cruel Beauty's Love To him and to his Truth ingrate Idolater does he not prove That from his pow'rless Idol never Receives a Med'cine for his Fever IV. They say the unweary'd Lovers pains By instance meet with good success For he by force his end obtains 'T is an odd method of Address To what Design so e're 't relate Still still to be importunate V. Do but observe the hourly Fears Of your pretended faithful Lover Nothing but Sorrow Sighs and Tears You in his chearfull'st Looks discover As though the Lovers Sophistry Were nothing but to whine and cry VI. â—â—â—ght he by a Man's Name be styl'd â—hat losing th' Honor of a Man â—hines for his Pepin like a Child â—hipt and sent back to School again Or rather Fool that thinks amiss He loves but knows not what Love is VII 〈◊〉 my part I 'll decline this Folly 〈◊〉 others harms thank Fate grown wise â—â—ch Dotage begets Melancholly â— must profess Loves Liberties And never angry am at all At them who me inconstamt call SONNET Out of Astrea SInce I must now eradicate the Flame Which seeing you Love in my Bosom plac't And the Desires which thus long could last Kindled so well and nourisht in the same Since Time that first saw their Original Must triumph in their end and Victor be Let 's have a brave Design and to be free Cut off at once the Briar-rose and all â—et us put out the Fire Love has begot â—â—eak the tough Cord tied with so fast a knot And voluntary take a brave adieu â—o shall we nobly conquer Love and Fate â—nd at the Liberty of choice do that Which time its self at last would make us do A PARAPHRASE THE Beauty that must me delight Must have Skin and Teeth Snow white Black arched Brows black sprightly Eyes And a black Beauty 'twixt her Th ghs Soâ—t blushing Cheeks a Person tall Long Hair long Hands and Fingers small Short Teeth and Feet that little are Dilated Brows and Haunches fair Fine silken Hair Lips full and red Small Nose with little Breast and Head All these in one and that one kind Would make a Mistriss to my Mind An Essay upon Buchanan's First Book de Sphaera Never perfected HOW various are the World 's great parts I sing And by what League the jarring Seeds of things Agree in one the Causes Motion breed Why Darkness Light and Coldness Heat succeed And why the Suns and the Moons horned Light Suffer Eclipses of o're-shading Night Thou who the Temples wall'd with sacred Light. Impenetrable to our weaker sight Inhabit'st holy Father of the Skies Propitious be to this bold Enterprize Whilst to the World we do Thy Acts reveal And the immense Work of the Pole unseal That people ignorant of Truth a Mind From Sloth and long-liv'd Error so refin'd May lift to Heav'n and whilst amaz'd the Ball They so embraced with a Flaming Wall And wheeling times return in certain course May own the Mover and admire his Force â—hat props so great a Pile that with the bit Of his Eternal Law doth govern it And in His secret Council has decreed 〈◊〉 fit for Man's innumerable Need. And thou young Mercury Tymolion Thy Father's and thy Country's hopeful Son Go my Companion in thy tender Years Câ—â—â—alion Woods and sacred Founts draw near â—requent that unknown Peace and Nymphs soft Choires Subject to loss nor avaritious Fires The time will come when time has giv'n Thee Force That thou shalt bravely with thy foaming Horse Rush into War and gloriously advance In dusty Fields thy Country's threatning Launce Till then thy Syre either shall Lombards deign T' orecome wild Germans and the Warlike Spain By Force or Conduct Or with Gallick spoil Dazling the Sun deck Calidonia's Soyl. Caetera desunt Cn. Cornelii Galli vel potius Maximiani Elegia 1. Trans WHY envious Age dost thou my End delay Why in this wearied Trunk delight to stay My captive Life from such a Prison free Death now is Rest when Life is Misery I 'm no more what I was but sunk and old And what remains is languishing and cold The day that young Men chears offends mine Eye And which is worse than Death I wish to die I was my Youth whilst Wit and Beautâ— crown'd An Orator throughout the World renown'd The Poets charming lies full oft I feign'd And by fictitious Tales true Titles gain'd In all Disputes of Wit the Wreath bore I And have my Eloquence reputed high High and immortal Oh! what then remains Worthy an old Man's Living or his Pains Nor less than these the Beauty of my Face Which though the rest are wanting wins much Grace Manhood to that which richer far than Gold Makes Wit a greater price and Lustre hold If I with Dogs the Thickets would surround The conquer'd Prey fell at my Launces Wound Or would I loose Shafts from the bending Yew With great applause untamed Beasts I slew Or with the sinewy Wrestlers if I try'd With my strong Nerves their oyly Limbs I ty'd â—ow at the Race I all that came out-run And now in Tragick Song the Buskin won This mixture of good things my worth increast â—â—ill various Works of Art advance us best For whatsoever things simply delight Joyn'd to another Grace shine out more bright With such a Mine of Fortitude adorn'd All threatning Dangers I contemn'd and scorn'd Bare-head I made the Winds and Storms retreat Feeling no Winters Cold nor Summer's Heat I swam the yellow Tyber's gelid Stream And fearless would the doubtful Current sâ—em With the least Sleep I could forsake my Bed And with the slend'rest fare be amply fed Or if a drunken Guest surpriz'd my Walls To waste the forlorn day in Bacchanals Lyaeus self struck Sail amaz'd and dumb And he that always conquer'd fel o'recome Nor is' t an easy thing the Mind to bend At once with two Opposers to contend And in this kind of strife they say of Yore Great Socrates the Victor's Trophy bore And thus they say the rigid Cato won Things are not ill themselves unless ill done To all things dreadless I oppos'd my Face And to my constant Mind Mischance gave place With little pleas'd I still lov'd to be poor And being Lord of all could wish no more Thou only wretched Age dost me subdue To whom who conquers all things else must bow 'T is into thee we fall and what at last Decays and withers thou alone dost wast Hetruria ravisht with these parts of mine Wish'd that I would with her fair Daughters twine But Liberty to me was far more sweet Than all the Pleasures of the Nuptial Sheet In my gay Youth I walk'd about proud Rome To view what Virgins there might overcome Which might be won or which was fit to seek When at their sight soft blushes stain'd my Cheek Now runs a smiling Girl her self to hide And yet not so as not to be descry'd But by some single part to be reveal'd Gladder by much to be so ill conceal'd
Passion My Star my bright Magnetick Pole And only Gâ—idress of my Soul. Thyr. Let Caelia be thy Cynosure Chloe's my Pole too though th' obscure For though her self 's all glorious My Earth 'twixt us does interpose Dam. Obscure indeed since she 's but one To mine a Constellation Her Lights throughout so glorious are That every part 's a perfect Star. Thyr. Then Caelia's Perfections Are scatter'd Chloe's like the Suns United Light compacted lye Whence all that feel their force must dye Dam. Caelia's Beauties are too bright To be contracted in one Light Nor does my fair her Rays dispence With such a stabbing Influence Since 't is her less imperious Will To save her Lovers and not kill Thyr. Each beam of her united Light Is than the greatest Star more bright And if she stay it is from hence She darts too sweet an Influence We Surfeit with 't weak Eyes must shun The dazling Glories of the Sun. Perhaps if Caelia do not kill 'T is want of Power not of Will. Dam. I now perceive thy Chloe's Eyes To be no Stars but Prodigies Comets such as blazing stand To threaten ruin to a Land Beacons of sulph'rous Flame they are Symptoms not of Peace but War And thou I guess by singing thus Thence stoll'st thine Ignis fatuâ—s Thyr. As th' vulgar are amaz'd at th' Sun When tripled by reflection Câ—loe's self and glorious Eyes To thee seem Comets in the Skies And true they may portend some Wars Such as 'twixt Venus and her Mars But chast whose captivating Bands Would People and not ruin Lands With such a Going fire I 'll stray For who with it can lose his way Dam. The Vulgar may perhaps be won By thee to think her Sun and Moon And so would I but that my more Convincing Caelia I adore Would we had both that Chloe thine And my dear Caelia might be mine But if we should thus mix with Ray In Heav'n would be no Night but Day For we should People all the Skies With Plannet-Girls and Starry-Boyes Chloe's a going-fire we see Pray Pan she do not go from thee Thyr. Thanks Damon but she does I fear The Shadows now so long appear Yet if she do we 'll both find Day â—'â—h ' Sun-shine of thy Caelia Her Sigh I. SHE sighs and has blown over now The storms that thrat'ned in her brow The Heaven 's now serene and clear And bashful blushes do appear Th' Errour sh' has found That did me wound Thus with her od'rous Sigh my hopes are crown'd II. Now she relents for now I hear Repentance whisper in my Ear Happy repentance that begets By this sweet Airy motion heats And does destroy Her Heresie That my Faith branded with Inconstancy III. When Thisbe's Pyramus was slain This sigh had fetcht him back again And such a sigh from Dido's Chest Wasted the Trojan to her Breast Each of her sighs My Love does prize Reward for thousand thousand Cruelties IV. Sigh on my Sweet and by thy Breath Immortal grown I 'll laugh at Death Had Fame so sweet a one we shou'd In that regard learn to be good Sigh on my Fair Henceforth I swear I could Cameleon turn and live by Air On the Lamented Death of my Dear Uncle Mr. Radcliff Stanhope SUch is th' unsteddy state of humane things And Death so certain that their period brings So frail is Youth and strength so sure this sleep That much we cannot wonder though we weep Yet since 't is so it will not misbecom Either perhaps our Sorrows or his Tomb To breath a Sigh and drop a mourning Tear Upon the cold face of his Sepulcher Well did his life deserve it if to be A great Example of Integrity Honour and Truth Fidelity and Love In such perfection as if each had strove T'out-do Posterity may deserve our care Or to his Funeral command a Tear Faithful he was and just and sweetly good To whom ally'd in Virtue or in Blood His Breast from other conversation chast Above the reach of giddy Vice was plac't Then had not Death that crops in 's Savage speed The fairest flower with the rankest weed Thus made a beastly Conquest of his Prime And cut him off before grown ripe for Time How bright an Evening must this Morn pursue Is to his Life a Contemplation due Proud Death t' arrest his thriving Virtue thus Unhappy Fate not to himself but us That so have lost him for no doubt but he Was fit for Heav'n as years could make him be Age does but muster Sin and heap up woes Against the last and general Rendezvous Whereas he dy'd full of obedient Truth Wrap't in his spotless Innocence of Youth Farewell Dear Vncle may thy hop'd for Bliss To thee be real as my Sorrow is May they be nam'd together since I do Nothing more perfect than my sorrow know And if thy Soul into mens minds have Eyes It knows I truly weep these Obsequies On the Lord Derby TO what a formidable greatness grown Is this prodigious Beast Rebellion When Sovereignty and it s so sacred Law Thus lies subjected to his Tyrant awe And to what daring impudence he grows When not content to trample upon those He still destroys all that with honest flames Of loyal Love would propagate their Names In this great ruin Derby lay thy Fate Derby unfortunately fortunate Unhappy thus to fall a Sacrifice To such an Irreligious Power as this And blest as 't was thy nobler sence to dye A constant Lover of thy Loyalty Nor is it thy Calamity alone Since more lye whelm'd in this Subversion And first the justest and the best of Kings Roab'd in the glory of his Sufferings By his too violent Fate inform'd us all What tragick ends attended his great fall Since when his Subjects some by chance of War Some by perverted justice at the Bar Have perish't thus what th' other leaves this takes And who so scapes the Sword falls by the Axe Amongst which throng of Martyrs none could boast Of more fidelity than the world has lost In losing thee when in contempt of spite Thy steddy faith at th'exit crown'd with Light His Head above their malice did advance They could not murder thy Allegiance Not when before those Iudges brought to th'test Who in the symptomes of thy ruin drest Pronounc't thy Sentence Basilisks whose Breath Is killing Poyson and whose Looks are Death Then how unsafe a Guard Man's virtue is Iâ— this false Age when such as do amiss Controul the honest sort and make a prey Of all that are not villanous as they Does to our Reasons Eyes too plain appear In the mischance of this Illustrious Peer Blood-thirsty Tyrants of usurped State In facts of Death prompt and insatiate That in your Flinty Bosoms have no sence Of Manly Honour or of Conscience But do since Monarchy lay drown'd in Blood Proclaim 't by Act high Treason to be good Cease yet at last for shame let Derby's fall Great and good Derby's expiate for all
she ickle Be she pious or ungodly Be she chaste or what sounds odly Lastly be she good or evil Be she Saint or be she Devil Yet uneasie is his Life Who is marri'd to a Wife If fair she 's subject to temptation If foul her self 's solicitation If young and sweet she is too tender If old and cross no man can mend her If too too kind she 's over clinging If a true scold she 's ever ringing If blith find Fiddles or y'undoe her If sad then call a Casuist to her If a Wit she 'll still be jeering If a Fool she 's ever fleering If too wary then she 'll shrue thee If too lavish she 'll undoe thee If staid she 'll mope a year together If gadding then to London with her If true she 'll think you don 't deserve her If false a thousand will not serve her If lustfull send her to a Spittle If cold she is for one too little If she be of th' Reformation Thy House will be a Convocation If a Libertine then watch it At the window thou maist catch it If chaste her pride will still importune If a Whore thou know'st thy Fortune So uneasie is his Life Who is marri'd to a Wife These are all extremes I know But all Womankind is so And the Golden Mean to none Of that cloven Race is known Or to one if known it be Yet that one 's unknown to me Some Vlissean Traveller May perhaps have gone so sar As t' have found in spight of Nature Such an admirable Creature If a Voyager there be Has made that discovery He the fam'd Odcombian gravels And may rest to write his Travels But alas there 's no such woman The Calamity is common The first rib did bring in ruine And the rest have since been doing Some by one way some another Woman still is mischief's mother And yet cannot Man forbear Though it cost him ne'er so dear Yet with me 't is out of season To complain thus without reason Since the best and sweetest fair Is allotted to my share But alas I love her so That my love creates my woe For if she be out of humour Streight displeas'd I do presume her And would give the World to know What it is offends her so Or if she be discontented Lord how am I then tormented And am ready to persuade her That I have unhappy made her But if sick I then am dying Meat and Med'cine both defying So uneasie is his Life Who is marri'd to a Wife What are then the Marr'age Joys That make such a mighty noise All 's enclos'd in one short Sentence Little Pleasure great Repentance Yet it is so sweet a Pleasure To repent we scarce have leisure Till the pleasure wholly fails Save sometimes by Intervals But those intervals again Are so full of deadly pain That the pleasure we have got Is in Conscience too dear bought Pox on 't would Womankind be free What needed this Solemnity This foolish way of coupl'ing so That all the World forsooth must know And yet the naked truth to say They are so perfect grown that way That if 't only be for pleasure You would marry take good leisure Since none can ever want supplies For natural necessities Without exposing of his Life To the great trouble of a Wife Why then all the great pains taking Why the sighing why the waking Why the riding why the running Why the artifice and cunning Why the whining why the crying Why pretending to be dying Why all this clutter to get Wives To make us weary of our Lives If Fruition we profess To be the only happiness How much happier then is he Who with the industrious Bee Preys upon the several Sweets Of the various Flow'rs he meets Than he who with less delight Dulls on one his Appetite Oh 't is pleasant to be free The sweetest Miss is Liberty And though who with one sweet is bless'd May reap the sweets of all the rest In her alone who fair and true As Love is all for which we sue Whose several Graces may supply The place of full variety And whose true kindness or address Summs up the All of happiness Yet 't is better live alone Free to all than ti'd to one Since uneasie is his Life Who is marri'd to a Wife ODE To Love. I. GReat Love I thank thee now thou hast Paid me for all my suff'rings past And wounded me with Nature's Pride For whom more glory 't is to die Scorn'd and neglected than enjoy All Beauty in the world beside II. A Beauty above all pretence Whose very scorns are recompence The Regent of my heart is crown'd And now the sorrows and the woe My Youth and Folly help'd me to Are buried in this friendly wound III. Led by my Folly or my Fate I lov'd before I knew not what And threw my thoughts I knew not where With judgment now I lvoe and sue And never yet perfection knew Untill I cast mine eyes on her IV. My Soul that was so base before Each little beauty to adore Now rais'd to Glory does despise Those poor and counterfeited rays That caught me in my childish days And knows no power but her eyes V. Rais'd to this height I have no more Almighty Love for to implorâ— Of my auspicious Stars or thee Than that thou bow her noble mind To be as mercifully kind As I shall ever faithfull be Song I. SAd thoughts make hast and kill me out I live too long in pain 'T is dying to be still in doubt And death that ends all miseries The chief and only favour is The wretched can obtain II. I have liv'd long enough to know That life is a Disease At least it does torment me so That Death at whom the happy start I court to come and with his Dart To give me a release III. Come friendly Death then strike me dead For all this while I die And but long dying nothing dread Yet beign with grief the one half slain With all thy power thou wilt gain But half a Victory Elegy AWay to th' other world away In this I can no longer stay I long enough in this have stai'd To see my self poorly betrai'd Forsaken robb'd and left alone And to all purposes undone What then can tempt me to live on My Peace and Honour being gone O yes I still am call'd upon To stay by my affliction Oh fair affliction let me go You best can part with me I know 'T is an ill natur'd pride you take To triumph o'er the fool you make And you loose time in trampling o'er One whilst you might make twenty more Your eyes have still the conqu'ring pow'r They had in that same dang'rous hour They laid me at your beauties feet Your Roses still as fair and sweet And there more hearts are to subdue But oh not one that 's half so true Dismiss me then t'eternal rest I cannot live but in your Breast Where banish'd by Inconstancy The world has
Roof And striking Fire in the Air We Mortals call a shooting Star. XI That 's all the Light we now receive Unless what belching Vulcans give And those yield such a kind of Light As adds more horror to the Night XII Nyctimine now freed from day From sullen Bush flies out to prey And does with Feret note proclaim Th' arrival of th' usurping Dame. XIII The Rail now cracks in Fields and Meads Toads now forsake the Nettle-beds The tim'rous Hare goes to relief And wary Men bolt out the Theef XIV The Fire 's new rak't and Hearth swept clean By Madg the dirty Kitchin Quean The Safe is lock't the Mouse-trap set The Leaven laid and Bucking wet XV. Now in false Floors and Roofs above The lustful Cats make ill-tun'd Love The Ban-dog on the Dunghil lies And watchful Nurse sings Lullabies XVI Philomel chants it whilst she bleeds The Bittern booms it in the Reeds And Reynard entring the back Yard The Capitolian Cry is heard XVII The Goblin now the Fool alarms Haggs meet to mumble o're their Charms The Night-mare rides the dreaming Ass And Fairies trip it on the grass XVIII The Drunkard now supinely snores His load of Ale sweats through his Pores Yet when he wakes the Swine shall find A Cropala remains behind XIX The Sober now and Chast are blest With sweet and with refreshing rest And to sound sleeps they 've best pretence Have greatest share of Innocence XX. We should so live then that we may Fearless put off our Clotts and Clay And travel through Death's shades to Light For every Day must have its Night Ode GOOD night my Love may gentle rest Charm up your Senses till the Light Whilst I with Care and Woe opprest Go to inhabit endless Night There whilst your Eyes shall grace the Day I must in the despairing shade Sigh such a woful time away As never yet poor Lover had Yet to this endless Solitude There is one dangerous step to pass To one that loves your sight so rude As Flesh and Blood is loth to pass But I will take it to express I worthily your Favours wore Your merits Sweet can claim no less Who dyes for you can do no more Ode de Monsieur Racan INgrateful cause of all my harms I go to seek amidst Alarms My Death or Liberty And that 's all now I 've left to do Since cruel Fair in serving you I can nor live nor dye The King his Towns sees desart made His Plains with armed Troops o're-spread Violence do's controul All 's Fire and Sword before his Eyes Yet has he fewer Enemies Than I have in my Soul. But yet alas my hope is vain To put a period to my pain By any desperate ways ` T is you that hold my Life enchain'd And under Heaven you command And only you my days If in a Battel 's loud'st Alarms I rush amongst incensed Arms Invoking Death to take me Seeing me look so pale the Foe Will think me Death himself and so Not venture to attaque me In Bloody Fields where Mars doth make With his loud Thunder all to shake Both Earth and Heav'n to boot Mans pow'r to kill me I despise Since Love with Arrows from your Eyes Had not the Pow'r to doo 't No I must languish still unblest And in worst Torments manifest My firm Fidelity Or that my Reason set me free Since Fair in serving you I see I can nor live nor dye Contentation Directed to my Dear Father and most Worthy Friend Mr. Isaac Walton HEav'n what an Age is this what Race Of Giants are sprung up that dare Thus fiy in the Almighty's Face And with his Providence make War II. I can go no where but I meet With Malecontents and Mutineers As if in Life was nothing sweet And we must Blessings reap in Tears III. O senseless Man that murmurs still For Happiness and does not know Even though he might enjoy his Will What he would have to make him so IV. Is it true Happiness to be By undiscerning Fortune plac't In the most eminent Degree Where few arrive and none stand fast V. Titles and Wealth are Fortune's Toyls Wherewith the Vain themselves ensnare The Great are proud of borrow'd Spoils The Miser's Plenty breeds his Care. VI. The one supinely yawns at rest Th' other eternally doth toyl Each of them equally a Beast A pamper'd Horse or lab'ring Moyl VII The Tituladoâ—s oft disgrac'd By publick hate or private frown And he whose Hand the Creature rais'd Has yet a Foot to kick him down VIII The Drudge who would all get all save Like a brute Beast both feeds and lies Prone to the Earth he digs his Grave And in the very labour dies IX Excess of ill got ill kept Pelf Does only Death and Danger breed Whilst one rich Worldling starves himself With what would thousand others feed X By which we see what Wealth and Pow'r Although they make men rich and great The sweets of Life do often four And gull Ambition with a Cheat. XI Nor is he happier than these Who in a moderate estate Where he might safely live at case Has Lusts that are immoderate XII For he by those desires misled Quits his own Vine's securing shade T' expose his naked empty head To all the Storms Man's Peace invade XIII Nor is he happy who is trim Trick't up in favours of the Fair Mirrors with every Breath made dim Birds caught in every wanton snare XIV Woman man's greatest woe or bliss Does ofter far than serve enslave And with the Magick of a Kiss Destroys whom she was made to save XV. Oh fruitful Grief the World's Disease And vainer Man to make it so Who gives his Miseries encrease By cultivating his own woe XVI There are no ills but what we make By giving Shapes and Names to things Which is the dangerous mistake That causes all our Sufferings XVII We call that Sickness which is Health That Persecution which is Grace That Poverty which is true Wealth And that Dishonour which is Praise XVIII Providence watches over all And that with an impartial Eye And if to Misery we fall ` T is through our own Infirmity XIX ` T is want of foresight makes the bold Ambitious Youth to danger climb And want of Vertue when the old At Persecution do repine XX. Alas our Time is here so short That in what state soe're `t is spent Of Joy or Wo does not import Provided it be innocent XXI But we may make it pleasant too If we will take our Mâ—asures right And not what Heav'n has done undo By an unruly Appetite XXII ` T is Contentation that alone Can make us happy here below And when this little Life is gone Will lift us up to Heav'n too XXIII A very little satisfies An honest and a grateful heart And who would more than will suffice Does covet more than is his part XXIV That man is happy in his share Who is warm clad and cleanly fed Whose Necessaries bound
his Care And honest Labour makes his Bed. XXV Who free from Debt and clear from Crimes Honours those Laws that others fear Who ill of Princes in worst Times Will neither speak himself nor hear XXVI Who from the busie World retires To be more useful to it still And to no greater good aspires But only the eschewing ill XXVII Who with his Angle and his Books Can think the longest day well spent And praises God when back he looks And finds that all was innocent XXVIII This man is happier far than he Whom publick Business oft betrays Through Labyrinths of policy To crooked and forbidden ways XXIX The World is full of beaten Roads But yet so slippery withall That where one walks secure `t is odds A hundred and a hundred fall XXX Untrodden Paths are then the best Where the frequented are unsure And he comes soonest to his rest Whose Journey has been most secure XXXI It is Content alone that makes Our Pilgrimage a Pleasure here And who buyes Sorrow cheapest takes An ill Commodity too dear XXXII But he has Fortunes worst withstood And Happiness can never miss Can covet nought but where he stood And thinks him happy where he is Stances de Monsieur de Scudery FAIR Nymph by whose Perfections mov'd My wounded heart is turn'd to flame By all admir'd by all approv'd Endure at least to be belov'd Although you will not love again Aminta as unkind as fair What is there that you ought to fear For cruel if I you declare And that indeed you cruel are Why the Reproach may you not hear Even Reproaches should delight If Friendship for me you have none And if no Anger I have yet Enough perhaps that may invite Your hatred or Compassion When your Disdain is most severe When you most rigorous do prove When frowns of Anger most you wear You still more charming do appear And I am more and more in Love. Ah let me Sweet your sight enjoy Though with the forfeit of my Life For fall what will I 'de rather dye Beholding you of present Joy Than absent of a lingring grief Let your Eyes lighten till expiring In flame my Heart a Cinder lye Falling is nobler than retiring And in the glory of aspiring ` T is brave to tumble from the Sky Yet I would any thing embrace Might serve your Anger to appease And if I may obtain my grace Your steps shall leave no print nor trace I will not with Devotion kiss If Tyrant you will have it so No word my Passion shall betray My wounded Heart shall hide its woe But if it sigh those Sighs will show And tell you what my Tongue would say Should yet your Rigour higher rise Even those offending Sighs shall cease I will my Pain and grief disguise But Sweet if you consult mine Eyes Those Eyes will tell you my Disease If th' utmost my Respect can do Still will your Cruelty displease Consult your Face and that will shew What Love is to such Beauty due And to the state of my Disease Melancholy Pindarick Ode I. WHat in the name of wonder 's this Which lyes so heavy at my heart That I ev'n Death it self could kiss And think it were the greatest Bliss Even at this moment to depart Life even to the wretched dear To me 's so nauseous grown There is no ill I 'de not commit But proud of what would forâ—eit it Would act the mischeif without fear And wade through thousand lives to lose my own II. Yea Nature never taught me bloody Rules Nor was I yet with vicious precept bred And now my Virtue paints my cheeks in Gules To check mee for the wicked thing I said ` T is not then I but something in my Breast With which unwittingly I am possest Which breaths forth Horror to proclaim That I am now no more the same One that some seeds of Vertue had But one run resolutely mad A Fiend a Fury and a Beast Or a Demoniack at least Who without sence of Sin or shame At nothing but dire mischiefs aim Egg'd by the Prince of Fiends and Legion is his Name III. Alas my Reason's overcast That Sovereign Guide is quite displac't Clearly dismounted from his Throne Banish'd his Empire fled and gone And in his room An infamous Usurper's come Whose Name is sounding in mine Ear Like that methinks of Oliver Nay I remember in his Life Such a Disease as mine was mighty rise And yet methinks it cannot be That he Should be crept into me My skin could ne're contain sure so much Evil Nor any place but Hell can hold so great a Devil IV. But by its symtomes now I know What is that does torment me so ` T is a disease As great a Fiend almost as these That drinks up all my better blood And leaves the rest a standing Pool And though I ever little understood Makes me a thousand times more Fool. Fumes up dark vapours to my Brain Creates burnt Choler in my breast And of these nobler parts possest Tyrannically there does reign Oh when kind Heaven shall I be well again V. Accursed Melancholy it was Sin First brought thee in Sin lodg'd the first in our first Father's Breast By Sin thou' rt nourish't and by Sin increast Thou' rt man's own Creature he has giv'n thee pow'r The sweets of Life thus to devour To make us shun the cheerful Light And creep into the shades of Night Where the sly Tempter ambush't lies To make the discontented Soul his prize There the Progenitor of guile Accosts us in th' old Serpent's style Rails at the World as well as we Nay Providence i 's sel 's 's not free Proceeding then to Arts of Flattery He there extolls our Valour and our Parts Spreads all his Nets to catch our Hearts Concluding thus what generous mind Would longer here draw breath That might so sure a Refuge find In the repose of Death Which having said he to our choice presents All his destroying Instruments Swords and Steeletto's Halters Pistols Knives Poysons both quick and slow to end our Lives Or if we like none of those fine Devices He then presents us Pools and Precipices Or to let out or suffocate our breath And by once dying to obtain an everlasting Death VI. Avaunt thou Devil Melancholy Thou grave and sober Folly Night of the Mind wherein our Reasons grope For future Joys but never can find hope Parent of Murthers Treasons and Despair Thou pleasing and eternal care Go sow thy rank and poys'nous seeds In such a soyl of mind as breeds With little help black and nefarious deeds And let my whiter Soul alone For why should I thy sable weed put on Who never meditated ill nor ill have never done VII Ah `t is ill done to me that makes me sad And thus to pass away With sighs the tedious Nights and does Like one that either is or will be mad Repentance can our own fowl soules make pure And expiate the foulest Deed Whereas the
thought others offences breed Nothing but true amendment one can cure Thus man who of this world a member is Is by good nature subject made To smart for what his fellows do amiss As he were guilty when he is be is betray'd And mourning for the vices of the Time Suffers unjustly for anothers Crime VIII Go foolish Soul and wash thee white Be troubled for thine own misdeeds That Heav'nly sorrow comfort breeds And true contrition turns delight â—et Princes thy past services forget Let dear-bought Friends thy Foes becom â—hough round with misery thou art beset With Scorn abroad and Poverty at home â—eep yet thy hands but clear and Conscience pure And all the ills thou shalt endure Will on thy Worth such luster set â—s shall out-shine the brightest Coronet â—nd Men at last will be asham'd to see That still For all their malice and malicious skill â—hy mind revive as it was us'd to be â—nd that they have disgrac't themselves to honor thee Hope Pindarick Ode I. HOPE thou darling and delight Of unforeseeing reckless Minds Thou deceiving Parrisite Which no where Entertainment finds But with the wretched or the vain ` T is they alone fond Hope maintain Thou easie Fool 's chief Favorite Thou fawning Slave to slaves that still remains In Galleys Dungeons and in Chains Or with a whining Lover lov'st to play With treach'rous Art Fanâ—ing his Heart A greater Slave by far than they Who in worst Durance wear their Age away Thou whose Ambition mounts no higher Nor does to greater Fame aspire Than to be ever found a lyar Thou treach'rous Fiend deluding Shade Who would with such a Phantom be betray'd By whom the wretched are at last more wretched made II. Yet once I must confess I was Such an overweening Ass As in Fortunes worst distress To believe thy Promises Which so brave a change foretold Such a stream of Happiness Such Mountain hopes of glitt'ring Gold Such Honours Friendships Offices In Love and Arms so great Success That I ev'n hugg'd my self with the conceit Was my self Party in the cheat And in my vâ—ry Bosom laid That fatal Hope by which I was betray'd Thinking my self already rich and great And in that foolish thought despis'd Th' advice of those who out of Love advis'd As I 'de soreseen what they did not foresee A Torrent of Felicity And rudely laught at those who pittying wept for me III. But of this Expectation when 't came to `t What was the fruit In sordid Robes poor Disappointment came Attended by her Handmaids Grief and Shame No Wealth no Titles no Friend could I see For they still court Prosperity Nay what was worst of what Mischance could do My dearest Love forsook me too My pretty Love with whom had she been true Even in Banishment I could have liv'd most happy and content Her sight which nourish't me withdrew I then although too late perceiv'd I was by flattering Hope deceiv'd And call'd for it t' expostulate The Treachery and foul deceit But it was then quite fled away And gone some other to betray Leaving me in a state By much more desolate Than if when first attack't by Faâ—e I had submitted there And made my courage yeild unto despair For Hope like Cordials to our wrong Does but our Miseries prolong Whilst yet our Vitals daily wast And not supporting Life but pain Call their false friendships back again And unto Death grim Death abandon us at last IV. In me false Hope in me alone Thou thine own Treach'ry hast out-done For Chance perhaps may have befriended Some one th' hast labour'd to deceive With what by thee was ne're intended Nor in thy pow'r to give But me thou hast deceiv'd in all as well Possible as impossible And the most sad Example made Of all that ever were betray'd But thou hast taught me Wisdom yet Henceforth to hope no more Than I see reason for A Precept I shall ne're forget Nor is there any thing below Worth a man's wishing or his care When what we wish begets our wo And Hope deceiv'd becomes Despair Then thou seducing Hope farewel No more thou shalt of Sense bereave me No more deceive me I now can countercharm thy Spell And for what 's past so far I will be even Never again to hope for any thing but Heaven Epistle to the Earl of TO write in Verse O Count of mine To you who have the Ladies nine With a wet finger at your call And I believe have kist 'um all Is such an undertaking none But Peakrill bold would venture on Yet having found that to my woes No help will be procur'd by Prose And to write that way is no boot I 'll try if Ryming will not doo 't Know then my Lord that on my word Since my first second and my third Which I have pester'd you withall I 've heard no syllable at all Or where you are or what you do Or if I have a Lord or no. A pretty comfort to a man That studies all the ways he can To keep an Interest he does prize Above all other Treasuries But let that pass you now must know We do on our last Quarter go And that I may go bravely out Am trowling merry Bowl about To Lord and Lady that and this As nothing were at all amiss When after twenty days are past Poor Charles has eat and drunk his last No more Plum-porridge then or Pye No Brawn with Branch of Rosemary No Chine of Beef enough to make The tallest Yeoman's Chine to crack No Bag-pipe humming in the Hall Nor noise of House-keeping at all Nor sign by which it may be said This House was once inhabited â— may perhaps with much ado Rub out a Christmas more or two Or if the Fates be pleas'd a score Bur never look to keep one more Some three Months hence I make account My Spur-gall'd Pegasus to mount When whither I intend to go My Horse as well as I will know But being got with much ado Out of the reach a Stage or two Though not the consciâ—nce of my shame And Pegasus fall'n desp'rate lame I shake my stirrups and forsake â—im Leaving him to the next will take him Not that I set so lightly by him Would any be so kind to buy him But that I think those who have seen How ill my Muse has mounted been Would certainly take better heed Than to bid money for her Steed Being then on fooâ— away I go And bang the hoof incognito Though in condition so forlorn Little Disguise will serve the turn Since best of Friends the World 's so base Scarce know a man when in Disgrace But that 's too serious Then suppose Like trav'ling Tom Coriat with dint of Toes I 'me got unto extreamest shore Sick and impatient to be o're That Channel which secur'd my state Of Peace whilst I was fortunate But in this moment of distress Confines me to unhappiness But where 's the Money to be had This surly Neptune to
indeed was scant To shew her malice rather than her want Would make a loathsom Serpent her Gallant III. O mother Eve sure 't was a fault So wild a Rule to give E're there were any to be taught Or any to deceive 'T was ill to ruine all thy Off-spring so E're they were yet in Embrio Great mischeifs did attend thy easie will For all thy Sons which usually are The Mothers care For ever lost and ruin'd were By thy instructing thy fair Daughters ill What 's he that dares his own fond choice approve Or be secure his spouse in Chast Or if she be that it will last Yet all must love Oh Cruel Nature that does force our wills T' embrace those necessary ills Oh negligent and treacherous eyes Given to man for true and faithful spies How oft do you betray you trust And joyn'd Confederate with our lust Tell us that Beauty is which is but flesh that flesh but Dust. IV. Heaven if it be thy undisputed will That still This charming Sex we must adore Let us love less or they love more For so the Ills that we endure Will find some ease if not a cure Or if their hearts from the first Gangrene be Inâ—ected to that desperate degree As will no Surgery admit Out of thy love to Men at least forbear To make their faces so subduing fair And if thou wilt give Beauty limit it For moderate Beauty though it bear no price Is yet a mighty enemy to Vice And who has Vertue once can never see Any thing of Deformity Let her Complexion swart or Tawny be A Twilight Olive or a Mid-night Ebony V. She that is chast is always fair No matter for her Hue And though for form she were a Star She 's ugly if untrue Tâ—ue Beauty alwayes lies within Much deeper than the outer skin So deep that in a Woman's mind It will be hard I doubt to find Or if it be she 's so deriv'd And with so many doors contriv'd Harder by much to keep it in For Vertue in a Woman's Breast Seldom by Title is possest And is no Tenant but a wand'ring Guest VI. But all this while I 've soundly slept And rav'd as Dreamers use Fy what a coil my brains have kept T' instruct a sawcy Muse Her own fair Sex t' abuse 'T is nothing but an ill Digestion Has thus brought Women's Fame in question Which have been and still will be what they are That is as chaste as they are sweet and fair And all that has been said Nothing but ravings of an idle Head Troubled with fumes of wine For now that I am broad awake I find 't is all a gross mistake Else what a case were his and thine and mine The World. ODE I. FY What a wretched World is this Nothing but anguish grieâ—s and fears Where who does best must do amiss Frailty the Ruling Power bears In this our dismal Vale of Tears II. Oh! who would live that could but dye Dye honestly and as he shou'd Since to contend with misery Willâ— do the wisest Man no good Misfortune will not be withstood III. The most that helpless man can do Towards the bett'ring his Estate Is but to barter woe for woe And he ev'n there attempts too late So absolute a Prince is Fate IV. But why do I of Fate complain Man might live happy if not free And Fortunes shocks with ease sustain If Man would let him happy be Man is Man's Foe and Destiny V. And that Rib Woman though she be But such a little little part Is yet a greater Fate than he And has the Power or the Art To break his Peace nay break his Heart VI. Ah glorious Flower lovely peice Of superfine reâ—ined Clay Thou poyson'st only with a Kiss And dartest an auspicious Ray On him thou meanest to betray VII These are the World and these are they That Life does so unpleasant make Whom to avoid there is no way But the wild Desart straight to take And there to husband the last stake VIII Fly to the empty Desarts then For so you leave the World behind There 's no World where there are no Men And Brutes more civil are and kind Than Man whose Reason Passions blind IX For should you take a Hermitage Tho' you might scape from other wrongs Yet even there you bear the rage Of venemous and slanderous tongues Which to the Innocent belongs X. Grant me then Heav'n a wilderness And there an endless Solitude Where though Wolves howl and Serpents hiss Though dang'rous 't is not half so rude As the ungovern'd Multitude XI And Solitude in a dark Cave Where all things husht and silent be Resembleth so the quiet Grave That there I would prepare to flee With Death that hourly waits for me De Vita Beata Paraphras'd from the Latin. COme y' are deceiv'd and what you do Esteem a happy Life 's not so He is not happy that excells I' th' Lapidary's Bagatells Nor he that when he sleeps doth lye Under a stately Canopy Nor he that still supinely hides In easie Down his lazy sides Nor he that Purple wears and sups Luxurious Draughts in golden Cups Nor he that loads with Princely Fare His bowing Tables whilst they 'l bear Nor he that has each spacious Vault With Deluges of Plenty fraught Cull'd from the fruitful Libyan Fields When Autumn his best Harvest yields But he whom no mischance affrights Nor popular applause delights That can unmov'd and undismay'd Confront a Ruffians threatning blade Who can do this that man alone Has power Fortune to disthrone Q. Cicero De mulierum levitate Transl. COmmit a Ship unto the Wind But not thy Faith to Woman-Kind For th' Oceans waving billows are Safer than Woman's faith by far No Woman's good and if there be Hereafter such a thing as she 'T is by I know not what of Fate That can from bad a good create Despair ODE IT is decreed that I must dy And could lost men a reason show For losing so themselves 't is I Woman and Fate will have it so Woman more cruel than my Fate From thee this sentence was severe 'T is thou condemn'st me fair ingrate Fate 's but the Executioner And mine must be Fate 's hands to strike At this uncomfortable life Which I do loath cause you dislike And court cold Death to be my wife In whose embraces though I must Fail of those Joyes that warm'd my heart And only be espous'd to dust Yet Death and I shall never part That 's one assurance I shall have Although I wed Deformity And must inhabit the cold Grave More than I Sweet could have with thee And yet if thou could'st be so kind As but to grant me a Reprieve I 'me not to Death so much inclind But I could be content to live But so that that same life should be With thee and with thy kindness blest For without thee and all of thee 'T were dying only with the rest But that you 'l say's
too arrogant T' enslave your Beauties and your will And cruelty in you to grant Who saving one must Thousands kill And yet you Women take a pride To see men dye by your disdain But thou wilt weep the Homicide When thou consideâ—'st whom th' ast slain Yet don't for being as I am Thy Creature thou in this estate To Life and Death hast equal claim And may'st kill him thou did'st create Then let me thine own Doom abide Nor once for him o'recast thine eyes Who gloriâ—s that he liv'd and dy'd Thy Lover and thy Sacrifice Sonnet WHY dost thou say thy Heart is gone And no more mine no more thine own But past retrieve for ever wed By sacred Vow t' anothers Bed Why dost thou tell me that I lye Bound in the same perplexed tye And that our now divided Souls Are cold and distant as the Poles Do'st thou not know when first our Loves Were plighted in the secret Groves Our hearts were chang'd with equal Flame Say Chloris then how can it be Could'st thou give me or I give thee No no our selves are still the same Sonnet HOW should'st thou love and not offend Why Cloris I will tell thee how As thou did'st once so love me now And lye with me and there 's an end Thou only art enjoyn'd my Sweet To keep thy Reputation high And that indeed is Secrecy Since all do err though all not see 't Then fairest fearless of all blame That sacred Treasure of thy Name Into my faithful Arms commit Thou once did'st trust me with thy Fame I then was just and true to it And Chloris I am still the same Sonnet CHloris whilst thou and I were free Wedded to nought but Liberty How sweetly happy did we live How free to promise free to give Then Monarch's of our selves we might Love here or there to change delight And ty'd to none with all dispence Paying â—ach Love its recompence But in that happy freedom we Were so improvidently free To give away our liberties And now in fruitful sorrow pine At what we are what might have bin Had thou or I or both been wise Sonnet WHY dost thou say thou lov'st me now And yet proclaim it is too late When bound by folly or by Fate Thou can'st no further grace allow Repeat no more that killing Voice Thou beauteous Victrice of my heart Or find a way to ease my smart Maugre thy now repented choice 'T is not too late to love and do What Love and Nature prompt thee to Whilst thus thou tryumph'st in thy prime Thou may'st discreetly love and use Those Pleasures thou did'st once refuse But to profess it were a Crime Poverty Pindarick Ode I. THou greatest Plague that Mortals know Thou greatest Punishment That Heav'n has sent To quell and humble us below Thou worst of all Diseases and all Pains By so much harder to endure By how much thou art hard to cure Who having rob'd Physitians of their brains As well as of their Gain A Chronical Disease doth still remain What Epithet can fit thee or what words thy ills explain II. This puzzles quite Aesculapian Tribe Who where there are no Fees can have no wit And make them helpless Med'cines still provide Both for the sick and poor alike unfit For inward griefs all that they do prepare Nothing but Crumbs and Fragments are And outwardly apply no more But sordid Rags unto the sore Thus Poverty is drest and Dose't With little Art and little Cost As if poor Rem'dies for the Poor were fit When Poverty in such a place doth sit That 't is the grand Projection only that must conquer it III. Yet Poverty as I do take it Is not so Epidemical As many in the world would make it Who all that want their wishes Poor do call For if who is not with his Divident Amply content Within that acceptation fall Most would be poor and peradventure all This would the wretched with the rich confound But I not call him Poor does not abound But him who snar'd in Bonds and endless strife The Comforts wants more than Supports of Life Him whose whole Age is measur'd out by fears And though he has wherewith to eat His Bread does yet Tast of affliction and his Cares â—is purest Wine mix and allay with Tears IV. 'T is in this sence that I am poor And I 'me afraid shall be so still â—bstrep'rous Creditors besiege my door And my whole House clamorous Eccho's fill From these there can be no Retirement free From Room to Room they hunt and follow me They will not let me eat nor sleep nor pray But persecute me Night and Day Torment my body and my mind Nay if I take my heels and fly They follow me with open Cry At Home no rest Abroad no Refuge can I find V. Thou worst of Ills what have I done That Heav'n should punish me with thee From Insolence Fraud and Oppression I ever have been innocent and free Thou wer 't intended Poverty A scourge for Pride and Avarice I ne're was tainted yet with either Vice I never in prosperity Nor in the height of all my happiness Scorn'd or neglected any in distress My hand my heart my door Were ever open'd to the poor And I to others in their need have granted E're they could ask the thing they wanted Whereas I now although I humbly crave it Do only beg for Peace and cannot have it VI. Give me but that ye bloody Persecutors Who formerly have been my suitors And I 'le surrender all the rest For which you so contest For Heav'ns sake let me but be quiet I 'le not repine at Cloths nor Diet Any habit ne'r so mean Let it be but whole and clean Such as Nakedness will hide Will amply satisfie my pride And for meat Husks and Acorns I will eat And for better never wish But when you will me better treat A Turnip is a Princely dish Since then I thus far am subdu'd And so humbly do submit Faith be no more so monstrous rude But some Repose at least permit Sleep is to Life and Humane Nature due And that alas is all for which I humbly sue Death Pindarick Ode I. AT a Melancholick season As alone I musing sate I fell I know not how to reason With my self of Man's Estate How subject unto Death and Fate Names that Mortals so affright As turns the brightest Day to Night And spoils of Living the Delight With which so soon as Life is tasted Lest we should too happy be Even in our Infancy Our joys are quash't our hopes are blasted For the first thing that we hear Us'd to still us when we cry The Nurse to keep the Child in fear Discreetly tell 's it it must dy Be put into a hole eaten with worms Presenting Death in thousand ugly forms Which tender minds so entertain As ever after to retain By which means we are Cowards bred Nurs't with unnecessary dread â—nd ever dream of dying 'till w' are dead II.
Death thou Child's Bug-bear thou fools terrour Gastly set forth the weak to awe Begot by fear increast by errour Whom none but a sick Fancy ever saw Thou who art only fear'd By the illiterate and tim'rous Heard But by the wise Esteem'd the greatest of Felicities Why sithence by an Universal Law Entail'd upon Mankind thou art Should any dread or seek t' avoid thy Dart When of the two Fear is the greatest smart O senceless Man who vainly flies What Heaven has ordain'd to be The Remedy Of all thy Mortal pains and miseries III. Sorrow Want Sickness Injury Mischance The happy'st Man's certain Inheritance With all the various Ills Which the wide World with mourning â—ills Or by Corruption or Disaster bred Are for the living all not for the dead When Life's Sun sets Death is a Bed With sable Curtains spread Where we lye down To rest the weary Limbs and careful Head And to the Good a Bed of Down There there no frightful Tintamarre Of Tumult in the many headed Beast Nor all the loud Artillery of War Can fright us from that sweet that happy Rest Wherewith the still and silent Grave is blest Nor all the rattle that above they keep â—reak our repose or rouze us from that everlasting sleep IV. The Grave is priviledg'd from noise and care From Tyranny and wild oppression Violence has so little power there Ev'n worst Oppressors let the dead alone We 're there secure from Princes frowns The Insolencies of the Great From the rude hands of barb'rous Clowns And Policies of those that sweat The simple to betray and cheat Or if some one with Sacrilegious hand Would persecute us after Death His want of Power shall his Will withstand And he shall only lose his breath For all that he by that shall gain Will be Dishonour for his pain And all the clutter he can keep Will only serve to rock us whilst we soundly sleep V. The Dead no more converse with Tears With idle Jealousies and Fears No danger makes the Dead man start No idle Love torments his heart No loss of Substance Parents Children Friends Either his Peace or Sleep offends Nought can provoke his anger or despite He out of combat is and injury 'T is he of whom Philosophers so write And who would be a Stoick let him dye For whilst we living are what Man is he Who the Worlds wroâ—gs does either feel or see That possibly from Passion can be free But must put on A noble Indignation Warranted both by Vertue and Religion VI. Then let me dye and no more subject be Unto the Tyrannizing pow'rs To which this short Mortality of ours Is either preordain'd by Destiny Or bound by natural Infirmity We nothing whilst we here remain But Sorrow and Repentance gain Nay ev'n our very joyes are pain Or being past To woe and torment turn at last Nor is there yet any so sacred place Where we can sanctuary find No Man's a friend to Sorrow and Disgrace But flying one we other mischiefs meet Or if we kinder Entertainment find We bear the seeds of Sorrow in the Mind And keep our frailty when we shift our feet Whilst we are Men we still our Passions have And he that is most free is his own slave There is no refuge but the friendly Grave On the Death of the Most Noble Thomas Earl of Ossory Carmen Irregulare I ENough Enough I'lâ— hear no more And would to Heav'n I had been deaf before That â—atal Sound had struck my Ear Harsh Rumor has not left so sad a note In her hoarse Trumpet 's brazen throat To move Compassion and inforce a Tear. Methinks all Nature should relent and droop The Center shrink and Heaven stoop The Day be turn'd to mourning Night The twinkling Stars weep out their Light And all things out of their Distinction run Into their primitive Confusion A Chaos with cold Darkness overspread Since the Illustrious Ossory is dead II. When Death that fatal Arrow drew Ten Thousand hearts he pierced through Though one alone he out-right slew Never since Sin gave him his killing Trade He at one shot so great a slaughter made He needs no more at those let fly They of that wound alone will dye And who can now expect to live when he Thus fell unpriviledg'd we see He met Death in his greatest Tryumph War And always thence came off a Conqueror Through rattling shot and Pikes the Slave he sought Knock't at each Cuirass for him as he fought Beat him at Sea and baffled him on shore War 's utmost fury he out-brav'd before But yet it seems a Fever could do more III. The English Infantry are Orphans now Pale Sorrow hangs on every Souldiers-brow Who now in Honour's path shall lead you on Since your beloved General is gon Furl up your Ensigns case the warlike Drum Pay your last honours to his Tomb Hang dow your Manly heads in sign of woe That now is all that your poor Loves can do Unless by Wiâ—â—â—r's Fire or Summer's shade To tell what a brave Leader once you had Hang your now useless Arms up in the Hall There let them rust upon the sweating Wall Go Till the Fields and with inglorious Sweat An honest but a painful living get Your old neglected Callings now renew And bid to glorious War a long adieu IV. The Dutch may now have Fishing free And whilst the Consternation lasts Like the proud Rulers of the Sea Shew the full stature of their Masts Our English Neptune deaf to all Alarms Now soundly sleeps in Deaths cold Arms And on his Ebon Altar has laid down His awful Trident and his Naval Crown No more shall the tall Frigat dance For joy she carrys this Victorious Lord Who to the Capstain chain'd Mischance Commanding on her lofty board The Sea it self that is all tears Would weep her soundless Channel dry Had she unhappily but Ears To hear that Ossory could dye Ah cruel Fate thou never struck'st a blow By all Mankind regretted so Nor can't be said who should lament him most No Country such a Patriot e're could boast And never Monarch such a Subject lost V. And yet we knew that he must one day dye That should our grief asswage By Sword or Shot or by Infirmity Or if theâ—e fail'd by Age. But He alas too soon gave place To the Successors of his Noble Race We wisht and coveted to have him long He was not old enough to dye so soon And they to finish what he had begun As much too young But Time that had no hand in his mischance Is fitter to mature and to advance Their early hopes to the Inheritance Of Titles Honors Riches and Command Their Glorious Grandsir's Merits have obtain'd And which shines brighter than a Ducal Crown Of their Illustrious Family's Renown Oh may there never fail of that brave Race A man as great as the great Ossory was To serve his Prince and as successful prove In the same Valour Loyalty and Love
said Canst thou Ungratefull thus renounce thy Rhime Tell me how would'st thou spend thy Vacant time To Tragick buskins would'st thy Sock transfer And in Heroick Verse sing bloudy War That tyrannous Pedants with awfull voice May terrify Old Men Virgins and Boys Let rigid Antiquaries such things write Who by a blinking Lamp consume the Night With Roman air touch up thy Poems Dress That th' Age may read its manners and confess Tâ—ou'lt find thou may'st with trifling Subjects play â—â—til their Trumpets to thy Reed give way Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 19. De Cinna CInna would fain be thought to need And so he does he 's poor indeed Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 23. Ad Rusticum TO thee I gluttonous and cruel seem About my Cook because I basted him For supper Rusticus the cause was great What should a Cook be beaten for but 's meat Id. Lib. Ep. 47. In variâ— se tondentem PArt of thy Beard is clipt part shav'd anothâ—â— place Is pull'd who 'd think this could be all one Face Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 21. Ad Luciferum â—Hospher appear why dost our joys delay When Caesar's coming only waits for Day 〈◊〉 begs thy haste on slow Boots's Carr 〈◊〉 thou not ride thou mov'st so slowly Star â—â—ift-footed Cyllarus thou might'st have took 〈◊〉 his saddle now would have forsook â—hy do'st thou longer stop the longing Sun â—â—â—thus and Aethon beat and snort to run 〈◊〉 Memnon's Mother watches till you come â—or will the Stars give place to greater Light 〈◊〉 stay with th' Moon expecting Caesars sight â—ow Caesar come by Night we shall have Ray 〈◊〉 People cannot where thou art want Day Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 35. In pessimos Conjuges SInce y' are a-like in Manners and in Life A wicked Husband and a wicked Wife I wonder much you are so full of strife Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 53. In Catullam THE Fair'st of Women that have been or arâ— Thou art yet Cheaper than them all by far To me Catulla what a triumph 't were That thou wer 't or more Honest or less Fair. Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 59. In Vacerram BUT Antick Poets thou admirest none And only prayest them are dead and gone I beg your pardon good Vacerra I Can't on such terms find in my Heart to die Id. Lib. 7. Ep. 100. De Vetula THou' rt soft to touch charming to hear unseen Thou' rt both but neither take away the Screen Id. Lib. 8. Ep. 41. Ad Faustinum SAd Athenagoras nought presents me now As in December he was wont to do If Athenagoras be sad or no I 'll see I 'me sure that he has made me so Id. Lib. 11. Ep. 103. In Lydiam HE did not lye that said thy Skin was fair But not thy Face so one and th' other are Thy Face if thou sit'st mute and hold'st thy peace Even as in one â—mbost or Painted is But as thou talk'st thou loosest off thy Skin And no ones Tongue more hurts themselves than thine Take heed the Aedile thee nor hear nor see As oft as Statues speak 't is a Prodigie Id. Lib. 12. Ep. 7. De Ligia IF by her Hairs Ligia's Age be told 'T is soon cast up than she is three years old Id. Lib. 12. Ep. 20. Ad Fabullam THat Themison has no Wife how 't comes to pass â—hou ask'st why Themison a Sister has Horat. Lib 1. Carmin Ode 8 Ad Lydia TEll me for God's sake Lydia why Thy Saâ—aris thou do'st with love destroy The Glorious Field why should he shun Grown now impatient of the Dust and Sun Why not in War-like bravery ride Curbing with bits the Gallick Horses pride Why fears he Tybers yellow Floud And flies the Olive more than Vipers Bloud Why not still crusht with Arms whose art Was fam'd for clean delivery of his Dart Why does he Lydia now lye hid As once they say the Son of Thetiâ— did Before Troy's wept for Funerall Lest in his own Apparel he might fall Subject to Slaughter and the Harms Of bloudy Lycians unrelenting Arms De Fortuna an sit caeca Epig. ex Johann Secundo WHY do they speak the Goodess Fortune blind Because She 's only to th' unjust inclin'd This Reason nought Her blindness does declare They only Fortune need who Wicked are Tria Mala ex eodem THE three great Evils of Mans life Are Fire Water and a Wife Id. Lib. Ep. 15. In Neaeram 'T Was Night and Phaebe in a Heaven bright Shone 'mongst the lesser sparks of Light When thou to wound the Gods vowd'st to fulfill The strictest tenures of my will With straighter Arms than ever th' Ivy tall Embrac'd the aged Oak withall Whilst Wolves devour and whilst Orion stirs The Winter Main to Mariners And that this â— ove should mutual last whilst air Wanton'd with Phaebus's uncut Hair. Neaera false on my good Nature wan Too much were Flaccus ought of Man He 'd not t' another yield thee Night by Night But seek another Love in spight Nor would his Anger so provok'd give place To th' Charms of thy offensive Face But Thou who ere more happy and now grown Proud usher'st my Affliction Thou mayst be rich in Cattle and in Land Pactolus may flow to thy Hand Thou mayst be too a Pythagorean O'recome with Beauty Nerean Yet thou alas wilt mourn her change to see When I by turn shall laugh at thee ODE De Theophile Par. I. THy Beauties Dearest Isis have Disturbed Nature at their sight Thine Eyes to Love his blindness gave Such is the vigour of their light The Gods too only minding thee Let the World err at liberty II. And having in the Suns bright Eye Thy glances counterfeited seen Even their Hearts my Sweet thereby So sensibly have wounded been That but they 're fixt they 'd come to see And gaze upon their Creature thee III. Beleive me in this humor They Of things below have little Care Of good or ill we do or say Then since Heaven lets thee love me Dear Without revenging on thine Eye Or striking me in Iealousy IV. â—hou mayst securely in mine Arms And warm Womb of my wanton bed â—each me t' unravel all thy Charms Thou nothing Isis needest dread Since Gods themselves had happy been Could all their power have made thee Sin. Elegy de Theophile SInce that sad Day a sadder Farewell did My Eyes the object of my â—lame forbid My Soul and Sense so disunited are That being thus deprived of thee My Fair I find me so distractedly alone That from my self methinks my self am gone To me invisible's the Sun 's fair Light Nor do I feel the soâ—t repose of Night I Poyson tast in my repast most sweet And sink where-ever I dispose my feet My Life all company but Death has lost Chloris so dear the love I bear thee cost Oh Gods who all the joys we have bestow Do you with them always give torments too Can that we call Good Fortune never hit Humane designs but ill must follow it If equally you interweave the Fate With
good and ill of those you love and hate In vain I sue to her I so adore In vain her help that has no Power implore For as black Night pursues the glorious Sun The greatest Good does but some Ill fore-run When handsome Paris liv'd with Helen fair He saw his Fortune rais'd above his Care But Fate severely did revenge that bliss For as with time his Fortune changed is From his Delights sprang a debate that Fire Brought to old Troy and massacred his Sire And though in that subversion there appearâ— Such sad mishaps of Bloud of Fire and Tears Yet by that Heavenly Face I so adore I swear for love of thee I suffer more For so long absent from thy gracious Eyes Methinks I banisht am the Deities And that from Heaven with Thunder wrapt in Flame To th' Centre I precipitated am Since I left thee my Pleasures in their Tomb â—ye dead and I their Mourner am become With all Delights my Thoughts distasted are And only to dislike the World take care Which as complying with my peevish Will Does nothing I protest but vex me still In Paris like an Hermit I retire And in one Object limit my Desire Where e'er my Eyes seek to divert my Mind I bear the Prison where I am confin'd My Blood is sir'd and my Soul wounded lies By th' golden Shaft shot from thy killing Eyes All the Temptations that I daily see Serve only to confirm my Faith to thee The usual helps that humane Reâ—son bless To render a Man's Passion someâ—hing less Stir mine up more to suffer chearfully Th' obliging Torments that do make me dye My Prudence by my Courage is withstood As by a rock the fury of the Floud I love my Frenzy and I could not love Him of my Friends that should it disapprove Nor do I think my reasonable part Will e'er approach me whilst thou absent art I find my Thoughts uncessantly approve The torturing effects of faithful Love. I find that Day it self shares in my pain The Air 's o'respread with Clouds the Earth with Rain That horrid Visions in my starting Sleep My Souls in their illusions tangled keep That all the apprehensions in my Head Are Madness by my feverish Passion bred That at husht midnight I imagine Storms And see a Ship-wrack in its dreadfull'st Forms Fall from the top of an high precipice Into the Jaws of an obscure Abyss And there a thousand ugly Serpents see Hissing t' advance their scaly Crests at me I cannot once dream of a false Delight But cruel Death straight seizes me in spite But when Heaven weary to have gone thus far Gives that I live under a better Star And when th' unconstant Stars by their chang'd power Present me for my Pains one happy hour My Soul will find it self chang'd at thy sight And of all past mishaps revenged quite Though in Nights Sleep my Spirits buried lay Thy sight my Dear would lend them beams of Day Thy Voice has over me the self same power With Zephyr's Breath over th' Earth's wither'd Flower The vigorous Springs makes all things fresh and new The blowing Rose puts on her blushing hue The Heavens more gay the Days more fair appear Aurora dressing to the Birds gives ear The wild Beasts of the Forrest free from Care Do feel their Bloud and Youth renewed are And naturally obedient to their Sense Without remorse their Pleasures recommence I only in the season all are blest With cruel and continual Griefs opprest Alone in Winter sad and comfortless See not the glorious Spring that we should blâ—ss I only see the Forrest fair forsook ' Th' Earths surface Desart and the frozen Brook And as if charm'd cannot once tast the Fruit That in this season to all Palats suit But when those Suns my adoration claim Shall with their Rays once reinforce my Flame My Spring will then return more sweet and fair By thousand times than those ' Heavens Lamp gives are If ever Fate allow mine Eyes that grace My Joys will transcend those of humane Race Nothing but that Oh Gods nothing but that Do I desire to baâ—â—le Death and Fate Out of Astrea MADRIGALL I Think I could my Passions sway Though great as Beauties power can move To such obedience as to say I cannot or I do not love But to pretend another Flame Since I adore thy conqu'ring Eye To thee and Truth were such a shame I cannot do it though I dye If I must one or th' other do Then let me die I beg of you Stanzes upon the Death of Cleon. Out of Astrea I. THE Beauty which so soon to Cinders turn'd By Death of her Humanity depriv'd Like Light'ning vanisht like the Bolt it burn'd So great this Beauty was and so short liv'd II. Those Eyes so practis'd once in all the Arts That loyal Love attempted or e'er knew Those fair Eyes now are shut that once the hearts Of all that saw their lustre did subdue III. If this be true Beauty is ravisht hence Love vanquisht droops that ever conquered And she who gave Life by her influence Is if she live not in my Bosom dead IV. Henceforth what happiness can Fortune send Since Death this abstract of all Joy has won Since Shadows do the Substance still attend And that our good does but our ill fore-run V. It seems my Cleon in thy rising morn That Destiny thy whole Days course had bound And that thy Beauty dead as soon as born It s fatal Hearâ—e has in its Cradle â—ound VI. No no thou shalt not die I Death will prove Who Life by thy sweet Inspiration drew If Lovers live in that which doth them love Thou liv'st in me who ever lov'd most true VII If I do live Love then will have it known That even Death it self he can controul Or as a God to have his Power shown Will that I live without of Heart or Soul. VIII But Cleon if Heav'ns unresisâ—ed will 'Point thee of Death th' inhumane Fate to try Love to that Fate equals my Fortune still Thou by my mourning by the Death I dye IX Thus did I my immortal Sorrows Breath Mine Eyes to Fountains turn'd of springing Woe But could not stay the wounding Hand of Death Lament but not lessen misfortune so X. When Love with me having bewail'd the loss Of this sweet Beauty thus much did express Cease cease to weep this mourning is too gross Our Tears are still than our misfortune less Song of the inconstant Hylas Out of Astrea I. IF one disdain me then I fly Her Cruelty and her Disdain And e'er the Morning guild the Sky Another Mistriss do obtain They err who hope by force to move A Womans Heart to like or love II. Iâ— oft falls out that they who in Discretion seem us to despise Nourish a greater Fire within Although perhaps conceal'd it lies Which we when once we quit our rooms Do kindle for the next that comes III. The faithful Fool that obstinatâ— Pursues a
Thus did I fare and acceptable pass To all and thus a lusty Suiter was And only so For Nature my strong Brest In Modesty and Chastity had drest For whilst I strove the choices Fair to wed I wore out Cold ev'n to a Widdow'd Bed. They all to me ill bred or ugly seem'd And I none worthy my Embraces deem'd I hated lean ones fat were a Disease Neither the low nor yet the tall would please With middle Forms I ever lov'd to play And in the midst most Graces ever lay Here of our softest parts lies all the bliss And in this part Loves Mother seated is A slender Lass not lean I lov'd to chuse For Flesh is fittest for a â—leshy use One whose most strait Embraces would delight Not one whose Bones should goar my Ribs in Fight I lov'd no Fair unless her Cheeks were spread With native Roses of the purest red This Tincture Venus owns above the rest And loves the Beauty in her Flower drest A long white Neck and golden flowing Hair Have long been known to make a Woman fair But black Brows and black Eyes catch my Desire And still when seen have set my Heart of fire I ever lov'd a red and swelling Lip Where a full Bowl of Kisses I might sip A long round Neck than Gold appear'd more rare And the most wealthy Gem outshone by far Ill fits it Age to speak his wanton prime And what was decent then is now a Crime For various things do diff'rent Men delight Nor yet are all things for all Ages right Things apt for one Age at the last may grow Uncomely for the self-same Man to do The Child by play th' old Man 's by stead'ness seen But the young Man's Behaviour lies between This silent sadness best becomes and that Is better lik'd of for his Mirth and Chat For rolling times does all things turn and sway And suffers none to run one certain way Now that a long unprofitable Age Lies heavy on me I would quit the Stage Life's hard Condition gripes the Wretched still Nor is Death sway'd by any humane Will. The Wretch wishes to die but Death retires Yet when Men dread him then the Slave aspires But I alass that maâ—gre all my Arts Have been so long dead in so many parts On Earth I think shall never end my Days But enter quick the dark Tartarean ways My Tast and Hearing 's ill mine Eyes are such Nay I can scarce distinguish by my Touch No Smell is sweet nor Pleasure who 'd believe A Man could sensibly his Sense out live Lethe's Oblivion does my Mind embrace And yet I can remember what I was The Limbs diseas'd the Mind no Work contrives The thought of ills all other aim deprives I sing no Lyricks now that dear Delight With all my Voices Grace is perish'd quite Frequent no Exercise no Odes rehearse And only with my Pains and Griefs converse The Beauty of my Shape and Face are fled And my revolted Form ' fore-speaks me dead For fair and shining Age has now put on A bloodless Funeral Complexion My Skin 's dry'd up my Nerves unpliant are And my poor Limbs my Nails plow up and tear My chearful Eyes now with a constant Spring Of Tears bewail their own sad Suffering And those soft Lids that once secur'd mine Eye Now rude and bristled grown does drooping lie Bolting mine Eyes as in a gloomy cavâ— Which there on Furies and grim Objects rave 'T would fright the full-blown Gallant to behold The dying Object of a Man so old Nor can you think that once a Man he was Of humane reason who no portion has The Letters split when I consult my Book And ev'ry Leaf I turn'd does broader look In Darkness do I dream I see the Light When Light is Darkness to my perish'd Sight Without a Night t'oreshade him the bright Day Is from my Sense depriv'd and snatch'd away Who can deny that wrap'd in Nights Embrace I groping lie in the Tartarean place What mad Adviser would a Man perswade By his own Wish to be more wretched made Diseases now invade and Dangers swarm Sweet Banquets now and Entertainments harm We 're forc'd to wean our selves from grateful things And though we live avoid the sweets Life brings And me whom late no accident could bend Now the meer Aliments of Life offend I would be full am sick when I am so Should fast but abstinence is hurtful too 'T is chang'd to surfeit now what once was Meat And that 's now nauseous which before was sweet Venus and Bacchus's Rites now fruitless are That use to lull this Life's contingent Care. Nature alone panting and prosâ—rate lies Caught in the ruin of her proper Vice. Julip nor Cordial now no Comfort give Nor ought that should a Patient sick relieve But with their Matter their Corruption have And only serve to importune my Grave When I attempt to prop my falling Frame The Letts oppos'd make my Endeavours lame Until my Dissolutions tardy day All helps of Arts do with the thing decay And by th' appearance since th' afflicted Mind Can no diversion nor advantage find 〈◊〉 it not hard we may not from Mens Eyes Cloak and conceal Ages Indecencies Unseeming Spruceness th' old Man discommends And in old Men only to live offends With Mirth Feasts Songs the old must not dispense â—O wretched they whose Joys are an offence What should I do with Wealth whose use being ta'ne Although I swim in store I poor remain Nay 't is a Sin to what we have got to trust And what 's our own to violate unjust So thirsty Tantalus the neighbour Stream And Fruit would tast but is forbidden them I but the Treas'rer am of my own Pelf Keeping for others what 's deny'd my self And like the Fell Hesperian Dragon grown Defend that golden Fruit's no more my own This above all is that augments my Woes And robs my troubl'd Mind of all Repose I strive to keep things I could never gain And ignorantly hold some things in vain Continu'd Fears do credulous age invade And th' old Man dreads the ills himself has made Applauds the past condemns the present Years And only what he thinks Truth Truth appears He only learned is has all the skill And thinking himself wise is wider still Who though with Trouble he much Talk affords Faulters forgets and dribbles out his Words The Hearer's tir'd but he continues long O wretched Age only in prating strong Idly he talks and strains his feeble Voice Whilst those he pleas'd before laugh at his noise Their Mirth exalts him he still louder grows And dotingly his own Reproach allows These are Death's Firstlings Age does this way flow And with slow pace creeps to the Shades below Whilst the same Colour Meen nor pace appear In the poor Traveller that lately vvere My Garment from my vvither'd Limbs hangs down And vvhat before too short too long is grovvn We strangely are contracted and decrease A Man vvould think our very
of Christian Blood Each other Cut and Mangled Hurt and Slew Till the whole Plain appear'd a Crimson Flood Members and Men the groaning Earth bestrâ—w No Walls of Steel their furious Arms withstood Force Hatred Wrath and Eâ—vy mustred shew What altogether can in Conflict do LXXXVI Valiant Duke Nemours in the Van-guard mâ—t With Duke Montpensier to dispute the Day Each stroke the others daring Coronet At a less pitch would neither Warrior play Their burnish't Armor with their Blood was wet Their owners heat and manhood to display Whilst eithers Squadrons spur their Valors home Eager to Fight impatient to Orecome LXXXVII And in the Râ—er German Count Scomberg câ—me With a well guidâ—d â—â—ry to assail The hardy Troops â—irâ—d by their Fellows 〈◊〉 Who had to Cheif the Chevalier D' 〈◊〉 With equal Conduct and with equal flame They fiercely Joyn Ambitious to prevail Whilst Fortune hovering on ambiguous Wings To neither part her blind assistance brings LXXXVIII Montpensiers Duke having his Courser slain In the first brunt of that unequal flight Remounted by the Valor of his train Fought like a Loyal and a hardy Knight His constant Prowess did that Day obtain A burning Crown of inextinguish'd Light For greater Acts than his more bold and high Never adorn'd the Face of History LXXXIX Nor less Duke Nemours did attempt t' excel Who though a Youth was full of noble Fire Into the Battail with the Sword he fell Ambitious as the proudest to aspire To Honors sacred Hill a parallel To those great Names which never must expire Like Young Ascanius shone his downy Face The worthy Heir of an Illustrious race XC During their Conflict on the other side Count Scomberg powr'd his shot upon the Foe By which Aumale's vast Squadrons fell and died The warlike Knight quits not the quarrel so Since nought that Controversy could decide But one or th 'others total overthrow Like a brave Captain he maintain'd the Field Who knew to dye but had not learn't to yield XCI Mean while the Reiters planted in the Van Of the Duke's Battail though so shrewdly torn Their Body clos'd a wheeling Charge began After their Custom when the King 's Forlorn Standing upright where they had ambush'd lain Since first appearance of the early Morn Gave them so rude a welcome that the ground Was in the streams of ruthless slaughter drown'd XCII Death's Messengers impuls'd by Fire and Fate About the Field on mortal Errands flewâ— At such a cruel so well-guided rate That almost ev'ry Ball a Souldier slew The wounded Foe tumbles precipitate The Bed of Death their trembling Limbs bestrew While each that fell in that impetuous strife Open'd a passage to his Fellow's life XCIII The fury of this Storm Duke Brunswick bore Whom nor in Arms nor Courage could defend But on his Heart the stamp of Death he wore No longer could Life 's batter'd Fort contend He dying fell embalm'd in his own gorâ— To crown his actions with a glorious end On whom no barb'rous Enemy could confer Less than a high immortal Character XCIV Their Captain slain straight from their killing Foes The frighted Reiters fac'd to get behind But found their own Divisions plac'd so close No path to Safety could their terrour find The Duke 's own Launces were compell'd t' oppose These desp'rate Flyers with amazement blind So to preserve the Order of his own From being by their mad career o're-thrown XCV The King who thus long had Spectator stood At this advantage spurr'd his foaming Steed Down from whose wounded Sides the hot chaff'd Blood Beguilt the Warriour's Spurs who fiercely rid To whip the pride of that Gigantick brood That durst with rebel Arms his claim forbid And after him the noblest Peers of France With faithfull Fury to the Field advance XCVI The Lorain Duke embarras'd by his own And charg'd at once by the victorious King Yet like a Leader true to his renown Maintain'd his ground maugre the Force they bring And now the latest cast of War was thrown With peals of Shot the rowling Orbs do ring Bravely resolv'd they close th' events to try Of Fate and Fortune Chance and Destiny XCVII There head to head each Genâ—ral other fac't With equal heat of deadly fury fir'd The Battails Sphear that erst the Plain embrac't Seem'd to its Center now to be retir'd In his own strength and courage each Man plac't The glorious end to which they all aspir'd Some fighting stand whilst others fighting fall And each Man fights as each Man fought for all XCVIII The sanguine Die that Burnish'd every Blade Which reeking from some bloody Slaughter came Their angry Owners cruel Acts betray'd Whilst the oppos'd killing with equal Flame The Conquest doubtful first then bloody made To him that lost and him that overcame So well on both Sides was the Battail fought One dearly sold what th' other dearly bought XCIX The Sieur de Rhodes who the King''s Cornet bore A loyal daring and unblemish'd Youth Writ in the Crimson of his streaming Gore Must seal his Manhood and confirm his Truth Th'unpitying Steel his panting Vitals tore Who dying stoopt a Spectacle of ruth In some few Minutes he exspiring fell To live in Fames eternal Chronocle C. Yet e'er he yielded to the mortal Blow Courage awhile upheld his dying weight Like a young Cedar did he bend and bow Loth to obey the Summons of his Fate Now would he have reveng'd his Wound when now Death must alass his â—rave acts terminate He threat'ning fell as if his single fall Had been enough to overwhelm them all CI. From his Disaster flew the tell-tale Fame Thorough the Field to all the Royal Host And does aloud from Troop to Troop proclaim That Henry was in the main Battail lost The sudden News their Manly hearts o'ercame So that in terrour and confusion tost The daunted Souldiers in amazement fly Op'ning a way to the Duke's Victory CII But e're this dang'rous error too far flew Through all the Files of ev'ry hardy Band Their Warlike King the Loyal Nobles knew In the first Ranks contending hand to hand His cutting Sword his bold Opposers slew No less his words their courages command They rush into the conflict live or dye With the French Barons wonted bravery CIII Nought now their res'lute fury could oppose So fast and wounding fell their Weapons bright With desperate rage they dealt their killing blows To give a period to that cruel Fight Which in a bloody colour was to close Orewhelming Thousands in Eternal Night Such and so dire the consequences are That still attend that Hell-bred Monster War. CIV Now Conquest who on her triumphant wings So long had hover'd umpire of their fight Makes a brave stoop and down her body flings On Henry's meritorious crest to light On high her Golden Plumes do clapping ring To tell the distant World great Bourbon's might She now comes down the Quarrel to decide In which before such hapless numbers dy'd CV As I have seen a