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
his Fame And the vile brutish Herd of Epicures contemn And all the Under-shrievalties of Life not worth a Name Nor will I only owe my Bliss Like others to a Multitude Where Company keeps up a forced Happiness Should all Mankind surcease to live And none but individual I survive Alone I would be happy and enjoy my Solitude Thus shall my Life in pleasant Minutes wear Calm as the Minutes of the Evening are And gentle as the motions of the upper Air Soft as my Muse and unconfin'd as she When flowing in the numbers of Pindarique liberty And when I see pale gastly Death appear That grand inevitable Test which all must bear Which best distinguishes the blest and wretched here I 'll smile at all its Horrors court my welcome Destiny And yield my willing Soul up in an easie Sigh And Epicures that see shall envy and confess That I and those who dare like me be good the chiefest Good possess Virg. ECLOGUE VIII The Enchantment Poet Damon Alpheus Speakers DAmon and Alpheus the two Shepherds Strains I mean to tell and how they charm'd the Plains I 'll tell their charming Numbers which the Herd Unmindful of their Grass in Throngs admir'd At which fierce Savages astonish'd stood And every River stopt its list'ning Flood For you Great Sir whether with Cannons Roar You spread your Terror to the Holland Shore Or with a gentle and a steady hand In Peace and Plenty rule your Native Land. Shall ever that auspicious Day appear When I your glorious Actions shall declare It shall and I throughout the World rehearse Their Fame fit only for a Spencer's Verse With you my Muse began with you shall end Accept my Verse that waits on your Command And deign this Ivy Wreath a place may find Among the Laurels which your Temples bind 'T was at the time that Night 's cool shades with drew And left the Grass all hung with pearly Dew When Damon leaning on his Oaken Wand Thus to his Pipe in gentle Lays complain'd D. Arise thou Morning and drive on the Day While wretched I with fruitless words inveigh Against false Nisa while the Gods I call With my last Breath tho' hopeless to avail Tho' they regard not my Complaints at all Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains Menalus ever has its warbling Groves And talking Pines it ever hears the Loves Of Shepherds and the Notes of Mighty Pan The first that would not let the Reeds untun'd remain Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains Mopsus weds Nisa Gods what Lover e'er Need after this have reason to despair Griffins shall now leap Mares and the next Age The Deer and Hounds in Friendship shall engage Go Mopsus get the Torches ready soon Thou happy Man must have the Bride anon Go Bridegroom quickly the Nut-scramble make The Evening-star quits Oeta for thy sake Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains How fitly art thou match'd who wast so nice Thou haughty Nymph who did'st all else despise Who slight'st so scornfully my Pipe my Herd My rough-grown Eye-brows and unshaven Beard And think'st no God does mortal things regard Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains I saw thee young and in thy Beauty 's Bloom To gather Apples with thy Mother come 'T was in our Hedge-rows I was there with Pride To shew you to the best and be your Guide Then I just entring my twelfth Year was found I then could reach the tender Boughs from ground Heav'ns when I saw how soon was I undone How to my heart did the quick Poyson run Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains Now I 'm convinc'd what Love is the cold North Sure in its craggy Mountains brought him forth Or Africk's wildest Desarts gave him Birth Amongst the Cannibals and Savage Race He never of our Kind or Country was Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains Dire Love did once a Mother's Hand embrue In Childrens Blood a cruel Mother thou Hard 't is to say of both which is the worst The cruel Mother or the Boy accurst He a curst Boy a cruel Mother thou The Devil a whit to chuse betwixt the two Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains Let Wolves by Nature shun the Sheep-folds now On the rough Oaks let Oranges now grow Let the coarse Alders bear the Daffadill And costly Amber from the Thorn distill Let Owls match Swans let Tyt'rus Orpheus be In the Woods Orpheus and Arion on the Sea. Strike up my Pipe play me in tuneful Strains What I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains Let all the World turn Sea ye Woods adieu To some high Mountain's top I 'll get me now And thence my self into the Waters throw There quench my Flames and let the cruel She Accept this my last dying Will and Legacy Cease now my Pipe cease now those warbling Strains Which I heard sung on the Maenalian Plains This Damon's Song relate ye Muses now Alpheus Reply All cannot all things do A. Bring Holy Water sprinkle all around And see these Altars with soft Fillets bound Male-Frankincense and juicy Vervain burn I 'll try if I by Magick force can turn My stubborn Love I 'll try if I can fire His frozen Breast Nothing but Charms are wanting here Bring Daphnis from the Town ye Magick Charms Bring home lov'd Daphnis to my longing Arms. Charms in her wonted Course can stop the Moon And from her well-fix'd Orb can call her down By Charms the mighty Circe we are told Vlysses fam'd Companions chang'd of old Snakes by the Vertue of Enchantment forc'd Oft in the Meads with their own Poyson burst Bring Daphnis from the Town ye Magick Charms Bring home lov'd Daphnis to my longing Arms. First these three several Threads I compass round Thy Image thus in Magick Fetters bound Then round these Altars thrice thy Image bear Odd Numbers to the Gods delightful are Bring Daphnis from the Town ye Magick Charms Bring home lov'd Daphnis to my longing Arms. Go tye me in three knots three Ribands now And let the Ribands be of diff'rent Hue Go Amaryllis tye them strait and cry At the same time They 're true-love-knots I tye Bring Daphnis from the Town ye Magick Charms Bring home lov'd Daphnis to my longing Arms. Look how this Clay grows harder and look how With the same Fire this Wax doth softer grow So Daphnis let him with my Love do so Strow Meal and Salt for so these Rites require And set the crackling Laurel Boughs on fire This naughty Daphnis sets my Breast on flame And I this Laurel burn in Daphnis Name Bring Daphnis from the Town ye Magick
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
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
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
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
is more displaid In that white Snow which over-spreads your Skin We trace the whiter Soul which dwells within Which while you through this shining Hue display Looks like a Star plac'd in the milky way Such the bright Bodies of the Blessed are When they for Raiment cloath'd with Light appear And should you visit now the Seats of Bliss You need not wear another form but this Never did Sickness in such Pomp appear As when it thus your Livery did wear Disease it self look'd amiable here So Clouds which would obscure the Sun oft gilded be And Shades are taught to shine as bright as he Grieve not fair Nymph when in your Glass you trace The marring Footsteps of a pale Disease Regret not that your Cheeks their Roses want Which a few Days shall in full store replant Which whilst your Blood withdraws its guilty Red Tells that you own no Faults that Blushes need The Sun whose Bounty does each Spring restore What Winter from the rifled Meadows tore Which every Morning with an early Ray Paints the young blushing Cheeks of instant Day Whose skill inimitable here below Limns those gay Clouds which form Heav'ns colour'd Bow That Sun shall soon with Interest repay All the lost Beauty Sickness snatch'd away Your Beams like his shall hourly now advance And every Minute their swift Growth enhance Mean while that you no helps of Healths refuse Accept these humble Wishes of the Muse Which shall not of their just Petition fail If she and she's a Goddess ought prevail May no profane Disease henceforth approach This sacred Temple with unhallow'd touch Or with rude sacriledge its frame debauch May these fair Members always happy be In as full Strength and well-set Harmony As the new Foundress of your Sex could boast Ere she by Sin her first Perfection lost May Destiny just to your Merits twine All your smooth Fortunes in a Silken Line And that you may at Heaven late arrive May it to you its largest Bottom give May Heaven with still repeated Favours bless Till it its Pow'r below its Will confess Till Wishes can no more exalt your Fate Nor Poets fansie you more fortunate ON THE DEATH OF Mrs Katharine Kingscourt A Child of Excellent Parts and Piety SHE did She did I saw her mount the Skie And with new Whiteness paint the Galaxy Heav'n her methought with all its Eyes did view And yet acknowledg'd all its Eyes too few Methought I saw in Crowds blest Spirits meet And with loud Welcomes her Arrival greet Which could they grieve had gone with grief away To see a Soul more white more pure than they Earth was unworthy such a Prize as this Only a while Heav'n let us share the Bliss In vain her stay with fruitless Tears we 'd woo In vain we'd Court when that our Rival grew Thanks ye kind Powers who did so long dispense Since you so wish'd her with her absence thence We now resign to you alone we grant The sweet Monopoly of such a Saint So pure a Saint I scarce dare call her so For fear to wrong her with a Name too low Such a Scraphick brightness in her shin'd I hardly can believe her Woman-kind 'T was sure some noble Being left the Sphere Which deign'd a little to inhabit here And can't be said to die but disappear Or if she Mortal was and meant to show The greater skill by being made below Sure Heav'n preserv'd her by the fall uncurst To tell how all the Sex were form'd at first Never did yet so much Divinity In such a small Compendium crouded lye By her we credit what the Learned tell That many Angels in one Point can dwell More damned Fiends did not in Mary rest Than lodg'd of Blessed Spirits in her Breast Religion dawn'd so early in her mind You 'd think her Saint whilst in the Womb enshrin'd Nay that bright ray which did her Temples paint Proclaim'd her clearly while alive a Saint Scarce had she learnt to lisp Religion's Name E'r she by her Example preach'd the same And taught her Cradle like the Pulpit to reclaim No Action did within her Practice fall Which for th' Atonement of a Blush could call No word of hers e'er greeted any Ear But what a dying Saint confest might hear Her Thoughts had scarcely ever fully'd been By the least Foot-steps of Original Sin. Her Life did still as much Devotion breath As others do at their last Gasp in Death Hence on her Tomb of her let not be said So long she liv'd but thus so long she pray'd A SUNDAY-THOUGHT In Sickness LOrd how dreadful is the Prospect of Death at the remotest Distance How the smallest Apprehension of it can pall the most gay airy and brisk Spirits Even I who thought I could have been merry in sight of my Coffin and drink a Health with the Sexton in my own Grave now tremble at the least Envoy of the King of Terrors To see but the shaking of my Glass makes me turn pale and fear is like to prevent and do the Work of my Distemper All the Jollity of my Humor and Conversation is turn'd on a sudden into shagrin and melancholy black as Despair and dark as the Grave My Soul and Body seem at once laid out and I fancy all the Plummets of Eternal Night already hanging upon my Temples But whence proceed these Fears Certainty they are not idle Dreams nor the accidental Product of my Disease which disorders the Brains and fills 'em with odd Chimaera's Why should my Soul be averse to its Enlargement Why should it be content to be knit up in two Yards of Skin when it may have all the World for its Purliew 'T is not that I 'm unwilling to leave my Relations and present Friends I 'm parted from the first already and could be sever'd from both the length of the whole Map and live with my Body as far distant from them as my Soul must when I 'm dead Neither is it that I 'm loth to leave the Delights and Pleasures of the World some of them I have tried and found empty the others covet not because unknown I 'm confident I could despise 'em all by a Greatness of Soul did not the Bible oblige me and Divines tell me 't is my Duty It is not neither that I 'm unwilling to go hence before I 've Establish'd a Reputation and something to make me survive my self I could have been content to be Still-born and have no more than the Register or Sexton to tell that I 've ever been in the Land of the Living In Fine 't is not from a Principle of Cowardise which the Schools have called Self-preservation the poor Effect of Instinct and dull pretence of a Brute as well as me This Unwillingness therefore and Aversion to undergo the general Fate must have a juster Original and flow from a more important Cause I 'm well satisfied that this other Being within that moves and actuates my Frame of Flesh and Blood
so pure and just so durable Those feigned Pairs of Faithfulness which claim So high a place in ancient Fame Had they thy better Pattern seen They'd made their Friendship more divine And strove to mend their Characters by thine XX. Yet had this Friendship no advantage been Unless 't were exercis'd within What did thy Love to other Objects tie The same made thy own Pow'rs agree And reconcil'd thy self to thee No Discord in thy Soul did rest Save what its Harmony increast Thy mind did with such regular Calmness move As held resemblance with the greater Mind above Reason there fix'd its peaceful Throne And reign'd alone The Will its easie Neck to Bondage gave And to the ruling Faculty became a Slave The Passions rais'd no Civil Wars Nor discompos'd thee with intestine Jars All did obey And paid Allegiance to its rightful Sway. All threw their resty Tempers by And gentler Figures drew Gentle as Nature in its Infancy As when themselves in their first Beings grew XXI Thy Soul within such silent Pomp did keep As if Humanity were lull'd asleep So gentle was thy Pilgrimage beneath Time's unheard Feet scarce makeless noise Or the soft Journey which a Planet goes Life seem'd all calm as its last Breath A still Tranquillity so husht thy Breast As if some Halcyon were its Guest And there had built her Nest It hardly now enjoys a greater Rest As that smooth Sea which wears the Name of Peace Still with one even Face appears And feels no Tides to change it from its place No Waves to alter the fair Form it bears As that unspotted Sky Where Nile does want of Rain supply Is free from Clouds from Storms is ever free So thy unvary'd mind was always one And with such clear Serenity still shone As caus'd thy little World to seem all temp'rate Zone XXII Let Fools their high Extraction boast And Greatness which no Travel but their Mothers cost Let 'em extol a swelling Name Which their 's by Will and Testament became At best but meer Inheritance As oft the Spoils as Gift of Chance Let some ill-plac't Repute on Scutcheons rear As fading as the Colors which those bear And prize a painted Field Which Wealth as soon as Fame can yield Thou scorn'dst at such low Rates to purchase Worth Nor couldst thou owe it only to thy Birth Thy self-born Greatness was above the Power Of Parents to entail or Fortune to deflower Thy Soul which like the Sun Heaven molded bright Disdain'd to shine with borrow'd Light. Thus from himself th' Eternal Being grew And from no other Cause his Grandeur drew XXIII Howe'er if true Nobility Rather in Souls than in the Blood does lie If from thy better part we Measures take And that the Standard of our Value make Jewels and Stars become low Heraldry To blazon thee Thy Soul was big enough to pity Kings And look'd on Empires as poor humble things Great as his boundless Mind Who thought himself in one wide Globe confin'd And for another pin'd Great as that Spirit whose large Powers rowl Thro' the vast Fabrick of this spatious Bowl And tell the World as well as Man can boast a Soul. XXIV Yet could not this an Haughtiness beget Or thee above the common Level set Pride whose Alloy does best Endowments mar As things most lofty smaller still appear With thee did no Alliance bear Low Merits oft are by too high Esteem bely'd Whose Owners lessen while they raise their Price Thine were above the very Guilt of Pride Above all others and thy own Hyperbole In thee the wid'st Extreams were joyn'd The loftiest and the lowliest Mind Thus tho some part of Heav'ns vast Round Appear but low and seem to touch the Ground Yet 't is well known almost to bound the Spheres 'T is truly held to be above the Stars XXV While thy brave Mind preserv'd this noble Frame Thou stoodst at once secure From all the Flattery and Obloquy of Fame It s rough and gentler Breath were both to thee the same Nor this could thee exalt nor that depress thee lower But thou from thy great Soul on both look'dst down Without the small concernment of a Smile or Frown Heav'n less dreads that it should fir'd be By the weak flitting Sparks that upwards fly Less the bright Goddess of the Night Fears those loud howlings that revile her Light Than thou Malignant Tongues thy Worth should blast Which was too great for Envy's Cloud to overcast 'T was thy brave Method to despise Contempt And make what was the Fault the Punishment What more Assaults could weak Detraction raise When thou couldst Saint disgrace And turn Reproach to Praise So Clouds which would obscure the Sun oft gilded be And Shades are taught to shine as bright as he So Diamonds when envious Night Would shroud their Splendor look most bright And from its Darkness seem to borrow Light. XXVI Had Heav'n compos'd thy mortal Frame Free from Contagion as thy Soul or Fame Could Virtue been but Proof against Death's Arms Th'adst stood unvanquisht by these Harms Safe in a Circle made by thy own Charms Fond Pleasure whose soft Magick oft beguiles Raw unexperienc'd Souls And with smooth Flattery cajoles Could ne'er ensnare thee with her Wiles Or make thee Captive to her soothing Smiles In vain that Pimp of Vice assay'd to please In hope to draw thee to its rude Embrace Thy Prudence still that Syren past Without being pinion'd to the Mast All its Attempts were ineffectual found Heav'n fenc'd thy heart with its own Mound And forc'd the Tempter still from that forbidden Ground XXVII The mad Capricio's of the doating Age Could ne'er in the same Frenzy thee engage But mov'd thee rather with a generous Rage Gallants who their high Breeding prize Known only by their Gallanture and Vice Whose Talent is to court a fashionable Sin And act some fine Transgression with a janty Meen May by such Methods hope the Vogue to win Let those gay Fops who deem Their Infamies Accomplishment Grow scandalous to get Esteem And by Disgrace strive to be eminent Here thou disdainst the common Road Nor wouldst by ought be woo'd To wear the vain Iniquities o' th' Mode Vice with thy Practice did so disagree Thou scarce couldst bear it in thy Theory Thou didst such Ignorance 'bove Knowledg prize And here to be unskill'd is to be wise Such the first Founders of our Blood While yet untempted stood Contented only to know Good. XXVIII Virtue alone did guide thy Actions here Thou by no other Card thy Life didst steer No sly Decoy would serve To make thee from its rigid Dictates swerve Thy Love ne'er thought her worse Because thou hadst so few Competitors Thou couldst adore her when ador'd by none Content to be her Votary alone When 't was proscrib'd the unkind World And to blind Cells and Grotto's hurl'd When thought the Fantom of some crazy Brain Fit for grave Anchorets to entertain A thin Chimaera whom dull Gown-Men frame To gull