Friend could say no less YORK 1670. A Prologue for a Company of Players leaving London for York upon their first appearance MEthinks you all look here as you would know Why we left London to attend on you I' th' first place we could stay no longer there Because new Playes were both so bad and dear We could not thrive o' th' trade for each Wit now Regards far more his Belly than his Brow The second thing that made us to retire Alas the Mercer's Books escap'd the Fire The third the Gallants were so worn they must Not see a Play unless it were on trust But with us Infidels that would not do Our Pit and Women then they 'd enter too And no admittance pay But we were loth Cuckolds to be and Beggars both But the grand mover of our forc'd retreat We were inspir'd by Prophecies and Fate Tho London the Metropolis be known York has the grandeur in reversion And Shipton's Prophecies may now prove true Since we have London left to wait on you Epilogue MEre thanks make but a slender shew When for great favours more are due Yet Gentlemen they 're all we have for you But wee 'l indeavour to repay The Time the Coin you cast away Wee 'l tell you how if you but please to stay For those three hours you here shall sit Wee 'l give you Scenes of Mirth and Wit Such as the Poet ne'r in three Months writ Then with our Iewels we devise To pay the Ladies back that prize Which we each day shall purchase from their Eyes Yet here we have a hard Task met Tho ours were right and richly set Ladies your Eyes would make 'em counterfeit Our gen'rous freeness then to show For th' Money you on us bestow Wee 'l spend it all amongst you e're we go The VILLIERS 1671. To my honour'd Friend Sir George Villiers Bar. YOU from the Vulgar are far off remov'd Where 't is disparagement ev'n to be lov'd Yet as we see the greater Worlds bright eye Warms all below whilst it does move on high So you forget the State to which you 're born Your goodness pardons what your height may scorn And yet 't is true that to your self you owe Th' officious troubles their respects bestow For were you but less worthy or more proud You 'd soon be free from the adoring croud But such attractive Virtues take their place Alwayes in some of your illustrious Race That in each Age Fame does'em justly sing True Fav'rites to their Country or their King A glorious truth since from your Grandsire came He who was justly both great Buckingham Your Brooksby boasts we her may justly bless For th' honour o' th' last age the love of this And yet here springs a doubt whether's more due This boast to your brave Ancestors or you You who reflect their worth and makes us see Both what they were and what your Son will be The VALENTINE 1671. To Mrs. J. M. bestowing a Present in a Letter DID not sufficiently my glory shine When you acknowledg'd me your Valentine But you must add new Trophies to your praise And make that Vassal rich you pleas'd to raise Thus generous Princes when their pow'rs they show They Titles first and then Estates bestow Madam in this with Heav'n you share renown Which makes a Saint and after gives a Crown Your costly gift though too too rich before Yet you with richer lines have gilded o're Lines where each word nay letter may be fit To prove a Cordial to decaying Wit A favour which at once I cannot know Since at each reading I see new ones grow Like th' Orange-Tree whose fruit at once and bloom Blesses this Season and the next to come But we alas who 're only rich in dreams Of Golden Sands that pave Pactolus Streams Yet sadly find when seriously we think No Sand but Pindust and no Stream but Ink We can make no returns but thanks and those Would sound too flat if only drest in Prose Your favour was obliging to excess 'T is fit my Gratitude should be no less And no expressions here can act that part Unless they be extracted from the heart Neither can these their purposes obtain If not in Verse th' Elixir of the Brain Thus Madam when you have my chiefest store Of brain and heart t is vain to offer more DANGEROUS SAFETY 1671. To the Honourable Mrs. Chaworth SOL tho his Throne be in the Skies Vouchsafes the courtship of our Eyes We are as much oblig'd to you Blest with the favour of your view And tho from us you 're so much rais'd That it 's below you to be prais'd Yet 't is our duty to admire And honour you without desire Our Lowness guards us and our share Of safety comes from our Despair Our thoughts are daunted at your sight Thus salvage Beasts are tam'd with Light Such fainting hopes cannot succeed Our thoughts against our selves we breed Poor Graecians thus inslaved were By Children which themselves did bear The two-edg'd Sword of your bright Eyes Keeps back the croud of amorous sighs Your Roses and your Lillies are Safe-fenc'd against presumptuous Air. We know your Virtues and we prize The charming Glories of your Eyes But this can no more good bequeath Than Wine to Persons doom'd to death Like tortur'd Souls who know that bliss Which they 're alas condemn'd to miss The RESCUE 1672. To Mrs. D. C. Whose name being left after drawing Valentines and cast into the Fire was snatcht out FOrtune that does the World subdue Submits her Empire here to you Your smiles can fix her changing state And spight of her can bliss create Henceforth you will more courted be And have more Altars far than she You need not her Advancements mind No more than Light to be refin'd Compost is vain for your rich Soil Your Di'mond shines without a foil And you have such an awful flame She durst not meddle with your Name Which scorn'd her Laws and would not be Subservient to her Lottery She rag'd with fury at the slight Aping the Syrian Tyrant's spite That did to flames those Persons vow Who would not to his Idol bow I like the Angel did aspire Your Name to rescue from the fire My Zeal succeeded for your Name But I alas caught all the flame A meaner off'ring thus suffic'd And Isaac was not sacrific'd The REFORMADO 1672. Vpon a certain Levite who had tryed many Sects writing bald Acrosticks against Mr. R. W. INlighten'd by his fiery rant I find out George but not the Saint His Idle Phrensie makes it ghest Tho not inspir'd he is possest The ancient Iews for cure did play And Fiend at Musick fled away But here alas our modern Iew Is both the Fiend and Fidler too Stumbling in his Acrostick way Look how his Muses feet are splay From letter they to letter stride As Cripples upon Crutches ride George the fierce Dogril tortures Verse 'Till every Sheet becomes an Herse For
their Maiden-heads Roses although with blushes born Their green-silk Plackets now are torn And shew their beauties to the Morn Your Hand faire Lady then hold by Or kindly let my searching Eye Through th' Lattice of your Fingers pry The Russian Empress need not fear If Cold or shame would Coverings wear She 's cloath'd with native Miniver The ARCHTRAITOR 1659. Vpon the Death of Oliver Cromwell THE Muses like the Cavaleers confin'd For Wit and Loyalty are best when joyn'd Have now their liberty the time affords Poets to use their Pens and those their Swords The Tyrant knew by both he might be harm'd So Playes he voted down and them disarm'd For he did doubt whether more hurt might rise Or from the Standish or the Mortar-piece Arm'd against Swords but not 'gainst Cleveland's Quill More sharp than Porcupines it pierc'd his Steel T was try'd of old when feather'd Arrows flew They far more Foes than all our Cannons slew 'T was this made him so cautiously severe Poets and Souldiers tam'd he did not fear But all his cruel Policies were vain Mastiffs are much the fiercer for the Chain Helicon rougher runs when 't is disturb'd And Pegasus kicks more for being curb'd Who did his Provant and his Curb neglect Nor would those clear Streams his grim looks reflect 'T is true a Slave or two to shew his face Made Stix not Helicon his Looking-Glass Their Turkish Souls and fancies were so vain To serve as Footstools to that Tamberlane Their mercenary Bays as largely spread Upon the Tyrant's as the Prince's head Base that in verse Rebellion should appear As though Apollo were turn'd Presbyter As th' Muses stirred up by zealous wrath Should lend their Treasures to the Publick Faith Wretches who if they live to better days May merit Hempen Wreaths instead of Bayes Wit like true Courage never should abate But bravely stand unmov'd in spite of Fate Confront the Tyrant in his guarded Den And like bold Brutus stab him with a Pen. Nero set Rome on fire a crime Severe Noll fir'd three Kingdoms and then warm'd him there Play'd o're the Flames and long exulting stood Then strove to quench them with the Natives blood Nor was 't enough to make our Purses pay But Taxes on our Consciences to lay We might connive not only at his Guilt But take on us the blood the Tyrant spilt The Commons did it he like Pilate stands And we the Water hold to wash his hands Prodigious arrogance he did defie The chiefest pow'rs both of the Earth and Sky Against both God and Church he stood alone Thrust one fro'th ' Church the other from the Throne His sacrilegious hands at once pluck'd down The sacred Myter and the regal Crown The Graces and the Muses he accus'd Because by 's lust they would not be abus'd And yet this devillish Hypocrite would pray Hyena like would cry and then betray With counterfeiting groans he did his wiles Like to the treacherous sobs of Crocodiles His Tears like those of baneful Yew did trill Whose baneful drops their neighb'ring Trees do kill His whining always did portend some harm So hardest Marbles weep against a Storm His Trulyes cheated and his Smiles betray'd In Velvet-skabbard lay his murd'ring blade His poys'nous heart in Beds of Flowers lay Like Quagmires into which their Greens betray A Sodom-Apple rotten at the Coar A Pestilential Bubo plaister'd o're But now the Botch is broke his Reign is done And he himself into Corruption run The APPARITION 1659. Vpon Cromwel's burying by Ireton in Westminster Abby PArdon great Souls if I presume So near as your Withdrawing room Your royal Wardrobe wherein rests Your Garniture in Marble Chests Safely lockt up to make more gay Your second Coronation day Then will those mouldy Garments shine Like that pure stuff which them must line Air'd by the influence of a Ray Stronger then what gives life to Day Which will new cloath that Beldame Night With robes spun of eternal light Will make the Sun in Cynders lye That Phoenix in its Nest to dye For it would be a needless sight When every object is more bright That shining time we once must know If 't be allow'd to call it so When no degree nor space is found But an immortal Nunc goes round This thought such deep impressions makes My muse with awful rev'rence shakes Methinks I hear the Trumpet 's sound An Earth-quake strikes the palsy'd ground The Marbles now discharge their trust And faithfully return their Dust. Behold the quickning Attoms play Invited by an heavenly ray In close embraces dancing round 'Till each its old position found Uniting then with joy they rest Form'd to a Temple fitly drest To hold the bright descending Guest Who will not lose by changing place Convey'd into its shining Case As Sun-beames into Chrystal pass Thus animated from above Look how the rising Monarchs move With lofty meen they Earth despise Gods now indeed and worthy Skies Attended by a fitting Train Which humbly at their feet had lain No Subject boasts a nobler state Than on his Prince's dust to wait Kings honour bring where they resort Making ev'n Golgotha a Court. From Heav'n amongst the Angels came A glitt'ring Wayter called Fame Breaking her Trumpet with a blast For what needs Fame when time is past Here other Heralds then appear'd Those Poets that were there interr'd 'T is fit they should some glory share Who did so much advance it here Just as all these prepar'd to fly To the shining Rendezvous i' th' Sky Two Monsters from their filth did craul Off'ring to rise still down they fall Their blood-shot eyes with gloating shame Too weak to bear the heavenly flame Of such a Presence dazling bright With glory crown'd and roab'd with light One of 'em with a glaring look Swelling with spite and fury spoke These are but Kings and Cromwell I They at my Genius us'd to fly Death that great Tyrant being dead Why should we petty Monarchs dread What makes us so dejected lie Those vainly fear that cannot die Yet die we will rather then shun To act what we before have done Quoth damn'd remonstring Ireton Let 's charge their Troop and both prepar'd Red fury from their Beacons glar'd Their heads the groveling serpents rear'd Fame then reply'd Avaunt thou odious spawn of Night Thou Beam i' th' very Eye of Light Wer 't not enough you did defile Nay worse profan'd this hallow'd Soyle Reducing it to so vile price Like Egypt's it may turn to Lice Were 't not enough you did invade Their Throne but you usurp their Shade Pursuing them ev'n to the Tombe And now dare in their Presence come You ought to be for this bold crime Damn'd down to Hell before your time Like red-hot Iron then Cromwel glowes Yet nothing shin'd unless his Nose Of red and blew mixt was the flame As it from Fire and Brimstone came The Angel shunning further stay His Heavenly Banner did display Such power i' th'
her Cheeks be tann'd it may be ghest The shadow only that her Eye-beams cast Talk not what Silver drops in Pearls are found Black is the Water of a Diamond Her eyes those sparkling Gems hence shine more bright Jewels advance their lustre in the night There 's none who sees her tho but would be proud Ixion like to dally with this Cloud The Irish MASSACRE 1664. Vpon Captain Robert Sutton's death in Ireland BRave Sutton Drums and Trumpets fit thine Herse More than the slight solemnity of Verse The Muses Heralds may put up with shame They are out-sounded by the Trump of Fame 'T is fitter far that thou great Mars shouldst have Close Mourner then Apollo at thy Grave Thy Martial Steed with his courageous Neigh Jostles my Pegasus out of his way Thy Sword has carv'd out such a lasting Story My Pen adds nothing to thy full-grown glory Here lies a Youth had but his Stars been kind Or Fortune equal to his Birth and Mind He had brave Sidney and those Sparks outgone Who did at thirty all that could be done But none can limm him right who have not been Where they might him before his Troop have seen How he that day made many Dons to fall When English Swords protected Portugal Where dying Valour he again reviv'd Like th' Soul when to a Body newly ' arriv'd The lustre that his Arms and Actions show'd Like Lightning darted through the Sulph'ry Cloud His beauty then with heat of sight improv'd Had Venus seen she Mars no more had lov'd Yet was he not provoking nor did watch Like Tinder alwaies ready for a Match He rather seem'd like to the hardy Flint Cold until struck tho Fire lye dormant in 't Or like a Tempest that is slow to rise But woe to him that in its way then lies This made old gallant Schomberg so admire To find new kindled here his youthful fire This made him court him every way to own What he that day deserv'd the Lawrel Crown Blind Love 't was thou allur'dst him to neglect Bellona's Favours to gain thy respect Who would believe such Toyes should Sutton move To leave crown'd Victory and follow Love The Moral he made good and to his cost Snatch'd at the Shadow but the Substance lost Ill fare those charms that made him shun the light For vain Idaeas only fit for Night Nor can nor shall she thrive but helpless be False to her self in being false to thee Farewel brave Soul the raging Irish Seas Contain not tears enow for thy decease That rainy Region though it weep each day For thy sad loss does but due tribute pay Ingrateful Ireland thou hast cost us dear Committing here a second Massacre The CLAIM 1665. To my honoured friend Sir Clifford Clifton To whom is dedicated the ensuing Poem SIR I present you here with nothing new Since what I write now all before-time knew Your Father's merits were i' th' last Age known And shall be when this and the next is gone In such Records they need not up be laid Tho Kings nay Gods of old have crav'd that aid Tradition will preserve it whence may come More good and wonder than from those of Rome Yet ev'ry Poet now should have a fling As ev'ry bungling Painter draws the King But I presume so much of Art to own To say the Picture 's like tho faintly drawn If it be bigger made than others drew It is that I grieve more than others do And reason good since what I have of Fame Is only that which from his Friendship came Since then you heir his Goodness well as Lands I humbly claim my Portion from your hands The Old-English GENTLEMAN 1665. An Elegiac Poem upon the truly honourable Sir Gervas Clifton of Clifton Knight and Baronet § 1. IMagine me one toss'd on shore O'rewhelm'd in tides of Grief before Come to my self I now must him deplore Men well nigh drown'd cannot invent One word whilst any Water 's pent So Grief is silent untill Tears have vent But now my Sorrow is wept dry And I long since did tilt each Eye Tears from my Pen must now that want supply Yet if I every tear should tell They would into an Ocean swell These are but those that in my Standish fell But now these Tides their Banks must break Lest standing too long still they make The clear-quick Streams of Helicon a Lake Grief shows then best when freshly wept Roses lofe scent if too much steept And Manna mouldy grows if too long kept Silent I was when I did come T' attend the Sermon o're his Tomb When Sion speaks Parnassus should be dumb Though Poets hence are noblest crown'd They are alas too seldom found To trace their Measures out in holy ground Yet when in Anthems their desires Are tun'd to th' key of Angel-Quires Such Breathings may augment Coelestial Fires 'T is well if Paphian Lawrels may Presume to sweep the dust away Fell from the Prophet's feet that solemn day Especially my fading Bays Too often wither'd by the Rays O' th' Cyprian Star whereon young Dotards gaze Yet if my Muse can now indite Any thing that comes near the right Blest Clifton 't is become thy Proselyte § 2. 'T is good to treat of Subjects fit An Atheist once of Heaven writ And Heav'n was pleased to convert his Wit But what can Wit or Verses do To his Advance alas 't is true They may contract his greatness to our view Phoebus needs none but his own Light Prospectives make not him more bright But only serve to aid our purblind Sight From Romes Republick Crowns did come But Verse can give a nobler doom Yet he crowns Verse as Caesar crowned Rome Poets shall make his Name to bear Live-Lawrels and inhabit there As Nightingales on Orpheus's Sepulchre Yet they who can themselves retrieve Fro' th' Grave and Life to others give Will gladly court his Shadow there to live §. 3. 'T is said the Pourtraiture of Wit Exceeds the Life and is then fit When 't is not so like us as we like it But such vain Rules we now must shun Hyperboles are here out-done As much as Candles are out-shin'd by th' Sun A genuine Beauty suits each dreâ—â— Bad faces to their shame confess All Art but paints 'em into Ugliness Great mens Defects are oft supply'd By Verse hence Crimes derive their Pride Thus Caesar's Garlands did his Baldness hide But no more blame falls to our share Than to those Chamber-maids whose care But washes Faces that before were fair If Truth should never be exprest But by those who can do it best She might go naked still or thinly drest At Coronations 't were a thing Most strange if only great Bells ring Or none but Courtiers cry'd God save the King From low Stops highest Notes are rais'd By poor mens pray'rs none are disgrac'd Caesar did boast when in a Cottage prais'd All Wit is here by Grief out-done And Brains dissolv'd to Tears do run Yet Tears distill'd thus may
either Wit or Fancy grows They 're yours but when depriv'd of those I must be forc'd to pay in Prose Decaying Farmers thus lament When their best Stock and Mony 's spent Their very Raggs are seiz'd for Rent This is a Quit-rent yearly paid By which my Title 's surer made Th' Estate else may be forfeited Tho such mean Homages you scorn Yet some to noble Fortunes born Take nothing but a Pepper-Corn For these poor Rhymes a pretty Cloak Words vanish with the breath th' are spoke Yet Sacrifices went in Smoak Truth 's a great Empress and will reign This New-years-Gifts pretence is vain It is not so much Gift as gain Thus our Devotions when most hot Pay dues to Heav'n that needs 'em not We profit by the pious Plot. Heaven at the Heart did ever aim Far more than at the costly flame Which from the Sacred Altar came Who would not such a Goodness trust That grateful is to worthless Dust And makes them happy that are just My Duty such procedures know Since I in paying what I ow Purchase that fame I would bestow But whence can I that Patent claim Either to give or purchase fame Who nothing knows of it but name Nor is it more than fleeting Air Untill condens'd by Poet's care To Iewels for each Ladies Ear. Your worth such rich Materials brings Wherewith to make those precious things Fit both for Ears and Crowns of Kings Disturb not then your self but shun Th' effects of Envy for 't is known Obnoxious Vapours cloud the Sun Vertue 's a Piramid of Light Attracting dazling Gazer's sight And envious shades attend its height With native Balsam ease your pain Tho Skies o'recast and turn to Rain Those drops inrich the Earth with Grain Time calms rough tempests raging Seas No Storms can wreck an inward Peace Wrong'd Worth like bruis'd Perfumes increase Reports like Darts of Reed when shot At a right Breast-plate hurt it not You Madam have such Armour got There cannot be a surer fence Than yours whose Guard is Innocence And whose Desires are free'd from sense To raise the meanest doubt's a Sin She must the noblest Trophies win Whose Fort 's impregnable within In her a pow'r resistless lies Who bears Artillery in her Eyes And conquers Death's self when she dies OLYMPUS 1675. Spoken by Mrs. P. L. to the right honourable the Lord and Lady Roos at Belvoir before a Play she starting up as rising from the dead BLessings upon those Eyes whose pow'rful shine Has open'd mine The pointed raies that from your Glories broke Like Sun-beams glanc'd on me and I awoke Your rich intensive Light Broke through the Clouds of Nature's deepest Night Bright Twins your Sun-like power Reviv'd a drooping Flower And made it grow From Winding-sheets and Graves of Snow May Smiles Joyes Loves attend your sight For thence they gain their choicest light From you may ghastly Objects fly As gloomy shades fro' th' morning Sky Nothing that can frightful be To Innocence or purity Can in this Orbe appear No more than darkness in the upper Sphear If th' Issue of the Poets brain Either were obscene or vain We cleans'd his Muse Like muddy Carps in springing Stews If in the Cradle any thing seem'd wild We circumciz'd the Child And tam'd its wanton rage Thus Priests i' th' Golden-Age Only thought the Sacrifice Worthy to ascend the Skies When the Smoak vanish'd and the flame did rise Acceptance almost is our due Since we are so devout for you Consult this place none can despair Since influenc'd from the Noble and the Fair. Your smiles fair Lady and most noble Lord Must life to us afford Shine from your lofty Sphear Our blossomes soon will fruit appear Thus Iove and Iuno on Olympus sate Smil'd on the infant World and crown'd its fate ACTIVITY 1676. Vpon the Death of Capt. Matt. Dale IN Nature's chiefest strengths who would confide Or in the choicest of her Gifts take pride If either Wit Activity or Truth Wisdom of Age or Iollity of Youth Could have prevail'd with Death He had been safe Not living only in this Epitaph He with dull Gravity had ne'r to do Discreet he was yet a good-fellow too The strongest fumes of Wine he could restrain And make 'em useful to his active Brain Thus ripening dews in pleasant Meads are found When noisome Mists arise in boggy ground Vnmanag'd Soils are worse for fruitful showers And bring forth Weeds when Gardens smile with Flowers His Tongue the motions of his Heart did tell So th' Clapper shews the Metal of the Bell. He made no difference 'twixt Mine and Thine Fro' th' low-run Age he did those Dregs refine Yet in his own Concernments was no Tool For Knaves to work with a good-natur'd Fool But like the useful Swiss he could defend His native Cantons and assist his Friend In Running he did others so outvy 'T is wrong to him to say he did but fly Those mystic Darts that are from Objects shot With slower motion to the Sight are got And in his Leaping his Beholders say He did not jump but shot himself away His Back like Indian-Bow with Sinews bent And like an Arrow from the Ierk he went Nature in one did ne'r more wonders show Himself the Archer Arrow String and Bow Nay at his Death he practis'd o're this part And did in several Postures try his Art First to the Posture of the Swede he got And then from bended Knees his Arrows shot With out-stretch'd Arms fro's Breast such Darts he drew Sherwood's fam'd Bow-men's shafts they quite o're-flew Theirs only aim'd at Sun and Moon his high'r Feather'd with Angels Plumes and Piles of fire Nothing flyes swifter than inflam'd Desire Then Death's convulsive Cramps his Body drew To th' utmost bent till it in pieces flew A Bombard thus o're-loaden when 't is broke Sends forth its dying groans in sighs of Smoak Th' infolded Ball tho cloath'd in bright attire Elias-like mounts in a Coach of Fire The HEROINE 1676. Vpon the death of the right Honourable Frances Countess of Rutland c. NO heats of Love nor thirsts of Fame Did Poet's mind e're more inflame Than mine to write great Rutland's Name My meanness let no man despise We know the smoak of Sacrifice That aim'd at Heav'n from Earth did rise Honour does from Inferiours come So did the Consuls owe their doom And place to th' Common Votes of Rome Her Death by Verse may well be shown For Gods and Goddesses are known Their very Beings hence to own And yet this Reason may prove lame Since Praises that did God-heads frame Fall short when they should speak her Name Truth well as Heralds makes it good Her Veins swell'd with a noble flood Sprung from third Edwards Royal blood Rutland an equal Match then brings Since the great Issue that hence springs Quarters both Arms and Blood of Kings No pride tho did her looks attend Which to the lowest she would lend As heav'nly blessings do descend Whilst she
Confessors our Faith wee 'l not deny With Roses then I shall be crown'd Tho Bayes cannot be found Living or Dying your Rewards abound I must be just tho I am vain My Conscience bears no stain Though zeal for you makes me a Puritan With all Devotion I confess Beauty than Goodness Less Yet yours so great it would an Angel bless Your goodness tho must greater be Too large for Quantity Since oh it did vouchsafe to think of me Gifts then are duly entertain'd And in a right light stand When we regard the Persons whence th' are gaind In our Inferiours Bribes they are To gain a better share As some for Riches barter breath in Pray'r When from our Equals they are sent They are but favours lent By Tenants to be stopt in the next Rent Superiours in the meanest thing Not gifts but honours bring As when a Knighthood is vouchsaf'd by th' King Yours Madam goes a higher rate And brings a richer fate Since you confer'd both honour and Estate Greater acknowledgments are due I owe my self to you For you both grac'd inrich'd and blest me too Blest I must be for whilst I rate The virtues of your state The World may fall in love and imitate Inspir'd thus with a sacred rage To be your Poet I ingage Then whilst I sing your praises right The World will be converted by 't And I the Apostle of this Heath'nish Age. TRUE NOBILITY 1679. Upon the Death of the Right Honourable John Earl of Rutland c. THat little God within the spark divine shine Which does i' th' Body through the Windows Whose influence here dresses us up a Name And after Death revives us in our fame Whose sprightly salt preserves the Body whole In all its Parts 't would else stink out the Soul Which whilst incarnate is exactly drest For Scarlet both keeps warm and lines the Vest. It is the Sun that makes these Diamonds bright Dark drops till he has lin'd 'em through with light How vainly we employ our sensual Eyes When we the beauties of the Body prize Useless the Lanthorn is and dark as Night When Death's cold blast puffs out the trem'lous Light Whilst tenanted the House is in repair Built with Mud-walls of Flesh and thatcht with Hair But when the Tenant's gone 't is ruin'd quite And who can stay Death's cold and darksome Night When Fire 's extinguisht and put out the Light Yet ruin'd Temples still command our care And Stones that made the Altar sacred are For common use they should not be profan'd But in some choice Repositary stand Till by some pious resolution blest Once more they 're fitted for the former Guest Great Rutland's Relicks may more rev'rence claim Than ever yet from Superstition came And 't is but just that we to Altars run Whence Blessings came and Miracles were done What could from Mannors less expected be Sprung from Fourth Edward's Royal Progenie Great York to plant his Roses here thought good Painting their Snow with drops of Mannor's blood But least th' advantages of so much cost Should in those azure Labyrinths be lost A glorious Mark eighth Henry did bestow That future Ages might the honour know No greater favour could the fame advance Grac'd with the Arms of England and of France But I disturb his Dust with these bald Rhymes Dust when interr'd Bells cease their jangling Chimes Yet Love Respect and Truth so fan my fire And from their flowing stores my breast inspire That like the Prophet they supply my Muse That needy Widdow with a springing Cruse My Standish dreyn'd the Fountain bubbles still The fruitful Subject thrives upon my Quill When other strengths before their time are spent As Roses by long handling lose their scent True heats of Zeal did in his Actions glow A warmth that frozen Age does seldom know And yet his Spring was hot for all his Snow Thus Fires o' th' Altar that from Heav'n first came For many ages did preserve the flame His chearful looks did represent his mind Through chrystal of his Eyes his candour shin'd Transparent were his thoughts his virtues known Through Tagus streams the golden Sands were shown His Charity fell like the Morning Dew As beneficial and as constant too His pray'rs to Heav'n from Heav'n did blessings gain As Vapours sent from Earth descend in rain This was the blessed Circle he did frame So went his Soul to Heav'n from whence it came The tow'ring Falkon thus her self does skrew In airy Rings till almost lost to view Then perches on that Hand whence first she flew Whilst daily crouds his lib'ral Alms did gain How glorious he appear'd with such a Train Far more than those ostentuous Pomps now shown Begg'ring the Countrey to inrich the Town Whose Goodness like their Greatness is mere show Like Winds whose Being's only while they blow Their Names are lost in the deep calm of death And Vapour-like their fame fades with their breath Had I a Wreath of Bayes I 'd lay it down And Cypress should my Muses temples crown She and her Sisters leave to boast their pride In their extraction by the Fathers side Lay by their Vests spun of the Morning Rayes And trimm'd with Mid-day-beams like golden lace Courting their Aunt the Queen of Night to gain Mourning of that same stuff did make her Train Accouter'd thus in fitting state sh'appears Pensive as Midnight all bedew'd with tears NEW LIBANUS 1679. To the Right Honourable Catharine Countess of Rutland Vpon the Blessings brought to that well-near-extinguisht Family by Her self and Honourable Issue Honour'd Madam IF I 'm o're-bold Zeal makes the errour less For Zeal is but Devotion in excess If it more forward prest than you requir'd 'T is my Soul's warmth by agitation fir'd Such Zeal and true Devotion are the same Or only differ as do Heat and Flame That cherishes it self but Zeal incites The World to imitate its blazing lights Praises to sing and Powers to admire Are the chief Descants of the heav'nly Quire 'T is fame enough that I have led the way And tun'd the Strings for skilful hands to play They may advance th' inventions of my Muse As Sciences improve with time and use In primitive Professors all confess Their Zeal devouter tho their Knowledge less By no Divinity inspir'd but you I am your Poet and your Prophet too Rare Subject where all Poetry may strain And never be asperst that it does feign Where Fancy most exalted seems to be Plain Demonstration and true History It easie is for Prophets to divine When blessings clearly through your Actions shine Bright Issue from such Springs as surely streams As Sol and Luna propagate their beams Belvoir's an Orb so great Both there unite And thence your Infant-Stars derive their Light As glorious and as lasting may they prove Those hopeful Products of your mutual love Great-Rutland with these Prospects clos'd his Eyes And joyfull like prophetick Iacob dyes How should we celebrate your precious Wombe That this Age
he from his Kingdoms were exil'd Forein experience did increase his store Thus in afflicting Iob was Hell beguil'd Since he at last was richer than before Nor did it show as Heaven took not his part Because his fortune before theirs did fall Since he who shar'd in the Almighty's heart Was persecuted by a wicked Saul Most men did fear our happy dayes were done Since Charls our joy was clouded from our sight The World's end thus is guess'd because the Sun Grows lower than it wonted and less bright But thanks to Heav'n we happily mistook And now rejoyce in our deluded Eyes The blessing came when we least for't did look The Sun thus lowest seems just at its rise §. 2. Man's life 's a Sea when fortunate it 's smooth But when afflicted then the Waves are rough Twixt Storms and Billows toss'd he scornd 'em both Like a stout Friggat that is Weather-proof Afflictions on right objects well apply'd Bring Crowns as showers make our Roses grow And like to Gold within a Fornace try'd His splendor's greater and his vertue too Phoebus ecclips'd attracts the greater gaze As tho oblig'd more to his loss of light Scorch'd with the fury of the Dog-star's blaze The ground 's requited by the dewy Night Heroick Charls his crosses then esteem'd As his Refiners Lees purge richest Wines Amidst his troubles he most glorious seem'd Incompast thus with Clouds bright Phoebus shines Inured to Affliction Vertue 's School For future Empire he was made more fit Our Prince here followd his great Master's rule Upon whose brows Thorns before Gold did fit Nor can it as a banishment be said He only travel'd to increase his store Flowr's so transplanted from their Native bed Their beauty sweetness goodness is the more Further that Rivers run they more improve 'T is said that things far fetcht our Ladies please Nothing but worthless weeds do float above We dive for Pearls into the deepest Seas §. 3. England still senseless of that happy state Which by a Prince so hopeful she might gain O're-aw'd by fear or overswayd by Fate Like stubborn Atheists will her crimes maintain Scar'd by our Crimes and blinded by our sins We like those salvage Indians appear Adore the Fiend insnared by his Gynns And pay him homage out of slavish fear Thus have I sometimes certain flowers seen Whose leaves were shut to th' Sun but ope to th' Shade As more obliged to that killing Skreen Than to those beams from whence they Being had Rebellious Scotland first did ope her Eyes Scotland the source of Treason and our Woes From Charls the Second she expects a prize As great as she in Charls the First did lose In Selling him the price of blood she had And now she sells to Second Charls his Crown Too wily Scot this bargain is as bad Since now for that he must himself lay down Too high a price for all the Crowns on Earth Though all constellate in one Diadem His Vertues well consider'd and his Birth They cannot him deserve though he may them But let not here Posterity mistake Boast of her Heroes Scotland justly dares Condemn not all the Twelve for Iudas sake Heav'n has its falling well as fixed stars Amongst which glorious Sparks in his high Sphere Shines great Montross the glory of his Age Who brave did like the Roman Curtius dare Perisht his Country's Judgments to asswage His pious valour lasting glory got When he alone to aid his King durst come Thus Decius did himself to death devote And battled thousands to preserve his Rome Heroic Soul until all time be gon His fame shall largely spread until he come With his first Master to the justest Throne And there receive their Crowns of Martyrdome Though not with such Poetic fury fir'd His vast heroic actions to reherse Yet with a rhyming guess I am inspir'd And Prophecies themselves were spoke in verse He who contriv'd thy death although Argyle That bloody Fox before one year he see Shall like to Haman both in fate and guile Perish upon that Cross he rear'd for thee §. 4. See now what Vertue in a King can doe His great example has made Scotland good To cure her Leprosie she now will go To bathe in Iordans of her Natives blood His goodness and his Royal parts have won More than whole Armies ever did before All Scotland now does to his standard run To help his other Kingdoms to restore To England his choice Vineyard he is gone Where though his faithful Servants murder'd were He thought they would not to such madness run Or durst attempt to violate the Heir But she besotted with her slavish state This blessed opportunity did shun Stood idly careless of a better fate And though in darkness would not meet the Sun Thus did she flight her glory and her pride And to that Idol-Cromwel still incline So Christ was by the Gadarenes deny'd Who valu'd him far lesser than their Swine Though their vast odds and usual success Sufficient were to cool a Caesar's blood So undauntedly he charg'd that all confess Nothing but Englands Sins his Arms withstood Oh! that I had now an heroick Vein His brave heroic Actions to relate Although his Army lay about him slain His Vertue yet did triumph o're his Fate Horatius thus withstood Porsenna's Host Such was his valour such his love to Rome And leaping into Tyber well might boast To make Retreats so was to overcome Through Troops of foes he undiscover'd rides Till unto blessed Boscabel he got To little Zoar with his heavenly Guides From blinded Sodom so escaped Lot To him as to God's Israel was allow'd A sure defence against th' AEgyptian spight He march'd behind the Bulwark of a cloud A Blind to those it was to these a Light Not their proclaim'd Rewards nor curious Spyes Nor Cromwell's luck in Plots this prize could win As he had been a second Paradice His careful Guardian was a Cherubin Blest Charles then to an Oak his safety owes The Royal-Oak which now in Songs shall live Until it reach to Heaven with its boughs Boughs that for Loyalty shall Garlands give Let celebrated Wits with Lawrels crown'd And wreaths of Bayes boast their triumphant brows I will esteem my self far more renown'd In being honour'd with these Oaken Boughs The Genii of the Druids hover'd here Who under Oaks did Britains glories sing Which since in Charles compleated did appear They gladly came now to protect their King Thus God for him did Miracles create And Moses-like with signal blessings grac'd To pass the British Seas was then a fate Not less than when he through the Red-Sea pass'd § 5. Thus he at once both ours and Heaven's care For landing-place his Normandy did chuse Whose glad Inhabitants with earnest prayers Begg'd for that blessing which we did refuse In Paris now receiv'd with jealous eye Nor can we justly tax that Prince's fear Since in his Chronicles He may espy What bus'ness our fifth Henry once
Rays Made it but one compacted Blaze It is so weighty that it 's said To be by Ounce not Caracts weigh'd As tho to lessen Pride 't was meant For Burden not for Ornament Had I this Gemm your Merits due It I would sacrifice to you Pure Incense where no Smoke aspires Kindling it self with native fires But now alas I have not time To post to so remote a Clime Nay when at Agra or Lahore May be the sullen Emperour Would keep his Diamond I 'le not try And yet speed better tho more nigh Presents should hold proportion due To th' Persons they are offer'd to And mine 's a Mirrour darting rayes That Diamonds and Sun out-blaze The Chrystal I this Winter chose From drops of Helicon new froze The Glass I with some Art design'd With Truth instead of Silver lin'd A Lining that rich Tissue shames Brighter than are Meridian beams So heav'nly rich to make em shine It does the Vests of Cherubs line Being thus prepar'd It shows to you An Object worthy of your view Wit Greatness Virtue Beauty Worth At once in glorious Crouds break forth And from two shining Casements fly Like Angels shooting through the Skie Whose Rosie-blood Dame Nature strains Through Lilly-cheeks and Violet-veins Whose Scarlet Lancaster once wore His Rose dipt in that precious store Turn'd Red a Damask-rose before Her whom I faintly here express Your modesty denies to ghess Untill my Glass being heav'nly true Reflects your self and speaks it you The HIEROGLIPHIC 1679. To the Honourable Mrs. Byron having pleas'd to send me curious and significant Draughts of her Ladiships own hand in way of Hieroglifics COuld I like you my Pencil use Or had command of such a Muse All other Artists I 'd out-do By coming somthing near to you But as poor Dreamers oft conceit Were they in fortune rich and great They 'd live and spend at such a rate So had I your Estate in Wit Like you methinks I 'd manage it Pallas that charming Goddess she Should serve instead of Muse to me Inthron'd she should Queen Regent sit And better rule my frothy wit As pow'rful Cynthia both guides Th' unruly Sea and all her Tides Your drops of Ink like those i' th' Spring Both Violets Roses Lillies bring Your Fruit-trees equal Wonders shew Both bear at once and blossom too The Spring and Autumn's both in you Your planted Vines i' th' infant Stems Seem to bud forth their blushing Gems Apelle's self would be mista'en Both Birds and He could not refrain When you with Grass cloath fancy'd fields They feed those Flocks your Pencil yields And what does greater Wonders show Your Ink's the Milk that makes 'em grow When you draw Birds we wond'ring stand And swear they fly from out your hand Here Tyanaeus Art is gain'd And we their Voices understand When you a pleasant River limm Your Ink's the Stream where Fishes swim Nature's Defects you here recruit And Proverbs cross they are not mute Your imitating Pencil can First form and then put Life in Man Each Shadow Rib-like can relieve Your new-made Adam with an Eve Your Art more strong than that of Fate Can liveless things ev'n animate Your Trees Dodona's influence share And are like them Oracular Your very Shadows set out Light What is your Day if such your Night Your Pindust is not vainly hurl'd It s very Attomes make a World You th' Hieroglyphic-Art revive In Egypt dead in you alive Thence Learning took it's happy flight So from the East first shot the Light What Admiration's then your due How much is Art it self oblig'd to you Since Madam you can make a World and it inlighten too MERIT Rewarded 1679. To the Right Honourable William Lord Byron upon the Death of Rich. Lord B. his Father ANcient has been the use to mourn in Verse And Poets more than Heralds grac'd the Herse The sacred heat that did their Breasts inflame By Muses fann'd kindled the breath of Fame Hence to diviner heights did Worth aspire And brighter shin'd than in the Fun'ral Fire To Heroes only did their Verse belong Immortal Acts found an immortal Song 'T was Merit then did only purchase Praise Nor could a Crown of Gold bribe one of Bays Your noble Father their choice Skill had try'd Had he in those days either liv'd or dy'd And though I am unfit to sing his Name This Epitaph I sacrifice to Fame The Epitaph ILlustrious Byron Justice found Being four times crown'd From noble Ancestors did get A Coronet Then loyal Valour did bequeath A Lawrel wreath His Suff'rings Martyr's glory found With Roses crown'd Nothing can add to his great Story But that of Glory My Lord I shall not vainly mourn his doom Since he dropt fully ripe into his Tomb Yet loaded more with Glory than with Days Hence with my Cypress then and reach me Bayes My Muse like to its Subject should be bright And like to Roman Mourners clad in White When first his Death was told her Tears she shed And like moist Lillies droopt her dewy head Pearls thus at midnight fall from Luna's eyes But are again dry'd up at Sol's uprise Hail then Restorer of our Joys shine bright And with thy Cynthia joyn in sheets of Light Increase your noble Stock Thus Persians say The Queen of Night joyns with the King of Day And curtain'd in Eclipses there they get That shining Brood that in the Skies are set ARREARS 1679. To the Honourable Mrs. Chaworth TO you I have such Rents to pay In Policy I should not stay If from my felf I knew to run away Your Cottage tho is in repair The inward Rooms well furnisht are The Windows glaz'd and Roof new thatcht with Hair Your Tenant clad in Scarlet Vest Carouzing Clarret of the best Within the Lodging-Chamber of my Breast High fares he with no ill intent For if he starve You lose your Rent Since none but he can farm the Tenement My hopes of thriving are decay'd Wire-drawing Wit in Rhyme's my Trade And I no store of Bullion have for aid Small stocks in Country trades may do Ev'n Pedlers there deserve a view As little Gold beat thin will make a shew A smutty Fancy or bald Iest Profaneness in Hobb's Livery drest Serve for a Session's charge or Churching-Feast This will not do in London-Town Not trusting without Money down Hence are their very Lawreats Bankrupts grown Nor strange Times so expensive are The Tripos once requir'd less care To manage well than now a Barbar's Chair To woo a Lady 'till she 's fit Needs now more cost of Plot and Wit Than formerly to wed and Children get Sack 's influence once inspir'd the brain 'T is well if now it can maintain Fit Reparties for th' Drawers witty Vein The Coffe-houses now admit More Criticks than the very Pit As prodigal of Treason as of Wit Besides all these expensive ways I lavisht out and writ two Playes Catching at Hope I nothing got but Bayes Into the Country quite undone My Muse