vertue fright As rav'nous Beasts retreat from fires Her Hair may justly make her prouder Than Queens who to their Crowns were born And looks when candy'd o're with powder Like Sun-beams in a rimy morn ' A curious chrystal prop her Nose Supports the Arches of her Skies Her Front the chrystalline Heaven shows Studded with shining Stars her Eyes Each Cheek like to a Roseal Grove Where thousand Cupids sporting lye Whetting their several Darts of Love Her Brows the Bows from whence they flye Her simpring Mouth such charms declare Which Rhetorick never could produce Her Lips like full-ripe Cherries are Preserv'd in their own natural Iuyce Her Breath more sweet than perfum'd gales That from Arabian Gardens blow Or those which sweep the Indian Vales Where Iasmins in their vigours grow Such treasures of her Breath and Tongue Ought not to be too much expos'd Hence Fate to bulwark them from wrong With double fence of Pearls inclos'd Her Shoulders Beauty 's Atlas are But coverd with a purer Snow And far a richer burden bear Of Beauties and of Glories too Her Breasts a pair of Ivory Bowls With Biasses of Rubies nail'd Or else two whitest Paper-scrouls Which Nature had with red-wax seal'd Beneath those Hills a Valley spread Where Violets and Lillies strove Through which a perfum'd Path did lead Directing to th' Elisian Grove Her Back-side two round snowy Mountains Which 'twixt 'em did a Valley hide In which did spring a pair of Fountains Where Gold and Silver streams did glide Her Knees I those rare Hinges named On which this beauteous Fabrick mov'd Her Thighs the Columns strongly framed On which my stately Temple stood Thus have I vowed sworn protested To lift my Mistris to the Sky Yet cruel she thinks I but jested And by my troth Sirs so think I. REPOSE 1674. To Mr. W. W. of Grantham NOT for the reason others do It is I now sollicit you A juster cause designs my choice It is for your sake not your Boyes Excess of study does you wrong A Bow may break that 's bent too long The Heav'nly Bow whose lasting stuff Would make one think it strong enough Is not bent always but allow'd To be cas'd up within a Cloud Let none here mock at what is said For Archery is there a Trade Dian Apollo Archers good And Cupid is their Robin Hood Long shining Darts Apollo shoots Th' Antipodes and we his Butts Yet when 't is night his Bow unbends And Arrows to his Sister lends Who buckles to 't her skill to show 'Till she become the very Bow And when she 's at the utmost bent Her Darts with brightest Piles are lent Yet she by day refreshment seeks Then Cupid mostly shoots at Pricks And when at Butts the motto nicks Strange marks-man who ne'r misses aim Yet slacks his string at every Game Moisture that heart-blood of the Earth From whence all things derive their birth Shrinks sometimes to the Springs i' th' Deep That so it may its vigours keep Sap that prolifick Sperm of Trees Bestows its blessings by degrees Blossoms and Leaves it gives i' th' Spring And does its fruit in Autumn bring In Winter tho retires to th' Deep New strengths to gain or old to keep The Soul that bright coelestial Guest Altho eternal seeks for rest Nor can this Ease be a disgrace Since Heav'n's the chiefest resting place The GROVE 1675. Some thoughts dedicated to the Nymphs of the pleasant Grove at S. belonging to my most honour'd Friend Peniston Whalley Esq. HOw am I in an instant blest This Grove affords some chearful Guest A stranger to my wounded breast But how can Musick there be found Where daunting cares have made a wound Yet breaking Heart-strings yield a sound But now my Crest-fall'n thoughts aspire As Saul's black humours did retire Before the twangs of David's lire Verse has such charms It can advance A captive Soul from hellish Trance Can bridle Dolphins make Beasts dance But stay I doubt this boasted grace Denies its rise from my dull layes And owes its Being to this place As Priests of old were not inspir'd Their breasts with sacred heat ne'r fir'd 'Till they into their Groves retir'd Nor came this Virtue from the Trees Nor from the Prophet's Rapsodies But from the Neighb'ring Deities None views this Grove but soon allows It is a Temple roof'd with Boughs Where faithful Lovers pay their Vows And that betwixt the Leaves those spaces Through which the prying Sun-shine passes Seem quarter'd Panes of Chrystal Glasses Then Nature here each year does bring The sweet-tongu'd Black-coats of the Spring With other Choristers to sing Who to this service are ordain'd From its Revenues are maintain'd With Berries from the Bushes gain'd Yet if you take a neerer view The Simile will seem more true This Temple has its Scriptures too Upon the Barks with curious slit Devotion is ingrav'd with Wit And by some Goddess Fingers writ Whose adoration merit fame Shall still inlarge as does the Name Which thrives till it out-grows the frame Nor do the Trees confus'dly stand But rank'd and fil'd as they were trayn'd By the Commanders skilful hand Each row of sturdy Oaks appears Squadrons of English Musketeers The Acorns Shot Leaves Bandileers Those stands of Ashes strongly spread Like our stout Pike men void of dread With Keys like Fringe about each head Here Elms whose bending Boughs retain The shapes of our old Bows in vain Never to conquer France again Those Aspen-trees like French look high As they would scale the very sky Yet shake whilst English Elms are by The Willows here like Dutchmen show All sap not good for Pyke or Bow And only will by Waters grow Thrice happy Trees where future times Not clouded with our present crimes Shall in their Barks read am'rous rhymes For who can greater Wit desire Than that which Beauty does inspire Verse then is cloath'd in Queens attire It needs must be a happy sight The golden age did first delight All Verse in Rynds of Trees to write Tho Bayes and Lawrels still abound Nobler rewards will then be found They 'l with their Ladies Names be crown'd Each then must lofty numbers frame Whilst she thereto subscribes her Name 'T will be at once Reward and Theme If I that happy fate could prove Incourag'd by those Eyes I love This should out-vye Dodona's Grove But as I first with cares were crost These thoughts have so my Soul ingrost That I am in this Laby'rinth lost When loe as I did gaze about I saw a Path which without doubt As 't leades them in will lead me out With Lady-Smocks and Dayes-Eyes white The very Path they tread are bright So the Sun's tracks are pav'd with Light The RENT 1675. To the honourable Lady Mrs. Chaworth Advice against envious Reports MY Rent-day's come and I must pay Nor must your plenty make me stay Lest I grow poorer by delay Forbearance but unkind appears And the poor Tenant's justest fears May be deduc'd from long Arrears Whilst
no ignoble hand It was at Ioshua's suit the Sun did stand But ours eclipst by hellish Vapours stood And as at th' end o' th' world did set in Blood Behold a mighty Monarch there lyes dead Without his Crown and ah without his Head Expiring Muse with him receive thy doom And dye like Indian slaves upon his Tomb. It is enough thou 'st thither him convey'd And in a Tomb of thine own framing laid All Monuments decay and Marbles rot Compar'd to th' Quarries in Parnassus got Thus the great Pompey who the World subdu'd By Rome's ill fate and Tyrant's force pursu'd Did to a barb'rous Nation seek for aid By them to murd'ring Villains was betray'd Headless expos'd on the Pelusian shore The World's Head lay and all defil'd with gore By the dear Body faithful Codrus stood And with his flowing tears washt off the blood Then did interr the sacred Relicks safe Whose Piety is his best Epitaph Heroic Lucan has preserv'd his fame Which bears an equal date with Pompey's name Well known to all that World he did subdue Flying as far as Pompey's Eagles flew The GOWN Vpon Sir Ward borrowing my Gown 1652. I Like Philemon may Iove's Fav'rite be In shelt'ring thus his darling Mercury And yet I hated am as once was Lot When Angels under his blest Roof he got Some think it thy disparagement to see The Lord of Wit cloath'd in my Livery But here thy Worth unjustly they upbraid Since Kings sometimes are seen in Maskarade Nay 't is well known that heavenly Forms appear In mortal shapes or seem such Veils to wear When next I put it on for ought I know I may infected be and witty grow Some influence must be left thus pretious Gums Taken from Boxes leave their rich perfumes And I have read He that did once inherit Elija's Mantle got Elija's Spirit MODEST WORTH Vpon the Death of Mr. R. Winterburn B. D. 1652. FOR flouds of tears this mournful fate does call 'T is Egypt where they say no showers fall Melt then your beams to tears my thawing Eyes And Heav'n dissolves in Dews when Phoebus dyes Alike they were for he long time did sway The Muse's Scepter they did him obey Nay he excell'd in this for he was free From any thought of Daphne but her Tree His Gold lay close in 's Mine His Helicon Was full and deep and so did silent run This made some slight him Stars seem Motes i' th' Skies Height lessens Objects to imperfect Eyes Yet none more lowly thought or spoke than he So rich mens cloaths persuade a Poverty Plain Scutcheons Heralds look upon as best And Maids lose credit that go lightly drest Di'monds in barren Mountains are inshrin'd And Popes their Sackcloth wear with Velvet lin'd The Royal MOURNER Vpon the Princess Elizabeth's Death 1652. NO Prophet's tongue should this sad loss condole Unless first heated by the Altar's coal Nor Poet to an Elegy aspire If not inlightn'd with Apollo's fire But yet my Zeal is warmer than his flame And I more nobly influenc'd by her Name How with more joy had I imploy'd my hours In writing of her Sun-shine than her showers Ah! who would think such Sun-beams should be known To dry all Springs of tears unless her own Or rather that her Suns with all their beams Should be extinguish't by those native streams When the World's Eye its proper safety found And yet its Body was i' th' Deluge drown'd With quickning smiles it did recruit the Earth Making it pregnant with a second birth But hers like Nature in her last extremes Melted a way by weeping down their beams Such dashing rains and Tempests often rage I' th' Winter Solstice of afflicted age Experience then of woes occasion brings To ope the Flood-gates of our flowing Springs Wet seed-times oft' are crown'd with fruitful years And they shall reap in joy that sow in tears Her highest Region was free from the powers Either of sighing storms or weeping showers Like pow'rfull Cynthia there her Soul did show Ruling the Tides of raging Seas below For she like Venus amidst Seas was born And her short life alas one rainy morn Thus early Lillies Virgins of the year Ne'r ope ' their wakeful Eyes without a tear Too moist a Season makes 'em droop and dye And in their native winding-sheets to lie A common grief may common tears extort But hers were blood-drops of a weeping heart Those Rubies from her dying Father's Head Were not more fatal than the tears she bled Thus Flora's justest Pride the Rose appears Produc'd not only but nurst up with Tears All its short time with the like drops 't is fed And tears each Night bedews its fragrant Bed At last being tortur'd by unnat'ral heats Dyes as 't was born and weeps away in Sweats The Good BISHOP Vpon Bishop Hall's Balm of Gilead presented to my Vncle Mr. Griff. Divall 1652. AGainst the pains and multitude of cares That bring on age and Silver all our hairs By Nature's Chymistry no means can add More help than Hall's rich Balm of Gilead Other old men like common Trees do bear He 's fruitful like that rare one twice a year All others blossom in the Spring but he In Winter too like th' Glassenbury tree Winter yields Fruit and in himself he shows The place where all the year an Harvest grows His Judgment 's brighter than the Sun'suprise Yet scorns to hide it self in Evening-skies Unchaste intemp'rate Youth not seldom meets An aged Penance nightly in the Sheets Lameness crawls after Lust Disease and Pain Are all the Bed-fellows that now remain Rottenness waits on Lux'ry its perfumes Are putrefied Lungs its Baths are Rhewms He 's troubled with no Rhewm but that of 's Pen Always o'rflowing and yet full agen Whose Springs are rarer than the Spaws wherein You may wash off the Leprosie of Sin His Ink's a Medicine if us'd betimes To cure the Tetters of our spreading Crimes His Pen dropt daily at the Nose indeed But then each drop turn'd Balm of Gilead What are his Words To speak Diviner sense Angels blest Food distill'd to Eloquence Had then that Father known so great a Light Would shine to make the World's last Evening bright Who wish'd h' had liv'd Christ in the Flesh to see And Rome's great Empire in its Majesty And Paul i' th' Pulpit thus his wish had run Paul in the Morn Hall in the Afternoon To Mr. T. S. The Tooth-ach cur'd 1652. OH how it stings Peace Gouty Sir you 'r blest In such a Pain as forces you to rest Mistake not Madam Child-birth is a toy Nay by your longing for 't it seems a Joy Hanging it self is not so sad a thing Else at the Gallows they would never sing Blest they whose Mouths hold nothing but their tongue 'T is this sure makes our Grannams live so long Thrice happy they who are o' th' horned crew They 've but one row of teeth and full enow If Cuckolds had that priviledge
had there Those Titles that his Birth and Merits claim'd More than the League with Oliver did work And that French King might be as little sham'd To slight a Christian Prince as court the Turk But Charles disdaining a Discharge to hear Left that inconstant Prince with fitting scorn A base indignity which France may fear And Frenchmen rue that are as yet unborn Yet in return for this poor short retreat Brave York fights for 'em that he may requite Whose Valour did the Crown more surely set Upon that Head usurps his Brothers right By whose brave Actions France with terrour sees What he can do when he an Army brings For if his fortune with his worth agrees Upon his Sword depends the fate of Kings In Holland now great Charls keeps his small Court Where he their native bruitishness converts To whom great Foreign Statists make resort T' adore and wonder at his mighty Parts Oblige him Holland with thine utmost fate His wants do now as thine did once invite Our blood and treasure did advance thy State Serve him and thou wilt fully us requite And now the great Iberian Monarch wooes His prescence Ioseph thus his Keepers blest A Treasure which when known well he will chuse Before the precious wonders of his East Here was he fixt and patiently did wait Until the Stars each accident did fit Till Heavens prefixed time had ripon'd fate That we the fruit of all our Prayers might get §. 6. The Tempest which for sixteen years had rag'd Could not continue long it blew so fast As men in mortal Agonies ingag'd Their breathings are most violent at last With loud commands the dreadful Prince o' th Air Summons his blust'ring ministers to blow The trembling Trees so palsi'd are with fear Their Leaves not only fall but Bodies too And 't is but fitting State such ways to try Their Roots disclose the Center where they fell When bloody Tyrants and Vsurpers die All passages are ope that lead to Hell Some Nat'ralists who deeply'r search than forms And into th' hidden Wombe of Causes pry Presume those violent Autumnal storms Proclame aloud the Tyrant now must die They say that Fiends did ply the Bellowes so And over-heat the Fornace so beneath The intense Air broke through and made ours blow And raging flames did make the Ocean seeth But 't is below the candor of a Muse To strike the dead 't is left to abler pow'rs Nor is such weakness proper for the use Alecto's lashes pierce more deep than ours Cromwel that bloody Rebell being dead Our hopes like Sol in Winter late did rise Which in few minutes after hides its head Or wears a mask of Clouds before its Eyes For lo our Cup of wrath again is fill'd One of his Sons the Tyrant does succeed Although the old pestiferous Serpent's kill'd We still are plagu'd with the invenom'd breed What hopes although a gangren'd member be Cut off whilst it does to another spread Hercules found the Hydra would not dye Untill he had cut off the seventh head Monck our Alcides was the brave Saint George Who to set England free the Dragon slew Destin'd by Heaven to that mighty Charge And found their Mazes having got the Clue Before he proffer'd us his helping hand Those Blood-hounds which the Nimrod-Cromwel bred Thought to have made their Prey of all the Land And on our very Carkasses have fed Then they that damn'd old Iunto did recall That murder'd King and Kingdom too inslav'd Those Calves of Bethel at whose feet now fall None but those few who first the Idols made Such sudden Changes in so short time shown Buoy'd up our faith and made our hopes increase Since Agues when they shift will soon be gone And change of pain seems like a kind of ease Some small efforts were try'd to set us free As weak Physicians on Recruiters dare Bestow their skill but when the bold Disease Faces about they leave off with despair No George but Monck is destin'd for the deed Whose great experience does to him reveal When to cut off to purge and when to bleed And now he sees the Wound is fit to heal England his Patient is and like a try'd And carefull Doctor he his skill did show He felt her Pulse and every grievance ' spy'd And found no Remedy but Charls would do Warwick's great Nevil Albemarl out-sounds Monck is a make King too whose glorious fame Shall flourish whilst the Sun with light abounds Or golden stars shine in their azure frame §. 7. But stay my Muse though in his clouded state Thy Wings unsing'd in his faint beams could play Dar'st thou with Semele incite thy fate And now in his Meridian glory play With thy weak Pinions thou canst not soar high This weighty Subject such a burden brings But must like to the cumber'd Estrich fly Whose Bulk is furnish'd with unequal Wings This is to spend above our slender rate The charge will our abilities outvye The Eccho tho Heavens Thunder can repeat And smallest Brooks reflect the spatious Sky Since all are joy'd all should their joys declare Low notes do Musick wel as high compound An Oaten Reed may yield as true a share Of Love and Welcom as a Trumpets sound The Nightingals those airy Poets who Make Helicon of every purling spring Their choicest Songs not only will bestow But feather'd Rhymers welcome in the Spring Tho great Wits rob us and the Springs have drain'd Bethesda to the poor man was deny'd Something of use ev'n may from Mud be gain'd As by the Holland industry is try'd The Heart 's not best declar'd by finest words Silence ev'n sometimes great Rejoycements show And humble Turf when kindled well affords As much true heat as Chips of Cedar do Go forward then and hope to gain excuse Rags will be hid in such a multitude Heav'n that bestows on all its fruitful dews Will not refuse the meanest gratitude §. 8. Behold when all our hopes were almost fled Heav'n did inlighten us him to invite From Faintings men start up as from the dead 'T is darkest just before the break of light Nor does it shew as we did quite despair Because our sickly faiths such wav'rings have Flames are most tremulous that highest are And we least hope for what we most do crave After such storms our Rainbow now appears That voucher of our safety is in sight And glorious Charls to joys converts our fears Phoebus gilds o're the Clouds thus with his light He is arrived now to Scheveling Strand Which gives just cause to boast her of that bliss And is the happiest part of all that Land Since honour'd his last Foot-steps there to kiss Holland that formerly her Kings did hate Is so with his heroick vertues ta'n Our hot inquires after him they rate Worse than the Inquisition once from Spain Had he an equal him their King they 'd get But since that quite impossible is known Orange his Princely Nephew they will set Inâ—s
always chear too much Which my weak Stomack never could digest Since too much Expectation daunts a Guest But this Sir was not all my Muse kept home Constrain'd by fate else she had sooner come She wants a Steed and she has got the pride Of wanton Girls that would on Cock-horse ride But the strange Horse-disease that rag'd with us Amongst some others caught my Pegasus But tho he did escape He yet does lack The only Medicine a Drench of Sack Which is such costly feeding this hard year Our Hacknies will be than our selves more bare I mean us Poets For those who are able Keep their Iades lean i' th' Study fat i' th' Stable I loyter'd thus hoping at Lenton-fair Amongst our Gallants I might borrow there Alas in vain unless I would shift thus Making a Hobby-Horse my Pegasus The PICK-POCKET 1655. To my good friend Mr. R. Mason raptim IF Clients wants or follies grant thee pause Or Sack which is more powerful than Laws Please to unbend a while lay Ploidon down And Cook the two worst pick-pockets i' th' Town They rob with priveledge and pow'rful hands When the poor Cutpurse close and trembling stands And yet their malice is at them displeas'd Thus Alexander a less Pirat seiz'd The Law attaches Felons when it pleases The Plague so routs the Pox and small diseases Yet we must seek its help for 't is well known Moll Cut-purse sought to help folks to their own Leave then this Scandal and repair to me Who tho half drunk thirst for thy Company Here 's Sack if Noy the quickest of your Tribe Had supp'd he would have ta'n before a bribe Such as will make thee eloquent as Finch And yet not eek thy Rhet'rick with a Clinch Each drop of which a Ruby will create Inriching Noses at the Indian rate Haste then or we shall be so rich and great We shall disdain what now we do intreat The MISTAKE 1665. Vpon drinking a Glass of Beer to C. J. B. for one of Sack raptim PArdon great Bacchus I repent The Error has its punishment Poor Travellers are cheated so That come where Sodom Apples grow This change of mine has his disgrace Who did for Iuno Clouds imbrace Nor is the distance lesser here Immortal Sack and Mortal Beer So did the crazed Hebrew fail Deserting God to go to Baal Your Spanish Donna has a touch More charming than the thick-skin'd Dutch One thus a Beauty thought to wed But got a Gypsie to his Bed Beer has that tann'd and yellow hew Like hers that did the Liquor brew When Sack 's Complexion is refin'd As though it were with Sun-beams lin'd The DISGUISE 1665. Vpon Mr. Ger. Lee imputing a scandalous Paper to me and subscribing his Name covertly within a Circle of inverted Letters RAther than suffer this my injur'd Muse Mount now and spur thy sku-bald Pegasus And turn Apparitor Here 's bastard Wit Laid at thy Door if thou wilt Father it Observe the Castling well What no Wall-eye Mare-face or Mark to know the Stallion by Look there at lowest end a Buttock-brand A Transcript from that in the Father's hand His shrivel'd Name fit for a larger Stage Shows like to Bajazet within his Cage His envious-black-mouth'd Verses make it said A Knot of Snakes torn from Erinnis head A peevish Fiend within a Circle shut Homer's fond Fables ramm'd into a Nut A Knave in Fetters Gotham in a Map A crafty Fox caught justly in a Trap. Thy Name methinks peeps forth and seems to be As th' Owner ought upon a Pillory Justice triumphant is nor can it choose When such a Hang-man's catch'd in his own Noose The MERCHANT 1655. Vpon the Death of my Br. Mr. S. S. in the Canaries WHO knows his Fate or where he shall expire 'T is comfort tho that Heav'n is no where nigh'r Than where we dye The Grave 's an humble rise From whence we take our leap into the Skies A true Enlargement Death for all prepares Takes cares from Young-men and Old-men from cares Let us not then his loss of hopes deplore Those who have full Injoyments hope no more Hope is the Balm of Life and Balm is found In vain when we no more can have a Wound Nor could long Life have much advanc'd his Story They have gain'd full enough who have gain'd Glory His vertuous Inclinations claim that State Such early hopes attract the smiles of Fate Nor did he vainly suck in foreign Air Since half the World now claims in him a share A Life to him his loved Europe gave And Africk did bestow on him a Grave Those Isles to him did fortunate appear And he gain'd well who purchas'd Heaven there The CAVALEER 1665. An Elegy upon Capt. Ben Marshal's Death O'R whelm'd in Night and Grief I sit For Verse or Humour most unfit Aurora's Mother both of Ioy and Wit By day the Chanters of the Spring Warble and keep time with the Wing But yet by Night the Nightingale does sing 'T is midnight now and all at rest Except the sorrows in my brest Which are so far from sleep they yet are drest For Verse is Grief's most Solemn dress Verse more than tears can grief express Such drops their lasting fountains must confess For tears tho from a double Rill Are sometimes dry the Brain springs still It is the Conduit and its Pipe the Quill Let none say Verse may lessen Grief David altho the Poet 's Cheif His tears fro' th' Muses fountain got relief No artifice is needful here Like Herod's to exact a tear His loss its selfs a general Massacre He such true Friendship did possess As might its wasting stock increase And furnish this our jarring World with Peace Such a Companion all would crave Or such to be or such to have Nay we for him did Wine Plays Women wave To prove his Inclinations right His Loyalty was his delight For tho a Boy he left his Play to fight Those Wounds which for the King he met Spoke glorious Toils for Blood 's the Sweat Of Honour the best Scarlet Souldiers get Tho Fortune to maintain her spite Did aid the Wrong against the Right He courage shew'd in Suff'rings as in Fight In Persecution he had share Yet Patience did that smart repair So Thunder troubles and yet clears the Air. As in those days he scorn'd to bow To any Tyrants threatning Brow So he disdain'd as base a crouching now For though his Worth could not be heard He knew it was it's own reward Since Traitors were prefer'd he favours fear'd It would but our devotion blame Alone the inward Rites to name And quite neglect the stately Temples frame Such was his Body strait and high And then the Chrystals of each Eye Did well reflect the beauties of his Sky His Body's strength like to his Mind That we despair in one to find Their equal 'till at last again they 're joyn'd Fruits ripest sooner suffer wrong This made him dye alas too young 'T is hard