Arms against my Queen Hold hold my swelling Spleen Wouldst stop my Muses Song Like that base Wretch who did the wrong To Philomel and then cut out her tongue Pardon Apollo and you Muses nine Tho your Hill's bare it is a sign It does infold a Mine Yet fool how was I craz'd Like silly Conjurers amaz'd With Apparitions that my self had rais'd Poets are counted poor 't is true but know They riches have they will not show Deep Rivers silent flow There is a Place they call At Rome Saint Peter's Hospital And yet the Pots and Dishes Silver all They have no shining Oar no pleasing Chink Yet find in Verse a sweeter clink And glitter in their Ink. Such wealth will not deny Them Wings with Gold they cannot fly 'T is th' heavi'st Metal and with Dirt must lye Gold is the dross and Wit the precious Oar Whilst Poets do injoy that store How can they be call'd poor This tho the World gain-say It like bad Chymists throws away The purer Metal keeping the Allay Apollo's so attractive some we see Would leave their Infidelity And real Converts be They gladly would compound And now his Temples do surround Thus Christian Churches with the Turks are found Such Hereticks who have been so profane All their devotion will be vain Before his Sacred Fane For none such can be ghest Worthy to be Apollo's Priest Some whining Clerk or Deacon at the best Then let us charily keep close our Skill As they do all their Treasure still Soon change with us they will Else when they come to dye How will they get an Elegy For Poets when unpaid will never lye The NEW-YEAR'S GIFT 1674. To the honourable Mrs. Chaworth COME great Apollo now and shew thy might Thou glorious Patron both of Wit and Light From those two gifts the greatest comfort 's hurl'd Both on the greater and the lesser World Advance some Present worthy of her Eyes But that will quite impoverish thy Skies And yet thou may'st those Treasures safely spare Since she 'l once bring more Beauties than are there Yet keep 'em to thy self so thou 'lt bestow Some of those treasures that thou mak'st below Gold is thy work tho not as Dryden said When under Turfs to hatch by Indians laid The ghess this way more probably is told For when thou pour'st on earth thy molten Gold Which ev'ry night ascends to thee again Gold is the Dross that does below remain The Rocks of Ormus and of Bengelay In whose dark Caves Iewels create a day Thou mak'st those Gems whose light thy lustre mocks Fine exudations of those pregnant Rocks Thy Rayes contracted into drops are found The cause o' th' lustre of the Diamond When thou for thy refreshures every night Dives to imbrace thy beauties Amphitrite Those pleasant Coral Groves i' th' Deeps below Blest by thy smiles obtain their tincture so And glitt'ring Pearls fixt on the roots of Rocks Are dew-drops shaken from thy shining Locks From those bright Pearls either a Neck-lace spare Which by her Skin improv'd may turn more fair Or from those Diamonds vouchsafe supplies Which will gain brighter lustre from her Eyes At which some of the brightest sham'd will grow And by their blushes turn to Rubies so Or with some Coral branches be but kind And in her Lips they 'l richer Scarlet find Or grant me Saphires and their fainter stayns Shall take a purer Azure from her Veins Or if to give them all thou'lt be so kind They 'l yield to th' treasures of her richer Mind At these great truths Apollo ' sham'd withdrew Sham'd to be baffled and out-shin'd by you His treasures and his favours now denies But Madam I hope greater from your Eyes The heavenly pow'rs thus their acceptance show Of Duties by the Blessings they bestow And tho your merits to such heights are rais'd That my weak Eyes to see them are amaz'd You 've too much light not to be seen and prais'd Altho I am unfit your praise to write Some dusky gleams flash from the darkest night Virtue 's adorn'd enough with Native rayes Needing no garnish from a Poet's praise Yet just repute may add to Virtues height As curious Pictures are advanc'd by light Your smiles I crave not only beg a glance Since honour'd by your Father's countenance That noble Lord to whom such fame is due From all the World because he gave it you In whom he paid more than himself did cost Tho from his Blood great Monarchs make their boast Judge of this truth since the Lancastrian Line Vouchsaf'd its glorious beams with his to joyn It s Rose tho crimson'd with its native flood Yet took rich tinctures from Cadurcis blood For t is a doubt whether more fame is due To come from Kings or Kings to come from you Since Blessings by that Match did so abound That many Princes sprung from thence were crown'd I must beg pardon to presume it due For some of them to give a Crown to you BEAUTIES PERIPHRASIS 1674. To Mrs. E. W. MY Muse more happy far than I Has long my Mistris Hand-maid been Us'd to unlace unpin untye And has all her Perfections seen On New-years day I ' spy'd my Madam She and the Year both in their prime More fresh than was the Miss of Adam Sprung from the Maiden-head of Time Her Garments I will first disclose Then naked lay my blushing Queen The same procedure has the Rose First Leaves and then the Bud is seen Her Hoods sometimes her Beauties hide Which custom may be well allow'd Since Sol's bright Face in all his pride Is often hid beyond a Cloud Her Visard-mask that hides her face Declares more cruelty than state She looks as Beauty Prisoner was And peeping through a double grate Amongst her Curls she Iewels wears All glittering with those shining drops Which like Aurora's pearly Tears Sit trembling on the Lillies tops If we consider worth or state The Diamond neck-lace that she wears May challenge Ariadne's fate And turn into a wreath of Stars Her costly Points by Artists fram'd Like Wings of Cherubims imbrace Her swelling Breasts which once I nam'd Unjustly tho the Mercy-place Her Gowns tho rich and worthy pride Lock up the beauties of her youth Like cloudy Parables that hide The glorious majesty of Truth Her Gloves are like the tender Rind Of that rare Plant that sweateth Balm The truth of this you 'd quickly find If you but kist her melting Palm Through scarlet-stockins shines her Skin Light pierces thus red-painted Glasses Ten shining Pearls inclos'd within Are lockt up in those ruby Cases Her Shoos with envy I did prize And wish'd my self be so grac'd Stor'd with two pair of open Eyes For tempting objects rightly plac'd Her envious Smock tho hid my bliss Thus Snow strikes earnest gazers blind All may be seen when thaw'd it is By Love that Sun-shine of the Mind Her Beauties are cloath'd o're with light Not here expos'd to wild desires Such thoughts the beams of
Kind Reader THE Ingenious Author of the following Compositions was a Man every way accomplish'd To the advantages of his Birth his Education had added whatsoever was necessary to fit him for Conversation and render him as he was desirable by the best Wits of the Age. In the Calamities of the last Rebellion he was no small Sharer the Iniquity of the Times having no power to shock his Loyalty he very cheerfully underwent the Tryals of unhappy Virtue In that miserable Storm it was his good Fortune to retire from a total Ruine and that quiet Recess gave the opportunity of these Papers in which thou wilt find many troublesome thoughts well digested and perhaps at some time or other well enough adapted to thy own uneasie Circumstances If there be any thing meaner than may be expected from so polite a Pen thy Candor must attribute it either to the hasty Efforts of his younger or the too ponderous and over-pow'ring Confusions which the Rebellion imprinted on his riper Years He is dead and happy out of the reach of thy Envy and in no need of thy Pity therefore Good Reader for Humanity sake be charitable to the Productions of a dead Author who was worthily honour'd and admir'd while he lived and attain'd the desirable Satisfaction of living very easily in a troublesome Age and carrying with him a good Conscience to his Grave Tho. Flatman Feb. 7. 1682 3 A Modest Account of the too-certain Reasons that afforded time for the following Trifles 1779. SOME Females are so early pregnant grown They rock those Cradles lately were their own Their Nurse's milk wants time and scarce digests And what they suckt unturn'd comes from their Breasts But soon like Spanish Wifes they barren grow Their Springs are drain'd when ours begin to flow And happy 't is else we should be undone And by our Native Vandals over-run Although my Muse begun to bear betimes Still at this Age her Courses keeps in Rhymes What Pliny writes of Mares of Spanish kind She 's pregnant with no Stallion but the Wind. When e're that airy Pegasus but blew My Muse more fruitful than Phillira grew Fruitful as Flies in Summer tho the gain Prove small to boast these maggots of the Brain Should all this Spawn of Helicon but live The Frogs in Egypt did less trouble give This Brood like Conies hardly are destroy'd The Warren prospers on Parnassus side In whose increase small benefit is found And little else thrives in the haunted ground 'T is labour lost to till a barren Soil When no Returns but Weeds requite the toil Yet weeded well before the Seedlings shed They make the Land more mellow where they bred And Vouchers are that other things than Weeds Would prosper there if sown with better Seeds Nature will work and would not own a loss The steril'st Soils unsown will bring forth Moss If not improv'd she 's ruin'd Truths confess That Canaan now is turn'd a Wilderness The ROYALIST Vpon Creswick Dean of St. J. C. C ordering Verses for the Victory at Worcester 1651. IS 't not enough to make our Purses pay Assessments on our whole Estates to lay But Taxes must on our Opinions ' rise Nay and our Wits be forc'd to pay Excise Harsh Laws since Sack pays Custom when 't comes in Distill'd in Verse must it be taxt agin But now a Victory is got what then Must we write Ballads at the death of men Like London-Wits who deck each Tyburn-Herse And execute men o're again in Verse Are we Death's Chaplains that we must be prest To give thanks after such a bloody Feast In Baal's new Priests that Office only lies Where Blood is mingled with their Sacrifice The Royal MARTYR Vpon the Martyrdom of that Glorious Prince Charles the First King of Great Britain c. Who died Jan. 30. 1648. Written Jan. 30. 1652. GReat Solomon not circumscrib'd to Rules Freed from the slavish Method of the Schools No more than Air that Libertine confin'd And no less comprehensive was his mind The shining fruit of Eden was his meat Which without curse or surfeit he did eat In Proverbs he his wisdom often shrouds As Phoebus sometimes wears a Cloak of Clouds Their knowledg wisest Nations thus convey'd And in such Cabinets their Jewels laid And these are some of Ours viz. Night follows Day And purest Gold is lessen'd by Allay Both of the Morals are but one great truth Be'ng fully prov'd i' th' fortune of my Youth For when great Charls fell by untimely fate The glorious Martyr both of Church and State His Sacred Blood by basest Rebels spilt Besprinkled all the Nation o'er with guilt Some with that scarlet Sin are spread all o're As Plagues are known by the inflaming Sore Nor staies it there like to the leprous Jew The infection creeps into their Houses too 'T will moulter them to dust the spreading Stains Flow with the Seed into their Children's Veins By some notorious Brand upon them show'n The guilt will be to future Ages known More than from Sin none from the guilt is free'd On ev'ry head the Crimson show'r does bleed This Scottish Mist wets all of us to th' skin Some are so rain'd on they are dous'd within A blessed shelter yet my Youth does bring Rains seldom fall or gently in the Spring Yet from some share of guilt I can relieve My self no more than from the crime of Eve But like Orig'nal Sin It less appears Long since baptiz'd and washt away with tears My inn'cent youth like to the springing Day Disperses all despairing shades away The first part of the Proverb 's so far right But now alas I am o'rwhelm'd with night Thus in a harmless state of youth I stood I did no harm but ah I did no good My influence like to Winter Suns did show They scortch not but yet nothing make to grow To th' Solstice of my strength I may arrive And th' operations of my Soul will thrive If I to Brutus's glory may not come I dare with Curtius tempt a noble doom And plunge into the Gulph to rescue Rome Caesar's return we faithfully must wait That time shall come I prophecy the fate The Prince of Iudah shall return with praise Our Temples found and sacred Altars raise No more till then my mournful Muse shall sing Her Harp untun'd shall on the Willows hing Unless it be to sound some doleful Airs To which I 'l tune my Sighs and teach my tears A mournful cadence until th' art be found To form such Waterworks into a Sound Ne'r juster cause to see the Rabble run Like steams from Dunghils rais'd to hide the Sun To see rank Poyson work in every part Until at last its Venom seize the heart To see our royal Oak alas cut down And cleft with woodden wedges of its own To see great Charls before his Palace lye Like fate had once the Sun when crown'd on high Arrested in his very Court the Sky But that was done by
her Cheeks be tann'd it may be ghest The shadow only that her Eye-beams cast Talk not what Silver drops in Pearls are found Black is the Water of a Diamond Her eyes those sparkling Gems hence shine more bright Jewels advance their lustre in the night There 's none who sees her tho but would be proud Ixion like to dally with this Cloud The Irish MASSACRE 1664. Vpon Captain Robert Sutton's death in Ireland BRave Sutton Drums and Trumpets fit thine Herse More than the slight solemnity of Verse The Muses Heralds may put up with shame They are out-sounded by the Trump of Fame 'T is fitter far that thou great Mars shouldst have Close Mourner then Apollo at thy Grave Thy Martial Steed with his courageous Neigh Jostles my Pegasus out of his way Thy Sword has carv'd out such a lasting Story My Pen adds nothing to thy full-grown glory Here lies a Youth had but his Stars been kind Or Fortune equal to his Birth and Mind He had brave Sidney and those Sparks outgone Who did at thirty all that could be done But none can limm him right who have not been Where they might him before his Troop have seen How he that day made many Dons to fall When English Swords protected Portugal Where dying Valour he again reviv'd Like th' Soul when to a Body newly ' arriv'd The lustre that his Arms and Actions show'd Like Lightning darted through the Sulph'ry Cloud His beauty then with heat of sight improv'd Had Venus seen she Mars no more had lov'd Yet was he not provoking nor did watch Like Tinder alwaies ready for a Match He rather seem'd like to the hardy Flint Cold until struck tho Fire lye dormant in 't Or like a Tempest that is slow to rise But woe to him that in its way then lies This made old gallant Schomberg so admire To find new kindled here his youthful fire This made him court him every way to own What he that day deserv'd the Lawrel Crown Blind Love 't was thou allur'dst him to neglect Bellona's Favours to gain thy respect Who would believe such Toyes should Sutton move To leave crown'd Victory and follow Love The Moral he made good and to his cost Snatch'd at the Shadow but the Substance lost Ill fare those charms that made him shun the light For vain Idaeas only fit for Night Nor can nor shall she thrive but helpless be False to her self in being false to thee Farewel brave Soul the raging Irish Seas Contain not tears enow for thy decease That rainy Region though it weep each day For thy sad loss does but due tribute pay Ingrateful Ireland thou hast cost us dear Committing here a second Massacre The CLAIM 1665. To my honoured friend Sir Clifford Clifton To whom is dedicated the ensuing Poem SIR I present you here with nothing new Since what I write now all before-time knew Your Father's merits were i' th' last Age known And shall be when this and the next is gone In such Records they need not up be laid Tho Kings nay Gods of old have crav'd that aid Tradition will preserve it whence may come More good and wonder than from those of Rome Yet ev'ry Poet now should have a fling As ev'ry bungling Painter draws the King But I presume so much of Art to own To say the Picture 's like tho faintly drawn If it be bigger made than others drew It is that I grieve more than others do And reason good since what I have of Fame Is only that which from his Friendship came Since then you heir his Goodness well as Lands I humbly claim my Portion from your hands The Old-English GENTLEMAN 1665. An Elegiac Poem upon the truly honourable Sir Gervas Clifton of Clifton Knight and Baronet § 1. IMagine me one toss'd on shore O'rewhelm'd in tides of Grief before Come to my self I now must him deplore Men well nigh drown'd cannot invent One word whilst any Water 's pent So Grief is silent untill Tears have vent But now my Sorrow is wept dry And I long since did tilt each Eye Tears from my Pen must now that want supply Yet if I every tear should tell They would into an Ocean swell These are but those that in my Standish fell But now these Tides their Banks must break Lest standing too long still they make The clear-quick Streams of Helicon a Lake Grief shows then best when freshly wept Roses lofe scent if too much steept And Manna mouldy grows if too long kept Silent I was when I did come T' attend the Sermon o're his Tomb When Sion speaks Parnassus should be dumb Though Poets hence are noblest crown'd They are alas too seldom found To trace their Measures out in holy ground Yet when in Anthems their desires Are tun'd to th' key of Angel-Quires Such Breathings may augment Coelestial Fires 'T is well if Paphian Lawrels may Presume to sweep the dust away Fell from the Prophet's feet that solemn day Especially my fading Bays Too often wither'd by the Rays O' th' Cyprian Star whereon young Dotards gaze Yet if my Muse can now indite Any thing that comes near the right Blest Clifton 't is become thy Proselyte § 2. 'T is good to treat of Subjects fit An Atheist once of Heaven writ And Heav'n was pleased to convert his Wit But what can Wit or Verses do To his Advance alas 't is true They may contract his greatness to our view Phoebus needs none but his own Light Prospectives make not him more bright But only serve to aid our purblind Sight From Romes Republick Crowns did come But Verse can give a nobler doom Yet he crowns Verse as Caesar crowned Rome Poets shall make his Name to bear Live-Lawrels and inhabit there As Nightingales on Orpheus's Sepulchre Yet they who can themselves retrieve Fro' th' Grave and Life to others give Will gladly court his Shadow there to live §. 3. 'T is said the Pourtraiture of Wit Exceeds the Life and is then fit When 't is not so like us as we like it But such vain Rules we now must shun Hyperboles are here out-done As much as Candles are out-shin'd by th' Sun A genuine Beauty suits each dreâ—â— Bad faces to their shame confess All Art but paints 'em into Ugliness Great mens Defects are oft supply'd By Verse hence Crimes derive their Pride Thus Caesar's Garlands did his Baldness hide But no more blame falls to our share Than to those Chamber-maids whose care But washes Faces that before were fair If Truth should never be exprest But by those who can do it best She might go naked still or thinly drest At Coronations 't were a thing Most strange if only great Bells ring Or none but Courtiers cry'd God save the King From low Stops highest Notes are rais'd By poor mens pray'rs none are disgrac'd Caesar did boast when in a Cottage prais'd All Wit is here by Grief out-done And Brains dissolv'd to Tears do run Yet Tears distill'd thus may
Friend could say no less YORK 1670. A Prologue for a Company of Players leaving London for York upon their first appearance MEthinks you all look here as you would know Why we left London to attend on you I' th' first place we could stay no longer there Because new Playes were both so bad and dear We could not thrive o' th' trade for each Wit now Regards far more his Belly than his Brow The second thing that made us to retire Alas the Mercer's Books escap'd the Fire The third the Gallants were so worn they must Not see a Play unless it were on trust But with us Infidels that would not do Our Pit and Women then they 'd enter too And no admittance pay But we were loth Cuckolds to be and Beggars both But the grand mover of our forc'd retreat We were inspir'd by Prophecies and Fate Tho London the Metropolis be known York has the grandeur in reversion And Shipton's Prophecies may now prove true Since we have London left to wait on you Epilogue MEre thanks make but a slender shew When for great favours more are due Yet Gentlemen they 're all we have for you But wee 'l indeavour to repay The Time the Coin you cast away Wee 'l tell you how if you but please to stay For those three hours you here shall sit Wee 'l give you Scenes of Mirth and Wit Such as the Poet ne'r in three Months writ Then with our Iewels we devise To pay the Ladies back that prize Which we each day shall purchase from their Eyes Yet here we have a hard Task met Tho ours were right and richly set Ladies your Eyes would make 'em counterfeit Our gen'rous freeness then to show For th' Money you on us bestow Wee 'l spend it all amongst you e're we go The VILLIERS 1671. To my honour'd Friend Sir George Villiers Bar. YOU from the Vulgar are far off remov'd Where 't is disparagement ev'n to be lov'd Yet as we see the greater Worlds bright eye Warms all below whilst it does move on high So you forget the State to which you 're born Your goodness pardons what your height may scorn And yet 't is true that to your self you owe Th' officious troubles their respects bestow For were you but less worthy or more proud You 'd soon be free from the adoring croud But such attractive Virtues take their place Alwayes in some of your illustrious Race That in each Age Fame does'em justly sing True Fav'rites to their Country or their King A glorious truth since from your Grandsire came He who was justly both great Buckingham Your Brooksby boasts we her may justly bless For th' honour o' th' last age the love of this And yet here springs a doubt whether's more due This boast to your brave Ancestors or you You who reflect their worth and makes us see Both what they were and what your Son will be The VALENTINE 1671. To Mrs. J. M. bestowing a Present in a Letter DID not sufficiently my glory shine When you acknowledg'd me your Valentine But you must add new Trophies to your praise And make that Vassal rich you pleas'd to raise Thus generous Princes when their pow'rs they show They Titles first and then Estates bestow Madam in this with Heav'n you share renown Which makes a Saint and after gives a Crown Your costly gift though too too rich before Yet you with richer lines have gilded o're Lines where each word nay letter may be fit To prove a Cordial to decaying Wit A favour which at once I cannot know Since at each reading I see new ones grow Like th' Orange-Tree whose fruit at once and bloom Blesses this Season and the next to come But we alas who 're only rich in dreams Of Golden Sands that pave Pactolus Streams Yet sadly find when seriously we think No Sand but Pindust and no Stream but Ink We can make no returns but thanks and those Would sound too flat if only drest in Prose Your favour was obliging to excess 'T is fit my Gratitude should be no less And no expressions here can act that part Unless they be extracted from the heart Neither can these their purposes obtain If not in Verse th' Elixir of the Brain Thus Madam when you have my chiefest store Of brain and heart t is vain to offer more DANGEROUS SAFETY 1671. To the Honourable Mrs. Chaworth SOL tho his Throne be in the Skies Vouchsafes the courtship of our Eyes We are as much oblig'd to you Blest with the favour of your view And tho from us you 're so much rais'd That it 's below you to be prais'd Yet 't is our duty to admire And honour you without desire Our Lowness guards us and our share Of safety comes from our Despair Our thoughts are daunted at your sight Thus salvage Beasts are tam'd with Light Such fainting hopes cannot succeed Our thoughts against our selves we breed Poor Graecians thus inslaved were By Children which themselves did bear The two-edg'd Sword of your bright Eyes Keeps back the croud of amorous sighs Your Roses and your Lillies are Safe-fenc'd against presumptuous Air. We know your Virtues and we prize The charming Glories of your Eyes But this can no more good bequeath Than Wine to Persons doom'd to death Like tortur'd Souls who know that bliss Which they 're alas condemn'd to miss The RESCUE 1672. To Mrs. D. C. Whose name being left after drawing Valentines and cast into the Fire was snatcht out FOrtune that does the World subdue Submits her Empire here to you Your smiles can fix her changing state And spight of her can bliss create Henceforth you will more courted be And have more Altars far than she You need not her Advancements mind No more than Light to be refin'd Compost is vain for your rich Soil Your Di'mond shines without a foil And you have such an awful flame She durst not meddle with your Name Which scorn'd her Laws and would not be Subservient to her Lottery She rag'd with fury at the slight Aping the Syrian Tyrant's spite That did to flames those Persons vow Who would not to his Idol bow I like the Angel did aspire Your Name to rescue from the fire My Zeal succeeded for your Name But I alas caught all the flame A meaner off'ring thus suffic'd And Isaac was not sacrific'd The REFORMADO 1672. Vpon a certain Levite who had tryed many Sects writing bald Acrosticks against Mr. R. W. INlighten'd by his fiery rant I find out George but not the Saint His Idle Phrensie makes it ghest Tho not inspir'd he is possest The ancient Iews for cure did play And Fiend at Musick fled away But here alas our modern Iew Is both the Fiend and Fidler too Stumbling in his Acrostick way Look how his Muses feet are splay From letter they to letter stride As Cripples upon Crutches ride George the fierce Dogril tortures Verse 'Till every Sheet becomes an Herse For
either Wit or Fancy grows They 're yours but when depriv'd of those I must be forc'd to pay in Prose Decaying Farmers thus lament When their best Stock and Mony 's spent Their very Raggs are seiz'd for Rent This is a Quit-rent yearly paid By which my Title 's surer made Th' Estate else may be forfeited Tho such mean Homages you scorn Yet some to noble Fortunes born Take nothing but a Pepper-Corn For these poor Rhymes a pretty Cloak Words vanish with the breath th' are spoke Yet Sacrifices went in Smoak Truth 's a great Empress and will reign This New-years-Gifts pretence is vain It is not so much Gift as gain Thus our Devotions when most hot Pay dues to Heav'n that needs 'em not We profit by the pious Plot. Heaven at the Heart did ever aim Far more than at the costly flame Which from the Sacred Altar came Who would not such a Goodness trust That grateful is to worthless Dust And makes them happy that are just My Duty such procedures know Since I in paying what I ow Purchase that fame I would bestow But whence can I that Patent claim Either to give or purchase fame Who nothing knows of it but name Nor is it more than fleeting Air Untill condens'd by Poet's care To Iewels for each Ladies Ear. Your worth such rich Materials brings Wherewith to make those precious things Fit both for Ears and Crowns of Kings Disturb not then your self but shun Th' effects of Envy for 't is known Obnoxious Vapours cloud the Sun Vertue 's a Piramid of Light Attracting dazling Gazer's sight And envious shades attend its height With native Balsam ease your pain Tho Skies o'recast and turn to Rain Those drops inrich the Earth with Grain Time calms rough tempests raging Seas No Storms can wreck an inward Peace Wrong'd Worth like bruis'd Perfumes increase Reports like Darts of Reed when shot At a right Breast-plate hurt it not You Madam have such Armour got There cannot be a surer fence Than yours whose Guard is Innocence And whose Desires are free'd from sense To raise the meanest doubt's a Sin She must the noblest Trophies win Whose Fort 's impregnable within In her a pow'r resistless lies Who bears Artillery in her Eyes And conquers Death's self when she dies OLYMPUS 1675. Spoken by Mrs. P. L. to the right honourable the Lord and Lady Roos at Belvoir before a Play she starting up as rising from the dead BLessings upon those Eyes whose pow'rful shine Has open'd mine The pointed raies that from your Glories broke Like Sun-beams glanc'd on me and I awoke Your rich intensive Light Broke through the Clouds of Nature's deepest Night Bright Twins your Sun-like power Reviv'd a drooping Flower And made it grow From Winding-sheets and Graves of Snow May Smiles Joyes Loves attend your sight For thence they gain their choicest light From you may ghastly Objects fly As gloomy shades fro' th' morning Sky Nothing that can frightful be To Innocence or purity Can in this Orbe appear No more than darkness in the upper Sphear If th' Issue of the Poets brain Either were obscene or vain We cleans'd his Muse Like muddy Carps in springing Stews If in the Cradle any thing seem'd wild We circumciz'd the Child And tam'd its wanton rage Thus Priests i' th' Golden-Age Only thought the Sacrifice Worthy to ascend the Skies When the Smoak vanish'd and the flame did rise Acceptance almost is our due Since we are so devout for you Consult this place none can despair Since influenc'd from the Noble and the Fair. Your smiles fair Lady and most noble Lord Must life to us afford Shine from your lofty Sphear Our blossomes soon will fruit appear Thus Iove and Iuno on Olympus sate Smil'd on the infant World and crown'd its fate ACTIVITY 1676. Vpon the Death of Capt. Matt. Dale IN Nature's chiefest strengths who would confide Or in the choicest of her Gifts take pride If either Wit Activity or Truth Wisdom of Age or Iollity of Youth Could have prevail'd with Death He had been safe Not living only in this Epitaph He with dull Gravity had ne'r to do Discreet he was yet a good-fellow too The strongest fumes of Wine he could restrain And make 'em useful to his active Brain Thus ripening dews in pleasant Meads are found When noisome Mists arise in boggy ground Vnmanag'd Soils are worse for fruitful showers And bring forth Weeds when Gardens smile with Flowers His Tongue the motions of his Heart did tell So th' Clapper shews the Metal of the Bell. He made no difference 'twixt Mine and Thine Fro' th' low-run Age he did those Dregs refine Yet in his own Concernments was no Tool For Knaves to work with a good-natur'd Fool But like the useful Swiss he could defend His native Cantons and assist his Friend In Running he did others so outvy 'T is wrong to him to say he did but fly Those mystic Darts that are from Objects shot With slower motion to the Sight are got And in his Leaping his Beholders say He did not jump but shot himself away His Back like Indian-Bow with Sinews bent And like an Arrow from the Ierk he went Nature in one did ne'r more wonders show Himself the Archer Arrow String and Bow Nay at his Death he practis'd o're this part And did in several Postures try his Art First to the Posture of the Swede he got And then from bended Knees his Arrows shot With out-stretch'd Arms fro's Breast such Darts he drew Sherwood's fam'd Bow-men's shafts they quite o're-flew Theirs only aim'd at Sun and Moon his high'r Feather'd with Angels Plumes and Piles of fire Nothing flyes swifter than inflam'd Desire Then Death's convulsive Cramps his Body drew To th' utmost bent till it in pieces flew A Bombard thus o're-loaden when 't is broke Sends forth its dying groans in sighs of Smoak Th' infolded Ball tho cloath'd in bright attire Elias-like mounts in a Coach of Fire The HEROINE 1676. Vpon the death of the right Honourable Frances Countess of Rutland c. NO heats of Love nor thirsts of Fame Did Poet's mind e're more inflame Than mine to write great Rutland's Name My meanness let no man despise We know the smoak of Sacrifice That aim'd at Heav'n from Earth did rise Honour does from Inferiours come So did the Consuls owe their doom And place to th' Common Votes of Rome Her Death by Verse may well be shown For Gods and Goddesses are known Their very Beings hence to own And yet this Reason may prove lame Since Praises that did God-heads frame Fall short when they should speak her Name Truth well as Heralds makes it good Her Veins swell'd with a noble flood Sprung from third Edwards Royal blood Rutland an equal Match then brings Since the great Issue that hence springs Quarters both Arms and Blood of Kings No pride tho did her looks attend Which to the lowest she would lend As heav'nly blessings do descend Whilst she
Rays Made it but one compacted Blaze It is so weighty that it 's said To be by Ounce not Caracts weigh'd As tho to lessen Pride 't was meant For Burden not for Ornament Had I this Gemm your Merits due It I would sacrifice to you Pure Incense where no Smoke aspires Kindling it self with native fires But now alas I have not time To post to so remote a Clime Nay when at Agra or Lahore May be the sullen Emperour Would keep his Diamond I 'le not try And yet speed better tho more nigh Presents should hold proportion due To th' Persons they are offer'd to And mine 's a Mirrour darting rayes That Diamonds and Sun out-blaze The Chrystal I this Winter chose From drops of Helicon new froze The Glass I with some Art design'd With Truth instead of Silver lin'd A Lining that rich Tissue shames Brighter than are Meridian beams So heav'nly rich to make em shine It does the Vests of Cherubs line Being thus prepar'd It shows to you An Object worthy of your view Wit Greatness Virtue Beauty Worth At once in glorious Crouds break forth And from two shining Casements fly Like Angels shooting through the Skie Whose Rosie-blood Dame Nature strains Through Lilly-cheeks and Violet-veins Whose Scarlet Lancaster once wore His Rose dipt in that precious store Turn'd Red a Damask-rose before Her whom I faintly here express Your modesty denies to ghess Untill my Glass being heav'nly true Reflects your self and speaks it you The HIEROGLIPHIC 1679. To the Honourable Mrs. Byron having pleas'd to send me curious and significant Draughts of her Ladiships own hand in way of Hieroglifics COuld I like you my Pencil use Or had command of such a Muse All other Artists I 'd out-do By coming somthing near to you But as poor Dreamers oft conceit Were they in fortune rich and great They 'd live and spend at such a rate So had I your Estate in Wit Like you methinks I 'd manage it Pallas that charming Goddess she Should serve instead of Muse to me Inthron'd she should Queen Regent sit And better rule my frothy wit As pow'rful Cynthia both guides Th' unruly Sea and all her Tides Your drops of Ink like those i' th' Spring Both Violets Roses Lillies bring Your Fruit-trees equal Wonders shew Both bear at once and blossom too The Spring and Autumn's both in you Your planted Vines i' th' infant Stems Seem to bud forth their blushing Gems Apelle's self would be mista'en Both Birds and He could not refrain When you with Grass cloath fancy'd fields They feed those Flocks your Pencil yields And what does greater Wonders show Your Ink's the Milk that makes 'em grow When you draw Birds we wond'ring stand And swear they fly from out your hand Here Tyanaeus Art is gain'd And we their Voices understand When you a pleasant River limm Your Ink's the Stream where Fishes swim Nature's Defects you here recruit And Proverbs cross they are not mute Your imitating Pencil can First form and then put Life in Man Each Shadow Rib-like can relieve Your new-made Adam with an Eve Your Art more strong than that of Fate Can liveless things ev'n animate Your Trees Dodona's influence share And are like them Oracular Your very Shadows set out Light What is your Day if such your Night Your Pindust is not vainly hurl'd It s very Attomes make a World You th' Hieroglyphic-Art revive In Egypt dead in you alive Thence Learning took it's happy flight So from the East first shot the Light What Admiration's then your due How much is Art it self oblig'd to you Since Madam you can make a World and it inlighten too MERIT Rewarded 1679. To the Right Honourable William Lord Byron upon the Death of Rich. Lord B. his Father ANcient has been the use to mourn in Verse And Poets more than Heralds grac'd the Herse The sacred heat that did their Breasts inflame By Muses fann'd kindled the breath of Fame Hence to diviner heights did Worth aspire And brighter shin'd than in the Fun'ral Fire To Heroes only did their Verse belong Immortal Acts found an immortal Song 'T was Merit then did only purchase Praise Nor could a Crown of Gold bribe one of Bays Your noble Father their choice Skill had try'd Had he in those days either liv'd or dy'd And though I am unfit to sing his Name This Epitaph I sacrifice to Fame The Epitaph ILlustrious Byron Justice found Being four times crown'd From noble Ancestors did get A Coronet Then loyal Valour did bequeath A Lawrel wreath His Suff'rings Martyr's glory found With Roses crown'd Nothing can add to his great Story But that of Glory My Lord I shall not vainly mourn his doom Since he dropt fully ripe into his Tomb Yet loaded more with Glory than with Days Hence with my Cypress then and reach me Bayes My Muse like to its Subject should be bright And like to Roman Mourners clad in White When first his Death was told her Tears she shed And like moist Lillies droopt her dewy head Pearls thus at midnight fall from Luna's eyes But are again dry'd up at Sol's uprise Hail then Restorer of our Joys shine bright And with thy Cynthia joyn in sheets of Light Increase your noble Stock Thus Persians say The Queen of Night joyns with the King of Day And curtain'd in Eclipses there they get That shining Brood that in the Skies are set ARREARS 1679. To the Honourable Mrs. Chaworth TO you I have such Rents to pay In Policy I should not stay If from my felf I knew to run away Your Cottage tho is in repair The inward Rooms well furnisht are The Windows glaz'd and Roof new thatcht with Hair Your Tenant clad in Scarlet Vest Carouzing Clarret of the best Within the Lodging-Chamber of my Breast High fares he with no ill intent For if he starve You lose your Rent Since none but he can farm the Tenement My hopes of thriving are decay'd Wire-drawing Wit in Rhyme's my Trade And I no store of Bullion have for aid Small stocks in Country trades may do Ev'n Pedlers there deserve a view As little Gold beat thin will make a shew A smutty Fancy or bald Iest Profaneness in Hobb's Livery drest Serve for a Session's charge or Churching-Feast This will not do in London-Town Not trusting without Money down Hence are their very Lawreats Bankrupts grown Nor strange Times so expensive are The Tripos once requir'd less care To manage well than now a Barbar's Chair To woo a Lady 'till she 's fit Needs now more cost of Plot and Wit Than formerly to wed and Children get Sack 's influence once inspir'd the brain 'T is well if now it can maintain Fit Reparties for th' Drawers witty Vein The Coffe-houses now admit More Criticks than the very Pit As prodigal of Treason as of Wit Besides all these expensive ways I lavisht out and writ two Playes Catching at Hope I nothing got but Bayes Into the Country quite undone My Muse
great Owner move He need not envy Iove Since all 's his own that does beneath him lye Nor is the Metaphor too bold For Reader if thou didst behold All his great things thou wouldst confess All Metaphors went less Than these great truths which stretch'd Hyperboles can but express Mind there the Valleys richly drest With Ceres favours blest That spatious Corn-field there behold Look how the Wind ruffles its Ears Methinks it now appears Rouling with Waves like to a Sea of Gold Now let us Westward try Where we those thick curl'd Heads of Oaks espy Under whose shades are pleasant Groves Where if this rude degenerate Age Were not debauch'd with lustful rage Shepherds and Nymphs might exercise their loves Amidst these Groves is sometimes seen The Castle 's and the Woods fair Queen Who when i th' Spring she does there ride The Spring 's and Nature's pride Diana and her Nymphs are quite out-vy'd Hark! hark what noise is that Some Hunts-man winding a Recheat Look how th' affrighted Herd like to the rest O' th' World forsake a Friend distrest There there the hunted Buck does go So swift that Swallows fly more slow The Hounds now follow Listen to their Cry The Hunts-men ride and hollow If you trust either Ear or Eye Their ecchoing Mouths fright Thunder back The swifter Steeds out-ride the Rack Of gliding Clouds when Tempests vex the Sky Admire this gallant place Surrounded with a large and noble Chase The Deer altho at liberty here stay And in mere gratitude ne'r go astray 'T is princely and but seldom found Such Herds to breed And after feed Then hunt and kill And all this still Ne'r out of his own ground Thrushes and Black-Birds in his Bushes bred And only with his Berries fed Out of his vast Demesnes they cannot fly They hop upon his Ground they hover in his Sky They were in his Dominions bred and there must dye And what is more It has the blessings of an inward store Not as some Beauties are Foolish and fair And what is scandal now as poor Remotest treasures come To make it fit for the great Owners home Vessels in China made That in th' improving Soil were laid By Artists in the Golden age well known As the rich workmanship will own Skreens and Cabinets here shine That from Iapan were brought Such as Europaean Arts cannot design Nor with its choicest treasures can be bought Unless Columbus's traffick hold Who Lead and Iron truckt for Gold Or where a Bead of Glass was found Fit value for a Diamond Such Cost and Furnitures as these May make the Stranger-Reader ghess That I must either feign Or 't is a place for Kings to entertain Their courted Princesses In its own ruines 't was interr'd of late By violence and hate Of Rebels and conspiring Fate No mortal force so strong could prove One Stone from its foundation to remove 'Till Bombards came Whose thunder and whose flame Equall'd if not excell'd th' Artillery of Iove Besieg'd by thousands it at last did yield As tho 't was requisit No fewer hands should ruine it Than did it build In its own rubbish thus it lay Until its noble Dame Design'd its frame And rais'd a Body out of its own Clay The mighty Infant grew Until it was a wonder and delight To Passengers nay to the very Builders view And did command at once and please the sight The Legs and Thighs of massy Columns made The Sinews of tough Lime all interlaid Its ribbs and bones Of strong well-polisht Stones And then its lofty head Near neighbour to the Skies Was cover'd with a Cap of Lead Of Chrystal were its Eyes In twenty years this great Colossus to its height did rise Leave we to celebrate the Case Let us the Diamond adore For so was Rutland's Countess nay and more The very Soul of this great place Of humane things see the event As 't was the Glory so the Monument Of the great Foundress who might be Divested of mortality Before from her own Horeb she to Heav'n went Tho Souls immortal are Yet as their Bodies do decay The faculties o' th' Soul are at a stay And in th' infirmities o' th' Body share A large and vigorous Body asks a Soul Of equal strength Or else it will consume at length Because it can't th' unequal bulk controul So having rais'd this glorious Frame Thy noble Mother knew its bulk and fame Requir'd a spirit suitable to actuate the same For now hers look'd more high Having done two such mighty things on Earth To raise this Pyle and give thee birth Her next great thing was t' obtain Eternity Yet left thee in a state At once both to oblige the World and Fate If thou wilt her example imitate Thou the succeeding Age must bless With a young Lord as she with thee did this The noble Name of Mannors to perpetuate How great a fate on thee depends And glorious Causes must have glorious ends Thy fair Consort may With reason all our expectations pay And we may hopeful of such blessings be Nay more may claim a certainty From such a one as her and such a one as thee Little need is there to boast Of Rarities brought from the Indian Coast. Iapan and China though they be The Cabinets o' th' Asian Treasury We need not thither roam We have more precious Stores at home Boughton thou canst prove this true Boughton the seat of noble Mountague The spreading Tree Of whose illustrious Pedegree Boasts as from Eden it transplanted were Whether you regard the Root Or shining Fruit That it did bear From Sals'bury's great Montacute it came Of whom no further need be said Under Fifth Henry's Ensigns he was bred And at whose dreadful name A Marshal'd Army once of French-men fled Nor could less expected be From Third Edwards Progeny Third Edward that in Cressy Vale First made the Golden Lillies pale To make a deeper red At last those streams of Honour ran To Boughton's Mountague as to the Ocean Too large to be confined there It overflow'd the Banks that noble blood Swell'd like a Silver-streaming Flood Until it did begin Two Earldoms more to circle in Of Sandwich and of Manchester Manchester shall not imploy my Song The Truth I will not nor the Muses wrong But both will purchase fame By Sandwiche's ennobled name Sandwich our Nation 's Phoenix that expir'd In flames in his rich Nest was fir'd None ever greater dy'd He the Dutch-Navy with one Ship defi'd He stood the mark of the whole War Until our Navy were secur'd from fear Then from his Ship did Smoke and flames arise What nobler fame Can add to Mountagu's great Name Than to fall England's Boast and Sacrifice What mighty hopes might needs ensue From Mannors and from Mountague Mannors a noble Bud so richly set By all advantages of Fate It was thought worthy to inoculate With a rich Branch of Great Plantaginet Swell'd was this hopeful Bud With the red Roses blood Strain'd through Fourth