13 following Copies done by Mr. Hovenden Walker sometime of Trinity-Colledge in Dublin Psalm 139. Paraphras'd from Verse 7. to Verse 13. p. 207 A Pastoral in imitation of Virgil's 2d Eclogue p. 210 The fourth Elegy of Cornelius Gallus of the Miseries of Old Age. Made English p. 219 To my Mistriss Translated out of Tibullus p. 226 The Agreement p. 228 Song p. 231 The Innocent Discov'ry p. 234 The Petition A Song p. 234 Fate A Song p. 235 My Religion p. 237 The Kiss p. 239 The Wrack A Song p. 241 To Mr. P. Berault upon his French Grammar p. 242 Song p. 245 The same Song Inverted by Mr. VValker p. 246 The Five following Copies done by Mr. C. G. of AEton-Colledge A Paraphrase on part of the 23d Idyll of Theocritus p. 247 Chorus 1. Of Seneca's Agamemnon p. 255 The Penitent p. 259 To Duserastes p. 262 The Vow p. 263 The Six following POEMS by Mr. T. B. of Cambridge An Elegy on King Charles the Second p. 265 A Dithyrambique made just before the King and Queen went to their Coronation p. 269 To their Graces the Duke and Dutchess of Albemarle upon their Voyage for Iamaica p. 280 Ovid. Amor. lib. 2. Eleg. 15. A Ring presented to his Mistriss p. 283 To Afer Martial Epig. 31. lib. 4. Made English p. 285 An Excuse for not Rhiming in the Time of the Rebellion p. 286 MISCELLANY POEMS PART II. Written by several Authors A Paraphrase on an HYMN Sung when the Corps is at the Grave By T. S. Fellow of Maudlin-Colledge Oxon. I. HOW full of Troubles is the Life of Man Vain like a bubble shorter than a span He springs and blossoms as an early Flower Whose silken Leaves the Frosts and Snow devour He like the â—leeting Shadow hastes away Unable to continue in one stay It disappears and can't survive the day II. The Noon-tide of our Life is plac'd in Death We 're not secure of one light puff of Breath To whom O God can we for succour fly But unto thee by whom we live and dye 'T is for our Sins thou dost employ this Sting Thou justly angry art our God and King But takest no delight in punishing III. O Holy Mighty Lord and Saviour Declare thy signal Mercies and thy Pow'r Condemn us not unto the pains of Hell Where Horror reigns and endless Torments dwell From whence no ransom ever can be made Since we our bless'd Redeemer have betray'd And both his Will and Laws have disobey'd IV. Thou know'st the secret Closet of our Hearts Thy divine Presence fills our secret parts Therefore be mercifull unto our Pray'r Most worthy Iudge thy wretched People spare Forsake us not when on our Death-beds thrown Lest through despair we deeply sigh and groan And Hell grow proud of the Dominion Advice to his Friends lamenting the Death of I. F. By the same Hand RIse and rejoyce all ye that Mourn Dry ev'ry Eye that weeps The Body in this hollow Urn Is not quite dead but sleeps See how the Leaves in Autumns falling Dew Forsake the weeping Tree And how the jocund Spring renews With Buds their infancie What though the Root lye under-ground The Boughs to Heav'n aspire Thus Bodies in the Grave are found The Souls are mounted higher Hark! hark I hear the Trumpet 's Voice Cry Come ye Blessed come Methinks I hear our Friend rejoyce That he is Summon'd home Now Dronish Death hath lost her Sting The Grave her Victorie For Christ in Triumph rides as King Of this great Iubilee Arise my Friends and wipe your Eyes Salvation's drawing nigh Let 's live to dye and dye to rise T' enjoy Eternity T. S. EPITAPH on Mrs. E. F. who sickned of the Small Pox and Deceased December the 31st 1686. being the Day before her intended Nuptials THis fair young Virgin for a Nuptial Bed More fit is lodg'd sad Fate among the Dead Storm'd by rough Winds so falls in all her pride The full-blown Rose design'd t' adorn a Bride Truth is this lovely Virgin from her Birth Became a constant strife 'twixt Heav'n and Earth Earth claim'd her pleaded for her either cry'd The Nymph is mine at length they did divide Heav'n took her Soul the Earth her Corps did seize Yet not in Fee she only holds by Lease With this proviso When the Iudge shall call Earth shall give up her share and Heav'n have all An EPITAPH to the Memory and fix't on the Tomb of Sir PALME FAIRBORN Governour of Tangier who in Execution of his Command was Mortally Wounded by a Shot from the Moors that then besieged the Town Octob. 24. 1680. YE Sacred Reliques which this Marble keep Here undisturb'd by Wars in quiet sleep Discharge the Trust which when it was below Fairborn's undaunted Soul did undergo And be the Towns Palladium from the Foe Alive and dead he will these Walls defend Great Actions Great Examples must attend The Candian Siege his early Valour knew Where Turkish Blood did his young hands embrew From thence returning with deserv'd applause Against the Moors his well-flesh'd Sword he draws The same the Courage and the same the Cause His Youth and Age his Life and Death combine As in some great and regular design All of a piece throughout and all Divine Still nearer Heav'n his Vertues shone more bright Like rising Flames expanding in the height The Martyrs Glory crown'd the Souldiers Fight More bravely Brittish Gen'ral never fell Nor Gen'rals Death was e'er reveng'd so well Which his pleas'd Eyes beheld before their close Follow'd by Thousand Victims of his Foes An ELEGY on the Death of N. D. Doctor of Physick By I. C. WHat will my Mourning yet no period find Must sighs sorrow still distract my Mind My Sense grows â—eeble and my Reason's gone Passion and Discontent usurp the Throne With blubber'd Eyes my veiled sight grows dim Ah cruel Death cou'd you â—ind none but him To gratifie your hungry Iaws withall Or if in haste none but a Doctor 's fall Howe'er you might forbore your stroke a while But possibly you thought he might beguile Your craving Appetite of many more Which you expected to strike long before But sure my Mind 's disturb'd my Passions ravâ— To censure Death and quarrel with the Graveâ— Alas he 's bound the blow he cannot give Till his Commission shews we must not live Yet hence we learn and may this inf'rence make That if Physicians Souls their Iourney take Into a distant Climate well may Ours Then with what care ought we to spend those hours Or rather few remaining Sands which are In so much Bounty tender'd to our care The purest Druggs compos'd with greatest Skill Can't preserve Life when Death has pow'r to kill Peasant and Prince are both to him alike And with an equal blow doth either strike All must surrender when his Arm is stretch't With such a weighty force his blow is fetch 't But oh I wander from my Virtuous Friend 'T is true indeed he 's dead but yet no
'm sure my Soul will lose her way II. Oh 't is not dark enough I wish it were Some Rays are still on my Eyes Atmosphere Which give sufficient light I find Still to continue me stark blind For to Eyes that 's dazl'd with too radiant light Darkness proves best restorative o' th' light To my Dear Cousin Mrs. M. T. after the Death of her Husband and Son. DEar Coz. I hope by this time you have dry'd At least set bounds to th'almost boundless tide Of flowing Tears I 'm sure my wish is so Which Love and Int'rest does oblige me to For you can bear no Sufferings alone All yours are mine by participation And doubtless all your Friends in some degree Must bear a share if they can love like me Then if not for your own sake yet for ours And in submission to th' Eternal Powers Not only dry your Eyes but chear your Brow And lend us Ioys and we 'll repay them you Rouse up your Soul and shew your self indu'd With Mothers Prudence Fathers Fortitude In other Vertues you have equall'd them In these strive to out-doe your worthy Stem For here Ambition can't excessive be Neither esteemed pride or vanity For when we to the top of Vertue climb We 're sure in no mistake much less a crime But by this brave attempt you shall subdue Cross Fate which otherwise wou'd conquer you But after all that can be said on this I am not ignorant how hard it is To conquer Passions and our selves subdue Though advis'd by Friends and assisted too By the prevailing Powers of Grace from Heav'n Still Counsel's harder to be took than giv'n Not that I thought your Griefs profuse but knew Much to a Son more to a Husband 's due Only remember that our Lord has taught Thy will be done therefore we must in thought As well as words submit to his intents Who can bring good out of the worst Events Whose Mercy oft protracts the bad Man's doom And takes the good Man from the ill to come TO MY Young Lover INcautious Youth why do'st thou so mis-place Thy fine Encomiums on an o'er-blown Face Which after all the Varnish of thy Quill It s Pristine wrinkles shew apparent still Nor is it in the power of Youth to move An Age-chill'd heart to any strokes of Love. Then chuse some budding Beauty which in time May crown thy Wishes in thy blooming prime For nought can make a more preposterouâ— show Than April Flowers stuck on St. Michael's Bow. To consecrate thy first-born Sighs to me A superannuated Deity Makes that Idolatry and deadly Sin Which otherwise had only Venial been TO MY Young Lover ON HIS VOW I. ALas why mad'st thou such a Vow Which thou wilt never pay And promise that from very now Till everlasting day Thou mean'st to love sigh bleed and dye And languish out thy breath In praise of my Divinity To th' minute of thy Death II. Sweet Youth thou know'st not what it is To be Love's Votary Where thou must for the smallest bliss Kneel beg and sigh and cry Probationer thou should'st be first That thereby thou may'st try Whether thou can'st endure the worst Of Love's austerity III. For Worlds of Beauties always stand To tempt thy willing Eye And Troops of Lusts are at thy hand To vanquish thee or dye And now this Vow exposes thee To th' third of all the worst The Devil of inconstancy That Tempter most accurs'd TO MY Young Lover A SONG TO praise sweet Youth do thou forbear Where there is no desert For alas Encomiums here Are Iewels thrown i' th' dirt For I no more deserve Applause Now Youth and Beauty 's fled Than a Tulip or a Rose When its fair Leaves are shed Howe'er I wish thy Praises may Like Prayers to Heaven born When holy Souls for Sinners pray Their Prayers on them return To my Unkind Friend Little Tom King. I. WEll by experience now I see This World 's made up of flattery Complements and formality Since nought but int'rest now can bind Ev'n old acquaintance to be kind 'T were madness then to hope to find True Friendship in the Modern Crew Of late-contracted Friends Hence then acquaintance all adieu I can't oblige my Friendship to pursue Such dull insipid ends As nought but to a Ceremony tends Since Friendship from old Friends is flown Rather than endure the pratlings The flatteries and the censurings Which a Modish Friendship brings My pensive Dove shall sit and coo alone II. But perhaps it will be said Unlucky Business has this mischief made Business that plausible excuse Of all unkindness to a Friend That Bankrupt that ne'er pays Principle nor Use Of all the Time that e'er we to him lend Yet Bus'ness now 's a Merchant of such Fame That he has got the whole Monopoly Of Time Love Friends and Liberty Of which if there be scarcity Bus'ness is to blame For nought can vended be but in his Name III. Since then the World 's so much to Bus'ness proâ—e 'T is time that idle I was gone Alas why do I stay VVhen that canker bus'ness which I hate VVith Int'rest is confederate Eats our pleasant shady Friends away VVe'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 VVho informs us by his latest Knell Whether we have made up this World's Consort well IV. Hence I 'll not murmur then Though some grow Proud and others really Great Or heap up Riches by deceit Since they must pay it all again To Death who rapaciously devours All for which we drudge in vain And sell our ease for fruitless pain All which we like mistaken fools call ours Whilst in some lazie Solitude may I Enjoy my self alone Free from this VVorld's buzzing frantick feuds And sweets and stings of Fate 's Vicissitudes Have nothing else to do but dye I care not who esteems me as a Drone For out o' th' World so secretly I 'll steal That babbling Fame shall not the theft reveal And when I to my long repose am gone My dearest Brother who is gone before Half way will meet me in the Air or more Where we 'll be happy in Excess In Mansions of Eternal blessedness Yet if there can be Any allay of this felicity It will be this when he shall find That I no other news can bring From his Old Friend my Little King But that he was unkind A Second EPISTLE To my Honoured Friend Mr. E. S. I. OFt has my Muse and I fall'n ouâ— And I as oft have banish'd her my Breast But such alas still was her interest And still to
your Sexes Excellence That Sex which doth in you Triumphant come To praise with Wit of Greece the Arms of Rome Secur'd by solid Sence you soar sublime Above the little flutt'ring flights of Rhime Antient Philosophy embrac'd by few Smiles and looks young to be caress'd by you Out-rivals Love and drives him from your Breast And is alone of your whole self possest No Word of yours the nicest can reprove To show a more than modest sense of Love But something still like inspiration shines Through the bright Virgin Candor of your lines How well are all your Hero's toyls and fights His long laborious Days and restless Nights Re-paid with Glory by your charming Pen How gladly wou'd he act them o'er again The Great Cornelian Race with wonder view The Asian Conquerour thus adorn'd by you And th' younger Scipio willingly wou'd quit His Titles for your more Triumphant Wit. On then brave Maid secure of Fame advance 'Gainst the Scaroons and Scudderies of France Shew them your claim let nought your Merit awe Your Title 's good spight of the Salique-Law Safe in the Triumphs of your Wit remain Our English Laws admit a Woman's Reign EXILIUS ON THE POSTHUME and Precious POEMS OF Sir MATTHEW HALE Late Lord Chief Iustice of His Majesty's Court of King's-Bench By a Gentleman of Lincolns-Inn THE Rose and other fragrant Flow'rs smell best When they are pluck'd and worn in Hand or Breast So this fair Flow'r of Vertue this rare Bud Of Wit smells now as fresh as when he stood And by his Poetry doth let us know He on the Banks of Helicon did grow The Beauties of his Soul apparent shine Both in his Works and Poetry Divine In him all Vertues met th' Exemplary Of Wisdom Learning and true Piety Farewell Fam'd Iudge Minion of Thespian Dameâ— Apollo's Darling born with Enthian Flames Which in thy numbers wave and shine so clear As sparks refracted in rich Iems appear Such Flames as may inspire and Atoms cast To make new Poets not like him in hast To the Admir'd AUTHOR Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT ON HIS Incomparable HISTORIES ENTITULED God's Revenge against Murther and Adultery with the Triumphs of Friendship and Chastity Newly published in a small Vol. 80. By Mr. I. Whitehall SInce the too bold aspiring Angel fell By his Ambition and his Pride to Hell And since Rebellious Man lost Paradise The World is fill'd with various sorts of Vice Murther and Lust twin Tyrants long have reign'd And a vast Empire through the World maintain'd The Sword of Iustice could not stop their rage They 've boldly tyranniz'd in ev'ry Age Nor cou'd Divines their furious heat asswage Yet doubtless Friend th' Examples you have giv'n May give them prospect of revenging Heav'n Your Pen with Eloquence divine inspir'd Will cool the Souls with Lust and Murther fir'd Tame all the Passions regulate the Will And stop that Rage which guiltless blood wou'd spill Such charming Oratory it doth give As teacheth us by others Death to live And from a Life of Chastity and Love A great Advantage to our selves improve To tell thy Fame I want great Spencer's Skill The gentle charming pow'r of Cowley's Quill All Men of Sence will praise thy matchless Prose For sharpest Briar bears the sweetest Rose To his Ingenious FRIEND Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT ON HIS Compendious HISTORIES OF Murther Adultery Friendship and Chastity Some of the former being Epitomiz'd from Mr. Reynold's Murthers By another Hand MAny 't is true knew of this Golden Mine But all their Skill cou'd not the Ore Refine Th' inimitable REYNOLD's very Name Startled at first our greatest Men of Fame Each one by fear from that great task was hurl'd And tho'lanch'd out their Sails were quickly furl'd Wanting thy courage they cou'd never soar To this high pitch which none e'er reach'd beâ—orâ— The Vulgar paths thou shun'st soaring sublime Till with quaint Eloquence thou fraught'st each line None yet so sweetly charm'd with Sence the times So gently and so well rebuk'd such crimes As you my Friend have done for you present Vice so deform'd the Wicked will repent And by Examples of the chast and kind Fix bright Embellishments upon the Mind Such as may make us to improve and be Like patterns of Heroick Piety Thy Wit and Skill may former Artists blame And Reynold's Murthers now we must not name As sable Darkness which attends the Night To the Days Sun-beams is its opposite So Vice from Vertue Wrong from Right 's the same Then how canst thou write wrong when WRIGHT's thy Name ON Christmas-day O God! who art most Excellent and Wise I see the Morning Beams break through the Skies And with great admiration view the Light Which dissipates Nights darkness from my sight But with a greater wonder I look on Those bright Illuminations which thy Son Hath brought to light by 's Incarnation Look and admire I may but can't express Such heights and depths of Love in Prose or Verse 'T is beyond th' art of Rhet'rick to display What Chrisâ—ians solemnize this Fâ—stal day Two sacred Words are an Epiâ—ome Of what 's effected in this Mystery Redemption and Salvation heav'nly Letters Which freed fall'n Man from th' Bondage of his Fetters Lust and Ambition Avarice and Fraud Was then his Master and his Passions Lord Till Christ his great Redeemer broke the Chain And placed him in Paradise again O Love most infinite O Love divine This Mystery of Love was truly thine For neither Men nor Angels could atone Th' Almighty's Wrath but God and Man in one Wherefore Divinity submits to be Lodg'd in a Vessel of Humanity How ioyfully â—he heav'nly Host above Proclaim to Man glad tydings of thy Love And shall Mankind so much ungrateful be Or rather sink into stupidity As not with equal Ioy this Message hear And all due Rev'rence to their Saviour bear And finally Let 's end these Festal days With sweet Doxologies and Songs of Praise UPON DEATH NAked I came from out my Mother's Womb And naked must return unto my Tomb Disrob'd of all Injoyments here below Or what my Fancy had esteemed so Laid down in silence and by all forgot Left in an Earthly Sepulchre to rot And turn to noisome and corrupted Clay My Manly Shape and Figure worn away Thus when our little breath and life 's once gone We make a Feast for Worms to feed upon And though we shou'd the most Endearments have Of Wife and Children too yet we must leave Them and their Fortunes unto Providence When pale-fac'd Death shall summon us from hence Why do we stand amaz'd and seem to fear When e'er the news of a Friend's Death we hear And not much rather to applaud the Tongue That brought intelligence he liv'd so long For Life's so mutable each little blast May the whole Fabrick unto ruin hast Life is a Bubble which now you see here And in a moments time do's disappear Full as inconstant as the Wind alas 'T is far more brittle than a Venice-Glass