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
with Gall Yet sweet Alexis my Esteem of thee Was equal to thy Worth and Love for me Death is thy Gain that Thought affects me most I care not what th' ill-natur'd World has lost For Wit with thee expir'd how shall I grieve Who grudge th' ingrateful Age what thou didst leave The Tribute of their Verse let others send And mourn the Poet gone I mourn the Friend Enjoy thy Fate thy Predecessors come Cowley and Butler to conduct thee home Who would not Butler cries like me engage New Worlds of Wit to serve a grateful Age For such Rewards what Task will Authors shun I pray Sir is my Monument begun Enjoy thy Fate thy Voice in Anthems raise So well tun'd here on Earth to our Apollo's Praise Let me retire while some sublimer Pen Performs for thee what thou hast done for Homer and for Ben. N.T. On the ensuing Poems of Mr. John Oldham and the Death of his good Friend the ingenious Author OBscure and cloudy did the day appear As Heaven design'd to blot it from the year The Elements all seem'd to disagree At least I 'm sure they were at strife in me Possest with Spleen which Melancholy bred When Rumor told me that my Friend was dead That Oldham honour'd for his early Worth Was cropt like a sweet Blossom from the Earth Where late he grew delighting every Eye In his rare Garden of Philosophy The fatal Sound new Sorrows did infuse And all my Griefs were doubled at the News For we with mutual Arms of Friendship strove Friendship the true and solid part of Love And he so many Graces had in store That Fame or Beauty could not bind me more His Wit in his immortal Verse appears Many his Virtues were tho' few his Years Which were so spent as if by Heaven contriv'd To lash the Vices of the longer liv'd None was more skilful none more learn'd than he A Poet in its sacred Quality Inspir'd above and could command each Passion Had all the Wit without the Affectation A Calm of Nature still possest his Soul No canker'd Envy did his Breast controul Modest as Virgins that have never known The jilting Breeding of the nauseous Town And easie as his Numbers that sublime His lofty Strains and beautifie his Rhime Till the Time's Ignomy inspir'd his Pen And rowz'd the drowsie Satyr from his Den Then fluttering Fops were his Aversion still And felt the Power of his Satyrick Quill The Spark whose Noise proclaims his empty Pate That struts along the Mall with antick Gate And all the Phyllis and the Chloris Fools Were damn'd by his invective Muse in Shoals Who on the Age look'd with impartial Eyes And aim'd not at the Person but the Vice. To all true Wit he was a constant Friend And as he well could judge could well commend The mighty Homer he with Care perus'd And that great Genius to the World infus'd Immortal Virgil and Lucretius too And all the Seeds o' th' Soul his Reason knew Like Ovid could the Ladies Hearts assail With Horace sing and lash with Juvenal Unskill'd in nought that did with Learning dwell But Pride to know he understood it well Adieu thou modest Type of perfect Man Ah had not thy Perfections that began In Life's bright Morning been eclips'd so soon We all had bask'd and wanton'd in thy Noon But Fate grew envious of thy growing Fame And knowing Heav'n from whence thy Genius came Assign'd thee by immutable Decree A glorious Crown of Immortality Snatch'd thee from all thy mourning Friends below Just as the Bays were planting on thy Brow. Thus worldly Merit has the Worlds Regard But Poets in the next have their Reward And Heaven in Oldham's Fortune seem'd to show No Recompence was good enough below So to prevent the Worlds ingrateful Crimes Enrich'd his Mind and bid him die betimes T. Durfey On the Death of Mr. John Oldham HEark is it only my prophetick Fear Or some Death's sad Alarum that I hear By all my Doubts 't is Oldham's fatal Knell It rings aloud eternally farewel Farewel thou mighty Genius of our Isle Whose forward Parts made all our Nation smile In whom both Wit and Knowledge did conspire And Nature gaz'd as if she did admire How such few years such Learning could acquire Nay seem'd concern'd that we should hardly find So sharp a Pen and so serene a Mind Oh then lament let each distracted Breast With universal Sorrow be possest Mourn mourn ye Muses and your Songs give o'er For now your lov'd Adonis is no more He whom ye tutor'd from his Infant-years Cold pale and ghastly as the Grave appears He whom ye bath'd in your lov'd murmuring Stream Your daily pleasure and your mighty Theme Is now no more the Youth the Youth is dead The mighty Soul of Poetry is fled Fled ere his Worth or Merit was half known No sooner seen but in a Moment gone Like to some tender Plant which rear'd with Care At length becomes most fragrant and most fair Long does it thrive and long its Pride maintain Esteem'd secure from Thunder Storm or Rain Then comes a Blast and all the Work is vain But Oh! my Friend must we no more rehearse Thy equal Numbers in thy pleasing Verse In Love how soft in Satyr how severe In Passion moving and in Rage austere Virgil in Judgment Ovid in Delight An easie Thought with a Meonian Flight Horace in Sweetness Juvenal in Rage And even Biblis must each Heart engage Just in his Praises and what most desire Wou'd flatter none for Greatness Love or Hire Humble though courted and what 's rare to see Of wondrous Worth yet wondrous Modesty So far from Oftentation he did seem That he was meanest in his own Esteem Alas young man why wert thou made to be At once our Glory and our Misery Our Misery in losing thee is more Than could thy Life our Glory be before For shou'd a Soul celestial Joys possess And straight be banish'd from that Happiness Oh where would be its Pleasure where its Gain The Bliss once tasted but augments the Pain So having once so great a Prize in thee How much the heavier must our Sorrows be For if such Flights were in thy younger Days What if thou'dst liv'd O what had been thy Praise Eternal Wreaths of never-dying Bays But those are due already to thy Name Which stands enroll'd in the Records of Fame And though thy great Remains to Ashes turn With lasting Praises we 'll supply thy Urn Which like Sepulchral Lamps shall ever burn But hold methinks great Shade I see thee rove Through the smooth Path of Plenty Peace and Love Where Ben. salutes the first o'erjoy'd to see The Youth that sung his Fame and Memory Great Spencer next with all the learned Train Do greet thee in a Panegyrick Strain Adonis is the Joy of all the Plain Tho. Andrews DAMON an ECLOGUE On the untimely Death of Mr. Oldham Corydon Alexis BEneath a dismal Yew the Shepherds sate And talk'd of
Thou scorn'dst the Map should thy Affection guide Like theirs who love by dull Geography Friends but to whom by Soil they are ally'd Thine reach'd to all beside To every Member of the World 's great Family Heav'ns Kindness only claims a Name more general Which we the nobler call Because 't is common and vouchsaf'd to all X. Such thy Ambition of obliging was Thou seem'dst corrupted with the very Power to please Only to let thee gratifie At once did bribe and pay thy Courtesie Thy Kindness by Acceptance might be bought It for no other Wages sought But would its own be thought No Suiters went unsatisfy'd away But left thee more unsatisfy'd than they Brave Titus thou mightst here thy true Portraicture find And view thy Rival in a private mind Thou heretofore deserv'dst such Praise When Acts of Goodness did compute thy days Measur'd not by the Sun 's but thine own kinder Rays Thou thought'st each hour out of Life's Journal lost Which could not some fresh Favor boast And reckon'dst Bounties thy best Clepsydras XI Some Fools who the great Art of giving want Deflower their Largess with too slow a Grant Where the deluded Suitor dearly buys What hardly can defray The Expence of Importunities Or the Suspense of torturing Delay Here was no need of tedious Pray'rs to sue Or thy too backward Kindness woo It moved with no formal State Like theirs whose Pomp does for intreaty wait But met the swift'st Desires half way And Wishes did well-nigh anticipate And then as modestly withdrew Nor for its due Reward of Thanks would stay XII Yet might this Goodness to the happy most accrue Somewhat was to the miserable due Which they might justly challenge too Whate'er Mishap did a known Heart oppress The same did thine as wretched make Like yielding Wax thine did th' Impressions take And paint its Sadness in as lively Dress Thou could'st afflictions from another Breast translate And forein Grief impropriate Oft-times our Sorrows thine so much have grown They scarce were more our own Who seem'd exempt thou suffer'dst all alone XIII Our small'st Misfortunes scarce could reach thy Ear But made thee give in Alms a Tear And when our Hearts breath'd their regret in sighs As a just Tribute to their Miseries Thine with their mournful Airs did symbolize Like Throngs of Sighs did for its Fibres crowd And told thy Grief from our each Grief aloud Such is the secret Sympathy We may betwixt two neighb'ring Lutes descry If either by unskilful hand too rudely bent Its soft Complaint in pensive murmurs vent As if it did that Injury resent Untoucht the other strait returns the Moan And gives an Eccho to each Groan From its sweet Bowels a sad Note 's convey'd Like those which to condole are made As if its Bowels too a kind Compassion had XIV Nor was thy goodness bounded with so small extent Or in such narrow Limits pent Let Female Frailty in fond Tears distill Who think that Moisture which they spill Can yield Relief Or shrink the Current of anothers Grief Who hope that Breath which they in sighs convey Should blow Calamities away Thine did a manlier Form express And scorn'd to whine at an Unhappiness Thou thought'st it still the noblest Pity to redress So friendly Angels their Relief bestow On the unfortunate below For whom those purer minds no Passion know Such Nature in that generous Plant is found Whose every Breach does with a Salve abound And wounds it self to cure another's Wound In pity to Mankind it sheds its Juice Glad with expence of Blood to serve their Use First with kind Tears our Maladies bewails And after heals And makes those very Tears the remedy produce XV. Nor didst thou to thy Foes less generous appear If there were any durst that Title wear They could not offer Wrongs so fast But what were pardon'd with like haste And by thy acts of Amnesty defac't Had he who wish'd the Art how to forget Discover'd its new Worth in thee He had a double Value on it set And justly scorn'd th' ignobler Art of Memory No Wrongs could thy great Soul to Grief expose 'T was plac'd as much out of the reach of those As of material Blows No Injuries could thee provoke Thy Softness always dampt the stroke As Flints on Feather-beds are easiest broke Affronts could ne'er thy cool Complexion heat Or chafe thy temper from its setled State But still thou stoodst unshockt by all As if thou hadst unlearnt the Power to hate Or like the Dove wert born without a Gall. XVI Vain Stoicks who disclaim all Human Sense And own no Passions to resent Offence May pass it by with unconcern'd Neglect And Virtue on those Principles erect Where 't is not a Perfection but Defect Let these themselves in a dull Patience please Which their own Statues may possess And they themselves when Carcasses Thou only couldst to that high pitch arrive To court Abuses that thou mightst forgive Wrongs thus in thy Esteem seem'd Courtesie And thou the first was e'er oblig'd by Injury XVII Nor may we think these God-like Qualities Could stand in need of Votaries Which heretofore had challeng'd Sacrifice Each Assignation each Converse Gain'd thee some new Idolaters Thy sweet Obligingness could supple Hate And out of it its Contrary create It s powerful Influence made Quarrels cease And Fewds dissolv'd into a calmer Peace Envy resign'd her Force and vanquish'd Spite Became thy speedy Proselyte Malice could cherish Enmity no more And those which were thy Foes before Now wish'd they might adore Caesar may tell of Nations took And Troops by Force subjected to his Yoke We read as great a Conquerer in thee Who couldst by milder ways all Hearts subdue The nobler Conquest of the two Thus thou whole Legions mad'st thy Captives be And like him too couldst look and speak thy Victory XVIII Hence may we Calculate the Tenderness Thou didst Express To all whom thou didst with thy Friendship bless To think of Passion by new Mothers bore To the young Offspring of their Womb Or that of Lovers to what they Adore Ere Duty it become We should too mean Ideas frame Of that which thine might justly claim And injure it by a degrading Name Conceive the tender Care Of guardian Angels to their Charge assign'd Or think how dear To Heaven Expiring Martyrs are These are the Emblems of thy mind The only Types to shew how thou wast kind XIX On whomsoe'er thou didst confer this Tye 'T was lasting as Eternity And firm as the unbroken Chain of Destiny Embraces would faint shadows of your Union show Unless you could together grow That Union which is from Alliance bred Does not so fastly wed Tho it with Blood be cemented That Link wherewith the Soul and Body 's joyn'd Which twists the double Nature in Mankind Only so close can bind That holy Fire which Romans to their Vesta paid Which they immortal as the Goddess made Thy noble Flames most fitly parallel For thine were just
REMAINS OF Mr. John Oldham IN VERSE and PROSE LONDON Printed for Jo. Hindmarsh at the Golden Ball over against the Royal Exchange in Cornhil 1687. ADVERTISEMENT THE Author of these following Poems being dead the Publisher thought fit to acquaint the World that the reason why he exposed them now in Print was not so much for his own Interest tho a Bookseller that disclaims Interest for a pretence will no more be believed now adays than a thorough paced Fanatick that pretends he makes a journey to New England purely for Conscience sake but for securing the reputation of Mr. Oldham which might otherwise have suffered from worse hands and out of a desire he has to Print the last Remains of his friend since he had the good fortune to publish his first Pieces He confesses that it is the greatest piece of injustice to publish the posthumous Works of Authors especially such that we may suppose they had brought to the File and sent out with more advantages into the World had they not been prevented by untimely death and therefore assures you he had never presumed to Print these following Miscellanies had they not already been countenanced by men of unquestionable repute and esteem He is not of the same persuasion with several others of his own profession that never care how much they lessen the reputation of the Poet if they can but inhance the value of the Book that ransack the Studies of the deceased and Print all that passed under the Author's hands from Fifteen to Forty and upwards and as the incomparable Mr. Cowley has exprest it think a rude heap of ill placed Stones a better Monument than a neat Tomb of Marble To the MEMORY of Mr. OLDHAM FArewel too little and too lately known Whom I began to think and call my own For sure our Souls were near ally'd and thine Cast in the same Poetick mould with mine One common Note on either Lyre did strike And Knaves and Fools we both abhorr'd alike To the same Goal did both our Studies drive The last set out the soonest did arrive Thus Nisus fell upon the slippery place While his young Friend perform'd and won the Race O early ripe to thy abundant store What could advancing Age have added more It might what Nature never gives the young Have taught the numbers of thy native Tongue But Satyr needs not those and Wit will shine Through the harsh cadence of a rugged line A noble Error and but seldom made When Poets are by too much force betray'd Thy generous fruits though gather'd ere their prime Still shew'd a quickness and maturing time But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of Rhime Once more hail and farewel farewel thou young But ah too short Marcellus of our Tongue Thy Brows with Ivy and with Laurels bound But Fate and gloomy Night encompass thee around John Dryden Authori Epitaphium HOC ô Viator marmore conditoe Charoe recumbunt Exuviae brevem Viventis oh sors dura vitam Praecoce coelum animâ petentis Nec praepedita est Mens celeris diù Quin Pustularum mille tumoribus Effloruit portisque mille Praepes iter patefecit altum Musarum Alumnus jà m fuit artibus Instructus almis quas studio pio Atque aure quà m fidâ repostas Oxonii coluit Parentis Hîc quadriennis proemia Filii Dignus recepi Vellera candida Collati Honoris signa necnon Innocui simulacra cordis Sed manè montis summa cacumina Ascendit ardens Pierio jugo Insedit atque errore multo Ipsum Helicona scatere vidit Nunc pura veri Flumina perspicit Nunc mira Mundi semina concipit Pulchrasque primoevi figuras In speculo species creante At Tu Viator Numina poscito Vt dissolutis reliquits vaga Dùm mens remigret detur ah sit Terra levis placidusque somnus On the Death of Mr. John Oldham A Pindarique Pastoral Ode Stanza I. UNdoubtedly 't is thy peculiar Fate Ah miserable Astragon Thou art condemn'd alone To bear the Burthen of a wretched Life Still in this howling Wilderness to roam While all thy Bosom-friends unkindly go And leave thee to lament them here below Thy dear Alexis would not stay Joy of thy Life and Pleasure of thine Eyes Dear Alexis went away With an invincible Surprize Th' Angel-like Youth early dislik'd this State And chearfully submitted to his Fate Never did Soul of a Celestial Birth Inform a purer piece of Earth O that 't were not in vain To wish what 's past might be retriev'd again Thy Dotage thy Alexis then Had answer'd all thy Vows and Pray'rs And Crown'd with pregnant Joys thy silver Hairs Lov'd to this day among the living Sons of Men. II. And thou my Friend hast left me too Menalcas poor Menalcas even thou Of whom so loudly Fame has spoke In the Records of her immortal Book Whose disregarded Worth Ages to come Shall wail with Indignation o'er thy Tomb. Worthy wert thou to live as long as Vice Should need a Satyr that the frantick Age Might tremble at the Lash of thy poetick Rage Th' untutor'd World in after Times May live uncensur'd for their Crimes Freed from the Dreads of thy reforming Pen Turn to old Chaos once again Of all th' instructive Bards whose more than Theban Lyre Could savage Souls with manly Thoughts inspire Menalcas worthy was to live Say you his Fellow-Shepherds that survive Tell me you mournful Swains Has my ador'd Menalcas left behind In all these pensive Plains A gentler Shepherd with a braver mind Which of you all did more Majestick Show Or wore the Garland on a sweeter Brow III. But wayward Astragon resolves no more The Loss of his Menalcas to deplore The place to which he wisely is withdrawn Is altogether blest There no Clouds o'erwhelm his Breast No Midnight Cares can break his Rest For all is everlasting cheerful Dawn The Poet's Bliss there shall he long possess Perfect Ease and soft Recess The treacherous World no more shall him deceive Of Hope and Fortune he has taken Leave And now in mighty Triumph does he reign His Head adorn'd with Beams of Light O'er the unthinking Rabble's Spire And the dull wealthy Fool 's disdain Thrice happy he that dies the Muses Friend He needs no Obelisque no Pyramid His sacred Dust to hide He needs not for his Memory to provide For he might well foresee his Praise can never end Thomas Flatman In Memory of the Author TAke this short summon'd loose unfinisht Verse Cold as thy Tomb and sudden as thy Herse From my sick Thoughts thou canst no better crave Who scarce drag Life and envy thee thy Grave Me Phoebus always faintly did inspire And gave my narrow Breast more scanty Fire My Hybla Muse through humble Meads sought Spoil Collecting little Sweets with mighty Toil Yet when some Friend 's just Fame did Theme afford Her Voice amongst the tow'ring Swans was heard In vain for such Attendance now I call My Ink o'erflows with Spleen my Blood