dedicate my part A weak defender of a Noble Art Glad of applause from Judges but not griev'd If by the Crowd my Lines are not receiv'd Heaven does Mankind to different Wits condemn The Vulgar hate me and I pity them But when I with a Man of Judgment meet Or with a virtuous Lady that has Wit My Breast entire between 'em both they part He has my faithful Service she my Heart For blasted be my Muse when it shall dare To wrong a worthy Friend or hurt the Fair. An ODE TO THE QUEEN I. HIGH on a Throne of Glittering Ore Exalted by Almighty Fate Out-shining the bright Jem she wore The gracious Gloriana sat II. The dazling Beams of Majesty Too â—ierce for mortal Eyes to see She veil'd and with a smiling Brow Thus taught th' admiring World below III. Virtue is still the chiefest good And power should only be her dress State is a Fever to the Blood Free Conscience is the solid Bliss IV. Glory is but a flattering Dream Of Wealth that is not though it seem False vision whose vain Joys do make Poor Mortals poorer when they wake V. The fawning Crowd of Slaves that bow With Praise could n'er my Sense controul Vast Pyramids of State seem low So much above it sits my Soul VI. She spake whilst Gods unseen that stood Admiring one so great so good Flew straight to Heaven and all along Bright Gloriana was their Song Returnel Bright Gloriana all along Bright Gloriana was their Song The Author answers his Friend who blames him for not singing when desired he contradict the Third Satyr of Horace beginning with Omnibus hoc vitium est Cantoribus inter Amicos c. He defends Tigellius and proves that Horace had no actual Skill in Vocal Musick IF this strange Vice in all good Singers were As the admir'd Horace does declare That when desir'd tho bless'd with Health and Easâ— Their choicest Friends they still deny to please Yet if unask'd shall rudely Sing so long To tire 'em quite with each repeated Song I strongly then should take his Satyr's part Lash the Performers and despise their Art But having studied long enough to be A little knowing in that quality I soon perceiv'd when I his Version met 'T was more from Prejudice than Judgment writ And Horace was in his Reproof more free Because Tigellius was his Enemy Whose resty Vice must bear this fierce Assault Whilst all the rest are lash'd for one man's Fault Satyr should never take from Malice aid For with due Reverence to Horace paid Who rails at Faults through personal prejudice Shews more his own than shames another's Vice Tigellius as his Character is plain Was of a Humour most adsurd and vain Fantastick in his Garb unsettled in his Brain And if as once great Cesar he deny'd When ask'd to Sing 't were the effect of Pride Lictors and Fasces should have bluntly taught The Fool to know th' Obedience that he ought But if Augustus his Commands did lay When th' Genius was not able to obey As oft with Singers it will happen so According as their Joys or Troubles grow 'T was no Offence then to excuse his Art The Soul untun'd makes discord in each part And Monarchs can no more give vocal Breath Than they can hinder when Fate summons death Though kind Complyance Singers ought to use They often have just Reasons to refuse A pleasure lov'd by one is lik'd by more Suppose Sir I have Sung too much before Made my self hoarse and even rack'd my Throat To please some Friend with some fine treble Note Chance does me then to you and others bring The second Complement is prithee sing I swear I Can't can't say you that 's find sport But all good Singers are so hard to Court Come come you must here 's Ladies beg not I What Soul so dull as Beauty can deny To make excuse then modestly I tell How hoarse I am with what that day befell 'T is all in vain you rail I 'm thought a Clown And Omnibus hoc victium knocks me down I often have 't is true to sing deny'd But not through resty Vanity or Pride But that perhaps I had been tir'd before Untun'd and ill not able to sing more Or that an hour of Infelicity Has rob'd my Soul of usual Harmony Yet all 's the same th' old Saw is still repeated You Singers long to be so much intreated Though at that time to me no Joy could fall Greater than not to have been ask'd at all Th' Harmonious Soul must have her Humour free Consent of parts still makes best Harmony We read the Iewish Captives could not Sing In a strange Land rul'd by a Foreign King Contentment the melodious Chord controuls And Tunes the Diapason of our Souls What makes a Cobler Chirp a pleasant part At his hard Labour but a merry Heart He sings when ask'd or bluntly else denies According to his share of Grief or Joys Thus the same Accidents to us befall And that which tun'd the Cobler tunes us all But if against our Will we thrash out Songs For singing then is Thrashing to the Lungs The blast of airy Praise we dearer get Than Peasants do their Bread with toil and sweat To sleep at your command is the same thing As when y' are ill or vext in mind to sing And though Performance ne'r so easie show As it has Charms it has Vexations too And th' Singers Plague 't is none but Singers know How often have I heard th' unskilful say Had I a Voice by Heaven I 'd sing all day But with that Science had he been endow'd And was to sing when ask'd or be thought proud When weary hoarse or vext not to deny But at all Seasons with all Friends comply He 'd then blame Horace full as much as I Whose want of Knowledge in the Vocal Art Made him lash all for one man 's mean desert For had he the Fatigue of Songsters known And judg'd their Inconvenience by his own Tigellius only had Correction met And Omnibus hoc vitium ne'r been writ TO THE Right HONOURABLE THE Earl of RADNOR ON HIS MARRIAGE IF my faint Genius does not reach that height It ought your Fortune to congratulate Be pleas'd my Lord to take this for excuse That 't is the Inter-regnum of a Muse. Apollo frowns upon each drooping Son And Sadness crowns the Bowls of Hellicon The Mounting Pegasus that late could fly Trap'd with gay Thought and fancy through the Sky In her swift Course now the bold Soldier dares To stop and back and manage for the Wars Strange turns of State disturb the peaceful Nine And with the rest of the sad Muses mine Such sollid Grief does all Parnassus sway There scarce was Joy the Coronation day Pardon a Homely Genius then ill drest That dares approach without a Nuptial Vest To wish you Joy which though not pollish'd here Nor mirthfully adorn'd is yet sincere Poets like Plants flourish when shin'd
formerly printed generally pleas'd the Town and though some may appear a little rough and unpolish'd in the Reading the amends is made when they are Sung for I have still taken care to put some Fancy and Thought in them and the Iudicious are sensible that 't is no easie matter nor is it every one's Talent to confine Sense and smooth Verse to Notes the quality of performing it well being as particular as difficult It does not thank my Stars afflict me much to know that a certain very unweildy Author of this Age has been this Ten Years pecking at me about this matter though with as little Success as he had Reason to do so I having no Correspondency with him nor to the best of my Memory have any of our Brethern ever given him any occasion to shew the scurrility of his Satyr in expressing himself in such Tropes as these Fellows of no Genius yelping Curs Parasites Knaves c. nor does it concern us at all to know whether Poetitto or Poetdungus be the best name for a comical Author we have I think two ways to expound him and I suppose he is pleased to new baptize us either for diminutive Wits or Persons if for the first we must comfort our selves and be instructed as well as we can but for my own part if he lashes me for want of shape that I confess from him troubles me extremely I am not very uneasie neither to have if judg'd whether my Grubstreet Songs as he hints at them or his late Grubstreet Anniversary Ode be the most notorious or in his own Phrase most like the Stile of Tom Farthing I know what the Town says And since it has sufficiently expos'd its own defects I shall think my Injury reveng'd to the full and therefore rest satisfied till farther Provocation There is no Passion incident to Humanity of so low and base a degree as Malice which I could lash to the quick nor would the Title of Poet Laureate and Historiographer Royal at all deter me from a just Resentment if I had not an awful Veneration for that noble Patron of Wit and Poetry whose Indulgence and excellent Nature has been the occasion of bestowing so great a Bounty where it is and I shall rather believe it the just reward of Merit and Loyalty as some would fain have it thought than doubt in the least the Iustice or Iudgment of a Noble Man belov'd reverenc'd and admir'd by all that ever had any true Pretences to Wit or Learning And now I think 't is time to beg the Readerâ—s Pardon for this Prolixity which I could not avoid having been so often affronted without any cause given and once more desire his Favor on the following Sheets with a faithful Promise that when next I trouble the Press it shall be on a Subject that shall less tiâ—e his Patience and give him much more Diversion Vale. ERRATA PAge 23. l. 12. for adsurd read absurd p. 31. l. 2. because no praise read since no just praise pag. 36. l. 7. fatal strife read fate at strife p. 129. l. 13. may read much p. 130. l. 5. may read much p. 137. l. 13. Ears read Years p. 145. l. 14. is read are p. 149. l. 9. solely read vilely p. 166. l. 11. fawn'd read fann'd THE TABLE A New Essay in defence of Verse with a Satyr upon the Enemies of Poetry Page 1. An Ode to the Queen excellently set to Musick by M. H. Purcel p. 19. The Author answers his Friend who blames him for not singing when desired he contradicts the Third Satyr of Horace beginning with Omnibus hoc vitium est Cantoribus inter Amicos c. He defends Tigellius and proves that Horace had no actual Skill in vocal Musick p. 22. To the Right Honorable the Earl of Radnor on his Marriage p. 28. To a Lady twitting him with his being peevish and having ill Humors p. 32. A Parallel p. 35. To the Right Honorable the Lady E. R. upon her finding a Spider in her Bed p. 37. Phillidor's Tale of a true Intrigue p. 40. A Lash at Atheists the Poet Speaking as the Ghost of a Quondam Libertine supposed to be the late E. of R. reflects on that part of Seneca's Troas beginning at Post mortem nihil est ipsaque Mors nihil c. p. 54. To Cynthia p. 59. Prologue by way of Satyr spoken before King Charles II. at New-Market p. 60. Epithalamium on the Marriage of the Right Honorable the Lady Essex Roberts p. 63. Paid for Peeping a Poem occasion'd by a Peeping hole into a Chamber where a beautiful young Lady lodged through which undiscovered I could observe all her Actions p. 67. Song p. 74. Against Free Will p. 76. A Song p. 77. A Song bâ— way of Dialogue between a Town Spark and his Miss p. 78. To Cynthia a Song p. 79. A Mock Song to when first Amintor Su'd for a Kiss c. p. 80. Epilogue to the Opera of Dâ—do and Aeneas perform'd at Mrs. Priests Boarding-School at Chelsey spoken by the Lady Dor. Burke p. 82. Loves Revenge a Song admirably set by Dr. John Blow p. 84. Epsom Wells a Satyr by way of Dialogue between Critick and Fame p. 86. Prologue spoken by M. Haines to Trapolin or a Duke and no Duke p 88. An Elegy on the Death of that true Perfection of Beauty and Goodness the Lady Essex Speccot who died of the Small-Pox after her Marriage p. 91 An Ode to my much honored friend Sir Thomas Garrard Baronet upon his Climacterical Year p. 97. The King's Health a Catch sung in parts p. 98. A Letter written for a Friend to one in Town being a Satyr on Dingboy and a Rampant widow 1685. p. 100. To the Right Honorable the Lady Olympia R. on her Genius in Poetry p. 110. An Epilogue intended for the 3 Dukes of Dunstable and to be spoken by M. Monford in a long Presbyterian Cloak p. 112 Another intended for the same p. 115. The Dream or Celladon's Complaint of Morpheus to the Assembly of the Gods p. 116. To Cinthia p. 129. A Letter written for a Lady in answer to a Friend p. 130. The Farmer 's Daughter a Song set to a Pleasant Scotch Time p. 132. Epithalamium on the Marriage of the Lord Morpeth with the Lady Ann Capel 136. A Song 138. Another set to a pleasant Scotch Time p. 139. The Moralist a Song p. 141. The old Fumbler a Song set by Mr. Henry Purcel p. 142. A Dialogue between Philander and Silvia set to an excellent Scotch Time p. 143. Second Burlesque Letter p. 145. p. 159. An Ode translated from Anacreon p 160. To Chloris a Song p. 162. To pretty Mrs. H. D. An Ode upon the sight of her Picture standing amongst others at Mr. Knellers and excellently set to Musick by Mr. Henry Purcel p. 162. To Chloris An Ode set to the new Riggadon p. 164. An Elegy on the death of the great Duke of Ormond p. 165. Eppigram on the
as the first Maid That once for Fruit the World betray'd A Rosie Cheek and such a Skin As well might give excuse for Sin If Sin were possible to be Enclos'd in such Divinity The other was of browner hew Yet the more charming of the two A shape Divine and sparkling Eye Her Foot her Leg her taper Thigh Her Breasts where Kings would wish to lye Shew'd the soft path to killing Joy A solid Beauty that would last Smooth plump and fit to be embrac'd Full of Delight as Beauties Queen In Pleasure blooming at eighteen Down her soft Neck her flowing Hair The best adornment of the Fair With lavish Bounty reach'd her Knee Discovering Nature's Luxury All Graces which Historians find In Books adorning VVomankind In these two charming Creatures shone Admir'd by all excell'd by none Forgive me if for Beauties sake I this prolix digression make Since those that of its power have proof Can never speak its praise enough Know then Olinda and Cephise VVere nam'd these lovely Goddesses A Treasure dearer than the Fleece Lock'd in the old Hesperides And by as strange a Dragon kept A mouldy Aunt that never â—â—ept But Love that sound out a device To blind the Giants hundred Eyes When Iove in Io's snare did fall Cloy'd with Embraces Conjugal Soon sent a Hermes to my Aid Who taught me how to bribe her Maid She having in that happy Town A constant Roger of her own Kept our Intrigue the more unknown And oftner op'ned Paradise Than e'er St. Peter with his Keys Such power has praise with profit joyn'd To charm a Mercinary Mind Suppose me then close by the door Through which I often went before Giving a sign to let 'em know A faithful Lover was below For both were of my Heart possess'd And had by Turns chief Interest The Brown when t' other was not there And when Brown absent was the Fair Thus great thus Turk-like did I rove In my Seraglio of Love Scarce I the sign had throughly made But word was brought they were in bed And the old Aunt lock'd up at Prayers For blessings on her House Affairs Then whilst I softly scal'd the Stairs The trusty Wench with busie Broom Below was scrubbing round the Room Singing th' old Song of Troy betray'd To hide the creeking noise I made Darkness o'er all the World did sway Yet led by Love I found the way To th' side where sweet Olinda lay Whose charming Eyes in spite of Night Like Diamonds shone with glittering light And ere she could my welcome speak Her Arms were twisted round my Neck Whilst I a thousand Kisses stole And every Kiss was worth a Soul Nor did her Sister less employ Her Love but with a grumbling Joy Child me for my undecent Crime Of vent'ring thither at that time I modestly Excuses made With all the moving Words I had Telling her 't was a greater Crime To let my Love be slave to time All times for Lovers are most fit When e'er they can admission get And thus with some few fallacies And tenders that I thought would please All Scruples throughly satisfy'd I laid me by Olinda's side But first my durty Shoes from feet I pull'd lest they should daub the Sheet And that it never should be said A Man in 's Breeches went to bed I stole 'em off without offence To Dear Olinda's Innocence Who strugling betwixt Shame and Love To make a faint resistance strove Then like an eager loving Fop No Petruke on nor e'r a Cap I clung to that soft Angels side Close as a Bridegroom to his Bride Great Ovid in his mighty Verse Of Hermes a strange Tale declares How he to Aphrodite inclin'd So fervently their Bodies joyn'd Howe'r that Fancy might be false As there 's no certain Truth in Tales 'T is here confirm'd for we that Night Made out the true Hermaphrodite Here I could wish the Reader 's Thought Would not proceed into a Fault By censuring this Extravagance As far as the extreme offence Love does a thousand Follies own That may be proper to be shown And yet the greatest not be done Nor would I have him seek what past Between us more but think the best Whilst I to write my Muse employ What discontents ensu'd this Joy The Morning rose as fair as when In flowry Eden Spring began To bless the first Created Man Aurora blush'd to be out-done By the gay splendor of the Sun And coily his Embrace did shun Whilst he a hot and vigorous Woer Mounts his bright Chariot to pursue her When I from sleep my Sences drew And bless'd as he my self I view For I had my Aurora too Who whispering softly as she could Her Story in my Bosom told And blushing my desires reprov'd With all the tendeâ—ness of Love I rapt with such a Load of Charms Took the dear Trembler in my Arms And swore no storm of Fate should move The Rock of my Eternal Love A thousand times her Eyes I kiss'd Ten thousand more her snowy Breast And so unruly were our Joys Her Sister wak'ned with the Noise Who with her Wit our pleasure grac'd In rallying on adventures past But see what mutability Attends on traâ—â—â—ory Joy And what a slender Film does grow Between extremes of Mirth and Woe As we of past Intrigues conferr'd Uncheck'd and as we thought unheard Old Satan ready to devour Stood listning at the Chamber Door The Aunt had in her early Head Some nice occasions for her Maid And fearing she should wake my Dears To call her softly crept up Stairs Where soon she heard their tatling noise Mixt with my loud Bass-Viol Voice Not more amaz'd lame Vulcan stood When he beheld his Wife was lewd Nor Cesar who as Story shews Saw his fond Girl her Fame expose To th' Poet with the Roman Nose Then was Old Grannum at that sound That through her Ears her Heart did wound Stung with a Rage from wonder bred With speed she hobbles to the Bed But not so soon but first I slipt From th' outside between 'em crept Where close the panting Lover lies Half smother'd with soft Legs and Thighs The Curtains straight she open threw Exposing the poor Girls to view And there not finding what she look'd Under the Bed with Broomstick pok'd Then gastly round the Room she rowls Peeping in all the Chinks and Holes Olinda trembling at her sight And almost murder'd with the fright Raises herself in Bed upright And boldly on my Reeking Face Sets without Complement her A Pressing me down so close beneath That I had much ado to breath So warm a place had cas'd my Nose No Mask sat ever on so close Nor did my Mouth at that time miss In corner a dear Friend to kiss Whilst round me nothing seem'd to be But Regions of Obscurity Bless me thought I sure I am now Descending to the Shades below But cannot want the Golden Bough My bold advent'ring steps to guide As once the Great Aeneaâ— did For there the Sybil stands agen
Eyes from Heaven must part The hole dam'd up yet my poorâ—Heart Was still close Pris'ner kept within XVIII But when I heard she would be gone Low as her Feet I threw me down And beg'd her not to leave the place But now alas too well she knew My Heart-strings after her she drew And thus revil'd me to my face XIX Rather my Glass of Life shall run In Caves that never saw the Sun Than here with thee thou worst of Men Thee Traytor to despair I doom He that has oagled once my B Shall never see my Face agen XX. Like Bolts sent from the sultry South This Thunder from her heavenly Mouth On my unguarded Heart did fall So fierce that in my tortur'd mind Possess'd with Rage I once design'd To knock my Head against the Wall XXI Then Adam the first Man I curst That brought the Mischief in at first To traffick with forbidden Joys Else Beauty's World had naked been Nor had I for my peeping Sin Like him been banish'd Paradise SONG I. A Pelles told the Painters fam'd in Greece To draw true Beauty was the hardest piece And now alas the same defect we see Descend from Painting into Poetry Divine Olimpia's Face no Skill can take Each Feature does the feeble Artist blind And ah what Muse a just Applause can make Of all the Charms in that Angellick kind II. Some are for pleasing Features far renown'd Others with Wit or charming Voices wound Many for mein and shape fond Lovers prize And many make vast Conquests with their Eyes But ne'er were these Perfections found in one But in the fair Olympia alone The fair Olympia Phenix-like appears A Wonder seen once in a thousand years Second Movement THEN shew thy Power great God of Love That laughst at Womens Craft Make all her Charms less strongly move And make her Heart more soft Ah why should Beauty first ordain'd to please Consume and Kill And do such fatal Ill Since only she can cure which causes the desease Against Free-Will A SONG I. GO silly Mortal and ask thy Creator Why thy short Life is tormented with care Why thou art slave to the follies of Nature Why for thy Plague he made Women so fair If Cloes Glances Can charm thy Senses And Beauty force thee into her snare What 's this Free Will of which Gownmen so prate When none none have power to controul their Fate II. If Man be Monarch of all the Creation Women in Reason should stoop to his sway Fair Rich or Witty by free Inclination Owning his Priviledge calmly obey Else every Brute is More blest with Beauties The Horse or Stag each can seize his Prey Who e'er i' th' Grove saw the Lordly Bull Sigh to the fair She like a loving Fool. A SONG I. I Follow'd Fame and got Renown I rang'd all o'er the Park and Town I haunted Plays and there grew wise Observing my own modish Vice Friends and Wine I next did try Yet I found no solid Joy Greatest Pleasures seem too small Till Sylvia made amends for all II. But see the state of humane Bliss How vain our best Contentment is As of my Joy she was the Chief So was she too my greatest Grief Fate that I might be undone Dooms this Angel but for one And alas too plain I see That I am not the happy he A Dialogue between a Town Spark and his Miss She. DID you not promise me when you lay by me That you would Marry me can you deny me He. If I did promise thee 't was but to try thee Call up your Witnesses else I defie thee She. Ah who would trust you Men that Swear and Vow so Born only to deceive how can you do so He. If we can Swear and Lye you can Dissemble And then to hear the Lye would make one Tremble She. Had I not lov'd you had found a denial My tender Heart alas was but too real He Real I know you were I 've often try'd ye Real to forty more Lovers besides me She. If thousands lov'd me where was my Transgression You we were the only He e'er got Possession He. Thou couldst talk prettily ere thou couldst go Child But I 'm too old and wise to be sham'd so Child She. Tho y' are so Cruel you 'll never believe me Yet do but take the Child all I forgive thee He. Send your Kid home to me I will take care on 't If 't has the Mothers gifts 't will prove a rare one To Cynthia A SONG I. BORN with the Vices of my kind I were Inconstant too Dear Cynthia could I rambling find More Beauty than in you II. The rowling Surges of my Blood By virtue now ebb'd low Should a new Shower encrease the Flood Too soon would over flow III. But frailty when thy Face I see Does modestly retire Uncommon must her Graces be Whose look can bound desire IV. Not to my Virtue but thy Power This Constancy is due When change it self can give no more 'T is easie to be true A Mock SONG to When first AMINTOR su'd for a Kiss c. I. A Minta one Night had occasion to p Ioan reach'd her the Pot that stood by her I in the next Chamber could hear it to hiss The Sluce was small but Stream was strong My Soul was melting thinking of bliss And raving I lay with desire But nought could be done For alas she p d on Nor car'd for Pangs I suffer'd long Ioan next made hast In th'self same Case To fix the Pot close to her own A Then Floods did come One might have swom And Puff a Whirl-wind flew from her B II. Says Ioan by these strange Blasts that do rise I guess that the Night will grow windy For when such Showers do fall from the Skies To clear the Air the North-wind blows Ye nasty Quean her Lady replies That Tempest broke out from behind ye And though it was decently kept from my Eyes The troubled Air offends my Nose Says Ioan ' ods heart You have p d a Quart And now you make ado for a F t 'T is still your mind To squeeze behind But never fell Shower from me without wind Epilogue to the Opera of DIDO and AENEAS performed at Mr. Preist's Boarding-School at Chelsey Spoken by the Lady Dorothy Burk ALL that we know the Angels do above I 've read is that they Sing and that they Love The Vocal part we have to night perform'd And if by Love ouâ— Hearts not yet are warn'd Great Providence has still more bountious been To save us from those grand Deceivers Men Here blest with Innocence and peace of Mind Not only bred to Virtue but inclin'd We flowrish and defie all human kind Arts curious Garden thus we learn to know And here secure from nipping Blasts we grow Let the vain Fop range o'er yon vile lewd Town Learn Play-house Wit and vow 't is all his own Let him Cock Huff Strut Ogle Lye and Swear How he 's admir'd by such and
dark Cave of endless Night Diâ—mal as Chaos when all Nature lay Confus'd in one huge Lump of Clay When Earth's prodigious bulk was seen To quake with Air enclos'd within And muddy Floods foam'd with desire To combat their old Foe the Fire From its wide Mouth breath'd forth a Yell That soon confirm'd this place was Hell And by some â—â—akes of blewish Flame That from a glowing Furnace came Unseen I could discern with ease 'T was th' Devils Court of Commonâ— Pleas Where Souls in different Causes drudge And where Fate also sits as Judge Here Princes Plowmen Lords and Slaves Panders and States-men Fools and Knaves Maids that ne'er bless'd with Men would be And Widows dam'd for having three Made their Appeals some Poets too But very fat and very few The noted dullest of the Crew Broil'd their next neighbors these more curst Than all the Fiends were hated worst Who knowing Hell so hot a Place Came to augment it with their Grease Vast crowds of Pimps and Noseless Whores Rich Epicures and bloated Boors With Shoals of Baldpate Priests and Fryars Even clog'd the fiercest of the Fires Deaf with the Crys of those that mourn'd 〈◊〉 I gaz'd on the Court adjourn'd Huge Gates of Jet methought were shut Nor knew I which way to get out Till from a secret dismal Room A hollow Voice methought did come That cry'd for forty Peter Pence I will rash Mortal lead thee hence Agreed quoth I with all my Soul Then straight one started from the hole That by his Robe and Stature Tall I knew to be a Cardinal That here on Earth lov'd Coin so well His Palm was itching for't in Hell But I no sooner had begun To drive this hopeful bargain on When one of Fate 's great Family Came up and seiz'd me for a Spy Swearing I came by Fame's report To learn the Practice of that Court Resolv'd to teach their Methods all To the Attournies of Guild-Hall Fearing the Lash for taking Bribes My faithful Guide my Doom proscribes And like a through-pass'd Prelate swore He was attaching me before To bring me to the Throne of Fate Before whom I was hurried straight Through Regions vast of drery Night At last ascending up to Light The Judge his Reason did unlock And thus methought divinely spoke By Womans frailty though undone Yet art thou still Apollo's Son Beauty may grieve thy Heart with pain But it shall never hurt thy Brain Thy Dâ—om's revok'd she not possess'd Go hence and slumber and be bless'd As when some Wretch that chain'd does lye Expecting every hour to dye Hears the glad sound of a Reprieve And Royal Grant to let him live His Heart that vast Content does cloy Faints at the blaze of sudden Joy Such Passion did my Soul possess Reflecting on approaching Bliss And now methought by Sacred Power I was transported to a Bower Where the Indian Jessamine and Rose Of Syria lasting Sweets disclose Clear Rivolets that took their Vents From flowry Mounts made their descents And with small Pebbles troll'd along Making a pretty purling Song And thence in wild Meander's flow To bless the Verdant Meads below Tall Sons of Earth the leavy Trees All shook to make refreshing Breeze The loâ—ty Pine the Maple stronge The Laurel ever Green and Young The Oak the Monarch of the Wood That had two hundred Winters stood The fatal Ash that wanting Keys To Kingdoms bodes Calamities With th' Elm that high his Front doth raise Long flourish'd in that heavenly Place Nor did the mirthful Birds forbear To keep their Evening Consort there The barb'rous Rape that had too long Been Philomela's lonely Song The Thrush and Linnet skill'd in Arts Set to their Flutes and sung in parts Whilst the wrong'd Swallow half the year Still hovers round their Heads to hear And the sad Pheasant takes no bliss In his gay particolour'd dress As all my Cares here sleep did chase Who could have Cares in such a place To add to my excess of Joy This second Vision bless'd my Eye Methought into this charming Grove Attir'd like the Queen of Love Cynthia approach'd her Rosie Face Might to the blushing Morn add grace And in her Shape and Mien was all That Poets e'er could Beauty call Her fatal Eyes that us'd to kill Two kind repentant drops now fill Where Pitty in warm Bubbles shone To chear the Heart she had undone As Venus look'd when first she found Her Darling bleeding on the Ground So Eloquent her Love appears In the soft Language of her Tears Rapt with this vissionary Bliss This Scene of Perfect Happiness My throbbing Heart and swelling Veins Scarcely the flood of Joy contains Whilst like Diana in her Chase Spreading her Arms with lovely Grace Language at last a Passage broke And thus methought the Charmer spoke Oh too much wrong'd for too much Love Thou blessing sent me from above Thou Treasure which my Erring Eyes Had never Light enough to prize Accept these Tears that hourly flow T' attone for my curs'd breach of Vow And take Repenting Love as Fee For thy ' admir'd Fidelity Scarce she these Words had throughly spoke When sighing as my Heart had broke With eager Joy my Arms I stretch'd But nought alas but Air I cetch'd The God of sleep as false as she Had with a Dream deluded me And caus'd fresh Pangs of lasting Pain And new clos'd Wounds to bleed again Revenge then all ye Powers above Revenge my Wrongs and injur'd Love Let hated Morpheus Reign no more Nor o'er my peaceful sleeps have power My Soul henceforth let knowledg find Without one thought of Womankind Whose Heart 's as wavering as the Wind Falshood may with Success pursue But none e'er prosper'd that was true To CYNTHIA BY all the Sacred Powers I love ye so There 's nothing else so dear to me below And when your Cruel Scorn I would forsake Shunning the Rock that threatens me with wrack Some Angel stops my speed and briâ—gs the Rover back Madam my Heart no blemish yet has stain'd And never has deserv'd to be disdain'd Nor is it to be fool'd with ease But you may break it when you please Like melting Ore your kindness makes it run But rigour turns it to a Stone And I had rather dye then see you frown So may your Influence you prove So much so tenderly I love And think not dearest Saint I can deceive But as you hope to be believ'd believe By Heaven and you my Life blooms or decays You point my wane or my encrease of days Fain I confess I would despair forget I would be bless'd if you thought fit Yet I too may your self-will'd Rigour fear For ah what hopes is there of Love from her Whose very Soul is Love and yet the word disdains to hear A Letter Written for a LADY in Answer to a Friend HAd you not known your Merit was so great That my Laurinda I could ne'er forget Dulness you might have want of Friendship thought And
Instalment of this Glorious Guest â—n the left hand of Gracious Charles he sate His mortal Cares crown'd with immortal State This joyful Scene scarce did my Vision show â—ut I was waken'd with their Crys below And to my grief as well as theirs I knew Their mournful sounds had prov'd this wonder true His Friends in Tears all made a loud Complaint The World had lost though Heaven had gain'd a Saint And amongst all the numerous selfish Train My self had not least Reason to complain â—ut wished with them a worthy held so dear Had been less happy and stay'd longer here â—nd here my Muse make thy peculiar moan The best inspirer of thy Art is gone Thy noble Patron that first plum'd thy wing Inform'd and dipt thee in Apollo's Spring And in Poetick numbers made thee sing By Angels courted to his sacred home Leaves thee to sigh thy Sorrows on his Tomb. In wisest Rules of moral Learning bred He never thought it a disgrace to read Nor true Applause to a just Merit grudge Though not a Poet yet a Poets Judge Could well instruct a Pegasus to fly Shew where he flagg'd or where he soar'd too higâ— Mourn mouâ—n ye Sons of Phoebus burn yoâ— Books And let your hearts be sad as are your Looks Forsake your Lyrick strains and let each Eye Drown in salt Floods your Patrons Elegy Who now the Muses lustre shall advance Above the scorn of sordid Ignorance Who shall their want of generous Friends suppâ— Or raise the drooping head of Poetry 〈◊〉 gone he 's gone his Aid you ask in vain 〈◊〉 and the Grave never refund again 〈◊〉 late the mighty Loss is understood 〈◊〉 know the value till they lose the Good 〈◊〉 eighty rowling Years he still was known 〈◊〉 brightest Jewel in the British Crow◠〈◊〉 with unblemish'd lustre grac'd our Isle 〈◊〉 value true nor needed any foil 〈◊〉 Virtue made his Dignity more great 〈◊〉 Mein was graceful and his Language sweet 〈◊〉 none his noble Actions liv'd to see 〈◊〉 wish'd him greater than he wish'd to be 〈◊〉 early Cares to serve his Prince did tend â—â—ithful Subject Counsellor and Friend â—â—th ' Royal Line when Faction high did rise 〈◊〉 Arm gave succour and his Heart advise once to Saul did the great Prophet do 〈◊〉 Counsel gave and fought his Battels too â—appy those Heroes were that understood 〈◊〉 Virtues made 'em nobler than their Blood That 't was the intrinsick Value of the Ore And not the stamp that made the Merit more With vain Ambition some themselves deceive But to be brave and honest is to live To be an Ormond is the Life sublime The noblest Pattern of precedent Time Whose Saint-like Pity God-like Gentleness T' incourage Merit and relieve Distress No Wit can praise enough nor Tongue express Henceforth vile Age thy ill spent time redeem Grow good and let Great Ormond be thy Theme Let each vain Courtier break his flattering Glass And in his Pious Mirror learn to dress Whilst all the Muses with dejected Eyes Offer whole Volumes of sad Elgies A mournful Train with Cypress Garlands on Methinks I see forsake their Hellicon To sing the solemn Dirges of this day But ah bright Soul what Tribute shall I pay My Heart no respite to her Woes shall have For when remembring thee I idly rave To think no Worth can charm no Virtue scape the Grave EPIGRAM On the Sacred Memory of that glorious Patron of POETS greatest and best of Monarchs KING CHARLES the Second Written 1686. IF Sacred Worth which high as Heaven does raise His Fame were low enough for mortal Praise The mighty Theme would crack each studious Brain No Tongue be still nor unimploy'd no Pen But since no Planet can for Phaebus shine And all Applause is vain of things Divine To Court a Tomb let every Muse be taught And perish with the sad extremes of Thought The impoverish'd Land is by his loss undone As each Muse dull'd now its Inspirer's gone Blest by his Beams the learn'd in Crowds would throng To 〈◊〉 the Oraculous Wisdom of his Tongue Mute as the Grave when he a Story told England was then as Athens was of old Or Rome where Arms with Science flourish'd long Augustus smil'd at honour'd Virgil's Song But now our Harps are on the Willows hung For since the Sovereign of all Arts could die There is no farther use of Poetry Hot Pegasus no middle Tract will go Charles is a Theme too high and all besides too low An ELEGY On the late Holy Father Pope INNOCENT the Eleventh STrange power of Piety when Virtue is So strong it can disarm our prejudice When Luther's Sons Romes prizeless loss bemoan Less than a Miracle can there be shown Yet see they mourn and those our Doctrine bred Hating the Body yet adore the Head This Truth tho Ages past scarce understood Ours boldly may affirm one Pope was good Not partial nor to private Interest sold Nay what 's more strange than all not fond of Gold But durst against the stream of Avarice swim St. Peter's Keys were never gilt by him Nor did the Churches Biggots till his sway Ever so little for Salvation pay His mellow'd Wisdom prop'd Romes tottering State His moderate Judgment stemm'd the Clergies hate Willing the Churches variance to attone Rail'd not at ours nor less'ned not his own When Heathens did in swarming Numbers list And War began 'twixt Mahomet and Christ The imprison'd Treasure which he then set free Shew'd him refin'd from former Papacy The Gold which to that Holy War he threw Declar'd him more than Pope a Christian too When France observ'd him scourge the Infidels Quite different from his Pagan Principles His Mother Church th' Apostate durst condemn And slight her power to make his own Supreme Nor longer own'd Romes Doctrine his Soul's guide When its Ambition was unsatisfied This faultless Prelate if e'er Pope was so Sounded his Wiles and Plots did overthrow Lent th' golden Mattock to this pious work And balk'd both Pagan and the Christian Turk Who slily did like snarling Blood-hound lurk To snap the Prey and gorge himself alone When th' rest were tir'd with fighting for the bone Mourn all ye neighb'ring Princes sigh and mourn Old Rome will now to her old Sins return Her Scarlet Robe has for a time been clean But with new Errors will new Spots be seen Now each ambitious Cardinal bribes high To fill the Conclave for the Prelacy Which gain'd the inchanted Purse strait shuts as close As if the strings were never to unloose The Fish is caught farewel Hipocrisie The Vizor banish'd and the Net laid by Religion late was beyond Gold preferr'd But profit now 's the only sound is heard Vile Sores o'er Romes corrupted Body grow Her Trunk is filthy now her Head lies low For when as some rich honest Farmer dies Leaving behind him Lands and Legacies His brainless Offâ—Spring by their Vice allur'd Destroy the Crop which he with care manur'd His Garden 's fruitless and
Lord are going to Command Their darling Genius Claps her joyful Wings And your Approach in lofty numbers sings The Sun 's atractive force they knew before Exhaling Dews from every Plant and Flow'r But this new Influence they learn from you That to a point he can draw Virtue too III. 'T is said indeed this generative Heat In parching Climes most Worthies does beget And that no Northern Nation can inspire Her sickly Sons with such Heroick fire But I could never credit this till now The Sympathy is verifi'd in you That still your liking for those parts have shown Where the hot glittering God attracts his own IV. As some fond Mother that with tender Care Sees her young Darling posting to the War Oppress'd with Sorrow does the Parting view Hates he should go yet loves his Glory too Such Grief my Lord Your mourning Friends all share When of your Voyage the sad News they hear And jointly wish America could know The Jem she gains without their loss in you V. But still to have you were too great a Grace Perfection ne'er continues in one place So Angels did in former time appear Gave us true Joy but staid but little here To cheer the World your Virtues Heaven design'd And could not in one Island be confin'd Worth like the Sun so universal known 'T is fit should bless more Countries than your own VI. Well may those happy Isles serene appear But we I fear shall find it Clowdy here If Comets are oblig'd t' infest the Skies At a States Change or when a Monarch dies Methinks they should their fâ—tal Fears infuse Into our Hearts when we a Worthy lose Did not wise Heaven think it vain to show A Prodigy for Plagues too well we know VII In taking you Fate leaves us poor and bare The mighty Sum is more than we can spare For common Losses common Tears we shower But Sir your Merit will command much more The aking Hearts of all your Countrymen When Woes are deepest fewest Tears are seen And when Grief burns within where none can spy The bubbling Fountains of the Head are dry VIII To thy own safety England have regard The Loyal and the Brave are rarely spar'd In props of Virtue we are not so rich But such a Pillar gone will will make a Breach Crowds may drop off like Hair of no Esteem But when one Hero goes we lose a Limb Well Britain may thy Arms the World o'er come When thou canst spare an Albemarle from Home IX He that when late Rebellious Seeds grew high And proud Sedition trod on Loyalty Encompass'd round with Dangers and with Foes Numerous as Dust when the wild Tempest blows With Fortitude undaunted durst defy The Force and Favors of the Enemy From his lov'd Country should Affection claim Dear as his own and lasting as his Fame X. All good Men know that then he nobly serv'd And to his utmost power the Throne preserv'd Iames found his Vigilance and Conduct right Tho upstart Davus snarl'd and durst not bite Nor can a Royal Heart unmindful be Of stanch Hereditary Loyalty For none should Monarchs of Remissness charge Their Memories are like their Glories large XI A stedfast Duty and a Faith entire We know the Jem is right that past the fire So good our Nations Genius was afraid To lose a Prize so proper for her Aid And lest light Coffers by true Bounty drein'd A Mighty Prince should Merchandising send Neptune as if he brib'd him not to go Sent him a Present from his hoar'd below XII Seven Wonders Ancient Chronicles relate Now change the Scene and make the number Eight T is well Renowned Britain that with thee No Land can vie for Wit or Industry If Honor could the Argumenâ— maintain As well as politick Designs for Gain The World would then thy wondrous Merit know And Heaven above as the Salt Deeps below XIII Gigantick Rocks ravish'd the wealthy Ore A Peoples Ruin the Rich Vessel bore And Providence for Ends now known confin'd In Coral Groves the Mistress of Mankind Full forty Years the pensive Beauty lay Low in a Sea-Gods Cell to which-none found the Way Till Phip's inspir'd arriv'd and Heaven thought well To bless our Hero by a Miracle XIV 'T were wondrous well if Fate would order so That Monarchs every Subjects Heart could know They then the difference of Men might see That serve for Interest or for Loyalty To build their Fortunes many plow the Main Their Duty is encourag'd by their Gain But he that leaves a Greatness so well known Merely to serve his Prince is Loyal Monk alone XV. For who but he would leave the Bowers of Peace Of blest Contentment and delightful Ease To war with Blasts and Fevers of the Skies Half buz'd to death by Buccaneering Flies Who would the tiresome Voyage undergo When Profit has no Golden face to show Or who but he the hot Fatigue would bear And leave New-Hall to be a Viceroy there XVI New-Hall the true Elizium of the Eye The glorious Seat of ancient Royalty Where Art and Nature seem by Heaven design'd To strive which shall be Master of their kinâ— And as the pretious Ore in Golden Mines Nature produces but 't is Art that coins So she by Paradise this Model drew And Art improv'd the Beauties as they grew XVII The curious Gardens that delight the Eye Shew the gay Scene of blest Variety Sweet as a Virgin that has never known The scorching passions of the vicious Town Ceres and Flora here their Bounty show And Fruits and Flowers so Luxurious grow As Adam here had us'd his primitive Spade And from his Markeâ— has just learnt the Trade XVIII Next take the Park and prospect in your view Apelles never such a Landshape drew Tall Sons of â—â—rth three quarters of a Mile Weaving their Branches frame a wond'rous Isle Here the poor Traveller relief to gain From the oppressing Storms of Wind and Rain Tir'd with his tedious Journey slacks his pace Sits down looks round and wonders at the Place XIX The Nightingalâ— in every Grove impart By Nature Airs that need no help of Art No Artist sent from Italy comes there And yet no Eunuch ever sung so rare Curse your ill Stars ye poor disgender'd crew Each Linnet has a better Fate than you For they can in the charming Chorus join And yet enjoy the Pleasures of their kind XX. The happy Herds of Dear then Feasting see Emblems of Innocence and Amity That feed and love together couch and rise Never debauch'd with strife or mortal Vice But silently their great Creator praise And if they chance to see a human Face With eager speed they from the Object run And gaze and wonder at the Monster Man XXI Reflect vain Creature with errected Face That claim'st command o'er the four-footed Race How much thy lazy Virtue they 'd out do If they were blest with sacred Reason too Proud of thy Gifts yet Heaven in them do find More truth nay more