p. 99 On the Death of my Brother a Sonnet p. 107 Resolved never to Versifie more p. 108 ERRATA PArt I. Page 19. Line 1. for the read ye Part II. Page 47. line 4. for Celestial read the Celestial Page 48. line 4. for crack read choak Page 61. line 6. for your read you Page 89. line 7. for Things read Thinns Page 192. line 6. for but obtain read obtain Page 211. line 8. for streams read stream Page 268. line ult for reserv'd read refin'd Page 278. line 19. for Fight read Sight Miscellany POEMS PART I. By Mrs. IANE BARKER An Invitation to my Friends at Cambridge IF Friends you would but now this place accost E're the young Spring that Epithet has lost And of my rural joy participate You 'd learn to talk at this distracted rate Hail Solitude where Innocence do's shroud Her unvail'd Beauties from the cens'ring Croud Let me but have her Company and I Shall never envy this Worldâ—s Gallantry We 'll find out such inventions to delude And mock all those that mock our solitude That they for shame shall fly for their defence To gentle Solitude and Innocence Then they will find how much they 've been deceiv'd When they the flatt'ries of this World believ'd Though to few Objects here we are confin'd Yet we have full inlargement of the Mind From varying Modes which do our Lives inslave Lo here a full Immunity we have For here 's no pride but in the Sun 's bright Beams Nor murmuring but in the Crystal streams No avarice is here but in the Bees Nor is Ambition found but in the Trees No Wantonness but in the frisking Lambâ— Nor Luxury but when they suck their Dams Nor are there here Contrivances of States Only the Birds contrive to please their Mates Each minute they alternately improve A thousand harmless ways their artless love No Cruel Nymphs are here to tyrannize Nor faithless Youths their scorn to exercise Unless Narcissus be that sullen he That can despise his am'rous talking she No Emulation here do's interpose Unless betwixt the Tulip and the Rose But all things do conspire to make us bless'd Yet chiefly 't is Contentment makes the Feast 'T is such a pleasing solitude as yet Romance ne're found where happy Lovers met Yea such a kind of solitude it is Not much unlike to that of Paradise Where all things do their choicest good dispence And I too here am plac'd in innocence I shou'd conclude that such it really were But that the Tree of Knowledge won't grow hereâ— Though in its culture I have spent some time Yet it disdains to grow in our cold Clime Where it can neither Fruit nor Leaves produce Good for its owner or the publick use How can we hope our Minds then to adorn With any thing with which they were not born Since we 're deny'd to make this small advance To know their nakedness and ignorance For in our Maker's Laws we 've made a breach And gather'd all that was within our reach Which since we ne're could touch Altho' our Eyes Do serve our longing-Souls to tantalize Whilst kinder fate for you do's constitute Luxurious Banquets of this dainty Fruit. Whose Tree most fresh and flourishing do's grow E'er since it was transplanted amongst you And you in Wit grow as its branches high Deep as its Root too in Philosophy Large as its spreading Arms your Reasons grow Close as its Umbrage do's your Iudgments show Fresh as its Leaves your sprouting fancies are Your Vertues as its Fruits are bright and fair To Mr. HILL on his Verses to the Dutchess of YORK when she was at Cambridge WHat fitter Subject could be for thy Wit What Wit for Subject could there be more fit Than thine for this by which thou 'st nobly shew'd Thy Soul with Loyal Sentiments endew'd Not only so but prov'd thy self to be Mirrour of what her Highness came to see VVho having seen the Schools of Art the best She found concenter'd in thy matchless Breast And doubtless when she saw the eager joys Of Ears no less ambitious than their Eyes She did conclude their coming was not there To see her only but thy Wit to hear Thine whose ascent shall learned Cambridge grace And shew it 's no such foggy level place As most aâ—firm for now the VVorld shall know That Woods and Hills of wit in Cambridge grow VVhose lofty tops such pleasing Umbrage make As may induce the Gallants to forsake Their dear-lov'd Town to gather in this place Some witticisms of a better race Than what proceed from swearing Criticks who Kick Tavern Boys and Orange-Wenches wooe Are Machavillians in a Coâ—fee-house And think it wit a poor Street-Whore to chouse And for their Father Hobbs will talk so high Rather than him they will their God deny And lest their wit should want a surer proof They boast of crimes they ne're were guilty of Thus hellish cunning drest in Masquerade Of Wit 's disguise so many have betray'd And made them Bondslaves who at first did fly Thither Wit 's famine only to supply But now I hope they 'll find the task too great And think at last of making a retreat Since here 's a Pisgah-Hill whereon to stand To take a prospect of Wit 's holy Land Flowing with Milk of Christian innocence And Honey of Cic'ronian Eloquence To my Cousin Mr. E. F. on his Excellent PAINTING SHould I in tuneless lines strive to express That harmony which all your lines confess Ambition would my judgment so out-run Ev'n as an Archer that would hit the Sun. My Muse alas is of that humble size She scarce can to a Counter-tenour rise Much less must she to treble notes aspire To match the Beauties of your pencilâ—s Quire Yet quite forbear to sing she canâ—t since you Such ample objects for her praises shew No Poet here can have his tongue confin'd Unless he 's like his Master Homer blind But must in spight of all his conscious fears Say something where such Excellence appears VVhere each line is in such due order plac'd Nature stands by afraid to be disgrac'd Lo in the Eye such graces do appear As if all Beauties were united there Yet diffâ—rent Passions seem therein to move Grave ev'n as VVisdom brisk and sweet as Love The lips which always are committing rapes To which the Youths fly more than Birds to th' Grapes With colour that transcends the Indian-lake And harmless smiles they do their Conquests make I should be tedious should I mention all VVhich Iustice would the chiefest Beauties call VVhose line'ments all harmony do shew And yet no less express all Beauty too A strange reverse of nature seems to be That now we Beauty hear and Musick see Yet just proportion in true numbers meer VVhich make a Chorus even heav'nly sweet Could I think Antient Painters equallâ—d thee I should conclude Romance true History Not think it strange that Pictures could excite Those Gallant Hero's then to love and fight Nor
Ladies linger Loves As if not ripe till rotten II. Gray hairs are fitter for the Grave Than for the Bridal Bed What pleasure can a Lover have In a wither'd Maiden-head Nature's exalted in our time And what our Grandams then At four and twenty scarce cou'd climb We can arrive at Ten. SONG The Prodigal's Resolution I. I Am a lusty lively Lad Arriv'd at One-and-Twenty My Father left me all he had Both Gold and Silver plenty Now He 's in Grave I will be brave The Ladies shall adore me I 'll Court and Kiss what hurt 's in this My Dad did so before me II. My Father to get my Estate Though selfish yet was slavish I 'll spend it at another rate And be as leudly lavish From Mad-men Fools and Knaves he did Litigiously receive it If so he did Iustice forbid But I to such shou'd leave it III. Then I 'll to Court where Venus sport Doth Revel it in plenty And deal with all both great and small From twelve to five and twenty In Play-houses I 'll spend my Days For there are store of Misses Ladies make room behold I come To purchase many Kisses SONG The Doubtfull Lover Resolv'd FAin wou'd I Love but that I fear I quickly shou'd the Willow wear Fain wou'd I Marry but Men say When Love is try'd he will away Then tell me Love what I shall doe To cure these Fears when e'er I Wooe The Fair one she 's a mark to all The Brown one each doth lovely call The Black a Pearl in fair Mens Eyes The rest will stoop to any prize Then tell me Love what I shall doe To cure these Fears when e'er I Woe Reply Go Lover know it is not I That wound with fear or jealousie Nor do Men feel those smarts Untill they have confin'd their Hearts Then if you 'll cure your Fears you shall Love neither Fair Black Brown but all SONG The CAVALIER's CATCH I. DID you see this Cup of Liquor How invitingly it looks 'T will make a Lawyer prattle quicker And a Scholar burn his Books 'T will make a Cripple for to Caper And a Dumb Man clearly Sing 'T will make a Coward draw his Rapier Here 's a Health to Iames our King. II. If that here be any Round-head That refuse this Health to pledgeâ— I wish he then may be confounded Underneath some rotten Hedge May the French Disease o'er-take him And upon hâ—s Face appear And his Wife a Cuckold make him By some Iovial Cavalier SONG On Sight of a LADY's Face in the Water STand still ye Floods do not deface That Image which you bear So Votaries from ev'ry place To you shall Altars rear No Winds but Lovers sighs blow here To trouble these glad streams On which no Star from any Sphere Did ever dart such Beams To Crystal then in hast congeal Lest you shou'd lose your bliss And to my cruel Fair reveal How cold how hard she is But if the envious Nymphs shall fear Their Beauties will be scorn'd And hire the ruder Winds to tear That Face which you adorn'd Then rage and foam amain that we Their Malice may despise And from your froths we soon shall see A second Venus rise SONG I. IF mighty Wealth that gives the Rules To Vitious Men and cheated Fools Cou'd but preserve me in the prime Of blooming Youth and purchase Time Then I wou'd covet Riches too And scrape and cheat as others doe II. But since that Life must slide away And Wealth can't purchase one poor day Why shou'd my cares encrease my pain And wast my time with sighs in vain Since Riches cannot Life supply It is a useless Poverty III. Swift time that can't be bought to stay I 'll try to guide the gentlest way With chearfull Friends brisk Wine shall pass And drown a care in ev'ry Glass Sometimes diverted with Loves Charms I 'll pleasure take in Celia's Arms. On the Serpentine Combustion by Squibs on my Mayor's Day An HEROICK POEM Written Octob. 29. 1686. OF Hoods demolish'd Towers laid full low Of crackling Crape and Manto's brought to woe Of Scarf consum'd and Periwig on fire Flaming Cravat and ruinated Squire Of lighted Petticoat and Neck-cloth blazing Whisk turn'd to Ashes and fond Fops a gazing Cuffs chark'd to Coal and Point turn'd all to Cinder And Gause soon Meâ—amorphos'd into Tinder Of shining Gorget sparkling Iump of Fustian And Apron deeply lac'd in dire Combustion Scorch'd Quoif aloft and sindged Smock alow I thought to sing in ample wise I trow Unto the tune of Fortune is my Foe But found the task too great for my weak Quill For who is he that artfully can tell How skipp'd the Squire how the frighted Maid And like to Rocket danc'd the Serenade To shun the track of Serpent looking out For neat-made Manto and well-fashion'd Suit. As if when he had cast his Paper-skin With those he did intend to cloath again Or that to humane covering in spite He 'd have each Mortal to turn Adamite And fire all although but thinly clad Esteeming Cloaths as Goods prohibited Fierce in a quick pursuit he scouts around Where Linnen or where Woollen's to be found And in his greedy rage and hungry wroth Devours Garments faster than the Moth. Within his blazing Circuit as he wheels Still making faster at the Head than Heels Mounting aloft on ground he makes small stay But into arched Windows leads his way Where Myriads following make each Balcone Involv'd in Flames look like the torrid Zone Swiftly they move about with dismal quest Not to be charm'd by an Egyptian Priest But still must cruise about where good Attire is Spight both of Isis and her Friend Osiris Scorning each Talisman or Magick Spell Dreadfull as Dragons and as Python fell Scarce e'er to be destroy'd for Sages write These Monsters still will annually affright And Hoods and Perukes with hot jaws will swallow Untill the City Praetor turn Apollo Lest there shou'd some misconstruction be made of this last Verse let the Reader know that it alludes to that Fiction of Apollo's killing the Serpent Python And so Allegorically intimates that those fiery Serpents which usually fly about on my Lord Mayor's day will annually continue so to do unless destroy'd by him TO MY Much-esteemed Friend Mr. I. N. ON HIS Reading the first line of PINDAR 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 c. HOld there 's enough nay 't is o'er mickle 'T is worse than Cant in Conventicle Is this the much-fam'd Friend to th' Muses Who thus their Helicon abuses Whose praise on Water thus is wasted Claret the Puppy never tasted What the Devil was his humour To raise so scandalous a rumour 'T is well 't is Greek that few may know it Or 't were enough t' infect a Poet It is High Treason I 'll aver it Against the Majesty of Claret Sternhold and Hopkins heard it said so Not that I believe they read so Therefore they gorg'd their Muse with Water And spew'd up eke and also after To
noble Verse sets off your Paint Her Poetry alone can dub a Saint TO COSMELIA ON HER Departure into the COUNTREY FArewell fair Mistress of my chief dâ—sires Whose charming Beauties kindleth pleasing fires Whilst I sad Fate must here forlorn remain Since you fair Conqu'ress do my Heart retain To you the Center of my Love it flies And ne'er can rest till it enjoys or dyes Farewell dear Eyes it will be tedious Night With me as long as I do want your light Farewell those ruby Lips which seem to me Of Nature's Glory an Epitome The Nectar and Ambrosia I shall want That hang on them and fast an irksome Lent. Farewell best Tongue now Thee I shall not hear I wou'd not care if all things silent were Farewell all fair Beauty I shall not view Untill again I do behold 't in You. Farewell Physician of my love-sick Soul Your sight alone can make your Patient whole On a ROSE sticking on a Ladies Breast SWeet fading Flower that with the Sun's uprise Unfold'st thy Bud and in the Ev'ning dyes Swell now with beauteous pride and let thy bright And blushing Leaves joy and refresh our sight Incorporate thy sweet and fragrant smell With those refreshing Odours there do dwell Blest ah for ever blest be that fair Hand That did transplant thee to that Sacred Land. Oh happy Rose that in that Garden rests That Paradise betwixt that Ladies Breasts There 's an Eternal Spring where thou shalt lye Betwixt two Lilly Mounts and never dye There thou shalt spring among the fertile Vallies By buds like thee that grow in midst of Allies There none dare pluck thee from that sacred place Nor yet attempt thy Beauty to deface If any but approach strait doth arise A most surprizing light which blasts his Eyes There ' stead of Ruin shall living Fountains flow For Wind her fragrant Breath for ever blow Nor now as wont shall one bright Sun thee cheer But two conjoyn'd which from her Eyes appear Oh then what Monarch wou'd not think 't a Grace To leave his Regal Throne to have thy place My self to gain thy blessed seat do Vow Wou'd be transform'd into a Rose as thou ON THE Most Charming GALECIA's PICTURE HAppy the Hand which to our longing sight Presents that Beauty which the dazling light Of your bright Charms do's hide from weaker Eyes And all access save by this Art denies 'T is only here our Sight hath strength to view Those Beauties which do terminate in you By this your great Perfections we conceive The Gracious Image seeming to give leave Which daily by your Votaries is seen And by the Muses has saluted been Who whilst an Infant placed in your Hand The Bays so many strove for in this Land. Wisely fore-seeing your Poetick Pen Might claim the primacy of th'wittiest Men. 〈◊〉 you th' extreams of Pow'r and Beauty move â—ho are the Quintessence and Soul of Love. â—s the bright Sun whose distant Beams delight â—f equal Glory to your Beauties light â—s wisely plâ—c'd in so sublime a seat â—'extend his light and moderate his heat â—o happy 't is you move in such a Sphere Which do's not over-come our sence but chear And in our Breasts do's qualifie that fire Which kindled by those Eyes hâ—d flamed higher Than when the scorched World like hazard run By the approach of the ill-guided Sun. Such Eyes as yours on Iove himself have thrown As bright and fierce a lightning as his own THE YOUNG LOVER's ADVOCATE BEING An Answer to a Copy of Verses Written by Galaecia to her Young Lover on his Vow TOo rigid too censorious and severe Your unjust scruples plainly do appear Why shou'd you question that most sacred Vow Which in sincerity I made but now Did I not Vow by all the Pow'rs above None but Galaecia shou'd but obtain my Love I did and made a Cov'nant with my Eyes No other Beauties shou'd my Heart surprize And may those Pow'rs their vengeance from above Show'r on my head when e'er I perjur'd prove A thousand Deaths I 'd rather chuse to dye Than once my Faith to break or falsifie Not all your Sexes charms shall tempt me more No other Object shall my Soul adore Thy Sex alas is but a Lottery Where thousand Blanks for one true Prize we see And since kind Fate has giv'n me such a Lott Think you I 'll hazard what 's so hardly got No rather think me constant as the Sun Who never sâ—ts till he his race hath run Firm as the Centre as the Poles unmov'd Faithfull as honest Swains to their Belov'd But you alledge for Love I am too green Though two years turn'd and upwards of Eighteen Alas too long I think I 've been debarr'd And five years since Love's pleasures shou'd have shar'd Lovers as young as me I can produce As Precedents to warrant my Excuse The Famous Sappho summ'd up all her joy In the Embrace of a Sicilian Boy The Queen of Greece lov'd Theseus but a Lad And Cytharea her Adonis had Nay Love himself that God is but a Child Shall I for want of Years then be Exil'd Yea I have heard fair Virgins say in truth Of all that love give me the smooth-chinn'd Youth My tender years my innocence may prove And non-acquaintance with the Wiles of Love. To my Ingenious Friend Mrs. IANE BARKER ON MY Publishing her Romance of SCIPINA COu'd I the Censure of each Critick dread Before your Book my Lines shou'd not be read For 't will be thought shou'd I attempt your Praise Trophies of Int'rest to my self I 'd raise Since the same Pen that wou'd applaud my Friend At once my Copy and her Lines commend Nor cou'd my Silence 'scape from Censure free Then other Hands they 'd say I brib'd for theâ— Yet cou'd Applause your learned Piece set forth To make your Fame as endless as your Worth I wou'd invoke some gentle Muse t' inspire My active Pen with a Poetick fire That it might blazon forth your Matchless Wit And your due Merits to the World transmit But since this Subject doth require the Skill Or of a Maro or a Waller's Quill I must desist and quit the brave design And the great task to better hands resign Only as th' empty Coach is wont t' attend To Mourn the Obsequies of some dear Friend So shall my Worthless lines ev'n now appear For want of better to bring up the Rear Of those that welcome th' Issue of your Wit Which in so soft and smooth a Style you 've writ You fair Scipina's Name do here advance Unto the Title of a sam'd Romance Then in smooth Lines you celebrate her Praise And crown her Temples with immortal Bays Her Heroes Fights you bravely have exprest Till blest with Peace he in her Arms finds rest How wou'd it please the gallant Scipio's Ghost The bravest Gen'ral th' Elyzian Fields can boast To see his Battles acted o'er again By thy victorious and triumphant Pen. Thy Virgin Muse soars upwards
see how busie weâ— Are in Anaâ—omie thou d'st laugh to see our Ignorance Who some things miss some things hit by chance For we at best do but in twilight go Whilst thou see'st all by th' most Transcendent light Compar'd to which the Sun 's bright Rays are night Yet so Coelestial are thine Eyes That Light can neither dazzle nor surprize For all things there So perfect are And freely they their qualities dispence Without the mixture of Terrestrial dross Without hazard harm or loss O joys Eternal satiating Sence And yet the Sence the smallest part in gross On the DEATH of my Brother A SONNET I. ASk me not why the Rose doth fade Lillies look pale and Flowers dye Question not why the Myrtle shade Her wonted shadows doth deny II. Seek not to know from whence begun The sadness of the Nightingale Nor why the Heliotrope and Sun Their constant Amity do fail III. The Turâ—les grief look not upon Nor reason why the Palm-trees mourn When Widow-like they 're left alone Nor Phoenix why her self doth burn IV. For since He 's dead which Life did give To all these things which here I name They fade change wither cease to live Pine and consume into a Flame MISCELLANEA OR THE Second Part OF POETICAL RECREATIONS Compos'd by several Authors Non ubi plura nitent in carmine paucis Offendi maculis quas aut incuria fudit Aut humana parum cavit Natura Hor. LONDON Printed for Benjamin Crayle at the Peacock and Bible at the West-end of St. Pauls 1688. A TABLE OF THE POEMS Contained in the Second Part OF POETICAL RECREATIONS A Paraphrase on an Hymn Sung when the Corps is at the Grave By T. S. Fellow of Maudlinâ— Colledge Oxon. Page 1 Advice to his Friends lamenting the Death of I. F. By the same Hand p. 3 â—pitaph on Mrs. E. F. who sickned of the Small Pox and deceased Decemb. 31. 1686. being the Day before her intended Nuptials p. 5 An Epitaph to the Memory of Sir Palme Fairborn Governour of Tangier c. p. 6 An Elegy on the Death of N. D. Doctor of Physick p. 7 Upon Heaven p. 1â— On the Martyrdom of King Charles the First p. 1â— Upon one's Birth-day p. 1â— Upon Christ's Nativity p. 1â— On the same p. 1â— More on the same Subject p. 21. On New-years-day p. 23 Eyes and Tears p. 2â— To Mrs. Iane Barker on her Romance of Scipinâ— By I. N. Fellow of St. Iohn's Colledge Cambridge p. 2â— To Mrs. Iane Barker on her Resolution of Versifyinâ— no more By the same Author p. 3â— To Mrs. Iane Barker on her Incomparable Romancâ— of Scipina By a Gent. of St. Iohn's Col. Camb. p. 3â— On the Posthume and Precious Poems of Sir Mathew Hale By a Gentleman of Lincolns-Inn p. 3â— To Mr. Tho. Wright on his Compendious Histories entituled God's Revenge against Murther anâ— Adultery with The Triumphs of Friendshiâ— and Chastity By I. Whitehall p. 3â— On the same By another Hand p. 4â— On Christmas-day p. 4â— On Death p. 4â— On the Divine Spirit p. 4â— To the Memory of the Illustrious Prince George Duâ—â— of Buckingham p. 4â— Upon the Death of Oliver Cromwell in Answer 〈◊〉 Mr. W 's Verses By Mr. Godolphin p. 5â— On the last Dutch War By Mr. B. Willie somâ—tiâ—â— Mr. of the Free-School of Newark upon Trent p. 55 The last Sayings of a Mouse lately starved in a Cupboard p. 59 To the Secretary of the Muses A New-years-gift p. 62. An Epitaph on the Secretary to the Muses p. 65 A Satyr in Answer to the Satyr against Man By T. L. of Wadham-Colledge Oxon. p. 67 A Congratulatory Poem to his most Sacred Majesty Iames the second c. on his late Victories o'er the Rebels in the West p. 83 On the same p. 85 A Panegyrick on his Present Majesty Iames the Second c. p. 86 A Congratulatory Poem to his Majesty Iames the Second on his Succession to the Crown p. 91 On the Presentation of a Bird to his Mistriss p. 94. Advice to silly Maids By an Unknown Author p. 95 Farther Advice to Young Ladies p. 98 Advice to a Town-Miss By Mr. Worsdell p. 100 The Preâ—erence of a Single Life before Marriage Written at the Request of a Lady p. 102 Upon Clarinda's putting on her Vizard-Mask p. 103 The Middle Sister ascribed to Clarinda p. 105 An Elougy on Mrs. M. â— By a Gent. of the Inner-Temple p. 106 A Love-Poem By an Oxford Gentleman p. 109 Another Love-Poem By the same Author p. 112 The Lovâ—r's Will p. 114 A Love Letter By W. S. M. D. p. 116 A Speech to his Mistriss in a Garden p. 118 An Address to a Gentlewoman walking in a Garden By an Oxford Gentleman p. 119 Upon a Gentlewomans Refusal of a Letter from one she was engaged to By Sir C. S. p. 122 In Praise of a Deformed but Virtuous Lady or a Satyr on Beauty p. 125 A Love-Letter By W. S. Gent. p. 129 In Praise of Letters p. 131 The Idea By Charles Cotton Esq p. 133 Love's Sympathy p. 134 A Pindarique Ode on Mr. Cowley p. 136 An Ode By Mr. R. D. of Cambridge p. 137 An Ode of Anacreon Paraphras'd Beauties Force p. 138 A Pindarique Ode By Mr. I. Whitehall p. 140 From Ovid's Amorum lib. 2. El. 4. and Lucretius lib. 4. That he loves Women of all sorts and sizes p. 142 The Parallel p. 145 Song p. 147 The Young Lover a Song By Mr. Wright p. 149 The Prodigal's Resolution Song p. 150 The Doubtfull Lover Resolv'd A Song p. 151 Song The Cavalier's Catch p. 153 On sight of a Ladies Face in the Water Song p. 154 A Song p. 155 On the Serpentine Combustion by Squibs on my Lord Mayor's Day An Heroick Poem p. 156 To his much â—steemed Friend Mr. I. N. on his Reading the â—irst Line of Pindar 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 c. by Mr. Whitehall p. 159 A Dialogue between Iack and Dick concerning the Prohibition of French Wines p. 161 The 12 following Copies done by the Publisher To Clarinda on her Incomparable Painting and Wax-work p. 172 A Young Man to an Old Woman courting him p. 174 To Clarinda a Song p. 177 On his Secret Passion for Cosmelia p. 179 To Clarinda on his Deserting her and loving Cosmelia p. 185 To Cosmelia on her Departure into the Country p. 187 On a Rose sâ—icking on a Ladies Breast p. 188 On the most Charming Galecia's Picture p. 190 The Young Lover's Adâ—ocate being an Answer to a Copy of Verses Written by Galaecia to her Young Lover on his Vow p. 192 To my Ingenious Friend Mrs. Iane Barker on my Publishing her Romance of Scipina p. 194 A Batchellor's Life in pursuit of Mrs. Barkers Verses in Praise of a Single Life p. 196 The Exchange of Hearts A Song p. 199. Upon a Flock of Gold-finches p. 200 An Answer of the Poet to one complaining of their Negligence in not Writing the Duke of Buckingham's Elegy p. 204 These
your Sexes Excellence That Sex which doth in you Triumphant come To praise with Wit of Greece the Arms of Rome Secur'd by solid Sence you soar sublime Above the little flutt'ring flights of Rhime Antient Philosophy embrac'd by few Smiles and looks young to be caress'd by you Out-rivals Love and drives him from your Breast And is alone of your whole self possest No Word of yours the nicest can reprove To show a more than modest sense of Love But something still like inspiration shines Through the bright Virgin Candor of your lines How well are all your Hero's toyls and fights His long laborious Days and restless Nights Re-paid with Glory by your charming Pen How gladly wou'd he act them o'er again The Great Cornelian Race with wonder view The Asian Conquerour thus adorn'd by you And th' younger Scipio willingly wou'd quit His Titles for your more Triumphant Wit. On then brave Maid secure of Fame advance 'Gainst the Scaroons and Scudderies of France Shew them your claim let nought your Merit awe Your Title 's good spight of the Salique-Law Safe in the Triumphs of your Wit remain Our English Laws admit a Woman's Reign EXILIUS ON THE POSTHUME and Precious POEMS OF Sir MATTHEW HALE Late Lord Chief Iustice of His Majesty's Court of King's-Bench By a Gentleman of Lincolns-Inn THE Rose and other fragrant Flow'rs smell best When they are pluck'd and worn in Hand or Breast So this fair Flow'r of Vertue this rare Bud Of Wit smells now as fresh as when he stood And by his Poetry doth let us know He on the Banks of Helicon did grow The Beauties of his Soul apparent shine Both in his Works and Poetry Divine In him all Vertues met th' Exemplary Of Wisdom Learning and true Piety Farewell Fam'd Iudge Minion of Thespian Dameâ— Apollo's Darling born with Enthian Flames Which in thy numbers wave and shine so clear As sparks refracted in rich Iems appear Such Flames as may inspire and Atoms cast To make new Poets not like him in hast To the Admir'd AUTHOR Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT ON HIS Incomparable HISTORIES ENTITULED God's Revenge against Murther and Adultery with the Triumphs of Friendship and Chastity Newly published in a small Vol. 80. By Mr. I. Whitehall SInce the too bold aspiring Angel fell By his Ambition and his Pride to Hell And since Rebellious Man lost Paradise The World is fill'd with various sorts of Vice Murther and Lust twin Tyrants long have reign'd And a vast Empire through the World maintain'd The Sword of Iustice could not stop their rage They 've boldly tyranniz'd in ev'ry Age Nor cou'd Divines their furious heat asswage Yet doubtless Friend th' Examples you have giv'n May give them prospect of revenging Heav'n Your Pen with Eloquence divine inspir'd Will cool the Souls with Lust and Murther fir'd Tame all the Passions regulate the Will And stop that Rage which guiltless blood wou'd spill Such charming Oratory it doth give As teacheth us by others Death to live And from a Life of Chastity and Love A great Advantage to our selves improve To tell thy Fame I want great Spencer's Skill The gentle charming pow'r of Cowley's Quill All Men of Sence will praise thy matchless Prose For sharpest Briar bears the sweetest Rose To his Ingenious FRIEND Mr. THOMAS WRIGHT ON HIS Compendious HISTORIES OF Murther Adultery Friendship and Chastity Some of the former being Epitomiz'd from Mr. Reynold's Murthers By another Hand MAny 't is true knew of this Golden Mine But all their Skill cou'd not the Ore Refine Th' inimitable REYNOLD's very Name Startled at first our greatest Men of Fame Each one by fear from that great task was hurl'd And tho'lanch'd out their Sails were quickly furl'd Wanting thy courage they cou'd never soar To this high pitch which none e'er reach'd beâ—orâ— The Vulgar paths thou shun'st soaring sublime Till with quaint Eloquence thou fraught'st each line None yet so sweetly charm'd with Sence the times So gently and so well rebuk'd such crimes As you my Friend have done for you present Vice so deform'd the Wicked will repent And by Examples of the chast and kind Fix bright Embellishments upon the Mind Such as may make us to improve and be Like patterns of Heroick Piety Thy Wit and Skill may former Artists blame And Reynold's Murthers now we must not name As sable Darkness which attends the Night To the Days Sun-beams is its opposite So Vice from Vertue Wrong from Right 's the same Then how canst thou write wrong when WRIGHT's thy Name ON Christmas-day O God! who art most Excellent and Wise I see the Morning Beams break through the Skies And with great admiration view the Light Which dissipates Nights darkness from my sight But with a greater wonder I look on Those bright Illuminations which thy Son Hath brought to light by 's Incarnation Look and admire I may but can't express Such heights and depths of Love in Prose or Verse 'T is beyond th' art of Rhet'rick to display What Chrisâ—ians solemnize this Fâ—stal day Two sacred Words are an Epiâ—ome Of what 's effected in this Mystery Redemption and Salvation heav'nly Letters Which freed fall'n Man from th' Bondage of his Fetters Lust and Ambition Avarice and Fraud Was then his Master and his Passions Lord Till Christ his great Redeemer broke the Chain And placed him in Paradise again O Love most infinite O Love divine This Mystery of Love was truly thine For neither Men nor Angels could atone Th' Almighty's Wrath but God and Man in one Wherefore Divinity submits to be Lodg'd in a Vessel of Humanity How ioyfully â—he heav'nly Host above Proclaim to Man glad tydings of thy Love And shall Mankind so much ungrateful be Or rather sink into stupidity As not with equal Ioy this Message hear And all due Rev'rence to their Saviour bear And finally Let 's end these Festal days With sweet Doxologies and Songs of Praise UPON DEATH NAked I came from out my Mother's Womb And naked must return unto my Tomb Disrob'd of all Injoyments here below Or what my Fancy had esteemed so Laid down in silence and by all forgot Left in an Earthly Sepulchre to rot And turn to noisome and corrupted Clay My Manly Shape and Figure worn away Thus when our little breath and life 's once gone We make a Feast for Worms to feed upon And though we shou'd the most Endearments have Of Wife and Children too yet we must leave Them and their Fortunes unto Providence When pale-fac'd Death shall summon us from hence Why do we stand amaz'd and seem to fear When e'er the news of a Friend's Death we hear And not much rather to applaud the Tongue That brought intelligence he liv'd so long For Life's so mutable each little blast May the whole Fabrick unto ruin hast Life is a Bubble which now you see here And in a moments time do's disappear Full as inconstant as the Wind alas 'T is far more brittle than a Venice-Glass
Vultures or wing'd Navy flyes Under the Tropicks he is understood And brings home Rapine through a Purple Flood New Circulations found our Blood is hurl'd As round the lesser so the greater VVorld In Civil Wars he did us first engage And made Three Kingdoms subject to his rage One fatal stroke slew Iustice and the cause Of Truth Religion and our Sacred Laws So fell Achilles by the Trojan Band Though he still fought with Heav'n it self in hand Nor cou'd Domestick Spoil confine his Mind Nor limits to his fury but Mankind The Brittish Youth in Foreign Coasts are sent Towns to destroy but more to Banishment VVho since they cannot in this Isle abide Are confin'd Pris'ners to the VVorld beside No wonder then if we no tears allow To him who gave us Wars and Ruin too Tyrants that lov'd him griev'd concern'd to see There must be punishment to crueltie Nature her self rejoyced at his Death And on the Halter sung with such a Breath As made the Sea dance higher than before While her glad Waves came dancing to the shore ON THE LAST DUTCH WAR By Mr. Benjamin Willy sometime Master of the Free-School of Newark upon Trent RObb'd of our Rights and by such Water-Rats We 'll doff their Heads if they won't doff their Hats Affront from Hogen Mogen to endure 'T is time to box these Butter-Boxes sure If they the Flag 's undoubted Right deny us And won't strike to us they must be struck by Us. A Crew of Boors and Sooterkins that know Themselves they to our Blood and Valour owe. Did we for this knock off their Spanish Fetters To make 'em able to abuse their Betters If at this rate they rave I think 't is good Not to omit the Spring but let 'em Blood. Rouse then Heroick Britains 't is not Words But Wounds must work with Leather-Apron-Lords They 're deaf and must be talk'd withall alas With Words of Iron spoke by Mouths of Brass I hope we shall to purpose the next bout Cure 'em as we did Opdam of the Gout And when i' th' bottom of the Sea they come They 'll have enough of Mare Liberum Our brandish't Steel tho' now they seem so tall Shall make 'em lower than Low-Countries fall But they 'll e'er long come to themselves you 'll see When we in earnest are at Snick-a-snee When once the Boars perceive our Swords are drawn And we converting are those Boars to Brawn Methinks the Ruin of their Belgick Banners Last Fight almost as ragged as their Manners Might have perswaded 'em to better things Than to be sawcy with the best of Kings Is it of Wealth so proud they are become Charles has a Wain I hope to fetch it home And with it pay himself his just Arrears Of Fishing Tribute for this Hundred years That we may say as all the Store comes in The Dutch alas have but our Factors bin They fathom Sea and Land we when we please Have both the Indies brought to our own Seas For Rich and Proud they bring in Ships by Shoals And then we humble them to save their Souls Pox of their Pictures if we had 'em here We'd find 'em Frames at Tyburn or elsewhere The next they draw be it their Admirals Transpeciated into Finns and Scales Or which wou'd do as well draw if they please Opdam with th' Seven sinking Provinces Or draw their Captains from the conqu'ring Main Fâ—rst beaten home then beaten back again And after this so just though fatal strife Draw their dead Boars again unto the Life Lastly Remember to prevent all Laughter Drawing goes first but Hanging follows after If then Lampooning thus be their undoing Who pities them that purchase their own Ruin Or will hereafter trust their treacheries Untill they leave their Heads for Hostages For as the Proverb thus of Women's said Believe 'em nothing though you think 'em dead The Dutch are stubborn and will yield no Fruit Till like the Wallnut-Tree ye beat 'em to 't THE LAST SAYINGS OF A MOUSE Lately Starved in a Cupboard As they were taken in Short-hand by a Zealous Rat-catcher who listned at the Key-hole of the Cupboard Door WRetch that I am and is it come to this O short continuance of Earthly bliss Did I for this forsake my Country Ease My Liberty my Bacon Beans and Pease Call ye me this the breeding of the Town Which my young Master bragg'd when he came down Fool that I was I heard my Father say A Rev'rend Mouse he was and his Beard gray Young Hunt-crum mark me well you needs must rome And leave me and your Mother here at home Great is your Spirit at high food you aim But have a care believe not lying Fame Vast Bodies oft are mov'd by slender Springs Great Men and Tables are two diff'rent things Assure thy self all is not Gold that shines He that looks always faâ— not always dines For oft I 've seen one strut in laced Cloak And at th' same instant heard his Belly croak By sad experience now I find too well Old Hunt-crum was an arrant Sydrophel And must I dye and is there no relief No Cheese though I give over thoughts of Beef Where is grave Madge and brisk Grimalkin now Before whose Feet our Race was wont to bow No Owl no Cat to end my wofull days No Gresham Engine my lean Corps to squeese I 'd rather fall to Foes a noble prey Than squeek my Soul out under Lock and Keyâ— What 's this a pissing Candles latter end My dear beloved Country-Save-all Friend Thou dreadfull Emblem of Mortality Which nothing savour'st of solidity Detested Droll'ry of my cruel Fate This shadow of a Comfort comes too late Now you my Brethren Mice if any be As yet unstarv'd in all our Family From your obscure Retreats rise and appear To your or to your Ghosts I now draw near Unto my pristine dust I hast apace Observe my hollow Eyes and meager Face And learn from me the sad reverse of Fate 'T is better to be innocent than great Good Consciences and Bellies full say I Exceed the pomp that only fills the Eye Farewell you see my friends that knew me once Pamper'd and smooth reduc'd to Skin and Bones Poor as a Church-Mouse O I faint I dye Fly fly from Cat in shape of Famine fâ—y VVhilst at â—y Death I my Ambition rue In this my Cupboard and my Coffin too Farewell to Victuals Greatness and to you TO THE SECRETARY OF THE MUSES A NEW-YEARS-GIFT IULIAN WIth care peruse the lines I send Which when you 've done you 'll find I am your friend I write not for Applause or if I doe who 'd value the Applause that comes from you Or from your Patrons who of late we see However they 're distinguish'd in degree Forget themselves and grow as dull as thee As often drunk as awkward in their dress Fight with thy courage Court with thy success And when their fond Impertinences fail They strait turn Satyrists and