thou hast cut down in spight And scatter'd on the Ground its Fruit and Flowers Our Love 's extinct that with such Ardour burn'd And all my Hope of future Pleasure dyes Nature's chief Master-piece to Earth's return'd Deaf to my Passion and my grievous Cryes Sylvia the Tears which on thy Sepulchre Hereafter shall be shed or those now are Thô fruitless yet I offer them to thee Until the coming of th' Eternal Night Shall close these Eyes once happy with thy Sight And give me Eyes with which I thee may see To the WINDS A SONG I. YE Winds that in your hasty Flight Just kiss the Leaves and then away The Leaves that tremble with Delight And murmur at so short a stay Stop here and e're you further goe Give audience to a Lover's Woe II. Condoling Air to you I speak Since she is deaf to all my Grief You see my Heart will quickly break If careless She gives no Relief I 'm sure you 're troubled at my Pain For when I sigh you sigh again III. Go gentle Air fly to my Dear That thus with Love inflames my Breast And whisper softly in her Ear 'T is she that robs my Soul of Rest Express if possible such Moans May imitate my dying Groans IV. Or with thy rougher Breath make bold To toss the Treasure of her Hair Till thou dost all those Curls unfold Which cunningly Mens Hearts ensnare Try all thy Skill to break the Net That I like thee may Freedom get V. Then let some thicker Blasts arise And with her Face so sport and play Till the bright Rays of her fair Eyes Be qualify'd or ta'en away Make all those Charms which Men assail Of lesser force and less prevail The Silent Talkers PEACE Peace my Dear Corinna said To her enamour'd Corydon Lest we by Listners be betray'd And this our Happiness undone Our wishes answer ev'ry way And all my Thoughts center in thine If thou hast any thing to say Speak with thy Eyes I 'll speak with mine 'T is dangerous jesting with LOVE A SONG I. VEnture not with Love to jest Though he 's blind and but a Boy Whosoe'er would live at rest Must not dare with him to toy If you play he 'll seem to smile But conspire your Death the while II. â— my self was such a Sot Once to act a Lover's Part â—â—em'd to love but lov'd her not Sigh'd but sigh'd not from my Heart Long I did not this maintain E're my Play was turn'd to Pain III. â—s I gaz'd upon my Fair And of Love shew'd ev'ry Sign â—â—e play'd too the Flatterer With her Glances answering mine Till his Arrows Cupid took Pierc'd me with each Flatt'ring Look IV. Love the Jester will assail And when scorn'd the Mastry get Art I see can ne'e avail Him that plays the Counterfeit For I find now time is past Jest to Earnest turn'd at last V. Cupid drew with more desire Seeing me his Net despise Was more active with his Fire While he â—ound my heart was Ice Now my Sighs no pity â—ind But are scatter'd in the Wind. On WINE From a Fragment of Hesiod Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WINE chears our Hearts and makes us glad When Grief and Cares have left us sad But more than Nature does suffice Will cast a Cloud before our Eyes 'T will bind the Tongue the Feet and Hands E're we perceive with strongest Bands And us its Drunken Slaves will keep Till we our Freedom get by Sleep A DREAM ONE Night with Sleep my Senses being opprest Fixt on that Thought which still o'er rul'd my Brest â— Mourning Dress with Silence did appear â—â—e of her Sex was to my Soul most Dear â—ynthia methought I said and gaz'd awhile Where 's thy accustom'd Look and cheerful Smile What sad Occasion thus disturbs thee now â—nd hangs that gloomy Sadness on thy Brow â—e only sigh'd and off'ring to depart â—natch'd her Hand and laid it to my Heart â—nd whilst I in this trembling Rapture stand â—e took and held me by my other Hand â—hought my Heart 'twixt Joy and Grief would break â—dding with Tears My Dear I prithee speak â—nd grasp'd her fast she struggling to be gone â—ll wak'd but then I found my self alone Oft have I griev'd to think what this might prove And gather'd hence ill Omens to my Love But since I may too soon the Mischief find I 'll strive to chase the Fancy from my Mind The Restless Lover THE Birds to wanton in the Air desire The Salamander sports himself in Fire The Fish in Water plays And of the Earth Man ever takes possession at his Birth Only unhappy I who born to grieve In all these Elements at once do live Grief does with Air of Sighs my Mouth supply My wretched Body on cold Earth does lye The Streams which from mine Eyes flow Night and Day Cannot the Fire which burns my Heart allay The RESOLUTION A Sonnet of Petrarc out of Italian OH Time Oh rowling Heavens that fly so fast And cheat us Mortals ignorant and blind Oh fugitive Day swifter than Bird or Wind Your Frauds I see by all my Suff'rings past But pardon me 't is I my self must blame Nature that spreads your Wings and makes you fly To me gave Eyes that I my Ills might spy Yet I retain'd them to my Grief and Shame Time was I might and Time is still I may Direct my Steps in a securer way And end this sad Infinity of Ill Yet 't is not from thy Yoke O Love I part But the Effects I will reclaim my Heart Vertue 's no Chance but is acquir'd by Skill Invokes DEATH COME Terrour of the Wise and Valiant Come And with a Sigh let my griev'd Soul have room Amongst the Shades then shall my Cares be gone All there drink Waters of Oblivion So went the Heroes of the World and so Or soon or late all that are born must go Thou Death to me art welcome as a Friend For thou with Life putt'st to my Griefs an End Of this Poor Earth and Blast of Breath ally'd How easily by thee the Knot 's unty'd This Spring of Tears which trickles from mine Eyes Is Natural and when I dye it dryes Matter for Sighs I drew with my first Breath And now a Sigh ushers my Soul to Death So Cares and Griefs determine by Consent This Favour owe I to my Monument A Hint from the Beginning of the Third Satyr of Juvenal Laudo tamen vacuis quod sedem figere Cumis Destinet atque unum Civem donare Sibyllae c. A Neighbour now shall Aged Sibyl have For I 'll withdraw to Cuma's Sacred Cave Where I Vesuvius like when Years attire My Head with Snow shall still maintain my Fire In Hatred of the World my Days I 'll spend Till with Despight my wretched Life shall end My haughty Plumes I 've clipp'd I 'll soar no more So the Fates cut what they had spun before I was when Bad of Vertuous Men despis'd And by the Scourge
the Pain To love as you may be belov'd again All things should contribute to the Lover's Assistance An Idyllium of Moschus Englished Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OF Loving Venus O Coelestial Light Hesperus Usher of the sable Night Thô paler than the Moon thou dost as far Transcend in Brightness ev'ry other Star To my Dear Shepherdess my Steps befriend â—â— Luna's stead do thou thy Conduct lend With waining Light not long before the Sun â—he rose and now by this her Course has run No base Intriegue this Night I undertake No Journey I for Common Bus'ness make Love and bear within me Cupid's Fire And all things should to Lovers Aid conspire CUPID turn'd Plowman An Idyllium of MOSCHUS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 ONCE for his Pleasure LOVE would go Without his Quiver Toâ—ch or Bow He took with him a Ploughman's Whip And Corn as much as fill'd his Scrip Upon his shoulders hung the Load And thus equipp'd he went abroad With Bulls that often Yoaks had worn He plow'd the Ground and sow'd his Corn Then looking up to Heav'n with pride Thus mighty Iove he vilify'd Now scorch my Field and spoil my Seed Do and you shall repent the deed Europa's Bull I 'll make you bow Your haughty Neck and draw my Plow Love's Subtilty An Idyllium of Moschus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 BY Pisa's Walls does Old Alpheus flow To Sea and thence to 's Arethusa goe With Waters bearing Presents as they move â—eaves Flowers and Olive-Branches to his Love And of the Sacred Dust the Heroes raise When at Olympic Games they strive for Bays â—e sinks and dives with Art beneath the Sea â—nd to Sicilia does his Streams convey â—â—t still will he his Purity retain â—or is his Course obstructed by the Main â—Twas Love whose subtil Tricks will ne'er be done That taught the Am'rous River thus to run Love makes the best Poets An Idyllium of BION Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 DArts Torch or Bow the Muses do not fear They love and follow Cupid ev'ry where And him whose Breast His Arrows cannot reach They all avoid refusing him to teach But if Love's Fire begin to warm a Heart They straight inspire it with their Sacred Art Let none with subtil Logick this deny For I too well the Truth can testify If Men or Gods I strive to celebrate My Musick 's Discord and my Verse is flat For Love or Lyciâ— when my Vein I show My Viol 's tun'd and sweetest Numbers flow The Death of ADONIS 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of Theocritus Englished WHEN VENVS her ADONIS found Just slain and weltring on the Ground With Hair disorder'd gastly Look And Cheeks their Roses had forsook She bad the Cupids Fetch with speed The Boar that did this horrid Deed They to revenge Adonis Blood As quick as B0irds search'd all the Wood And straight the murd'rous Creature found Whom they with Chains securely bound And whilst his Net one o'er him flung â—o drag the Captive Boar along Another follow'd with his Bow â—ushing to make him faster go Who most unwillingly obey'd â—or he of VENVS was afraid No sooner she the Boar espy'd â—ut Oh! Thou cruel Beast she cry'd That hadst the Heart to wound this Thigh How couldst thou kill so sweet a Boy Great Goddess said the Boar and stood Trembling I swear by all that 's Good By thy Fair Self by Him I 've slain These pretty Hunters and this Chain I did no Harm this Youth intend Much less had Thought to kill your Friend I gaz'd and with my Passion strove For with his Charms I fell in Love At last that naked Thigh of his With Lovers Heat I ran to kiss Oh Fatal Cause of all my Woe 'T was then I gave the heedless Blow These Tusks with utmost Rigour draw Cut break or tear them from my Jaw 'T is just I should these Teeth remove Teeth that can have a Sense of Love Or this Revenge if yet too small Out off the Kissing Lips and all When Venus heard this humble Tale Pitty did o'er her Rage prevail She bad them straight his Chains unty And set the Boar at Liberty Who ne'er to Wood return'd again But follow'd Venus in her Train And when by Chance to Fire he came His Am'rous Tusks sing'd in the Flame Love a Spirit I Told Iacinta t'other Day As in a pleasant Bow'r we sate Sporting and Chatting Time away Of Love and of I know not what That Love 's a Spirit some maintain From whom say they we 're seldom free He gives us both Delight and Pain Yet him we neither touch nor see But when I view said I your Eyes I can perceive he thither skips He now about them hov'ring flyes And I can feel him on your Lips Commends the SPRING A Paraphrase on an Idyllium of BION Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 CLEODEMVS and MYRSON CLEO. WHICH Season Myrson does most Pleasure bring The Summer Autumn Winter or the Spring Does not the SUMMER When the Joyful Swain Pays Ceres Rights and fills his Barns with Grain Or is the AUTUMN best in your Esteem That drives no Shepherd to the distant Stream To quench his Thirst Or wanting common Food To range for Nuts and Acorns in the Wood. For then our Vines their Nectar Juice afford And Orchards with Ambrosian Fruits are stor'd Or can you the Cold WINTER more admire When Frost and Snow confine you to the Fire With Wine and Feasting Musick and Delights And pleasant Tales to shorten tedious Nights Or give you for the Flowry SPRING your Voice Pray tell me for I long to hear your Choice MYR SINCE God at first as we from Poets hear Distinguish'd these Four Seasons of the Year â—acred to Deities to whom we bow Our Judgment of them they will scarce allow Yet Cleodemus answ'ring your Request â—'ll tell my Thoughts which I esteem the best â—UMMER offends when Sol with fiercest Ray â—n my tir'd Limbs does Fainting Heats convey â—nd me as little can moist AUTUMN please â—ngendring Fogs That Season's all Disease â—uch less could I delight in WINTER's Snow 〈◊〉 Nipping Frosts or Tempests when they blow â—â—t Oh the SPRING Whose Name delights the Ear. Would a Continual Spring were all the Year 〈◊〉 th'others brought no Damage yet the Spring With purer Air makes Birds in Concert sing â—cloaths our Fields our Gardens and our Bowers Fresh Array adorn'd with various Flowers makes the Fruitful Earth when pregnant long â—ing forth and kindly nurse her Tender Young â—â—ds leave their Fodder and in Pastures keep â—â—d Day is equal to the Time of Sleep When God from Nothing made the Heav'ns and Earth And first gave all his Creatures Life and Birth Sure it was Spring and gentle Winds did blow And all Earth's Products full Perfection show To sweet Meat soure Sauce An Imitation of Theocritus or Anacreon AS Cupid from the Bees their Hony-stole Being stung he in the Anguish of his Soul Fled with his Dear-bought Purchace which he laid On Cynthia's
love A Sonnet The Rose and Lily COurted by Cupids and the Amorous Air Upon a shady Throne at her Repose She sate than whom none e're so sweet or fair It was the Queen of Flowers the Blushing Rose With no less pride upon his Bed of State A Lily pale with Envy look'd that way With humble Flowers encompass'd round he sate And scorn'd the Scepter at her Feet to lay To Arms with Thorns and Prickles they prepare And each designs to try it out by War Till on good Counsel they in Rule combine So in your Face the lovely White and Red Cynthia I see all Quarrels banished And Rose and Lily do in Empire joyne A Defiance returning to the Place of his past Amours A Heart of Ice did here my Heart inflame Bound with loose Hairs a Pris'ner I became â—ere first sweet Love thô bitter in the end â—latter'd with Spight with Kindness did offend â—ut from Assaults a new Defence I 'm taught â—nd my past Ills an Antidote have brought â—o the poor Bird that once escape has made â—eturns with caution where the Net is laid â—ith my late Damp all Sparks of Love expire My Feet approach yet does my Soul retire â—hô near her Presence I can justly say My Eyes and Mind tend quite another way With her my Lute could no Attention find â—ow will I please my self not sing to th' Wind With Laurel here where Cypress late I wore â—ll triumph more than e're I griev'd before DISTANCE FAR from the Fire I burn and run in vain Slowly from winged Love to 'scape the Pain So the swift Arrows flying quick as Wind Wound them that run when th'Archer stays behind Love tho' I strive with Art to shun the Blow Fiercely assaults my Heart where e're I go As he can best a mortal Stroak command Who has most compass for his striking Hand Hoping to 'scape I as the Bird do fare That has his Foot entangled in a Snare Fears Death or in a Prison to be cast Flutters its Wings and strives but still is fast So I with all my Toyl no Ease have got My Strugling does but faster tye the Knot For Cynthia imitating Heavens swift Ray Near or at distance can her Flames convey A Sonnet On Signor Pietro Reggio his setting to Music several of Mr. Cowley's Poems â—F Theban Pindar rais'd his Country's Fame Whilst its great Deeds he does in Odes rehearse And they made greater by his Noble Verse Gratitude are Trophies to his Name â—hen English Pindar shall for ever live Since his Divine and Lofty Poetry Secur'd Great Reggio by thy Harmony â—all to it self Immortal Glory give â—he World 's amaz'd to hear the sweet Consent â—â—wixt thy charming Voice and Instrument They 'd stop the Bays which from Apollo fled â—â—y skilful Notes would make in full Carreer â—â—â—ebus the God of Musick stay to hear And with his Daphne crown thy Rival Head From a Drinking Ode of Alcaeus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 DRink on thô Night be spent and Sun do shine Did not the Gods give anxious Mortals Wine To wash all Care and Sorrow from the Heart Why then so soon should Jovial Fâ—llows part Come let this Bumper â—or the next make way Who 's sure to live and drink another Day An EPITAPH On a Dutch CAPTAIN HERE lies a Souldier not oblig'd to Fame Being forc'd his own Atchievements to reherâ—â— He dy'd not rich yet I would tell his Name Could I but comprehend it in my Verse On Cynthia singing a Recitative Piece of Musick O Thou Angelick Spirit Face and Voice Sweet Syren whose soft Notes our Souls rejoice â—et when thou dost recite some Tragick Verse Thy Tone and Action make it sweetly fierce â—â— thou soft loud sad or brisk Note dost hit â—â— carries still our Hearts along with it Thou canst heat cool grieve us or make us smile â—ay stab or kill yet hurt us not the while Thy Gesture Shape and Mien so pleasing are With thee no Humane Being can compare Thy Passions all our Passions do excite And thy feign'd Grief does real Tears invite â—â—istning to thee our Bodies seems as dead â—or our rapt Souls then up to Heav'n are fled â—o great a Monarch art thou that thy Breath â—as power to give us either Life or Death A Sonnet On the Picture of Cavalier Guarini Author of Il Pastor Fido painted by the Famous Borgianni and set up in his Funeral Pile at Rome YOU who to Fam'd Guarini now he 's dead Your Verses consecrate and Statues reare For that sweet Padan Swan your Tears have shed Sweetest that ever did or will sing here Behold this Picture on his Fun'ral Pile Your mournful Spirits 't will with Joy revive Tho' th'Artist cheats your Senses all the while For 't is but Paint which you would swear does live This serves to keep our Friend in Memory Since Death hath robb'd us of his better Part And that he so might live as ne're to dye He drew himself too but with diff'rent Art Judge which with greatest Life and Spirit looks Borgianni's Painting or Guarini's Books On old Rome HERE was old Rome that stretch'd her Empire far In Peace was fear'd triumphant was in War Here 't was for now its place is only found All that was Rome lyes buried under Ground These Ruines hid in Weeds on which Man treads Were Structures which to Heav'n rais'd their proud Heads Rome that subdu'd the World to Time now yields With Rubbish swells the Plains and strews the Fields Think not to see what so Renown'd has been Nothing of Rome in Rome is to be seen Vulcan and Mars those wasting Gods have come And ta'ne Romes Greatness utterly from Rome They spoyl'd with Malice e're they would depart What e're was rare of Nature or of Art It s greatest Trophies they destroy'd and burn'd She that o're turn'd the World to Dust is turn'd Well might she fall 'gainst whom such Foes conspire Old Time Revengeful Man and Sword and Fire Now all we see of the Great Empress Rome Are but the Sacred Reliques of her Tomb. A SONG Revenge against Cynthia SEE Cupid we have found our lovely Foe Who slights thy Pow'r and does my Flame despise Now thou art arm'd with all thy Shafts and Bow And she at Mercy 'twixt two Enemies Asleep she 's laid upon this Bed of Flowers Her Charms the sole Defence to save her Breast Thoughtless of injur'd me or of thy Powers Oh that a Guilty Soul can take such rest Now may'st thou eas'ly with a single Dart Revenge thy self and me upon her Heart A Sonnet Love's Contrariety I Make no War and yet no Peace have found With heat I melt when starv'd to death with cold I soaâ— to Heav'n whilâ— groveling on the Ground Embrace the World yet nothing do I hold I 'm not confin'd yet cannot I depart Nor loose the Chain thô not a Captive led Love kills me not yet wounds me to the Heart Will neither have m' alive nor have me dead
and blow the Fire 'Gainst their Assaults let us our Forces join Dissolve the Weather by the strength of VVine A COMPLAINT WHEN first I here to Cynthia spake my Mind Near these sweet Streams which to our thoughts were kind â—h then in perfect Harmony we met â—nd to our Concert joyn'd the Rivulet â—he Flowers Plants Echo's Craggy Rocks and Dales â—he pleasant Meads proud Hills and humble Vales â—em'd then o're-joy'd at my Felicity Which now condole with me in Misery â—t still the wing'd Inhab'tants of the Wood â—g as my Change they had not understood â—ô sure the Melancholy Tunes they vent â—e rather Notes of Grief than Merriment â— Nymphs that in these Crystal Streams do dwell â—d after Sport rest quiet in your Cell â—ce clear as yours a Happy Life I led â—ô now o'erwhelm'd with Grief and live as dead Thus we through various Turns of Fortune run And sind no certain Rest till Life be done Love's Garden Translated from Girolamo Preti I To Love's Garden came with my Attire Was wove with Herbs of Hope and of Desire Branches of Trouble too by me were worn VVhose Flowers and Fruit were Prejudice and Scort 'T was wall'd with Pain and Anguish round about And from a thousand places issu'd out VVater of Grief and Air of Sighs beside Deceit and Cruelty did there reside Pride was the Keeper and to cultivate VVas Jealousie who still with mortal Hate Tare up my Happiness e're it could grow VVhilst like a Madman thus I strive to sow Under the Shadow of a Thought that 's kind I plow in Stone dig VVater stop the VVind Seeing his own Picture discourses of his Studies and Fortune â—HIS which the Shadow of my Face does give VVhose Counterfeit seems true and Art alive â—ows but the part of Man's Infirmity â—hich to Age subject must decay and dye â—t the Internal Nature's Excellence â—hich does this Earthly Shadow influence 〈◊〉 haps some Image may on Paper draw 〈◊〉 ose Essence ne'er of Time shall stand in awe 〈◊〉 by my Muses Help I hope to build 〈◊〉 Monuments as ne'er to Time shall yield 〈◊〉 er than from these Colours can be had 〈◊〉 to my Years shall greater Numbers add â— when some Noble VVork I enterprize â—t might advance my Honour to the Skies â—envious Fortune strikes a thousand ways 〈◊〉 royes my Labours and so blasts my Bays A Sonnet of Petrarc On the Death of Laura I Fill with Sighs the Air when e're I stand On yon' high Hill and thence survey the Plain Where Laura she who could my Heart command Did in her Earthly Paradise remain For now she 's dead and left me here alone Griev'd for her loss that I could gladly dye Drowning my Eyes in making of my Moan My Tears have left no space about me dry There is no Stone upon that craggy Hill Nor these sweet Fields an Herb or Plant do bring Nor Flower 'mongst all that do the Valleys â—ill Nor any drop of Water from the Spring Nor Beasts so wild that in the Woods do dwell But of my Grief for Laura's Death can tell Another of Petrarc On Laura's Death OH Death How has thy utmost Malice sped Thou hast Love's Kingdom quite impov'rished â—ropt Beauty's Flower put out our chiefest Light â—nd one small Stone deprives us of her sight â—ur Joy's extinct we 're left in Discontent â—ript of our Honour and our Ornament â—ut to her Fame thou ne're canst put an end â—hy Power but o're her Body did extend â—â—r her pure Soul above is glorify'd â—s brightest Star she 's there the Heaven's Pride â—nd here her Vertuous Deeds shall never dye â—t be admir'd by all Posterity 〈◊〉 w Glorious Angel thou that dwell'st above 〈◊〉 d with more powerful Charms attractest Love 〈◊〉 y'st thou be vanquish'd by my Piety 〈◊〉 here thy Beauty triumph'd over me Complains of the Court. IN a Great Court near a Fam'd River's side With Hopes of Greatness sed I still reside But where to fix I ne'er shall understand Foll'wing what flies and shunning what 's at hand Others from me the Gifts of Heav'n retain The lucky Fool does still the Purchace gain At Air I grasp and after Shadows strive Live for my Foes if this be said to live I slight my self love him that injures me And in soft Words find greatest Treachery I Mortal Hatred under Smiles behold And starve for want amidst great heaps of Gold Now Envy's Stroaks then Fortune's I sustain And want a Friend to whom I might complain I see th' ensuing Storm and no Help nigh Grieve for one Loss and straight another spy Being retired complains against the Court. REmote from Court where after Toil we get More Hopes than Fruit I now have chang'd my Seat And here retir'd with calmer Thoughts abide As Lea more smooth than troubled Thames does glide I need not Great Men here with Flatt'ry please No Pride nor Envy shall disturb my Ease If Love ensnares my Heart I from its Net Or servile Chain at least my Freedom get Since my new Flame brake out my old is death With Falshood kindled and with Scorn 't was fed And here the greatest Rigour pleases more Than all dissembled Favours could before There Love 's all Counterfeit and Friendship too And nothing else but Hate and Malice true If here my Nymph be cross or prove unkind Vanquish'd I triumph fighting Peace I find To Cynthia HARK how the little Birds do vie their Skill Saluting with their Tunes the welcome Day Spring does the Air with fragâ—ant Odours fill And the pleas'd Fields put on their best Array With great Serenity the Heavens move The Amorous Planet rules in fullest power All things their Cruelty away remove And seem to know of Joy the Time and Hower Only my Cynthia still this Glorious Morn Retains the frozen Temper of her Heart Of Birds and Flowers does imitation scorn Nor from her wonted Rigour will depart Ah change my Fair that harsh and cruel Mind Why should your Looks and Humour disagree Let not my Love such Opposition find You 're wo'd by Heav'n and Earth to favour me The Withered Rose GO Fading Rose a Present to my Fair To whose ungrateful Breast I gave my Heart And thô my Grief could ne'er affect her Care To her do thou my dying Mind impart I late have seen thee Lovely Sweet and Gay Perchance the influence of her Looks on thee Now pale as Death thy Beauty 's gone away Thou art the Emblem of my Misery Say if to cast an Eye on thee she deign Since no Relief from her my Life receives My Body soon as Bloodless will remain As thy once fresh but now decaying Leaves And thou perchance the Benefit may'st find For thy pale Looks and Message understood To cure thy dying Spoils she may be kind With Water of my Tears or with my Blood A Sonnet On the Death of Sylvia OH Death without regard to wrong or right All things at will thy boundless Rage devours This tender Plant
To interweave the Olive with the Bays When tir'd with Arts to tune Apolo's Lyre To merit Honours e're he them desire These Fruits which others bring with Art and Time Your Blooming Age does yield before your Prime Love's New Philosophy I. WHO'e're a Lover is of Art May come and learn of me A New Philosophy Such as no Schools could e'er impart â—ove all my other Notions does controul â—nd reads these stranger Lectures to my Soul II. This God who takes delight to lye Does Sacred Truths defame And Aristotle blame Concluding all by Subtilty â—is Syllogisms with such Art are made â—ot Solomon himself could them evade III. So wondrous is his Art and Skill His Reasons pierce like Darts Mens Intellects and Hearts Old Maximes he destroys at will â—nd blinded Plato so he made him think â—was Water when he gave him Fire to drink IV. That Water can extinguish Fire All Ages did allow But Love denyes it now And says it makes his Flame rage higher Which Truth my self have prov'd for many Years Wherein I 've wept whole Deluges of Tears V. At the Sun's Rays you Cynthia know The Ice no more can melt Nor can the Fire be felt Or have its wonted Influence on Snow By your relentless Heart is this exprest Your Eyes are Suns the Fire is in my Brest VI. When Soul and Body separate That then the Life must dye This too I must deny My Soul 's with her who rules my Fate Yet still my Organs move a Proof to give That Soul and Body can divided live VII Remove the Cause th' Effects will cease This is an Errour too And found by me untrue My Fair when near disturbs my Peace But when she 's furthest off no Tongue can tell The raging Pangs of Love my Heart does feel VIII All Creatures Love not their own Kind I this new Axiom try And that all fear to dye By Nature a Mistake I find â—or I a Man do a Fierce Creature love â—nd such I know that will my Murd'ress prove IX Here two Extreams are eas'ly join'd Joy and Grief in my Brest VVhich give my Soul no Rest Both to torment me are combin'd â—or when I view the Source of all my Wrong â— sigh my Musick mix with Tears my Song X. That all things like Effects produce I readily can prove A Paradox in Love And my Conclusion hence deduce Cold Cynthia to my Zeal yields no Return Though Ice her Heart she makes my Heart to burn XI Whilst in this Torment I remain It is no Mystery To be and not to be I dye to Joy and live to Pain So that my Fair I may be justly sed To be and not to be Alive and Dead XII Now go my Song yet shun the Eyes Of those ne'er felt Love's Flame And if my Cynthia blame Thy Arguments as Sophistries Tell her this is Love's New Philosophy Which none can understand but such as try The Vanity of Unwarrantable Notions Done out of Portugueze from Lewis de Camoëns TRUTH Reason Love and Merit may endure Some Shocks to make us think our selves secure But Fortune Time and Destiny do still Dispose all Humane Matters at their Will What various strange Effects perplex the Mind For which we can no certain Causes find We know we live but what succeeds our End Man's Understanding cannot comprehend Yet Doctors will their Notions justify And vouch for Truths what no Man e'er could try Doubt Real Things as if no such had been And Things believe which never yet were seen These Men are proud to have their Madness known Believe in Christ and let the rest alone To the NIGHTINGALE Why Little Charmer of the Air Dost thou in Musick spend the Morn Whilst I thus languish in Despair Opprest by Cynthia 's Hate and Scorn Why dost thou sing and hear me cry Tell wanton Songster tell me why I. WILT thou not cease at my Desire Will those small Organs never tiâ—e Nature did these close Shades prepare Not for thy Musick but my Care Then why wilt thou persist to sing Thou Beautiful Malitious Thing When Kind Aurora first appears She weeps in pity to my Tears If thus thou think'st to give Relief Thou never knew'st a Lover's Grief Then Little Charmer c. That dost in Musick c. II. Thou Feather'd Atome where in thee Can be compris'd such Harmony In whose small Fabrick must remain What Composition does contain All Griefs but mine are at a stand When thy surprising Tunes command How can so small a Tongue and Throat Express so loud and sweet a Note Thou hast more various Points at VVill Than Orpheus had with all his Skill Then Little Charmer c. That dost in Musick c. III. Great to the Ear thô Small to Sight The Happy Lovers dear Delight Fly to the Bow'r where such are lade And there bestow thy Serenade Haste from my Sorrow haste away Alas there 's Danger in thy Stay Lâ—st hearing me so oft complain Should make thee change thy cheerful Strain Thy Songs cannot my Grief remove Thou harmless Syren of the Grove Then cease thou Charmer of the Air No more in Musick spend the Morn With me that languish in Despair Opprest by Cynthia 's Hate and Scorn And do not this Poor Boon deny I ask but Silence whilst I dye APOLLO and DAPHNE PAnting for Breath towards her Parent Brook Like the tyr'd Deer before an eager Chase Fair Daphne ran nor durst behind her look With winged Feet and with a blub'red Face The Beardless God who taken with her Charms Had long pursu'd by his hot Passion led Straight saw her stop and upward stretch her Arms On Pencus Banks where she for Aid had sled He saw her Nimble Feet take Root and grow And a rough Bark her Tender Limbs enclose Her Hairs which once like Curls of Gold did show Chang'd Green and in a Shade of Boughs arose To the resistless Tree He Courtship makes And wâ—th vain Kisses his Fond Love deceives Then of her Bays by force a Chaplet takes So stead of Fruit He only gathers Leaves A Sestina In Imitation of Sig. Fra. Petrarca I. SO many Creatures live not in the Sea Nor e'er above the Circle of the Moon Did Man behold so many Stars at Night Nor little Birds do shelter in the Woods Nor Herbs nor Flow'rs e'er beautify'd the Fields As anxious Thoughts my Heart feels ev'ry Day II. â— wishing Death pray each may be the Day And seek in vain for Quiet in the Fields My Griefs succeed like Waves upon the Sea â—uch Torments sure no Man beneath the Moon â—'er felt as I 'T is known amongst the Woods Where to complain I oft retire at Night III. â— never could enjoy a quiet Night And do in Pain and Sorrow spend the Day â—ince Angry Cynthia drove me to the Woods â—et e'er I quit my Love I 'll weep a Sea The Sun his Light shall borrow of the Moon And May with Flowers refuse to deck the Fields IV. Restless I wander
up and down the Fields And scarce can close my Eyes to sleep at Night So that my Life 's unstable as the Moon The Air I fill with Sighs both Night and Day My Show'rs of Tears seem to augment the Sea Make the Herbs green and to refresh the VVoods V. I hating Cities ramble in the VVoods And thence I shift to solitary Fields I rove and imitate the troubled Sea And hope most Quiet in the silent Night So that I wish at the Approach of Day The Sun would set and give his place to th' Moon VI. Oh that like him who long had lov'd the Moon I could in Dreams be happy in the VVoods I 'd wish an End to this most Glorious Day Then should I meet my Cynthia in the Fields Court her and entertain her all the Night The Day should stop and Sol dwell in the Sea But Day nor Night Sea Moon nor Wood nor Field Now Cynthia frowns can Ease or Pleasure yield A Sonnet of Sig. Francesco Petrarca Giving an Account of the Time when he fell in Love with Madonna Laura WILL spurs me on Love wounds me with his Dart. Pleasure does draw me Custom pulls me too Hope flatters that I should my Ends pursue And lends her Right Hand to my Fainting Heart My wretched Heart accepts nor yet espyes The Weakness of my blind disloyal Guide My Passions rule long â—ince my Reason dyde And from one fond Desire still others rise Vertue and Wealth Beauty and Graceful Meen Sweet Words and Person fair as e'er was seen Were the Allurements drew me to her Net 'T was Thirteen hundred twenty sev'n the Year April the sixth this Nymph did first appear And ty'd me so I ne'er shall Freedom get A Sonnet of Petrarc Shewing how long he had lov'd Madonna Laura PLeasure in Thought in Weeping Ease I find I catch at Shadows grasp Air with my Hand On Seas I float are bounded with no Land Plow Water sow on Rocks and reap the Wind. The Sun I gaz'd so long at I became Struck with its Dazling Rays and lost my Eyes I chase a Nimble Doe that always flyes And hunt with a Dull Creature Weak and Lame Heartless I live to all things but my Ill Which I 'm sollicitous to follow still And only call on Laura Lovâ— and Death Thus Twenty Years I 've spent in Misery Whilst only Sighs and Tears and Sobs I buy Under such hard Stars first I drew my Breath A Sonnet of Petrarc Going to visit M. Laura remembers she is lately dead OH Eyes Our Sun 's extinct and at an End Or rather glorify'd in Heav'n does shine â—here shall we see her there does she attend â—nd at our long Delay perchance repine Alas my Ears the Voice you lov'd to hear Is now rais'd up to the Coelestial Choire And you my Feet she 's gone that us'd to stear Your Course where you till Death can ne'er aspire Cannot my Soul nor Body yet be free 'T was not my Fault you this Occasion lost That Seeing Hearing Finding her y' are crost Blame Death or rather blest be ever He Who binds and looses makes and can destroy And when Life 's done crowns with Eternal Joy A Sonnet Petrarc laments for the Death of M. Laura THIS Nightingale that does so much complain Robb'd of her tender Young or dearest Maâ—â—â— And to the Fields and Heav'ns her Tale relate In such sad Notes but yet Harmonious Strain Perhaps this Station kindly does retain To join her Griefs with my unhappy State 'T was may Assurance did my Woe create I thought Death could not have a Goddess slain How soon deceiv'd are those who least mistrust I ne'er could think that Face should turn to Dust Which than all Humane Beauties seem'd more pure But now I find that my malicious Fate Will to my Sorrow have me learn too late Nothing that pleases here can long endure A Sonnet Petrarc on Laura's Death HOLD Treacherous Thoughts that dare my Rule despise Is 't not enough 'gainst me in War are join'd Love Fortune and Grim Death but I must find Within me such Domestick Enemies And thou my Heart that dost my Peace oppose Disloyal thou wilt give my Soul no Rest But harb'ring still these Thoughts within my Brest Keep'st Correspondence with my Deadly Foes To thee Love all his Messages conveys Fortune my now departed Pomp displays Death in my Mind does all my Grieâ—s express That my Remains fall by Necessity My Thoughts with Errors arm themselves in thee Thou art the Cause of my Unhappiness CONSTANCY PLace me where Sol dryes up the Flow'ry Fields Or where he to the Frosty Winter yields Place me where he does mod'rate Heat dispense And where his Beams have a kind Influence Place me in humble State or place me high In a dark Clime or a serener Sky Place me where Days or Nights are short or long In Age mature or be it Old or Young Place me in Heav'n on Earth or in the Main On a high Hill low Vale or lâ—vel Plain Let me have vigorous Parts or Dulness have Place me in Liberty or as a Slave Give me a Black or an Illustrious Fame As I have liv'd I 'll ever live the same Where I at first did fix my Constant Love Nothing from Cynthia can it e'er remove To his VIOL I Tun'd my Viol and have often strove In MARS's Praise to raise his humble Verse And in Heroick Strain his Deeds reherse â—ut all my Accents still resound of Love â—n Foreign Countries or on English Ground Love for my Theme does dictate Cynthia's Charms Nor will he let me sing of other Arms Than those with which he Lovers Hearts does wound This Viol then unfit for rougher Notes My Muse shall tune to its accustom'd Way So shall it may Harmonious Points obey â—or it to Cynthia all its Tunes devotes Then to my Soft and Sweetest Stroakes I keep Whilst angry Mars his Fury may lay by He listning to my Song will quietly And in his Cytherea's Bosome sleep HOPE Out of Italian from Fra. Abbati I. GRieve no more Mortals dry your Eyes And learn this Truth of me Fate rowls and round about us flyes But for its Ills carries a Remedy The Leaveless Boughs on all those Stocks With Green shall beautifie their Locks And straight Such Store â—f various Fruits shall yield That then â—ough Backs shall truckle with the weight For in a little space Winter shall give to Spring its Place And with Fresh Robes Hopes Emblem cloath the Field CHORVS He has no Faith who sighs and whines And at his present Ill repines For we should strive 'Gainst all Afflictions to apply This Vniversal Remedy To hope and live II. Hope does our Future Joys anticipate It eases all our Pains For in the present Ill that raigns Endurance only triumphs over Fate Young Colts fierce and untaught In time submit For they to yield are brought Their Backs to Burdens and their Mouths to th' Bit With Patience also will the Country Swain
His Conquest gain And make the stubborn Heifer bow â—ts Neck to th' Yoke and labour at the Plow CHORVS Then he wants Faith who sighs and whines And at his present Ill repines For Man should strive 'Gainst all Afflictions to apply This Vniversal Remedy To hope and live III. Thus sang a Smiling Courtier t' other Day Under the Covert of a Spreading Tree And to his Song upon his Lute did play By whom an Ass you might attentive see The Ass in Scorn drew nearer him and bray'd And arguing thus methought in Answer sayd If this Green Grass on which I fed but now To be of Hope the Symbol you allow And if the Asses proper Meat be Grass Sure He that lives on Hope feeds like an Ass. Finding Cynthia in Pain and crying A Sonnet WHY Idol of my Heart these mournful Cryes And so much Grief on those fair Cheeks appears From whence proceed those envious Showres of Tearâ— Dark'ning the Lustre of thy Beautious Eyes How dares bold Sorrow labour to remove So many Graces from their proper Place Ah Cynthia Pain endeavours in thy Face To poyson all the sweetest Charms of Love Sense of thy Grief my Soul with Anguish fills Which out of Pity into Tears distills And for thy Ease would sain endure thy Woe But this Affliction sure thy Heart sustains That Cruel Thou being sensible of Pains May'st to thy Constant Martyr Pity show Cynthia sleeping in a Garden A Sonnet NEAR a cool Fountain on a Rose-bed lay My Cynthia sleeping in the open Air Whom Sol espy'd and seeing her so Fair Gaz'd till his wanton Coursers lost their Way The proudest Flowers were not asham'd to find Their Scent and Colour rivall'd in her Face Her bright curl'd Hairs were toss'd from Place to Place On Neck and Bosom by the Amorous Wind. Her Smiles were animated by her Breath Which still as soon as born receiv'd their Death Being Mortal made in Pity to Mens Hearts Poor Lovers then did lye and take their Rest For the Blind Boy who does our Peace molest Had in her sleeping Eyes hid all his Darts Lesbia's Complaint against Thyrsis his INCONSTANCY A Sonnet I Lov'd thee Faithless Man and love thee still Thou Fatal Object of my Fond Desires And that which nourishes these Amorous Fires Is Hope by which I love against my Will Great was the Passion thou didst late express Yet scorn'st me now whom long thou didst adore Sporting with others her thou mind'st no more Whom thou hast call'd thy Heav'n and Happiness Think not by this thy Lesbia thee invites To spend thy Years in Dalliance and Delights 'T is but to keep her Faith in Memory But if to grieve my Soul thou only strive To thy Reproach and to my Boast I 'll live A Monument of thy INCONSTANCY On Lydia distracted A Sonnet WIth Hairs which for the Wind to play with hung With her torn Garments and with naked Feet Fair Lydia dancing went from Street to Street Singing with pleasant Voice her foolish Song On her she drew all Eyes in ev'ry Place And them to Pity by her Pranks did move Which turn'd with gazing longer into Love By the rare Beauty of her charming Face In all her Frenzyes and her Mimickries While she did Natures richest Gifts despise There active Love did subt'ly play his part Her antick Postures made her look more gay Her Ragged Cloaths her Treasures did display And with each Motion she insnar'd a Heart The Four Seasons SPRING WHEN Winter 's past then ev'ry Field and Hill The SPRING with Flowers does fill Soft Winds do cleanse the Air Repel the Fogs and make the VVeather fair Cold Frosts are gone away The Rivers are at Liberty And their just Tribute pay Of liquid Pearls and Crystal to the Sea To whom each Brook and Fountain runs The stable Mother of those stragling Sons CHORVS But then In a short space WINTER returns agen E're Sol has run his annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flyes And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes SUMMER WHEN Flow'ry May is past The Spring is o're Then our cool Breezes end For Aeolus does send His soultry Blasts from off the Southern Shore The Sun bows down his Head And darts on us his siery Rays Plants droop and seem as dead Most Creatures seek for Shade their diff'rent ways All things as if for Moisture cry Even Rivers with the common Thirst grow dry CHORVS But then In a short space The SPRING returns agen E're Sol has run his Annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flyes And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes AUTUMN WHen Summer 's done green Trees begin to yield Their Leaves with Age decay They 're stript of their Array Scarce can the Rains revive the Russet Field The Flowers run up to Seed Orchards with Choice of Fruit abound Which Sight and Taste do feed The grateful Boughs even kiss their Parent Ground The Elm's kind Wife the tender Vine Is pregnant with her Heavenly Burden Wine CHORVS But then In a short Space SVMMER returns agen E're Sol has run his Annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flies And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes WINTER WHen Autumn's past sharp Eastern Winds do blow Thick Clouds obscure the Day Frost makes the Currents stay The Aged Mountains Hoary are with Snow Althô the Winter rage The wronged Trees Revenge conspire Its Fury they asswage Alive they serve for Fence when dead for Fire All Creatures from its Out-rage fly Those which want Shelter or Relief must dye CHORVS But then In a short Space AVTVMN returns agen E're Sol has run his Annual Race But Ah! When Death 's keen Arrow flyes And hits Poor MAN Do what he can He dyes Returns to Dust a Shadow and a Nothing lyes A Sonnet Translated out of Italian Written by Sig. Fra. Gorgia who was born as they were carrying his Mother to her Grave UNhappy I came from my Mother's Womb As She Oh Blessed She who gave me Breath Having receiv'd the Fatal Stroak of Death By weeping Friends was carryed to her Tomb. The Sorrow I exprest and grievous Cries Love's Tribute were for her to Heav'n was gone My Coffin and my Cradle both were one And at her Sun-set mine began to rise Wretch how I quake to think on that sad Day Which both for Life and Death at once made way Being gave the Son and Mother turn'd to Earth Alas I dye Not that Life hasts so fast But that to me each Minute seems the last For I in Death's cold Arms receiv'd my Birth The Scholar of his own Pupil The Third Idyllium of Bion Englished Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I Dreamt by me I saw Fair Venus stand Holding Young Cupid in her Lovely Hand And said Kind Shepherd I a Scholar bring My Little Son to
her Game will chuse to dye Here tir'd and hot she sits and takes the Air Here bathes her Limbs and combs and dryes her Haâ—â— The Muses in their Songs thy Praise express Dryas by thee begins to trick and dress Oft to thy Streams Calliope retires And all the Beauties of thy Spring admires In whose close Walks while she from Heat does keep Charm'd with thy murm'ring Noise she falls asleep To Cynthia gone into the Countrey THO' the late Parting was our Joynt Desire It did with diff'rent Passions us inspire Thou wert o'erjoy'd opprest with Sorrow I Thy Thoughts did faster than thy Foot-steps fly But thô I strove and labour'd to depart Spight of my â—eet I follow'd with my Heart Since thus I griev'd my Loss it was unkind Not once to sigh for what thou left'st behind Soneto EspanÌ„ol de Don Felipe Ayres En alabanza de su Ingenioso Amigo Don Pedro Reggio vno de los mayores Musicos de su tiempo SI el Thebano Sabio en dulce Canto De su Tierra los Hechos escrivia Y en elegantes Versos los dezia Que viven y con embidia con espanto Tu Reggio ya con soberano encanto Del Pindaro Ingles con Armonia Assi exprimes la dulce Melodia Que la admiration suspende el llanto No es mucho pues que vençes lo mas fuerte Si ya tu voz merâ—ce eterna Palma Y tu Instrumento al mismo Apolo assombre Pues Logras dos Victorias en tu suerte Vna de la Armonia para L'alma Otra del Instrumento para el Nombre A Sonnet On CYNTHIA sick HELP Help Ye Nymphs whilst on the neighb'ring Plain Your Flocks do feed Come and Assistance bring Alas Fair Cynthia's sick and languishing For whom my Heart endures a greater Pain Ye Syrens of the Thames let all your Train Tune their shrill Instruments and to them sing And let its Flow'ry Banks with Echo's ring This may her wonted cheerful Looks regain Ye Herbs that richest Med'cines can produce Come quickly and afford such Sov'reign Juice As from her Heart may all the Pains remove But in her Face if Death would Paleness give And Fate ordain that she in Torment live Then let her suffer in the Flames of Love The TURTLE DOVES From Iovianus Pontanus YE Happy Pair of Turtle Doves Renewing still your former Loves Who on one Bough both sing one Song Have but one Care one Heart one Tongue Whilst our Loves varying as our Fate Can scarce sometimes be known from Hate You to your first Amours are true Would we could Pattern take by you What Force of Love amongst us tell Such Opposition can compel If from some powerful Fire it Spring Whence all this Cold and Shivering From Cold if Love's strange Force arise How are our Hearts his Sacrifice This Myst'ry I can ne'er unfold Why Love is rul'd by Heat and Cold. You might the Scruple best remove That are the Emblem of TRUE-LOVE An Essay towards a Character of His Sacred Majesty King JAMES the II. I Paint the Prince the World would surely crave Could they the Summ of all their Wishes have Pattern of Goodness Him on Earth we see Who knows He beaâ—s the Stamp of Deity He 's made by Nature fit for Sword or Gown And with undoubted Right enjoys his Crown As Gold by Fire He 's try'd by Suffering Preserv'd by Miracles to be a King Troubles were Foils to make his Glories shine Through all conducted by a Hand Divine Malice long strove his Fortunes to defeat Now Earth and Heav'n conspire to make him Great He of all Temp'ral Blessings is possest But in a Royal Consort doubly blest His Mind as Head with Princely Vertue crown'd To him no Equal can on Earth be found His ev'ry Action has peculiar Grace And MAJESTY appears in Mien and Face In Subjects Hearts as on his Throne he raigns Himself the Weight of all his Realms sustains Of a blest Statesmen ever seeks Advice And of best Councils knows to make his Choice Is taught by long Obedience to command His own best Gen'ral He for Sea and Land Loves Peace whilst thus for War and Action sit And Arms and Hate lays down when Foes submit Not of too open nor too frugal Mind In all things to the Golden Mean inclin'd Seems for himself not born but People rather And shews by 's Care that He 's their Common Father Lewdness expels both from his Camp and Court No Flatt'rers please nor Fools can make him Sport Grave in Discoursing in his Habit plain And all Excess endeavours to restrain As Fates decree so stands his Royal Word O'er all his Passions governs as their Lord Nicely does he inspect each Fair Pretence Justice alike to Friend and Foe dispense He 's the Retreat to which Opprest do fly Extending Help to those in Misery Gracious to Good to Wicked Men severe â—upports the Humble makes the Haughty fear To true Deserts in Mercy unconfin'd His Laws do more Himself than others bind At Sea his Naval Power He stretches far â—n Europe holds the Scales of Peace and War His Actions lasting Monuments shall frame None leave to Future Age so sweet a Name Add ten times more the Royal Image must Fall short of IAMES the Great the Good the Just. Sleeping Eyes FAIR Eyes ye Mortal Stars below Whose Aspects do portend my Ill That sleeping cannot chuse but show How wretched me you long to kill If thus you can such Pleasure take What would you if you were awake An Ode of Anacreon Englished 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 To the SWALLOW Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 I. DEAR Bird thy Tunes and Sportings here Delight us all the Day Who dwell'st amongst us half the Year And then art forc'd away II. Thou canst not Winter's Fury bear But cross the Southern Main To warmer Africk dost repair Till Spring return again III. But Ah! No Force of Storm or Art Drives Cupid from my Brest He took Possession of my Heart And in it built his Nest. This Bird there hatches all his Young Where each by Instinct led Learns of its Sire his Tricks and Song VVith Shell upon its Head V. And e'er these Loves have plum'd their VVings They multiply apace For as one plays or cryes or sings It propagates its Race VI. Now their Confusion's grown so loud It cannot be exprest I 've such Disturbance with the Crowd They give my Soul no Rest. Love so as to be belov'd again An Idyllium of Moschus Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 PAN lov'd his Neighbour Echo Echo strove To gain a nimble Satyr to her Love This Satyr had on Lyda fixt his Flame Who on another Swain had done the same As Echo Pan did Satyr Echo hate And Lyda scorn'd the Satyr for her Mate Thus Love by Contrarieties did burn And each for Love and Hatred took the turn For as these did the other's Flame despise As little those their Lovers Passions prise Then learn all you who never felt
Lips and thus in Anger said Here I 'm resolv'd shall a Memorial be Of this my sweet but punish'd Robbery Let him endure as great a Pain as this Who next presumes these Nectar Lips to kiss Their Sweetness shall convey revenging Smart Honey to 's Mouth but Torment to his Heart The Young Fowler that mistook his Game An Idyllium of BION 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 A Brisk Young Archer that had scarce his Trade In search of Game alone his Progress made To a Near Wood and as he there did rove Spy'd in a Box-Tree perch'd the God of Love For Joy did he his lucky Stars adore Ne'er having seen so large a Bird before Then in due Order all his Lime-twigs set Prepar'd his Arrows and display'd his Net Yet would the Crafty Bird no Aim allow But flew from Tree to Tree and Bough to Bough At which his strange Success for Grief he cry'd In Anger throwing Bow and Toyls aside And to the Man that taught him ran in Hast To whom he gave Account of all that past Making him leave his Plow to come and see And shew'd him Cupid sitting in the Tree The good Man when he saw it shook his Head Leave off Fond Boy leave off he smiling sed Hast from this Dang'rous Fowl that from you flies And follow other Game let me advise For when to riper Age you shall attain This Bird that shuns you now you 'll find again Then use your Skill 't will all your Art abide Sit on your Shoulders and in Triumph ride CUPID 's Nest. AH Tell me Love thy Nesting Place Is 't in my Heart or Cynthia's Face For when I see her Graces shine There art thou perch'd with Pow'r Divine Yet strait I feel thy pointed Dart And find thee flutt'ring in my Heart Then since amongst us thou wilt show The many Tricks thou Love canst doe Prithee for sport remove thy Nest First to my Face and then to Cynthia's Brest An Ode of ANACREON To HIMSELF 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WHEN Fumes of Wine ascend into my Brain Care sleeps and I the Bustling World disdain Nor all the Wealth of Croesus I esteem â—â—ng of Mirth for Jollity's my Theme With Garlands I my Ruby Temples crown Keeping Rebellious Thoughts of Business down â—n Broyls and Wars while others take Delight 〈◊〉 with choice Friends indulge my Appetite Then fetch more Bottles Boy and charge us round We 'll fall to Bacchus Victims on the Ground Nor value what dull Moralists have sed I 'm sure 't is better to be drunk than dead An Ode of ANACREON To his Mistress 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 NEAR Latona's Rival makes her Mone Chang'd by the Gods into a Weeping Stone And ravish'd Philomel they say 't is true Became a Bird stretch'd out her Wings and flew But I could wish to be your Looking-Glass Thence to admire the Beauties of your Face Or Robe de Chambrè that each Night and Morn On those sweet Limbs undrest I might be worn Or else a Crystal Spring for your Delight And you to bathe in those cool Streams invite Or be some precious Sweets to please the Smell That in your Hand I near your Lips might dwell Or String of Pearls upon your Neck to rest Or Pendent Gem kissing your Snowy Brest E'en to your Feet would I my Wish pursue A Shoe I 'd be might I be worn by you To LOVE An Ode of ANACREON 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 'T IS sad if Love should miss a Heart Yet sadder much to feel the Smart But who can Cupid's Wounds indure And have no Prospect of a Cure We Lovers are not look'd upon For what our Ancestors have done Wit and good Parts have slight Regard No Vertue can obtain Reward They ask what Coyn our Purses hold No Object 's like a Heap of Gold But doubly be the Wretch accurst Who taught us to esteem it first This Thirst of Gold incites one Brother To ruine or destroy another Our Fathers we for Gold despise Hence Envy Strife and VVars arise And Gold 's the Bane as I could prove Of all that truly are in Love A Sonnet Out of Spanish from Don Luis de Gongora On a Death's-Head covered with Cobwebs kept in a Library and said to be the Scull of a King THIS Mortal Spoil which so neglected lies Death's sad Memento now where Spiders weave Their Subtil Webs which Innocence deceive Whose Strength to break their Toyls cannot suffice Saw it self Crown'd it self Triumphant saw With Mighty Deeds proclaiming its Renown Its Smiles were Favours Terrour was its Frown The World of its Displeasure stood in Awe Where Pride ordaining Laws did once preside Which Land should Peace enjoy which Wars abide There boldly now these little Insects nest Then raise not Kings your Haughty Plumes so high For in Death's cold Embraces when you lye Your Bones with those of common Subjects rest From an Imperfect Ode of Hybrias the Cretan Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 MY Riches are a Trusty Sword and Spear And a tough Shield which I in Battel wear This as a Rampart its Defence does lend Whilst with the others I my Foes offend With these I plow with these my Crops I reap With these for VVine I press the Juicie Grape These are unless I fall by Fickle Chance Machines which me to Dignities advance Oh thrice Beloved Target Spear and Sword That all these Heav'nly Blessings can afford Those who the Havock of my Weapons fear And tremble when of Blood and VVounds they hear They are the Men which me my Treasures bring Erect my Trophies stile me Lord and King And such while I my Conquests spread abroad Fall and adore me as they do their God Complains of the Shortness of Life An Idyllium of BION 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 THO' I had writ such Poems that my Name Deserv'd Enrollment in the Book of Fame Or thô my Muse could ne'er acquire the Bays VVhy thus in drudging do I spend my Days For should indulgent Heav'n prolong our Date Doubling the Term of Life prescrib'd by Fate That we might half in Care and Toyl employ And spend the other in Delights and Joy VVe then this sweet Assurance might retain To reap in Time the Fruits of all our Pain But since none can the Bounds of Life extend And all our Troubles have a speedy End VVhy do we wrack our Brains and waste our Health To study Curious Arts or heap up VVealth Sure we forget we came of Mortal Seed And the short Time Fate has for us decreed Out of Latine from Iovianus Pontâ—â—â—s Being sick of a Fever complains of the Fountain CASIS CASIS to craving Fields thou lib'ral Flood Why so remote when thou should'st cool my Blood From Mossie Rocks thy Silver Streams do glide By which the soultry Air is qualifi'd Tall Trees do kindly yield thy Head their Shade Where Choirs of Birds their sweet Retreats have made But
me a Fever here in Bed detains And Heat dries up the Moisture of my Veins For this did I with Flowers thy Banks adorn And has for this thy Head my Garlands worn â—ngrateful Spring 'T is I thy Tale have told And sang in Verses thy Renown of Old How on a Time Iove made in Heav'n a Feast To which each God and Goddess came a Guest Young Ganymede was there to fill the Bowl The Boy by 's Eagle Iove from Ida stole Who proud the Gods admir'd his Mien and Face And active in the Duty of his Place Turning in haste he made a careless Tread And from the Goblet all the Nectar shed Which pouring down from Heav'n upon the Ground In a small Pit it self had forc'd was found At which Iove smil'd and said my Lovely Boy I 'll make this keep thy Chance in Memory A Brook â—hall flow where first thy Liquor fell And Casis call'd which of thy Fame shall tell Then with a Kiss he did his Minion grace Making a Crimson Blush o'erspread his Face This flatt'ring Tale I often us'd to sing To the soft Musick of thy bubling Spring But thou to distant Vmbrians dost retire Forgetful grown of thy Aonian Lyre No Kindness now thou yield'st me as at first No cooling Water to allay my Thirst I have thy Image in my troubled Brain But to my Pallate no Relief obtain Whole Vessels in my Dreams I seem to drink And that I cool my raging Fever think My Sleep to me at least this Comfort yields Whil'st the fierce Dog-star chaps the parched Fields Some Help ye Muses to your Poet bring Let him not thirst that drinks your sacred Spring Persephon's Favour with your Songs implore Orpheus appeas'd her with his Harp before His Heart into a Bird. THE Tears o'erflow'd fair Cynthia's Eyes Her pretty Bird away was flown For this great Loss she made her Moan And quarrell'd with her Destinyes My Heart a secret Joy exprest As hoping Good from that Escape Took Wings and in the Fug'tive's Shape Got Shelter in her Snowy Brest Which prov'd a Fatal Resting-Place For she th'Impostor when she found Gave it with Spight a Mortal Wound Then pleas'd she laugh'd and dry'd her Face In Praise of a Countrey Life THE Bliss which Souls enjoy above He seems on Earth to share Who does Divine Retirement love And frees himself from Care Nor Thought admits which may his Peace controul But in a quiet State contents his bounded Soul Faction and noisy Routs he hates Fills not his Head with News Waits at no State-man's crouded Gates Nor servile Phrase does use From all false Meaning are his Words refin'd His sober Out-side is the Index of his Mind In pleasant Shades enjoys his Ease No Project spoils his Sleep With Rural Pipe himself can please And charm his wandring Sheep Till to his Cottage in some quiet Grove By dusky Night's Approach he 's summon'd to remove On tempting Gold and Baits of Gain With scorn he casts his Eyes As Mischief's Root and Virtue 's Bane Can their Assaults despise â—iches he sees our Liberty abuse â—nd to their slavish Yoke he does his Neck refuse Fruit-Trees their loaded Boughs extend For him to take his Choise His wholsome Drink the Fountains lend With pleasant purling Noise Notes untaught Birds that like him are free â—â—ive which shall most delight him with their Harmony Th' industrious Bee example shows And teaches him to live While she from Woodbine Pink and Rose Flies loaded to her Hive 〈◊〉 narrow bounds contain his Winter's Store 〈◊〉 Nature be suppli'd and he desires no more No Misery this Man attends Vice cannot him allure Each Chance contributes to his Ends Which makes his Peace secure Others may boast of their Luxurious Strife But happy He possesses more of solid Life Mortal Iealousie BEgon O thou distracting Care Partner of Sorrow and Despair Thy Poyson spreads to ev'ry Part Of this my poor tormented Heart If it be false with which of late Thou hast disturb'd my quiet State Why to affright me would'st thou bring So well compos'd a Monstrous Thing But if with Truth thou would'st delight To clear my long deluded Sight Under that Vail does Falshood lye 'T is Death thou bring'st not Jealousie The Innocent Magician or A Charm against LOVE A Great but Harmless Conjurer am I That can Love's Captives set at Liberty Hearts led astray by his deluding Flame â— to their peaceful Dwellings can reclaim Love's Wings I clip and take from him his Arms By the sole Virtue of my Sacred Charms His Empire shakes when I appear in Sight My Words the Wing'd and Quiver'd Boys affright Their close Retreats my boundless Power invades Nor can they hide them in their Myrtle Shades Their Sun 's bright Rays they now eclips'd shall find Whose fancy'd Light strikes giddy Lovers blind Rays of fair Eyes which they proclaim Divine And boast they can Sol's dazling Beams out-shine The Storms of Sighs and Rivers of their Eyes My Skill allays and their large Current dryes Hearts that are dead I from their Graves retrieve And by my Magick-Spell can make them live For know they 're only Tricks and subtil Arts With which the Tyrant Love ensnares our Hearts This Traytor plants his Toils to gain his Prize In Curls of Flaxen Hair and Sparkling Eyes In each soft Look and Smile he sets a Gin White Hands or Snowy Breasts can tempt us in Wholly on Mischief is his Mind employ'd His fairest Shows do greatest Dangers hide With Charming Sounds his Vot'ryes he beguiles Till he destroys them by his Syren's Wiles His Cunning Circes ev'ry where deceive And Men of Souls and Humane Shape bereave A thousand other Arts this Treach'rous Boy To heedless Lovers Ruine does employ Be watchful then and his Allurements shun So ends my Charm Run to your Freedom Run The happy NIGHTINGALE MELodious Creature happy in thy Choice That sitting on a Bough Dost sing Dear Mate my Dear Come to me now And she obeys thy Voice Ah could my Songs such Bliss procure For mine could Cynthia ne'er allure Nor have I Wings like thee to fly But must neglected lye I cannot her to Pity move She scorns my Songs and me While thou rejoycest all the Grove As well thou may'st with Melody For thou art happy in thy Love No Creature e'er could boast a perfect State Unless to thee it may belong Since Nature lib'rally supplies All thy Infirmities To thy weak Organs gave a pow'rful Song Thô small in Size thou art in Fortune great Compar'd to mine thy Happiness is most compleat On FAME THE Fame we covet is a wandring Air Which against Silence wages constant War For to be Mute does her so much displease That true or false she seldom holds her peace She but a while can in a place remain 'T is running up and down does her sustain Thô Dead she seem she quickly can revive And with a Thousand Tongues a Hydra live LEANDER drowned THO' Winds and Seas oppose their utmost Spight
fume with richest Sacrifice â—ouths mind their active Sports they often meet â—evel and dance with Maydens in the Street â—he useless Shield serves to adorn the Hall â—hence Spiders weave their Nets against the Wall â—antlets and Spears lye cover'd o'er with Dust â—nd slighted Swords half eaten up with Rust 〈◊〉 Trumpets sound no ratling Drums we hear 〈◊〉 frightful Clamours pierce the tim'rous Ear â—â—r weary Eyes enjoying nat'ral Rest â—â—fresh the Heart when 't is with Cares opprest â—â—ys steal away in Feasting and Delight â—â—d Lovers spend in Serenades the Night An Ode of ANACREON Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 MY Hairs are hoary wrinkled is my Face I lose my Strength and all my Manly Grace My Eyes grow dim my Teeth are broke or gone And the best part of all my Life is done I 'm drown'd in Cares and often sigh and weep My Spirits fail me broken is my Sleep Thoughts of the gaping Grave distract my Head For in its Paths ' wake or asleep we tread None can from it by Art their Feet restrain Nor back thô wide its Gates can come again Then since these Ills attend the Life of Man Let 's make their Burden easy as we can Cares are no Cares but whilst on them we think To clear our Minds of such dull Thoughts let 's drinâ— The Musical Conqueress LED by kind Stars one Ev'ning to the Grove I spy'd my Cynthia in the Walk of Love Her Heav'nly Voice did soon salute my Ears I heard methought the Music of the Sphears Those Notes on all the Birds had laid a Spell And list'ning 'mongst the rest was Philomel Who thinking she in Credit suffer'd wrong Strove thô in vain to equal Cynthia's Song But when her self in Voice out-done she knew Being griev'd she ceas'd and from her Rival slew â— stay'd and saw my Fair walk round the Tree And sing her Triumph for the Victory Thus whilst my Ears were feasted with Delight My Eyes no less were charm'd at her Angelic Sight A Nymph to a Young Shepherd insensible oâ— LOVE WHY dost thou fly me thus Oh cruel Boy I am no Wolf that would thy Life destroy But a fond Nymph Admirer of thy Face As Echo once of fair Narcissus was Thou e'en in Dangers dost thy Fancy please Striving with Toyl the hunted Game to seise While wretched me who languish for thy sake When in thy Net thou dost refuse to take But I alas in vain attempt to sind Effects of Pity in a hard'ned Mind As soon the Hare its Hunters may pursue As I with Prayers thy cruel Heart subdue My Pow'r I see cannot thy Steps retain Thus led by Sports and wing'd by thy Disdain Compares the Troubles which he has undergone for Cynthia's Love to the Labours of Hercules NOT Hercules himself did undertake Such toylsome Labours for his Mistress sake As I for many Years with endless Pain The Slave of Love Love's grand Fatigues sustain Thô he slew Hydra From th' Infernal King Did the three-headed yelping Porter bring Tyrants destroy'd Nemaean Lyon tare And Atlas Burden on his Shoulders bare â—o stand the Scorns of an Imperious Brow 〈◊〉 such Hate as would no Truce allow â— stubborn Heart by patient Suff'ring tame â—nd with weak Rhythms exalt her Glorious Name â—re Acts shall more the World with Wonder sill â—han his who did so many Monsters kill â—onquer a crafty Bull Disturb Hell's Court â—h ' Hesperian Garden rob and Heav'n support The TROPHY NOW now my Heart 's my own again The Vict'ry's won no more I 'll grieve My Mind 's at Peace 't is eas'd of Pain And now I shall with Pleasure live Lovers from your IDOL fly He 's the common ENEMY Let him flatter let him smile All his Drifts are to beguile His Poison he distills By cunning ARTS Into our HEARTS And then with torment kills Trust not his deluding FACE Dang'rous is his kind Embrace Believe not what you hear or see For He 's made up of TREACHERY Nor be by TRICKS into his Ambush charm'd The more He naked seems the more He 's arm'd CLAVDIAN In Sphaeram Archimedis Englished JOVE saw the Sphere Old Archimedes made And to the other Gods he laughing said Such wondrous Skill can crafty Mortals get Of my great Work to make the Counterfeit Heav'n's and Earth's Constitutions fixt by Fate This Syracusans Art does imitate His various Planets their just Order have Keeping by Springs the Motions which he gave Thrô the twelve Signs his Sun compleats its Years And each new Month his Mock-New-Moon appears Pleas'd with his World this Artist unconfin'd Boldly rules Heav'n in his aspiring Mind No more Salmoneus Thunder I admire Here 's one has ap'd all Nature's Works entire The Frailty of Man's Life THE Life we strive to lengthen out Is like a Feather rais'd from Ground A while in Air 't is tost about And almost lost as soon as found If it continue long in sight 'T is sometimes high and sometimes low Yet proudly aims a tow'ring Flight To make the more conspicuous Show The Air with ease its Weight sustains Since 't is by Nature light and frail Seldom in quiet State remains For Troops of Dangers it assail And after various Conflicts with its Foes It drops to Earth the Earth from whence it rose Posidippus the Comic Poet Of the Miseries attending Mankind Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OH Mis'ry of Mankind For at the Bar Are Strifes and Quarrels At our Houses Care In Fields hard Labour Dangers on the Sea Who travels rich can ne'er from Fears be free Grievous is Want Marriage Eternal Strife A Single is a Solitary Life Children bring Care and Trouble To have none The Happiness of Wedlock is not known Our Youth is Folly E'er we can grow wise We 're Old and loaded with Infirmities So we may wish who have th' Experience try'd That we had ne'er been born Or soon as born had dy'd Metrodorus the Athenian Philosopher Of the Blessings attending Mankind Contradicting the former Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 HAppy Mankind For where we six to live The Gods a Blessing to that Station give If at the Bar it be our Lot to plead There Wisdom reigns and there is Justice weigh'd Or if at home we would our selves maintain We there by Industry may Riches gain Of Nature's Bounty Fields the Prospect show From Sea the Merchant knows his Treasures flow Who travels rich with Honour does appear Who has least Wealth hath still the less to fear If married thou may'st rule as Lord at home If single hast the Liberty to roam Children the Comfort of our Lives procure If none we are from thousand Cares secure To Exercise and Sports is Youth inclin'd Old Age does ever Veneration â—ind So we may those Imprudent Fools deride That wish they 'd ne'er been born or soon as born had di'd From Menander the Athenian To make a Married Life happy 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 A Brisk young Wife who did a Fortune bring Proves to her
Husband a vexatious Thing Yet these Advantages to him she gives By her in his Posterity He lives She takes of him when sick a prudent Care In his Misfortunes bears an equal share To her for Ease he does his Griefs impart Her pleasant Converse often chears his Heart And when if she survive he ends his Life She does the Office of a pious Wife Set these against her Ills and you will find Reasons to quiet your uneasy Mind But if you 'll strive her Temper to reclaim Slight these good Things the bad expose to Shame And no Compliance to her Humour lend To your Vexations ne'er shall be an End Simonides 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 On Man's LIFE Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 NO Humane thing in Constancy will stay The Learned Chian us'd of old to say Our Life was frailer than the Fading Leaves Which Man â—orgets and scarce its Flight perceives He harbours Idle Fancies in his Brain Many which he from Childhood did retain And whilst his Vigour lasts he 's still inclin'd To fill with Trifles his unsetled Mind On Age or Death ne'er thinks nor takes he care Health to preserve or Active Limbs to spare We to more serious Things our Minds should give Youth hasts and we have little time to live To weigh this well is a Material Part This Thought 's of VVorth record it in thy Heart From two Elegies of Mimnermus 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 The Contempt of Old Age. The first being imperfect begins 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 'T IS a short time our precious Youth will stay Like some delightful Dream it steals away And then comes on us creeping in its stead Benumming Old Age with its hoary Head Which Beauty spoils our Nerves with Crampings binds It clouds our Eyesight and disturbs our Minds When Iove to Tithon endless Old Age gave 'T was sure of greater Terrour than the Grave Some have in Youth been for their Beauty pris'd Which when deform'd by Age become despis'd Then peevish grown and vex'd at Childrens Slight Take not abroad nor at their Homes delight Bed-rid and scorn'd with Pains and Rheums they lye The Gods on Age throw all this Misery From Anaxandrides the Rhodan Poet. In Praise of Old Age. Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 OLD-Age which we both hope and fear to see Is no such Burden as it seems to be But it uneas'ly if we undergo 'T is then our selves take pains to make it so A yielding Patience will create our Ease So do the VVise compound in Youth for Peace VVho thus complies both to himself is kind VVhilst he secures the Quiet of his Mind And to his Friends a just Respect does show VVhich gains him Love and Veneration too From Crates the Philosopher on the same Beginning 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 SOME giddy Fools do Rev'rend Age deride But who enjoy'd it not untimely di'd VVe pray we may to good Old Age attain And then of its Infirmities complain But their insâ—tiate Minds I must admire VVho Old Infirm and Poor can longer Life desire The timely MEMENTO THE shipwrack'd Bark cannot more sure convey Our Humane Life into the Raging Sea Nor Darts to Mark can more directly fly Nor Floods to th' Ocean than we post to dye Then happy thou who dost so well begin And so thy Race hold on the Palm to win Blest Runner that when tyr'd and lying down Dost rise possess'd of an Eternal Crown Only by closing here thy Mortal Eyes Opens the Passage to Coelestial Joys Then let him take the Earth who loves to raign Yet a small Tract e'er long shall him contain Where he as Monarch cannot be obey'd For sawcy Worms his Limits shall invade â—f all must dye why should we fear and grieve â—ince Dying is the only way to live On Good Friday The Day of our Saviour's Passion WEep this great Day Let Tears oreflow your Eyes When Father gave his Son in Sacrifice This Day for us his pretious Blood was spilt Whose Dying made Atonement for our Guilt He on a Cross with Shame gave up his Bâ—eath E'en He who could not dye did suffer Death Closing his Eyes to Heav'n He op'd a way And gave those Life who then expiring lay Death did against our Souls those Arms prepare But He the Fury of the Conflict bare To guard our Lives his Body was the Shield And by our Gen'ral's Fall we gain the Field When Graves shall open Temples Vail be torn The El'ments weep Heav'ns themselves shall mourn O Hearts more hard than Stones not to relent May we shed pious Tears and of our Sins repent Rhianus the Cretan 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Of IMPRUDENCE 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 WHat is 't that thus frail Men with Errour blinds Who bear Heav'n's Gifts in such imprudent Minds The Poor with Eyes and Hearts dejected go Charging the Gods as Authors of their Woe They suit their Habit to their humble State And scarce their Minds with Vertues cultivate How they should speak or move they stand in fear When 'mongst the Rich and Pow'rful they appear They ev'ry Gesture do to Sadness frame And blushing Faces shew their inward Shame But he whom Heav'n has blest with lib'ral Hand And giv'n him o'er his Fellow Men Command Forgets he on the Earth his Feet does place Or that his Parents were of Mortal Race He swell'd with Pride in Thunder speaks like Iove Does in a Sphere above his Betters move But thô so Rich so Stately and so Grave Has not more stock of Brains than others have Yet would he climb to Heav'n to find a Seat Amongst the Gods and at their Banquets eat Till swift-wing'd Ate Mischief's Deity Light on his Head e'er he her Coming spy Who can her self in various Shapes disguize When Old or Young she would in Snares surprize She on Poor Fools as well as those in Height Does to great Iove and to Astraea Right Timocles the Athenian His Remedies against the Miseries of Man's LIFE More at large exemplified 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 COnsider well this Truth for 't is of Use Nature did ne'er a Thing like Man produce So charg'd with Ills from which so seldome free Sometimes his Life 's a Scene of Misery Nor Humane Industry can Respite gain For his Soul's Anguish or his Body's Pain But by reflecting what some Men endure Which to himself may present Ease procure And Tales of what in former times was done Laid in the Scale and weigh'd against his own Art thou reduc'd to beg from door to door When Telephus was young he suffer'd more In Woods expos'd without Relief he lay For some devouring Beasts a Royal Pray If thou with his thy Miseries compare Thou wilt confess he had the greatest share Have Troubles turn'd thy Brain to make thee rage Thoughts of Alâ—maeon may thy Griefs asswage By Fury's scourg'd he Mad in Torments di'd Yet justly suffer'd for his Parricide Wert thou by chance or made by others blind Call OEdipus the Theban