cruel Beauty's Love To him and to his Truth ingrate Idolater does he not prove That from his pow'rless Idol never Receives a Med'cine for his Fever IV. They say the unweary'd Lovers pains By instance meet with good success For he by force his end obtains 'T is an odd method of Address To what Design so e're 't relate Still still to be importunate V. Do but observe the hourly Fears Of your pretended faithful Lover Nothing but Sorrow Sighs and Tears You in his chearfull'st Looks discover As though the Lovers Sophistry Were nothing but to whine and cry VI. â—â—â—ght he by a Man's Name be styl'd â—hat losing th' Honor of a Man â—hines for his Pepin like a Child â—hipt and sent back to School again Or rather Fool that thinks amiss He loves but knows not what Love is VII 〈◊〉 my part I 'll decline this Folly 〈◊〉 others harms thank Fate grown wise â—â—ch Dotage begets Melancholly â— must profess Loves Liberties And never angry am at all At them who me inconstamt call SONNET Out of Astrea SInce I must now eradicate the Flame Which seeing you Love in my Bosom plac't And the Desires which thus long could last Kindled so well and nourisht in the same Since Time that first saw their Original Must triumph in their end and Victor be Let 's have a brave Design and to be free Cut off at once the Briar-rose and all â—et us put out the Fire Love has begot â—â—eak the tough Cord tied with so fast a knot And voluntary take a brave adieu â—o shall we nobly conquer Love and Fate â—nd at the Liberty of choice do that Which time its self at last would make us do A PARAPHRASE THE Beauty that must me delight Must have Skin and Teeth Snow white Black arched Brows black sprightly Eyes And a black Beauty 'twixt her Th ghs Soâ—t blushing Cheeks a Person tall Long Hair long Hands and Fingers small Short Teeth and Feet that little are Dilated Brows and Haunches fair Fine silken Hair Lips full and red Small Nose with little Breast and Head All these in one and that one kind Would make a Mistriss to my Mind An Essay upon Buchanan's First Book de Sphaera Never perfected HOW various are the World 's great parts I sing And by what League the jarring Seeds of things Agree in one the Causes Motion breed Why Darkness Light and Coldness Heat succeed And why the Suns and the Moons horned Light Suffer Eclipses of o're-shading Night Thou who the Temples wall'd with sacred Light. Impenetrable to our weaker sight Inhabit'st holy Father of the Skies Propitious be to this bold Enterprize Whilst to the World we do Thy Acts reveal And the immense Work of the Pole unseal That people ignorant of Truth a Mind From Sloth and long-liv'd Error so refin'd May lift to Heav'n and whilst amaz'd the Ball They so embraced with a Flaming Wall And wheeling times return in certain course May own the Mover and admire his Force â—hat props so great a Pile that with the bit Of his Eternal Law doth govern it And in His secret Council has decreed 〈◊〉 fit for Man's innumerable Need. And thou young Mercury Tymolion Thy Father's and thy Country's hopeful Son Go my Companion in thy tender Years Câ—â—â—alion Woods and sacred Founts draw near â—requent that unknown Peace and Nymphs soft Choires Subject to loss nor avaritious Fires The time will come when time has giv'n Thee Force That thou shalt bravely with thy foaming Horse Rush into War and gloriously advance In dusty Fields thy Country's threatning Launce Till then thy Syre either shall Lombards deign T' orecome wild Germans and the Warlike Spain By Force or Conduct Or with Gallick spoil Dazling the Sun deck Calidonia's Soyl. Caetera desunt Cn. Cornelii Galli vel potius Maximiani Elegia 1. Trans WHY envious Age dost thou my End delay Why in this wearied Trunk delight to stay My captive Life from such a Prison free Death now is Rest when Life is Misery I 'm no more what I was but sunk and old And what remains is languishing and cold The day that young Men chears offends mine Eye And which is worse than Death I wish to die I was my Youth whilst Wit and Beautâ— crown'd An Orator throughout the World renown'd The Poets charming lies full oft I feign'd And by fictitious Tales true Titles gain'd In all Disputes of Wit the Wreath bore I And have my Eloquence reputed high High and immortal Oh! what then remains Worthy an old Man's Living or his Pains Nor less than these the Beauty of my Face Which though the rest are wanting wins much Grace Manhood to that which richer far than Gold Makes Wit a greater price and Lustre hold If I with Dogs the Thickets would surround The conquer'd Prey fell at my Launces Wound Or would I loose Shafts from the bending Yew With great applause untamed Beasts I slew Or with the sinewy Wrestlers if I try'd With my strong Nerves their oyly Limbs I ty'd â—ow at the Race I all that came out-run And now in Tragick Song the Buskin won This mixture of good things my worth increast â—â—ill various Works of Art advance us best For whatsoever things simply delight Joyn'd to another Grace shine out more bright With such a Mine of Fortitude adorn'd All threatning Dangers I contemn'd and scorn'd Bare-head I made the Winds and Storms retreat Feeling no Winters Cold nor Summer's Heat I swam the yellow Tyber's gelid Stream And fearless would the doubtful Current sâ—em With the least Sleep I could forsake my Bed And with the slend'rest fare be amply fed Or if a drunken Guest surpriz'd my Walls To waste the forlorn day in Bacchanals Lyaeus self struck Sail amaz'd and dumb And he that always conquer'd fel o'recome Nor is' t an easy thing the Mind to bend At once with two Opposers to contend And in this kind of strife they say of Yore Great Socrates the Victor's Trophy bore And thus they say the rigid Cato won Things are not ill themselves unless ill done To all things dreadless I oppos'd my Face And to my constant Mind Mischance gave place With little pleas'd I still lov'd to be poor And being Lord of all could wish no more Thou only wretched Age dost me subdue To whom who conquers all things else must bow 'T is into thee we fall and what at last Decays and withers thou alone dost wast Hetruria ravisht with these parts of mine Wish'd that I would with her fair Daughters twine But Liberty to me was far more sweet Than all the Pleasures of the Nuptial Sheet In my gay Youth I walk'd about proud Rome To view what Virgins there might overcome Which might be won or which was fit to seek When at their sight soft blushes stain'd my Cheek Now runs a smiling Girl her self to hide And yet not so as not to be descry'd But by some single part to be reveal'd Gladder by much to be so ill conceal'd
Thus did I fare and acceptable pass To all and thus a lusty Suiter was And only so For Nature my strong Brest In Modesty and Chastity had drest For whilst I strove the choices Fair to wed I wore out Cold ev'n to a Widdow'd Bed. They all to me ill bred or ugly seem'd And I none worthy my Embraces deem'd I hated lean ones fat were a Disease Neither the low nor yet the tall would please With middle Forms I ever lov'd to play And in the midst most Graces ever lay Here of our softest parts lies all the bliss And in this part Loves Mother seated is A slender Lass not lean I lov'd to chuse For Flesh is fittest for a â—leshy use One whose most strait Embraces would delight Not one whose Bones should goar my Ribs in Fight I lov'd no Fair unless her Cheeks were spread With native Roses of the purest red This Tincture Venus owns above the rest And loves the Beauty in her Flower drest A long white Neck and golden flowing Hair Have long been known to make a Woman fair But black Brows and black Eyes catch my Desire And still when seen have set my Heart of fire I ever lov'd a red and swelling Lip Where a full Bowl of Kisses I might sip A long round Neck than Gold appear'd more rare And the most wealthy Gem outshone by far Ill fits it Age to speak his wanton prime And what was decent then is now a Crime For various things do diff'rent Men delight Nor yet are all things for all Ages right Things apt for one Age at the last may grow Uncomely for the self-same Man to do The Child by play th' old Man 's by stead'ness seen But the young Man's Behaviour lies between This silent sadness best becomes and that Is better lik'd of for his Mirth and Chat For rolling times does all things turn and sway And suffers none to run one certain way Now that a long unprofitable Age Lies heavy on me I would quit the Stage Life's hard Condition gripes the Wretched still Nor is Death sway'd by any humane Will. The Wretch wishes to die but Death retires Yet when Men dread him then the Slave aspires But I alass that maâ—gre all my Arts Have been so long dead in so many parts On Earth I think shall never end my Days But enter quick the dark Tartarean ways My Tast and Hearing 's ill mine Eyes are such Nay I can scarce distinguish by my Touch No Smell is sweet nor Pleasure who 'd believe A Man could sensibly his Sense out live Lethe's Oblivion does my Mind embrace And yet I can remember what I was The Limbs diseas'd the Mind no Work contrives The thought of ills all other aim deprives I sing no Lyricks now that dear Delight With all my Voices Grace is perish'd quite Frequent no Exercise no Odes rehearse And only with my Pains and Griefs converse The Beauty of my Shape and Face are fled And my revolted Form ' fore-speaks me dead For fair and shining Age has now put on A bloodless Funeral Complexion My Skin 's dry'd up my Nerves unpliant are And my poor Limbs my Nails plow up and tear My chearful Eyes now with a constant Spring Of Tears bewail their own sad Suffering And those soft Lids that once secur'd mine Eye Now rude and bristled grown does drooping lie Bolting mine Eyes as in a gloomy cavâ— Which there on Furies and grim Objects rave 'T would fright the full-blown Gallant to behold The dying Object of a Man so old Nor can you think that once a Man he was Of humane reason who no portion has The Letters split when I consult my Book And ev'ry Leaf I turn'd does broader look In Darkness do I dream I see the Light When Light is Darkness to my perish'd Sight Without a Night t'oreshade him the bright Day Is from my Sense depriv'd and snatch'd away Who can deny that wrap'd in Nights Embrace I groping lie in the Tartarean place What mad Adviser would a Man perswade By his own Wish to be more wretched made Diseases now invade and Dangers swarm Sweet Banquets now and Entertainments harm We 're forc'd to wean our selves from grateful things And though we live avoid the sweets Life brings And me whom late no accident could bend Now the meer Aliments of Life offend I would be full am sick when I am so Should fast but abstinence is hurtful too 'T is chang'd to surfeit now what once was Meat And that 's now nauseous which before was sweet Venus and Bacchus's Rites now fruitless are That use to lull this Life's contingent Care. Nature alone panting and prosâ—rate lies Caught in the ruin of her proper Vice. Julip nor Cordial now no Comfort give Nor ought that should a Patient sick relieve But with their Matter their Corruption have And only serve to importune my Grave When I attempt to prop my falling Frame The Letts oppos'd make my Endeavours lame Until my Dissolutions tardy day All helps of Arts do with the thing decay And by th' appearance since th' afflicted Mind Can no diversion nor advantage find 〈◊〉 it not hard we may not from Mens Eyes Cloak and conceal Ages Indecencies Unseeming Spruceness th' old Man discommends And in old Men only to live offends With Mirth Feasts Songs the old must not dispense â—O wretched they whose Joys are an offence What should I do with Wealth whose use being ta'ne Although I swim in store I poor remain Nay 't is a Sin to what we have got to trust And what 's our own to violate unjust So thirsty Tantalus the neighbour Stream And Fruit would tast but is forbidden them I but the Treas'rer am of my own Pelf Keeping for others what 's deny'd my self And like the Fell Hesperian Dragon grown Defend that golden Fruit's no more my own This above all is that augments my Woes And robs my troubl'd Mind of all Repose I strive to keep things I could never gain And ignorantly hold some things in vain Continu'd Fears do credulous age invade And th' old Man dreads the ills himself has made Applauds the past condemns the present Years And only what he thinks Truth Truth appears He only learned is has all the skill And thinking himself wise is wider still Who though with Trouble he much Talk affords Faulters forgets and dribbles out his Words The Hearer's tir'd but he continues long O wretched Age only in prating strong Idly he talks and strains his feeble Voice Whilst those he pleas'd before laugh at his noise Their Mirth exalts him he still louder grows And dotingly his own Reproach allows These are Death's Firstlings Age does this way flow And with slow pace creeps to the Shades below Whilst the same Colour Meen nor pace appear In the poor Traveller that lately vvere My Garment from my vvither'd Limbs hangs down And vvhat before too short too long is grovvn We strangely are contracted and decrease A Man vvould think our very
Whilst his own Vertues swell the cheeks of Fame And from his consecrated Urn doth Flame A Glorious Pyramid to Botelâ—â—s Name Ode Bachique De Monsieur Racan NOW that the Day 's short and forlorn Dull Melancholy Capricorn To Chimney-corners Men translate Drown we our Sorrows in the glass And let the thoughts of Warfare pass The Clergy and the third Estate II. Menard I know what thou hast writ That spritely issue of thy Wit Will live whilst there are men to read But what if they recorded be In Memory's Temple boots it thee When thou art gnawn by Worms and dead III. Henceforth those fruitless studies spare Let 's rather drink until we stare Of this immortal juyce of ours Which does in excellence precede The Beverage which Gannimede Into th' Immortals Goblet pours IV. The Juyce that sparkles in this glass Makes tedious Years like Days to pass Yet makes us younger still become By this from lab'ring thoughts are chac't The sorrow of those Ills are past And terrour of the Ills to come V. Let us drink brimmers then Time's fleet And steals away with winged feet Haling us with him to our Urn In vain we sue to it to stay For Years like Rivers pass away And never never do return VI. When the Spring comes attir'd in Green The Winter flies and is not seen New Tydes do still supply the Main But when our frolick Youth 's once gone And Age has ta'ne possession Time nere restores us that again VII Deaths Laws are Universal and In Princes Palaces command As well as in the poorest Hutt We 're to the Parcae subject all The threds of Clown's and Monarchs shall Be both by the same Cizors cut VIII Their rigours which all this deface Will ravish in a little space What ever we most lasting make And soon will lead us out to drink Beyond the pitchy Rivers Brink The waters of Oblivion's Lake Epistle to Sir Clifford Clifton then sitting in Parliament WHEN from thy kind hand my dearest dear brother Whom I love as th'adst been the Son of my Mother Nay better to tell you the truth of the story Had you into the World but two minutes before me I receiv'd thy kind Letter good Lord how it eas'd me Of the villanous Spleen that for six days had seiz'd me I start from my Couch where I lay dull and muddy Of my Servants inquiring the way to my Study For in truth of late days I so little do mind it Should one turn me twice about I never should find it But by help of direction I soon did arrive at The place where I us'd to sit fooling in private So soon as got thither I straight fell to calling Some call it invoking but mine was plain bawling I call'd for my Muse but no answer she made me Nor could I conceive why the Slut should evade me I knew I there left her and lock't her so safe in There could be no likelihood of her escaping Besides had she scap't I was sure to retrieve her She being so ugly that none would receive her â— then fell to searching since I could not hear her â—â—ought all the shelves but never the nearer â— tumbled my Papers and rifled each Packet Threw my Books all on heaps and kept such a racket Disordering all things which before had their places Distinct by themselves in several Classes That who 'd seen the confusion and look't on the ware Would have thought he had been at Babylon Fair At last when for lost I had wholly resign'd her Where canst thou imagine dear Knt I should find her Faith in an old Drawer I late had not been in Twixt a course pair of sheets of the Houswifes own spinning â— Sonnet instead of a coif her head wrapping happily took her small Ladiship napping Why how now Minx quoth I what 's the matter â— pray That you are so hard to be spoke with to day Fy fy on this Idleness get up and rowze you For I have a present occasion to use you Our Noble Mecoenas Sir Clifford of Cud-con Has sent here a Letter a kind and a good one Which must be suddenly answer'd and finely Or the Knight will take it exceeding unkindly To which having some time sat musing and mute She answer'd sh 'ad broke all the strings of her Lute And had got such a Rheum with lying alone That her Voice was utterly broken and gone Besides this she had heard that of late I had made A Friendship with one that had since bin her Maid One Prose a slatternly ill-favour'd toad As common as Hackney and beaten as Road With whom I sat up somtimes whole Nights together Whil'st she was exposed to the Wind and weather Wherefore since that I did so slight and abuse her She likewise now hop'd I would please to excuse her At this sudden reply I was basely confounded I star'd like a Quaker and groan'd like a Round-head And in such a case what the Fiend could one do My conscience convinc'd her Reproaches were true To swagger I durst not I else could have beat her But what if I had I 'd been never the better To quarrel her then had been quite out of season And ranting would ne'r have reduc'd her to reason I therefore was fain to dissemble Repentance I disclaim'd and forswore my late new Acquaintance I kist her and hugg'd her I clapt her and chuck't her I push't her down backward and offer'd to have But the Jade would not buckle she pish't she pouted And wrigling away fairly left me without it I caught her and offered her Mony a little At which she cry'd that were to plunder the Spittle I then to allure her propos'd to her Fame Which she so much despised she pish't at the name And told me in answer that she could not glory at The Sail-bearing Title of Muse to a Laureat Much less to a Rhymer did nought but disgust one And pretended to nothing but pittiful Fustion But oh at that word how I rated and call'd her And had my Fist up with intent to have maul'd her At which the poor Slut half afraid of the matter Changing her note 'gan to wheedle and flatter Protesting she honour'd me Iove knew her heart Above all the Peers o' th' Poetical Art But that of late time and without provocation I had been extremely unjust to her Passion Me thought this sounded I then laid before her How long I had serv'd her how much did adore her How much she her self stood oblig'd to the Knight For his kindness and favour to whom we should write And thereupon called to make her amends For a Pipe and a Bottle and so we were Friends Being thus made Friends we fell to debating What kind of Verse we should congratulate in I said 't must be Doggrâ—l which when I had said Maliciously smiling she nodded her head Saying Doggrel might pass to a friend would not show it And do well enough for a Derbyshire Poet. Yet mere simple
their Nasty Mess. I could say more the Place provokes me But that the vile Tobacco choaks me Her Name I. TO write your Name upon the Glass Is that the greatest you 'l impart Of your Commands when Dear alas 'T was long since graven in my Heart But you foresee my Heart must break and sure Think 't in that brittle Quarry more secure II. My Breast impregnable is found Which nothing but thy Beauty wracks Than this frail Metal far more sound That every Storm and Tempest crâ—cks And if you add Faith to my Vows and Tears More firm and more transparent it appears III. Yet I obey you when behold I tremble at the forced fact My hand too sawcy and too bold Timorously shivers at the act And 'twixt the wounded glass and th' harder stone I hear a murmuring Emulation IV. 'T is done to which let all hearts bow And to the Tablet sacrifice Incense of loyal Sighs allow And Tears from wonder-strucken Eyes Which should the Schismaticks of Sion see Perchance they 'd break it for Idolatry V. But cursed be that awkward hand Dares raze the glory from this frame That notwithstanding thy Command Tears from this glass thy ador'd Name Whoe're he be unless he do repent He 's damn'd for breaking thy Commandement VI. Yet what thy dear will here has plac't Such is its unassured state Must once my Sweetest be defac't Or by the stroke of Time or Fate It must at last howe're dissolve and die With all the World and so must thou and I. Epitaph On Mr. Robert Port. HEre lies he whom the Tyrants rage Snatch't in a venerable Age And here with him intomb'd do lie Honour and Hospitality SONG Set by Mr. Coleman I. BRing back my Comfort and return For well thou know'st that I In such a vigorous passion burn That missing thee I die Return return insult no more Return return and me restore To those sequestred joyes I had before II. â—bsence in most that quenches Love And cools the warm desire 〈◊〉 ardour of my heat improves And makes the flame aspire 〈◊〉 Opinion therefore I deny 〈◊〉 term it though a Tyranny 〈◊〉 Nurce to Faith and Truth and Constancy III. 〈◊〉 Dear I do not urge thy stay That were to prove unjust 〈◊〉 my desires nor Court delay But ah thy speed I must 〈◊〉 bring me back the stol'n Delight 〈◊〉 from me in thy speedy flight 〈◊〉 my tedious Day my longing Night Sir William Davenant To Mr. Cotton I. UNlucky fire which though from Heaven deriv'â— Is brought too late like Cordials to the Deaâ— When all are of their Sovereign Sence depriv'd And Honour which my rage should warm is fled II. Dead to Heroick Song this Isle appears The Antient Musick of victorious Verse They tast no more than he his Dirges hears Whose useless Mourners sing about his Heâ—se III. Yet shall this sacred Lamp in Prison burn And through the darksome Ages hence invade The wondering World like that in Tully's Urn Which though by Time conceal'd was not decay'â— IV. â—nd Charles in that more civil Century â—hen this shall wholly fill the voice of Fame â—he busie Antiquaries then will try â—o find amongst their Monarchs coin thy Name V. 〈◊〉 they will bless thy Virtue by whose fire 〈◊〉 keep my Laurel warm which else would fade 〈◊〉 thus inclos'd think me of Natures Quire â—hich still sings sweetest in the shade VI. â—o Fame who rules the World I lead thee now â—hose solid Power the thoughtful understand â—hom though too late weak Princes to her bow â—he People serve and Poets can command VII â—nd Fame the only Judge of Empire past â—all to Verona lead thy Fancies Eyes â—here Night so black a Robe on Nature cast 〈◊〉 Nature seem'd affraid of her disguise To Sir William Davenant In Answer to the Seventh Canto of thâ— Third Book of his Gondibert directed tâ— my Father Written by Sir William when Prisoner in the Tower. 1652. I. OH happy Fire whose heat can thus controul The rust of Age and thaw the frost of Death That renders Man immortal as his Soul And swells his Fame with everlasting Breaâ—â— II. Happie 's that Hand that unto Honours Clime Can lift the Subject of his living praise That rescues Frailty from the Sythe of Time And equals glory to the length of days III. Such Sir is yours that uncontroul'd as Fate In the black bosom of o're-shading Night Can Sons of immortality create To dazle Envy with prevailing Light. IV. In vain they strive your glorious Lamp to hide In that dark Lanthorn to all noble minds Which through the smallest cranny is descry'd Whose force united no resistance finds V. Blest is my Father that has found his Name Amongst the Heroes by your Pen reviv'd By running in Time's wheel his thriving Fame Shall still more youthful grow longer liv'd VI. Had Alexander's Trophies thus beeâ— rear'd And in the circle of your Story come The spacious Orb full well he might have spar'd And reap't his distant Victories at home VII Let Men of greater Wealth than Merit cast Medals of Gold for their succeeding part That paper-Monument shall longer last Than all the rubbish of decaying Art. To my Friend Mr. John Anderson From the Countrey I. YOU that the City-Life embrace And in those Tumults run your race Under the th' aspect of the Celestial face Of your bright Lady You that to Masks and Plays resort As if you would rebuild the Court We here can match you with our Countrey-sport As neer as may be II. For though 't is good to be so nigh Rich wine and excellent Company Yet Iohn those Pleasures you full dear do buy Some times and seasons For you but Tributaries are Aw'd by the â—urious men of War We Countrey-Bumkins then are happier far For many reasons III. First we have here no bawling Duns Nor those fierce things ycleped Bums No Cuckold-Constable or Watch here comes To apprehend us And then we 've no unwholsome Daâ—es To broil us in their bawdy flames Nor need enquire after Physicians names That may befriend us IV. And next we have excelling Ale Most high and mighty strong and stale And when we go we need no other Bail Than our own word Sir When you all Day are fain to sit Send Paper-pellets of small wit Your Tickets and when none of them will hit Pawn Cloak or Sword Sir V. Then we out-do your Beauties that You Entertain with Cost and Chat That make you spend your precious Time and Fat And yet are stedfast We here have homely willing Winn With bucksome Bess and granting Iinn All full and plump without and warm within That crackt the Bed fast VI. And then for Mirth we have much more Than you for all your various store For we prefer Bag pipes so loud before Lute or Cremona We caper with Tom Thump i' th' Hall Measures beyond Corant or Brawl And when we want a match for Ciceley call A roba bona VII We have too errant Knights so stout
Passion My Star my bright Magnetick Pole And only Gâ—idress of my Soul. Thyr. Let Caelia be thy Cynosure Chloe's my Pole too though th' obscure For though her self 's all glorious My Earth 'twixt us does interpose Dam. Obscure indeed since she 's but one To mine a Constellation Her Lights throughout so glorious are That every part 's a perfect Star. Thyr. Then Caelia's Perfections Are scatter'd Chloe's like the Suns United Light compacted lye Whence all that feel their force must dye Dam. Caelia's Beauties are too bright To be contracted in one Light Nor does my fair her Rays dispence With such a stabbing Influence Since 't is her less imperious Will To save her Lovers and not kill Thyr. Each beam of her united Light Is than the greatest Star more bright And if she stay it is from hence She darts too sweet an Influence We Surfeit with 't weak Eyes must shun The dazling Glories of the Sun. Perhaps if Caelia do not kill 'T is want of Power not of Will. Dam. I now perceive thy Chloe's Eyes To be no Stars but Prodigies Comets such as blazing stand To threaten ruin to a Land Beacons of sulph'rous Flame they are Symptoms not of Peace but War And thou I guess by singing thus Thence stoll'st thine Ignis fatuâ—s Thyr. As th' vulgar are amaz'd at th' Sun When tripled by reflection Câ—loe's self and glorious Eyes To thee seem Comets in the Skies And true they may portend some Wars Such as 'twixt Venus and her Mars But chast whose captivating Bands Would People and not ruin Lands With such a Going fire I 'll stray For who with it can lose his way Dam. The Vulgar may perhaps be won By thee to think her Sun and Moon And so would I but that my more Convincing Caelia I adore Would we had both that Chloe thine And my dear Caelia might be mine But if we should thus mix with Ray In Heav'n would be no Night but Day For we should People all the Skies With Plannet-Girls and Starry-Boyes Chloe's a going-fire we see Pray Pan she do not go from thee Thyr. Thanks Damon but she does I fear The Shadows now so long appear Yet if she do we 'll both find Day â—'â—h ' Sun-shine of thy Caelia Her Sigh I. SHE sighs and has blown over now The storms that thrat'ned in her brow The Heaven 's now serene and clear And bashful blushes do appear Th' Errour sh' has found That did me wound Thus with her od'rous Sigh my hopes are crown'd II. Now she relents for now I hear Repentance whisper in my Ear Happy repentance that begets By this sweet Airy motion heats And does destroy Her Heresie That my Faith branded with Inconstancy III. When Thisbe's Pyramus was slain This sigh had fetcht him back again And such a sigh from Dido's Chest Wasted the Trojan to her Breast Each of her sighs My Love does prize Reward for thousand thousand Cruelties IV. Sigh on my Sweet and by thy Breath Immortal grown I 'll laugh at Death Had Fame so sweet a one we shou'd In that regard learn to be good Sigh on my Fair Henceforth I swear I could Cameleon turn and live by Air On the Lamented Death of my Dear Uncle Mr. Radcliff Stanhope SUch is th' unsteddy state of humane things And Death so certain that their period brings So frail is Youth and strength so sure this sleep That much we cannot wonder though we weep Yet since 't is so it will not misbecom Either perhaps our Sorrows or his Tomb To breath a Sigh and drop a mourning Tear Upon the cold face of his Sepulcher Well did his life deserve it if to be A great Example of Integrity Honour and Truth Fidelity and Love In such perfection as if each had strove T'out-do Posterity may deserve our care Or to his Funeral command a Tear Faithful he was and just and sweetly good To whom ally'd in Virtue or in Blood His Breast from other conversation chast Above the reach of giddy Vice was plac't Then had not Death that crops in 's Savage speed The fairest flower with the rankest weed Thus made a beastly Conquest of his Prime And cut him off before grown ripe for Time How bright an Evening must this Morn pursue Is to his Life a Contemplation due Proud Death t' arrest his thriving Virtue thus Unhappy Fate not to himself but us That so have lost him for no doubt but he Was fit for Heav'n as years could make him be Age does but muster Sin and heap up woes Against the last and general Rendezvous Whereas he dy'd full of obedient Truth Wrap't in his spotless Innocence of Youth Farewell Dear Vncle may thy hop'd for Bliss To thee be real as my Sorrow is May they be nam'd together since I do Nothing more perfect than my sorrow know And if thy Soul into mens minds have Eyes It knows I truly weep these Obsequies On the Lord Derby TO what a formidable greatness grown Is this prodigious Beast Rebellion When Sovereignty and it s so sacred Law Thus lies subjected to his Tyrant awe And to what daring impudence he grows When not content to trample upon those He still destroys all that with honest flames Of loyal Love would propagate their Names In this great ruin Derby lay thy Fate Derby unfortunately fortunate Unhappy thus to fall a Sacrifice To such an Irreligious Power as this And blest as 't was thy nobler sence to dye A constant Lover of thy Loyalty Nor is it thy Calamity alone Since more lye whelm'd in this Subversion And first the justest and the best of Kings Roab'd in the glory of his Sufferings By his too violent Fate inform'd us all What tragick ends attended his great fall Since when his Subjects some by chance of War Some by perverted justice at the Bar Have perish't thus what th' other leaves this takes And who so scapes the Sword falls by the Axe Amongst which throng of Martyrs none could boast Of more fidelity than the world has lost In losing thee when in contempt of spite Thy steddy faith at th'exit crown'd with Light His Head above their malice did advance They could not murder thy Allegiance Not when before those Iudges brought to th'test Who in the symptomes of thy ruin drest Pronounc't thy Sentence Basilisks whose Breath Is killing Poyson and whose Looks are Death Then how unsafe a Guard Man's virtue is Iâ— this false Age when such as do amiss Controul the honest sort and make a prey Of all that are not villanous as they Does to our Reasons Eyes too plain appear In the mischance of this Illustrious Peer Blood-thirsty Tyrants of usurped State In facts of Death prompt and insatiate That in your Flinty Bosoms have no sence Of Manly Honour or of Conscience But do since Monarchy lay drown'd in Blood Proclaim 't by Act high Treason to be good Cease yet at last for shame let Derby's fall Great and good Derby's expiate for all
Lâ—pidary's Bagatells Nor he that when he sleeps doth lye Under a stately Canopy Nor he that still supinely hides 〈◊〉 easie Down his lazy Sides Nor he that Purple wears and sups Luxurious Draughts in Golden Cups Nor he that loads with Princely fare His bowing Tables whil'st they 'll bear Nor he that has each spacious Vault With Deluges of Plenty fraught Cul'd from the fruitful Libyan Fields When Autumn his best Harvest yields But he whom no mischance affrights No Popular applause delights That can unmov'd and undismay'd Confront a Ruffins threatning Blade Who can do this that Man alone Has Power Fortune to Disthrone Q. Cicero de Mulierum levitate Translat COmmit a Ship unto the Wind But not thy Faith to Women kind For th' Oceans waving Billows are Safer than Womans Faith by far No Woman's Good and if there be Hereafter such a Thing as she â—Tis by I know not what of Fate That can from Bad a Good Create Epig. de Monsieur Maynard SOme Men of Sense and who pretend to be Ancient Well-willers to your Family Photiâ— give out that Baud Men may thee call And do thy modesty no wrong at all Thou swear'st they Infamously lye And that no Word of Verity They ever spake then or before And yet it cannot be deny'd But by thy Cuckold Husbands side Thou every Night dost lay a Whore. In Coccam Epig. de Monsieur Maynard THy Cheeks having their Roses shed And thy whole frame through Age become So loathsom for all use in Bed That 't is much fitter for a Tomb Cocca thou shouldst not be so vain Although thy Eloquence be great As to expect it should obtain That I should do the filthy Feat And that same Engine in your Hood You Cherish Court and Flatter so Now you have made him barely stood Is not so charitable though As in his vigorous Youth to be A Crutch to your Antiquity Epig. de Monsieur Maynard OLd Fop why should you take such pains To Paint and Perriwig it so My nobler Love alas disdains To stoop so infamously low Time that does mow the fairest Flowers Has made so very bold with yours You should expect to be deny'd The Footmen can no more endure you And if no sport in Hell assure you You 'll never more be Occupy'd Epig. writ in Calistas Prayer Book By Monsieur Malherbe WHilst you are Deaf to Love you my Fairest Calista Weep and Pray And yet alas no Mercy find Not but God's Merciful 't is true But can you think he 'll grant to you What you deny to all Mankind ODE Bacchique de Monsieur Racau I. NOw that the Day 's short and forlorn Of Melancholick Capricorn To Chimny-corners Men translate Drown we our Sorrows in the Glass And let the thoughts of Warfare pass The Clergy and the Third Estate II. Maynard I know what thou hast writ That sprightly issue of thy Wit Will live whilst there are Men to read But what if they recorded be In Memories Temple boots it thee When thou art gnawnby Worms and dead III. Henceforth those fruitless Studies spare Let 's rather Drink until we stare Of this delicious Juice of ours Which does in excellence precede The beverage which Ganimede Into th' Immortals Gebâ—et pours IV. The Juicâ— that sparkles in this Glass Make tediâ—us Years like Days to pass Yet makes us younger still become By this from lab'ring Thoughts are chas't The Sorrows of those ills are past And terrour of the ills to come V. Let us Drink brimmers then Time's fleet And steals away with winged Feet Halling us with him to our Urn In vain we sue to it to stay For Years like Rivers slide away And never never do return VI. When the Spring comes attir'd in Green Then Winter flies and is not seen New Tides do still supply the Main But when our frolick Youth 's once gone And Age has ta'ne Possession Time ne're restores us that again VII Death's Laws are universal and In Princes Pallaces command As well as in the Poorest Hut We 're to the Parcae subject all The Threads of Clowns and Monarchs shall Be both by the same Cizoâ—s cut VIII Their rigours which all things deâ—ace Will ravish in a little space Whatever we most lasting make And soon will lead us out to drink Beyond the Pitchy Rivers brink The Waters of oblivious Lake Lyrick Ex Cornelio Gallo LYdia thou lovely Maid whose VVhite The Milk and Lilly does outviâ— The Pale and Blushing Roses light Or polisht Indian Ivory Dishevel sweet thy yellow Hair Whose ray doth burnisht Gold disprize Dissolve thy Neck so brightly fair That doth from Snowy Shoulders rise Virgin unvail those starry Eyes Whose Sable Brows like Arches spread Unvail those Cheeks where the Rose lies Streak'd with the Tyrian Purples Red. Lead me those Lips with Coral lin'd And kisses mild of Doves impart Thou ravishest away my Mind Those gentle kisses steal my Heart Why suck'st thou from my panting Breast The Youthâ—ul vigour of my Blood Hide those â—wine-Apples ripe if prest To spring in to a Milky-flood From thy expanded Bosom breathe Perfumes Arabia doth not know Thy every part doth Love bequeath From thee all excellencies â—low Thy Bosoms killing White then shade Hide that temptation from mine Eye Thou â—eest I languish cruel Maid Wilt thou then go and let me dye De luxu libidine Epig. Tho. Mori LEt who would die to end his Woes Both Wench and Tipple and he goes Id. in Avarum EPIG WIth narrow Soul thou swim'st in glorious Wealth Rich to thy Heir but wretched to thy self Id. in Digamos EPIG WHo having one Wife buried Marries then After one Shipwrack tempts the Sea agen Stances de Monsieur de Scudery I. FAir Nymph by whose perfections mov'd My wounded Heart is turn'd to Flame â—y all admired by all approv'd â—â—dure at least to be belov'd Although you will not Love again II. Aminta as Unkind as Fair What is there that you ought to fear â—or cruel if I you declare And that indeed you cruel are Why the reproach may you not hear III. Even reproaches should delight If Friendship for me you have none And if no anger I have yet Enough perhaps that may invite Your hatred or compassion IV. When your Disdain is most severe When you most rigorous do prove When frowns of anger most you wear You still more charming do appear And I am more and more in Love. V. Ah! let me Sweet your sight enjoy Though with the forâ—eit of my Life For fall what will I 'de rather dye Beholding you of present Joy Than absent of a lingring Grief VI. 〈◊〉 your Eyes lighten till expiring In flame my Heart a Cinder lye â—â—lling is nobler than retiring 〈◊〉 in the glory of Aspiring 'T is brave to tumble from the Sky VII 〈◊〉 I would any thing imbrace Might serve your anger to appease 〈◊〉 if I may obtain my Grace â—our Steps shall leave no print nor trace I will not with Devotion kiss