Finding Menalcas asks him thus the Cause Corydon Thee have I sought in every shady Grove By purling Streams and in each private Place Where we have us'd to sit and talk of Love. Why do I find thee leaning on an Oak By Lightning blasted and by Thunder rent What cursed Chance has turn'd thy chearful Mind And why wilt thou have woes unknown to me But I would Comfort and not chide my Friend Tell me thy Grief and let me bear a Part. Menalcas Young Astrophel is dead Dear Astrophel He that could Tune so well his charming Pipe To hear whose Lays Nymphs left their Crystal Spring The Fawns and Dryades forsook the Woods And hearing all were ravish'd Swiftest Streams with-held their Course to hear the Heavenly Sound And murmur'd when by following Waves prest on The following Waves forcing their Way to hear Oft the Fierce wolf pursuing of the Lamb Hungry and wildly certain of his Prey Left the Pursuit rather than lose the Sound Of his alluring Pipe The Harmless Lamb Forgot his Nature and forsook his Fear Stood by the Wolf and listned to the Sound He could command a general Peace and Nature would obey This Youth this Youth is dead the same Disease That carried sweet Orinda from the World Seiz'd upon Astrophel Oh Let these Tears Be offer'd to the Memory of my Friend And Let my Speech give way a while to Sighs Corydon Weep on Menalcas for his Fate requires The Tears of all Mankind General the Loss And General be the Grief except by Fame I knew him not but surely this is he Who Sung learn'd * Spencer and Johnson Collin's or great * Spencer and Johnson Aegon 's Praise Dead ere he liv'd yet have new Life from him Did he not mourn lamented * Rochester Bion's Death In Verse equal to what Bion wrote Menalcas Yes this was he oh that I say he was He that could sing the Shepherds deeds so well Whether to praise the Good he turn'd his Pen Or lasht the egregious Folly of the Bad In both he did excell His happy genius bid him take the Pen And dictated more fast than he could write Sometimes becoming Negligence adorn'd His Verse and Nature shew'd they were her own Yet Art he us'd where Art could useful be But sweated not to be correctly dull Corydon Had Fate allow'd his Life a longer thread Adding Experience to that wondrous Fraught of Youthful Vigor how would he have wrote Menalcas We wish for Life not thinking of its Cares I mourn his Death the loss of such a Friend But for himself he dyed in the best Hour And carryed with him ev'ry mans Applause Youth meets not with Detractions blotting hand Nor suffers ought from Envy's canker'd Mind Had he known Age he would have seen the World Put on its ugliest but its truest Face Malice had watch'd the Droppings of his Pen And ignorant Youths who would for Criticks pass Had thrown their scornful Jests upon his Vene And censur'd what they did not understand Such was not my Dear Astrophel he 's dead And I shall quickly follow him what 's Death But an eternal Sleep without a Dream Wrapt in a lasting Darkness and exempt From Hope and Fear and ev'ry idle Passion Corydon See thy Complaints have mov'd the pitying Skies They mourn the Death of Astrophel in Tears Thy Sheep return'd from straying round they gaze And wonder at thy mourning Drive them Home And tempt thy troubled mind with easing Sleep To Morrow chearful Light may give thee Comfort To the MEMORY of Mr. JOHN OLDHAM BUT that 't is dangerous for Man to be Too busie with Immutable Decree I could dear Friend ev'n blame thy cruel Doom That lent so much to be requir'd so soon The Flow'rs in which the Meads are drest so gay Altho' they are short liv'd they live a Day Thou in the Noon of Life wert snatch't away Though not before thy Verse had Wonders shown And bravely made the Age to come thine own The Company of Beauty Wealth and Wine Were not so charming not so sweet as thine They quickly perish yours was still the same An Everlasting but a Lambent Flame Which something so resistless did impart It still through ev'ry Ear won ev'ry Heart Unlike the Wretch that strives to get Esteem Nay thinks it fine and Janty to blaspheme And can be witty on no other Theme Ah Foolish men whom thou did'st still despise That must be wicked to be counted wise But thy Converse was from this Errour free And yet 't was ev'ry thing true Wit can be None had it but ev'n with a Tear does own The Soul of dear Society is gone But while we thus thy Native Sweetness sing We ought not to forget thy Native Sting Thy Satyr spar'd no Follies nor no Crimes Satyr the best Reformer of the Times How wide shoot they that strive to blast thy Fame By saying that thy Verse was rough and lame They would have Satyr their Compassion move And writ so plyant nicely and so smooth As if the Muse were in a Flux of Love But who of Knaves and Fops and Fools would sing Must Force and Fire and Indignation bring For 't is no Satyr if it has no Sting In short who in that Field would Famous be Must think and write like Juvenal and Thee Let others boast of all the Mighty Nine To make their Labours with more Lustre shine I never had no other Muse but Thee Ev'n thou wert all the Mighty Nine to me 'T was thy dear Friendship did my Breast inspire And warm'd it first with a Poetick Fire But 't is a warmth that does with Thee expire For when the Sun is set that guides the Day The Traveller must stop or lose his way Robert Gould CONTENTS COunterpart to the Satyr against Vertue Page 1 Virg. Eclogue VIII The Enchantment 13 Vpon the Marriage of the Prince of Orange with the Lady Mary 35 An Ode for an Annversary of Musick on Caecilia's Day 43 To Madam L. E. upon her Recovery from a fit of Sickness 46 On the Death of Mrs. Katharine Kingscourt a Child of excellent Parts and Piety 55 A Sunday-thought in Sickness 59 To the Memory of Mr. Charles Morwent 71 To the Memory of that worthy Gentleman Mr. Harman Atwood 115 COUNTERPART TO THE SATYR against VERTVE In Person of the Author I. PArdon me Vertue whatsoe'er thou art For sure thou of the God-head art a part And all that is of him must be The very Deity Pardon if I in ought did thee blaspheme Or injure thy pure Sacred Name Accept unfeign'd Repentance Prayers and Vows The best Atonement of my penitent humble Muse The best that Heaven requires or Mankind can produce All my Attempts hereafter shall at thy Devotion be Ready to consecrate my Ink and very Blood to thee Forgive me ye blest Souls that dwell above Where you by its reward the worth of Vertue prove Forgive if you can do 't who know no Passion now but Love And
these repeat again their Days beneath They 'd seen their Fates out-acted by a natural Death And each of them to thee resign his Wreath In spite of Weakness and harsh Destiny To relish Torment and enjoy a Misery So to caress a Doom As make its Sufferings Delights become So to triumph o'er Sense and thy Disease As amongst Pains to revel in soft Ease These Wonders did thy Virtues worth enhance And Sickness to dry Martyrdom advance XXXVIII Yet could not all these Miracles stern Fate avert Or make 't without the Dart. Only she paus'd a while with Wonder strook A while she doubted if that Destiny was thine And turn'd o'er again the dreadful Book And hop'd she had mistook And wish'd she might have cut another Line But dire Necessity Soon cry'd 't was thee And bad her give the fatal Blow Strait she obeys and strait the vital Powers grow Too weak to grapple with a stronger Foe And now the feeble Strife forgoe Life's sap'd Foundation every Moment sinks And every Breath to lesser compass shrinks Last panting Gasps grow weaker each Rebound Like the faint Tremblings of a dying Sound And doubtful Twilight hovers o'er the Light Ready to usher in Eternal Night XXXIX Yet here thy Courage taught thee to out-brave All the slight Horrors of the Grave Pale Death's Arrest Ne'er shock'd thy Breast Nor could it in the dreadfulst Figure drest That ugly Skeleton may guilty Spirits daunt When the dire Ghosts of Crimes departed haunt Arm'd with bold Innocence thou couldst that Mormo dare And on the bare-fac'd King of Terrors stare As free from all Effects as from the cause of Fear Thy Soul so willing from thy Body went As if both parted by Consent No Murmur no Complaining no Delay Only a Sigh a Groan and so away Death seem'd to glide with Pleasure in As if in this Sense too 't had lost her Sting Like some well-acted Comedy Life swiftly past And ended just so still and sweet at last Thou like its Actors seem'dst in borrow'd Habit here beneath And couldst as easily As they do that put off Mortality Thou Breathedst out thy Soul as free as common Breath As unconcern'd as they are in a feigned Death XL. Go happy Soul ascend the joyful Sky Joyful to shine with thy bright Company Go mount the spangled Sphere And make it brighter by another Star Yet stop not there till thou advance yet higher Till thou art swallow'd quite In the vast unexhausted Ocean of Delight Delight which there alone in its true Essence is Where Saints keep an eternal Carnival of Bliss Where the Regalio's of refined Joy Which fill but never cloy Where Pleasures ever growing ever new Immortal as thy self and boundless too There may'st thou learned by Compendium grow For which in vain below We so much time and so much pains bestow There may'st thou all Idea's see All wonders which in Knowledg be In that fair beatifick mirror of the Deity XLI Mean while thy Body mourns in its own Dust And puts on Sables for its tender Trust Tho' dead it yet retains some untoucht Grace Wherein we may thy Soul 's fair Foot-steps trace Which no Disease can frighten from its wonted place E'en its Deformities do thee become And only serve to consecrate thy Doom Those marks of Death which did its Surface stain Now hallow not profane Each Spot does to a Ruby turn What soil'd but now would now adorn Those Asterisks plac'd in the Margin of thy Skin Point out the nobler Soul that dwelt within Thy lesser like the greater World appears All over bright all over stuck with Stars So Indian Luxury when it would be trim Hangs Pearls on every Limb. Thus amongst ancient Picts Nobility In Blemishes did lie Each by his Spots more honorable grew And from their Store a greater Value drew Their Kings were known by th' Royal Stains they bore And in their Skins their Ermin wore XLII Thy Blood where Death triumph'd in greatest State Whose Purple seem'd the Badge of Tyrant-Fate And all thy Body o'er Its ruling Colours bore That which infected with the noxious Ill But lately help'd to kill Whos 's Circulation fatal grew And thro' each part a swifter Ruin threw Now conscious it s own Murther would arraign And throngs to sally out at every Vein Each Drop a fedder than its native Dye puts on As if in its own Blushes 't would its Guilt attone A sacred Rubrick does thy Carcass paint And Death in every Member writes the Saint So Phoebus cloaths his dying Rays each Night And blushes he can live no longer to give Light. LXIII Let Fools whose dying Fame requires to have Like their own Carcasses a Grave Let them with vain Expence adorn Some costly Urn Which shortly like themselves to Dust shall turn Here lacks no Carian Sepulchre Which Ruin shall ere long in its own Tomb interr No fond Aegyptian Fabrick built so high As if 't would climb the Sky And thence reach Immortality Thy Virtues shall embalm thy Name And make it lasting as the Breath of Fame When frailer Brass Shall moulder by a quick Decrease When brittle Marble shall decay And to the Jaws of Time become a Prey Thy Praise shall live when Graves shall buried lie Till Time it self shall die And yield its triple Empire to Eternity To the Memory of that worthy Gentleman Mr. Harman Atwood PINDARIQUE I. NO I 'll no more repine at Destiny Now we poor common Mortals are content to die When thee blest Saint we cold and breathless see Thee who if ought that 's great and brave Ought that is excellent might save Had justly claim'd Exemption from the Grave And cancell'd the black-irreversible Decree Thou didst alone such Worth such Goodness share As well deserv'd to be immortal here Deserve a Life as lasting as the Fame thou art to wear At least why went thy Soul without its Mate Why did they not together undivided go So went we 're told the fam'd Illustrious Two. Nor could they greater Merits shew Altho' the best of Patriarchs that And this the best of Prophets was Heav'n did alive the blessed Pair translate Alive they launch'd into Life's boundless Happiness And never past Death's Straights and narrow Seas Ne'er enter'd the dark gloomy Thorowfare of Fate II. Long time had the Profession under Scandal lain And felt a general tho' unjust Disdain An upright Lawyer Contradiction seem'd And was at least a Prodigy esteem'd If one perhaps did in an Age appear He was recorded like some Blazing Star And Statues were erected to the wondrous Man As heretofore to the strange honest Publican To thee the numerous Calling all its thanks should give To thee who couldst alone its lost Repute retrieve Thou the vast wide extremes didst reconcile The first almost e'er taught it was not to beguile To each thou didst distribute Right so equally Ev'n Justice might herself correct her Scales by thee And none did now regret Her once bewail'd Retreat Since all enjoy'd her better
REMAINS OF Mr. John Oldham IN VERSE and PROSE LONDON Printed for Jo. Hindmarsh at the Golden Ball over against the Royal Exchange in Cornhil 1687. ADVERTISEMENT THE Author of these following Poems being dead the Publisher thought fit to acquaint the World that the reason why he exposed them now in Print was not so much for his own Interest tho a Bookseller that disclaims Interest for a pretence will no more be believed now adays than a thorough paced Fanatick that pretends he makes a journey to New England purely for Conscience sake but for securing the reputation of Mr. Oldham which might otherwise have suffered from worse hands and out of a desire he has to Print the last Remains of his friend since he had the good fortune to publish his first Pieces He confesses that it is the greatest piece of injustice to publish the posthumous Works of Authors especially such that we may suppose they had brought to the File and sent out with more advantages into the World had they not been prevented by untimely death and therefore assures you he had never presumed to Print these following Miscellanies had they not already been countenanced by men of unquestionable repute and esteem He is not of the same persuasion with several others of his own profession that never care how much they lessen the reputation of the Poet if they can but inhance the value of the Book that ransack the Studies of the deceased and Print all that passed under the Author's hands from Fifteen to Forty and upwards and as the incomparable Mr. Cowley has exprest it think a rude heap of ill placed Stones a better Monument than a neat Tomb of Marble To the MEMORY of Mr. OLDHAM FArewel too little and too lately known Whom I began to think and call my own For sure our Souls were near ally'd and thine Cast in the same Poetick mould with mine One common Note on either Lyre did strike And Knaves and Fools we both abhorr'd alike To the same Goal did both our Studies drive The last set out the soonest did arrive Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place While his young Friend perform'd and won the Race O early ripe to thy abundant store What could advancing Age have added more It might what Nature never gives the young Have taught the numbers of thy native Tongue But Satyr needs not those and Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line A noble Error and but seldom made When Poets are by too much force betray'd Thy generous fruits though gather'd ere their prime Still shew'd a quickness and maturing time But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rhime Once more hail and farewel farewel thou young But ah too short Marcellus of our Tongue Thy Brows with Ivy and with Laurels bound But Fate and gloomy Night encompass thee around John Dryden Authori Epitaphium HOC ô Viator marmore conditoe Charoe recumbunt Exuviae brevem Viventis oh sors dura vitam Praecoce coelum animâ petentis Nec praepedita est Mens celeris diù Quin Pustularum mille tumoribus Effloruit portisque mille Praepes iter patefecit altum Musarum Alumnus jà m fuit artibus Instructus almis quas studio pio Atque aure quà m fidâ repostas Oxonii coluit Parentis Hîc quadriennis proemia Filii Dignus recepi Vellera candida Collati Honoris signa necnon Innocui simulacra cordis Sed manè montis summa cacumina Ascendit ardens Pierio jugo Insedit atque errore multo Ipsum Helicona scatere vidit Nunc pura veri Flumina perspicit Nunc mira Mundi semina concipit Pulchrasque primoevi figuras In speculo species creante At Tu Viator Numina poscito Vt dissolutis reliquits vaga Dùm mens remigret detur ah sit Terra levis placidusque somnus On the Death of Mr. John Oldham A Pindarique Pastoral Ode Stanza I. UNdoubtedly 't is thy peculiar Fate Ah miserable Astragon Thou art condemn'd alone To bear the Burthen of a wretched Life Still in this howling Wilderness to roam While all thy Bosom-friends unkindly go And leave thee to lament them here below Thy dear Alexis would not stay Joy of thy Life and Pleasure of thine Eyes Dear Alexis went away With an invincible Surprize Th' Angel-like Youth early dislik'd this State And chearfully submitted to his Fate Never did Soul of a Celestial Birth Inform a purer piece of Earth O that 't were not in vain To wish what 's past might be retriev'd again Thy Dotage thy Alexis then Had answer'd all thy Vows and Pray'rs And Crown'd with pregnant Joys thy silver Hairs Lov'd to this day among the living Sons of Men. II. And thou my Friend hast left me too Menalcas poor Menalcas even thou Of whom so loudly Fame has spoke In the Records of her immortal Book Whose disregarded Worth Ages to come Shall wail with Indignation o'er thy Tomb. Worthy wert thou to live as long as Vice Should need a Satyr that the frantick Age Might tremble at the Lash of thy poetick Rage Th' untutor'd World in after Times May live uncensur'd for their Crimes Freed from the Dreads of thy reforming Pen Turn to old Chaos once again Of all th' instructive Bards whose more than Theban Lyre Could savage Souls with manly Thoughts inspire Menalcas worthy was to live Say you his Fellow-Shepherds that survive Tell me you mournful Swains Has my ador'd Menalcas left behind In all these pensive Plains A gentler Shepherd with a braver mind Which of you all did more Majestick Show Or wore the Garland on a sweeter Brow III. But wayward Astragon resolves no more The Loss of his Menalcas to deplore The place to which he wisely is withdrawn Is altogether blest There no Clouds o'erwhelm his Breast No Midnight Cares can break his Rest For all is everlasting cheerful Dawn The Poet's Bliss there shall he long possess Perfect Ease and soft Recess The treacherous World no more shall him deceive Of Hope and Fortune he has taken Leave And now in mighty Triumph does he reign His Head adorn'd with Beams of Light O'er the unthinking Rabble's Spire And the dull wealthy Fool 's disdain Thrice happy he that dies the Muses Friend He needs no Obelisque no Pyramid His sacred Dust to hide He needs not for his Memory to provide For he might well foresee his Praise can never end Thomas Flatman In Memory of the Author TAke this short summon'd loose unfinisht Verse Cold as thy Tomb and sudden as thy Herse From my sick Thoughts thou canst no better crave Who scarce drag Life and envy thee thy Grave Me Phoebus always faintly did inspire And gave my narrow Breast more scanty Fire My Hybla Muse through humble Meads sought Spoil Collecting little Sweets with mighty Toil Yet when some Friend 's just Fame did Theme afford Her Voice amongst the tow'ring Swans was heard In vain for such Attendance now I call My Ink o'erflows with Spleen my Blood
with Gall Yet sweet Alexis my Esteem of thee Was equal to thy Worth and Love for me Death is thy Gain that Thought affects me most I care not what th' ill-natur'd World has lost For Wit with thee expir'd how shall I grieve Who grudge th' ingrateful Age what thou didst leave The Tribute of their Verse let others send And mourn the Poet gone I mourn the Friend Enjoy thy Fate thy Predecessors come Cowley and Butler to conduct thee home Who would not Butler cries like me engage New Worlds of Wit to serve a grateful Age For such Rewards what Task will Authors shun I pray Sir is my Monument begun Enjoy thy Fate thy Voice in Anthems raise So well tun'd here on Earth to our Apollo's Praise Let me retire while some sublimer Pen Performs for thee what thou hast done for Homer and for Ben. N.T. On the ensuing Poems of Mr. John Oldham and the Death of his good Friend the ingenious Author OBscure and cloudy did the day appear As Heaven design'd to blot it from the year The Elements all seem'd to disagree At least I 'm sure they were at strife in me Possest with Spleen which Melancholy bred When Rumor told me that my Friend was dead That Oldham honour'd for his early Worth Was cropt like a sweet Blossom from the Earth Where late he grew delighting every Eye In his rare Garden of Philosophy The fatal Sound new Sorrows did infuse And all my Griefs were doubled at the News For we with mutual Arms of Friendship strove Friendship the true and solid part of Love And he so many Graces had in store That Fame or Beauty could not bind me more His Wit in his immortal Verse appears Many his Virtues were tho' few his Years Which were so spent as if by Heaven contriv'd To lash the Vices of the longer liv'd None was more skilful none more learn'd than he A Poet in its sacred Quality Inspir'd above and could command each Passion Had all the Wit without the Affectation A Calm of Nature still possest his Soul No canker'd Envy did his Breast controul Modest as Virgins that have never known The jilting Breeding of the nauseous Town And easie as his Numbers that sublime His lofty Strains and beautifie his Rhime Till the Time's Ignomy inspir'd his Pen And rowz'd the drowsie Satyr from his Den Then fluttering Fops were his Aversion still And felt the Power of his Satyrick Quill The Spark whose Noise proclaims his empty Pate That struts along the Mall with antick Gate And all the Phyllis and the Chloris Fools Were damn'd by his invective Muse in Shoals Who on the Age look'd with impartial Eyes And aim'd not at the Person but the Vice. To all true Wit he was a constant Friend And as he well could judge could well commend The mighty Homer he with Care perus'd And that great Genius to the World infus'd Immortal Virgil and Lucretius too And all the Seeds o' th' Soul his Reason knew Like Ovid could the Ladies Hearts assail With Horace sing and lash with Juvenal Unskill'd in nought that did with Learning dwell But Pride to know he understood it well Adieu thou modest Type of perfect Man Ah had not thy Perfections that began In Life's bright Morning been eclips'd so soon We all had bask'd and wanton'd in thy Noon But Fate grew envious of thy growing Fame And knowing Heav'n from whence thy Genius came Assign'd thee by immutable Decree A glorious Crown of Immortality Snatch'd thee from all thy mourning Friends below Just as the Bays were planting on thy Brow. Thus worldly Merit has the Worlds Regard But Poets in the next have their Reward And Heaven in Oldham's Fortune seem'd to show No Recompence was good enough below So to prevent the Worlds ingrateful Crimes Enrich'd his Mind and bid him die betimes T. Durfey On the Death of Mr. John Oldham HEark is it only my prophetick Fear Or some Death's sad Alarum that I hear By all my Doubts 't is Oldham's fatal Knell It rings aloud eternally farewel Farewel thou mighty Genius of our Isle Whose forward Parts made all our Nation smile In whom both Wit and Knowledge did conspire And Nature gaz'd as if she did admire How such few years such Learning could acquire Nay seem'd concern'd that we should hardly find So sharp a Pen and so serene a Mind Oh then lament let each distracted Breast With universal Sorrow be possest Mourn mourn ye Muses and your Songs give o'er For now your lov'd Adonis is no more He whom ye tutor'd from his Infant-years Cold pale and ghastly as the Grave appears He whom ye bath'd in your lov'd murmuring Stream Your daily pleasure and your mighty Theme Is now no more the Youth the Youth is dead The mighty Soul of Poetry is fled Fled ere his Worth or Merit was half known No sooner seen but in a Moment gone Like to some tender Plant which rear'd with Care At length becomes most fragrant and most fair Long does it thrive and long its Pride maintain Esteem'd secure from Thunder Storm or Rain Then comes a Blast and all the Work is vain But Oh! my Friend must we no more rehearse Thy equal Numbers in thy pleasing Verse In Love how soft in Satyr how severe In Passion moving and in Rage austere Virgil in Judgment Ovid in Delight An easie Thought with a Meonian Flight Horace in Sweetness Juvenal in Rage And even Biblis must each Heart engage Just in his Praises and what most desire Wou'd flatter none for Greatness Love or Hire Humble though courted and what 's rare to see Of wondrous Worth yet wondrous Modesty So far from Oftentation he did seem That he was meanest in his own Esteem Alas young man why wert thou made to be At once our Glory and our Misery Our Misery in losing thee is more Than could thy Life our Glory be before For shou'd a Soul celestial Joys possess And straight be banish'd from that Happiness Oh where would be its Pleasure where its Gain The Bliss once tasted but augments the Pain So having once so great a Prize in thee How much the heavier must our Sorrows be For if such Flights were in thy younger Days What if thou'dst liv'd O what had been thy Praise Eternal Wreaths of never-dying Bays But those are due already to thy Name Which stands enroll'd in the Records of Fame And though thy great Remains to Ashes turn With lasting Praises we 'll supply thy Urn Which like Sepulchral Lamps shall ever burn But hold methinks great Shade I see thee rove Through the smooth Path of Plenty Peace and Love Where Ben. salutes the first o'erjoy'd to see The Youth that sung his Fame and Memory Great Spencer next with all the learned Train Do greet thee in a Panegyrick Strain Adonis is the Joy of all the Plain Tho. Andrews DAMON an ECLOGUE On the untimely Death of Mr. Oldham Corydon Alexis BEneath a dismal Yew the Shepherds sate And talk'd of
Damon's Muse and Damon's Fate Their mutual Lamentations gave them Ease For sometimes Melancholy it self does please Like Philomel abandon'd to distress Yet ev'n their Griefs in Musick they express Cor. I 'll sing no more since Verses want a Charm The Muses could not their own Damon arm At least I 'll touch this useless Pipe no more Unless like Orpheus I could Shades restore A. Rather like Orpheus celebrate your Friend And with your Musick Hell it self suspend Tax Proserpine of Cruelty and Hate And sing of Damon's Muse and Damon's Fate C. When Damon sung he sung with such a Grace Lord how the very London-brutes did gaze Sharp was his Satyr nor allay'd with Gall 'T was Rage 't was generous Indignation all A. Oh had he liv'd and to Perfection grown Not like Marcellus only to be shown He would have charm'd their Sence a nobler way Taught Virgins how to sigh and Priests to pray C. Let Priests and Virgins then to him address And in their Songs their Gratitude express While we that know the Worth of easie Verse Secure the Laurel to adorn his Herse A. Codrus you know that sacred Badge does wear And 't were injurious not to leave it there But since no Merit can strike Envy dumb Do you with Baccar guard and grace his Tomb. C. While you dear Swain with unaffected Rhime Majestick sad and suited to the Time His Name to future Ages consecrate By praising of his Muse and mourning of his Fate A. Alas I never must pretend to this My Pipe scarce knows a Tune but what is his Let future Ages then for Damon's sake From his own Works a just Idaea take Yet then but like Alcides he 'll be shown And from his meanest part his Size be known C. 'T will be your Duty then to set it down A. Once and but once so Heaven and Fate ordain I met the gentle Youth upon the Plain Kindly cries he if You Alexis be And though I know you not you must he be Too long already we have Strangers been This Day at least our Friendship must begin Let Business that perverse Intruder wait To be above it is poetical and great Then with Assyrian Nard our Heads did shine While rich Sabaean Spice exalts the Wine Which to a just Degree our Spirits fir'd But he was by a greater God inspir'd Wit was the Theme which he did well describe With Modesty unusual to his Tribe But as with ominous Doubts and aking Heart When Lovers after first Enjoyment part Not half content for this was but a Taste And wond'ring how the Minutes flew so fast They vow a Friendship that shall ever last So we but oh how much am I accurs'd To think that this last Office is my first Occasioned by the present Edition of the ensuing Poems and the Death of the ingenious Author CUrs'd be the day when first this Godly Isle Vile Books and useless thinking did defile In Greek and Latin-Bogs our Time we waste When all is Pain and Weariness at best Mountains of Whims and Doubts we travel o'er While treacherous Fancy dances on before Pleas'd with our Danger still we stumble on Too late repent and are too soon undone Let Bodley now in its own ruins lie By th' common Hangman burnt for Heresie Avoid the nasty learned dust 't will breed More Plagues than ever Jakes or Dunghils did The want of Dulness will the World undo 'T is Learning makes us mad and Rebels too Learning a Jilt which while we do enjoy Slily our Rest and Quiet steals away That greedily the Blood of Youth receives And nought but Blindness and a Dotage gives Worse than the Pox or scolding Woman fly The awkward Madness of Philosophy That Bedlam Bess Religion never more Phantastick pie-ball'd antick Dresses wore Opinion Pride Moroseness gives a Fame 'T is Folly christen'd with a modish Name Let dull Divinity no more delight It spoils the Man and makes an Hypocrite The chief Professors to Preferment fly By Cringe and Scrape the basest Simony The humble Clown will best the Gospel teach And inspir'd Ign'rance sounder Doctrines preach A way to Heaven mere Nature well does shew Which reasoning and Disputes can never know Yet still proud Tyrant Sence in Pomp appears And claims a Tribute of full threescore Years Sew'd in a Sack with Darkness circl'd round Each man must be with Snakes and Monkeys drown'd Laborious Folly and compendious Art To waste that Life whose longest Date 's too short Laborious Folly to wind up with Pain What Death unravels soon and renders vain We blindly hurry on in Mystick ways Nor wisely tread the Paths of solid Praise There 's nought deserves one precious drop of sweat But Poetry the noblest Gift of Fate Which after Death does a more lasting Life beget Not that which sudden frantick Heats produce Where Wine and Pride not Heaven shall raise the Muse Not that small Stock which does Translators make That Trade poor Bankrupt-Poetasters take But such when God his Fiat did express And powerful Numbers wrought an Universe With such great David tun'd his charming Lyre That even Saul and Madness could admire With such Great Oldham bravely did excel That David's Lamentation sung so well Oldham the Man that could with Judgment write Our Oxford's Glory and the World's Delight Sometimes in boundless keenest Satyr bold Sometimes as soft as those Love-tales he told That Vice could praise and Virtue too disgrace The first Excess of Wit that e'er did please Scarce Cowley such Pindarique soaring knew Yet by his Reader still was kept in view His Fancy like Jove's Eagle liv'd above And bearing Thunder still would upward move Oh noble Kingston had thy lovely Guest With a large stock of Youth and Life been blest Not all thy Greatness or thy Vertues store Had surer Comforts been or pleased thee more But Oh! the date is short of mighty Worth And Angels never tarry long on Earth His soul the bright the pure Etherial Flame To those lov'd Regions flew from whence it came And spight of what Mankind had long believ'd My Creed says only Poets can be sav'd That God has only for a number staid To stop the breach which Rebel Angels made For none their absence can so well supply They are all o'r Scraphick Harmony Then and not that till then the World shall burn And its base Dross Mankind their fortune mourn While all to their old nothing quick return The peevish Critick then shall be asham'd And for his Sins of Vanity be damn'd T. Wood. Oxon May the 26th 1684. On the Death of Mr. Oldham A PASTORAL On the Remains of an old blasted Oak Unmindful of himself Menalcas lean'd He sought not now in heat the shades of Trees But shun'd the flowing Rivers pleasing bank His Pipe and Hook lay scatter'd on the Grass Nor fed his Sheep together on the Plain Left to themselves they wandred out at large In this Lamenting state Young Corydon His Friend and Dear Companion of his Hour
Nor know to frame a skilful Wish more great Nor think a higher Blessing in the Gift of Fate AN ODE For an Anniversary of MUSICK on S. Cecilia's Day I. BEgin the Song your Instruments advance Tune the Voice and Tune the Flute Touch the silent sleeping Lute And make the Strings to their own Measures dance Bring gentlest Thoughts that into Language glide Bring softest Words that into Numbers slide Let every Hand and every Tongue To make the Noble Consort throng Let all in one harmonious Note agree To frame the mighty Song For this is Musicks sacred Jubile II. Hark how the wak'ned Strings resound And break the yielding Air The ravish'd Sense how pleasingly they wound And call the listning Soul into the Ear Each Pulse beats time and every Heart With Tongue and Fingers bears a part By Harmonies entrancing Power When we are thus wound up to Ecstasie Methinks we mount methinks we tower And seem to antedate our future Bliss on high III. How dull were Life how hardly worth our care But for the Charms that Musick lends How faint its Pleasures would appear But for the Pleasure which our Art attends Without the Sweets of Melody To tune our vital Breath Who would not give it up to Death And in the silent Grave contented lye IV. Musick 's the Cordial of a troubled Breast The softest Remedy that Grief can find The gentle Spell that charms our Care to rest And calms the ruffled Passions of the Mind Musick does all our Joy refine It gives the Relish to our Wine 'T is that gives Rapture to our Love And Wings Devotion to a pitch Divine 'T is our chief Bliss on Earth and half our Heaven above Chorus Come then with tuneful Throat and String The Praises of our Art let 's sing Let 's sing to Blest CECILIA's Fame That grac'd this Art and gave this Day its Name With Musick Wine and Mirth conspire To bear a Consort and make up the Choir TO MADAM L. E. Vpon her Recovery from a late Sickness Madam PArdon that with slow Gladness we so late Your wish'd return of Health congratulate Our Joys at first so throng'd to get abroad They hinder'd one another in the crowd And now such haste to tell their Message make They only stammer what they meant to speak You the fair Subject which I am to sing To whose kind Hands this humble joy I bring Aid me I beg while I this Theme pursue For I invoke no other Muse but you Long time had you here brightly shone below With all the Rays kind Heaven could bestow No envious Cloud e're offer'd to invade Your Lustre or compel it to a Shade Nor did it yet by any Sign appear But that you thoroughout Immortal were Till Heaven if Heaven could prove so cruel sent To interrupt the Growth of your content As if it grudg'd those Gifts you did enjoy And would that Bounty which it gave destroy 'T was since your Excellence did envy move In those high Powers and made them jealous prove They thought these Glories should they still have shin'd Unsullied were too much for Woman-kind Which might they write as lasting as they 're Fair Too great for ought but Deities appear But Heaven it may be was not yet compleat And lackt you there to fill your empty Seat. And when it could not fairly woo you hence Turn'd Ravisher and offer'd Violence Sickness did first a formal siege begin And by sure slowness try'd your Life to win As if by lingring methods Heaven meant To chase you hence and tire you to consent But thus in vain Fate did to force resort And next by Storm strove to attack the Fort A Sleep dull as your last did you Arrest And all their Magazines of Life possest No more the Blood its circling course did run But in the Veins like Isicles it hung No more the Heart now void of quickning heat The tuneful March of vital Motion beat Stiffness did into all the Sinews climb And a short Death crept cold through every Limb. All Signs of Life from sight so far withdrew 'T was now thought Popery to pray for you There might you were not that sense lost have seen How your true Death would have resented been A Lethargy like yours each Breast did seize And all by Sympathy catcht your Disease Around you silent Imagery appears And nought in the Spectators moves but Tears They pay what Grief were to your Funeral due And yet dare hope Heaven would your Life renew Mean while all means all Drugs prescribed are Which the decays of Health or Strength repair Medicines so powerful they new Souls would save And Life in long-dead Carcasses retrieve But these in vain they rougher Methods try And now you 're Martyr'd that you may not die Sad Scene of Fate when Tortures were your gain And 't was a kindness thought to wish you pain As if the slackned string of Life run down Could only by the Rack be screw'd in tune But Heav'n at last grown conscious that its pow'r Could scarce what was to die with you restore And loth to see such Glories overcome Sent a Post-Angel to repeal your doom Strait Fate obey'd the Charge which Heaven sent And gave this first dear Proof it could Repent Triumphant Charms what may not you subdue When Fate 's your Slave and thus submits to you It now again the new-broke Thread does knit And for another Clew her Spindle fit And life 's hid spark which did unquencht remain Caught the fled light and brought it back again Thus you reviv'd and all our Joy with you Reviv'd and found their Resurrection too Some only griev'd that what was deathless thought They saw so near to Fatal ruin brought Now crowds of Blessings on that happy hand Whose skill could eager Destiny withstand Whose learned Pow'r has rescu'd from the Grave That Life which 't was a Miracle to save That Life which were it thus untimely lost Had been the fairest Spoil Death e'r could boast May he henceforth be God of Healing thought By whom such good to you and us was brought Altars and Shrines to him are justly due Who shew'd himself a God by raising you But say fair Saint for you alone can know Whither your Soul in this short flight did go Went it to antidate that Happiness You must at last tho late we hope possess Inform us lest we should your Fate belye And call that Death which was but Ecstasie The Queen of Love we 're told once let us see That Goddesses from Wounds could not be free And you by this unwish'd Occasion show That they like Mortal us can Sickness know Pitty that Heav'n should all its Titles give And yet not let you with them ever live You 'd lack no point that makes a Deity If you could like it too Immortal be And so you are half boasts a Deathless State Although your frailer Part must yield to Fate By every breach in that fair lodging made Its blest Inhabitant
When he th' Almighty Infant 's Birth foretold A mighty Volume in one hand is born Whose open'd Leaves the other seems to turn Vast Annals of my Sins in Scarlet writ But now eras'd blot our and cancell'd quite Hark how the Heavenly Whisper strikes mine Ear Mortal behold thy Crimes all pardon'd here Hail Sacred Envoy of th' Eternal King Welcom as the bless'd Tidings thou dost bring Welcom as Heav'n from whence thou cam'st but now Thus low to thy great God and mine I bow And might I here O might I ever grow Fix'd an unmov'd and endless Monument Of Gratitude to my Creator sent TO THE MEMORY OF Mr. Charles Morwent A PINDARIQUE Ignis utique quo clariùs effulsit citiùs extinguitur eripit se aufertque ex oculis subitò perfecta virtus quicquid est absoluti faciliùs transfluit optimi neutiquam diurnant Cambden de Phil. Syd O celeres hominum bonorum dies Apul. LONDON Printed in the Year 1687. To the Memory of my Dear Friend Mr. CHARLES MORWENT A PINDARIQUE Ostendunt terris hunc tantùm fata nec ultrà Esse sinunt Virg. I. BEst Friend could my unbounded Grief but rate With due proportion thy too cruel Fate Could I some happy Miracle bring forth Great as my Wishes and thy greater Worth All Helicon should soon be thine And pay a Tribute to thy Shrine The learned Sisters all transform'd should be No longer nine but one Melpomene Each should into a Niobe relent At once thy Mourner and thy Monument Each should become Like the fam'd Memnon's speaking Tomb To sing thy well-tun'd Praise Nor should we fear their being dumb Thou still would'st make 'em vocal with thy Rays II. O that I could distil my vital Juice in Tears Or wast away my Soul in sobbing Airs Were I all Eyes To flow in liquid Elegies That every Limb might grieve And dying Sorrow still retrieve My Life should be but one long mourning day And like moist Vapors melt in Tears away I 'd soon dissolve in one great Sigh And upwards fly Glad so to be exhal'd to Heav'n and thee A Sigh which might well-nigh reverse thy death And hope to animate thee with new Breath Pow'rful as that which heretofore did give A Soul to well-form'd Clay and made it live III. Adieu blest Soul whose hasty Flight away Tells Heaven did ne'er display Such Happiness to bless the World with stay Death in thy Fall betray'd her utmost spite And shew'd her shafts most times are levell'd at the white She saw thy blooming Ripeness time prevent She saw and envious grew and straight her arrow sent So Buds appearing e'er the Frosts are past Nip'd by some unkind Blast Wither in Penance for their forward haste Thus have I seen a Morn so bright So deck'd with all the Robes of Light As if it scorn'd to think of Night Which a rude Storm e'er Noon did shroud And buried all its early Glories in a Cloud The day in funeral Blackness mourn'd And all to Sighs and all to Tears it turn'd IV. But why do we thy Death untimely deem Or Fate blaspheme We should thy full ripe Virtues wrong To think thee young Fate when she did thy vigorous Growth behold And all thy forward Glories told Forgot thy tale of Years and thought thee old The brisk Endowments of thy Mind Scorning i' th' Bud to be confin'd Out-ran thy Age and left slow Time behind Which made thee reach Maturity so soon And at first Dawn present a full-spread Noon So thy Perfections with thy Soul agree Both knew no Non-age knew no Infancy Thus the first Patern of our Race began His Life in middle-age at 's Birth a perfect Man. V. So well thou acted'st in thy Span of Days As calls at once for Wonder and for Praise Thy prudent Conduct had so learnt to measure The different whiles of Toil and Leasure No time did Action want no Action wanted Pleasure Thy busie Industry could Time dilate And stretch the Thread of Fate Thy careful Thrift could only boast the Power To lengthen Minutes and extend an Hour No single Sand could e'er slip by Without its Wonder sweet as high And every teeming Moment still brought forth A thousand Rarities of Worth. While some no other Cause for Life can give But a dull Habitude to live Thou scorn'dst such Laziness while here beneath And Liv'dst that time which others only Breath VI. Next our just Wonder does commence How so small Room could hold such Excellence Nature was proud when she contriv'd thy Frame In thee she labor'd for a Name Hence 't was she lavish'd all her Store As if she meant hereafter to be poor And like a Bankrupt run o' th' Score Her curious Hand here drew in Straights and joyn'd All the Perfections lodge in Humane kind Teaching her numerous Gifts to lie Crampt in a short Epitome So Stars contracted in a Diamond shine And Jewels in a narrow Point confine The Riches of an Indian Mine Thus subtle Artists can Draw Nature's larger self within a Span A small Frame holds the World Earth Heav'ns and all Shrunk to the scant Dimensions of a Ball. VII Those Parts which never in one Subject dwell But some uncommon Excellence foretel Like Stars did all constellate here And met together in one Sphere Thy Judgment Wit and Memory conspir'd To make themselves and thee admir'd And could thy growing Height a longer Stay have known Thou hadst all other Glories and thy self out-done While some to Knowledg by degrees arrive Through tedious Industry improv'd Thine scorn'd by such pedantick Rules to thrive But swift as that of Angels mov'd And made us think it was intuitive Thy pregnant Mind ne'er struggl'd in its Birth But quick and while it did conceive brought forth The gentle Throes of thy prolifick Brain Were all unstrain'd and without Pain Thus when Great Jove the Queen of Wisdom bare So easie and so mild his Travels were VIII Nor were these Fruits in a rough Soil bestown As Gems are thick'st in rugged Quarries sown Good Nature and good parts so shar'd thy mind A Muse and Grace were so combin'd 'T was hard to guess which with most Lustre shin'd A Genius did thy whole Comportment act Whose charming Complaisance did so attract As every Heart attack'd Such a soft Air thy well-tun'd Sweetness sway'd As told thy Soul of Harmony was made All rude Affections that Disturbers be That mar or disunite Society Were Foreiners to thee Love only in their stead took up its Rest Nature made that thy constant Guest And seem'd to form no other Passion for thy Breast IX This made thy Courteousness to all extend And thee to the whole Universe a Friend Those which were Strangers to thy native Soil and thee No Strangers to thy Love could be Whose Bounds were wide as all Mortality Thy Heart no Island was disjoyn'd Like thy own Nation from all human kind But 't was a Continent to other Countries fixt As firm by Love as they by Earth annext