp of Love is with the Lover gone;

Hero outwatch’d the Lamp, cou’d find no ease,

Tost by her fears as he was by the Seas.

By break of Day she every Wave survey’d,

Thinking, the Lamp being out he might be
stray’d;

But wen she cast her Eyes beneath her Tow’r,

And saw Leander dead upon the Shore,

She from the top herself did headlong throw,

And thus enjoy’d him in the Shades below.

Great Ruler of the Glorious World above

Who seated high in thy Eternal Throne

Dost Heav’n around in rapid Courses move,

And mak’st the Stars thy vast Dominion own.

Thou send’st the Moon array’d in borrow’d Light

To banish Terror from the dismal Night;

And when its lessen’d Orb is in its Wane,

Fill’st with fresh Beams the empty space again;

Yet lets her not usurp her Brothers sway,

But in its course restor’st the welcome day.

The welcome Day, which cheers our longing
sight,

And shames the baffl’d Glory of the Night.

Yet while for meaner things thy care is shown,

That blessing is deny’d to Man alone;

Why should inconstant Fortune else create,

Such various alterations in his State?

Why should the torments, for the guilty meant,

Be made the portion of the Innocent?

While they whose Crimes and guilt deserve Disgrace

Triumph o’re Vertue, and usurp its place.

The forsworn wretch thrives by his Perjurys,

And Fraud succeeds varnish’d with splendid lyes,

And when ’tis pleas’d to exercise its Powers,

It ruins Princes whom the World adores.

Oh thou whose Power to every thing gives
birth,

Regard at last the miserable Earth,

Man, no mean part of thy great work, is tost

In a rough Sea of Fate, and almost lost,

Oh lay the rising Waves, and noisy wind,

And in thy Care let Man a Harbour find;

Let Earth with Heaven participate thy Love,

And rule below propitious as above,

Forgive him, no, no Damn me if I do,

I’ll be reveng’d, and that the World shal
know;

May I be Damn’d to all Eternity

If e’er I put it up; what, take the Lye?

Fool, Coward too, and do I wear a Sword?

His Life shall dearly pay for that proud word:

My self, my friend abus’d, my Mistris too;

And lives the Man that dares provoke me so?

His Blood for satisfaction I will have,

To my revenge I’ll Sacrifice the Slave.

But if the Fates unjust, my Fall decree,

And I thus injur’d, unreveng’d must die,

’Twill please my angry Ghost, to have it sed,

He bravely fell: he fell in Honour’s Bed.

Alas, vain Man, he thinks not there’s a Hell

For him who on that Bed of Honour fell.

False notions did his erring sense deceive,

He knew not that tis nobler to forgive,

Than poorly to revenge; for only Man

Sould bear Affronts, a Worm will turn again;

Oh that we wou’d at last become more wise,

That we would scorn this mean unmanly Vice,

That no more generous blood might here be spilt,

The Nation’s Scandal, and the Victor’s Guilt.

If we’d be brave, let’s make our Vallour known

Against our Countrys Foes, and not our own.

’Twas by this nobler Art that heretofore,

Our ancient Britains rose to so much pow’r;

That they did to that envi’d greatness come,

So fear’d abroad, and so belov’d at home;

Had Blood for ev’ry slight affront been shed,

There scarce had now been left a Man to bleed.

Not I, I’ll never, never entertain

Belief of an Almighty Pow’r again;

Never perswade me to’t: Corina swore

And perjur’d is, yet lovely as before;

No former Beauty from her Cheeks are fled,

Such whiteness still they wear, so dy’d with red;

Her radiant Eyes of Stars out-shone the light,

Her radient Eyes are still than Stars more bright.

Sure ’tis from all Eternity decreed,

The Beauteous ne’re for Perjuries shou’d bleed.

By her own Eyes, deceitful as her heart,

By mine she swore, alas mine felt the smart;

Why oh ye Gods, is she from Vengeance free?

Why’s the dire Curse unjustly fall’n on me?

Is’t not enough she must secure remain,

And triumph over baffl’d Gods and Men?

But that I must, I who no fault have known,

Your Victim fall, and for her crime attone;

Sure there’s no Gods, but in the Vulgars fear,

Who cringe to something, not known what, or
where,

Or if there be, they too the fair adore,

And to the Beauteous Sex resign their Pow’r.

’Tis against Man that they their Armes prepare,

Unhappy Man must all their Anger bear;

While sinful Beauty’s in it self secure,

They all affronts can from the fair indure;

High Tow’rs and Groves Jove with his Thunder
tears,

But Woman! lovely Perjur’d Woman spares.

Who then will Incence on your Altars burn?

Sure braver Man will the base Office scorn.

But why reproach I thus the blest above?

The Gods have eyes and hearts, the Gods may
love;

Were I my self a God, deceiv’d I’d be,

And wink, or smile on Womans Perjury.

I by my self wou’d Swear, (a Sacred Oath)

What ever Woman Swore, was sacred truth;

I’d still be kind, and scorn it shou’d be said

Of me,—he was a rude ill-natur’d God.

Thus Madam you may Reign, yet gently Reign,

And as you cause, so cure the Wretched’s Pain.

You shou’d have had a scrap of Nonsense,

You may remember left at Tonsons.

(Tho by the way that’s scurvy Rhime Sir,

But yet ’twill serve to Tagg a Line Sir.)

A Billet Deux I had design’d then,

But you may think I was in Wine then;

Because it being cold, you know

We warm’d it with a Glass—or so,

I grant you that Shie Wine’s the Devil,

To make ones memory uncivil;

But when ’twixt every sparkling Cup,

I so much brisker Wit took up;

Wit, able to inspire a thinking;

And make one solemn even in Drinking;

Wit that would charm and stock a Poet,

Even instruct—who has no Wit;

Wit that was hearty, true, and Loyal,

Of Wit, like Bays Sir, that’s my Tryal;

I say ’twas most impossible,

That after that one should be dull.

Therefore because you may not blame me,

Take the whole Truth as—shall sa’me.

From White-Hall Sir, as I was coming,

His Sacred Majesty from Dunning;

Who oft in Debt is, truth to tell,

For Tory Farce, or Doggerell,

When every Street as dangerous was,

As ever the Alpian Hills to pass.

When melted Snow and Ice confound one,

Whether to break ones neck or drown one,

And Billet Deux in Pocket lay,

To drop as Coach shou’d Jolt that way,

Against that Sign of Whore call’d Scarlet,

My Coachman fairly laid Pilgarlick.

Tho Scribling Fist was out of joynt,

And ev’ry Limb made great complaint;

Yet missing the dear Assignation,

Gave me most cause of Tribulation.

To Honest H――le I shou’d have shown ye,

A Wit that wou’d be proud t’have known ye;

A Wit uncommon, and Facetious,

A great admirer of Lucretius;

But transitory hopes do vary,

And high Designments oft miscarry,

Ambition never climb’d so lofty,

But may descend too fair and softly,

But would you’d seen how sneakingly

I look’d with this Catastrophe.

So sawcy Whigg, when Plot broke out,

Dejected hung his sniv’ling snout;

So Oxford Member look’d, when Rowley

Kickt out the Rebel Crew so foully;

So Perkin once that God of Wapping,

Whom slippery turn of State took napping,

From hopes of James the second fell

In to the native Scounderell.

So Lover look’d of Joy defeated,

When too much fire his Vigour cheated,

Even so look’d I, when Bliss depriving,

Was caus’d by over-hasty driving,

Who saw me cou’d not chuse but think,

I look’d like Brawn in sowsing drink.

Or Lazarello who was show’d

For a strange Fish, to’th’ gaping Crowd.

Thus you by fate (to me, Sinister,

At Shop of Book my Billet mist Sir.

And sure his grief beyond expressing,

Of Joy propos’d to want the Blessing;

Therefore to Pardon pray incline,

Since disappointment all was mine;

Of Hell we have no other notion,

Than all the Joys of Heav’ns privation;

So Sir with Recommendments fervent,

I rest your very humble Servant.

Happy the Man whose friendly want of
Wit

Makes him for all things but contempt unfit.

Regardless of the burthen of the State,

He laughs at all who toil beneath its weight;

Whose Light, untroubled head does still impart

A simpathetick briskness to the heart;

No Politick designs disturb his rest,

For thoughts are strangers to his peaceful breast;

He acts whatever with his Will agrees,

And fears no Ill, because he none foresees;

In the worst times he needs no more defence,

Than his own native harmless Innocence;

He never under a suspicion lies,

The Fate of all who are reputed wise;

His feet and tongue from all restraint are free,

For there’s no danger in their Liberty;

Nature, at least, made him with this intent,

That he should do no Ill what e’re he meant;

But he means none, nor uses any Art,

But in his words and actions shews his heart;

Through which his most reserv’d designs appear,

As Stones throw Rivers that run low and clear.

So safe he is, that wise men to escape

Some threatned Mischiefs, have assum’d his shape

Admit some term him what he is, a fool,

And strive to turn him into redicule;

Yet he in this the wise man’s part does play,

And laughs at his own Follies more than they;

Nor can his want of wit disturb his mind.

Since ’tis a want that he can never find.

For as the Ape no other form desires,

So much her own she above all desires,

So he requires no wit, to make him wise,

His very Folly that defect supplys.

And, as the Fish, that having hid her head

Sees not her self, does no espial dread,

So he who is to his own failings blind,

Ne’r apprehends the World should any find;

Bless’d Adam thus before His Fig-leaf Dress,

Saw nought to blush at in his Nakedness;

But when alas! he knowing grew, and wise,

He soon became a Nuisance to his eyes;

For Ignorance like Steel Mirrors represents

What pleases, but conceals what discontents;

While knowledg like the clear and flattering
Glass,

Shews all the Imperfections of the Face.

And as by Studying we only know,

How great a part o’th’ World we’re strangers
too;

So still the more in knowledge we advance,

We but the more perceive our Ignorance;

Hence ’tis that Fools have Fortune and Success,

While men of Wit and Parts find nothing less;

For they consider what is fit to speak,

Before they dare their awful silence break,

While the brisk Fop, just as Phanaticks Pray,

Talks most and loudest, that has least to say,

And with the Vulgar, by a lucky hit,

This passes for a Zealot, that a Wit.

Hence then my Books obstructers of my rise,

Should I converse with you, I should grow wise

But I’ll not so long for preferment stay,

Since there’s a nearer, and a surer way;

I’ll be as empty as the shallow’st Pate,

And then perhaps shall be as Fortunate;

Then I may Houses build, and Castles rear,

While wiser Men have none but in the Air;

Oh that at last these busie men would cease,

With Factious Politicks to disturb our Peace!

That they no more would boldly and aloud,

With needless fears possess the heedless Crowd;

No more cajole their Sovereign, nor pretend

To wish his life, while they contrive his end;

Nor rudely pry, into his Royal Brothers mind,

A secret too divine for them to find;

For Princes thoughts like Heavn’s reserv’d decrees,

Are too sublime for Vulgar scrutinies.

But if the wholsom Physick of advice,

Cannot prevent the Ills of being too wise,

And they’ll Plot on—may Heav’n and Charles
think fit,

To exalt their heads, for their pernicious Wit.