rudely dar'st my Rights invade And cloud Love's brighest Lustre with thy shade With barbarous Power act a lawless Guest And Rape a Virgin from her Nuptial Feast The sharpest Bolt in Heaven with fatal speed My eager Rage should dart upon thy head Mo. Raging in vain thou idly spendst thy breath Dost thou not know reward for Sin is Death Since Primitive offence Hymen for Sin I own But ah why should she Perish that had none The sweet Aspatia was all purity Mors. Was not the sweet Aspatia born to dye Hym. Tho Nature's Tribute once she were to pay Could it be due upon her Wedding-day A time when Rapture the pleas'd Sense controuls And spritely Joy kept Revels in their Souls When Vesta fond of her dear Charge to me Had just giv'n up her beauteous Votary A sacred Mould for a blest Progeny At such a time when Love did brightest shine When Life was dear to force her to resign Was cruelty fit for no Breast but thine Mo. These Arguments how vainly you employ You are a Friend but I sworn Foe to Joy At the wide door of Luxury I wait And summon there the least prepar'd to fate An envious Pleasure does my Breast o'erflow To dash their sweetest draughts of Life with wo So when the haughty Syrian Monarch crown'd His swelling Bowls in Gulphs of Pleasure drown'd When Consecrated Vessels were not free From the wild Law of his Impiety When thoughtless Epicures swoln with excess And wanton Women charm'd his Soul with bliss The fatal Hand upon the Wall was plac'd Subscribing that short moment for his last Hym. Why nam'st thou thaâ— or Syria's Monarch here Death as reward of Sin was proper there His ill spent days obtain'd to long a date Spotted with Crimes and mellow'd for his fate But sweet Aspatia guiltless from her birth Divinely liv'd an Angel upon Earth Mors. Merrit extreme but with a Mortal date Hym. All worth is Mortal with remorseless fate A charming Grace did all her Actions guide A sacred Virtue never soil'd with Pride A saint-like Piety a pitying Heart An uncorrupted Beauty without Art Humble as Cottage Girls yet awful too Kidn to distress and to all Merrit true Devout as Angels singing Hymns on high Yet spite of all their Graces Mo. Born to dye Hym. If these could not thy Avarice o'er-come Thou might'st take more to swell the mighty sum Her graceful Modesty her mighty Wit The one delightful as the other great And then for Patience and blest Charity None e'er her equal knew Mo. Yet born to dye Hym. Not only dye but in her blooming Age To feel the Curse of thy extremest Rage A double Death did her dear Life pursue Of Beauty first and then of Nature too Vile Schelliton that wouldst not Pity shew But where no Flesh is how should Pity grow Were thy Soul form'd of any thing but spite Or all the contraâ—ies of soft delight Those Eyes late blinded with disease so foul With pointed Beams had shot thee to the Soul Mo. That was one Reason why I quench'd their fire Her Wit and Beauty did so far aspire Even Death had else been fool'd into desire Pity had warm'd my Breast to let her live And Female Charms had purchas'd a Reprieve Had not resenting Ghosts o'er whom I Reign All murmuring at a thought so strange so vain Declar'd in the Grand Council of my State Pity was fit for any thing but Fate Hym. And Fate more fit for any thing than Love Henceforth aloud in every-shady Grove Where harmless Lovers pretty Garlands wove The Swains and Nymphs Aspatia's Obsequies Shall sing with heavy Hearts and weeping Eyes Aspatia's hapless Fate each Breast shall sway Aspatia's story shall wear out the day Satyrs shall range from their obscure Abode Vice shall grow â—amous Marriage out of mode And till by warrant from the Deity Hymen has power to alter Fate 's decree Of this great wrong he 'll ne'er cease to complain Nor ever tye the genial Knot again An ODE To my much honored Friend Sir THOMAS GARRARD Baronet upon his Climacterical YEAR I. THE famous old Prophet that twenty years toil'd To write us the Psalms that dunce Hopkins has spoil'd In giving account of the Ages of Men Has strangely confin'd us to Threescore and Ten He tells us to scare us his last hour is near That enters the sad Climacterical Year II. Then welfare the Man that inspir'd by good Wine Cares neither for Seventy nor seven times Nine Whose jolly brisk Humor adds sands to his Glass And standing upright can look Fate in the â—ace That makes much of Life but when Nature is due Declines like a Flower as sweet as he grew To his fair Example and Grandeur of Soul Let each in his order Carouse a full Bowl Whatever dull Gown men or Sages may think There 's no Man grows old till he ceases to drink Then Health to Sir Thomas and that he may be As well as sixscore as at sixty and threâ—â— The KING'S Health A CATCH Sung in Parts I. NOW Second Hannibal is come O'er frozen Lakes and mounts of Snow To found our Faith on conquer'd Rome And give Proud France a fatal Blow II. Well may our Phaebus disappear And set his Glory in the Sea If Planets of a lower Sphere Can give us greater light than he III. Fryars and Monks and all those bald-pate Fools With Wafers Oyntments Beads and Shams Pardons and Antichristian Bulls Must yield to Belgick battering Rams IV. Infallibility is gone And Judges of Dispensing Powers That had thier Country quite undone Was ever known such Sons of Whores V. Drink all around then by consent Health to the Monarch of the Land The Queen and healing Parliament Pledge me six Bumpers in a hand And when the Jesuits you see Dangling upon the Triple Tree Fill up six more and sing with me A Plague on senseless Popery A Letter written by the Author for a Friend to one in Town being a SATYR on DINGBOY and a Rampant WIDOW 1685. ABroad when Dingboy's Verses came And in the Scrowl you read my Name Too well my dearest Friend I know You blush'd as much as I do now Not that you thought my scanty Crimes Had not deserv'd Satyrick Rhimes But that I should a Subject be For th' Pen of such a Dunce as he Whose empty Noddle still takes pains Without a dram of Sense of Brains To make my Fame about the Town As black and ugly as his own Nature a signal shame has meant To the Obstinate and Ignorant And Dingboy above all Mankind The Curse of his own Vice does find 'T is plague enough to be a Fool Wretchedly Poor and Proud as Dull To aim at Wit and Writing well And yet not have the sence to spell To give the Noble Art abuse By daring to invoke a Muse. This one would think were shame enough If Block-heads e'er could taste Reproof But he as if the Genius fled From th' barren Soyl of such a Head Still plunges on and
When Death came to demand his pay Thou Slave take this and go thy way II. But since Life is not to be bought Why should I plague my self for nought Or foolishly disturb the Skies With vain Complaints or fruitless Cries For if the fatal Destinies Have all decreed it shall be so What good will Gold or Crying doâ— III. Give me to ease my thirsty Soul The Joys and Comforts of the Bowl Freedom and Health and whilst I live Let me not want what Love can give Then shall I die in peace and have This Consolation in the Grave That once I had the World my slave To Chloris A SONG IF my Addresses are grateful Shew it in granting my Suit Or if my Passion be hateful Leave me and end the dispute I hate your doubling and turning Like a cours'd Hare in a Morning Either comply as you should Or leave me to others that would To pretty Mrs. H. D. upon the sight of her Picture standing amongst other at Mr. Knellers I. COrrinna when you left the Town My Heart secure I thought to find But found alas-new Chains put on By your bright Image left behind II. Your Picture now the Conquest has To my fond Soul new flame returns Like Rays contracted in a Glass Though distant your Reflection burns III. Had Paradise for you been lost Like Adam I had suffer'd too What must that Fruit be to the Taste That is so tempting to the view IV. Your Graces shining at full length Subdue each Souls devoutest skill When Beauty Charms beyond our strength Where is the use of our free Will V. Like that Astronomer I gaze That his propitious Star had found Fixing my Eyes upon your Face I slight the glittering Planets round VI. And as to Shrines when Pilgrims go Such awful Reverence I feel That though I 'm sure 't is only show I scarcely can forbear to kneel To CLORIS An ODE set to the New RIGGADON I Love thee well But not so well to wed thee Lest blood rebel And Appetite should cloy Whilst free and kind Each hour I long to bed thee But if consin'd Should scarce believ 't a Joy Second Movement In Earth and Air All Creatures else possess Their pleasing Liberty Then why should Man The Lord of all the Universe Less happy be Third Movement Bring Musick then and Wine still And every one his Dear That friendship most Divine still That treats with Cher éntiér Fourth Movement The wise think all those very dull To marriage yoaks incline But if e'er I do play the Fool Dear Cloris I am thine An ELEGY on the Death of the Great Duke of ORMOND LAte in a lonely Melancholly Shatle Whilst all my Cares victorious Sleep obey'd A Vision suddenly possess'd my Brain And tortur'd Nature labor'd with the pain My trembling Soul forgot her wonted trade Nor could she call the Senses to her aid Oppress'd with wonder and uncommon awe At the Celestial Miracles she saw Methought upon a Lucid Cloud in State As on a Throne an awful Monarch sate Mysterious Glories shone around his face And soon I knew by each Angellick Grace And the Indulgence of a pitying Smile 'T was that lov'd Prince that lately rul'd this Isle Attending Cherubs sawn'd him with their wings Whilst on each side a row of British Kings All met in Council for some grand Intent Made up in pomp the Glorious Parliament Great Edward Henry deathless in their Fames Two Henrys more and Learned Pious Iames With that blest Martyr by his own betraid Sate mute to hear what their great Off-spring said Who with a solemn Voice and awful brow And the same Grace with which he charm'd below Whilst crowding Angels their Attentions lent Thus made Oration to th' Omnipotent Great Sire of Angels as of Humane Race All copied from thy own Celestial face Who with a Breath caâ—st Life and Death controul This hour Create the next recal the Soul Inspire a Clod and from Earths common dust Winnow the Brave and Good from the unjust Receive another Hero to thy store And to thy Heaven add one Glory more Ormond the best of all Earths noble brood Ormond the Wise the Virtuous and the Good The noblest Theme of each fam'd Poets Song Tir'd with frail Nature he has worn so long Implores to crown his Souls triumphant Fame In that Eternal Peace from whence it came Through all the Mazes of ambiguous Life Through foreign Battels and domestick Strife Through Traitors Swords Plots contriv'd in Hell Through inmate Fiends that pray and yet Rebel Ormond undaunted has like Gideon pass'd Preserving Faith and Honor to the last Loyal as Brave and Brave as Mortals were Ere the first damning Sin begot base Fear Nay what 's a Rarity we find in few He was a Saint and yet a Soldier too To what a pitch must Fame his Glory raise That all degrees of Heaven and Earth do praise For his Youths Judgment by the wise admir'd As much for Beauty by the Fair desir'd For as each word would move a stander by So every look could Charm a Ladies Eye Cherubs and Seraphins his value know And chant above what we repeat below Tyrannick Time that even does ravenous seem To prey on others did no hurt to him But seem'd afraid a Fabrick to destroy So long propp'd up by Sacred Geometry In which all People took such general Joy And that true Justice on my part appear For where should it inhabit if not here I when Intestine Foes my Crown besieg'd Stood to his Virtue and his Faith oblig'd He trac'd my Exile with unwearied Love And to asswage my boundless Sorrows strove Brave man that never fail'd my Cause to fight Nor valued his when I had lost my right Oppressed with pinching Grief yet still so good Hee 'd murmur not though almost wanting food But when his Coffers were exhausted dry Fed on the Manna of his Loyalty At last when by thy blest decree I came To be restor'd his duty was the same His Soul still wore the same unalter'd dress Not swell'd with Power nor less'ned by distress But modell'd by thy own Divinity It still retains some perfect-Seeds of thee Which now extract him to so pure a state 'T will cost but little trouble to translate Admit then oh Eternal All in All And to our state of Bliss lov'd Ormond call â—Reward his Zeal and Piety below With blessings here too good for Earth to know No Star can better grace the Court Divine Nor of his Magnitude can brighter shine Thus spoke the Godlike Monarch and a grant From Heaven's dread Sovereign publish'd a consenâ— The Saints in waiting hum'd aloud for Joy And Halelujahs fill'd the echoing Sky When strait a glorious Light methought was seeâ— Just as another Sun had rising been The dazling Splendor made Eternal day And Ormond's Name Rung o'er the milky way â—traight the Majesticâ—â—oul was seated high â—eck'd in the Robes of new Divinity Through all the Sacred Host was Joy express'd â—t the
his Vineyard bleeds Th' one yields no Grapes the other only weeds So Rome her pious Farmer being gone Is left to her lewd Race to be undone To the KING An ODE on his Birth Day CLowdy Saturnia drives her Steeds apace Heaven-born Aurora presses to her place And all the new dress'd Planets of the Night Dance their gay Measures with unusual grace To usher in the happy Morning's Light To usher in c. Now blest Britannia let thy Head be crown'd Now let thy joyful Trumpets sound Into the late enslav'd Augusta's Ears The Triumphs of a Day renown'd Beyond the Glories of all former years A Day when eastern Kings to kneel forbore And end the Worship they begun Dazled with rising Glories from the British shore No longer they ador'd the Sun Chorus A Day when c. Second Movement The Belgick Sages saw from far The glittering Regal Star That blest the happy Morn When Great Nassau was born They heard besides a Cherub sing Haste Haste without delay To Albion haste away Revenge their Wrongs and be a King Before thy Sword and awful frown Rome Pagan Gods shall tumble down Haste to oppose Britannia's Foes And then to wear her Crown And now the day is come So dreadful to Proud Rome The day when Gallia shakes And Englands Genius wakes To call her Sons to fight And guard Eusebia's Right Hark hark I heat their loud Alarms And what was sold for tempting Gold Retriev'd again by Arms. Chorus Guard Guard Eusebia's Right Call call her Sons to fight Hark hark c. Third Movement Go on admir'd Nassau go on To Fame and Victory go on Recover Britains long lost Glory Reflect on former Battels won And what by English Monarchs done In Edward's and Great Henry's Story Whilst we in lofty Song and tuneful Mirth Each year sing loud to celebrate his Birth Whom bounteous Heaven with Paternal hand Sent as a second Saviour to this groaning Land Chorus of all Glad Albion let thy Joy appear Restor'd is now thy happy State The greatest blessings are most dear When we atchieve 'em late And whilst in a Jubile Triumph we sing All Hail Great Nassau all Joy to the King Let a Chorus of Thunder in the loud Consort play To inform the vast Globe this is Cesar's Birth day The Scotch VIRAGO A SONG Sung to the Queen at Kensington The Words made to a pretty New Scotch Tune I. Valliant Iockey's march'd away To fight the Foe with brave Mackay Leaving me poor Soul forlorn To Curse the hour when I was born But I 've sworn I se follow too And dearest Iockey's Fate pursue Near him be to guard his pretious Life Never Scot had such a Loyal Wife Sword I se wear I se cut my Hair Tan my Cheeks that once were thought so fair In Souldiers Weed To him I 'll speed Never sike a Trooper cross'd the Tweed II. Trumpet sound to Victory I se kill my self the next Dundee Love and Fate and Rage do all agree To do some glorious Deed by me Great Bellona take my part Fame and Glory charm my Heart That for Love and bonny Scotlands good Some brave Action may deserve my Blood Nought shall appear Of Female fear Fighting by his Side I love so dear All the North shall own There ne'er was known Such a spritely Lass this thousand years TO CHLORIS A SONG I. CHloris for fear you should think to deceive me Know all my Life I have studied your kind Learn'd in your Grammar I 'd have you believe me And all your Tricks in my Practice you 'll find Ogling and Glances Sighs and Advances Poor Country Cully no more shall ensnare Pantings and Tremblings Fits and Dissemblings Now you must leave and Intrigue on the Square II. Give me the Girl that 's good natur'd and Witty Whose pleasant Talk can her Friend entertain One who 's not Proud if you tell her she 's Pretty And yet enough to be Honest and Clean. Pox on Town Cheatings Jilts and Cognettings I my Dear Chloris will bring up by hand Tears and Complainings Breed but Disdainings Those still Love best that are under Command A Catch in Three Parts set by Mr. Hen. Purcel and taken from the Latin of BUCHANAN I. YOung Collin cleaving of a Beam At every thumping Blow cry'd Hem And told his Wife who the Cause would know 'T was Hem made th' Wedge much farther go II. Plump Ioan at Night when t' Bed she came And both were playing at that same Cry'd Hem Hem Hem prithee Collin do If ever thou lov'dst me Hem Hem now III. No no no no sweet Wife no no Some Wood will split with half a blow Besides I Bore now now I Bore I Hem when I Cleave but now I Bore A POEM Panegyrical On His GRACE THE D. of ALBEMARLE With Remarks on His Voyage for JAMAICA and the late Treasure brought Home in the JAMES and MARY Written Anno Dom. 1686. Epistle Dedicatory to Her Grace the DVCHESS WHen Brutus with the rest did Cesar doom And by his Death gave liberty to Rome Great Cato's Daughter his dear faithful Wife That knew the Secret of that fatal Strife From her lov'd Husband's side would never part Both had one Will one Courage and one Heart Her generous Virtue thought it 〈◊〉 to share Part of his Ioy and nothing of his Care And therefore all his Harms with Patience bore And when he dy'd she likewise was no more Her Virtues Madam flourish now in you A second Porcia Faithful Chast and True With Heavens divinest Gifts your Heart is stor'd And Wove into the Merits of your Lord So fast and with Affection so sublime You can look down with Scorn on Death and Time Since then Great Albemarle inspires my Muse Vpon a Theme 't is fit the World peruse Who should I beg to Consecrate my Lines But you who know how bright his Virtue shines You who have made the business of your Life To shew the World a Pattern of a Wiâ—e Ioy'd at your Lord 's good Chance griev'd at his Ill Kind Wise and what 's most Rare Obedient to his Will More I could say nay so much might be said These swelling Lines would tire ye to Read If I could boast of a Poetick Art To speak your Praise lavish as your Desert No Flight could be too high no Thought too strong Nor could the Poem ever be too long But modest Pens that dare not be too bold Know Truth the shortest way is wisest told A POEM Panegyrick on His Grace the DUKE of ALBEMARLE c. I. HAPPY those Islands where no sullen Sky Debars with Clouds the Prospect of the Eye Where the glad Sun with Joy performs his Race And sullies with no Fogs his glorious Face Where change of Weather makes no Native mourn No Agues freeze ye nor no Fevers burn But genuine Heat Nature for Health designs And through respiring Pores your Blood refines II. But above all most happy is that Land Which you my
thump thy clodded Brain If thou dost dare to write again The Devil shall think it an Abuse To have in Hell so dam'd a Muse And send thee back to mortal Life Condemn'd to a worse Plague thy Wife And now I talk of Wives I groan To think how I must maul my own Though ill I will not let thee use her I have a Title to abuse her And must long smother'd silence break Losers have always leave to speak And if that common Rule prevail Sure Cuckolds may have leave to rail * Oh thou sworn Foe to all my Ease Thou curst disturber of my Peace When living I no rest could have Nor now can find it in the Grave Thy mischiefs are so manifold They have pierc'd through the crumbling Mould And rais'd me from the shades agen To be divulger of thy Sin Wast not enough oh thou Obsceen Proud Salt Lascivious Rampant Quean That I 've endur'd the Countries scorns And drawn within my Hat my Horns And when I 've broach'd some Hogshead new Have seen some other Tapping you Yet small account o' th' Object made Believing 't was to force a Trade Have I not hid my Patient Noddle When Bully Rock has call'd for Bottle And took you to some inner Room To beat a March upon your Drum Nay to complete thy nauseous Crimes When friend Agario came sometimes When thou with flattering Smiles hast met him And thy Mouth water'd to be at him I like a Man that knew good breeding Have slipt away no matters heeding Because a Friend of him we made And for each kiss he soundly paid And canst thou be a base Detractor Of one so much thy benefactor And with dam'd Female spite decry One that knew all as oft as I That did our Family such good And was so free t' amend our Blood To us and to our Son Pox Rot him Was full as kind as if he got him Though a true Rogue as ever twang'd And will in all due time be hang'd For to what end can he be brought That by thy Morals has been taught And canst thou worse than Fiend of Hell Thou Jilt incomprehensible Canst thou forswear things plain as light Nay things unquestionably right And does not Pillory plague thy Mind With loss of Ears which wretches find That are in spite of Conscience blind Plain is thy Sexes vice by thee Made obvious to Posterity Thâ—t when a Woman once grows Lewd No Art can turn her back to good The spreading Seed has taken root And spite of Industry will shoot Our wholsome grain we vainly sow Spite of our Art the Tares will grow And gay and flourishing appear As if the Devil had sow'd 'em there No Women of the former times Arriv'd to know thy heighth of Crimes Thy falshood baseness Perjury Ingratitude and Villany Were never known in this degree For had the Scripture e'er exprest A Woman with thy Devils possest Our Saviour would have been in doubt Whether his Power could cast'em out The Herd of Swine had been too small And never have contain'd 'em all How happy then is that good Man That Cloaks thy Sins now I am gone That at the Mark still widely shoots And wears with pleasure my old Boots Or if the truth were plainly found The Boots of all the Country round Faith if a Cuckold e'er behav'd Himself with Merit to be sav'd Thy Case poor Fool is singular For thou hast so much Hell from her 'T is even pity thou shouldst know A second Penance here below Couldst thou not find â—gregious Sot Why thou wert married or for what Could'st thou be Ignorant of all The Vermin in her Trap did fall And never know ' til 't was too late Thy morsel was but for a Bait Or that it was thy noble place To Father all her spurious Race That if she whelp'd a squauling Lad The Todpole Imp might call thee Dad Although by Men of all degrees Compounded like a Chetworth Cheese Or was it really thy want Brought thee to wed this Widow Saint As no one knows a wretches Case Except he feels the same distress If so thou' rt fall'n from bad to worse No Poverty is half the Curse Of him that has to dam his Life A Rampant Strumpet for his Wife Thus say the Fates and lastly tell 〈◊〉 pretious Mate that I from Hell And Fiends that fill each gloomy Room Where she at last must surely come Ascend to purge each vile Offence And urge her to repent her Sins With Tears deny what late she swore And never henceforth play the Whore Else from my melancholly Tomb With Troops of Ghosts agen I 'll come And fiercely drag her hence to slaughter Where all her Priests and Holy Water With all the Aid and Fopperies they can make Shall never have the power to bring her back The Law of Nature A SONG set to an Excellent new Tune I. WHilst their Flocks were feeding Near the foot of a flowry Hill â—elladon complaining of his Fate Thus to Astrea Cry'd Hear my gentle pleading Ah cruel Nymph forbear to kill Shepherd with disdain and hate Whom you have once enjoy'd here is a sacred pow'r in Love beyond all Moral Rules â—llow the Laws of Nature 〈◊〉 the Divine Creator Did produce 〈◊〉 for Humane Use Did Beauty choose Who deny themselves are Fools Every Heart is pair'd above And Ingratitude 's a Sin To all the Saints so hateful She that is found ingrateful May too late In a wretched State Knock at Heavens Gate But shall never enter in II. Had our first made Father Lord of the whole Creation Done such a Crime as could have dam'd us all In trespassing on his Wife Heaven no doubt had rather VVhen it the ill Design had known Have plac'd his Angel ere the Fall Guarding the Tree of Life But he that well knew Adam's Breast VVhom Nature learnt to wooe Never intended Damming Nor did the Serpents shamming Edifie For the Bone of his Side That was made his Bride Taught him what he was to do Nor was the Maker e'er possess'd VVith Rage that he did enjoy But the Reflection hated VVhat he with Pains Created Should be thought Such a cowardly Sot To be poorly caught In such a sneaking Lye SONG II. To a young LADY Affronted by an Envious old Woman I. IN vain in vain fantastick Age Thou seek'st such Virtue to abuse Ophelia does Mankind engage Each valiant Sword each noble Muse Frantick with Spite let crazy Time Take pleasure to ingender strife Whilst blooming Beauty in her Prime Takes with Gust the Joys of Life II. Each shameful word that Malice speaks Adds dearest Charmer to your Fame Each hallow'd Grove loud Echo makes Resounding fair Ophelia's Name Old age does Beauty still prophane Age ever did good Nature want By Scandal you more Glory gain 'T is Persecution makes the Saint An ODE From the Greek of ANACREON I. IF Gold could lengthen Life I swear It then should be my chiefest Care To get a heap that I may say